Whole-Hearted, Dawn

let's go get lost in each other

2013-06-01T08:49:00.000-05:00

Finally! I finally got my 2011 tax return that was stolen and the 2012 one that was also stolen should be soon to follow. So, I asked my new boyfriend, would he like to take a trip. His answer brought me back to my gut feeling about him, about us.

And then I knew, he wasn't in boyfriend land anymore. Maybe he doesn't get me after all.

It grates my every nerve that I ever felt so disconnected when it came to money and banking. In my twenties, I was a stickler for paying the bills. Achieving financial solidity was something I set out to accomplish early. I read the gurus' books. I did the work they suggested. I had immaculate credit, a mortgage, a car, TSA's, and plenty of open credit lines. I had only one 30 day late bill ever and that was because Honda got my new address wrong. Not even my bad.

I abandoned the bills when Ava was born. I turned it all over with complete trust and confidence to my husband.

I have twinges of guilt about how I assumed too much with A. When A and I reconciled, we had to show actions that showed our commitment to the relationship, to the marriage. For me, I gave him all my passwords. I offered him to snoop all you want, there was nothing to see. For him, he had to show responsibility to the family first, not work. He had an extremely busy schedule involving 2-9 year old children and principals, and bounced check calls to parents he'd rather not make, and if he could run all that and everyone LOVED him, (he was once thanked by a man he just fired, the guy actually THANKED him for coaching him to improve his weaknesses), he could certainly pay the life insurance bill on time, and secure health insurance for the girls.

And once I saw what he actually did with our finances, I had to take some blame for it. He wasn't equipped and I should've known that. But I figured he would do what I would do, when I need help, I assumed he would ask. He'd never purchased anything before me. Not a car, or a suit, he never had to do any paperwork for college because he was an athlete on scholarship. He just had to sign and drive to the bank. I had credit cards in college, pell grants, financial aid, student loans. I had tons of experience with managing my numbers. He had to learn on the job.

Once 1 of 2 IRS refunds arrive, I'm pleasantly surprised. In my world, it's splurge money. It's hard for me to admit that out loud because I know so many are struggling. I struggled to get back to where I am. Total financial control and I'm driving the ship on dividends and returns. I now know things about money that I never ever would've been interested in or given the chance to experience on a teacher's salary. I always said I'd be smart if I had money. I truly understand that old saying that it takes money to make money. Every trip I take my website has an increase in subscribers and views. So, in my eyes, it's time to take a trip. Time to pass out the 2x2 business cards to everyone I meet.

But, when I ask my new boyfriend, did he want to take a trip, I expect him to say, "SURE. Where?" or something similar. He has to know from what we've shared that I've already saved for a "rainy day" not to mention kid vacations and pool parties. I've budgeted so much and so well that my girls are safe from creditors for life and they can have the wedding of their dreams, they can go to any college they desire. My bills are on autopay for the most part and I still shop at TJMaxx and I will never pay retail for anything. Not a car, vacation, sofa or a toy. I heard Oprah doesn't throw away toast. So, if I offer a trip, and you like me as much as you say you like me, you just may want to say yes.

I'm not lost. I'm just sick of guys scoping me out online, making huge proclamations, and then disappearing. I know it's their loss, but I have a hard time believing it's me giving too much. I am not attracted to a man easily. So when I am, I fucking go for it. I am never going to stop being that way. There will be this one guy that is THRILLED to get all of me exactly as I am.

I am taking a trip. I wonder where I'm gonna go.....

flaming heart chakras

2013-05-31T09:06:00.000-05:00

NERVOUS doesn't explain how I felt on our first date. We connected so much so well so soon. He's a healer for real. Makes his living healing and his psychic energy terrified me. I felt like I should've be paying him for his words and his insight. He was so right. He knew things I never ever spoke. Plus, he feels my words, he notices EVERYTHING and so do I. I swear he said "I love you" on our second date. He mumbles a little. I asked him to repeat himself. He kept saying 'his heart' and well, that felt amazing and terrifying all rolled up in one. And I adore the way he stares at me. Penetrating, not afraid, long, deep stares and smiles and sighs. Giggly and giddy made me scared. And now I wait.

he put his hand

over my flaming heart

and his other hand

over his own

it freaks me out

his psychic self

he knows so much

like no one else

he felt a click

i called him in

and now we wait

i had some healing to do

to be ready for him

and now we wait

patient and kind

i got this

my jersey boy

2013-05-11T19:23:00.000-05:00

As I drove home after our third date, he wrote TWO words that lit me up.

Come back

And now I think of him...

And he isn't a boy, he's a man.

With a really cute accent that's so so cute, sometimes, I don't even know what he said. LOL. So I ask him to say it again. Sometimes, I know what he said, I just want to hear him say it again. So cute. :)

Slow and steady wins the race. Time like wine. I know, I know. Pace yourself, woman.

letters.

2013-05-02T09:52:00.002-05:00

I found this touching little poem while procrastinating the other day.
The title and the word captivate stuck out.

Exhibit A/Red Flag #1

I once asked my Tarzan man for a word that he felt about me.
He chose the word 'captivated' which made me turn off red flag #1 (See Exhibit A) We haven't met face to face and he's using the LOVE word. Note to self: He doesn't respect the power of words like I do. I shouldn''t fault him for what he doesn't know, right?

I think positively. He gave me a virtual kiss on Christmas. That's sweet. Then I slip and send a message to him meant for Skye. Skye wanted to foster kittens for Christmas, so we did. The kitten was in my room and...well...

See Exhibit B

Exhibit B

Come get the kitten.

I quickly correct. OMG. I have stupid, stupid thumbs. And then...
his reply awakens my senses.

We meet. We chat and smile a lot. He uses his former career to psychoanalyze me. He knows what he's doing. I like him. I want
to kiss him. I can easily eliminate any man because of his kiss. We kiss in his car. Then he nibbles on my arm as we continue to chat. I'm completely infatuated. So I let him know. See Exhibit C. In comes red flag #2.

Exhibit C

Wait! Hypnotized?! WTF? Creepy weirdness. Hmmm. I reply quickly and
as nicely as I can. Then comes the reminder. "Don't forget your assignment..."

My ASSignment!

When he was nibbling on me, he noticed my arms were hairless.
He asked me to grow it out. He asked me not to....shave.....

Before I replied with "sure, as long you you get
a tan white boy," because that's my style -to compromise. Still, I'm left wondering...
Was this a subtle clue as to what he preferred? What was I supposed to
do with that information. How are we talking self care preferences so soon?
If he doesn't like shaved arms, does that mean.... oh man. My mind was flustered and my
body was listening, but my heart was insulted. He should like me any way I come.
Plus, I don't always shave my arms, the little hairs are bleach blonde and
I don't mind the look. Sometimes, I just like to be hairless. Just because.
So, I flat out asked him. Do explain the arm hair thing. His response... well....
His response was classic and presumptuous. By now, I can tell he is used to younger
women falling at his feet, has many women interested in him, and is completely full of himself.

I continue to be me. We spend about a week texting. Then comes New Year's Eve. All along,
he talked a big game with messages like:

thinking of you
I really love your style I miss you.
goodnight my love your picture made my night

Exhibit D

I sweetly and indiscreetly asked him not to call me "my love."

He didn't listen. I was reeled in for quite a bit longer that I care to admit. I liked the attention. I liked having someone to chat with everyday.

But then I called him and when he didn't answer and replied hours later with a text instead of callling, I put all the pieces together, and left him a firm message.

Bug off!

I can tell you this. He didn't get anything from me other than that one kiss
and a bunch of really cute, really sexy and then really, really, really
pissed off text messages and, I admit, one "you shouldn't even been
talking to me!!!" voice message (which I quickly knew to flip and
apply to myself). I admit ownership. I also admit I burn bridges.

Ugh, and there is this ONE pic. But it's only pieces of me.
Sure it's incriminating if you know it's me, but it's not enough of me to
say blast on the web and claim it's me. Lesson learned. Exposing
one's nipples is for monogamy only. And good friends. Plus,
I have a full face, full nipples, full everything pic of him that
he took in a public stall. Not cool. Not hot. Another player move.

Note to any GENDER: Get out of the bathroom, public and private when
sending pics of any kind. It's freaking creepy unless you're already in
an intimate relationship.

I've said this before and I'll say it again.
Don't mess with sentimental bitches. They'll figure you out before you
even get rid of your first set of blue balls. Tarzan was all nipples for me.
He was too quick to call alpha position. You really can't call that position
with me so quickly. You earn it. I'm happy to be second in command sometimes.
Tarzan promised greatness with his words, but his actions were no thing less than
a complete waste of time for both of us. The payoff:

Great self aggrandizement, but small real world dividends.

I recovered quickly. Mostly because I don't sleep alone.
That's what's amazing about my life. I am so grateful for
my daughters' unconditional love for me. No matter how old they get,
if they want to bunk in with me in my king size splendor, I'm all for it. They also
know if I love a man, his rightful place is in the bed with me, without them.

We have had plenty of conversations about that because of my good friend, Paolo. To this day, they give me permission to marry him. He is so much of what I'm looking for, but we both didn't connect like we'd want. As much as my girls love him, marriage is not our journey. But he is special and we helped each other grow through difficult times. Good times. Buddies forever!

Yachting it up with Paolo.

Amigitos! Paolo y Dawn

grief is a faithful dog

2013-03-28T20:18:00.002-05:00

grief is a faithful dog

and still

i remain true

preparing to receive love

standing tall

chin up

alluring, magnetic field unfolds

and now the past is too little

too late

desiring deep love

my beloved

my truth

my centered self

tasting fulfillment

with pure intentions

magnetized attraction

I'm a sucker

2013-03-11T13:22:00.001-05:00

...for good copy and precise punctuation.

And I must be a sucker. I just found out my IRS refund was stolen. Again! I foresee a relaxing weekend in some tropical locale when the money finally comes in. Shine on. I like to think that maybe some guy really needed money to feed his family. I'm so grateful I don't have to steal, cheat or lie to survive. What worthlessness those people must feel. I'd rather be poor and hungry.

all of the above

2013-03-11T12:06:00.001-05:00

Click to enlarge

Since most yoga poses are comprised of jumbles of multi-syllabic, hard to remember, foreign words, I created my own to help me remember the final result of each pose, and I must admit, I'm a little jealous I didn't come up with all of the above. My "Make a Baby" pose isn't listed though. Just visualize, The Murder Victim, but your knees are by your ears. My instructor never lets us leave without it. Om shanti!

Today, I am thankful for that steady old habit of succumbing to my yoga mat. I will be even more grateful when I am succumbing to a man as well. My days will be so much more peaceful when I have someone to share it with.

sweet songs

2013-01-15T09:09:00.001-06:00

....the first song on Pandora today...

It's the equivalent tone of a song that was once sung about me.

Palpable longing, yearning, sadness, desire, and tender love. The best part of this track is a track hidden behind it. It's a lullaby I played for my girls. There's a little bird. It's so, so, so sweet. Every little girl needs a lullaby. My dad still tries to sing John Denver's For Baby to me. It's also a sweet song. I know when I was little and he sang it, I believed every word. Trees will bow down when you walk by, and morning bells will chime. ;)

Jewel's Absence of Fear

Inside my skin there is this space
It twists and turns
It bleeds and aches
Inside my heart there's an empty room
It's waiting for lightning
It's waiting for you
And I am wanting
And I am needing you here
Inside the absence of fear
Muscle and sinew
Velvet and stone
This vessel is haunted
It creaks and moans
My bones call to you
In their separate skin
I make myself translucent
To let you in, for
I am wanting
And I am needing of you here
Inside the absence of fear
there is this hunger
This restlessness inside of me
and it knows that you're no stranger
you're my gravity
My hands will adore you through all darkness aim
They will lay you out in moonlight
And reinvent your name
For I am wanting you
And I am needing you here
I need you near
Inside the absence of fear

There's a little bird

There's a little bird,
Somebody sent
Down to the earth to
Live on the wind.
Blowing on the wind,
She sleeps on the wind,
This little bird,
Little bird.

Light and fragile
And feathered sky-blue.
Thin and graceful,
The sun shining through.
She flies so high,
Up in the sky,
Way out of reach
Of human eyes.

Light and fragile,
And feathered sky-blue.
Thin and graceful,
The sun shining through.
She flies so high,
Up in the sky,
Way out of reach
Of human eyes.

Light and fragile,
She's feathered sky-blue.
Thin and graceful,
The sun shining through.

And the only time
She touches ground
Is when that little bird,
Little bird,
Is when that little bird,
Little bird,
Is when that little bird
Dies.

the silver lining

2013-01-11T08:04:00.000-06:00

I've heard this exact compliment before.

I collect compliments like some people collect coins. I also have saved every thank you card/note I received since I was in college. At first, I kept the notes in a small tin. As the notes grew, so did the size of the tin until I finally had to get a large hat box. If I ever doubt who I am, I can open my sunflower covered hat box and see a sea of compliments. Sometimes, all I have to do is open the box and touch the notes and move them around and I feel better. Gratitude by osmosis. Although I am more than grateful for every time someone calls me gorgeous or beautiful, it's the unusual people and unique compliments I remember the most.

Time has paid me a compliment. The pain is different now. I don't think it's ever going to go away, it's just going to change. So my best friend right now is time. We're almost at the one year mark. What will it take for us to feel the sparkle of the silver lining. I wonder when are we one moment away from the other side of the rainbow. Some color is headed my way. One of my best friends is home!

I want one!

He who will never be named. I don't even bother to keep up anymore. He hops from continent to continent like a rock star. I know he's doing his thing. If he could ever love me as much as he loves his thing, I'd be content. But I know this will never happen. Plus, it's his thing and what he creates with it that I love about him. A talented artist is a wonderful lover and friend. He is tough on me when warranted, but more often than not, he is gentle. My favorite compliment from him is, "GET over here, you are such a character." In keeping in touch with him, I've built tons of great memories of laughs and stone crab and homemade everything and singing and board gaming and playing of instruments and sharing of dreams. We both have big dreams. Both alphas. Friends for life.

He who will never be named is a best friend I never talk to unless I'm talking to him face-to-face. I am more honest with him than any other man on the planet, including Mike. He felt the loss of Adrian tremendously and like me, he talks to him. Last time we saw each other was emotional. This time we're going to have some good old fashioned fun. My therapist recommends it. I mean, when your tough as nails realist therapist ends your session laughing with you and urging you to "have some fun" and "enjoy it for a while," one should take that advice.

Although I haven't read "Fifty Shades of Grey," nor have I seen the movie "Magic Mike," I did watch an entire season of "Sex and the City" while on vacation. He who will never be named is my Mr. Big. While I realize they are all fictional characters, I find these women to be so sexually free it's fascinating. My reality is always far better than fiction and I am ready for some crazy, stupid love. Like Carrie admitted once, "I just need to feel the weight of a man on me."

my match.com experience

2013-01-09T15:03:00.000-06:00

Match land is not for me. I am overwhelmed by the blindly honest and open emails I get. It's an unexpected outcome of my matter of fact profile.

ME:
More Brains than beauty and a bit of modesty too....

Before I say anything about me, please know this:
1. If all your pictures blatantly show off your nipples and/or your muscles, no thanks. I prefer a bit of modesty.
2. If I could be your mother, (how does that even happen), no thanks. I prefer grown men with tons of life experience.
3. If English IS your first language and grammar isn't your thing, no thanks. I'm a stickler for "your" and "you're."
4. If your car, your closet or your home are a mess, no thanks. I'm into clean.
5. If your ex despises you, no thanks. It takes two people to have a problem and I don't need or like drama.
6. If you aren't a connoisseur of something, no thanks. A love of music, cooking, exercising, reading and exploring, or some THING is a must.
7. Don't let 'widow' scare you away. I take care of myself and my children very well and don't need any assistance. In fact, you won't meet my kids unless we have established some type of real, intimate connection. My daughters are gorgeous, smart and super fun to be around. They have more personality than most. They make everyone laugh and smile everywhere we go. They've pulled me through our loss with their positive thinking and common sense approach to getting through tough times.
8. Please know, this mother misses having a companion, a confidante, regular hugs and kisses, back scratches, massages, and a break from being mommy. I take a grown up girls trip twice a year, and would love to add a romantic trip to that agenda.

Okay, if you're still reading, and don't think I'm a total bitch for stating all that upfront. Just know, in real life, I'm not super bitchy.

I prefer to work hard and play gently. I work from home so I typically cram all my work into four long days, so I can relax and enjoy my family on the other three. I bought my first home without any help at 26 and I eventually bought a great house that was within my means and I have slowly made it into my dream home. I don't have consumer debt and I prefer my companion is as reasonable and responsible with money as I am.

I am emotionally intelligent, that is, I can sniff out a fake person or a liar with one bloodhound sniff. I am super sweet and dare I say sexy. I don't think sexy is what you wear, but how you carry yourself. My friends would describe me as one of the most creative people they know. My man friends say I am adventurous, funny, strong and compassionate. I don't judge others by the car they drive or the job they hold, just by the way they live their lives and treat people.

I am neither slender, nor fat, I'd describe my physical self as fit and curvy, the good kind of curvy. I grew up with older brothers so I'm very feisty and competitive. If they could climb a tree, I could climb it higher and faster. I still climb trees every chance I get. I've raced in triathlons, 5K's and I often skate the boardwalk at Hollywood Beach, end to end. I compete against myself mostly. Can I make it in under 30 minutes this time? On a windy day, that is a tough challenge.

I am kind and generous, but not a pushover whatsoever.

Mostly, I am looking for friendship first then romance.

One much older gentleman named Kevin made me cry the happy cry (paragraph two). I never replied because I didn't want to start a conversation, but he made me feel stronger.

Hi, I'm Kevin

I'm not writing to get you to notice me for I'm 57 (though a fit, kick-ass, strong 57!) No, I'm taking the time to write because I think you're so cool even though I know little about you. My profile specifically stated I need women who know the difference between "your" and "you're" and "there", "their" and "they're". To the few women to whom I'm attracted, I'd write these nice e-mails, sometimes 4 or 5 paragraphs. I love to write, express my thoughts and, you can see, I write well. Women would write one bland sentence back. "Thanks Kevin. Nice e-mail." Or worse, "Thanks Kevin. Nice to here (sic) from you." Oh brother!!
My e-mail to you is just my way of sending encouragement to a beautiful, strong woman like yourself. Not to say you need it because you probably don't. But I send along a "you go" anyway. I know there's a ton of duds out there but there are some good men and don't you ever settle. Words of wisdom from someone a bit older. You have class, brains, beauty and strength. And you're funny to boot! A great combination. I LOVED your list. Make sure your man fits ALL your criteria and don't ever vacillate.
You are beautiful.
With admiration and best wishes this holiday season,
Kevin
P.S. If you have time, read my profile. You'll see the good man who took the time to write to you.

Kevin made me realize I am reflecting into the world exactly what I am trying to reflect. I am sweet. I am funny. I am strong. And I prefer SERENDIPITY. So I deleted my match account. There's one guy named Tony that I have yet to meet, but we've chatted on the phone a few times. He's a busy dad and a real nice guy. He plays some game called euro-games that was initially a hobby for his son, and he accidentally fell in love with it. I picture Dungeons and Dragons for grown ups. He's super tall, 6'5'' and loved a great Dane named Duke that was as big as he (RIP, Duke). I once loved an athletic nerd; I think it's cute he plays academic games like that. I felt no rush to see him though. For whatever reason, we have nice conversations and then I drop the ball.

Tony from Pembroke Pines:

You mention climbing, running and skating in your profile... Well, I remember when I used to climb trees. I remember when I used to run so fast almost no one could catch me and I remember when I would skate till the wheels wore off. ...but, because of these things, my knees gave out and I can't do them as well anymore. ...but, I play a mean game of Scrabble!

I enjoyed reading your profile. You seem like an interesting person that says it like it is. I guess you've seen some things out there and you know what you want. That's good, most people don't. Anyways, we seem to have some things in common. It would be nice to know your name.

Hope to hear from you, Tony

Enter Anthony also from Pembroke Pines
His email had a subject line (some don't), the body of it was completely acceptable and he signed his name. He was the first to ask straight away to 'call' me. I thought, really, you are just flat out asking for my number? That's bold. I recognized his profile picture from my Daily Matches. I liked his profile, then looked at his pictures and when I saw the Tarzan pic, I said 'no thanks' and moved on. In matchland it's all vagueness and vanity. The real reason I put "don't show me your nipples or muscles" on my profile is because I don't want to be with the overly vain gym guy (again) or the obsessed with not eating carbs guy. In his defense, Anthony's Tarzan picture is as funny as it is hot. It's obviously an outdoor party of some sort. My guess is Fantasy Fest. Most nipple pictures are creepy and make me want to look away. Saint Anthony's nipples made me blush. This is another reason I don't want to see any man's nipples before I meet him. If I'm attracted to him visually, sometimes, it's hard to get beyond the visual and then I start fantasizing and that is exactly where I should NOT be starting from... given my past. But, somehow, he went straight to my phone, without even an email, and now I can't get his nipples out of my mind. Not good. Not good at all. Nice nipples make me lose my boundaries.

Online dating really is like buying a used car. That's what I don't like about it. I could decide in one minute of face-to-face time if you're my type or not. I don't like having to jump through so many hoops to get a face to face. There's too much work involved in it all. I have enough work, and I have so much to be thankful for this year. I am completely ready for a man in my life, but I am completely done with searching for one. I shouldn't have to search for love. It will find me. I mean, I want more than anything to find a man deserving of me and my girls who will be able to give as much if not more love than I myself can give...but I also have other goals and objectives to meet this year.

If I choose to communicate beyond match with any of my mermen, they have my info. In three months, match was worth the time invested because I made a great new friend who checks in on me regularly. He's got my back. We've walked each other through bad days with advice about yogic breathing and low tides. He lives, eats, breathes and worships the sea, much like myself. I've liked sharing my day with him. He makes me laugh. He's good medicine.

Jeff from Michigan gave me a nice ada girl:
That's quite a profile! I don't know where you are from, but they grow them strong there!
The most interesting thing your wrote was that you are emotionally intelligent. So many people are completely unaware that there is even such a thing. Very attractive.
Jeff

Alex from Miami wrote the following email that he got no points for, and failed even harder with his profile.

Email: Subject: Hello Amazing Woman

I loved reading your (don't bs me) no nonsense (hard to penetrate into my world) profile. My first question is actually to myself; why would I want to get involved with such a seemingly difficult woman to begin with? Hmm, good question self. My conclusion (after thoroughly examining your pictures to see if they pass the, "I am super sweet and dare I say sexy." scrutiny exam (perhaps yes)) is you hooked me with your devotion and dedication to proper use of "your" and "you're", lol! Honestly what attracts me, (apart from a beautiful face) is your intelligence, character and humor... and the fact you're not attracted to brainless men with naked pectoral muscles lager than their own iq's, lol! Anyway I could go on and on, and I will if you email me back ;-) my email address is ShineOnMe____@talkmatch.com, and I have to put it in that format bc the match filter police will pick it up and change it...
Well hope you have a wonderful day and that I hear from you soon.

I will never communicate with Alex from Miami because:
1. He used your incorrectly in his subject line ("One day you'll meet someone who doesn't care about you're past bc they want to be with you in the future."
2. He called me difficult.
3. When I look at his profile is says "currently separated" and I can't even find one reason to read any more than that.

I don't mind what I am reflecting in these men. It's all good. I am going to be me. And everything is as it should be.

privacy, please!

2013-01-07T20:22:00.001-06:00

This weekend, I felt the need to finally use a gift card that was given to me for my 40th birthday from a special someone. It was a thoughtful gift given the fact he had hopes of seeing what I bought. Then A and I reconciled and I never used the card. With gift in hand, Dawn and I waltz in to Victoria's Secret aimed at the sale bins. By the time we left, we had smiles on our faces, jellyfish stings on our lips, and bags full of goodies. We even had the sales girls laughing and smiling. We knew they had the best lip gloss in town and that 'marine extract' really means jellyfish particles.

As soon as I got home, I emptied my pink bag of goodies and put the bag in the garage in the give away bin. My girls are way too nosy and observant. The less they know the better for now. Minutes after returning I'm literally loading up the little girls for the park. I bark out orders as I'm getting myself together. "Don't forget to pack a snack... and a water bottle." Normally, this would be daddy's outing. We're still in the 'this is what we were doing last year' stage of grieving. I'm a little spacey after my VS outing. I feel happy, and hopeful.

As my SUV turns the corner I see the dads at the park my eyes water up. It is a sea of fathers. One sole mom, and she was with the dad. We sit parked in the car for a few minutes while Emma and Ava console me. They tell me it's okay if I want to cry. This makes me suck it up, we hop out of the car, I open Ava's door and my heart sinks. Ava packed their snacks, water bottles, and toys in my new Victoria Secret bag. I quickly tell her my purse is a better place. She insists this bag is "pewfect cause it's PINK!" I feel instantly red in the face. I don't want my daughters to notice I bought new panties much less the entire park full of dads. It brings me back to tears. I sit beside my car on the curb to explain to Ava why we can't carry that bag to the playground. She knows I'm in no mood to argue and quickly acquiesces.

It's funny. I'm super private until I'm not private anymore. Once I let someone in, they're in. It's up to them how long they stick around. Some can't handle my honesty. Dawn says I'm very matter of fact, and that she loves that about me.

The good news is, when I checked out at VS, I completely forgot to give the gift card, (!), so I still have it. It feels nice to be adorned in pretty things. Even if no one sees them. I see them. I like what I see and nothing else matters. I know exactly what I'm buying more of when I finally use that card.

great gobs of ridiculousness

2013-01-02T21:55:00.000-06:00

I will try. harder.
I will be. better.
I will be. faster.
I will be stronger.

Ava said to me today, "Mommy, I thought you would die before daddy, cause you the oldest." Whenever she wants to express herself about daddy, I'm all ears. It's been a scary world for all of us since he disappeared on Thursday night, March 8th. Word of Adrian's passing came to me via the game of telephone. He was missing, to us, three days, before we found him. Three days of torture. Three days of knowing in my heart he was gone. Three days of coldness I never want to experience again. The police were at his parents' house when they found him in the canal. They told Ariel, his brother, who immediately called my dad. By the time I got news the story was that he was found in the car, in the trunk! I didn't cry. I froze. My bones turned cold. I put my head in my hands and sat under my oak. I got the news while under my tree.

As a mother, the first thought was, are my children in danger. Do I really have this happening to me? How can this be? How could I not see this? How could he hide that? Why would he hide that? The kicker was, word was he committed all of these lies and offenses to impress me and keep me happy. WTF? He came to me a college grad with ambition and a zest for life. He had nothing to offer, but himself, and I was 100% happy to build a life with a man like him. I was already entrenched in my career, a mortgage and complete financial honesty. I gave him my paycheck once Ava was born. I spent slowly and thrifty and mindfully my whole life and there are actually people on the planet who think he killed himself so I can have the life insurance policy and live a certain lifestyle. Utter Riculousness.

All the lies have weighed me down. I don't know who to trust anymore. I don't know who to believe. Add to that fact that I am over truthful. Truthful to a fault. It's just not me to lie. A lie confuses me. I can't lie. I'm terrible at it. I tell too many stories to not just tell the truth. Adrian wasn't missing a day before similar stories, and big secrets, all came pointedly aimed at my heart. HE DID WHAT?! His fucking secrets. Again!

Once they found him, the police wanted to speak with me immediately. I had about an hour to pull myself together to tell our daughters that daddy was gone. I couldn't imagine how I was going to tell them, nor could I imagine the police showing up and that's how they'd find out, from some stranger, so I got them dressed and out of the house for "dinner with Uncle Todd and Aunt Lavinia." I think that's about the time my rollercoaster of grief began. No sooner than I could shut the door behind me I screamed out,' he's gone' to Sara and Dawn and we triangle hugged. A big and loud and hard hug and cry. I quickly called Adrian and I's therapist and wrote down verbatim what she thought was best for me to say.

Ava was the one who turned to my friend Dawn and declared, "I don't believe her" after I said, "...Daddy died and went to heaven." My ears now focus on every word when she talks about daddy in heaven. Ava is the most like me, she talks a lot. A lot. A lot. And she expects you to listen to every word all of the time because she is just that cute. If I ask for some privacy, she'll say sweetly "Can I help you with anything?" just so she can be closer to me. Try saying 'no' to that! So when she said she "wanted" to give daddy a present on Christmas, it took us quite a bit of 'death talk' and review before we stopped talking about daddy in heaven watching over us. She told me, I know I cannot give it to him, but I still want to give it to him, get it mommy? Then I said, I wish I could give him a hug and she screamed, "WISH, dat's the worwd I meant, mama! I wish I could give him a present!" Again I tell her, just because you can't give it to him, doesn't mean he won't receive it. Poor Ava. Poor me.

Despite our loss, we all feel him. He presence is everywhere. As far as rollercoasters, I still hate them all. I always have. But I also have to own up to the fact that I got on the ride. I want so badly to be off the ride. I feel safer now than I have in a long time. It's ironic. I wrote him a poem for our wedding about how he made me feel like I was in a safe harbor. He left me feeling the most unsafe I have ever felt. A lamb amongst lions. Never underestimate the strength of a mother who is concerned her babies are in danger. Looking back at my reaction, I was a bad ass lioness. The day after we found out, with fur standing on end, eyes wide on fire, I called the person who apparently was 'the guy' and flat out had a conversation with him. My conversation with this Guy was all about the truth' and if he could produce me some paperwork and I'd be happy to repay his debts even if I have to beg, borrow, or steal. I told him I'd pay him in increments until it was paid off. He never produced any documents. I have no obligation to repay those debts. The guy left me alone. Still. How the fuck did I let this happen to me?

I fell in love with Adrian's smile. It still astonishes me he'd want to give us such a cruel frown to experience. It turns out, he had so many sports balls in the trunk of his car from his coaching career that the buoyancy of the balls is likely what allowed the car to float enough to the surface that a guy fishing noticed the shiny matter that was the trunk. He wasn't in the trunk. That little mix up caused me some serious damage. Could he have been MURDERED? Could he have lied that well? Could I be that much of a FOOL?

When the Davie detective arrived, he was such an asshole. The lead officer, who couldn't be disturbed enough to come see me on a Saturday morning when I told him Adrian would NEVER not reply to our calls, was the one who broke the news to me me on Saturday night. A Miccosukee detective was actually first to the scene, and first to identify Adrian. Then Davie showed up. Detective Dick called my husband, 'the body' as in, he worked on 'the body' the longest and he was the most qualified and to him he was 90% sure it was a suicide. The windows were down. His seatbelt was off. He was pretty sure, yada, yada.... Adrian's two best friends are both cops, and were both in the room when Officer Dick broke the news to me. Mark was the first to apologize that 'that asshole' was the one to tell me. Apparently Boca Raton detectives have more class.

About a month after the funeral, I called and spoke to Officer Dickhead. I corrected him with, 'Excuse me, but I'm a teacher, and let's just say your kid is in my class, oh, and I teach the special needs kids, how would you feel if I called your kid stupid?!" I lectured him that my husband should not be called 'the body' and then bid him a nice life. I also shared with him that he should try to have some fucking compassion and that he should wear his officer blues uniform when reporting a death to a spouse. Asshole showed up like he was dressed down for Round Up. Faded Levi's and a used used to be green, wore out, piling, concave emblem wearing, broke back mountain "Davie Police Department" polo.

I am not a quitter. I am a fighter. I promise to always try harder.

What I know for sure is this...

Anyone who doesn't bring peace and love to my life, is going to be quickly sent on their merry way.

I have no time to be anything but REAL. No more rollercoasters. No more ridiculousness.

love drugs

2012-12-29T17:31:00.003-06:00

At this point, I am going to enjoy the rush and get to know him! I know that infatuation lasts a good six months to a year, and that's with seeing him regularly. He already feels my absence when I'm not around and thoroughly enjoys my presence.

I am allowing him to happen, letting him in. His mind is gorgeous. He calls me beautiful. He wants me. Woohoo! It may take a while for him to get comfortable and reveal his true self to me, but my truth serum is in full effect. He's getting all of me, exactly as I am. My only red flag is he already has pet names for me. "My love" should be saved since that's about the highest compliment I could receive. He isn't listening. He likes to end quite a few conversations with 'my love.'

Adrian called me 'mi amor.' Maybe Adrian sent him.

Any way it comes, I plan to spend a lot of time high on infatuation hormones.

I will abide by what my sweet friend Jorelle taught me, "We are inauthentic when we are infatuated - we present the best version of ourselves. This is unintentional and not even a conscious choice - just a byproduct of the excitement of liking someone and not wanting to lose their favor."

He has so much to offer. Still, I am going to take my time. We're going to have wonderful conversations and wonderful times and whatever my heart desires! I get to make the choices and he must be worth it. Tarzan is certainly super sweet, super smart, super sexy, super into me. Honey, it's time to live, not a little, but a LOT!

honey meets tarzan

2012-12-26T18:50:00.000-06:00

As they say, ask and you shall receive... I thought a wave of sadness was coming, but then I realized it was just Oz calling. Dawnland is in full swing. Happy. Healthy. Honest.

I feel the need to blog about my match.com dates. The only people who have this blog are special friends in my life. They know it's my healing, my salve, my way of creating. I also feel it keeps me safe and sane. I don't have a confidante to report my dates to and my hand written journal is too easy for my girls to find, even when I hide it. Plus, you can't add photos and such. I don't meet up with just anyone. It takes multiple communications over time to get me on a date. I meet them at the book store mostly. If I don't like the way you communicate via email, then text, then phone, then I just don't go. I'm only going to write about the ones I actually meet. There are a few that are still in email land. The persistent ones go straight from phone to meeting me.

Let's see. There was DR, the former cop turned attorney and my colleague's X-husband. The ink was barely dry before we met. As soon as I saw him in person, I realized it was him. Uh-uh. No way. Sisters before misters. He even had the audacity to speak poorly of her. GONG!

Then there's PA, the marine/boat owner/expert, a new friend, but most definitely a friend for life. Our first date was in the sea, on a canoe. He's very special and very honest. I respect him for that completely. He's a confidante (except he doesn't want to hear about my other match dates, mostly because I don't want to hear about his), a companion, and my coach. I love when he bosses me around. Very few men know me to be submissive. He's one of them. He inspires! He commands, "Paddles Up!... Move your hand down the shaft" (of the paddle, of course). He also barks out LONG, DEEP, HARD at practice. I giggle. We tell each other everything for now. He's a keeper. DING! DING! Friend for sure. We'll wait for the rest...

DS reminds me of my sex-boyfriend, RG. Like my X, he's ridiculously smart, devilishly creative, amazingly handy, e.g., he added LED lights to his jeep in the air vents and such, he built most of the furniture in his apartment, (though I've only seen pictures), and he's ripped from head to toe. He owns a gym and swears his physique is genetic more than diet. He was fortunate enough to hang out with both Dawn and me at Round Up last week. He did his graduate work at UT in Knoxville. He felt nostalgic that night. We had a great time. But, I didn't feel a thing. Devilishly creative is too sensitive a man for me. We'd likely argue over light fixtures. Rob, my lover before Adrian, and I argued over decor a lot. I knew satin sheets were a bad idea, but his aesthetic, artist self insisted. We slid all over the place and sweat like livestock in the midday sun. DONG!

Mark was the first Asian man I ever ever felt attracted to. Until I saw him in person and then I remembered why I don't like Asian men. I'd break him and his tiny self. Even if he's ripped and muscular, if you can still shop in the boys section as a grown man and we can wear the same shirts, I'm out. GONG! GONG!

Anthony failed my match test (don't show me your nipples). But still!

Today, I finally met up with AZ AKA Tarzan. Anthony is creative, a business owner, and has a ton of degrees and a 25 year old son. That was an interesting story. He did the honorable thing and had not one bad thing to say about his ex-wife. I gave him a chance and he's super sweet and he gets a DING! It's all about the kiss though. I'll have to wait and see how that turns out. He is certainly qualified on paper and a first date.

My descriptions are super shallow, I KNOW! I'm hardly mentioning the important parts I must have in a man. Sincerity. Kindness. Sweetness. Compassion. Sexy. Smart. Super Silly...to name a few. P is all of these things, hence the crush. Thank goodness for our honesty and my experience with JD or I'd be in trouble with him and getting my sensitive feelers all hurt and stuff. Whenever I felt sparks, I sent them his way and he put them out nicely. We both feel a huge sense of need to keep our friendship intact above all else. Plus, he's using me to make his boating team stronger. I'm a tough athletic bitch, even out of shape. He just needs to get me in shape. We have fun with the getting in shape part. Lots of fun.

I've always been a good girl. I've kept my sexual experiences to a two hand count and certain experiences were countable on one hand. I mean, I talk with my mouth. I've always found that one thing to be more personal and intimate than sex. I think as long as I'm safe, I'm ready for new experiences. I am a grown woman after all. With real needs. I've been good way too long. I have friends who ran out of fingers and toes in their twenties. 20's!

I always felt it was important to not be slutty. I always felt seeing me naked was meant for one really really special man. I always felt it was important until now. Even as juicy as I am right now, twenty pounds heavier than my normal weight, I'm SUPER sexy and so ready to experience being a bad girl for a while. Not that I'm going to be be a slut and sleep with tons of men. But I'm certainly going to allow it to happen with ones I've scoped out earnestly. Naughty me! Knowing me, as soon as that happens with one guy, I'm likely go into boyfriend mode. Then I can be the real bad girl that I am.

AZ is already calling me sweetheart..and HONEY! Oh boy... he has no idea what he's getting himself into...

If you really want to know if he loves you so, it's in his kiss

2012-12-26T09:05:00.002-06:00

Friends old and young, married and single all come to me for advice. I used to think it was because Adrian and I had a really model marriage. Easy going met easy going. We just had an easy time getting along. It is still incredibly sad how mental illness is stigmatized. It was exactly like a cancer, it ate him away until he was gone. I realize that now. Had I not been depressed myself half the time, and trying to take care of the girls, the house, the pets, my students, I may have been able to help him more. We didn't know how great we had it, until it was gone. When Dr. Volker, the sexologist gave us HW, we dove in wholeheartedly. We were proud to learn we already knew the EIGHT TYPES of INTIMACY really well. Well, until he cheated on me, with good intentions, with my own money. My hard earned since I was 18, perfect credit, simple tastes, worked my ass off for it, money. Then I cheated on him, with good intentions, with my mind. Perfect sex, simple love, worked my brain out for it for four years, honey.

Honey. That's what I call my kind of love. It drips from me naturally. And once you've had some of my honey, I expect you to want more and more. It only gets sweeter and I don't give it away for free...to just anyone. I'm super picky. Too picky. Hundreds of emails and communications in matchland and I've gone on six coffee dates with six amazing guys and I only like one. There's a vet, an anesthesiologist, a gym owner, a chef (Tatu, yum!), and a very Jewish attorney, and a very handy, very handsome, very into the sea and boats Panamanian one. I only mention their professions because I'm choosing someone to date who likes their job, chose their job, and has a career. I am NOT taking care of anyone. Even though I'm filthy rich. Even though it's my thing, to take care of a man. I want someone to take care of ME, not financially, but intimately. And, of course, I really like the ONE that's not that into me. The unavailable one. Ugh. I did it again. Why, why, why do I do that? So, just like D, I shall move him into the just friends category. He's not gonna like it either. Sorry, P! We can't talk everyday, in every way anymore. It's too intimate and I don't know how to do that with more than one man at at time. There are so many fish, and if we are never going to be, then you've got to set me free. Friends for life, I promise! Just no more completely honest intimacy (see below).

I keep posting the 'Eight Types of Intimacy' because my friends are always asking me about them. How to achieve them. How to create them. My advice is just be you in all you do...and spend time sharing and caring. The goal in a committed relationship is to strive for all of them. Happy couples have to work at it. Here's how to assess if your relationship is truly happy.

l. AFFECTION: This is not sex. It must be daily. It can be touching, kissing, acts of service or kindness. Caring how the other person's day is going, or went is VERY intimate.

2. SOCIAL: This does not have to end in sex. It happens in the daytime at least once a week and can be just the two of you or with others. It's like a date. Effort goes into planning, dressing, showering, shaving and thinking about each other and 'the' date. (I once was so proud to go on a date with Adrian. Ava was about three months old, three happy babies, a clean house, and we were out alone. I am very fond of almond massage oil after a shower, but I didn't have time to put it on so I brought it in the car. We pulled out and I am all decked out in my finest and I start to put the oil on my legs and then I realized...I only shaved one leg. One leg was smooth oiled perfect, shiny and new. The other a stubbly mess). :)

3. EMOTIONAL: This is a debriefing of your feelings. It happens once a week and should not be a marathon. You say, "I’m Feeling……; I’d Like….; I don’t want….; etc." It's also helpful when one is upset to ask do you want to discuss now or later. Adrian failed at this. He was all NOW and it took HOURS and it wore me out. Set a time, and set a time. For example, Sunday at 9pm for no more than 30 minutes. Be sure to give appreciations and apologies.

4. INTELLECTUAL: This is the sharing of daily events. Talking about future plans, politics, sports, current events, etc.

5. PHYSICAL: This is not sex. It is gardening, shopping, cooking, working out, biking, boating, kissing, spending time together.

6. AESTHETIC: This is sharing something beautiful that is NOT sex like the ocean, music, art, pets, travel, nature, theatre, etc.

7. SPIRITUAL: This is sharing religious events, meditation, nature, reading, writing, prayer, music, etc. One of Adrian's favorite things to do was to listen to me read. Corny, but true. We'd read books together. Well, I'd read, and he'd listen. We'd discuss as we went along.

8. SEX: In a truly intimate relationship, it must happen at least once a week. (I like to tell my married friends who 'ugh' at this, "If you're not fucking your sweetie, someone else is/will be.") This is a body connection that does include genitals. It may include intercourse or outercourse, of course! It doesn't not have to include orgasm. It can be showering, massage, “good morning/good night” to body. I always encouraged Adrian and I to shower together whenever possible. To me, you can accomplish all 8 in the shower. Water is sexy to me. So is clean. There's nothing better than the smell of clean and your natural smell. No chemicals, just skin. (Sigh, I miss skin).

As I young woman, I told myself I would never settle. I didn't settle when I married the first time. I settled when I tried to stay. Maybe if I'd left sooner, he'd have gotten the help he needed. But every time I tried, he threatened. Not outright with words, but his actions spoke volumes. We'd all yell at him to put his seat belt on. I could hear the beep. The girls would nag him. When I'd mention it, that even the girls noticed, he'd shrug his shoulders. As if he didn't care. He didn't care enough about himself to feel worthy enough to get the help he needed. It takes bravery to ask for help. I'm the fucking bravest person I know. No lie.

I'm still not going to settle. I'm also not going to give away my honey to anyone who doesn't realize how sweet a treat it is to have either. I think that's why I liked my Costa Rican boyfriend adventure so much. He was loopy and giddy and smiley for my honey. It wasn't, "I'll take it or leave it," it was all, "I have to have it, please I beg you, kiss me more, hold me more." It was exactly what I needed. It's a turn on to me when a man is brave enough to be weak in the knees because I kiss him. I know when it's fake too. I know when a kiss is fake. I really know when a kiss means love. Even if it's fleeting. Even if it's temporary. Everything you need to know is in a kiss.

J used to smile when we kissed. Smiling kisses. With A, I was always teaching him how to kiss me. Our first kiss was 'eager' and I told him that. Eager isn't good for a first kiss. Our last kiss was soft, sweet, the tenderest kiss he ever gave me. He died two days later. He wanted me to have that kiss. That was the real him. He was never brave enough to give me all of him all of the time. And now I wait.

If you really want to know, if he loves you so... it's in his kiss. Yes, that's where it is.

i still believe

2012-12-23T19:34:00.003-06:00

There are few activities that truly heal me. Dancing. Writing. Making Love. I've been able to do all of these recently. I'm starting to feel better. I really am. But I need more of all of them. Lots more. And I only have control of the first two. So I write. And I dance.

I've been choreographing a lyrical dance for our school talent show for a while now. I have about five eight counts that will flow with any song, but I just can't find the one I feel like dancing to. At first, I chose Ana Nalick's Breathe (2am). But it's such an emotional piece, I don't think I could get through it without crying, at least I can't when I practice. So, I keep changing my mind. I need to dance. I must get this pain out of me. I practice in front of the girls sometimes, and then they mimic me. It matters what I choose. I want to inspire them, not make them sad. Still, they emote so well, it makes me nervous to teach them such emotionality. Emma is spot on when she dances. Natural talent flows through her. Ava is cuter than cute cute cute when she copies me. They know sadness so intimately. So deeply. It's fully part of their life experience now. We know sad. We know deep. We need happy. We need glad.

When we were happy, I used to dance for Adrian. We met after our college glory days, so he never saw me cheer or dance, and I only saw him on college tapes he saved. It was weird to me, that he didn't know me for what I'd always been known for, so I liked showing off for him. If we wagered a bet, he's always want me to put on one my college uniforms. And I'd dance for him. Fast, slow, sweaty, acrobatic, lyrical, get over here right now I can't stand to be away from you another second dancing. I stopped dancing in 2007. I didn't even realize I missed dancing until my crush came along and I found myself writing songs and choreographing pieces no one would ever see. It's incredibly hard to choose the right song, to finally put a dance in front of an audience of peers and pupils, to be so vulnerable, and so open.

Do I really want to show that side of me? It's a side I saved for one man. Even though I've performed for audiences of all sizes hundreds of times it's as if my adult performances are more personal, more me. Part of me thinks I should bust a move to some popular song and be all Madonna like. I can still Vogue. ;) The kids would likely enjoy that more. But it's not my thing right now. I want the dance to speak the words I cannot express with my mouth. As I practice, I find myself sobbing on the floor sometimes. If it makes me cry, what's it going to do to my girls. Will they be proud, embarrassed, speechless, inspired?

If I had to choose a song today, I'd choose the one below. So, I'll keep practicing. I'll keep changing the song. Until I find the right one. I'll keep trying to figure it out. I need love to be alive. I need winter to be over. And I have a sinking feeling, it's only just begun... How could that be? I've been here so fucking long. December never felt so wrong. How could I still be at square one?

Sara Bareilles
Winter Song
(with Ingrid Michaelson)

Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum
bum bum bum bum bum bum
bum bum bum bum bum bum

This is my winter song to you.
The storm is coming soon,
it rolls in from the sea

My voice; a beacon in the night.
My words will be your light,
to carry you to me.

Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love

They say that things just cannot grow
beneath the winter snow,
or so I have been told.

They say were buried far,
just like a distant star
I simply cannot hold.

Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?

This is my winter song.
December never felt so wrong,
cause you're not where you belong;
inside my arms.

bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum
bum bum bum bum bum bum
bum bum bum bum bum bum

I still believe in summer days.
The seasons always change
and life will find a way.

I'll be your harvester of light
and send it out tonight
so we can start again.

Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?

This is my winter song.
December never felt so wrong,
cause you're not where you belong;
inside my arms.

This is my winter song to you.
The storm is coming soon
it rolls in from the sea.

My love a beacon in the night.
My words will be your light
to carry you to me.

Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?

seared with scars

2012-12-20T08:15:00.004-06:00

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” ~Kahlil Gibran

I feel like I spent years microscopically listening to what two men said and trying to decipher all the things they did not say. The love I felt for them both seems like a lie because, to me, true love never dies. Still, they taught me so much. I have beautiful scars. Deep scars that I obviously needed to receive to learn very valuable lessons.

Adrian taught me to never take anyone or anything for granted. He took me for granted despite my warnings that he should never do that, that I'm a bird. I'll fly away to preserve and protect myself. He's not the first to do that, sadly. It happens with friendships and relationships, and family. I am so easy going, and flexible, to my own detriment, I guess. People feel like they've known me their entire life after spending a short time with me. I'm open and honest and have an uncanny ability to put people at ease. It's my truth serum. Just be you, and I'll be me, and we'll have fun whatever we do.

Our view when paddling

My new friend Paolo and I had a great time shopping for birthday cards last week. We hadn't had one drink yet, had yet to share a kiss, and we were completely giggly and had the best time, just shopping for cards. I really dig that guy! We're going to be friends for life. I already know that. :) I just need to get him in the Mike category. I'll put him in the right category eventually to protect our friendship. For now, we'll just enjoy each others company. He's tall, dark, handsome, fit, fun, smart, and has an artful way of communicating with me, even though his grammar sucks. He speaks three languages, so it doesn't bother me. Good thing we're both being completely honest. No commitments. No serious stuff. Just fun. Just friends. Exactly what we both need. All reality. No fantasy. It's working quite well! We're protecting each other from hurt, helping each other navigate a really difficult time for both of us. I feel like we're prepping each other for all the goodness to come. Neither of us are at our best, and it doesn't matter. I'm so thankful for him. I can be myself and we can have a great time together and then go our separate ways. He's got me hooked on dragon boats and paddling. It involves the sea, exercise, and teamwork. Three must haves in my life. If I don't make his team, (which is highly unlikely), maybe I can beat the drum instead. Wait, maybe there's a tryout for that too.

John taught me that fantasy is best left in that world and that affairs help keep marriages together. I didn't know how to keep fantasy in my head, and I had no idea having visions of him kept my marriage intact longer than it could/should have lasted. Next time I'm in a committed relationship, I'm going to treat my partner like he's my secret lover. As they say, if you're not fucking your significant other, someone else is. Even if it's fantasy. Even if it was just in my head. It was amazing. It was exactly what I needed. With my match.com email blowing up, it's best I have this lesson under my belt. Not that any guy has ever taken advantage of me, or played games; I'm way too smart for that, but it will just protect me from feeling too much before I should. I will tame the infatuation hormones from wild to mild until I'm safe to set them free.

I know I loved them both deeply, in reality and fantasy, and now that part of me is dead and it's actually kind of a relief. There was so much pain and longing attached to both of them. I don't feel the way I used to about either of them. In Adrian's case, I will try to remember how much we loved each other before he got sick. We had 8 years of blissful marriage and friendship. Eight years of perfect. As perfect as perfect gets. When he got sick, I tried to think of it like cancer. Would I leave him if he were going through chemo, or in the hospital battling illness? No! Never. My friend told me when her husband battled an aggressive cancer, she didn't recognize him. She kept telling me he'd come back to me when he got well. He never got well.

In John's case, I will try to remember how light and beautiful I felt when he sang his melancholy songs and sent his sweet, hope filled "You are beautiful" emails. I'll try to remember that when the ignite your bones feelings come along again, I must control them and allow actions in the real world to guide me. Infatuation hormones are something else. I was not of this world when he said I was beautiful. I know I can feel that way again. Just not with either of them. It's as if they are both dead. :/ What I created in the real world the moment I first heard him sing a song about me or when he sent the picture below was like a tidal wave of physical bliss. But it was my cloud. My bliss. My mind. He never wanted it to be a real thing. But the anxiety I felt because of that bliss equaled the goodness entirely. It left me jarred and confused, and helpless. At heart, I'm helplessly hopeful. I don't function well with helpless. Half anxiety. Half delight.

As Edgar Allan Poe professed about his true love, “Yes, I now feel that it was then on that evening of sweet dreams- that the very first dawn of human love burst upon the icy night of my spirit. Since that period I have never seen nor heard your name without a shiver half of delight, half of anxiety.” John always came to me in my dreams. I know now, he was supposed to stay in that realm.

friend with benes

2012-12-15T20:05:00.001-06:00

When I'm ready to love again, I'm going to have to make sure he reads this blog. Imagine that? Here's a little sliver of me. Read and don't weep, and don't pity, and yes, I'm really pretty, but you'll get passed that and you'll see I'm really dorky, and pretty simple, and super sweet, and sometimes moody, and my only demand is love me and I'm not looking for a husband, just a friend who's my partner and traveling companion. Someone to join me on the adventure, with as little baggage as possible, someone who has a job they love, a big heart, and a whole lot of goodness to share, someone who likes kids and animals and feels proud rather than peeved when other men look at me, someone who accepts me for who I am and just as I am. It's likely a long and winding road.....

For now, I'm all about the friends. With benefits of course.

a greater spirit

2012-11-24T10:08:00.000-06:00

I aspired to be a greater spirit.

I made mistakes.

I aspired to be a sweeter spirit.

I learned.

The fact that anything I ever did contributed to his downward spiral inspires me to prove my truth.

I aspired to be a sexier spirit.

I longed.

I did everything I knew to do.

Key word. "I"

I got help, got services, got ideas, got inspiration, got faith, got HOPE, got books, got therapy, got meds, got toys, got connected, got tuned in.

There are no victims here. Just circumstances.

I aspired to be a simpler spirit.

I told him the truth.

All of it. Too much truth. I gave him, Dr. Phil style, get to business, here's the deal, let's do x, y and z truth. He needed softer, subtler truths. He was damaged. Patch one hole and a new one would appear.

Now I know. I know for sure; although, I had come clean entirely, he still had secrets. Bigger than life secrets that he never, not once admitted to me or any of our therapists over a TWO YEAR reconciliation period in any way. I see hints now. If I had aspired to be a better wife, I may have noticed the subtle hints he did leave... I was tired. Better became harder and harder. Hope became dimmer and dimmer.

I know not what is worse. Not being trustworthy enough to be told the truth, or knowing he died by his own volition based on his truth. More shitty secrets, and he left an easy trail that only I could find. He wanted me to be able to connect the dots. It didn't need to connect the dots to know where he'd taken his soul. The trail was a sad, gut wrenching, implausible, are you fucking kidding me journey. I keep thinking I'm going to find a note somewhere. Some kind explanation of how he felt we'd be better off without him. How ridiculous. I still don't see the silver lining there. Fatherless children in an age where his pain was manageable, if one only asks for and wants the help.

What about the girls? He left them no note. He made a mean choice. How mean and violent and selfish. I have been outright blamed in writing and face-to-face conversation for his death.

I made mistakes.

But I never stopped trying. To fix me. To fix us. I told him he didn't need fixing, just tweaking. I admittedly gave up on trying to fix everything. I have solid reasons. My reasons have nothing to do with him, or any man. They were made on my gut. I didn't feel safe. I felt heavy. I felt the way my emotional affair made me feel. Guilty. Confused.

Our journey to wellness was progressive and expensive. We grew so much.... Emotionally, spiritually, sexually. Except for this one secret. His secret; we would've made it. Except he didn't feel like the man I married. My gut knew something was off. And even on a great family vacation, while having a great time, I knew. I needed to end the marriage. Our therapist, gave me this advice:

Don't make a decision on a bad day, during difficult circumstances. Make it on a good day when nothing is wrong.

I still stayed. I still stayed! And that is because I loved him. And we were so good at being parents together. Our girls deserved for me to stay.

Because...

I aspired to be greater.

I aspired to be sweeter.

I aspired to be sexier.

Of all the goodness I aspired to achieve, I never aspired to be richer.

FUCK OFF is pretty much my answer to the blame Dawn drama. But it still hurts. He abandoned three beautiful daughters! It was his choice. His long planned, long threatened, long standing view on problem solving. He succeeded. Not only did he succeed, but his choice was the worst one can choose! Drowning takes the longest, and is the MOST painful way to die, and it was HIS CHOICE. That is how much pain he felt. His pain in this life had to equal how he ended it. How absolutely tragic and awful as well as totally preventable had he stayed with the systems that were proven to work. The meds worked. But he didn't like taking them. So he didn't. And he faded away...

Our middle child, the one who was closest to him has a tough time in water. She often holds her breath until it hurts. She can't imagine he did not choose her. She's very mad at him. And I love the sea. And I love water. And I'll be damned if she won't swim like a fish and dream like a mermaid despite her loss.

I'm just so sad for him, and them.

And I still do not accept any blame. Suicide is painful for all involved. It is also very mean. Very, Very, Very Mean!

I can pinpoint the month, July, and year, 2008 that my marriage ended; although, I didn't find that insight until I processed his death and all the circumstances leading up to his death. Summer 2008 was supposed to be the summer of fun. Money was flowing. Girls were healthily growing. And he was suicidal. And I was numb with fear.

I didn't even know he was depressed. Much less thinking of dying! How can you not share that with the person you have trusted your entire being with, the person you call your best friend. I came home from our doctor toting free drugs and a survey having three of seven symptoms for anxiety and depression. I handed him the survey. He had all seven. We cried. We took the pills. Once the medicine started to work, he got sadder and weepier and remorseful for what he called "leaving us." The pills made him sleep better, feel better and think clearer. It's the thinking part that he always struggled with most.

Then came autumn. Then came hope. Hope that I was great, sweet, sexy. I had some secrets of my own. My HOPE came in via email and mp3files. Not one, but two music men filled my proverbial inbox with compliments and personal performances any girl would blush to receive. My husband even saw my blushes. He knew about the songs. We were spending 1-2 hours a day connecting and communicating. He said, "I can't write music and sing to you, but I can love you like no one else as the father of your children." That seemed plausible. Real. Logical.

Before any songs were ever sung/performed, I confessed my feelings. How could I have such massive, ignite my bones kind of feelings for someone I only saw once, in a group setting. HOW?! I told my husband the truth. I wanted out. He wouldn't budge. Now I look back and see a ton of times manipulated me. Controlled me and I'm not easily reigned in. But my girls are my life. But I wanted to stay. But I could not.

My weapon was always the truth. His was always guilt and thick promises. Declarations of love that I didn't feel. I don't know why. But once I'm gone from a relationship, I'm gone. I even told him that when we met. I said, "I'm a bird. Never try to clip my wings and we'll be fine."

His death did not destroy me. His choice was his own truth. But now I'm left in search of my true love who must also be a GREAT dad. My girls deserve no less than genuine, old fashioned, sweet, undying love.

I aspire to be a better spirit.

I don't aspire to be a better wife. In fact, I don't think I will ever get married again. Now my life is complicated. For now, I'm going to hunker down and simplify motherhood and career. I'd love some great, sweet, sexy man to sweep me off my feet, but after a month on online dating sites, I'm a little weary.

Whatever happened to serendipity. I know... serendipity is what got me flirting in the first place.

if my pillow could talk

2012-11-12T06:56:00.000-06:00

I'm dreaming about him again.
He always comes to me in my dreams.
Sweet, sweet dreams.
I wake up feeling bold.

But he thinks less is more.
How much less is really less.
I'm full of less.
How much more must I endure.

joy slumbers on my bed

2012-11-11T10:10:00.000-06:00

It seems my darkest hour is behind me. It was actually the whole month of October. I'm not a crier for the most part. I especially don't like crying in front of anyone. I saved most of my tears for late night, or the shower. But October left me crying morning, noon and night. Not for any reason. Just a wave of sadness would hit. No one had to say anything, or do anything. It just hit me like a tidal wave without warning.

I didn't realize I hadn't already been through the worst of it. I thought I was doing great. Staying strong. It wasn't hope keeping me strong, it was survival. I had to keep it together for the girls. Hope was overshadowed by need.

Hope was always brighter when it dawned from fear. Fear of failure. Fear of loss. Thankfully, I don't live in fear anymore. The worst has already happened. So I continue.

I open every door. I keep marching on. Sometimes joy hits me so hard, I feel like running.

After rappelling a breathtaking, 196 foot waterfall in Costa Rica, I enjoyed the passionate kisses of a 28 year old hot, hot Latin man. With our large group well ahead, we kissed. Our only witness, the spray of the waterfall we just descended. After that kiss, I ran, and I mean RAN up the 400+ foot rocky path. The guide leading the way was surprised I wanted to run it, so he ran. I arrived huffing and puffing minutes behind him. We both smiled and laughed.

Andre, the gorgeous guy in his forties I couldn't help but notice, passed me half way and also met me with a smile. He didn't laugh when I arrived, he told me I started too fast and should've paced myself. Ugh! As if I don't already know that about myself mister! Andre is tall, smart, handsome, educated, athletic, never been married, no kids, great teeth, funny, I could go on. He sat with me at our very first sit down meal. His choice. My radar was on him. Mr. Latino literally came at me like a freight train. He escorted me to my room, to be sure my bags arrived safely. I opened the door and my breath was taken away with the view. An active volcano and floor to ceiling windows will do that to you. He made a noise that called my attention back to him, another grand view, and he called the view beautiful, but said I was "wild beautiful" and before I blinked an eye he was right there, arms embracing me and already kissing me before I could truly comprehend. He was sweet and tender rough. So me! Not bad for a first kiss. Not bad for an older woman. Not bad at all.

Don't get me wrong, this trip wasn't about men in the slightest, or getting noticed at all. It was my trip to show the girls how we can enjoy life and trust that all will go well. Being kissed was not my mission. But when in Rome...

I only mention the age of Daniel because my radar guessed he was in his twenties. At my age, twenty-eight is a stretch, or so I thought. I was stunned to learn he even noticed me. Of course I noticed him, but the thought never crossed my mind. He was our guide, our Julie from The Love Boat. Plus, there was a super cute, super hot, twenty something girl on our trip. Why bother with the old lady?

It wasn't Vegas, but I kept that door open. The kissing door is my favorite door. I don't remember ever kissing anyone as passionately as he and I kissed that weekend. That is saying A LOT. That kind of kissing usually leads straight to other things that distract you from kissing. But he loved that way I kissed him, and I loved the way he hugged me when he kissed me. I felt a little sparkly every night because of Daniel's affection. Like Tinker Bell herself sprinkled me with just a smidgeon of what's to come. It woke me up. I felt very alive. It was very surreal. It still is. I didn't even get his last name or contact info. Not a shred of him came home with me, other than a little glow I carried around. Fresh glow. Until the last day.

On our final day in Costa Rica we went ziplining. This time sorrow socked me one. I felt so alive, and a little scared. Each zip was about a half mile long and although some were a little shorter, zipping along at 45mph for over a half mile above the rainforest overlooking an active volcano only reminded me of one place. My honeymoon. (I remember every time in my adult life I've had my breath taken away. In Hawaii, it happened so frequently. The aloha spirit one gets while there is a real fact). We zipped six times. I wept 5 of the 6 zips. Happy tears came at the very end, but mostly I wept sad tears, mad tears, high and dry tears, sobs of wet tears that dripped down my cheeks like rain. Everyone noticed. Everyone left me alone.

Joy and sorrow. Highs and lows. I know for a fact that while sorrow sits inside of me, joy slumbers on my bed.

And so I...

March on. Persevere. No matter how undulating the seas or crooked the path. I've nearly drowned in sorrow and most definitely jarred my brains with missteps.

I am reminded of H.W. Longfellow, “The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal."

O M G!

2012-11-09T14:21:00.001-06:00

I wasn't wrong.

I was actually really right.

I know what I know and I like what I like.

O M G!

I was right.

And I fought.

And I sought.

And I am stronger.

And wiser.

I know what I know.

I know.

I know now.

It was all right.

And it still went wrong.

I still love.

I still long.......

cursed or blessed?

2012-07-09T09:48:00.000-05:00

I am losing the ability to hold back my feelings for anyone or anything. I live in the moment, every moment and I want to see past next week for a change. I am also more alive than I have ever been. I am scared to death some days. Then some days I feel I can save the world. If the truth is supposed to set you free, then why do I feel caged up.

At the same time...

I am gaining the ability to build a wall tall and strong, fortified with love and forgiveness. I live in the moment, every moment. I am more alive than I have ever been. Some days I feel I can save the world. The truth has set me free.

The trouble is, I'm really afraid to fly.

i got it wrong

2012-07-04T08:03:00.000-05:00

i followed the light

i followed you home

perfect kisses

and i'm still alone

i heard your voice

i felt your pain

i only have

myself to blame

your sweet embrace

you sang a song

it felt like home

i got it wrong

effing sweatpants!

2012-06-19T23:18:00.000-05:00

An effing repost. Because it still makes me LOL and this is my blog to express myself however I wish. If you don't like what I write, then get out of my grill.

When a new boy-friend shows up to my friend's house on a special occasion sporting sweat pants and rock hard abs with no sentimental gifts in tow my outwardly shy and super sweet friend texts me this message...

SWF: He wore effing sweatpants last night. Dawn! He was still hot but come on! Sweatpants?!

ME: Lol. He's a boy.

SWF: If u could c his body....ugh.

ME: Is he really everything you want and need?

SWF: He doesn't know what he doesn't know. And I haven't even shown him a quarter of what I know.

ME: Take it for what it is then. He's a good start. This is the beginning of the end of your divorce.

SWF: Ud think he'd want 2 increase his chances of continuing to get laid and; laid well cause my game's tight.

ME: Lmfao

And this is my shy, quiet friend. She tells me shit she'd never tell another soul. It doesn't startle me in the slightest to have this friend vent to me. I'm tickled she trusts me so much. Despite or because of my loss, I've become both an expert and a novice at being intimate. I learned so much in my marriage about physical and spiritual expression, or withholding expression, and I know for sure that although great abs are nice to look at, hopefully, you're looking in each others eyes more than rubbing your hands on the washboard. Good sex is more mental than physical. Without emotional intimacy, you may as well be using a toy. Just sayin'. Great abs in sweatpants or Ralph Lauren chinos, it doesn't really matter if you're brain isn't totally into it.

Then there's my outwardly vivacious, sexy friend who will drag you in the men's room if you have to pee at a concert (there's never a line for the stalls) who loves to fuck and recently admitted sexting pictures of her vagina to her younger man. I must LOL, not at her, but with her because that's beyond frisky and horny in my book. I've been known to send some emails I should have never hit send on, but that's one that causes me to pause and reflect on the other party involved when they receive said picture.

I honestly think there's no greater compliment than to hear a man say FUCK when he sees you naked, or when he groans FUCK when he feels you naked, but I want to be there, when the FUCK word comes out. I prefer to be all present for that word. FUCK!

Besides. I think all cursing should be saved for close friends and fucking.