Hello to my two followers! I know its been a long while! I could write about so many things, but I am choosing to be selfish and write about my own bullshit tonight. Not that everything happening in the world right now isn't something giving us all a great pause of reflection, or at least I hope you all are doing that.
Kevy and I frequent about 3 places in our town. One is the grocery store where they all know me. Another is our liquor store, where they know us both well. The last is the one restaurant/bar in town we go to once, sometimes twice a month, on the weekends we don't have the kids.
Anyway, as life goes I have become friends with some of the people that work in those places, both in real life and on social media. One of the social media finds was a bartender at the Local Pub who saw me show up on a mutual friends post and commented, "You know Kate!? She's married to Kevin! Her and her husband are some of my favorite guests!" I went into our local liquor store this week and one of the boys that works there said, "You have to settle a bet (lets call him John), and I have going." Me: Okay...is it which Bourbon County is the best? "No! Are you and Kevin married?"
Ha, well no we are not. "Oh okay...I bet you were. I guess he'd better get on it then, huh?" Ummmm...well...that doesn't exactly work for us. (And trust me guys, if I didn't care for and respect this person, I would have told him to fuck off. But I do, and I will not.)
So, if I did not explain any of that well, I am sorry. But my point is this: Kevin and I are NOT MARRIED! According to TSMA, we never will be. But does that mean our relationship isn't sound? Faithful? Do we not have a life together? Are we forever bound by the terms and stigma they bring of "boyfriend and girlfriend"? I dunno. And I also don't know what the people that we interact with in these consumer situations assume about us. Because I know as a bartender and tenured in my trade, I don't assume a mother fucking thing about a person. But somehow we have been dubbed and assumed as married. Except to the people that really see us.
So, I don't know, friends. I am happy that people see us as a forever-bound-by-love type. But I am also happy some of them see us as not, and get why we aren't.
Whatever comes and whatever will be. But I know that there will never be a time that Kev or myself, didn't see one another as partners in life. And we don't care if we meet your social standards. And we don't care if we had a fancy way of committing ourselves to one another. We care about our kids. Our cats. Each other. In that order.
WE are the real MVPs.
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Wednesday, October 18, 2017
The whole #Metoo thing...kinda making me crazy. For a lot of reasons and some I cannot explain. Ok, I'm going on whim...
My first experience with sexual abuse happened at 9. I thought I may tell you about all the good times I had leading up to this, but in hindsight, there are few that matter and more problems have been caused by that one act than I can remember that were good before then.
I thought for a long while "that one act", was my telling my parents what happened to me. Telling my daddy what his father did to me.
The moment in my life I decided I wanted to hang out with my Papa and watch horse races (he was an avid member of the community and they were into that and I was 9 and into horses)...it was my younger cousins birthday..,.November....THAT decision changed my entire life. I chose to hang out with my Papa and watch horse races on his little TV in the basement. I sat on his lap, as I had every time I saw him, those 9 years on my life. This day was different. This day I sat on his lap to flip through the horse magazines, cut out the pictures of the Arabians and Palaminos. This day, he chose to put his hands on my nine year old body in ways a man puts his hands on his wife. He touched and rubbed my 9 year old crotch. He put his hands up my shirt. I was so terrified I couldn't...move. This was MY papa.
Fast forward to my teenage years. Dated someone I didn't like a lot. He decided he liked me enough to have sex with my drunken corpse, in a room where my best friend was present, and his mother walked in. Nobody cared.
Lets move forward, I marry a man, have 3 kids with him. We decide to divorce. All is amicable. I start dating a man I like, go to a club without him. Get turned down at the bar asking to pay for drinks...guy steps in, gets served immediately, by the scanilty clad bartender. My friend and I give one another a look, because were being passed over for the guy with iron biceps when we are flashing cash. "Guy" sees our disdain, buys us drinks. Guy priceeds upon me, we dance, music is flowing, best friend is with us. He pushes her to his friend, "wingman", who she dances with and is having fun doing so. "Guy" decides it would be appropriate to put his hands down my pants ans put his fingers inside me. I shoved and elbow in his gut and slammed my foot into the crown of his.
My first experience with sexual abuse happened at 9. I thought I may tell you about all the good times I had leading up to this, but in hindsight, there are few that matter and more problems have been caused by that one act than I can remember that were good before then.
I thought for a long while "that one act", was my telling my parents what happened to me. Telling my daddy what his father did to me.
The moment in my life I decided I wanted to hang out with my Papa and watch horse races (he was an avid member of the community and they were into that and I was 9 and into horses)...it was my younger cousins birthday..,.November....THAT decision changed my entire life. I chose to hang out with my Papa and watch horse races on his little TV in the basement. I sat on his lap, as I had every time I saw him, those 9 years on my life. This day was different. This day I sat on his lap to flip through the horse magazines, cut out the pictures of the Arabians and Palaminos. This day, he chose to put his hands on my nine year old body in ways a man puts his hands on his wife. He touched and rubbed my 9 year old crotch. He put his hands up my shirt. I was so terrified I couldn't...move. This was MY papa.
Fast forward to my teenage years. Dated someone I didn't like a lot. He decided he liked me enough to have sex with my drunken corpse, in a room where my best friend was present, and his mother walked in. Nobody cared.
Lets move forward, I marry a man, have 3 kids with him. We decide to divorce. All is amicable. I start dating a man I like, go to a club without him. Get turned down at the bar asking to pay for drinks...guy steps in, gets served immediately, by the scanilty clad bartender. My friend and I give one another a look, because were being passed over for the guy with iron biceps when we are flashing cash. "Guy" sees our disdain, buys us drinks. Guy priceeds upon me, we dance, music is flowing, best friend is with us. He pushes her to his friend, "wingman", who she dances with and is having fun doing so. "Guy" decides it would be appropriate to put his hands down my pants ans put his fingers inside me. I shoved and elbow in his gut and slammed my foot into the crown of his.
What people don't see, is an amazing thought. I see it all the time. And I think about it all the time. But I am going to be selfish, today. What people don't see about me, blow my mind now that I live in a "neighborhood". People saw me differently when I was living in a place that accepted section 8 housing, not something I was ever a beneficiary of, but was a member of that community paying full price. Now that I've gotten back to a single family home, I find myself in a more judgmental "community" than I ever saw there. And maybe one could argue race played a part, I was the white, single mom, that worked. And here I am the white single mom that works. Perhaps you don't see the difference. When the comma is used, I am defined by each of those things, individually. When I write that sentence, without any comma use, I am defined...as a woman, without stigma. Until I create my own. Because what I have learned NOW is being a white single mom in a neighborhood of white married families, isn't a pleasant place to be. I am not judging those moms, or families. I was one of those moms and the matriarchal piece of that married family, once upon a time. Now I'm not. The difference is, when I was THAT mom, I didn't get tagged on facebook as a imaginary figure. I didn't HAVE a facebook or know what it was. What happens NOW, is I get judged...because after I've worked and spent 4 years in an apartment, as a single mom, by myself...I send my kids to the bus stop alone. They have been doing it for 2 years now, and with a little further walk than the end of my driveway. Now that I have the home I worked to have, and they catch the bus at the end of the driveway??? I don't need to be there. My kids had BETTTER behave. And all you judgy moms that gather there every morning, please tell me if they aren't. because nobody will be up their asses more than I, should that be the case. And once upon a time a year or so ago, that was the case. My neighbor in the section 8 housing, that is a close friend of mine, called my kids out on shit behavior...AFTER she corrected them! And I applauded her, invited her in for coffee, and we talked about it. I cannot stand, and call this hypocritical, if you will, I cannot stand judgmental people. I did not move here to be friends with anyone, lets get THAT clear. I moved here with the man I love, into a house I love, that provided us with space we need. I don't need your consent to be here. I don't need your friendship, and I CERTAINLY do not need your judgement of what you don't see. You don't know me, you don't know our life. We take our trash out the day it is collected. We send our kids to school every day. We cut our lawn, we smile and say hello, we feed your kids snacks when they play with ours. We don't require your invitations, though youre OKAY with the kids being there. What we do doesn't work for you and I get that. But I don't care. It works for us. I'll do whatever works for use, until I die. Your judgment is lost on us. But we're the house with wide open doors. For your kids, for you, we're always home.
I haven't posted anything here, nor have I written anything in a very, very long time. So, please excuse all errors. I can tell you that after the passing of my father, which changed me deeply, and after the passing of my marriage, that I always saw failing, I have found the utmost happiness. My existence is peaceful now. It isn't perfect. We struggle with integrating 2 families, 2 lifestyles, 2 ways of being. But what I know, each day is the most beautiful thing any human being could ever dream to be true out of another they were with...my person does dishes. My person does laundry. My person cleans up after my kids when they know what they should be cleaning up. My person cuts the grass with a push mower. My person cleans the shit off the underwear my littlest loin muffin cant seem to do himself. My person attends every event he can for his kids. And he comes home every time he cant, feeling defeated, hurt, and wishing his job were not so demanding. My person loves me more beautifully than I deserve to be loved, He encourages me, supports me, lifts me up every time I (rightfully do ) bring myself down or am brought down. My person, encourages the growth of everyone he loves. And he loves a number of people. His 2 children, his best friends, his dad, me, my 3 children, my mom, my aunt, my cousins, my friends, the guy at the gas station by his old house, the guy(s) at the liqour store near ours. The things I wanted in a life partner, as a child...this man....exemplifies. I told my mom, in a private, random text, who lived through my marriage and divorce, "I never thought...I IMAGINED! I DREAMED! Of a person that would be perfection for me. The man He created for me. I never thought I would get that. And I lived a divorce, a relationship, I always knew would end that way...But I finally found my partner. I am not a wife. He is not a husband. We are a team. Always. and he is who, next to our kids, I live for. I see our life together and I see how he loves me. If soulmates exist, mine found me.
Happy National Wine Day, bitches! The celebration I have every day??? Doesn't compare to the 300 dollar bottle of cab I will never taste. I won. And so did he.
Happy National Wine Day, bitches! The celebration I have every day??? Doesn't compare to the 300 dollar bottle of cab I will never taste. I won. And so did he.
So...I've kind of had enough. I am so over listening to people debate mental health and substance abuse as if it's some kind of fucking Hollywood created, money induced, pathetic CHOSEN disability. It isn't. It's real and prevelant and taking lives, if not literally, then certainly metaphoriacally taking away anything important. It is a cruel, non-discriminating, son of a cunt, piece of shit disease that ruins lives EVERY DAY. I will maintain through this post, that until you or someone you love or in most cases, BOTH, have gone through it, than you can fuck right off because you have no idea.
Do you know what depression does? Do you know how you get out of bed every day and go to work and something tells you, even when you don't want to do it, that you're doing it for your kids, or your family, or to have a life some day where you don't have to work so hard and can retire? Guess how that is when you're depressed? It isn't that you don't care about your kids, or family or retirement. You care very much. In fact, you stay awake every night worrying about how they're going to be taken care of. You become an insomniac. No matter what you do, you can't sleep. So maybe you try taking a Unisom. But that isn't enough. You feel like garbage in the morning. So you try beer, or liquor or wine, just enough to let you fall asleep peacefully. But then you wake up feeling like just as much garbnage the next day. Hungover. But if the sleeping pills do the same and the wine is cheaper...??? WHY NOT. So there begins the substance abuse used to cure a disease you can't find tresatment for. OR you take the anti depressants. You gain 50 pounds and then people make fun of you, your doctors tell you you need to diet, even though you're only consuming 1200 calories a day. And that doesn't help. None of it. Your husband thinks you're fat and doesn't want you anymore. So you stop the anti depressants that are keeping you sane and work out like a maniac and it STILL isn't enough. So you keep drinking to sleep, keep running to lose weight, start vomiting what little you do eat out of nervous anxiety and what is becoming self hatred for things you can't control.
Sound fun yet? It gets better. Your marriage fails because you're accused of losing weight to be more attractive to other men, even though he doesn't know how severely unhealthy your "weight loss" habits have become. You're sleeping in fitfull spurts from the nightmares you're having that are made worse from the alcohiol you're consuming to try and sleep. And all the while you're wondering what is so wrong with your brain that you cannot function on the same level as every one around you.
Does de[ression sound like Hollywood "fun" yet? You think back to when it first began and chances are, you were a child and didn't recognize it for what it was. My first panic attack happened when I was 11. At least the first one I have vivid memories of. It came on entering junior high with a bunch of kids I didn't know in an environment that was new to me. A routine that has changed. And, for me, this has been my biggest trigger. While I welcome changes, if they're too new, too real, too fast, I panic. I've found
Do you know what depression does? Do you know how you get out of bed every day and go to work and something tells you, even when you don't want to do it, that you're doing it for your kids, or your family, or to have a life some day where you don't have to work so hard and can retire? Guess how that is when you're depressed? It isn't that you don't care about your kids, or family or retirement. You care very much. In fact, you stay awake every night worrying about how they're going to be taken care of. You become an insomniac. No matter what you do, you can't sleep. So maybe you try taking a Unisom. But that isn't enough. You feel like garbage in the morning. So you try beer, or liquor or wine, just enough to let you fall asleep peacefully. But then you wake up feeling like just as much garbnage the next day. Hungover. But if the sleeping pills do the same and the wine is cheaper...??? WHY NOT. So there begins the substance abuse used to cure a disease you can't find tresatment for. OR you take the anti depressants. You gain 50 pounds and then people make fun of you, your doctors tell you you need to diet, even though you're only consuming 1200 calories a day. And that doesn't help. None of it. Your husband thinks you're fat and doesn't want you anymore. So you stop the anti depressants that are keeping you sane and work out like a maniac and it STILL isn't enough. So you keep drinking to sleep, keep running to lose weight, start vomiting what little you do eat out of nervous anxiety and what is becoming self hatred for things you can't control.
Sound fun yet? It gets better. Your marriage fails because you're accused of losing weight to be more attractive to other men, even though he doesn't know how severely unhealthy your "weight loss" habits have become. You're sleeping in fitfull spurts from the nightmares you're having that are made worse from the alcohiol you're consuming to try and sleep. And all the while you're wondering what is so wrong with your brain that you cannot function on the same level as every one around you.
Does de[ression sound like Hollywood "fun" yet? You think back to when it first began and chances are, you were a child and didn't recognize it for what it was. My first panic attack happened when I was 11. At least the first one I have vivid memories of. It came on entering junior high with a bunch of kids I didn't know in an environment that was new to me. A routine that has changed. And, for me, this has been my biggest trigger. While I welcome changes, if they're too new, too real, too fast, I panic. I've found
I suck at communication. If you could imagine a Tintanic or Armageddon type setting and place me as the person that relays what is happening, I am the reason the boat sinks and why the world explodes. If you tell me something is happening, it isn't that I am not listening, because I am, it's just that eating the mashed potatoes I made last night is more important to me, I am not hearing you. This isn't true for every relationship I have, if I care about you enough, I am seeing the signs that you're drowning or facing a catastrophic asteroid from Hell, it's just that I seriously don't even have the skills to deal with that happening in my own life, to know how to handle that in yours. Yes. I am that retarded at life. What's worse is when I try to understand and don't. Because there is nothing worse than trying to relate to a situation or perspective on anything when you cant even grasp your own. but that is a serious side effect of being "aware". Society is so quick to diagnose and label and place blame, but I believe that if you are in the place I am
I remember the first anxiety attack I had. I was eleven and starting junior high in a new school with kids other kids that had been fifth graders the year before from four other elementary schools. I walked into a classroom filled with people I had never seen before and I looked around and no one else was scared. My heart started to race. So much so, that I could feel my blood coursing through the veins in my hands and head. I took a deep breath and when I tried to exhale, the tears poured uncontrollably from my eyes. It was the hardest I think I had ever cried in my eleven years. My teacher walked me to the school social worker and for two months I saw her every morning because every morning I told myself I would go into class with the other kids and sit down and I would be okay. And every morning, I walked through those doors and felt like a stranger in my own body.
I don't know what changed, but eventually I was able to go to class without feeling so scared. I didn't know that those things I had felt were a real issue. I just assumed there was something wrong with me and for my whole life I battled these attacks from time to time. They kept me from attending social gatherings in my teen years. They kept me from wedding showers and baby showers and when I became pregnant with my first child, they were so uncontrollable they began to affect my work. My obstetrician limited my work availability to fewer hours. That helped.
When my kids were born and had their heart problems, I experienced them again, with full force, every time we had to see a doctor. They usually occurred the night before the visit, when I was alone in bed with my thoughts.
I had a severe panic attack the day I got married, walking down the aisle. That should have been a clue.
I started having them more frequently, when my dad died. Over the years I tried several medications for them, but none of them ever really seemed to help. My husband, when I was married, told me I didn't need them. That the attacks were in my head and that I just needed to "stop" them myself. I never claimed he was the world's smartest man.
The last few months have been a living Hell for me with not only panic attacks, but also with depression. I finally found a place to get help and get healthy with these things. As I type tonight, I am mourning the loss of when this illness has cost me over my life. Over the nearly twenty years I've been having them. And the fifteen or so I've dealt with the depression. I've lost fun with friends because the comfort and safety of my bed was more appealing. Or because I couldn't find the strength to get myself out of bed. I've lost the ability to communicate openly and freely even with those who I love and trust because of my fear of displeasing and being rejected. I think, looking back, had I been open and honest immediately instead of waiting until it bubbled over, those people I held back from would have accepted and appreciated my honesty and open heartedness and we would have worked through whatever the issue was together.
The last couple of days have been the hardest I think I have ever had. The months of self doubt and internal pain hit their peak and came bursting to the surface. It was when TSMA said, "You need to get your shit together, KK. I can't be your savior" that I removed myself from the situation and saw it from a point of view I never had. I was drowning. I know that I am now on the path to understanding. I am excited to learn and to change different patterns of behaviors and I am happy I found a way to do it healthily.
I started today off a little rough, but I was optimistic because I felt like I had the man who was my biggest supporter, who sees me for me and gets me, who knows my strength and I thought understood my weaknesses, by my side. Here to watch me as I figured this all out. To give me a boost when I needed it. I could see myself growing, learning and doing that with him. In the ways I think I've fallen short at times. But now I'm not so sure he wants to grow with me. And it's tearing me apart. This is the only man I have ever felt truly connected to. All through my marriage I felt I was with someone that never saw me. Never saw what was beautiful about who I am. Never saw that I had strength behind my pain and kindness overpowering to any angry word I spoke and good to any negative thought I had and felt. Never saw the way I wanted to experience life and love and happiness and joy. I married a man that put all the things about me into a tiny bubble and let them build for years and years until I wasn't just drowning anymore, I was dead on the ocean floor.
Finding my way to the surface over the years following our divorce was rough. When I met TSMA, I in no way intended he'd be the one to breathe life back into me. I thought, over the last few days, how lucky I am to have someone that not only gave me that breath, but continues to give me the tools I need to breathe on my own and to be HAPPY I was doing it alone.
A favorite lyric from a favorite band came to me just now...
"So I'll meet you at the bottom
If there really is one, they always told me
When you hit it you'll know it
But I've been falling so long
It's like gravity's gone and I'm just floating"
I hit bottom. While I broke out of the bubble my marriage created for me, I never learned how to really live outside it. That's what I'm doing now. My heart is just breaking because I really believed the man that made me see I needed to live would be here to live with me. I guess I still don't know that he won't. But I'm hurt and I'm scared and this is all new to me.
I don't know what changed, but eventually I was able to go to class without feeling so scared. I didn't know that those things I had felt were a real issue. I just assumed there was something wrong with me and for my whole life I battled these attacks from time to time. They kept me from attending social gatherings in my teen years. They kept me from wedding showers and baby showers and when I became pregnant with my first child, they were so uncontrollable they began to affect my work. My obstetrician limited my work availability to fewer hours. That helped.
When my kids were born and had their heart problems, I experienced them again, with full force, every time we had to see a doctor. They usually occurred the night before the visit, when I was alone in bed with my thoughts.
I had a severe panic attack the day I got married, walking down the aisle. That should have been a clue.
I started having them more frequently, when my dad died. Over the years I tried several medications for them, but none of them ever really seemed to help. My husband, when I was married, told me I didn't need them. That the attacks were in my head and that I just needed to "stop" them myself. I never claimed he was the world's smartest man.
The last few months have been a living Hell for me with not only panic attacks, but also with depression. I finally found a place to get help and get healthy with these things. As I type tonight, I am mourning the loss of when this illness has cost me over my life. Over the nearly twenty years I've been having them. And the fifteen or so I've dealt with the depression. I've lost fun with friends because the comfort and safety of my bed was more appealing. Or because I couldn't find the strength to get myself out of bed. I've lost the ability to communicate openly and freely even with those who I love and trust because of my fear of displeasing and being rejected. I think, looking back, had I been open and honest immediately instead of waiting until it bubbled over, those people I held back from would have accepted and appreciated my honesty and open heartedness and we would have worked through whatever the issue was together.
The last couple of days have been the hardest I think I have ever had. The months of self doubt and internal pain hit their peak and came bursting to the surface. It was when TSMA said, "You need to get your shit together, KK. I can't be your savior" that I removed myself from the situation and saw it from a point of view I never had. I was drowning. I know that I am now on the path to understanding. I am excited to learn and to change different patterns of behaviors and I am happy I found a way to do it healthily.
I started today off a little rough, but I was optimistic because I felt like I had the man who was my biggest supporter, who sees me for me and gets me, who knows my strength and I thought understood my weaknesses, by my side. Here to watch me as I figured this all out. To give me a boost when I needed it. I could see myself growing, learning and doing that with him. In the ways I think I've fallen short at times. But now I'm not so sure he wants to grow with me. And it's tearing me apart. This is the only man I have ever felt truly connected to. All through my marriage I felt I was with someone that never saw me. Never saw what was beautiful about who I am. Never saw that I had strength behind my pain and kindness overpowering to any angry word I spoke and good to any negative thought I had and felt. Never saw the way I wanted to experience life and love and happiness and joy. I married a man that put all the things about me into a tiny bubble and let them build for years and years until I wasn't just drowning anymore, I was dead on the ocean floor.
Finding my way to the surface over the years following our divorce was rough. When I met TSMA, I in no way intended he'd be the one to breathe life back into me. I thought, over the last few days, how lucky I am to have someone that not only gave me that breath, but continues to give me the tools I need to breathe on my own and to be HAPPY I was doing it alone.
A favorite lyric from a favorite band came to me just now...
"So I'll meet you at the bottom
If there really is one, they always told me
When you hit it you'll know it
But I've been falling so long
It's like gravity's gone and I'm just floating"
I hit bottom. While I broke out of the bubble my marriage created for me, I never learned how to really live outside it. That's what I'm doing now. My heart is just breaking because I really believed the man that made me see I needed to live would be here to live with me. I guess I still don't know that he won't. But I'm hurt and I'm scared and this is all new to me.
Half a block of cheese
Half a sleeve of Club
With this bottle of wine
It won't matter any way
You say you don't want me
I know I should run away
But I stay
Because I love you
I didn't know love
Until I found you
But this wine is affecting
My ability to speak
And I always tell you the truth
And speaking in absolutes
You never want to hear it
But the truth remains
And I do
Half a sleeve of Club
With this bottle of wine
It won't matter any way
You say you don't want me
I know I should run away
But I stay
Because I love you
I didn't know love
Until I found you
But this wine is affecting
My ability to speak
And I always tell you the truth
And speaking in absolutes
You never want to hear it
But the truth remains
And I do
Sooooo.... I am going to try and recap the last 24 hours of my life for you and it will ramble and not have a point, but I think, if you know me, it's a rambly bullshit story worth listening to...
I will give you a slim version of my last month...I think I have seen, in the last thirty some days, TSMA maybe 6 or seven times. I was away on work, he was away on work, he got sick, I got sick, our (not OUR but each of us have our own kids) got sick then my mom was crazy, I worked late a few nights, then he had to go away for a week for work (which he is in the midst of as I type this all), yada, yada, yada...life happens, right? While I have always really almost craved being alone, I am not even close to having a grasp on being lonely. So, while I am sure this has all been a stroll in Central Park for him, I am not even...well, whatever. ANYWAY...
My Fave Cousin, who I am sure you know from her phenomenal blog or my little piece of shit, text me and told me she was going to be in town this weekend and tonight was the only night she had any time available (she has A LOT of family down here demanding her time), I JUMPED at the opportunity to see her, her husband and her brother and his wife, most of whom I haven't seen since she and AssHat (the term with which I very lovingly refer to husband) since they got married over a year ago (remember this?)
ANYWAY...they had a full schedule and asked me to meet them at a little dive bar somewhere in the McHenry area (I could get all descriptive here as to exactly how I see this place as less than a dive, but that isn't the point, if I have one at all). So we did, it was fun, we drank PBR tall boys, smoked in a plastic covered shed and they sang pop country karaoke while I smiled and clapped (Fave Couisin ,by the way, is an incredible vocalist-all joking aside. She really is amazing and I LOVE listening to her sing and have since I was a little kid).
After we finished at that bar we moved on
I will give you a slim version of my last month...I think I have seen, in the last thirty some days, TSMA maybe 6 or seven times. I was away on work, he was away on work, he got sick, I got sick, our (not OUR but each of us have our own kids) got sick then my mom was crazy, I worked late a few nights, then he had to go away for a week for work (which he is in the midst of as I type this all), yada, yada, yada...life happens, right? While I have always really almost craved being alone, I am not even close to having a grasp on being lonely. So, while I am sure this has all been a stroll in Central Park for him, I am not even...well, whatever. ANYWAY...
My Fave Cousin, who I am sure you know from her phenomenal blog or my little piece of shit, text me and told me she was going to be in town this weekend and tonight was the only night she had any time available (she has A LOT of family down here demanding her time), I JUMPED at the opportunity to see her, her husband and her brother and his wife, most of whom I haven't seen since she and AssHat (the term with which I very lovingly refer to husband) since they got married over a year ago (remember this?)
ANYWAY...they had a full schedule and asked me to meet them at a little dive bar somewhere in the McHenry area (I could get all descriptive here as to exactly how I see this place as less than a dive, but that isn't the point, if I have one at all). So we did, it was fun, we drank PBR tall boys, smoked in a plastic covered shed and they sang pop country karaoke while I smiled and clapped (Fave Couisin ,by the way, is an incredible vocalist-all joking aside. She really is amazing and I LOVE listening to her sing and have since I was a little kid).
After we finished at that bar we moved on
I started this post tonight and wrote all kinds of things that were out of character for me. I was (still am) pissed off and angry. But there is no reason for me to sink to his level and behave as he has for so many years; calling names, pointing fingers, tearing him down (and God knows I have reason to while he sits there with little backing for any of his accusations).
What I guess I will say tonight is that while I cannot afford to give my kids the things they may want and more often than not, the things they may need to sustain LIFE, I do give them this...
I listen and I respond and I care. I hold them when they're sick or cry because the kitten in Oliver and Company (which they've seen a dozen times) may get eaten by those strays in the alley. When I haven't seen them in 5 days because my work schedule demands different hours from me than are truly functional to their lives on a "normal" schedule, we snuggle and laugh and play games and cook their favorite meals together. When I'm not actually at work and it isn't their 2 weekends a month with their father, I am at home being MOM to them. The same way I was when I was a stay at home mom for all those years.
Nothing is more important to me that seeing my children become the wonderful individuals I see them as now. I think that in order for this to become a reality, all the players in the game need to get on board. Meaning their dad, his parents, my mom and he and I, all need to be working together to raise them (since that is the choice I made when I asked him to leave). Had I known how difficult that seemingly simple task (I mean, this IS the raising of our kids, the singular thing he and I did together that serves any meaning in this world) would have been I would have probably stayed in that unhappy marriage and been home to be the mother that raised those kids by myself while he was away working. They would become great people for that.
Now, though, with all these other people involved in raising them, I question the people they will become. They behave best for me (an assumption based on the very LIMITED feedback I get from him). They are worst for his mother. I have known her longer than I have known him, this little fact isn't a surprise to me...especially considering the felon record he accrued over the years under her supervision.
What baffles me is that he has, apparently, little desire to put any work into being a parent to our kids. He really seems to love the title of, "Dad", but does little to act as a FATHER should. My kids deserve better than that. They are amazing little people with ideas and intelligence and insight he fails to see. Or maybe he does and just doesn't nurture it. What he told me tonight is that he won't discuss any of that with me. Which makes sense, right?, because why would you discuss your children with their mother??? I mean, I certainly don't call him every chance I get with news about them (sarcasm at its finest). We didn't spend more than a decade loving each other (as delusional of a 'love' as that may have been, in hindsight). So why communicate thoughts, concerns, daily happenings with them to one another?
What I guess I will say tonight is that while I cannot afford to give my kids the things they may want and more often than not, the things they may need to sustain LIFE, I do give them this...
I listen and I respond and I care. I hold them when they're sick or cry because the kitten in Oliver and Company (which they've seen a dozen times) may get eaten by those strays in the alley. When I haven't seen them in 5 days because my work schedule demands different hours from me than are truly functional to their lives on a "normal" schedule, we snuggle and laugh and play games and cook their favorite meals together. When I'm not actually at work and it isn't their 2 weekends a month with their father, I am at home being MOM to them. The same way I was when I was a stay at home mom for all those years.
Nothing is more important to me that seeing my children become the wonderful individuals I see them as now. I think that in order for this to become a reality, all the players in the game need to get on board. Meaning their dad, his parents, my mom and he and I, all need to be working together to raise them (since that is the choice I made when I asked him to leave). Had I known how difficult that seemingly simple task (I mean, this IS the raising of our kids, the singular thing he and I did together that serves any meaning in this world) would have been I would have probably stayed in that unhappy marriage and been home to be the mother that raised those kids by myself while he was away working. They would become great people for that.
Now, though, with all these other people involved in raising them, I question the people they will become. They behave best for me (an assumption based on the very LIMITED feedback I get from him). They are worst for his mother. I have known her longer than I have known him, this little fact isn't a surprise to me...especially considering the felon record he accrued over the years under her supervision.
What baffles me is that he has, apparently, little desire to put any work into being a parent to our kids. He really seems to love the title of, "Dad", but does little to act as a FATHER should. My kids deserve better than that. They are amazing little people with ideas and intelligence and insight he fails to see. Or maybe he does and just doesn't nurture it. What he told me tonight is that he won't discuss any of that with me. Which makes sense, right?, because why would you discuss your children with their mother??? I mean, I certainly don't call him every chance I get with news about them (sarcasm at its finest). We didn't spend more than a decade loving each other (as delusional of a 'love' as that may have been, in hindsight). So why communicate thoughts, concerns, daily happenings with them to one another?
Every Thanksgiving since I started writing this blog I have had something to write about that was heartfelt and meaningful, if only to me. This year I got nothin'. It isn't that I'm not thankful for anything, it's simply that I don't really have anything to write about these days. I feel often as though the ways in which God has blessed me are so obvious and the times I complain, my guess is that the blessing of which I should be thankful for is just hidden. It wouldn't be a surprise for me to fail to see something. In fact, it would be pretty typical of me. Especially if said blessing is right in front of my face.
Sitting here tonight knowing that tomorrow will bring a whole lot of feelings I basically want nothing to do with is heart breaking for me. For all the "friends" I have and all the "family" I have, my kids and I (and TSMA, but he has his own thing for Thanksgiving, which I totally envy), received one invite for the holiday.
Sitting here tonight knowing that tomorrow will bring a whole lot of feelings I basically want nothing to do with is heart breaking for me. For all the "friends" I have and all the "family" I have, my kids and I (and TSMA, but he has his own thing for Thanksgiving, which I totally envy), received one invite for the holiday.
I am no grammatical genius; if you read this blog with any sort of consistency, you know this. That being said, there are some grammatical errors that make me so crazy, I consider punching puppies. The obvious ones are the misuse of there, their and they're. Same with your and you're. I mean, even those words SOUND different when said correctly. I hate when people say, "suposably"- IT ISN'T EVEN A WORD, PEOPLE. When the words break and brake are misused. I mean SERIOUSLY. When people say, "I seen...". I quit listening after I hear that. HEAR! Yes! Here and hear are completely different. Steak and stake. Now, this one holds meaning to me and if the man that knows why reads this, I am sure he will recall that evening...
"At some point maybe we accept that the dream has become a nightmare. We tell ourselves that the reality is better. We convince ourselves its better that we never dream at all, but the strongest of us, the most determined of us, we hold on to the dream or we find ourselves faced with a fresh dream we never considered. We awake to find ourselves, against all odds, feeling hopeful. And if we're lucky we realize, in the face of everything, in the face of life, our true dream is being able to dream at all. -Meredith"
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Missing My Daddy...
It will be 6 years this Sunday since I lost your guidance in my life. I don't "miss" you everyday as I once did. The void isn't filled and never will be. But it's transformed. Instead of crying myself to sleep every night and waking up forgetting that you're gone, I miss you most and feel that void at it's deepest when I need someone to talk to that understands our family. I wish you were here to talk to. You had a way of understanding even the stupidest of issues and knowing how to reach a place of sanity and reason-ability and sense ability even with the most stubborn, skewed points of view. I miss knowing that everything would be ok.
I wonder if you're proud of me. If my life and the person I have become makes you proud to call yourself my dad. Then again, I'm not sure why I wonder. I know as long as we treated others with respect and kindness, stuck up for what we knew was right and walked a path with the love of God in our hearts, that we made you proud.
You'd have been proud of Ryan tonight. He sang at school and was so lovely and so happy and smiled so brightly, I know your heart would have swelled as mine did.
I know when Emma shared her orange slices with Ryan at snack time today, you smiled.
I know when Logan did his little boogie dance to Mario music this afternoon, you roared with laughter at his uninhibited silliness.
I know when I told mom, her opinion has a time and place to be shared, you patted me on the back, slid an arm around my shoulder and squeezed it tight.
I know every time The Sexiest Man Alive puts my head straight, encourages me and supports me, you smile to know I've found someone to appreciate and be appreciated by.
I know we make you proud. I know we made you happy while you were here, and dad, you make me as happy in death as you ever did holding my hand through the scary times, squeezing my knee through the happy times and hugging me every day you had the chance.
You make me proud to be your daughter and I love you.
I wonder if you're proud of me. If my life and the person I have become makes you proud to call yourself my dad. Then again, I'm not sure why I wonder. I know as long as we treated others with respect and kindness, stuck up for what we knew was right and walked a path with the love of God in our hearts, that we made you proud.
You'd have been proud of Ryan tonight. He sang at school and was so lovely and so happy and smiled so brightly, I know your heart would have swelled as mine did.
I know when Emma shared her orange slices with Ryan at snack time today, you smiled.
I know when Logan did his little boogie dance to Mario music this afternoon, you roared with laughter at his uninhibited silliness.
I know when I told mom, her opinion has a time and place to be shared, you patted me on the back, slid an arm around my shoulder and squeezed it tight.
I know every time The Sexiest Man Alive puts my head straight, encourages me and supports me, you smile to know I've found someone to appreciate and be appreciated by.
I know we make you proud. I know we made you happy while you were here, and dad, you make me as happy in death as you ever did holding my hand through the scary times, squeezing my knee through the happy times and hugging me every day you had the chance.
You make me proud to be your daughter and I love you.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Shit KK's Brain Does UnChecked...
Things going through my beautiful brain tonight...
I love having a laptop at my disposal again, even if I cannot get use to the keyboard at hand
I could not have picked a more perfect kitten. Seriously. TSMA went to bed and she loves the shit out of her daddy; however, she is a mommas girl and is and has been camped out on the couch next to me since he went to bed.
My minivan is finally coming to terms with the piece-of-shit mentality I have abused her with over the last seven years.
I finally caught up on my Trivia Crack.
Divorce is a horrible and beautiful mind fuck of a thing, simultaneauoulsy.
New Glarus makes too many exceptional brews.
My children are exceptional. Their father and I have done a good job of making sure that happens.
I hate that it took me nearly 3 decades to know what it is to love another human being out side of my children.
Cats groom themselves A LOT and I am jealous of the sexy poses they strike while doing so.
I wonder if there is a love of food more fullfilling than tacos.
John Cusack is the most underated actor of all time.
I am really looking forward to biscuits and gravy in the morning.
Why are women so petty and cruel? I literally have one female friend I trust, love, and would give my life for and she has known me since the day I was born. And it is not my mother.
I love, love, LOVE the acoustic guitar. I am so biased in my love for this instrument that I forsake any attempt at harmony unless it is acoustic. Or slide. And on that note I always have loved the line, "I want to live with a musician". I was blessed enough to have my dad and brother play the drums regularly in my life. Then I got TSMA and my absolute favorite thing to do to unwind is sit on the couch, peruse my social media updates and listen to and watch that wonderful man play his guitar. All I need now is a piano player. I think my Lou has that in her soul.
TSMA has a really warm jacket I like to wear. I've also hijacked a couple hoodies, flannels, and plaid pjs over the years.
My children are utterly brilliant. And kind. And thoughtful. And good humoured. And gorgeous. That isn't by accident.
I wish my dad were alive to see me now.
Mario is a very intense game at midnight, when you're playing by yourself.
I wish I could be more verbally awarding to the 6 loves in my life. I wish my love and words were a blanket that enveloped my Lou, Ryna, Logey, and Sexiest Man Alive and his precious babies, every day.
I am thankful I met a man who loved a woman that cares so greatly for their children. I am happy I get to know those kids and that my influence in their lives is positive. I am beyond thrilled that I have a man that is helping me make my wonderful children into exempary human beings, and I love that I can see the things I once saw in my ex, shine beautifully through them. I love that divorce is awful and not always expected, but that it has given me a better perspective. On parenting. On life. On love.
I have a life that for the first time, in a long time, I am proud of.
I wish all of you (and I will restrain myself and not call you assholes or bitches) the happiness I THINK I have finally found.
Namasti...
I love having a laptop at my disposal again, even if I cannot get use to the keyboard at hand
I could not have picked a more perfect kitten. Seriously. TSMA went to bed and she loves the shit out of her daddy; however, she is a mommas girl and is and has been camped out on the couch next to me since he went to bed.
My minivan is finally coming to terms with the piece-of-shit mentality I have abused her with over the last seven years.
I finally caught up on my Trivia Crack.
Divorce is a horrible and beautiful mind fuck of a thing, simultaneauoulsy.
New Glarus makes too many exceptional brews.
My children are exceptional. Their father and I have done a good job of making sure that happens.
I hate that it took me nearly 3 decades to know what it is to love another human being out side of my children.
Cats groom themselves A LOT and I am jealous of the sexy poses they strike while doing so.
I wonder if there is a love of food more fullfilling than tacos.
John Cusack is the most underated actor of all time.
I am really looking forward to biscuits and gravy in the morning.
Why are women so petty and cruel? I literally have one female friend I trust, love, and would give my life for and she has known me since the day I was born. And it is not my mother.
I love, love, LOVE the acoustic guitar. I am so biased in my love for this instrument that I forsake any attempt at harmony unless it is acoustic. Or slide. And on that note I always have loved the line, "I want to live with a musician". I was blessed enough to have my dad and brother play the drums regularly in my life. Then I got TSMA and my absolute favorite thing to do to unwind is sit on the couch, peruse my social media updates and listen to and watch that wonderful man play his guitar. All I need now is a piano player. I think my Lou has that in her soul.
TSMA has a really warm jacket I like to wear. I've also hijacked a couple hoodies, flannels, and plaid pjs over the years.
My children are utterly brilliant. And kind. And thoughtful. And good humoured. And gorgeous. That isn't by accident.
I wish my dad were alive to see me now.
Mario is a very intense game at midnight, when you're playing by yourself.
I wish I could be more verbally awarding to the 6 loves in my life. I wish my love and words were a blanket that enveloped my Lou, Ryna, Logey, and Sexiest Man Alive and his precious babies, every day.
I am thankful I met a man who loved a woman that cares so greatly for their children. I am happy I get to know those kids and that my influence in their lives is positive. I am beyond thrilled that I have a man that is helping me make my wonderful children into exempary human beings, and I love that I can see the things I once saw in my ex, shine beautifully through them. I love that divorce is awful and not always expected, but that it has given me a better perspective. On parenting. On life. On love.
I have a life that for the first time, in a long time, I am proud of.
I wish all of you (and I will restrain myself and not call you assholes or bitches) the happiness I THINK I have finally found.
Namasti...
Thursday, January 15, 2015
My Head Don't Work Right...
I cleaned my entire house today. SCRUBBED it down in every room. Threw shit away. I took a shower, shaved my legs (a grooming habit that I tend to abandon in the cold months), made a pot roast for dinner...and then my ungratefull crotch fruit wonderfully appreciative children came home from school, dropped their sub zero armageddon gear and slush filled boots in the middle of my living room and proceeded to bicker for the next 3 hours. That is when I put them to bed because I really could NOT take it anymore. Oh, did I forget to mention it took them 45 minutes to not even clean their plates and they bitched the entire time about a meal I;ve made a MILLION AND SEVENTY FIVE times before that they have loved??? How could I forget that part?
So now I am in bed watching one of my Top Five Favorite Movies EVER, High Fidelity, and I am contemplating one of the first Top Five John's character poses to the viewer, "Top Five Breakups". And he names them all and then YELLS, "DO YOU SEE YOUR NAME ON THAT LIST, LAURA?!?!?!?!". It begged me to wonder about my own breakups.
Now, TSMA will tell you I have been around, but, in all honesty, I haven't. I married a man I met when I was 16, started dating at 17 and was with him and faithful until I was almost 28. So, in all honesty...I am limited in the "relationship" aspect of life.
I remember the demise of my first high school boyfriend and I. It was painful, I suppose, but I was 17 and now I just really don't ever even think it made ANY difference in my life, in the aggregate. I still talk to him occasionally (thank you Facebook) and we've had a couple drinks together in our adult lives. He has a kid, I have 3...I love our friendship and would be more heartbroken if that ended than I was over our high school bullshit.
After that, I had my marriage. While it was horribly painful in the time I spent deciding to end it, it was more painful being a part of that...so called...marriage...than when I finally left.
Then there was my first boyfriend following my divorce. Sadly, I never loved that man. I was never...cruel...I was just univolved. It was a rebound relationship. He is a good person with wonderful qualities; caring, giving, loving...it pains me that he really fell for me and I wasn't as into him as he was into me. He was a good man.
So that brings us current. Now we're at TSMA and, as it stands right now? I would be a mother fucking train wreck if that man left me. I suppose this happens, as you gain experience and learn and grorw, but I would have thought, at thirty years old and with a 10year plus marriage, 3 kids...I would have thought I knew what it was like to love a man. I get the love of your children. It is uncompareable and insurmountable. That isn't the love I am talking about. I am talking about loving another person as a human being. And having an intimate relationship with someone. I honestly woul.d have thought I had learned, or felt, at it's absolute depth, that fire. I never realized until TSMA, that I never had.
My soul is on fire with him. My heart was on fire in my marriage. This is so much better. I hate even thinking about it because it gives me chills. Not the stupid butterfly chills teenage idiots have in their endless supply of libido, but chills because my core refusses to recognize and acknowledge the warm-touchy-feelies I have for this human being. I use to think it scared him more than me. I really did. But that has totally changed. I am more pettrified than I think he could ever be about anything.
I suppose that reflects directly upon my ultimate dammage from my marriage. But the thought of believing a man could actually love, want, need, appreciate, support, belive in...those are things I never saw coming.
But I mother fucking digress, bitches.
So now I am in bed watching one of my Top Five Favorite Movies EVER, High Fidelity, and I am contemplating one of the first Top Five John's character poses to the viewer, "Top Five Breakups". And he names them all and then YELLS, "DO YOU SEE YOUR NAME ON THAT LIST, LAURA?!?!?!?!". It begged me to wonder about my own breakups.
Now, TSMA will tell you I have been around, but, in all honesty, I haven't. I married a man I met when I was 16, started dating at 17 and was with him and faithful until I was almost 28. So, in all honesty...I am limited in the "relationship" aspect of life.
I remember the demise of my first high school boyfriend and I. It was painful, I suppose, but I was 17 and now I just really don't ever even think it made ANY difference in my life, in the aggregate. I still talk to him occasionally (thank you Facebook) and we've had a couple drinks together in our adult lives. He has a kid, I have 3...I love our friendship and would be more heartbroken if that ended than I was over our high school bullshit.
After that, I had my marriage. While it was horribly painful in the time I spent deciding to end it, it was more painful being a part of that...so called...marriage...than when I finally left.
Then there was my first boyfriend following my divorce. Sadly, I never loved that man. I was never...cruel...I was just univolved. It was a rebound relationship. He is a good person with wonderful qualities; caring, giving, loving...it pains me that he really fell for me and I wasn't as into him as he was into me. He was a good man.
So that brings us current. Now we're at TSMA and, as it stands right now? I would be a mother fucking train wreck if that man left me. I suppose this happens, as you gain experience and learn and grorw, but I would have thought, at thirty years old and with a 10year plus marriage, 3 kids...I would have thought I knew what it was like to love a man. I get the love of your children. It is uncompareable and insurmountable. That isn't the love I am talking about. I am talking about loving another person as a human being. And having an intimate relationship with someone. I honestly woul.d have thought I had learned, or felt, at it's absolute depth, that fire. I never realized until TSMA, that I never had.
My soul is on fire with him. My heart was on fire in my marriage. This is so much better. I hate even thinking about it because it gives me chills. Not the stupid butterfly chills teenage idiots have in their endless supply of libido, but chills because my core refusses to recognize and acknowledge the warm-touchy-feelies I have for this human being. I use to think it scared him more than me. I really did. But that has totally changed. I am more pettrified than I think he could ever be about anything.
I suppose that reflects directly upon my ultimate dammage from my marriage. But the thought of believing a man could actually love, want, need, appreciate, support, belive in...those are things I never saw coming.
But I mother fucking digress, bitches.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
Shit That Reminds You Of Me Numero 3...
Trailing on the latest upset in my little world of sports fandom, I think it is time once again to bring you a Shit You Post About Me entry... You know, because you all clearly think so fucking highly of me!
This was posted by a coworker of mine with the message, "Happy Birthday". So, yes, Miss Heather, I am expecting this. August 3rd. Mark your calendar.
"I think I found one of your offsprings"
Yep. Probably mine!
Again, Heather, you clearly know me oh-so-well!!!
'Nuff said.
And now onto the heckling surrounding my loss today...all good humored of course.
Fuckers. Being a Cubs fan has taught me one mother fucking thing...there's always next year.
Keep it classy, bitches.
This was posted by a coworker of mine with the message, "Happy Birthday". So, yes, Miss Heather, I am expecting this. August 3rd. Mark your calendar.
"I think I found one of your offsprings"
Yep. Probably mine!
Again, Heather, you clearly know me oh-so-well!!!
'Nuff said.
And now onto the heckling surrounding my loss today...all good humored of course.
Fuckers. Being a Cubs fan has taught me one mother fucking thing...there's always next year.
Keep it classy, bitches.
Monday, December 8, 2014
I love that every time I log into Blogger and try to start a new post it tells me that I am in need of an update and it may not support my blog content. Sounds about right. Fits the story of my life. Probably a warning sign to stop spewing the garbage that flows so steadily from my lips, but hey! They're pretty lips. I believe even trash is appealing when falling from them.
The thing pressing against the backside of my eyeballs from inside my skull tonight is this: parenting! AND parents! What is one and who gets to be one and who the Hell makes these choices? I'll pose this all to you in the way it flows through my brain, as I do most things, disorganized and possibly offensive. But I certainly am not trying to be and mean zero disrespect to anyone that is a parent because I full heartedly understand the struggle this is. For those that don't know, me I am a single parent of three and while their father is somewhat involved, it would appear in the last few years that raising them, actually R-A-I-S-I-N-G them, has fallen solely on my shoulders. A job I am no more worthy of than I am to raise a kitten to be a cat. But I digress.
o
I have had, through the wonderfully hilarious and often very inspiring medium of social media, been able to watch many INTELLIGENT people fail at this aspect of life. And, all I can contribute to their complete lack of what I consider, basic human instinct, is maturity. And it's pathetic that I've taken a seemingly higher and slightly judgemental positron because if you know me, you know I certainly...well...I was going to say I haven't earned that, but life decided I certainly have, so here I am. Free to JUDGE AND my judgment is this: unless you see a parent physically , intentionally or completely without competence, HURTING their kid...then shut the fuck up. Seriously. You're an amazing asshole.
The thing pressing against the backside of my eyeballs from inside my skull tonight is this: parenting! AND parents! What is one and who gets to be one and who the Hell makes these choices? I'll pose this all to you in the way it flows through my brain, as I do most things, disorganized and possibly offensive. But I certainly am not trying to be and mean zero disrespect to anyone that is a parent because I full heartedly understand the struggle this is. For those that don't know, me I am a single parent of three and while their father is somewhat involved, it would appear in the last few years that raising them, actually R-A-I-S-I-N-G them, has fallen solely on my shoulders. A job I am no more worthy of than I am to raise a kitten to be a cat. But I digress.
o
I have had, through the wonderfully hilarious and often very inspiring medium of social media, been able to watch many INTELLIGENT people fail at this aspect of life. And, all I can contribute to their complete lack of what I consider, basic human instinct, is maturity. And it's pathetic that I've taken a seemingly higher and slightly judgemental positron because if you know me, you know I certainly...well...I was going to say I haven't earned that, but life decided I certainly have, so here I am. Free to JUDGE AND my judgment is this: unless you see a parent physically , intentionally or completely without competence, HURTING their kid...then shut the fuck up. Seriously. You're an amazing asshole.
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