Notes From the Sleep Deprived

A dad searches for a cure

2009-10-02T00:01:00.001-04:00

Kevin of Always Home and Uncool has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife's birthday.

*

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, part of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

*

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit the Cure JM Foundation.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to Kevin's personal FirstGiving page or the Cure JM donations page.

It's Not A Vlog It's A Fucking Video Post

2009-09-20T22:26:00.000-04:00

10 Ways You Didn't Know You Could Use Coffee Filters

2009-09-03T22:45:00.002-04:00

... And Probably Shouldn't Try

1. Coffee- Of course, the first use of coffee filters is to make coffee. If you use enough filters and make enough coffee you might be cognizant enough throughout the day to not need coffee filters for the following items. Because you would have remembered to buy paper towels.

2. Glass cleaner- With a little glass cleaner and a coffee filter or two, you'll have streak-free, lint-free windows. If you're into that. I haven't cleaned the windows in a while, but maybe I will tomorrow. Or not. Probably not.

3. Toilet paper- Yeah, it's a little hard and scratchy, but if you've not only forgotten to buy paper towels, but also toilet paper, they do come in handy. You might need a few of them, though. They aren't very absorbent.

4. Kitten poop picker-upper- Another situation where you might need several, but when you've got six kittens who can't figure out the fucking litter box and you leave the house for several hours one day, you're going to have a problem. Of course, while you were out of the house you could have picked up some paper towels, but you didn't do Number One enough to remember that.

5. Face blotter- When you live in the South and it's summer, sometimes your make-up gets a little shiny. A single coffee filter pressed to your face is the perfect remedy. If you're especially lucky, you might even get a full face print like in Forrest Gump when he inspired the Smiley Face icon.

6. Prom dress- Hey, the economy is tight for all of us, right? A few staples, maybe some markers, you've got a prom dress, baby. And when it comes to prom night after party escapades, it comes off easily. Heh.

7. Dust cloth- Obviously, this is much like using it to clean windows, but you get my drift.

8. Apron- It would have to be the apron to a French maid, but it would keep her itty bitty skirt clean, anyway.

9. Welcome Home outfit- You remember the thing about opening the door for your man dressed only in Saran Wrap? Three coffee filters, baby. That's all you need and it's better for the environment.

10. Baby wipes- If you've forgotten to buy paper towels, and toilet paper, and baby wipes, you can layer two coffee filters together and wet them. And it works really well. The texture is even much like a cheap store-bought wipe.

I think I better go to the grocery store tomorrow. Now I'm getting low on coffee filters, too.

100 Things - Post Two

2009-08-29T22:49:00.000-04:00

Are you sure you really want me to continue this list? I mean, really, why would anyone want to know 100 Things about me? Hell, I don't even want to know that much about myself.

You do? Really?

Oh geez. Now you're going to be a smart ass? My ego can't handle it. Screw you. I'm writing it anyway.

Where was I? Right, number twenty-one. Let's see...

21. I can't take an Alka-Seltzer Cold tablet without licking it before I drop it in the water. And singing the old jingle... Plop! Plop! Fizz! Fizz! Oh! What a relief it is! I have a thing for jingles. I remember a product based on their song. And I love a good commercial. I'm more likely to mute the actual show on TV than the commercials.

22. I've always been a night-owl. I love staying up late, when the world is quiet. Even when I was young, before I had kids, I stayed up at night. When I was in school, I would read until 3 or 4 in the morning, snatch a couple hours of sleep, then pry my eyelids back when my dad would come pounding on my door.

23. In high school I was invisible. I wasn't a popular girl, or a band geek, or just a geek, or an outsider, or anything. I was just a normal kid. I went through hell in middle school, and got teased an awful lot, but we moved after my freshman year and then everything was okay. I knew a lot of people, and everyone liked me, but I only had a couple of friends.

24. When I was in school, I was a bit of a professional artist. I was always good in art class, and every year I had many pieces in the school art show and won a ribbon or ten I think. My specialty was portraits. I did big black and white pencil drawings for people and the last few I charged $150 each. But then, it got to be too much of a job and I didn't want to do it anymore.

25. I only like doing things while they interest me. I'd love to be a professional writer but I'm afraid I would lose my joy in it and then it would just be another fucking job.

26. Despite that, I'm very loyal. I bond with friends right away, and it generally takes a lot for me to decide I don't like a person anymore.

27. I'm a writer. Shut the fuck up. I am. Technically, I write, therefore, I'm a writer. I'm working on my first novel. Geez! You're going to question everything I say tonight aren't you?! Fine! I haven't written anything for the book in about a month now, but it's not like I've put it away. It's still there, it's just not talking to me right now. I've always been a writer. When I was nine, I think, my class was supposed to write a little story. Mine was around ten pages and involved my teacher meeting her husband and something to do with a hot air balloon. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Fowler, being astounded. I wrote a few stories in high-school, too, and my freshman English teacher tried to get me to get them published. I didn't though.

28. I love the beach. It's calming, exhilarating, peaceful, awe-inspiring... It has many, many opposing traits and I love that. It makes me feel small and insignificant, yet somehow, at the same time, a part of the big picture. I love the sound of the waves and the wind in my hair. But the best time to be at the beach is at night. All the loud sun seekers have gone, the heat of the day is coming up from the sand, and if it's a bright night, you can still see the waves coming in. The sound of the waves is like a beating heart, somehow. Ah. I miss it.

29. I'm a music lover. It plays a huge role in my life and most memories I have are triggered by songs. When I hear a trigger song, I see the exact scene it calls to mind. Not just my feelings at the time. I like pretty much all music to a degree, but the best is rock. Classic rock, new rock, alternative, grunge, punk... Whatever. If it has a lot of guitar and drums and cool lyrics, I'm all over that shit. Especially if it makes me move.

30. I'm a dancer. Not a good dancer, mind you, but I still love it. Don't ask me to go clubbing, though, because I don't dance like that. I'm a kitchen dancer. And a car dancer. Heh. Especially at red lights because I don't have to worry about wrecking. I laugh when I get weird looks because at least I'm having fun and they're sitting there impatiently. I passed on my love of music and dancing to the kids. It's funny how their own personalities change the style. Noah is awkward and off-beat (much like me. Heh), Tess likes ballet and swirling, princess type dancing, and Tripp is a head-bopper (also like me. Poor poor kids) and arm shaker.

31. I sing a lot, too. I have my old favorites that run through my head constantly, and I sing them in the shower and all over the house. I'm... Not bad, but not all that good either. Most of the songs I like to sing are by men, for some weird reason, but I can belt out a lot of girl songs if they aren't too high-pitched. My voice is sort of low for a girl. The best night out for me includes Karaoke, as long as a little alcohol is involved.

32. Ummmm. Hmm. I don't really like to talk about myself this much. You know how you have a conversation with some people and you wonder when they're ever going to shut the fuck up about themselves? Probably wouldn't with me, unless I have a problem or whatever that I need to talk about.

33. I'm sympathetic and empathetic to other people's problems. I can almost always understand where the other person is coming from. That might be a good quality, but it sure has bitten me in the ass a lot.

34. I want to travel the world one day. It would be nice to see it all, but my first stop, the place that calls to me, is Ireland. I'm not sure why, but it just seems magical to me.

35. I hate to cry. I'm okay with a few tears over a good book, movie, song, or even commercials, but if you make me cry about myself, it pisses me off. And then I cry more. When I do, it's not pretty. My entire face turns red, especially around my eyes and my nose. I'm not talking about that delicate pink that's really kind of pretty on some women. I'm talking Rudolph. My eyes, nose, and lips swell up, too. And the swelling takes a full day to go away. So, yeah, if you make me look like that, I'm going to be pissed.

36. I don't watch much TV anymore, but when I do it's a comedy or crime-drama. I hate reality TV, though I have been watching a little Big Brother this year. Mostly, I prefer anything that makes me laugh, though.

37. My favorite authors are Stephen King and Dean Koontz, in that order. I've read The Stand at least seven times, and absolutely love it. Same with The Talisman. I'd say if I had to pick a favorite book it would be either or those, but I've read so many, and loved so many, that I can't pick favorites. SK is great, but I get a little depressed because the Evil is never really gone, just defeated at the moment. DK is great for that because he calls to my inner-optimist.

38. I'll read anything, though. From cereal boxes to shampoo bottles, I'm constantly reading. The best gift for me is a book you thought I'd like. I like it all. Except for romance novels. I've read them because they were there, but they're too boilerplate, predictable. Give me suspense or horror or ANYTHING else.

39. I don't like gift cards as gifts unless it's someone I'm not very close to. I think a good friend or a loved one should know a person well enough to know what to get them. However, I DO buy them for certain people, like my parents, because they already have everything and it's hard to pick for them. My mom and I have completely opposite taste, in everything, so she's almost impossible for me to buy for.

40. I don't want things or stuff as a general rule. I don't have to have designer clothes or the very best, most advanced computer/car/phone. I don't want the biggest house. All I want is the emotions those things are supposed to represent. All I want is love.

Emergency!

2009-08-27T22:26:00.003-04:00

If you follow me on Twitter, and most of my readers do I think... Wait a sec. If you aren't following me on Twitter you should. Here's the link. I'll wait. I'm still waiting dammit. Go do it already! Geez!

Thank you.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh...

If you follow me on Twitter, you heard the beginning and the end of this story, but I refrained from telling you all the good parts. Yes, I actually thought about it and kept my fucking mouth shut for a change.

Last Sunday at Noah's birthday party (yes I KNOW I didn't blog about it, but I will soon), Tripp saw the cake sitting on the bar and that brightly colored sweetness was enough to finally motivate him into climbing onto the bar stools. I turned and saw him just as he was reaching towards the cake and snagged him with only two finger marks in the edge of the icing instead of a handful missing. Now that I think of it, it would have been funnier to let him have at it, but since it was Noah's party it might not have been cool.

Monday and Tuesday I watched Tripp like a hawk, removing him from the bottom rung of the stools countless times. At one point I came out of the laundry room and found him sitting on the counter, next to the stove. I thought to myself, "I'm going to need to put the stools up," but I didn't do it right away. I am the Queen of Procrastination after all, and try to uphold my title when I can. Well, that and I truly believe the more child-proof you make your home, the less you're teaching your kids. Conversely, the more you child-proof, the less stress and anxiety you have.

The day went on, Tripp and I picked up Noah and Tess from school and the usual chaos ensued. When I had finally gotten Noah to finish his homework, I ran to the kitchen to get dinner going. I had all four burners cooking and was patting out a batch of flat bread. It was that point in cooking when everything needs your attention at once, and it was already 7:00. I had my hands in dough when Tripp started screaming (he screams a lot when I'm cooking. I'm going to guess it's the mouthwatering aroma wafting from the stove. Shut up. It is!). I asked Noah why he was crying. Noah started stuttering, then managed to get out that Tripp had fallen.

By then, I could tell by the sound of his cry that it was a big hurt, not just the normal stuff, so I took a second to rinse the dough and flour from my hands and ran around the bar. Noah told me the stool had fallen onto Tripp's head, and he had yanked it off and was putting it behind the baby gate. As I reached down to pick him up, I saw a huge lump on his forehead. It was about the size and shape of an ice cube with a deep purple stripe running through the middle! My heart nearly stopped! He was screaming like crazy, turning all shades of red and purple with the effort, Noah was flipping out, telling me to call an ambulance, and Tess was trying to kiss him all better which was just pissing Tripp off which pissed Tessa off. I tried to put an ice pack on his forehead but he wasn't having that, either.

Once I got him calm enough to look at it better, I knew this could be bad. I called my mom and she agreed he should be seen, especially considering we have concrete slab floors (I'm not sure that's what they're called. There's no crawl space under the house, and under the linoleum tiles it's concrete). He was hit on the back of his head and the front of his head. So I ran out to buckle Tripp in his car seat and told Noah to make sure he came out after Tess and to shut the door really hard. Out of the driveway we flew, being on the move making my impatience kick in. I had to make myself drive normally, knowing a wreck wouldn't help anything. Neither would a fucking speeding ticket. And I knew Tripp was okay because he didn't have any symptoms of a concussion. I dropped Noah and Tess off at my mom's and rushed on to the hospital.

I had the radio on, and tuned to the local rock station, as usual. When Let the Bodies Hit the Floor came on, I shuddered at the awful irony. I remembered the kids hadn't gotten dinner, so I called my mom and told her. She stopped mid-sentence in the conversation and said, "Wendy? Did you turn off the stove?" My mind went completely blank. I remember thinking how pretty the sunset was instead of trying to remember if I had. I focused, and still came up empty. I hoped my mom would drive over and check, but it is a longish way for her, so my only other option was Thomas, the last person in the world I wanted to call. This is when it sucks that nearly all my friends are online. I had decided before then that I wouldn't even bother telling him about it unless the doctors said it was more than a bump because I knew how he would act about it. I even considered just letting the house burn down, but decided that would be stupid. So I called, and of course he was a fucking asshole, as usual. I had to beg him to come check it, and he acted like I was a bad mother for letting Tripp get hurt. Turns out, I had left the stove on, so it was a good thing I called. He didn't even have to break a window to get in because Noah hadn't shut the door hard enough for it to latch.

We finally got to the ER and I was a mess. Thankfully I had a bra on, because I know I wouldn't have thought to stop and put one on, but my hair was slipping out of the ponytail and I didn't have any makeup on. My black pants were too big and kept wanting to fall off, and they had flour all over them. I had bathed Tripp just a little while before he fell, so thankfully he didn't have food in his hair or sucker residue on his face. But he was shoeless, and only in his shirt and diaper. I had grabbed a pair of shorts on the way out and put them on him in the waiting room.

I could tell once we were waiting that he was fine. He ran around playing with the other kids, climbing all over the little tables every chance he got. I would run take him off, worried he would fall again and really do damage this time, and as soon as I sat back down he would climb up again. When he wasn't doing that, he was trying to escape down the hall, or messing with a patient's wheelchair. Finally, with trails of sweat slipping from my temples, I sat him on my lap, with his back to me. I crossed my arms over his torso and lodged each hand under his opposite thigh. He kept fighting me, and I HAD to distract him. So I tried singing lullabies and nursery rhymes to him, very softly, directly into his ear. Yeah. It didn't work. My frazzled mind made a leap and I thought, "Hell, he loves music, but when does he ever hear this kind of music? Never!" So I sang the songs I sing all the time at home, starting with The Divinyls I Touch Myself. He actually stopped struggling and listened! But then I noticed a couple of people looking at me kind of weird, so I moved on to Radiohead's Creep. That worked for a while, but nothing ever lasts, so next I sang Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. And yes, I do realize I have issues, but fuck, it worked so whatever. And I like those songs. Anyway, just as I was finishing up with Queen, we were called back and the doctor saw Tripp within a few minutes.

Thank God, he was fine. It was just a bump and they didn't need to do an X-Ray or CT scan or anything. We finally made it home and he slept well and woke up the next morning with nothing but an ugly lump. It's still there, by the way, two days later. And now it's got a Technicolor bruise going, too. And the stools? They're put away.

100 Things - Post One

2009-08-21T10:04:00.004-04:00

So I've been wanting to do a 100 Things for a long time, but stupid Blogger doesn't let you add pages. I'm really looking forward when my year is up on this domain so I can go buy it from Wordpress and have a site like I really want. Ok, really? I want someone to design a site for me, for free because I'm cheap like that and would NEVER spend that much money on a site. Of course I would have to pay to have it hosted, but that's different.

Anyway.

There's no way in hell I'm going to sit down long enough to think of 100 Things about me, so I'm breaking it up into five posts. That's only twenty things per post, if you can't do math. You ready for this? I'm not, but here we go anyway...

1. I'm a little anal about some things. Like the fact that when I'm writing, I always write out numbers. So it's really bothering me to have the title of this be "100 Things." I only did it because that's the way it's supposed to be. Either that or other people just don't have this issue.

2. However, numbering a list doesn't bother me. How weird.

3. I'm a Gemini. My birthday is June 9, 1978. That means I'm smack in the middle of Gemini, and I'm as much a Gemini as possible. I say and do and feel a lot of conflicting things. Probably a psychiatrist would consider labeling me as borderline personality disorder, but it's just the stars, babe.

4. I have three kids. (Yeah I know you didn't read my profile. Slacker) Noah is seven, Maritessa is four, and Tripp is one and a half. They're GREAT kids, born leaders, creative, gorgeous, rambunctious, and perfect in their imperfections. And they wear me the fuck out.

5. I'm a parent of a different breed. I cuss in front of them, kiss and hug in front of them (actually not anymore, now that I'm single). I don't mind letting Tripp run around without his diaper or if Noah wants to let his hair grow. I let them be their own person, choose their own style, within reason. On the other hand, though, I DO get stressed out and overwhelmed at least four times a week and turn into a hardass with them. I'm working on that. I don't like it.

6. Oh. I'm single again. I thought when all this happened I would want to be alone forever. I didn't want to fall in love again, or be married, EVER again. But... That changed. I am worth being loved, and I know it'll happen again. As is typical of me, I'll give it my whole heart, completely, because that's how I am. I can't love just a little bit. I love a lot, more than some people, I think. But the right man? Won't take advantage of that and I know he's out there.

7. I'm not a very good housekeeper. I really fucking HATE cleaning, especially if I let it go for a day or two because then it becomes such a huge job that I'm overwhelmed and don't know where to start. Right now the house is just a disaster. I have to say, though, if I didn't have kids I would be a lot neater. It's just hard to keep up with mine.

8. My favorite word is "fuck" and all of it's derivatives. Simply saying "fuck" can mean so many different things, depending on the intonation. I love that. It's like a Gemini word.

9. I cuss a lot. I don't think cuss words are bad words because they only have the power we give them. When someone calls me "bitch" I take it as a compliment. It is different, though, when it's in the middle of a fight and it's worded "You're a fucking bitch!" Yeah. That shit pisses me the fuck off.

10. I can get irritated pretty easily, depending on my stress levels, but it takes a LOT to really make me mad. I can't hold on to it, though. Even times when I should, it just goes. Like now it would be a great time to hold on to my anger at Thomas, but really I just don't care anymore. Whatever.

11. I'm in love with the Internet and would marry Google if I could. Or Twitter. Or hell, the blog writers I read. I didn't even have the Internet for most of the last five years, and when I did, it was just to check my bank account or research something. But last year I inadvertently discovered D-o-o-c-e and a whole new world was opened up to me. I thought, "Hey! I could do that!" My mom encouraged me to start a blog to prepare myself to write a book. She told me at least I would be writing. But then I started to get COMMENTS! And I read other peoples blogs and made friends. And was introduced to Twitter. OMG.

12. I'm a Twitter whore. I ADORE Twitter and when it's down I freak out a little. I tweet more than anyone I know and I'm not ashamed of it. When bad shit happened, my twitter friends were there for me and got me through it. If something funny happens I tweet it and most of the time at least one person replies and thinks it's funny, too. Or if I'm lonely? My friends are always there for me. My mom has finally accepted that these people ARE real friends, not just nameless, faceless Internet entities. I love my friends. :)

13. I'm also a comment whore. If I write something and it doesn't get comments it makes me a little (more) crazy. I know not everything I write is comment worthy, and I don't want a bunch of fake ass comments, but it's really disappointing to me when what I write isn't comment-worthy. Which reminds me of Seinfeld and Elaine's sponge-worthy part. I'm totally sponge-worthy, y'all. Nevermind. That's just kind of weird since I don't have sperm.

14. I love coffee. I can't make it through the day without it. I love the taste, aroma, mouth-feel, heat. And of course the fact that it gives me a teensy bit of energy.

15. I smoke a lot and know how bad it is for me. I want to quit, but I don't know if I ever will.

16. Words mean more than actions to me, even though that's pretty dumb. If you're talking about love, of course I want you to SHOW me that you love me, but I need to hear it even more. Or if you say something hurtful to me, then try to act sweet, I still remember the words more.

17. I'm an excellent cook and I love to do it. I haven't really done it much lately, though. Not real cooking anyway. I love to experiment with different flavors and textures. The kids have pretty refined palates, too. (I'm grinning with pride right now, by the way) I miss having someone to cook for, though. The kids are just as happy with hot dogs and home fries as butterflied and herbed chicken breast, so why make the effort?

18. I'm insecure about almost everything. I know confidence is attractive, and I can fake it pretty well, but on the inside I just DIE about every little thing.

19. I wish I had someone here RIGHT THIS INSTANT to play with my hair. I love to be petted and stroked. A light touch here and there, just a brush of skin on skin, makes me absolutely crazy in a good way. But I don't really want to be cuddled too much. Don't smother me or make me feel confined. See? Gemini.

20. I'm very sexual by nature. I like PDA's. I love to talk about sex and I think the best jokes are about it. I even like the word. Sex. Isn't that sexy? But I'm not a whore and I can totally live without it (if I have to). I could have had plenty of sex lately, but I'm not into casual sex anymore. I want it to mean something or it's not worth it.

How to Be a Twitter God

2009-08-19T09:43:00.003-04:00

This is a guest post by brian papa aka @CHEERUPNATION.

Wendy and I met on Twitter and quickly became fast friends. One day, she tweeted:

ImWendy: Tripp is humping my leg

Eager to join the conversation, I tweeted:

@ImWendy: That's so funny, my dog humps my leg, too.

She tweeted back:

@CHEERUPNATION: Tripp's my 1 year old son.

OOPS!

Thankfully Wendy is a total bad ass and laughed it off and thus began our twitter lovefest. My twitter counter jumped from 68 to 69 followers.

Now, as many of you know, Wendy has something like 15,000 followers. Okay, not yet, but soon. She's fast on her way to becoming the next @aplusk.

So, the twitter pro that she is, I asked her help with some simple advice on how to gain a few extra followers. To start, she said, follow a few of friends of mine, enter a conversation naturally, and post more than just links back to your site.

Oh, and say Penis.

Penis!!!

(Thank you my 2 new followers!)

So while I've followed Wendy's advice, I also couldn't help but try a few tricks of my own.

1) Like 'accidentally' sending a DM to someone. Then making sure it's juicy like "She said what about his blog?" Immediately, follow this up with a tweet "Oops, that was supposed to be a DM, ugh LOL!" There's nothing better (more addictive) than a train wreck. This is guaranteed to get you some followers.

2)Another way is to post #hashtags with subliminal messages like #youaregettingveryclose, #youarealmostthere, #followmenow, #youneedme -- all in the same tweet. People like being told what to do. #youknowyouwanttodoit

3)But the best is to RT something completely banal like RT Eating dinner late tonight or RT Getting on a plane. People eat that shit up. The more banal, the better. Useful links are a dime a dozen. Also, next time someone tweets LOL or LMAO, RT it. RT everything. Guaranteed to get you more followers.

Anyway, these are just a few tricks I learned.

Obviously they're working because I'm at 173 followers now, which is HUGE.

By the end of the year, I should reach 180 or 201if I'm lucky.

I've even heard there's a thing called tweetdeck, but I think I'll wait and see if it catches on first.

In the meantime, Wendy, let me know when you get @Tripp a twitter account.

Papa will show him how to rock the Twitterverse.

-- brian papa

Why Stay Where You Aren't Happy?

2009-08-17T21:33:00.003-04:00

When I was little my parents moved us around a lot. I'm not talking about across town (although we did move almost across the street once) but across the world. I was born in Florida, and when I was three we moved to Germany. I have so many wonderful memories of that country and I want to go back one day. When I was six we moved back to the states, back to Florida for a few months, then on to Louisiana until I was eight. Then we came here, to South Carolina, and I guess it stuck. I've never been very happy here, though, and my nomadic upbringing calls to me. It taught me so much about different people, different cultures. It taught me how to instantly connect with strangers and be able to strike up a conversation with anyone. Of course, there were drawbacks, like how hard it is to form long-lasting friendships, and the lack of a "roots" feeling. I want to be able to give the good things about it to my kids, too.

I've been considering moving away for a really long time, but I've never been free enough to do it. There was always some reason I couldn't, like my job, or more precisely, my ex-husband. And family. It's been a big part of the reason I haven't done it yet. My parents are completely against the idea of me moving away. When I had Noah, they made me promise I would never move away. See? They know me well. And I've always stayed.

I told them yesterday that, should the opportunity present itself, I would consider moving. Hell, I might even start looking for opportunities but I didn't tell them that. They were not happy with me. My argument is they moved when they were young. They didn't let their lives stagnate in a little town. I'm not happy here. I would love it if I moved, and they moved with us! That's exactly how they did it. Family is important to me, and that does extend beyond myself and the kids. But not enough that my happiness, my kids' happiness, should be ignored.

Their argument is that they love the kids and my mom's parents didn't love us that much. Yeah, by the way, that's great for my self-esteem, thanks. Her parents didn't want to spend as much time with us, though. That is true. They also say who would I have to help me with the kids? No one! How would I do everything all by myself?! I just couldn't! The fear of those things has kept me here all these years, but I'm not afraid anymore.

Children move away. It's as simple as that. I can make friends, get daycare, build a new life. That's what I need now. All this is not to say I'm moving anytime soon. Just that I'm thinking about it. Of course, I do have to consider the kids' dads, but I'm not talking about moving out of the country. Just away. Still within driving distance, but not here.

Trust

2009-08-08T03:04:00.004-04:00

I promised you, a long time ago, that you would get the honest words of a real woman and yet I've censored myself lately. I've been putting on the face that I think you want to see. I need to follow the advice of a friend I trust and talk about it. I can't tell you all of it, not here, not now, but maybe just this little venting will help. I hope that getting it out now will help put my thoughts to rest so I can sleep. I haven't really slept in a long time now. God. Longer than I realize really.

People ask me how I'm doing and I say, "Great!" And I am, but deep inside I know I'm not. People are surprised at how well I'm handling the divorce, but really, I'm not handling it all. Literally. When there's something unpleasant, I just don't think about it. I learned that little coping mechanism when I was a little girl and it stuck. It gets me through the day, most of the time. I realize I'm bottling, and one day I'm going to explode. I can feel it coming. So a little pressure relief is needed. I don't even know how to say what I need to say. You see, I'm not doing so great today. It's been a fucking hard day. Hell, it's been a fucking hard few months (and that's not even considering the last few years).

I don't know where to start.

My husband left me. I went through hell to get here, but I'm glad he left. I can see now what a truly awful relationship it was. This post is not about him leaving, but about how his leaving left me. Do not for one tiny, little second think I want him back, because I don't.

My whole life, I've been a pleaser. I want to make people happy, and I want them to like me. So when he left, it felt like I wasn't good enough. Don't worry, he told me exactly how I'm not good enough. Way, way more than I told you, but it was more than that. My self-esteem is gone now. Most days I can pretend that it's there and that's okay because it gets me through the day. I'm very slowly rebuilding it, but it only takes one little thing to leave me in crumbles. For example, my landlord came by for the rent today. It was bad enough having to ask her to let me pay just half the rent, having to humble myself and ask for help. Apparently, that wasn't enough, though. When she was leaving, she told me I need to get "hot" if I'm ever going to get another man, because, you know, first impressions count. Let me tell you, that hurt. The weeks I've spent building myself back up? Vanished. All the fucking pounds I've lost ballooned back onto my mental image of myself. I got over it, sort of, but it's still there. Now I'll avoid the mirror again and brush my teeth with my eyes closed so I don't have to look. Eventually, I'll realize how far I've come, but it will be a long road. It doesn't matter how many times someone tries to tell me the opposite because my mental image is the truth to me.

But wait! There's more!

I don't think I'm a very good mother. There's always something (or lots of things) that need to be cleaned and I just can't keep up. I really can't. Right now, at 3:39 in the morning, there are toys in the living room and dishes in the sink because I didn't do it. I hate that. A good mother would never leave it. I don't spend much quality time with the kids and I hate that. I wish I could enjoy being a mother more, but I really just don't. I love my kids, I want my kids and I want to spend time with them. I just wish I could enjoy the time I spend with them.

Financially, I'm pretty screwed right now. Simply put, there's just not enough. I could go get assistance, but I don't because I'm embarrassed to. I'm just holding on by the skin of my teeth until I can get a job. The fact of getting a job terrifies me, though. Because, you see, I'm not good enough. I used to be, though, and I'm really trying to believe that again, but it's hard. I feel like I'm stuck on hold. I know things will get better when I have a job, and I know they'll get better when the kids are just a little bigger. I'm so tired of waiting, though. I think that's why I'm so impatient when it comes to other things. I tend to rush headlong into things, and when I can't, it bothers me. I feel like maybe it's not happening because I'm not good enough.

Tonight, all sorts of ugly memories were dredged up. Okay, honestly? I've been thinking about them a lot lately, and I don't even know why. Everything that happened a lifetime ago should stay back there but it hasn't been. I'm the only living soul that knows some of it, and one day I'll tell someone because I need to. Someone I trust.

Trust is a very hard thing for me. My first instinct is to trust people but I can only trust them so far. I just wish there was someone I could truly let in, all the way. That could see me and love me for all of it. That I could cry with and let it out because I'm going to explode soon. There is no fucking way I can post it, here or anywhere because it's too much to let it all out like that.

I had hoped writing all this out would help me sleep tonight, but I don't think it will. I will stop now, though, because I need to salvage what's left of the night and try to sleep and hope I don't have bad dreams again.

It's 5:07am now and except for a few short minutes I haven't slept. There's something else I want to say. I'm embarrassed I wrote this, that I put it out there. It's hard to let you see me for what I really am. But I won't take the post down. Mostly, though, I'm embarrassed that I cried on the phone tonight. I really hate it that I did. Too bad I can't take that down.

Nightmares

2009-08-04T14:40:00.003-04:00

Last night on Twitter, I was having a great time joking with a few friends about many things, but most of them involved sex in some shape or form, as usual. Suddenly, mid-laugh, it wasn't very funny anymore. The laughter came to a screeching halt and let the blues fall slowly down. (Don't worry, this is actually a happy post) I realized, I don't want to be sitting here laughing at a monitor. Yes, Twitter is full of friends and "family" for me, but fuck! I was lonely! I wanted to turn to someone, anyone, and say, "Look what she just said" or anything like that. I tweeted a little about the mood swing, because I can't ever seem to keep my damned mouth shut about anything, and all the tweets asking me if I was okay just depressed me more. Then I got a few phone calls, good friends trying to cheer me up, and as much as I appreciated it, it didn't help. I went to bed eventually, sure I would wake as my normal cheery self.

Except I didn't. The blues had swung to full-fledged depression and I really don't deal well with that. I don't know how it is for other people. For me, I'm filled with self-doubt, self-loathing, self-disgust, self-everything-else-negative-and-derogatory. I couldn't figure it out, I mean, there have been plenty of times I've been lonely and blue and was fine the next morning. Sometimes it's a struggle when I start the new day, but I always manage to find my way out of it. I can't stay down in that dark pit because once I'm down there long enough, I forget what the light looks like. I forget how to find it again. Nothing I did was helping! I started to feel slightly desperate, knowing there wasn't much time.

My mom had told me Noah and Tess could spend the night with them, so we piled in the van and drove over. I played with her puppies for a few minutes and that did help a little. So did watching them crawl all over the kids. I laughed, but it didn't last. Finally, I got back into the fucking hot van with Tripp and pulled out of the driveway. As I was putting it in drive (I really miss my stick-shift, by the way), I suddenly flashed back to the dream I had last night. I couldn't move, just sat there in the road for several seconds while I remembered.

Nightmare- (n) a terrifying dream in which the dreamer experiences feelings of helplessness, extreme anxiety, sorrow, etc.
(Webster's Dictionary)

I would have called this dream and the many others I've had over the past several weeks just bad dreams. I thought a nightmare was like the time I dreamed about aliens and couldn't wake up. Or when I dreamed of something chasing me. I never would have thought dreaming of Thomas wanting to come back would be a nightmare. Or that wanting to say "Fuck no! Get the hell out" and instead letting him dream-kiss me would be nightmare. It was so intense I could actually feel it, and was disgusted and disappointed in myself. I think I've been having a lot of dreams, I mean nightmares, like this the last several weeks. I snap awake in the middle of the night, uneasy and a little upset.

I really don't have a clue what Freud would say the nightmare means, but I would guess it has something to do with the control Thomas held over me. I also would choose to believe it means I truly don't want him back, even sub-consciously. Because the feelings that lingered for so many hours after were not sadness, but like I said before, all the self-negative words. And now that I know what was causing it, I'm okay. I'm able to understand. The important thing here? It was just a nightmare, and if you tell your nightmares they don't come true. It wasn't real, and for that I am so thankful.

This Path I've Chosen

2009-08-02T14:50:00.003-04:00

I never would have thought a few months ago that I would be so happy that Thomas left, but I am. I also never would have thought I would need to write, to tell you about something, but then feel the need to censor myself. And yet, I am. I do miss my funny posts because I love to make you laugh, or think "I so get that!" But for now, there are all these other thoughts and feelings swirling through my mind like brightly falling leaves in autumn. The little squirrel off to the side is funny, but I can't stop staring at the beauty of the leaves. The red, gold, and brown spinning hypnotically around me. So bear with me.

I have all these paths branching before me. I could stay where I am... That path is wide and clear and brightly lit. It feels safe, and if you know me at all, you know how much I cherish safety. There are several other paths. Some I refuse to even look at because they're dark and gnarled with roots to trip me. Filled with Spanish moss eagerly waiting to brush the back of my neck and scare me.

This is a journey of self-discovery. I choose the paths not known to me. They bend pleasantly around trees, and I cannot see where they go, or how far they'll lead me. They're close enough to my current path that I can find my way back and try a different, should I want to. These paths are dappled with sunshine and green shadow. Ferns grow along the edges, waiting to caress my legs and keep my feet walking true.

I'm getting to know myself as I explore these unknown areas. I'm learning that I hide behind what I show you. All the jokes and sexuality truly are me, but there's so much more. Inside, I'm scared and nervous and don't really know how you feel. I'm kind, sweet, loyal to a fault. I'm blunt and honest, but try not to hurt your feelings. I hate to see you hurt in any way, and I'll do anything to make you feel better. And if I'm worried about you? Yeah, I'm going to get all up in your shit and try to help you though it.

I'm a take charge kind of girl. If there's something I want, I go after it. I can't play by all the silly rules other people made up. And yet? At the same time, I do need that encouragement. I don't hide my feelings well. I'm passionate like that. If I'm not sure what you mean, or how you feel, I'm going to ask even if I know I'm intruding, because if I don't, I'll think the worst. I'm impatient. I want it now and screw the consequences. But... I wait. Sometimes the waiting is the best part.

Of all the things I'm learning, the most valuable is learning that I am indeed worth it.

Reliving Relaxation

2009-07-26T22:42:00.006-04:00

I remember when I used to linger in the shower. It wasn't at all unusual for me to stay in twenty minutes if the hot water held out. I would constantly adjust the hot and cold water, letting it burn me for a few minutes, then cool me back down, then burn me again. When I finally ran out of hot water, I would step out and my skin would be red and hot and steaming. My muscles would be like rubber, completely relaxed and nearly aching they felt so good! Then I had kids, and I have to admit, this is what I miss the most about pre-mommyhood. The last time I tried to take a bubble bath was disastrous. The tub is too small, the hot water ran out too soon, and the bubble bath didn't bubble. The last decent bubble bath I had, I was eight months pregnant with Noah, so that means it was about seven years ago this month. I can live without the luxurious, wine sipping, exquisitely bubbled bubble baths. But it's been hard to give up my pampering showers.

Late at night, when all the kids are sleeping snugly, I love to get my shower. I love the feeling that I'm washing away all the troubles of the day, then slipping into bed while I'm still relaxed from it. Sometimes, though, seven to ten minutes isn't nearly enough to do the trick. Last night my head, neck, shoulders, and back were hurting so bad and when I stepped into the hot spray I couldn't move. I closed my eyes and pulled my hair out of the way and just let the water work on my abused muscles. I turned the cold water down as low as I could stand, so the hot streams of water beating down felt like a hundred small hands gently kneading out the knots. The steel claws that had been clamped around my brain loosened, fell away. The rope holding weights onto my shoulders eroded and broke. The pain was gone and my mind was clear.

I finished with the business of the shower, reveling in the feel of the foamy bubbles on my skin, inhaling the invigorating scent of my current body wash. I was so relaxed, more at peace than I've been in a long time. Finally, regretfully, I turned off the shower and stepped out. I had the towel to my face, breathing in the scent of my laundry detergent, the blood still roaring in my ears from the heat of the water. The cool air on my skin was like silk in the summer. I was completely inside my head, my body.

Then I heard a noise... A small, sad sound. I stopped, lifted the towel away from my face, cocked my head. It came again, and with it, the realization that I do in fact have three small children and one of them isn't big enough to come find me when he wakes alone at night. Hurrying now, I threw the towel around me, slid my dripping feet into my slippers and rushed out of my sanctuary. Poor Tripp. He was awake, sobbing great big shuddering cries, at my closed bedroom door. I went to him and he cried even more, relieved, I'm sure, that he wasn't alone. Hurt that I hadn't come when he first woke. I carried him back to my bed, patting him and rubbing him and cooing that I was there as I got into bed next to him. I found his pacifier and his blankie and cuddled him next to me.

I was still dripping wet, and had my head propped up on my hand because I didn't want to soak my pillows. The wall unit air conditioner was on and blowing frigid air onto my wet skin. I couldn't cover up with the blankets, because I didn't want to wet them either. For once, I regretted that I like to keep the bedroom so cool. I wished the air wasn't on, but couldn't move because every time I tried, Tripp woke up again. So I had to lie there, my head at such an unnatural angle, my muscles knotting back up, for thirty minutes before Tripp was sleeping soundly enough for me to get up. And when I finally did get to get up, my head, neck, shoulders, and back were killing me again. The worst part, though, was my guilty conscience for literally forgetting for a few minutes. But you know? I'm revelling in my shower again tonight. I deserve this tiny little luxury. I just hope Tripp doesn't wake up this time.

Whine to Me

2009-07-25T17:26:00.006-04:00

I was talking on the phone to a very good friend of mine, Brian Papa of PapaTV and CheerupNation. We were talking about the normal stuff like blogging, goals, dreams, sex, friends, sex, and how prudish old pieces of dried up beef jerky excuses for women just need to get fucked, and properly. Really, it was a great conversation and just one of the reasons I absolutely adore him.

Wait. I should backtrack a little. I was talking on the phone with him while my three kids and Marco, a friend of Noah's where running and screaming through the house like little heathens on sugar. I hid outside for a bit, then got sweaty, so I hid in my room. I'm telling you, the baby gate to the dining room was a brilliant idea. It keeps them out of my room too. Heh. So anyway, I was lying on my bed, teasing Brian with word pictures of my sensuous naked body (he didn't believe me for a second, by the way) when Tessa started whining.

I came out of my room, straddling the baby gate on the way over because my legs aren't quite long enough to just step over, and went into the living room. Tessa was on the computer and getting thoroughly pissed because it was running too slow to suit her. I turned off the anti-virus scan for the 25th time this month and hoped it would solve the problem. It did not. And Maritessa continued to whine.

Like all parents, I'm sure, whining gets inside my brain and does bad things. It makes me want to ram hot things into my ears and scoop out my eyeballs with a melon baller. Since I like Brian, I really didn't think it was the time or place for self-mutilation. Plus, I really did want to hear the rest of what he had to say. So I decided to give Tess a chance and told Brian to hold on while I talked to her.

"Maritessa. Please be patient and give the computer time to catch up."

"But Ma-ohm! It's not work-iiiing! I just want to stupid plaaaaay!"

"Maritessa, I'm going to give you one last chance to stop whining. You're about to go to your room, now. Mommy's had it up to here," I said, levelling a hand to my forehead."

"Had it up to wheeeerrre, Mommy? To heeeere?" She said, pointing to her cheek. "To heeeere?" Pointing to her eyes.

"It means Mommy's almost out of patience and you're going to be in big trouble if you whine one more time. I mean it, Tessa. One more time."

"To heeeeeeeeeeere?" She said, pointing to her ear.

2009-07-21T01:47:00.003-04:00

I don't like to do two posts in one day but I need to say something. I'm fine if this one slips right through the cracks and no one even realizes I wrote it, but I do need to write it. It's the only way I can get the feelings out and get my thoughts straight. I may not even actually post it, but knowing me, and my desire- my need- for absolute honesty, I probably will.

My mom tells me she thinks I might be bi-polar and that's no real surprise because, honestly, she's bi-polar and thinks a lot of other people are, too. I'm not offended by it but not persuaded by it either. I've researched it a little, and a few of the symptoms could explain some of the things I do, but I'm not sure. I won't go to a doctor to find out, either. I don't have a very high opinion of our doctors or the entire medical system. They want to put everyone into specific categories, give you a handful of happy pills and send you on your way. Mostly, I can handle this by myself. I get by with a little help from my friends. (That's you, by the way)

When I'm depressed or blue, I've taught myself how to bite, scratch, and claw my way back up. And I seem to deal with depression more than anything. I refuse to dwell on things much, or if I am dwelling, I try to write it out. I can cope with these times.

Then there are other times that scare me a little. If I am bi-polar, these would be the highs. Maybe it's just normal emotions, normal ups and downs. I'm a lot more courageous, daring, and admittedly, more fun. And I like those feelings! I feel good about myself while I'm feeling like that. But occasionally, I do something stupid. Harmless things that usually don't matter in the long run.

Except maybe I did something this time that could really fuck up something I want. I thought when I did it, it was just for a little much needed fun. I feel a little differently about the entire situation now, though. Now I'm unsure and insecure and will be put to the test, in a manner of speaking, in a few days. And I do want this situation that's possibly coming from this thing I did. I just hope it isn't coming only because of that. What I want here is insane and unexplainable and a little scary in a good/bad way. I want more and I'm not sure there is more to be given.

I know you really don't know what I'm talking about and that's fine. I want it that way. Please don't ask me to explain it to you because I won't. Thanks for listening, babes.

The Suckiest Blog Post Ever

2009-07-20T13:24:00.003-04:00

Ok, I know. You really don't have to say anything. I've been neglecting you so badly. But I promise I'm working on that. I wanted to write something funny again, but I might be putting too much pressure on myself because I really can't think of anything. I've been laughing a lot, but most of it has been inappropriate for here, even for me. There have been random penis tweets, talk of vaginas and sex and all sorts of funny things, but most of those have been those "I guess you had to be there" type things. So I'm just working on getting back to blogging. Writing through until I get something better. I need to start writing down my ideas again, and then keeping my mouth shut on Twitter because once I tweet it, what's the point of blogging it?

I was talking to a friend last, and we were saying how important the whole internet experience is for us. Whether it's blogging, or tweeting, or Facebook or MySpace (which I don't use, by the way. I have accounts on both but they slow my computer down so bad I refuse to log on most of the time). My family doesn't understand this phenomenon I've become so obsessed with. My mom tries to tell me that you guys aren't my real friends and I tell her she's insane. This is where I get to be me. Just me. You guys know me better than anyone. That's probably because I say whatever happens to flit through my mind at the time, but you still seem to like me. Still follow me, tweet me, DM me. So I guess you're cool with it, somehow. And I like it.

Hmm. I kept thinking maybe I would write and think of something funny. Yeah. That's not happening so far. Yep. Still blank. Except for what happened last night and there is no way in hell I'm telling you about that. The audience I had was more than enough.

My Wings

2009-07-13T13:02:00.002-04:00

All these years I held myself back,
and stifled my tears and put into pack
my dreams and my hopes.
I became a wife, a mother,
not a life I'd choose for another.
And I let the woman go.
I became who you wanted
through pain. And you flaunted
your knowledge of it.
Then you left me broken hearted.
You left, but the clouds have parted.
And now I see.
I want to dance, I'm going to sing.
No more "can't"s. I've found my wings.
I'm me.
I'll enjoy life without you here.
I'm not your wife, I have no fear.
I'm going to fly.

I've found my wings.

Independence Day

2009-07-04T23:42:00.003-04:00

Happy 4th of July, y'all. I hope you had fun, spent time with your loved ones, enjoyed the fireworks and the heat of summer.

It's seems like the only time I write here anymore is when I need to say something about Thomas. I know no one really wants to hear it anymore, but it's still very real to me. It's kind of like, when you see a tragedy happen? And at first there's a crowd, right? But then, after the ambulance came and the police questioned everybody? People drift away from the scene. They don't know what to say to the victims anymore. What else is there to say? You can only express your sorrow so many times, you know? But the victims are still there, living with it every day.

I need some place to get it out, and you're it. Thanks for listening.

I've decided I really fucking hate the holidays. Any and all of them. I dread Christmas the most. I know it will be worse than today, a million times worse. How the hell am I going to live through it? But tonight I'm not going to worry about that. Maybe by then I'll be "over it" and it'll all be fine.

Today was hard (how many times have I written that, anyway?). Thomas got here to pick up Maritessa and Tripp up at about 1:30, and left with them at around 2:00. I was supposed to be going to a party with my mom and dad, but had begged out because I didn't get any sleep last night. But I didn't let Thomas know that, or that my "grown-up plans" were just a party with my parents. After he left with them, I ran out to Burger King, and when I went past the house he shares with another guy, some mutual friends were out there and they waved me to stop. The girl, Mara was talking to me. I don't really like her, and I know she's a liar. I've known that for a long time. But she was saying some stuff. It's not important what she said, but it was hurtful. After crying for a couple of hours after that, I found out positively that none of it was true, but still.

I laid on my couch crying and felt so alone. Even my old stand-by, Twitter, wasn't any help because no one was on. I couldn't call any friends to talk about it because my cell screen broke the other day and I can't see anything at all on it. Besides, I didn't want to ruin their holiday. A friend did wind up calling and she came by, but she never knows when to leave. She was here about four hours, and we talked about Thomas a little bit, but I could tell she didn't want to hear it. Finally she left and I took a shower, did my make-up really really well (because he had to think I went out) (And because I really want to look pretty when he's coming) and waited for him to bring the kids home.

He called me at about 9:30 or so, saying that he was bringing the kids home and that he had been injured. I was careful not to express too much concern for him. Who the hell knows if that's the right thing, I just think he needs to miss me. I don't want him to think I still care. But when I was sure he had left Verna and Jun's house (our best friends, respectively) I called Verna and asked if he was okay and what had happened. She told me he had cut his foot really bad, but not to worry.

When he got here he showed his foot to me, and it really is a bad cut. About three inches long, and he said you could see into it. There was blood everywhere. He wasn't going to go to the hospital, but I think I may have convinced him to. It hurt to see him hurt. To have to restrain myself from the need to take care of him. He stayed for a long time. It felt like a long time, anyway. He kept telling me how much fun they all had today, kept kissing the kids and telling him he loves them. I'm glad he's doing right with them, don't want it any other way, but god. It hurts me when he kisses them. It hurts to hear him say, "I love you" and know he's not talking to me.

He showed me some photos of Tripp on his phone, and really looked at me too. It's just... I don't know. I want to think he's missing me a little, but I'm pretty sure he's not. I guess he just really believes I'm over it now, and that I won't think such stupid things anymore.

Oh yeah. He had borrowed one of my big blankets for the kids to sit on at the lake, and while they watched the fireworks. He brought it in and showed me there's smears of blood all over it. Said he's sorry about that. Then he said "You can take care of that." In a way like he had complete confidence I would be able to get it out. None of that bothered me. But knowing that it's his blood? It's driving me crazy. Like I just want to go curl up in the bloody blanket and cry. Isn't that stupid? I'm starting to question my sanity here. I can't even believe I told you that. It's a part of him though. I miss him. His smell and taste and the way he feels.

Don't worry though. I'm not going to do it. Just considered it briefly.

God. I wrote too much again. Sorry.

One other thing... I just hope he has someone to take care of him. I wish it was me, but it can't be. So I hope someone really is.

Still Alive

2009-07-02T23:12:00.002-04:00

I wanted to check in and let you all know I'm still alive. I've been working really hard on my book the last week. I started it in March or April, I think, but just didn't have any time to devote to it. Since Thomas has been gone, though, I can stay up until 1 or 2am and write. Since last Wednesday, I've gotten to about 20,000 words. I think I had 1 or 2,ooo before, so that works out to an awful lot!

I'm proud of myself for working on it again. And I think it's really good. It's a lot harder than blogging, though. It's easy to write here, even the hard stuff, because I'm just telling you what happened or how I feel. This is all made up stuff, about made up people in made up situations. Funny thing, though, is sometimes? When I'm really into it? It doesn't feel so made up.

So. That's it. I'm exhausted and my eyes hurt from looking at the monitor so much. But I'm still here, and doing pretty well this week. (Actually, that's a fucking lie but it's what I'm telling myself so that's what I'll tell you too.)

Hopeless

2009-06-24T21:22:00.003-04:00

There are days that are pretty good, even though they're hard. Days that I have hope for the future. There are different kinds of hope, too. On a great day I look forward to my life, knowing that I'll survive this. When I look forward to going back to work and meeting new people. I'm excited to date and one day meet a new man, a better man, that I can love. And who'll love me back the way I deserve. And I hope Thomas never wants to come back because I know I can do better. I also know that if he ever does want me back I won't be able to say no. So I hope he never wants to. On those days the future seems so bright! I can see happiness again.

Then there are the days I hope he'll realize what he's lost and want to work it out. That this new and "improved" version of the man I love will have vanished and he'll be his old self again. And we'll talk it out and I'll tell him no but mean yes. And he'll beg, and tell me how much he loves me and everything will magically go back to the way they used to be. With a few modifications of course, like me being strong again, and him being more understanding. Of course, I would still go back to work but only part time for the fun of it. The kids will be happy again, without that underlying anger. These days... They hurt like hell because I'm pretty sure that's never going to happen. The hope is always there, in the hidden parts of my heart, and my mind sees the reality of the situation. But I still hope.

The really bad days are the ones completely without hope. I know Thomas is never coming back. I can see now that he wasn't as blissfully happy I was all those years. I know that he's done with me, and I'm pretty sure he's seeing someone else now. No one will tell me that he is, maybe they don't even know. But I feel like he is. The point is I know it's over and it's time to move on. To let go of the hope. That only leaves me hopeless, though.

I don't want to go back to work. I really don't. I don't want to leave the kids, but it's more than that. I don't want to have to get up early and get all of us ready, to go work forty or more hours per week and still come home and have all this work to do. Right now, if I don't feel like doing anything I really don't have to. Except for all the normal stuff with the kids. I've gotten a little lazy over the last couple of years.

And what's the point of ever dating again? Just to have a space filler? I don't want that but I don't want to love this way again either. How do you love less, though? It seems so pointless and impossible. Everything I do, I do it all the way. So I can take the chance, stand on the edge of the cliff, but never have the courage to jump again? I have no faith in anything anymore. I'm an empty shell. I love my kids, deeply, but I know one day they'll grow up and the love they have for me won't be as important to them. I can accept that, but I can't ever accept losing my heart again.

I'm utterly and completely devoid of hope today. Even thinking about the kids and my hopes for them isn't lifting me back up. There's just blankness. Blackness.

I have to do something to stop this. I really don't know what, though. I could go for therapy and maybe that would help. Who knows. But how can I when I can't even get help with the kids? I really don't want an anti-depressant. I can do this. I know it! It just takes time and sometimes I forget it's only been a month. And four days.

I want to write funny and happy posts again. I'm so tired of myself right now.

Wish List

2009-06-20T10:45:00.002-04:00

I wish you didn't look so good when you got here

I wish you wouldn't smile at me that way, like we're friends, because we're not

I wish you didn't smell so good

I wish my body didn't still ache for you

I wish I didn't miss you so much still

I wish you would just go away

I wish you would come back

I wish I didn't look like crap when you got here

I wish I could just forget

I wish you looked like you were hurting too

I wish you could just understand me

I wish I didn't love you anymore

I wish.

Still a Stay at Home Mom

2009-06-19T22:08:00.003-04:00

Some nights, after a really hard day, it's just hard to sit down and put these thoughts here. Today was like that. In fact, the last few have been. I keep meaning to write, but don't.

I didn't get the job the other day. I was really a bit pissed about it, too, because I interviewed with the same woman. She walked in the room saying that everything looked great, but the training class was that night and everyone who was hired for it was hired the week before. So basically I wasted two hours of my life for her to tell me no. I was a little confused about it all until I talked to Verna on the way out.

She told me no one like the woman who interviewed me, and that she (Verna) won't even talk to her. Also, that the position in that woman's section got filled the night before, so she wasn't concerned anymore. And at first it hurt my ego a little bit, but then I realized it wasn't really about me. It was about the woman herself, and her bitchiness to Verna. And really? With my resume I could do WAY better than Dillard's. Plus she told me if they do call me later I would start in the Kids section or maybe Young Mens. And that I would be there for several months. I don't fucking think so. Cosmetics would have been fun. But the regular store? No fucking way.

When I left, my first impulse was to text Thomas and tell him I didn't get the job. Which, naturally, wasn't an option. So I got really pissed about the whole situation. I mean, yeah, I wanted to go back to work part-time when Noah and Tessa go to school in August. But I didn't want to be looking for full-time work, or to be concerned over the pay, or to leave my kids! I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't want any of this!

When I got to my mom and dad's to get the kids, my mom told me she needed a break from them (she had them Monday and Tuesday, and would have them the next day too) until at least Monday (this was on Tuesday) (I know, if I would blog every day I wouldn't have to explain what day was what.). The next day was Wednesday, the usual day they keep all the grand kids, and I asked my dad while I dropped them off if she was going to be able to keep them through the summer. The plan was I would put Tripp in daycare, and she would just keep the biggers. My dad told me they had talked about it the night before and he was sure I would understand if it got to be too much for her.

And what would that mean? Well, if I already had a job that would mean I would be fucked and not in a good way. She tries, and she means well, but if it got to be too much I would really be in trouble.

So I decided the best thing to do would be wait until Noah and Tessa start school in August. Then I could just put Tripp in daycare and my parents would only have to keep Noah and Tessa after school. Really, going back to work right now would just be selfish of me. I just don't want to be stuck here in the house any longer. I want to go out and meet people! I don't want this full-time job anymore. I talked to Thomas and he's fine with me waiting until August. He'll keep giving me the same money he always has to pay the bills. And the kids need me this last summer. Their dad just left them, it really wouldn't be fair for me to leave them this fast, too.

Thursday and today have been what's quickly becoming "normal." I don't think of Thomas all the time now, but I still think of him a lot. I want to hate him.

But I just can't.

We still text almost every day. At least five days a week. And that really does make it harder. I wish I could just make a clean break, fresh start, whatever. I wish I didn't have to still see him all the time. Today he texted me telling me what time he would get the kids tomorrow and he started it off with "Hey Wendy." I know it doesn't mean anything, but it bothered me that he said my name. He shouldn't be allowed to say my name now! It feels too... I don't know... Intimate?

He's coming tomorrow to get the kids. I know I already said that, but I keep thinking it. And even though I don't really want him back, every time he's supposed to come I think, in the very back of my mind, maybe this time he'll realize what he lost. I know he won't, though. The way he is now I don't even want him back. But I miss my family. I miss my friend! He was so much more than just my husband!

It's getting better. I'm not hurting the way I was, but I still hurt. I realize his problems with me are actually just his problems. I couldn't have tried any harder to make him happy. But it doesn't erase all the good memories. Doesn't erase all the pictures I loved so much from my computer. One day I need to just move all the photos of him to a different folder, but at this point I can't. It's too hard to look at them, and I have thousands to go through.

One day I'm sure I'll be strong enough. That day just isn't today.

The Smell of Success. Or something witty like that

2009-06-15T22:13:00.003-04:00

Today I applied for my first job in two and a half years! I interviewed with the Cosmetics Sales Manager today, and I have a "formal interview" scheduled with the store manager tomorrow at 2:00. I'm nervous and excited and scared and confident and everything else my fucked up Gemininess causes. I'm just filled to the brim with conflicting emotions about it!

So for the details... My friend, Verna (I would call her my best friend because she really is, but I'm not totally sure she feels the same way) is the manager of the Clinique counter at Dillard's and I asked her if she would mind me applying there. Of course she's helping me as much as she can, so she told me to come on down. I'm not sure that I would want to work for her because I wouldn't want anything to wind up ruining our friendship. But it sure would be fun to work in the same area as her! She did tell me though that they usually promote within the store to the cosmetics department, but she would do what she could to help me.

Today I barely managed to get to the store. There were all kinds of problems and I was really worried I wouldn't be able to pull off a successful interview. But the woman liked me and hopefully tomorrow I'll be hired! Verna told me tonight they may start me in fragrances. I'm nervous about that because so many perfumes give me headaches, but I'll make sure to keep plenty of Tylenol in my purse.

But, geez. I'm going back to work????

I'm nervous about wearing heels all day and actually standing all day! And about the women I'll be working with. I'm afraid they won't like me. Maybe I'm not classy enough. And what about clothes? I don't have anything to wear. My brother gave me a couple of hundred dollars for my birthday, so I can easily get some, but what if the other women don't like them?

And more importantly, how the hell do I get all my stuff done here at home when I'm working five days a week? I know we won't be here all day to make too much mess, but I'm worried about the kids' routines. If I get off work at 6:00, pick up Tripp from daycare, get Noah and Tessa from my mom and dad's, it'll be 8:00 by the time we get home. They still need baths, dinner, help with homework, all kinds of things. And bedtime is 8:00! So when do I get to spend time with them?

I know we'll adjust and make new routines, but I'm really not sure how the transition is going to go. I also know I'm not the only single working mother of three. So that's why I wrote this not so great post. I need help. How do I do this?

A Lot of Maybe's

2009-06-12T20:56:00.004-04:00

I've been thinking to myself that I put entirely too much of myself out there. Everyone in my personal life and in my Internet life knows exactly how I feel about everything. I really don't hold back and it got a little embarrassing. So I told myself I would blog about the kids and really nothing else about me. But I keep feeling this need, and then @sorcheechee told me today that my words can help others and that complete strangers can empathize. And that decided me. I need to write, I need to get it out and talk about it. I'll try not to do it too much, because I really don't think that's healthy either, but between happy posts about the kids, and irritated posts about the kids, and funny posts about the kids, there will be posts about me. Because I'm not the only one going through this mess.

I've been doing okay this week. The burning, constant ache has settled down a bit. I still miss Thomas and the life we had together, but I've gotten used to him not being here. We talked Monday night, which was the night before and turned into the very early morning of my birthday, and I really put it all out there. I had realized the mistakes I had made, and I hoped he had, too. I didn't beg him to come back to me, but I asked him to try one more time. I suggested he just come over and hang out a couple of nights. That we wouldn't talk about us at all, just watch a movie or whatever. I wanted him to see if the feeling was still there at all. I just wanted him to try. I am proud that I wasn't pathetic about it all. And he assured me that he did love me so much. But he went on to say that I "shuttered" him when we had our last fight.

When he left, I really thought I was going to freak out because I knew it was really over. He wasn't just mad, or just being dramatic. He really doesn't love me anymore. I prepared myself for the emotional hurricane as I shut and locked the door. The tears began to build in my eyes and I went to the back door to have a cigarette. And the tears dried up before I was half way through it.

I thought maybe I had just distracted myself with the cigarette, so I deliberately thought of his face as he told me he doesn't love me anymore. And I still didn't cry. I wanted to cry. I wanted to want to scream and rage and tear at my hair or something. But it wasn't there anymore. I did lose another tear as I thought of the kids and the fact that they would grow up without their beloved Daddy, but that was it.

And I realized I'm okay with this.

Don't get me wrong, though. Let me go a little deeper for you. I love Thomas. I always have and I know I always will. He was the one for me. And I also know that he truly loved me, and maybe I was the one for him, too. He admitted that the other night, but it didn't really matter. (And yes, I do know he was telling the truth.) I know I'll never, ever love another man the way I love/loved him. But is that such a bad thing?

Maybe it's better to love a little less. Maybe it makes a stronger relationship if your partner knows you love him, but also realizes he has to fight for you. Thomas always knew I would always love him no matter what. That I would always be here taking care of him and his kids. Maybe that's what he meant when he said I was suffocating him. I know it wasn't that I gave him too much attention. Maybe it was just the knowledge of the depth of my love that became too much. And that knowledge gave him power over me. I don't want that ever again.

Theoretically, I've moved on. My brain has moved on, and my body continues to move along, but somewhere inside, deep, I'm stuck on pause. I would do anything to hit fast forward, or even play, but I lost that remote long ago. I'm just waiting for him to come back and hit play. He's the only one who can. And I know that isn't going to happen, but I'm still stuck there. A face frozen with a broken smile and sad eyes on the inside, but putting on a brave face and pretending to be happy on the outside.

The hard thing is I really understand Thomas. I wish I didn't. I won't sit here and list all the things I understand. It won't help anything. And you know? If he wasn't happy here anymore I don't blame him for leaving. I just wish he would have told me how unhappy he was so I could fix it. When I told him that Monday night, and that he should have told me the things I did that made him mad, he said he shouldn't have had to tell me. That after nearly five years together I should have known him well enough. I realize now he tried to tell me, but was never blunt about it. And I was just too busy and distracted to give it much thought.

Forget fast forward or play. I want the rewind button.

I'm looking for a job now, have a potential one lined up even. Hopefully soon I'll be working one of the make up counters at Dillard's with my best friend, Verna. It seems easy enough and there can't be that much stress. I like make-up, too, so that's a plus. I'm really looking forward to making my own money and getting back out in the world. I can't exactly say I've always loved being a stay at home mom. I can't wait to meet new people, see new faces every day. And maybe, just maybe, I'll meet myself a little distraction.

If I'm ready for that, which is still under internal debate.

More Bitching But of an Entirely Different Sort

2009-06-02T11:37:00.003-04:00

I told you yesterday I would have a good blog story about the new pool and sandbox and sprinkler toy and I do have that story, but I can't write it because someone got a hold of my camera and dipped it in the cat's water. So at this moment I can't upload the really awesome pics of grins and splashes and gratuitous nekkid baby butts. So deal with it. I do have another story to tell though!

This morning I woke up at about 3am and went to the bathroom to discover that dreaded week had come. After feeling around blind in the linen closet for a moment I discovered I was nearly out of supplies. So this morning after Tripp and I dropped Noah off at school (Tessa spent the night at my parents' house) I pulled into the CVS down the road from our house and parked. I sat there for a minute, not wanting to slide across to the other side of the van to get out (did I tell you the latch on the driver's side door broke? Yeah. It's embarrassing). I finally mustered up the strength and got out, then unhooked Tripp from his restraint system and heaved him onto my hip and walked into the drug store.

I knew exactly which aisle to go to because this is where I usually make my emergency runs for anything at all. I picked out the right box, examined it to make sure it hadn't been wet like that one I had bought and had to return that time, and went up to the register. Now I know all men over 15 get it that women have periods and most of them have even stopped thinking it's funny or gross. But still, I tried vainly to hide the box under my arm as I passed the three twenty-something guys putting up stock around me and placed my purchase on the counter.

The guy that works the register (I forgot his name but he's young, and cute, and possibly gay) ran behind the counter, smiled brilliantly, picked up my intended purchase and said, "Hi! How are you doing today?!"

And I tried to stop myself. I really did. But that filter that I tend to miss didn't kick in and I said, "I'm white as a sheet and my hair's a mess and I'm buying a box of tampons. How do you think I'm doing??"

Guess I need to find another emergency stop shop.

More Bitching. Sorry.

2009-06-01T13:46:00.002-04:00

Tripp spilled a whole cup of milk in my keyboard the other day. I tried to let it dry out for a couple of days but it still wasn't working and I was desperate to write so I bought a new one this morning. Yay! I'm going to try to bust this post out before he wakes from his nap in a few minutes, so excuse me if it comes off as rushed.

Thomas has gone too far this time. It was bad enough when he wanted to hurt me (my heart, by the way), bad enough that he left, but I truly believed he would still be there for the kids. This Saturday and Sunday he proved me wrong. Everything I've ever believed about him is wrong now. I hate him now. It's as if he took the man I was in love with and murdered him, and this new, fake Thomas took his place. I don't know this man at all.

Saturday's he goes to work at 3:00, so I texted him on Friday asking him if he was going to get the kids both days or just Sunday. He said he needed to go train for his stupid mixed martial arts bullshit, but he would come see them after that. So Saturday at about noon I texted him and asked him if he had any idea when he would be here and he texted back, "When I'm done." I told him how rude that is and that I need to know what time to have the kids ready. So then he texted me back "1:30." Then a few minutes later said to make it 2:00. I told him to just forget it because that wouldn't be enough time because of going to work at 3:00. Then he said he knows and he's sorry. I told him he needed to call the kids and explain to them and he decided he would get them. He got here at about 1:30, took them to McDonald's and was back at about 2:30. We had a few more nasty texts going on but I'll spare you the details. Mostly I just told him he's hurting them and it pisses me off. And that if I had walked out on them and then didn't want to see them he would feel the same way. By the time he brought them back home he was apologetic and seemed depressed.

He said he was broke and really couldn't take the kids out on Sunday, but that he would come see them over here. He said he had to go to Billy's house (a friend of ours. I trust him a lot, btw) in the morning and then he would be here and that he would call me. Well. The rest of Saturday night I was on cloud nine. He would be here, we would all spend some time together. It would be just like old times, right? Maybe by the time the kids were in bed we would talk and maybe we could work it out. I even planned to be reluctant to try again and everything. I went to sleep Saturday night smiling and excited.

Sunday morning came. I thought he would be here around 3:00 or so, and spent the morning making sure everything was perfect. And waited. And fucking waited. He never called so at 2:40 I texted him asking if he knew when he was coming yet. 20 minutes later and nothing. So I texted him again asking if he was not coming. Finally, about 30 minutes after that he texted saying he would be here at 7:00. WHAT?? That's not enough time! There were a few more texts back and forth and he finally said he would be here when he got back to the area. Then later he said he would be here at 6:00. Then at 6:40 he said he's going to be here in a minute, that he was at Wal-Mart getting something for the kids. He finally showed up at 7:10. With a bag a candy for the kids.

As soon as he got here he started walking around MY house as if he still lives here. And you know what he did as soon as he finished saying hello to the kids? He got a beer. Yes. He. Did. He downed it within about fifteen minutes and got another. I told him he's fucking up his life and turning into a fuck up. And I told him I don't want him to drink around the kids.

Gah.

Enough with all the ugly details. Tripp will be awake soon and I need to finish. He did spend a few minutes with the kids. And when I told him we need a routine, schedule, whatever he scoffed at me. I told him every other Sunday he can have the kids from 9am to 6pm. He said he can't because he wants to start going to church! And what is he supposed to do with them for that long? He doesn't have a place to take them or anything... and blah blah blah. He left after 50 or 55 minutes.

I hate him now. I'll happily admit I still love who he used to be. And maybe one day that man can resurface. But I hate who he is now.

PS... My mom and dad brought a pool and sandbox and sprinkler toy for the kids yesterday so I promise I won't be bitching about Thomas tomorrow! Time for some fun!