Really. Not even kidding. It can’t possibly be nearing the end of summer. My baby boy cannot possibly be turning 13. 
This one.
My baby girl cannot even be turning 8. 
Its just not right.
Oh, Drama Queen, how I wish you’d wreak havoc on someone else’s life, and leave mine alone!!! From my last post to this, so much has gone on. Lack of time is always an excuse, but never a reason, for the truth is, I could have made time, I just chose not to. If I could keep myself busy, I wouldn’t have to think, and I wouldn’t have to face my own reality. My reality is not the most pleasant at the moment. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there are bright spots. Many of them, in fact. Many more than I can count. I have a job I love, that due to circumstances beyond my control is on shaky ground, but I still have a job. I have children I adore, that adore me, that are incredibly intelligent, and funny, and compassionate, and kind, and I could go on and on. Granted, the pre-pubescent attitude that is emerging in my almost 13 year old could hit the road, but he handles it far better than I did at his age. Maybe it’s a boy thing. I’m not going to second guess it, just be grateful for it. He got his hair cut, so he went from a shaggy dog (
) to a clean cut preppy looking kid (
). My youngest boy turned 5,
and also got a hair cut,
and my daughter is just her beautiful self.
All three of them have the light in their souls that tell the world that they have been protected to the best of their mother’s ability from the harsher side of life, and when it couldn’t be protected from, was sheltered enough by the love I have for them that it didn’t affect them as strongly as it could have. And see, there I go again, playing with the superficialities of my life, and not reaching the core. The core of my current life is hard. Very hard. Due to the rape perpetrated by my ex, my younger two children’s father 6 years ago, I am bleeding from a thousand tiny cuts in my soul. Someday, those cuts will cause me to bleed to death, and lose the me that I have tried to become. I finally had the courage to file a report, because while I find the constant threats from him distasteful, I ignored them, until I could no longer do so. When you tell your child your going to kill their mother, and then said child comes home and tells the mother such, it is no longer an ignorable matter. No longer am I able to pretend to myself that it doesn’t matter, that it is better for myself and my children to let it go. I had to come to realize that I would never be whole, never be emotionally healthy, never be emotionally secure, if I did not take the steps to make myself whole. Thankfully, I have the support in my life to hold me together while I tear down the walls in my heart and memories, the scabs over the still bleeding wounds, and face the nightmares that consume my nights. I can’t say enough thank you’s to him for being there, for loving me despite them, and holding me together. The threats have become bothersome enough I report each one to the police, and hope its enough. In the meantime, I feel as if I am under siege, and that one of these days I am going to open my front door and be blasted. Its almost enough to become agoraphobic, where I am terrified ot leave the house, or to allow anyone else to either. If I could afford, I probably would anyway. I am under such stress that I am unable to eat, or keep anything down that I do manage to choke down, my hair is falling out, and I sleep so sporadically that any sleep I do manage to attain is so overcome by the nightmares and memory flashbacks I am unable to remain in bed, and my man is unable to sleep with me, becuase I am unable to handle his touch in my sleep.
Life is altogether far to complicated to summarize, and I’ve delved far more deeply than I wanted to, yet not deep enough to really face it. I’m not ready to do that.
Have you ever woken up one day, and felt that the world is off kilter? That you are broken in so many ways, that you may never be whole again?
I’ve been drifting through my life, resting on the high points, and pretending the valleys and gorges are not there. I’ve found myself forced to relive some of those low points, in the form of reports and nightmares, and I look back and wonder if I had a choice.
If things had been different, I wouldn’t have two of my three children, never met the man that I am with now, but would I be whole? Would my fractured soul be in one piece, instead of shattered on the floor? I don’t know.
I don’t know if things would be different today if I had missed some of my yesterdays. I try to accept that God has a plan, and never gives more than He knows I can handle, but how much more broken can I become and still survive? I think about people that have it so much worse, because I know my story isn’t unique. There are battered women all over the world, all over my country, all over my town. There are victims and survivors of rape, and there are people that have been touched by murders and any number of other awful things that humanity places on itself.
I was forced by circumstance to make a report I never had any intention of making, when my ex, who threatens to kill me on a regular basis, so much so that I had become numb to it, and ignored it, passed that threat on to me through my 4 year old little boy. My little boy, sweet and innocent and happy, informed me one morning that his daddy has a gun, and is going to shoot me with it. Then he told me that he didn’t want his daddy to shoot me, he didn’t want to go live with daddy all the time.
I don’t know what to do anymore. Its the calm before the storm, in my house, as my phone has been silent, and I have heard nothing from anyone. The longer it stays quiet, the more terrified I become. The more terrified I become, the harder it gets for my relationship to survive this struggle. My pain levels intensify to the point that I am unable to function without medication, and my sleep cycle is disturbed to the point that I am no longer sleeping.
I am trying, so hard, to remain calm, to be my children’s port in this particular storm, and not show my fear to them. Regardless of what their father has done to me, he is their father, and they love him. I don’t want them to know all of the things that have been done.
My man is going to leave me, eventually. He swears he isn’t, that he loves me, and will stand by me, but I am not able to be touched, whereas in the past I have always been very affectionate, I find myself closing myself off. I am preparing for the eventual loss of his steadiness, and his love. It is only a matter of time. I pray that I am wrong, and that we are able to make it through this, as we have made it through so many other things.
I find that its not the world that is off-kilter, it is me, and I don’t know how to fix it, or make it go back to normal. I’m afraid it never will. I’m afraid I will never be whole again, or that the shattered pieces of myself will ever be found. I’m afraid that I don’t know who I am anymore, that my children will grow up and be disappointed that I was their mother.
I am so emotionally scarred, I have a hard time believing that the scars don’t show on the outside, that someone can’t look at me and see that I am broken.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what to say anymore.
Whoever created “Labor Day” obviously did not take into consideration parenting. On this day of rest, I cleaned a kitchen, did laundry, provided meals, grocery shopped, baked an apple pie, had a steak dinner complete with baked potatoes and salad, shrimp, mushrooms, and onions, did more dishes, bathed a couple children, and still have more dishes to do. I ran out of space in the drainer.
We had friends over for dinner, for the last summer vacation day celebration. It was fun, as it usually is, but the day itself was so exhausting I had a hard time enjoying it. My buddy Jay from work came over as well, for dinner, which was nice. The kids played frisbee, even my broken child, and then we all ate like hogs.
Dessert was a homemade apple pie, as promised. The crust itself was flaky, but kind of flavorless. I’m not sure how to change that without changing the consistency of the dough, I’ll have to do some experimentation. Well, I cant say it was flavorless~ it tasted of the sweet cream butter and flour I used to make the dough, haha! It was good though, overall. I’ll update this post with a picture as soon as I get time to upload the pictures to my computer.
Overall, it was a good day, albeit busy. I guess there really is no rest for the weary, or the wicked. Woe is me
Id have more pictures but the batteries died in my camera, and out of the entire arsenal of rechargeable batteries available, not a single one was charged.
Today was a long long day. Cleaned my kitchen until the sink pipe broke, but they fixed that. Cleaned the bathrooms, cleaned the bedrooms, cleaned the living room, and did a ton of laundry. Then I baked.
I did what?! Baked, yes, Baked. I made chocolate chip cookies ( homemade) and blueberry muffins ( from a box, I cheated and am completely okay with it LOL). Then I made stuffed meatballs. Also homemade. Except for the cheese. That came out of a bag. I didnt even shred it myself. And the burger. I bought that at wallyworld. I’m not out processing my own cows. I’m not that country.
Next weekend, we are making a pie of some sort, using http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2011/09/pams-pie-tutorial/ this recipe for crust. If nothing else, it should be an adventure.
Thursday, my 12 year old managed to break his arm. Something about a jump and a turn in the air..I’m not entirely sure how it worked. All I know is he has a buckle greenstick fracture in both of the bones in his left forearm and one is in the growth plate. Should find out on Tuesday if he needs surgery or just can be casted. We are hoping for casting.
I have no pictures of this day, I was to busy to find the camera. Here’s a random picture thats just for fun:
How do you resist that face?!
OH and I completely forgot. Shannon lost her other front tooth!
Shes so beautiful, it slays me.
My niece was born as well. I’m waiting for good pictures to post them of her, she is way to far away for me ot just pop over and take a picture.
Anyway. I’m going to bed. It was a long long day.
Life has been far to busy and far to complicated to find time to blog lately. Between my getting a new job a the beginning of the month, and TJ getting a job, and kids, and everything else in between, there is just no end to the busy-ness that has become my life. I dont even know where to begin.
Okay so the picture has absolutely nothing to do with anything in this post, but its a super cute picture and I couldn’t resist.
This one either. But again, its super cute and I couldnt resist. Especially with my stepson pickin his buttcrack in the background. I should edit it out, but really, it shows me that hes at home. Who doesn’t pick their buttcrack at home? If you tell me you don’t, and have never done it, I’ll call you out as a liar. Its like people who tell me they have never picked their nose. LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE!!! Kleenex doesn’t get the crunchies. Sorry:)
You’d think I caught him in the act of something. Really, I have no idea what he was doing with all the chalk. This is what summer looks like at our house.
Or maybe its this. I’m not really sure.
I am sure that summer is almost over, and school is about to begin. The leaves are already changing, and the nights have gotten cool. I wasn’t quite ready for that yet, seems like I had finally adjusted to the warmth. To soon I’ll have pictures of the snowdrifts to share. Oh JOY! NOT. I hate the cold. Last year I attempted to learn to ski.
It didn’t go well. This year I promised this kid:
I’d learn to snowboard. I’m going to be broken before christmas. Bet me.
In other news:
Today, i got up at the buttcrack of dawn. Well, 8 am. So not really. But it felt like it!!!! I went to work, spent 9 hours there, came home, picked up my kids from my friend’s house, got them home, got a call to bring TJ lunch, went and picked up his lunch, bought it to him at work, got back home and got the kids in bed, then got a call to go back and pick him up from work becuase he hurt his shoulder two days ago and needed to ice it and get some meds. So i went back and picked him up. Then i got home, scrubbed my kitchen floor on my hands and knees, and shampooed carpets. Its now 1215 and I should be in bed instead of waiting for the dryer to finish running so I can change over laundry. Instead of sitting on my computer attempting to remember how to blog:P
I found a bunch of likes on my poetry today in my inbox, that made me grin big huge grins. Thanks for those of you that took the time to read it, and like it! I do appreciate it!
I promise to try and be better about writing here, for those of you that have found your way to my corner of the web. I have many stories to tell, and most of them are even true stories of my reality!
I want to be the one you come home to,
the one to kiss away your tears.
The one you turn to in the night,
the one that eases all your fears.
I want to be the one you hold tight to your chest.
the one to take the pain away.
I want to be the one to make you feel alive,
and stand beside you every day.
Words can be weapons,
they cut like a knife.
Surgical steel,
Ending all life.
Thrown with no care,
tossed out in anger.
Lost in my temper,
not seeing the danger.
They cut so deep,
and leave permanent scars.
Cant mend the cracks,
cant cut the bars.
The walls go up,
the windows go down.
Can’t see in,
nobody around.
Trapped in the prison
emotion the warden.
Some things don’t change. Others do. There is no telling what will, and what wont.
I keep thinking about things, and this last argument, and I understand your disappointed that my life isn’t everything you hoped it would be for me, as a child. I understand this as I look at my children, and hope their lives are so much more than what they have. Dont get me wrong, my kids have a great life. They do. They have stuff. Lots of stuff. Lots of expensive stuff that they HAD TO HAVE or the world was going to end stuff. They don’t lack for food, for clothing, for toys, or junk. They have parents that love them unconditionally, that push them to be the best that they can be, and to support them as they strive for that personal best. They have parents that show up for every school event ever created, and allow them to experiment with activities that they want to try. They have parents that are THERE. In every sense of the word.
What I dont understand is how you don’t see that maybe my life isn’t everything *I* hoped it would be. I didn’t hope to be 30 years old, raising 4 children, fighting with co-parents. I didn’t hope to be 30 years old and not finished with college. I didn’t ask to be 30 years old and have fibromyalgia, that while YOU think its all in my head, cripples me in a lot of ways that I wish it didn’t. I don’t always have the energy to swim with my children, even though I take them. I don’t always have the energy for bike rides and walks around the block that gets bigger with every footstep. I don’t always have the energy to be as involved as I want to be. Why do you think there are so many pictures? I can’t always be in the middle of things, but I’m always on the outside, looking in, and taking pictures. I don’t understand how you can’t see that every day is a battle for survival, that every day its a struggle to get up, to function, to get dressed, to go to work, to provide for my children. But at the end of the day? My kids KNOW I’m there. My kids KNOW that they can count on me, that no matter what, I will be there. How come you can’t see that?
You told me once I should give up, and give my children away, and just disappear. It pissed me off, a lot, and hurt, a lot. That is one of those things I will never forget. But you know, nobody asks to be homeless. Nobody wakes up and says to themselves ” Oh it seems like a good day to lose my job, lose my home, and lose myself”, and wanders off into the sunset. Nobody asks to be someone else’s punching bag. No woman I know ever wakes up and says ” Oh you know, I think today is a great day to get punched in the mouth, and raped from behind, so I can spend the night in the ER getting my rectum sewed back together.” But you don’t see that either.
You don’t see how far I’ve come, only how far I have left to go. You don’t see that I have rebuilt my life, and done everything in my power to mitigate the damage to my children. You don’t see the panic attacks, and the constant anxiety that maybe today is the day everything falls apart again. That maybe today my best just isn’t going to be good enough. You don’t see that every single day is a struggle.
You don’t like the man in my life. You think hes rude, and a jerk, and an asshole, and any other derogatory remark you can think up. You don’t see the man that holds me when I cry, that stands up for my children, even against you. You don’t see the man my children run to in the middle of the night. You don’t see the man that keeps my house, that loves my children unconditionally, that supports them in their endeavors. You don’t see that. You won’t see that. You won’t, or can’t, look past the superficial and see the man beneath.
I just needed to get some of this out. Maybe it will make you think. I don’t know. I do know that I’m tired of caring, that I’m tired of feeling guilty. I’m tired of never being quite good enough for you.
I’m good enough for me. I’m good enough for my children. And my man takes me as I am, and tells me I am perfect for him in all my imperfection. At the end of the day, I have to look myself in the mirror.
I’m okay with that.
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