where did all this come from?

At the risk of sounding like a sap.... I'm gonna get a little sappy.

With all the crap that's going on with STBE and the children and refinancing of mortgages and a familial divorce of sorts all happening at once, there's this incredible calm I have, dare I call it happiness, in my heart. Mind you I cry most days at least once, I probably hug my children a little too hard, and that one cigarette a day habit has grown into a few more than one. But I digress. Would you think that my enjoying some happiness at this juncture is reckless? Thoughts, opinions, please tell me...

Actually, even if you do think it's reckless, keep it to yourself. I deserve a little sunshine and blue sky, I'll take whatever I can get.

Let me explain. I have never, ever, felt love like this before. It's the kind of love that makes me want to get on my knees and pray and be grateful and give thanks... and believe me I'm not exactly in the first pew at church on Sundays. For all that I've been through, all that I've experienced in this life, I have something now that makes me want to love someone else with my whole heart and my whole soul. Something that makes me want to have Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter and every holiday ay my house. Something that makes me want to love someone like they've never been loved before either. Told you it'd get sappy.

Love is a give and take and sure, you get what you give. But the boundless, astounding, intense, loving adoration and commitment that I have gotten.... OMG. Literally, sometimes I have to sit down. I have low blood pressure, and when I'm with him I've been known to swoon. hahaha. I think I've mentioned here about how much I value showing someone what you mean, what you feel, as opposed to just telling. The things I've seen! The changes in him, the opening up, the visions for a shared future, the way he holds me, looks me in the eyes and sees me, how he brushes my hair and gives me the last best bite of a sandwich (I know, I'm nuts). How he's gotten on his knees and held my hands and professed his heart. How he's told his daughter, his greatest and most fiercely protected gift, that we're real and we're happening and that we're gonna be a family. Well, that's just some of it.

When I graduated from grad school and the Dean of my rather chi-chi University called my name, my whole name, I almost passed out. Right then and there. I held my composure best I could, but still cried like a baby to go and collect that diploma and then just about kissed said Dean on the mouth before I practically picked him and swung him around. I couldn't believe it was ME they were calling. ME.

Well, now, I am humbled and astounded that it's me who's the object of all this fabulous true blue, love you like no one's business adoration. He loves me! Good God, HE LOVES ME.

And the best part, is that I am so freaking crazy in love with him too. In love with him for how he loves me, how he's gonna love my children, how he wants to teach them to hit baseballs and catch softballs and throw footballs and fish and swim and boogieboard. How he wants to be a little league coach. How he wants to read my daughter stories at night. Dance with her. How he wants to decorate my house for Christmas. How he wants to climb on the roof and stomp around so the kids think the reindeer have landed. How he wants to make forts out of blankets and watch movies in bed with all the kids and the dogs. How he wants to have food fights and tickle time and walk with us on the beach in winter.

How he wants to marry me. Make me his wife. Be my husband. Just as soon as we can. Not a moment waiting longer.

How can I help from holding him and loving him and believing in us and where we're going. It's like a lifeline that's pulling me out of quicksand. The lifeline that makes getting through all the muck and rain and hail and sleet so worthwhile.

The other day, a particularly rough day, he held me to close and I was crying. I let go of the painful stuff for a moment, all the uncertainties and anxieties about the signing of papers and fighting and custody and bunkbeds and child support, and just allowed myself to melt into him. At that moment, I knew. Being there, in his arms and having all that we do- as limited as it has to be for the time being- well, that makes the uncertainties and anxiety manageable. At the end of the day, it comes down to that place where we're going. The place where I and he can melt into each other and say without doubt, there's blue skies ahead for us.

Thanks. Blue. God speed.

Get your own shoes...

I wrote this a few months ago and actually posted it on another blog. I wanted to post it here because I really want it to be a part of BSA.

Since we were little girls far too young to understand the real meaning of love, we’ve been fed a silly notion of true love. You know it: the dreamy stuff, the kind in fairy tales, where everyone lives happily ever after with birdies flying around their heads in the morning? Where the prince shows up with the most amazing pair of shoes you’ve ever seen. Nonsense. Utter ridiculousness. Sure, it sells books and videos to five year olds, but that sort of thing just ain’t out there. There is no ideal. Just the same way there is no perfect person.

Love exists in the world, in relationships, in the hope (and I don’t say that lightly) that perhaps it will find its most compatible counterpart in another. Call me jaded, but the likelihood of the love counterparts finding each other are slim to none. Does it happen? Can it happen? Sure. But there’s a leap of faith necessary. It doesn’t come easy and you have to take everything you know, everything that’s comfortable and disturbing, everything you’re afraid of and everything you dream about, you’ve got to take it and toss it – maybe never to see it again. If you win, you win big. But chances are (sorry to burst bubbles) you won’t. What sucks the most is when you think you’ve had it, or you’ve been convincing yourself you’ve had it, and then one day, Poof!, you realize you’ve been dreadfully wrong. That hurts. Hurts you of course, but really wounds the object of your formerly perceived affection. That’s life. Brush yourself off. Keep your head up.

Now before you think I’m all gloom and doom, there is some good to speak of. Yes, the odds are against you, but I’m one who always liked a challenge. If, and remember that if is a big word, you find it, you will be living in a way few have been lucky enough to appreciate. I don’t want to be sappy, but true love is an all encompassing, full body, life affirming, makes-you-believe-in-god experience. It’s when you experience love with all your senses. You can smell your love on your skin long after you’ve parted, you can taste their passion, you can hear the beat of their heart or a sigh of relief after too long apart, you can feel their joy, you can see their soul.

I guess to bring this whole thing together, I need to point out that if true love is what you’re after you can’t just sit back and wait for it to ride up a horse. You’ve got to risk everything. Throw it all away and leave yourself bare. Exposed. Scary? Sure. Dangerous? You’re not swimming with piranas. It depends how much you value love.  Whether you believe in it, want it, are willing to risk your whole life for a chance at living a little. If I’m alive, I want to be living. Just think: if you win, you win big. Screw the princess and the frog and the horse and the shoes. Get your own damn shoes. Make them stilettos. Find love. And if you do, fight like hell to keep it.

Where do we go from here...

What a weekend. I feel like I've been dragged behind a cop car on a high speed chase.
I wrote about the kids' reaction to their daddy time, but I suppose I didn't say much about my reaction to their reaction. Here's where I should insert an audio clip of me screaming like a mental patient. I won't. Don't wanna blow anyone's speakers.

We all define ourselves in one way or another. The definitions are fluid over time, but at some point, for those of us who are mothers, we become someone's mama. When that happens, all the other definitions sort of cease to carry any significant weight. At least that's what happened to me. I am a lot of things, but I am their mother foremost. It's who I am. I think a mother is like slice of pizza. She's the base, the foundation, onto which everything, mushrooms, dreams, pepperoni, aspirations, gets placed. I love pizza.

So, when those sweet little brats came home and happily announced that they didn't want to live in this house anymore but instead preferred the house with the bunkbeds, perhaps you can understand my wrath. Sure, they are kids. And lets face it, what four or six year olds do you know that wouldn't be impressed by a few car loads (mini sized carloads!) of new toys and someone lavishing attention upon them who, frankly, never even wiped their butts before? Damn, someone buys me a coffee and I'm thrilled, so imagine what was happening in their heads...

So where do we go from here? Let them have their bunkbeds and new toys and the attention. I have a sneaking suspicion, and a few of you have assured me of this as well (yes, thanks Ty and thanks Fumbling) that this will all fade. What they had this weekend was a Disney-esque Christmas extravaganza. A honeymoon, if you will. Honeymoons don't last and eventually, you have to go home. Shit, sometimes honeymoons aren't so honey-moony.

My mom is concerned. About whether I can handle them leaving me on alternate weekends. If I can handle not being able to know what's happening. If I can not tuck them in at night. I explained that these things aren't easy, that this is only just the beginning, that I'm scared and angry and anxious and pissed off and mad... but what's the alternative? Change my mind? Ha! That's a good one. No, this is the way it's going to be. Life is a highway, and I have to keep on driving. I have to drive on cruise control all night long and love those kids like no one's business. Even when they're asking for someone I know is playing golf for an audience.

Mom also said that I needed to find strength. "Find strength wherever you can, find the strength to get you through this," she said. I know just where to find my strength. There's a surplus of strength waiting for me and hugs and kisses and a shoulder to cry on and get all boogery, too. There's love and devotion and belief in that place. He's driving too. We're driving together and not stopping until we get there.
Thanks, Blue.

Trust

A blindfold, around my eyes

One foot in front of the other

Across the tight rope, there’s no net

I walk, not blind

Steady, carefully measured steps

You’re there, on the ground

Guiding, speaking softly, assuring me

I fear falling less than I do not walking

I trust you, I have faith in me

I extend my hands, offer my heart

Don’t let me down

I’ve shown you my soul

Protect me, believe in me

I walk, not blind

I will not fall

Silent night

No. Not as in Christmas. One day after Thanksgiving and they were playing Christmas music in Stop and Shop. I almost started throwing juice boxes. Then I started to cry and left without my eggs or my little guy's vanilla soy milk.

It's silent in my house. The kids are with their father. Save for a few times that I can count on one hand, I always kiss them goodnight before they close their eyes. I'm not tucking them in tonight. You know those dreams where you wake up in a panic thinking you left the house without your clothes on? That's what this is like. Feeling like you forgot to do something major. Feeling like something is missing. Three major things are missing.

I spoke to them. The boys told me that daddy bought them so many new toys. That they had bunk beds with a  ladder. My daughter asked when I was coming. I tried to sound excited about the new wii games, the Toy Story sheets, all the stuff.... But inside I was seething that he was trying to buy them. I was seething and yearning for the smell of their hair, my little guy's feet curled up against my stomach when he falls asleep.

This is divorce. Yes. The reality. I'm not mad, Not regretful. No, I'm just a little blindsided and feeling like I'm going through withdrawals, or having a craving. So intense. I miss them so much.

The anger I have is on my heart. Anger partially aimed at myself for hiding my true feelings for so long. Anger about enabling a behavior in someone. Anger at letting someone take advantage. Anger for settling for someone who didn't love me right. Anger for being made to feel so alone for so long. Anger for being weak and pathetic instead of strong and resolute.

I suppose that anger with myself will fade. Time passes and eventually these experiences, my marriage, well I suppose it all turns into history. I've turned the page. The ink is almost dry.

STBE and his attorney have my documents, my settlement agreements. Those endless pages of legalese await signatures. The lines with our names under them straight and stark in black ink against the white pages. I think I need a blue pen. For sure, Blue.

Sleep babies. Mama is keeping watch. I love you like no one else. Touch your hearts. Sweet dreams.

There's a reason...

Yesterday I was taking down my Halloween decorations. I balanced precariously on the porch railing in my best three inch heeled boots and took down the ghosts that had been blowing in the breeze, I unplugged the electric pumpkins, tossed the real ones in the woods to decompose,  unearthed the tombstones, and decided to let the silver sparkle skeleton I called skinny finally get some rest for those weary bones. Bye fellas, hang in the basement with the Easter Bunny stuff until next year, ok?

So, as I was balancing so gracefully there on the ledge in my Prada's, praying not to fall face first into the bushes, a car approached. Inside, a dear, sweet, treasured friend. Yay. I needed company, someone to share  peanut butter and jelly on english muffins with, someone to smile with, someone to vent with. "Here, you carry the ghosts. Let's go to the basement, we can count his Converse sneakers, It'll be fun." She made me take a picture of all 18 pairs, lined up like little Chuck Taylor soldiers. haha

We haven't known each other long. Our kids brought us together and it is her contention that had it not been for the kids we likely wouldn't have been friends. I'm not so sure, but I will get to that later. We've known of each other for a little over a year, and we've been friends since probably last April or May. We're both in shit up to out ear lobes, very different shit varieties, but hey.. shit is shit. Let's call her Ty.

She came in the house clearly on a big dose of mojo. I always know this when she asks to bum a cigarette. She said that she had a revelation of sorts. That she had figured things out for us. Hmm... was there a wand in her clown car? (btw, she has a little car, and she has three kids and all their stuff, and she manages to transport them everywhere: the beach, splish splash, 16 hours to Canada, ALL WITHOUT A DVD....a domestic goddess, for sure!)

She said that we had found each other, that we had been sent to each other, for a specific purpose. Each of us with our shit raining down, together we found some peace in the eye of that storm. We have cried together, she's been involved in my dangerous liasons (her kids think Blue is my dentist), I've changed her daughter's diapers and carried that little girl two miles in my arms, her husband has given endless piggy backs to my boys, her mom made chicken pot pie and I ate it. And now, just as the squatter in my basement is about to leave (PRAY! GOD SPEED!), Ty is leaving too. Packing up the clown car and heading west. Just when my life is balancing out and I'm able to breathe a little easier, I'm gonna be watching tail lights. All of this I ironically learned just before I was headed to the attorneys office to finalize the settlement agreement. I met the lawyer in tears, he asked if I was reconsidering. I laughed in his face and then grabbed him by his shoulders and bawled... my closest friend here is leaving.

Her leaving will mark the end of the her shit storm and the beginning of the next chapter for her and her family. The irony in the timing is so sad.

"2011 is gonna be our year," she said pumping her fist and reminding me of Tony Robbins. "We suffered enough and look, the wind is shifting and things are changing. He's leaving, you'll be free and so much more at ease...  and me and the fam are finally gonna get out of here." That's what she said, but what I heard was more like, "He's leaving. I'm going. You stay."

Shit, Ty. Just when we were gonna get a chance to really have fun. Are we only meant to be stormy forecast friends? Can we not be fair weather friends too? Isn't it usually the other way around? People only want to be your friend when things are good, not in times of trouble?

She thinks that had it not been for the cosmic pull that god put in place that propelled us together, we'd never be friends. That we're unlikely friends. She says I'm a Nassau County girl (though she has converted me to a 631 area code appreciator) , and she's from Suffolk. She's got a cat that pees on her, and I wash her sweaters. She eats cherry turnovers on Tuesday afternoons, I drink diet coke and frozen yogurt with sugar in it and think I'm living large. To be fair, she's had a hand in the transformation of Grace. We baked pies, apple and pumpkin, and then she handed me a fork and we ate. I broke my full fat dairy virginity with her over toasted almond gelato. Her facebook picture is one I took of her. Her hair blowing in the breeze at the beach. She's adopted my favorite retort, "YOU'RE KIDDING ME, RIGHT?".

Again I say, shit Ty. I know you have to go. I want you to go and live out your Motor City dreams. But the selfish side of me wants you to stay with me. So we can go to the movies and eat m&m's for dinner, so we can drag the kids to diners throughout Suffolk county, we have so many more pies to bake and pots of soup to cook. My god, I don't know how to get to the barber in Northport without you.

But I will tell you this. I stand strong in so many ways because of you. And when you leave I will be crying huge, wet, gum ball-sized tears (like I'm doing now).... because I will miss you so desperately. But inside, past the wet cheeks and all that, I will be smiling so broadly for you, for me, for us, that we got past the storm, weathered it together and are headed both of us for blue skies.

I need tissues.

The games we play...

I assume no responsibility for what follows. Its really smart and it comes directly to you from a text sent to me from a dear, dear friend. Her words reassured me. This gave me pause. Brought me back to one of my favorite "m.o.'s" from grad school... Show me, don't tell me. (and to think that this friend enjoys slow gin fizz's!?)

She said...
"It's easy being the sideline quarterback, but another thing entirely being the guy everyone is gunning after on the field. The guys on the sidelines are watching. You wanna play the game. You want to win. Against a team that doesn't loose. On their home field."

Let them say what they want about stats and what they believe are past performances. I know who's playing for me. A hundred people can talk and tell me a hundred different things, but there is one that is showing me what i am looking for. I pray that one day (and I realize all this will take time) the sideline quarterbacks see what I see.

Pray with me too.

what a day

Today was one of those perfectly perfect kind of days.

The leaves were in all their colorful glory; reds and yellows and oranges, and the way they contrasted against the blue sky, it's was a whole palette of color exploding in front of me.

The weather was outstanding today here where I live. Unseasonably warm for the end of October. The perfect day for a tee shirt, my favorite jeans and some chic ballet slippers. A ponytail, sunglasses. All set.

Blue and I had planned on disappearing for a while. You know, kind of stop the clock, steal a few moments, forget about the proverbial storm outside. But frankly, it was too nice to play inside.

We took a drive. Someplace remote, far enough off the beaten path that we knew we wouldn't see anyone we knew. We went to the next county, drove way down through town to a little beach park on the bay. I packed lunch. A blanket. Manhattan Special espresso soda.

One of the things that tends to be so frustrating for us is the fact that we can never really do "normal" stuff. You know, grab a slice of pizza, go to a movie, linger over coffee at the bakery up the road, etc. For now, and believe me I hate this, we have to do a lot of undercover subterfuge. Frankly it sucks. Meeting up in parking lots, hiding, driving around with one eye in the rearview at all times, ugh. I realize that if this is what we want, then this is the way it has to be, at least for the time being. It feels dishonest at times and there are days I feel like an undercover operative on surveillance, or maybe I'm the one under surveillance... I don't know.  Today wasn't like that. It was real and so fabulously, wonderfully "live out loud" normal that I almost cried.

We walked along the beach. Something so simple, yet it has been something that he and I have fantasized about for so long. We skipped rocks, dug our toes in the sand, watched kids playing on swings. There was a dock at the far end of the beach. Deserted and partially falling apart, we walked out to where it was safe and spread out the blanket. We dangled our legs over the side, gazed across the bay at the amazing houses on the shore, watched ail boats and took it all in. Silly as it may sound, we couldn't believe that there we were, under that great big blue sky together.

Lunch:
Farfalle with sundried tomatoes and mozzarella cheese
Grilled chicken on whole wheat baguette with tapenade, grilled zucchini and goats cheese
Grapes
Biscotti and baci

He took a bite and held out the sandwich to me. Fed me pasta. Told me he loves when I eat. He fed me some more.  I couldn't get enough of the setting or what we were eating. The seagulls eventually moved in to see what was on the menu but by then there was nothing left.

After we ate, I laid back and put my head on his lap. He ran his hands through my hair and traced his fingers across my eyebrows. That feeling, his hand son my face, feeling his warmth next to me, his face framed by the sky above, JUST BEING THERE  WITH HIM, there was nothing more that either of us could have asked for.

We all get caught up in the "doing" of things, when really what we need to focus on is being. Being together, someplace doesn't matter where, taking everything around you in, enjoying and living in that moment. Wow. I felt so alive. So did he. It was one of those days that we'd been waiting for, that we really needed.

We didn't do anything. We just were. It's days like these that make all the difference.
Thank you Blue.

Buying Christmas

A little update about what he wants...

A big hunk of change. In his name. Lump sum. Payable immediately at time of divorce (or as Daddy-O wants, separation... yeah right, screw it)

No child support (but he will be extracurricular activities...and let me tell you my kids are gonna be doing extra extra extracurricular activities).

The usual visitation, with alternate weekends, a dinner during the week, split vacations.

It's crap. Total crap. But it seems that this is coming to my buying my freedom.  Believe me, I will pay, happily. There's just one thing. He wants to alternate Christmas. And I want to split Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. He's not buying it.

I might have to buy myself Christmas. Throw him more money.

Pathetic bastard. Where he comes from they eat smoked salmon and caviar on Christmas Eve and sit around scratching off the scratch-off games his equally pathetic mother gives as presents. The tree makes Charlie Brown's look like it should be in Rockefeller Center.

What the hell am I gonna do?

You walked in to the party....

So, the wedding was  lovely. My sister was beautiful, her groom smitten (they always start out that way), food divine, flowers abundant... you know the drill. Oh, and pink champagne. Yum. They also had this stuff called fregola, wild strawberry liquor, that they served with prosecco. Must say, a little liquid courage never hurt.

But before I let you know how it went with Daddy-O and stbe, let me tell you about the day leading up...

The morning of the wedding I had been out biking. I am training for a road race in Tucson and I was trying to do 50 miles. I'm moderately paranoid that me and my bike are gonna get our asses kicked in the desert. Finding the time to go on 3 to 4 hour training rides when the sun only rises at 7am, you have three kids, are desperately trying to get divorced, are desperately trying to get your family off your back and would like to sneak in a little blue sky times isn's always so easy. But anyways, Saturday morning I was out there, cruising along, freezing my butt off and singing to Snow Patrol, Blue October and Carly Simon (You're so Vain, Nobody does it Better). At mile 40 I decided it was time for water. Only issue was my bike cleat had no intention of letting go of the pedal. I resisted the urge to panic, and forced myself out by throwing all my weight on the pedal. Me and the bike tipped over, but I was safe, albeit a little flustered. Ok, so water and time to bang out the last 10 miles. Except that my cleat would click back into the pedal and after a quarter mile or so of trying to ride without being clipped  in, I felt the one thing all cyclists dread... a blown chain. And i was about three miles from my car. I considered walking to the car. Clearly not in the cleats since that would be worse than walking in ski boots. I thought about walking in socks, but then I feared ramifications for my stilettos later on that night. There was no one I could call for help (stbe? duh! mom and dad? double duh! blue? he was a working kinda far away...) What could I do? I waited, and waited and waited... and then a minivan came up the road. And I thumbed it back to my car. Ugh. Only me. Next time I'm gonna train for a massage marathon in the safety of my own bedroom.

So I finally got back home and it was all ok. The kiddies were all worried about me. Stbe was worried about  his wana be rock star outfit. My daughter and I went to get my hair and 'do done. I must say, a little pressed powder and eyeliner do a girl wonders and after an hour or so and a $100 I was looking damn fine. My dress was fabulous. Really truly fabulous. LBD by Michael Kors. Fitted in all the right places, cinched waist, low back and with four inch leopard platforms, it was just the thing to make a certain rather unwelcome wedding guest choke on his champagne. Freaking fregola.

He was there naturally. Another example of his lack of balls and backbone. Woops, i digress. He ignored me (or at least pretended to, because let's face it, in that dress and those shoes.... honey he'd have to be having brain surgery to not have noticed). He chatted with Daddy-O. I heard a couple of hoots from their direction. When it was time for the ceremony he hid behind a pillar on the porch. When it was over, he and Dad parted with fanfare. Then he left. To go to a concert. I told you he's a wanna be rock star.

The night was fine and I aligned myself with my sweetheart of a niece, the most fabulous gay hairdresser, and at times my sisters. I danced (I Will Survive... a propos, given the almost six divorces between me and my four sisters), drank champagne and tried to avoid any kind of confrontation with my brothers or Daddy-O.

That is until Daddy-O came and asked me to dance. At mom's bidding naturally. So we strolled off to the dance floor and the singer asked what I wanted to hear. Dad told the singer to make it good since we both actually hated each other and were just dancing for proprietary sake. "Oh, then, in that case there's only one song," I said, "You're so Vain, Carly Simon."

Just perfect.

wedding crashers

My sister is getting married tomorrow. Round three. Good for her. She's amassed more carats in her search for Mr Right than most small town jewelry stores will ever stock in their cases. Diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, combinations thereof... it's all very impressive and, frankly, very sad. But that's not what this post is about. Like my fabulous college friend recently said, it's all about me. Haha.

Right. So today I went and got the brows waxed, nails done, yada yada. thinking about getting the 'do done, but not sure yet. Then tonight (after me and the munchkins made chocolate chip cookies and went on a ice cream run) the phone rang. I cringe when I see one of five things on my blackberry screen: the little ones' school, the big one's school, either of my two brothers, or my dad (stbe doesn't rock my boat anymore. i just hit ignore). It was dad. Hip hip hooray.

me: Hiya, Daddy. How are you?
no answer

him: How are the children?

me: ooh fine just great we just had warm cookies and ice cream

him: I'd appreciate it if stbe is at the wedding tomorrow

me: excuse me?

him: what don't you understand? Is that a problem, if i invite him?

me: well  it kinda is a problem, you know, seeing as we're getting a divorce and he's currently seeking a lump sum payout to the tune of mid-high six figures.

him: well, he's not in his country (!) and afterall, he is part of my family (!) and so long he is in my country (!), he's like my son. So, I want him there.

me: I'm really sorry, but do you have any idea about how I'm going to feel?

him: well, no one understands you, no one supports what you're doing, so understanding you and your feelings, I'm not gonna try to understand you.

So, there you go. So much for the brow wax.

Why must my own father be so insensitive and why, after all the stbe has shown of himself, is he so enamored? Maybe they should get married. Another friend suggested that stbe be my dad's personal assistant.

So I ask, now what?
I'm hoping that stbe realizes that showing up make him look like even more of a fool and an ass. But behaving like a man isn't something he does well.

Please, readers... insight, advice, potions or spells, whatever.

poetry of motion, while I'm in motion

I left at dawn

Pulled up anchor on my trusting boat

Pushed away from the uncertainty of that old dock

Unforgiving, splintered, uneven, broken

I set my course headed for the rising sun

My world is not flat

Distance and perspective can be hard to judge

My destination hidden far beyond the horizon

For days my boat tossed in the waves

I wasn’t sad when the old mooring vanished

Alone I was between points on a map

Unchartered, uncertain, open water

They begged me not to go

There was no stopping me

Water, water everywhere

I turned my gaze to Heaven

The stars as my beacons

They would not lead me astray

Nights of stars, nights of bleak blackness

Nights of longing

Nights of rain

At last a new morning dawned

There beyond the waves and clouds

In the farthest reaches of the horizon

I saw my safe harbor waiting

No longer lost between two points

I put one forever behind me

Never looked back

Under full sail my boat carried me home

Some poetry, and a little sap you might think...

 Peace

In the quiet

Just the rain on the roof

Children dreaming across the hall

Safe, loved

I’m not afraid of the dark

Not afraid of anything

Secure in knowing I am capable

My shoulders strong

My chest filled with life

My heart filled with love

My head clear, a decision made

I raise my face to Heaven

Close my eyes and pray

Keep me safe, loved

compatible beyond understanding

never thought it could exist

didn’t believe in  soul connections

stayed for too long trying to acquiesce

jaded, afraid, disbelieving

the seasons change and suddenly

life comes pouring back in

a deluge of rain pouring down

all that remained was the illusion

the April sun changed all that

the unmistakable smell of spring

promising, fresh and new

light reflecting through the new leaves

the ease of falling into his arms

you close your eyes and start to believe

faith in a connection

believing in another soul

no more rain

Silent secrets, the understanding in your eyes

So many words we can’t say out loud

But every last one totally understood

A sigh that speaks volumes

A kiss that tells the story of a life not yet lived

All of these words to say

The ones we want to sing

You hear me before I speak

You understand before I express my heart, my grief

You know, you’ve known, you knew

Yet many years have passed without words written

I have cried them, I have shouted, words like cold rain

I said them so simply, emptied my heart

All that time never heard

Imagine my shock when you read my sad face

My whole story unfolding before I began

Days into decades, lost time, broken dreams

I want to be heard, listen you’ll see

Listen to my voice, hear my heart speak

We’re whispering at night

About dreams and strong voices

Silent secrets

incredible egg

I was singing nursery rhymes with the kiddies and we came to Humpty Dumpty.

Poor thing. Had a big fall. Was it a change in his life? Did he feel low self worth because he wasn't a brown organic egg? Was he afraid of being made into an egg white omelet? He fell, and for whatever reason he was relying on some king and his horses to put him back together again. Silly egg.

Big fall, great fall... whatever you want to call it, the big guy was shattered.

It got me thinking. First off all, just because you fall, doesn't mean you won't get up. Of course, you might have some scuffs and bruises, a chip or two in the old shell, but falling down sometimes means that you were up too high to begin with. What the hell were you doing on that wall? Why wasn't someone there with you, why wasn't someone on the ground? Second, if you (or me or Humpty) are going to rely on someone to put you back together again, then honey you better start walking around in a padded suit and helmet. No one can put you back together but you. That's our self-worth responsibility. To take care of yourself, and have enough faith in yourself to know that you're the one who's best going to take care of you.

So, why am I sitting here pontificating on the most bio-available source of protein (btw I studied nutrition in college). Yeah, I fell off the wall. I was up too high. Precariously perched. No one sitting nearby, no one on the ground. When I fell off that wall, something amazing happened... my feet landed on the ground. I got a little abrasion on the elbow, skinned the knee, cracked a tooth and did a number on my knuckles. My Prada boots got all scuffed. Damnit. There was blood lost, maybe I cried a little, but I stuck the landing.

Now listen. Carefully. I want undoubtable unconditional love around me, and there's no way in hell I'm getting back on the wall. I look to my friends (you know who you are) for support, compassion and a bit of a reality check every so often (not to mention snacks like pie and proschiutto, perhaps some falafel). I look to Blue for strength, for staying power, for the unwavering reassurance that it'll all work out (already found out that mom is a no fly zone for that). All of these things are the figurative brushing off, the getting the gravel out of my knees and dirt off my pants. The taking the Prada boots for a shoe shine.

But at the end of the day, guess who's responsible for breaking out the Neosporin and Hello Kitty bandaids. ME.

I have love around me. My girlfriends (yes, you two, stand up), Blue, readers, a sister here or there...So much love that at times I think it's crazy (I mean, why do you guys love me so much?! I know I'm cute and all, but are you kidding?) Just joking. Sort of.

It's this love that gives me the strength to put myself together again. It's this love from all of you that makes the peroxide not sting like hell.

Now, can someone bring me some plain old band aids? Damn, Hello Kitty! If I'm gonna flip the king's men and horses the bird, I can't do it with a pink bandaid on my hand.

non ti preoccupare (don't worry)

So I was talking to my mom the other day. Some background first.

I've always had a really close relationship with her. I came way after the others were born and I sort of had her to myself. Needless to say, all this divorce stuff is hard on her. She found out about Blue through a series of bad circumstances. She doesn't approve. I don't think she thinks it's still going on, actually I am not sure, but at any rate, I'm in no position to tell her different at this point... but there's part of me that thinks she knows, or at least knows what I want when the smoke clears. She's no fool. Smart cookie. Tough as nails.

Anyhow, I used to be very dependent on her and needed her stamp of approval on everything. I was very much still a child in her eyes and to tell you the truth, I previously never did much to convince her I was a grown up. Sure I was married with kids, but I kept my mouth shut and my nose down. I didn't make waves. I was a little girl who was seen and not heard. ugh.

So we're on the phone and I had a moment of dependancy. I needed to have her be my mommy, kiss it, make it better. I know, barking up wrong tree. Why do I need her reassurance? But in my mind I was going to a fountain where the drink had always been good.

"Mom," I said,  "I just want to know that you believe, one day, that everything will be alright. That I'll be ok, that the kids will be ok. That we'll be happy."
"I can't tell you that for sure. How could I? How do I know what is going to happen to you? YOu have a very long road, so many hurdles... I wish I knew. But no, I can't make a statement in no uncertain terms that you will all be ok."

I realize that I could get run over in the Dunkin Donuts parking lot. I saw that my son wasn't so aok last week with the stitches. I know that things can happen which could very likely suck. BUT COME ON MOM! I'm not asking you to blow sunshine up my -ss, but a little bit of a "partly sunny with small chance of rain" forecast was all I was after.

Why couldn't she do this? As a mom I know that you want to do whatever it takes to protect your children. YOu want to make the road as well paved as possible. But there are times when you have to send them out (the kindergarten bus for instance) and let them know that no matter what, things will be ok. Even if you fear they won't be. Even if they fear things won't be ok. You have to tell your children that you love them without condition (or who they are/are not with) and they should never doubt that.

I was so disappointed. She let me down and that's something I never want to do to my kids, whether they are six and four or beyond.

I called my friends. They said of course it would be alright. One of them said these marathons of neck-high shit always end. I trust that they will.

Any thoughts?

I'm hungry, please feed me...

I have had a pretty screwed up relationship with food. I feared it. I refused it. I abused it. I was obsessed with it. I made a career of it. I cooked it for everyone but me. I didn't eat much of it. It was always a point of contention with the stbe (soon to be ex, remember?). I never felt comfortable eating in front of him. There were no midnight snacks, no ice cream runs, no food comas. He's the kinda guy that requires a fish fork and a separate plate for salad. He's the kinda guy that when asked by his soon to be ex wife who went to culinary school and was editor in chief of a food magazine "what would you like for dinner", he'd usually reply something like, something light... a salad, maybe some fruit salad. I don't know many men who would answer that way. Don't know many men who look to see where the fish fork is. Anyway, I married him long ago, and I am divorcing him now, so those things don't matter much any more. What matters is me, and how I have changed.

Like I said, I never was comfortable eating in front of him (the stretch for me was getting a medium frozen yogurt instead of a small... wow, really living now, huh?). It had to do, I see now, with feelings of self worth, self acceptance. But I was also just not comfortable showing him that I was hungry. OK, here comes the good part... I never wanted to show him I was hungry because I secretly knew, omg I can't believe I am putting this out there, HE COULDN'T SATISFY ME. So you see, it's not just the food. Food is love, and guess what... he just didn't feed my soul. He didn't rock my world. Shit man, all those years it was always, "that was good for you, right?". What an idiot. Me and him.

The above revelation has cost me upwards of $1000 in my therapists chair. She' s nice, smart, supportive, and now she has my money. That's not so nice because I would so much rather be using that money at Prada or La Perla. I digress...

So this crazy thing happened the first time around with Blue. A little aside first...
We had this rendez vous. I never in my wildest dreams imagined I would be doing what I did. BUT, and that's a big but, I did it, and I did it with all of me. I loved myself that day and shit, it was amazing. No self doubt, no self consciousness, all self assuredness, all self acceptance. lets just say that when all was said and done, my world was rocked. There was no need to ask "that was good for you, right?". Nope, it was more like, "are you conscious, how come you still can't move, blink twice if you need water".

Right, so after I regained consciousness, it was time for lunch. I had packed something. Something I had no intention of eating but the kind of thing I knew intuitively he'd like. We're Italian so I had proschiutto (pork!), buffalo mozzerella (full fat dairy!), semolina bread (white carbs!), olives (FAT!), torrone (eek! simple carbs and nuts!), figs ( planned on eating those) and melon (yeah, planned to eat that too!). My plan had been to sit there and watch him wolf it all down while I nibbled a fig and looked enticing.

Here's what happened: there was a fight over food. Me versus him. 5 feet 2 inches versus 6 feet 4 inches. He was hungry. I won. I actually got involved in hand to hand combat over the buffalo mozzerella. And when I won, I wrapped the biggest pillowy piece of it in decadent, salty, yummy proschiutto. Then I repeated with the melon and proschiutto. A few olives. I need a fig, with more cheese... OMG, Manna from heaven. Well, use your imagination about what followed. A hint: we were both hungry again after.

That's when I knew. Knew for certain that something had been wrong for a long time. I knew it subconsciously. And I suppose part of me expected to find what I did or else I wouldn't have taken the leap. You know, when you sorta know but you just gotta be super positive sure. But that day, when I saw my physical reaction to him and my mental reaction to all that had transpired... That day, after I regained consciousness and ate lunch and lost consciousness again...well, I realized that there was no going back to fish forks and fruit salad.

We're not yet at the point where I can ask him what he wants for dinner, but we'll get there. What I can say is that I've been cooking like crazy and eating like I haven't eaten in 12 years. Which isn't so far from the truth.
I made lasagna last week. Practically lost consciousness.

Thanks Blue.

up on the roof

On the roof cloudy sky

My barefeet cold on the shingles

The wind picked up, autumn at last

I wrapped my eyes around my knees

Closed my eyes, felt your arms around my shoulders

“I’ve got you, I’m here, you’re safe”

That comfort, your strength, our faith

The roof wasn’t so high

The ground below somehow closer

Tomorrow a few hours away

I stretched out my arms

The wind fresh on my skin through my shirt

There you were, it was no longer dark

My heart, my head,  my feet on the shingles

I knew I could jump, take the leap of faith

You would be there

Arms open, ready to catch me

I am not afraid, brave of heart


Thanks Blue

In stitches

Tonight my oldest was out biking on the driveway. There were smashed pumpkin guts on the blacktop and he skid off his bike and landed on his chin. The scene went something like this: hysteria, hysteria to pediatrician, call to soon to be ex, heightened hysteria, decision for stitches, call to plastic surgeon, txt to soon to be ex, more hysteria, drive to hospital with increased hysteria, txt to soon to be ex, triage, betadine with hysteria, novicaine with a kick in the face for me, uncontrolled hysteria, no straight jacket to be found, me holding down hysterical 5 year old, me crying, him stitched and hysterical, txt to soon to be ex, and finally, $100 at game stop.

The worst part was seeing him cry and be so afraid, but the thing that hurt me the most was that the soon to be ex (stbe) never bothered to see how his son was doing. When he finally slithered home like the snake he is, he said he never got my texts. I asked why he didn't call, after all I did speak to him prior to pediatrician. He said he figured that either a) nothing was wrong or that b) i just wasn't keeping him posted. WTF. He's so concerned about his kids. It's all about them, right? Yeah, just like it's all about that six figure settlement he's after.

He told me I shouldn't make him feel guilty. I said it wasn't me making him feel guilty, but his own conscious.

Is it me? Am I wrong? Last month I sent 3500 messages and no one ever complained about not receiving my texts.

Pathetic.

The garage door

My garage door hasn't been working for months. The clickers in the car don't work, the buttons outside the door don't work, there are flashing lights, moments when it goes, moments when it gets stuck half way, moments it doesn't move at all.

Maybe I am overanalyzing here, but there's something about the garage door being busted that is eerily similar to my life these days.  The door lets few come in, mostly it keeps people out. It protects the house from  people I don't want in it (one of the first things I absconded from the soon to be ex was his clicker), and at times, allows me a safe harbor for bringing in certain people undercover. Funny thing is, it seems to have a mind of its own. All depends on the day, and I have a sneaking suspicion, the person outside wanting to come in.

Now, bear with me... me as a garage door. Previously, I was the perfect garage door. Shiny, high quality, top of the line, installed and never had to touch me kinda garage door. I opened and closed when told, never flashed any lights, certainly never disobeyed when someone pushed my buttons. Usually, when they pushed, I did as I was told and opened and closed accordingly. Qualities that are admirable in a garage door, but certainly not in me. I can see that now. What was I thinking?

I guess what I am trying to say is that although my garage door needs fixing by the specialist I am waiting to arrive, I kind of like the fact that me and my figurative door are broken. And guess what... I don't need a specialist to fix me. Nope. I like deciding who comes in. I like knowing I can lock people out. I even like my flashing lights. Don't try to push my buttons. I'm deciding who's coming in.

One last thing. My Blue sky would never leave the light on in the garage.

Grant us grace...

Ok, I decided, you can call me Grace. As in the gift of salvation. As in "grace is given to enable such character changes to be realized". Yes,  it's from wikipedia. No, I'm not above admitting that.

So, nice to meet you.

Love, rain down on me

it's pouring tonight where i am. sheets and sheets of cold autumnal rain pouring down and drenching everything. weather man says it isn't going to get better and that by morning the winds will be picking up to fierce levels. it's ok, i feel grounded.

i suppose this is a good place to start.

let me introduce myself, although  haven't quite yet decided what to call myself yet. we can get back to that later.

who am i? let's see... I'm 35, a mother of three, a daughter, a sister, a friend. i'm passionate, funny, impulsive, too sarcastic for some, have been described as "the most insecure secure person" ever, an athlete, let's see, what else... oh right, and i'm soon to be divorced.

but it's ok, really it is. don't get all freaked. i'm fine with it. great in fact. can't freaking wait.
now you're thinking that i must be delusional too, right? this chick with no name, she ought to add delusional to the list above, right.
no, no, no. i'm not delusional. in fact i am far from it. for a long time, i lived with disillusion. it's only recently that i lost the illusion, saw what was really happening around me. losing the illusion kinda sucks. imagine if everything you ever knew, everything you ever assumed about yourself and your life and the people who supposedly love you... suddenly got sucked out the window of a 747 at 35,000 ft. all of it blown to smithereens, getting stuck in clouds, crashing to earth, spontaneously combusting. yea, that was really fun for me. great time. but you know what... all that stuff that got sucked out, it left space in its wake for me to really decide, decide for me, what i was going to make out of my life, my reality. i got a chance to decide who i am, who i'm going to be.  perhaps that is why i don't want to name myself just yet.

the fact that i found love, that love found me after the whole window sucking incident...  that's just the comical genius of the universe for you. what i found when i found me, well that's my Blue sky.

and that, my friends, is why i am grounded tonight here in the middle of the storm. because i got a second chance at me. and no matter what the forecast, i'm finished with clouds.