Why Bother?

A New Home

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 16:23:00 +0000

::::dusts off blogger::::

Hello there!

Yes it is I, Katie. The author and purveyor of the wild and silly stories of a single mom and her son.

Well, it's been a year. A rough one with LOTS of changes, both good and bad. I've definitely grown in experience and find myself stronger and more capable than I ever thought possible.

In that time, I had to recreate much of my life. My social circle, my personal friends, my outlet and my ideas of trust.

That included the end of this blog. A blog I loved and return to often to read and reminiscence. Though some of the changes in my life were wrapped in difficult times, I don't believe in cleansing my past to fit my new view of life. So I leave this blog and all of it's stories and shared memories as a marker for my past.

But I must say I'm no longer this blogger. I have found a new home and a new outlet. While I may never close this blog, I'd like to invite those still around to visit me new home.

My main place of writing is now One For Hope. And along side my writing, I'm also documenting my crafty side with In Stitches!

This will always be my first home. And though I've grown and changed, this will always be my foundation.

Thanks for being apart of that journey.

Katie (aka Kekibird)

At The End

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 21:30:00 +0000

There comes a time when everything must end.

Some say that endings are a new beginning and this would not be untrue. The end of something can in fact lead to the beginning of something new and wonderful.

But in other cases, some things just need to be let go of.

The decision to let go is a hard one for me. There is a comfort in what I know. And I know that I love to write. I love to share and I love to express myself with words.

Lately, I have not been able to express myself here as completely as I have before. And it has been difficult to look through my past writing and see the joy I once had. There is comfort in these posts. Stories that were funny and some that were difficult. Each having their own place in time.

And that’s how I would like to remember it.

Today is the last time I will post on Why Bother. It’s been a GREAT run of memes, posts, and comments. But when I realized that my joy for writing was lost in the wild twists and turns of my current life, I knew my time here had come to an end.

Instead of shutting it down and wiping away the past two years of ups and down, I’ve decided to keep Why Bother open but to move on and post no more.

This blog will now stand as a gravestone for my past. A past I’m ready to leave behind and to learn from. A past filled with joy and happiness and some moments of sadness. The path before me is new and fresh so I cut the ties here and stride forward, taking steps as a new person.

In making this tough decision I had one question to ask; if this is no longer who I am then why bother?

The Broken Girl

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 17:01:00 +0000

I am the girl that has to ask "Are their avocados in this salad?" If I don't, I run the risk of itching and swelling for hours after I've eaten them.

I am also the girl that has to check and make sure there are no cats living in the house I'm about to visit. And if there are, I have to politely decline.

I was the soccer player that had to take a hit off an inhaler before the game, at half time, and at the end of the game if it was a particularly warm day. I played anyways.

I am the swimmer that should wear wax ear plugs to keep the water out since my ears don't drain properly. It's quite a pain in the ear canal if I don't.

My list of Do Not Eat Foods is long and tedious so I just gave up and made two lists, the list of Foods That Will Kill Me and Foods I Shouldn't Eat But I Will Survive If I Do.

I was the kid that caught every cold, every flu and every infection. Ear infection, chest infections, sore throats, strep, stomach flus.

I missed so much school my freshman year of high school my Algebra teacher called my mom personally out of concern. I had to take summer school that year.

I have a knee that pops, a wrist that hurts, a lower back injury that is a royal pain and an ankle that locks up painfully when the weather gets chilly. But these are injuries I acquired by trying to be athletic when I'm SOOO not athletic.

I am a girl with a broken body.

Today they took more blood. This time to see if my red blood cells are breaking down wrong and causing the anemia. I'm not feeling really confident that this will yield results. In all honesty I think the lab needs to start putting blood back in, they've poked me so much lately.

And not the good kind of poking, either.

I'm just tired. Tired of having a broken body.

Anyone want to trade?

How To Distract Your Dragon Loving Son

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 18:29:00 +0000

My son wants a pet dragon.

And by dragon I mean a reptile that breathes fire and flies. I bet, if you asked him, he’d name it Toothless and it’d be black, but that’s just my assumption based on his obsession with the movie How To Train your Dragon.

Cute movie, by the way.

Any how, he wants a pet dragon. In his mind they are real. Very real. So there is no ifs ands or buts about it. If we can get one, he wants one.

I’ve mentioned my son’s obsessiveness before with the whole gardener thing. Well now it’s dragons. The cool fantasy kind. And in his mind, the very real kind. The kind he can own and name and call his pet.

Yeah....This is not a new issue. It’s been something we’ve dealt with over time.

First there was the dog issue. He got to know a little puppy around Thanksgiving time that just adored Jake. He fell in love with the idea of having a dog just his size. He asked me none stop for a dog of his own. I was able to avoid that mess by telling him that we’d need a new house with a yard.

Only problem with that is now he tells me he doesn't like living in our condo and that we need to buy a new house....one with a yard.

Then not long ago my son obsessively wanted a sibling so he could be a big "brudder". I got him a baby doll so that he could have a baby and mommy wouldn’t have to go through another round of single parenting and stretch marks. It worked. He’s stopped asking me to give birth to a playmate.

But now his attention has fallen onto owning a dragon. A real one. One that actually exists. He earned some little dragon figurines by sleeping in his own bed for 5 days in a row but those don't seem to be working like the baby doll did. Damn....

Now I’m stuck between wanting to be honest with my son and not wanting to break his little heart. I don’t want him to feel lied to when some day he discovers there are no dragons in real life but I also don’t want to see his little hurt face if I were to tell him the truth.

So what to do?

Locate a reptile store, that’s what! There are real dragons (just none with wings or fire breathing powers) that you can own as pets and I intend to show Jake a real dragon. Maybe even let him hold one.

Hopefully this, like the excuse about the backyard and the purchase of the baby doll, will distract him from wanting a dragon long enough for his mind to let go. To forget how bad he wants one.

Then I can go a day without the request for a pet dragon.

Coming Up For Air

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 17:16:00 +0000

Trauma.

We all survive some kind of trauma in one form or another.

A bully chooses us to pick on for the majority of our school years.

We suffer the loss of a close family member to a debilitating disease.

We watch our parents fight through a relationship chasm that seems as wide as it is deep.

A break-up goes terribly wrong.

Sometimes the trauma is too small or insignificant for others to understand the impact on those dealing with it. Other times the ordeal is so big the waves of the storm stretch out and touch the lives of those around it. And whether we acknowledge it or not, everyone has survived some form of it at some point in their life.

The blessings of living through a traumatic experience is, for one, finding out who your friends are. There is a bond made in the midst of tough situations that is not easily broken. The bigger the problem, the stronger the bond. There is also the eye opening experience of finding out who you are at the core. You find your strength and your capabilities to weather a storm that seems big enough to drown you.

And because there is always an opposite side to everything, as much as finding out who your friends are and how deep your strength goes, you also discover those you thought were true to you. This can be a silent discovery with a quick escape out the figurative backdoor by allowing the friendship to pass and the moving on process to begin.

Sadly, not everyone works well with subtitle ways. Some people thrive off of drama and need to have a massive falling out to show how much they aren’t friends. I’ve been lucky, the figurative escape hatch has always been my mode of closure and it works for me.

Honestly, I think the biggest trauma we all survive is childhood. Just the process of growing up and learning and all the changes is one big ol’ fucking ordeal. The bonds you make with friends and enemies you grow-up with in grammar school run deeply. So deep, there aren’t words to express the true feelings you have for these people.

That’s why, when I met up recently with my old elementary school friends after not seeing many of them for 15 years or more, it was like coming home. The ties we had were never broken due to surviving childhood together. There is a certain sense of familiarity with these people because, though our experiences and memories of our school days are different, we all made it through together.

Our survival is what solidified our connections.

Who would have known that 8 years together would have outweighed 15 year apart because coming together and visiting was like no time had passed with these friends. It was more than just a school reunion, it was like family coming together.

And while I reveled in the joy of finding old friends and connections I had once thought long gone, I also realized it couldn’t have come at a better time.

I’ve recently been weathering a massive life changing experience. Now that the air is clearing and I am coming up for breath, I’m seeing the reality of my new life. It hurts a little, to see so much loss and change. Where my landscape was once plush and full of life and friends, it’s now a barren waste land, ready to be replanted.

Lucky for me, I can see the positive side. I’ve got my family, or la mia famiglia. They have been my strength and I love them. I’ve found my closest friends, two people I trust implicitly. I go to them first and always with an open heart. I’m blessed to have them in my life.

And where there once was beauty and life is now a blank canvas. A place to start over, fresh. And it couldn’t have come at a better time. I turn 30 this year. A whole new decade to wipe clean the pain of this last one. Also the reunion of my childhood classmates has opened new doors for comradery and friendship.

I may be hurting still but I can see all that good that could bloom up from the ashes of my past life. I can see the possibilities and the silver lining. Every ending is a new beginning.

And so here, in the wake of traumatic experience, I see what I am made of. I feel the strength and love of my family and friends.

I know I will be alright.

A Wild And Crazy Imagination

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 19:55:00 +0000

When I was young, I had an active imagination. I could imagine, vividly, that sharks were swimming in the hallway in the middle of the night. This kept me from bothering my parents when I woke up frightened.

I also imagined that I owned a little “house” on the backside of my garage. I even borrowed some old furniture from the neighbor, who had put out a cabinet and some other items with the trash, to build up my little “home”. That was, until the neighbor complained to my parents that his “trash” was disappearing. Then my mom noticed a few items from the kitchen were missing, like a few utensils and cups, and had a peak around the back of the garage to find my little cove.

Then there was the time I was monkeying my way across the monkey bars in my backyard. Swinging back and forth, rubbing the calluses on my hands raw from the hours playing outside, I closed my eyes and began to pretend I was in a jungle. The luscious vines and dewy leaves around me shaded me from the harsh glare of the midday sun. I imagined so fiercely this jungle that when I opened my eyes, I swore I saw a large, exotic spider hanging from the monkey bars only inches from my face.

I screamed. I screamed like I was being murdered violently. Out rushed my dad, flying at superhuman speeds to save me from the painful death I was encountering. He scooped me up from the bars and whisked me into the house to check my body for bruises, breaks or other horrific injuries. Upon finding none, my parents asked what was wrong and I told them about the monstrous spider spinning its evil web in front of my eyes.

They were baffled, to say the least. Standing up, my dad glanced at my mom and then headed back outside to inspect said spider’s web. Low and behold, nothing was there. Not even a small itsy bitsy spider. I had imagined the whole thing.

This imagination has been both a blessing and a curse. While I can think up a million ways to be creative, I can also think up a million scary things that go bump in the night. Hence my great dislike for horror films. I have enough imagination to think up those gory scenes without having to see them, thank you very much.

Also it would seem that this giant imagination of mine is an inherited quality.

Last night, my son was working on a project at the kitchen table. A box of crayons and papers surrounded him as he worked slowly on coloring some figures for his Star Of The Week poster. He’s not much of a coloring fan so I did what I could to encourage him. Stepping away for a moment to check the hamburgers I had grilling outside, I came back in to find some rather misplaced artwork on my wooden table top.

At first, I didn’t mention it because I was precariously balancing two plates with freshly grilled turkey burgers and all the fixings. But as I sat down I pointed out the tabletop Picasso work and asked how it had happen.

And to my surprise my only child said he didn’t know. It wasn’t like to him lie to me so I probed further. I mentioned that if he didn’t know, then who did make the scribbles on the table.

Without missing a beat, he looked up at me and said the mirrors did it.

Humm....that’s a new one.

Stifling a laugh, I became curious. I asked him how the mirror did it when it has no hands. Puffing out his shirtless chest, he said it used its body.

“Like this, mama,” he explained while rocking his upper body back and forth.

He never once looked away or stammered. In his heart this story, though made-up, was a possible truth. I watched him regale how the mirror did it without the use of arms and had to smile to myself.

He is really and truly is my son.

I just haven’t decided yet if I’m proud of his creativity or worried about the lying...

Here's A Story, Of A Band Obsession

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 18:41:00 +0000

Yes, if you are wondering whether I was singing the Brady Bunch song as I wrote that title, I totally was.

Back in the day, I was an all-American high school student. I went to the beach during the summer, listened to my music loud and could spend all day sitting with friends talking about absolutely nothing. We had stupid inside jokes that meant nothing to anyone else and we found pleasure in the small things like patches for our backpacks and thrift store finds.

(Under this formal gown, I had my Doc Martin boots on)

And the music I was blaring was more often than not was something alternative and very 90’s worthy: Portishead, Soundgarden, Nirvana, and the occasional ska band like Save Ferris or Skankin' Pickles.

But above them all was my favorite band Sublime.

My love for Sublime and their music went beyond the usual fan. I was obsessed. I had stickers, all the cd’s, posters, sweatshirts and tee-shirts. I lived, breathed, and rocked out to Brad Nowell daily. My friends respected it, my parents just accepted it and my siblings looked up to it. My fan-girl obsession with Sublime was apart of me. A big part.

In my big ol’ mustang with the doors that would open upon making a left turn and the speedometer that showed me going 20 miles per hour faster than I actually was and the blinker switch that turned my radio on and off, I blared Scarlet Begonias and Saw Red, only two of the many songs I loved.

It was what made me unique. My odd sense of style and my quirky sense of humor somehow all came together with my love for this band and made me who I was. It is apart of the foundation of who I am today.

I’m still quirky. My odd sense of style comes out of the closet every now and then. And I still have a reverence for the band Sublime and their music that will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Sadly, I discovered them in 1997, a year after Bradley Nowell’s tragic passing. I never got to see him perform. Nor did I ever get to know the band in its complete state. I have DVD’s of them but it just doesn’t cut it. I will never see Sublime as a band.

Recently, the news of the band reuniting under the banner of Sublime with Rome caught my attention. How could it not? I bled Sublime. Of course I’d take note of this. And my reaction?

They aren’t Sublime. They aren’t even CLOSE to what they were.

As a hardcore fan, I was disappointed. I wanted the band to stay the way they were in my memory and not something new. But the idea of seeing the remaining band members playing their old songs started to grow on me. The chance to see them at the KROQ Weenie Roast came up but I passed. After hearing the rave reviews of my siblings, I suddenly regretted not going.

You see, they aren’t the Sublime I love. They aren’t Brad, Eric, and Bud. Lou Dog isn’t even around any more. But I missed seeing them before, as they once were. And now I have a chance to hear the music I loved so much during my end of high school days and through the beginning of my college years. Why miss this second chance?

This summer, 13 years after first discovering Sublime, I’ll be seeing them in concert.

Can we say excited much!?

Life With A Boy: Growing Up

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 18:30:00 +0000

I have a little boy. He's no longer a baby. We're talking a big boy with big feet and a vast vocabulary of funny sayings.

Recently, I realized that I still treat him like a baby. He will always be that but, I needed him to be more self sufficient and sleep in his own bed.

So I developed a plan. I was the wo-man with a plan. And a chart. And LOTS of stickers. Cool stickers like Spiderman and Sesame Street.

And thus began our journey. For 30 days my son would sleep in his own bed. From bedtime to morning time, he would be in his own bed. If he got up and went into my bed but turned back around and returned to his own, he got a sticker. If he slept through the night and woke in his own bed, he got a sticker.

Since we began, he only missed two nights.

I consider THIS is be a HUGE success. I'm so proud of him!!

And for every 5 days in a row he was in his own bed, he got a little reward. Foreseeing how this could get expensive, mommy got creative. First, I gave myself a limit. No more than $10 at most. And, if I can, find ways to knock the price down.

Two of his rewards made it easy. We have a membership at Gamestop for Jake's Nintendo DS and Game Cube. Now the Game Cube is an older system so most of the games we buy for it are pre-owned. I think his Spyro game cost me no more than $5.00 with our Gamestop membership. And his Lego Indiana Jones game for his DS cost me $5.00 also because we traded in two games and used the membership card.

Can we say WIN-WIN??

His other rewards included a new Lego set, some cool dragon figures and a dinner out at the restaurant of his choosing. Of course, I was thinking we'd hit a Red Robin where we could get some nice hamburgers and a little cocktail for mommy. But Jake had other plans. He wanted a restaurant with a play area inside. So we headed to the local McDonalds for breakfast one morning so he could play all he wanted.

Now that we are down to the last five stickers, we have a day at Disneyland planned to celebrate his success. A whole day of rides, churros and fun.

But we're not done yet.

Seeing how well this went and how great Jake's doing with something he's ALWAYS struggled with, I'm taking the next set and moving him into his own room with his own bed. A bed generously donated by a friend.

Last night we put it together and I'm in the process of getting some letters cut to decorate the headboard with in an attempt to excite Jake about having his own space. We'll paint the letters any colors he wants and attach them to the headboard to make it his.

And of course, another chart is in the process of being created. This time, for every 5 nights in his own bedroom, he'll get to open a surprise! I'm hoping that seeing the wrapped items will encourage him to stick to his own room.

I'm going into this next phase a little dubious because I've had bad luck before in keeping Jake in his own room. But, let's hope that now that he is capable of sleeping through the night that he'll be able to do it in his own bedroom.

Check out our past stories about a Life With A Boy:

CTMH: No More Poking Please!

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 18:38:00 +0000

You know the results can't be good when you doctor calls you early Monday morning after just having done your blood tests on Friday.

When you are the first call on the doctor's list, it's not usually to be told you are the healthiest person in the world and you'll be receiving an award at the end of the year for your stunning physical health.

So when I found a message on my cell phone from the office number of my GP, I was a little stumped. How bad could this be?

Well, I'm not dying, let's get that right out there. But I'm not well either. I've got some scary iron deficiency issues.

In the past 6 weeks, I've been diligently taking my iron pills twice a day with an orange or orange juice (to help with absorption). I was hoping to see a little improvement though I didn't expect to be within the range for my age and gender, between 40-150. I just wanted to be higher than my little ol' 23.

But low and behold, my most recent test results are in and, if possible, I'm LOWER than I was 6 weeks ago.

Life is a cruel, cruel joke.

Now it's a matter of checking off the list of possibilities starting from the worst case scenario. Which means more poking and fun tests for me to endure. We're trying to rule out internal bleeding (Eek!) and a condition in which your red blood cells break down called hemolytic anemia. Once we establish that those aren't the reasons we'll go from there. As of now, my job is to up my iron supplement dosage and keep doing what I'm doing.

The other side of the coin is less scary but still involves changes I'd rather not deal with. Though I'd love to feel awake and alert during the day, I really don't want to give up my IUD. TMI, I know, but it's gives me a peace of mind to know I don't have to take a birth control pill everyday (one that I'm likely to forget) and I'm not as likely to get pregnant. Having been through one unexpected pregnancy, just standing next to a fertile man makes me scared shitless that I'm going to get pregnant so the comfort that my IUD brings me is awesome.

Ok I know....I CAN'T get pregnant just talking to a man. I'm not stupid, I'm just a little....skittish. Believe me, the trauma of becoming an unwed single mother out of the blue has not left my system so I'm happy with my little IUD. The doc is concerned, though, that it may be causing me to have heavier and longer monthly situations that is depleting my iron levels.

Oh joy....

Ok, enough of the vag talk.

So now the plan is to do more tests. Rule out the worst of the worst. Keep up the iron and see where I am in 6 weeks or so.

Sigh....

CTMH: 6 Week Check-Up

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 19:12:00 +0000

6 weeks.

6 weeks ago I got some test results back from the doctor’s office. They had me tested (TWICE) for cholesterol and my thyroid. Little did I know that when they went in, they’d find nothing wrong with the thyroid and my cholesterol a little high. Not just that, but then they’d find my iron levels were low.

Way low…

On a scale for my gender and age, my iron is supposed to hit somewhere between 40 and 150. Welp, ladies and gents, after the first round to tests, they labeled me as “mild iron deficiency”. Ok, I can handle that. But they wanted me back to do more work.

So in I went again.

Drumroll please...... After the second round of testing, my results were in. My iron levels were tested at 23. Yeah.... 17 points below the lowest for my age and gender. Sigh…

So it explains a lot. I’m tired, all the time. I get down really easy and feel like I can NEVER sleep enough. I’m trying not to doze off as I sit here typing this.

The new plan was to introduce iron into my system through supplements. I hate iron supplements. They mess up my tummy but I’m desperate to start feeling normal again. I’ve been popping two iron pills a day since I got back my second round of results.

Do I feel any better? Not quite. I’m not AS tired anymore but I’m not feeling a huge improvement. I’m not sure how long it takes to start feeling better when your iron levels are as low as mine. But I’m working on it.

This week marks the 6 weeks check-up point. I’ve been taking my medicine and I’m curious to see how my numbers line up. I went in this morning and after some serious pain and possibly some bruising in the crook of my arm, I’m waiting to hear back from the lab.

We’ll see. I could use some good news.

Lost: Mommy Mojo

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 15:08:00 +0000

I need my mommy mojo back.

You know, that energy you get when dealing with your child? The mental ability to redirect your son or daughter from their tantrum and do whatever it is you are asking? That special super human power you have before the first cup of coffee to handle their begging and whining for macaroni and cheese along with their waffles?

Yeah, that mojo. I want mine back.

I seem to have lost it the last couple of weeks. In all the emotional turmoil involved in my break-up, I seemed to have lost whatever little parenting ability I had.

We were doing fine with our PCIT work, doing the homework at home and making our appointments. Then things started to slide. I canceled the first appointment because the day before it was traumatic and I needed some time to emotionally deal with all that had happened. Within that first week after canceling, my homework started to slide and we agreed that canceling the next appointment would be a good idea.

I needed to be doing the work at home to be making our appointments worth it. Just showing up to play with Jake while we are observed every Thursday doesn’t automatically mean the program is going to work for us. I have to do my part.

And now here I am, about to cancel my third appointment.

I feel like a failure.

And it’s starting to show at home now.

He’s fighting me again. Yelling and crying. Throwing tantrums and arguing over little things like whether the sun is out or whether it’s cold enough for pants.

Don’t even get me start about bath time.

Last night he was so distraught I got into his bed with him and held him for a bit. My little man hasn’t needed bedtime cuddling in some time. My heart broke just a little.

I know I’m being hard on myself. I’m currently in the emotional throws of an extremely tough break-up. Though I know how to sooth and take care of myself, I’m realizing I’m not sure how to help my son. How to give him what he needs during this time of change.

In the beginning he didn’t seem to notice any change. He continued on being a happy, healthy little boy. But now he’s adjusting and settling into the new life we have and it’s not going well. It’s like he’s all the sudden realized it’s just him and me. And right now, he’s not happy with me.

I guess, as much as I need to heal and adjust to the changes so does he. He needs time to adjust to the changes in his little boy world. I wish I knew what to do to help him. I wish I felt more confident that I was doing things right by him.

Where is my mommy mojo when I need it most?

Maybe I need to check under the couch cushions again.

Amazing Me

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Mon, 31 May 2010 05:25:00 +0000

Sometimes I amaze myself.

I have an unknown strength that surfaces in the face of extreme adversity.

I can be calm and mature even when I'm dealing with a situation that would otherwise have someone running for the hills screaming.

I really amaze myself. When the going gets tough, I pretty much kick ass.

But the other side of the coin amazes me just as much.

I can be weak in times when I need my strength most.

Maturity can escape me at the worst of times.

And I can easily lose my cool.

The last month has been exceptionally difficult. Honesty and big decisions have been required of me on a day to day basis for the past couple of weeks. Things that any other person would have broken down over if in my shoes.

But I hung in there, dealing with each blow. I've managed to handle each situation to the best of my ability, even though I questioned it at times.

I am amazed with the strength of character I possess in hard times.

Then there was the last week. The last couple of days even when all those great qualities flew out the window. It was like I was a different person. I was suddenly not as strong and not as mature. The coin had flipped.

And once again I am amazed but not in a good way. I'm amazed at how weak I was, how selfish. I could have hurt someone I care very much for.

I didn't listen to myself or to them, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was immature and willing to risk something that means a great deal to me for something else. I'm sorry I lacked the strength to listen to my own good judgment.

Now the big question: do I regret anything?

And my answer is no. If I were to regret my all past digressions, I'd be losing the chance to learn from my choices. To learn how to cope, how to listen and how to be honest. I'd lose the chance to make myself stronger, to build up that maturity and to be better.

A better person. A better friend.

I have no regrets.

Half Way

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Fri, 28 May 2010 16:12:00 +0000

Today is May 28th. Today is 6 months from November 28th.

Today is my half birthday.

In 6 months, I will turn 30, a birthday I’ve been dreading.

I can’t explain completely the feelings I have about leaving my 20’s and entering into, what a dear friend keeps calling, The Dirty Thirty. It’s too complex and mixed up to understand.

There are feelings of fear. It’s a new decade, one I’m not sure of. I’m no longer the college age or the new to “The Real World” age. When you are turning 20, you kinda know what the decade has in store for you: college years, graduation, new jobs, and some new relationships and if you are lucky marriage, a house and kids. Sometimes it works that way. Believe me, I’ve got enough friends getting married or already married to know that’s how it sometimes works.

Just not for everyone…

There are feelings of disappointment. I’m not where I ever thought I would be: single mom, never-been-married, not teaching, renting, and graying. How did I imagine myself so differently? Did I miss a turn at Albuquerque somehow and land here instead? Somehow my younger self saw something completely different for my future and now that I’m here, that my future is my present, I’m feeling a bit let down.

And just to let you know, Albuquerque is a stupid name and is VERY hard to spell.

But mixed in with the disappointment and the fear, there are some positive feelings.

There are feelings of relief. I’m done with the 20’s and some of the drama that ensued in those ten years. All the roommate issues, the paperwork for college, the application process for new jobs and the general “What do I do now?” feeling. That’s done. I’m settled in a routine with little change. It’s kinda nice, to be honest.

There are some feelings of excitement. A new beginning is around the corner. A fresh decade to paint whatever colors I deem worthy. And I feel that I have a little more choice in the matter. I have no big responsibilities like choosing a college, picking my classes, picking a new place to live or a new roommate. Any choices I make in the next couple of years are not by necessity but because I want to make those choices.

Hummm….I kinda like that idea.

But somehow the good things are clouded by the negative and I’m stuck stewing over the impending doom that is my birthday in 6 months. The last two birthdays were either avoided or cried over. And they weren’t the big 3-0.

(I'm on the left...in case you were wondering)

Today is May 28th. Today is 6 months from November 28th.

Today is my half birthday.

And I'm not sure how I feel about that.

I'm Not Going To Lie

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Tue, 25 May 2010 17:22:00 +0000

I am an atrocious liar.

I can’t lie worth crap.

I can’t lie face to face or over the phone. Hell, I can’t even lie in a text message or an email. I’ve never known anyone whose tone carried so well in written words. It’s like a camera is on me at all times as I send messages, displaying my every facial expression.

Somehow I was born without the gene to fib. My emotions are worn on my face and my heart is pinned to my sleeve. My feelings tend to jump the gun and expose themselves even when I think I’ve got it covered up.

Lately, I’ve been trying to lie a lot. To my son, my family, and my friends. I’ve been waking up and putting on a cheerful face for my son. I tell my family members I’m doing much better and thank you for asking. Then I tell my friends that everything is cool and to have no worries.

Shit, I’m even lying to myself. I go to bed each night saying that tomorrow will be better. When I wake up and it’s no better than the day before, I lie again and say today will be great.

Some people can see through this thinly veiled attempt to cover up what I’m really feeling. They see it and some choose to ignore it. I love these people. Ignorance is bliss, in my opinion.

And then are those who can see the truth and call bullshit. I love these people, too, but....not as much. They break away those lies and call me out. They ask only for my honesty and to hear the truth. I’m not sure what this is accomplishing but I submit to their requests and give them the real deal.

So I won’t lie here (since I can’t). Things are not great. Things are tough, at best. Change is tough. I’m down and out but hopefully not for long.

See? I may not be able to lie. But I can sure as hell continue to hope for the best.

Grieving and Change: My Enemies

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Mon, 24 May 2010 18:23:00 +0000

Have you ever been hit in the stomach with a pillowcase full of bricks?

No?

That’s ok, neither have I. So I’m going off the assumption that it would hurt like hell and pretty much knock the wind out of you or break a rib or two. But that’s just my assumption.

And it’s how I felt when I woke up this morning. Like I had been sucker punched in the gut by a speeding semi-truck. Whether it was the lack of good sleep or the emotional tides that are ebbing and flowing right now, I’m not sure. One could very well be the cause of the other.

Either way, I woke up feeling beat up and tired.

And to be honest, this is the first time since my life of two years slipped away from me over a month ago that I have felt much of anything. Maybe the last couple of weeks I was running on shock and adrenaline. Maybe I subconsciously had numbed myself to get through it all.

All I know is that now I can’t shake this deep sense of regret and remorse. I think I’m grieving.....finally.

This weekend my bright child put two and two together. He commented on the missing person in our home. I had to explain as gently as I could that from now on it would be us. He crinkled his little brow and thought about it, what it meant to be in a home with just mama because for the last two years we’ve been a trio. His memory is still so young he doesn’t remember the days before when it was just us.

When we showered together to save time and my sanity knowing he was right with me.

When we shared a bed in our one room apartment because I only had one bed at the time.

When the amount of toys he had comfortably fit into one closet in the living room.

When all I used to change his diapers was a foam pad on the ground because we had no room for a proper changing table.

When I had to keep him in his car-seat in the car while I ran up the groceries so that he wouldn’t get into any of the bags while I unloaded them onto our porch.

He doesn’t remember the days when it was just the two of us. When I had to be creative to keep him safe and me sane. So I’m trying, gently, to explain how things change and how we’ll be ok. We always were ok, just us.

Although I keep telling him we’ll be fine and that I know this to be true, I can feel the affects of all the changes. It’s in my neck and shoulders. A tension that turns my muscles into cords and makes migraines a daily issue. And that gut feeling of being socked hard is there, too. I go to sleep with it, wake up in the middle of the night with it and then find it still lingering when the alarm is blaring.

Grief. That’s the only thing I can think of. I’m grieving and this is how it feels. I’m in the fourth stage of grief, the whole depression/sadness part. I’m sad for what I’ve lost and all the change. I miss the way things were even though I know that this change is for the better. I think I miss the comfort of what I knew because from now on, it’s a new road I’m on and I have NO fucking clue where I’m going.

Holy shit…grieving sucks…

Only The Lonely

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Sun, 23 May 2010 18:22:00 +0000

Loneliness is one of those weird creeping feelings that can hit at odd times.

In a crowd, with friends, visiting family or when I am all alone. It hits me randomly and I can't prepare for it's arrival. It's an unwelcome guest, much like the flu or a cold.

This weekend we had a gathering. Drinks, food, card games, lots of laughs, some silly string and a visit to the hot tub. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.

Everyone but me. And I couldn't shake it. I tried, and I tried often. But it stuck with me. The loneliness had arrived, an unexpected visitor who was not welcomed.

If I could have, I would have sneaked off to my room, closed the blinds, pulled up the covers and relaxed in bed. In the quiet coolness of my sheets, enveloping me in the peace of my very own space. My personal, unshared space.

Where did this feeling come from? Surrounded by great people, people who love me and have been there for me in the worst of times lately, I found myself feeling so alone and distant I couldn't find my way back. How did I stumble onto this path with no way back?

Lost and alone.

I can't say I feel the same way today but I know I could have been a better version of myself yesterday. That I could have been more friendly, more open and a lot more fun. But I wasn't….And I can't go back now and make it better.

I just have to accept the unexpected dose of loneliness yesterday and move forward. Make today better.

Much better.

Straight From The Broken Hearted

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Fri, 21 May 2010 22:07:00 +0000

Loving someone who doesn’t believe they deserve to be loved is painful.

Loving someone who doesn’t believe they deserve to be loved and thinking that if you love them enough they’ll be fixed, is a heartbreak waiting to happen.

Loving someone with all you have isn’t a question for me. When I love, I love deeply and without boundaries. I love without strings, conditions, and without question.

Has this hurt me? Oh yes, but I don’t regret any of it. Everyone I’ve loved has loved me in their own way or has taught me something about myself.

But, until this past week, I didn’t realize that you can’t love someone that doesn’t believe they deserve it without get hurt. A little hurt or hurting a great deal, either way, your heart is going to be broken.

When someone doesn’t believe they are worthy of love or are worthy of being cared for, they act as a brick wall. And everything you put into loving them bounces off onto the floor to lie broken and shattered. Each time you give a little more only to watch it fall on deaf ears, breaks your heart just a little bit. And with each little break, the crack widens a little more.

Sooner or later you have a chasm running the length of your heart that is hidden beneath the good intentions and deep feeling that love can conquer all.

I hate to tell you but…the fairy tales lied. Love doesn’t conquer all. Because even the deepest of love can leave you wounded and broken if the other heart does not believe they are worthy.

I have learned that loving someone is a two way street. You’ve got to feel that they deserve your love for no reason other than to honestly love them for who they are, for their good and their bad. And they’ve got to believe that they deserve that love from you.

That they deserve the good things in life.

And that you are one of those good things.

Surviving the Wrestless Sea

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Wed, 19 May 2010 22:28:00 +0000

I’m hanging onto the side of my boat. The salty sea brine brushes over my skin and presses against my body, cold and unforgiving. Wave after wave crash into my drained form as I hang on with all I have left.

I had hoped this wouldn’t happen. That I wouldn’t go over the side of my very own boat as the sea below became rocky and angry. I had hoped to coast to shore on rolling waves to dock, carrying with me my memories unblemished.

The memories of a calm ocean. Of a blue, sparkling sea. Of gulls laughing on the breeze and the air sweet with misty sprays.

I had hoped to savor the remaining light from the pale pink sunset, the purple racing stripes across the sky. To lay back, gaze at the stars and remember the good times.

Little did I see ahead the forceful storm gathering up power, aimed at my little, peaceful cruise. So busy was I taking in the awesome spectacle of that last sunset, of that final end to my time here that I missed the signs. The signs of trouble.

Now, as I cling to the side of this boat, I hold on dearly to the one thing I went out onto the sea with and the one thing I will be returning with: the vessel in which carried me here. The physical embodiment of my strength. The boat in which I ride through the ups and downs, the calm and rough seas of life.

No one can take my strength away. My memories may be tarnished but they will clear up as time passes. My trust may be lost among the tossing sea and frothy crests, but that can be reclaimed as I mend from this storm. My strength may be tested in the to and fro of the desperate ocean but my vessel will not break. Nothing can weaken this hull.

We may be battered and weary, but we are still in one piece.

Life With A Boy: No More Haircuts!

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Mon, 17 May 2010 16:06:00 +0000

I consider myself a logical person.

I know the difference between fact and fiction. And I tend not to be too superstitious. Though I may be a bit gullible, I can say that I know what’s real and what’s not….most of the time.

But lately I’ve begun to believe in something that makes no sense except that I’m seeing it happen so, it must be true. Because, seeing is believing, yes?

Not too long ago my son began to ask about getting a hair cut. I agreed since the weather would soon turn warm and his Beatle-ish hairdo could cause some discomfort in the warmer months.

As usual, I asked him what kind of hair cut he would like. I’ve always felt safe asking this question because he always wanted the same thing: a simple short do.

You can imagine my surprise when my darling son sandwiched his long locks between his chubby hands and held it straight up in the air. Way up into the air....

Like this....

When I asked him what that was he stumbled a bit for the wording and ended up making his own term: a mo fawk. Humm, I wondered. Could he really be asking me to give him a mo-hawk?

I told him that would be cool and dropped the subject for a day or two, thinking it was a passing thing. Something that had struck him for a second but that would pass once he forgot about it. Oh how wrong mama can be!

Within a few days I asked him again. What did he want to do with his hair? And once again, with no hesitation, he grabbed his honey strands and lifted them into the air, standing straight and tall saying he wanted a mo fawk. This time, seeing that he was set on this idea, I gave him the correct term, a mo-hawk. At this, he began to squeal and jump up and down. It was like a spring had been released under his large flat feet. He was certain this was what he wanted.

Oh dear...

Since I’m the mama, I decided to let him get a “faux-hawk” instead. A fake mo-hawk. This pleased him tremendously. I’m a firm believer that hair is just hair. So giving him some power in choosing what to do with it is fine with me. But, I do have veto power in the end.

He just doesn’t know it.

The appointment was set and in I went with this young, sweet baby boy.

And out I came with this tall, lean big guy.

Now here is where logic fails me and I turn into a superstitious woman. I swear that when we cut off those long, straight locks of sandy blonde hair, he grew a few inches!

Not just that he grew but that all his clothes shrunk and fell apart! It’s like relieving his head of all that hair caused an over night growth spurt that would put three pairs of pants in the trash for torn knees and a handful of tee-shirts too embarrassingly small to wear in public into the donate box.

Sigh….

I go in for a $10 hair cut for my son and come out with a boy I don't recognize needing $$$ in clothes.

From now on…no more hair cuts!

Check out these other posts in the Life With A Boy series.

A+ For Effort

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Thu, 13 May 2010 19:11:00 +0000

I’ve been fairly lucky. The path that I’ve been walking with Jake has been pretty smooth.

It’s been smooth because I make it so.

Instead of standing up and being the parent, I tend to smooth things over, placate my son and fulfill his needs so that I don’t have to deal with negative behavior.

And BOY does he have some negative behaviors. Hitting, screaming, kicking, crying, long tantrums and some serious issues with listening. Nothing abnormal for a 4 year old boy. The only difference is the way I’ve handled it. And....well....I just tend NOT to handle them.

What can I say, I’m a pushover. I allow my insecurities and fears of confrontation to lead my parenting decisions. I can make claims about being a single mother or that he’s my first child or even that he’s got a spirited personality. But those are all just excuses.

Especially now that I have help. Now that I have the means to be a better parent and not allow those excuses to get in the way of my relationship with my son. Now that we are working with a counselor in PCIT sessions.

Yesterday we had our session. An odd day for us because of a scheduling conflict. I was proud to walk into the center and show my homework. I’ve been making an extra effort to not only do my 5 minutes of PCIT practice and working on my P.R.I.D.E. skills but to document my thoughts and feelings more efficiently.

But as we advanced to the room where we would play, Jake rushing ahead in excitement to see what toys he would be playing with, the counselor informed me that this session would be it. We’ve be inciting a tantrum from Jake for the first time. That we’d change the rules a bit to work on managing Jake’s behavior when he’s acting out or being difficult.

I didn’t realize it but I’ve been worried about this part of our therapy. Up to this point I’ve been focusing on my role. On my job. On learning my skills and improving myself. I had pushed to the back of my mind that at some point I would need to work with Jake while he’s acting out. I would have to parent him through a tantrum.

And I wouldn’t be able to give into him.

My stomach dropped unexpectedly and I found myself wishing I was at home. Up to this point PCIT was just learning how to play with Jake! It hadn’t been hard at all. Honestly, it was fun! But now, now it was getting tough. Now the hard work needed to start.

I sat in the room and surveyed the toys. All new to Jake: Lincoln Logs, K’Nex, and a bucket of pretend kitchen/food items. I could see his eyes focus in and the excitement in his little voice. The novelty of our session is still hanging on. This was going to be tough.

At the time, I didn’t realize how tough. Then the play started. My practice session went well. I think I could still use work on praising him. As for my reflection and my imitation I do well there. And then, through my little ear piece came the instruction to take over the control of the playing and try to evoke Jake’s anger. His aggression. His tantrum.

I did as I was asked. The play turned from Jake’s control to mine when I asked him to continue playing with a toy he was done with. He argued a bit at first, denying my requests to continue playing with me. He tried to put the toy away so that he could pick a new plaything. I countered with positive tones and pleasant requests that he followed the rules and continued playing with me, with my toy of choice.

Then he started to get upset. He grabbed at the toy box and tried to take it from my hands saying “No, no, no.” And I was getting ready, ready for the blow-out tantrum. With the voice in my ear, the response from Jake and my attempt to respond to this situation in a new way rather than falling back on my old ways, tension slowly crept up the back of my neck. My shoulders tightened up and I felt my chest squeeze.

Then it happened. I redirected Jake’s attention and he was able to focus on the toy at hand. He calmed down and kept himself in check. We played together as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t toed the line between my sweet boy and the child who becomes unmanageable.

We attempted twice more with the two other toys to get Jake to show his anger and for me to work through it but with no success. Jake was on his best behavior.

As I worked through the rest of the session, I noted two things. First, I was disappointed. I didn’t want it to seem like I was a liar, that Jake didn’t have tantrums and that I had made it up. I suddenly felt very vulnerable and small. Had I made it up? No, I know I hadn’t because I was not alone. I had witnesses to some of his tougher moments. I knew how far he could go if he wanted to.

Secondly, I realized that I work so hard to keep Jake’s tantrums in check so that I won’t have to deal with them. That in being asked to provoke it I had brought on a small panic attack. That I can’t handle confrontation very well, even when it comes to my son. The tightening in my chest, the tension in my neck and shoulders. They stayed with me until I was in my car and able to take a deep breath.

I give in. When the tantrums start and my son flies off the handle, instead of standing my ground and being the adult in the situation, I give in. I let him have his way. It’s better than dealing with the confrontation and the frustration of both him and me.

In coming to this conclusion, I wondered if I was a bad parent. Scratch that. I felt like a bad parent. I felt like in giving in I was allowing him to believe that it was ok to act out. That it is ok to hit or scream when he doesn’t get his way. That in giving in I was teaching him how to behavior poorly. That Jake really isn’t a bad kid. That I’m just not a great parent.

Those thoughts stayed with me well into the night. Long after bedtime and after sleep consumed me. It was still with me when the pitter-patter of his feet sounded through the quiet night and woke me up around 3:30 am.

He wanted into my bed. A battle that is waged nightly. A war that has no winning side.

As the memory of that day's session lingered in my mind, I made it a point to stick to my guns and use my tools. To use positive praise and redirection to help Jake sleep in his own bed. To help him understand that he can’t always have his way. That he needed to be a big boy in his big boy bed.

And, amazingly, after only 20 minutes and a few tears, he acquiesced. Into his bed he went, promising that he would sleep in his bed. And I reminded him of all the good things he would be able to do because he was acting like a big boy: Disneyland, swimming, going to friends houses. It worked. He finished the night in his own bed and woke up proud of his achievement.

Am I the perfect parent now? Nope! I have a long way to go. But I no longer worry that I’m a bad parent. I know that what makes a good parent isn’t our skills or our abilities but rather our effort.

And I get an A+ for effort.

How Can This Feel So Wrong?

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Fri, 07 May 2010 17:59:00 +0000

A friend recently asked me if I had to chose to be either deaf or blind, which would I pick?

These hypothetical questions fascinate me. They can really open one up to what makes someone tick and why someone thinks the way they do.

And when I answer, it is always the same: I'd choose to be blind rather than lose my ability to hear.

In the best of times and the worst of times, being able to listen to music helps me in ways I can't explain. It reaches my soul and gets me through.

Portishead - Roads

Handing Out The Tums

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Fri, 07 May 2010 16:14:00 +0000

When I was young, I survived an abusive relationship. I spent a year in a classroom with a teacher who felt it was ok.... no, necessary.... to remind us kids daily how stupid and worthless we were.

None of us told anyone what we endured day in and day out because we had all had an internal conflict: she was doing what we were told was bad. She was hurting us emotionally and verbally on a daily basis. But.... she was a nun. A person devoted to Christ and all his teachings. Hell, she wore a ring that told those around her, along with her habit, that she was married to Christ.

No one tattles on a nun.

So we didn’t. We lived through a year with her and now, as we all find each other through the mystery that is social media, there is one dark topic we are skirt and avoid. Some of us laugh about it today when the subject surfaces. Others don’t mention it or have mentally blocked it.

I have not forgotten. I still live daily with the memory of that year. It is so deeply apart of me that I made it my goal to teach and heal the wounds she inflicted on me. And oddly, as karma would have it, I got the chance to not only be a teacher but to teach the same grade she did. I still feel like I could teach my whole life and never make up for all the shit she pulled.

As a child, I had very little in the way of coping tools for such a big, emotionally scarring situation. So, instead of showing my pain and fear, I learned to put on a stoic face and internalize all the stress. The stress of showing up to class each day. The stress of wondering what I’d do wrong to invoke her anger. Hell, it didn’t take much. I got picked on just because we shared the same name.

The internalization of my stress created a psychosomatic illness. For years after that experience I had stomach pains. We thought I was allergic to milk so I went dairy free. Then, when the aches didn’t stop, I cut out meat. Turns out, all the emotional stress of dealing day in and day out with an abusive teacher created stomach pains that surfaced anytime I was nervous, scared or stressed out. It lasted through middle school and into high school.

But then they went away and I began to live a normal life. I didn’t get sick to my stomach right before a big event. I was able to make it through public speeches or presentations without having to chill in a bathroom before hand just because I felt sick to my stomach. So many family outings started off waiting for me to get past the tummy pains and get into the car. How often they had to wait for me. For me to feel good enough to leave the bathroom. For me to stop the cold sweat that trickled down my back. For the shaking to cease and the nausea to subside.

For years, I’ve not dealt with stomach pains. I made it through being a maid-of-honor in my best friend’s wedding. I didn’t struggle through my own graduation for my BA or my credential. I even did my student teaching week with flying colors. And not one stomach pain.

But now, they have returned. This week I’ve had to stay calm, cool and collected while my world fell apart. I had to do it for me. And for my son.

In keeping my poker face strong, all the stress and negative feelings had to go somewhere. And they went right to my tummy. For years, I’d forgotten and repressed those memories of the pain, the aches and the cramps that had me rocking back and forth on the ground for comfort. And now they are back, and right behind them are all the memories of why the aches started in the first place.

Sigh…I really wish I could find a way to make it through all this stress and change without the internal discomfort of tummy aches. The one difference between now and the pains of my childhood is that I have the experience of surviving. I’d made it through before so I know I can do it. I have that in my tool box.

Right along side my Tums.

Homework and Me: Our Tumultuous Relationship

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Wed, 05 May 2010 20:00:00 +0000

I was not a great student. I struggled through elementary school starting in about the 3rd grade. Getting A’s and B’s was an easy task up to that point, at least I remember it being easy. Then around 3rd grade, I started to falter.

I’m impressed I made it through elementary and middle school without having to take summer school or get extra help. I rarely turned in homework and when I was faced with a disapproving teacher, I rushed to finish the extra work and turn it all in. My writing skills were always above par so I think that helped. It covered for my lack of progress or turned-in work.

In high school, the areas lacking in progress began to show and I was no longer able to sneak through the cracks. My grades slipped, teachers noticed and my parents were notified. Math was an area of major weakness while I also struggled in history class, too. Again, turning in the work (or actually doing the work) were my greatest downfalls.

I squeaked by and graduated to go onto a state college. All that struggling and fighting just to pass in a private school had paid off. I was able to bring in some awesome grades due to my private education giving me just enough discipline and ability to fake it through my first year.

Then the tough classes started and I began to falter. Once again, my abilities in writing got me through in many places but putting together a sentence doesn’t help much when you are figuring numbers and solving equations. And once again, turning in half-ass work or not turning them in at all because I didn’t want to do it surfaced.

And then, one teacher saw through my bluff. She called me in, sat me down, talked with me, then watched me work out an equation. She was silent, thinking behind me as I did the work. When I completed it she looked at me with no emotion betraying her thoughts and said “You may have a learning disability.”

I never went the full length and got tested. It would have cost too much. Instead I worked along, fighting harder than some of my fellow students. But I survived and succeeded. I graduated with my degree and also my credential.

Once again, I’m being faced with an issue. I have to do homework at home for Jake’s and my PCIT. Only 5 minutes of practicing my P.R.I.D.E. skills. And yet, each week rushes by and I find myself bumbling along to get it all finished before our Thursday sessions.

It’s only 5 freakin’ minutes a day! And all I’m doing is playing, with my son! All things that should make this super easy! But why can’t I get it done?

I think it’s because I have to apply new skills and techniques I’m still learning. And I’m not good at them yet. So when I practice, I can sense what I’m doing wrong. I can feel the areas I’m not good at. And that failure seems to be too much. So instead of feeling that sense of failure, I just...don't do it.

I need to break through this habit. I need to sit down and practice to improve my abilities. They just don’t come naturally. This is a new territory for me and I’m treading on new grounds, fearful of falling. And that fear has me not doing the work. It has me scrambling to make up for the practice I’m not doing and therefore not giving it my full attention.

It’s an ugly cycle but I must break it. For no one else but Jake.

Music To My Ears

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Mon, 03 May 2010 18:15:00 +0000

You know when you are happy and the sun is bright, your spirits are high and you feel like you own the world? When you are so giddy that every song on the radio speaking of love and joy and friends sounds as if it was written for you? And you sing along with your song!

And you know when the tide turns and things get rough, you can hear the message in every meaningful song? When you need to be uplifted and feeling better, you know that the lyricist wrote that line just for you, with your pain in mind? Suddenly, you feel better! You are feeling the positive vibes from the comforting tune lift you up and make it all better.

But then there are those moments, those times when the world is dark and the clouds are grey and mournful, casting their shadow over your life. When the words don't offer comfort or solace. Instead they speak to a pain that is deeper than you are willing to imagine. When the tears fall freely in time to the rhythm of the lyrics. Those are the moments when every sad song isn't written for you.

They are written about you.

Live Action Role Playing and Jake

hadadat1996@yahoo.com (Kekibird) — Wed, 21 Apr 2010 15:00:00 +0000

The SO has a new hobby. And being that he's my SO (or significant other) we are also a ~~victim~~ participant in his new found fun thingy.

And what would that thingy be?

L.A.R.P.

(Live Action Role Playing)

Oh well, can't complain too much. Jake had a good time at least.

And I got to use my iMovie application again.