My Date

I had a date today!

Okay, my date happened to be my 9 year old Bug, but I got your attention, right? My personal life is non existent, don't judge me.

Anyway, Bug and I went to get my paycheck, and then we decided we had a need for ice cream. I like to try to take advantage of one on one time with my kids as they arise, as the mom of five children. Bug is always fun though. He is my youngest, my baby, and he is the last remaining child that has complete confidence in me. He is amazing, that kid. Once he is away from the normal craziness of our house, he loses a lot of the immaturity that I worry about at home. He is so smart, and so funny, and so much fun to be with it's incredible. We chatted about the upcoming school year (he doesn't want to go to school. but wants to see his friends) why he is mad at his brother (he is mean and won't let him hang out with him and his friends) and lots of other things. I felt a reluctance to go home, to end this sweet, perfect time with my son, but eventually we did go home, and played video games, and built with his kenex set. I let them talk me into ordering pizza for dinner, and I didn't once give my usual nutrition lecture. It was a good day.

The Beauty Within

For most of my life, I was overweight. About 7 years ago, I finally had enough, went on a diet, and over the next 5 years lost a little more than 100 pounds. I still struggle with my weight. I go though periods of overeating, followed by long stretches of eating almost nothing. I have an incredibly hard time eating in front of people. Shopping for clothes takes a herculean act of bravery on my part. I have pretty much accepted that I will always struggle with these things.

I tell you this, because I think that my preoccupation with my physical appearance has had a negative effect on my children, most especially my girls. Over the past few days, I have listened to Alley Cat talk about her makeup not being "right" before she goes outside to play, her hair not "looking good" and insisting on an immediate haircut, and constant rounds of "do I look fat". Today, Tinkerbell told me that she is having a breast augmentation at the first opportunity. I should add here, that my kids are amazingly beautiful and all of these concerns are unfounded at best.

After Tink shared her plans to have her body surgically altered, I talked with my girls. I told them first that they are beautiful, and there is no need to worry, and definitely no need for major surgery. I tried to get them to understand, however, that their body image should never define their self worth. I reminded them both of the amazing attributes they both have that have nothing to do with their physical appearance, Cat's compassion, Tink's determination. I tried to show them that they have the ability to make enormous impact on this world, to change our world for the better, no matter if they are having a bad hair day or not. I hope they heard me. I hope they understand. Because as beautiful as they are on the outside, you haven't seen anything until you see who they are on the inside, where it counts.

My 17 year old Mother

I don't think I have ever discussed the topic of Mr. Wrong's relationship with Tinkerbell here before. Tink is MW's first biological child. From the moment she was born, the sun has risen and set on her as far as he is concerned. He occasionally gets angry with her, but with one bat of her 'I'm so sorry daddy' lashes, he melts. He absolutely cannot stand the thought of her being mad at him, and she knows it and uses that to her full advantage.

This would not be a problem if Tink were an average teenager. The reality is, Tink is anything but average. I have had problems with her that I never experienced with any of my other children. Before BabyG, she ran away. Often. For days at a time. She came home drunk. She cursed us both out when the mood struck. And, oh yeah, SHE HAD A FREAKIN BABY AT FIFTEEN!!! Problems? Oh yeah, Tink knows how to bring them.

In all honesty, she is a much easier person to live with since she had BabyG. However, we have a new problem. Tink now thinks she is my mother. Yes, I have a seventeen year old mother now. She tells me what to do. She tells me when to do it. She tells me HOW to do it. She does the same thing with MW. He allows her to do it. I think he secretly thinks its cute. I however, do not. Needless to say, we bump heads a million times a day over everything from how I wash dishes to how I raise my children. She is as stubborn as I am, so these disagreements and power struggles can go on for days.

Usually, Tink is either angry at me or her dad, never both of us at once. Yes, I see how she turns us against each other, but I have to admit, when it's my turn to be the "good parent" I appreciate the peace, no matter how temporary it may be. However, since MW and I have been trying to be friends lately, Tink has changed her MO. Now she is out for blood. MY blood. The better MW and I get along, the worse Tink acts. So, what to do, what to do. Seriously, what do I do? I cannot let her run my house and my life, and I will not live with constant fighting. Short of buying her a muzzle, I am out of ideas so if you have any advice, I would love to hear it. By the way, I HATE being the bad parent!

Because it Happened to Me

I almost never talk about it.

I wish I could say that I almost never think about it, but that is far from the truth. I do think about it, in dark, lonely moments. I remember that night, more than five years ago now, that Mr. Wrong and I went to a small, local bar that he hung out in way too much back then. It wasn't the kind of bar that women should spend time in, but I never gave that a second thought. I was with my husband, I would be safe. There were two things I was sure of back then, that Mr. Wrong could hurt me in ways I never knew possible, and that he would kill anyone else that tried to hurt me, no matter what. I was happy to go that night, happy that he wanted to spend his time with me, to be with me. I was always so hopeful back then, that my marriage would turn into what I dreamed it would be, hopeful that I would be loved.

When we got to the bar, Mr. Wrong was already half way to drunk. "Pre-game drinking" I used to call it. At the time, Mr. Wrong wasn't always drunk, but he wasn't ever really entirely sober, either. Once there, he was drinking shots quickly, chasing them with beer after beer. I occupied myself playing the jukebox, and talking to the bartender, the only other woman in the bar. Mr.Wrong had started talking to a couple other men, something that usually happens only when he is drinking. One of the men was much older than either of us, and very obviously drunk.
Eventually, he walked away from the men and stood next to me, talking to me and the bartender instead. I remember that I didn't like this man, and wondered why Mr. Wrong had even spoken to him.

I guess we had been there a couple of hours when he came up to me again at the jukebox. He kept saying that he talked to my husband, I had no idea why he was telling me that. I tried to walk away from him, but he stepped in front of me, so I was pinned against the jukebox. His hands were everywhere at once. I was frantic, desperately trying to get Mr. Wrongs attention. "I talked to your husband, it's ok. I talked to your husband..." His hands went under my skirt around the time that I started to understand what he was saying.

I walked away a different person. I found Mr. Wrong, and tried to tell him quietly that we needed to leave. He told me he was having fun, and wouldn't leave. Finally I told him what happened. I expected blinding rage. I expected broken barstools, broken noses, blood. That would have been horrible. What actually happened was worse. "Oh, him. He told me he liked you. It's ok, calm down." To this day, I get upset if anyone tells me to calm down. He refused to leave the bar, so we stayed. For hours. When finally, blessedly we went home, he passed out and I cried until I fell asleep.

The next day, he didn't remember any of what had happened. When I told him, he really did feel bad. He apologized. I believed he meant it. We moved on.

I know that this story could have been so much worse. I thank God that it wasn't and my heart breaks for women whose stories are much worse. The thing is, what that man did to me wasn't the worst part of what happened. The one person that I trusted completely with my safety had let me down. Not only had he not been able to stop it, he didn't care when I told him. It was ok, to him. That is what haunts me. That is what I honestly don't know if I will ever completely let go of. Because it's not ok. And I won't calm down.

I feel like I should say here, that I am not posting this to hurt Mr. Wrong. I know that he reads this blog. I know how sorry he is that this happened to me. We have talked about it, and I truly believe and accept his apology. I wrote this for me. Because it's time to look at all the things I have kept buried for far to long. That is the only way to heal, and grow. That is how I can make my life a better place, and move on.

The Ebb and Flow of Life

'And the worst of it is, you understand, that I can't leave him: there are the children, and I am bound. Yet I can't live with him. Anna Karenina


How strange to be living a quote from my favorite book. How well I understand the meaning of being bound, and the desperate longing to be free. I am living a life of single independence, for the most part, yet I share a home with a man who is still legally my husband. He lives his life the way he chooses, yet he sleeps every night on his wife's sofa. Through it all, I try to create a sense of normalcy and safety for my children.

There is an ebb and flow to Mr. Wrong's and my relationship. We pass between friendship to mortal enemies and back again so quickly sometimes even I don't know where we are in that spectrum some days. Truly, if I think about the things that have been said and done in this past year, and throughout our marriage, I can be overcome with rage so intense that it scares me. I know that he feels the same way, and again I will say, I am not perfect and I have made mistakes.
However, if we can sit in the same room together and not argue, I have to admit that I am bound by more than my children, more even than finances, and my stubborn refusal to give in to him ever again. There are 20 years between us. Twenty years of almost daily contact. I was still little more than a child twenty years ago. We have grown up together. There is a friendship that cannot be denied between us. I hope that we can come through whatever comes next in this process and be friends, not only for our children, but for us as well.

The lack of feelings

I feel like I have been living in a bubble of sorts, for several months now. I have the strange feeling of things happening around me, but somehow not to me. To a large extent, this is of my own doing. For too long, my feelings and emotions were out there, raw and exposed, for anyone and everyone to beat on them at will. I wanted to be that person, the open and honest person who could acknowledge feelings, and accept them. Then last year happened. Events and circumstances came hurtling towards me from all directions, with dizzying speed. From October '08 to October '09 I was hit, almost nonstop, with a freight train of emotional hell that left me, quite literally, in bed for weeks. I have written about that time before in this blog. Thanks to amazing friends, and incredible children, I pulled myself out of bed. I moved on. I learned some things during that time. I learned that someone who will bring you a newspaper and starbucks coffee in bed is truly your best friend forever. I learned that kids who will watch you mess up their world and love you anyway are the most precious gift God can give you. And I learned that if you don't want to be in bed listening to All by Myself and wallowing in self pity, you need to put your feelings and emotions away. Far away. Push them down, jump a couple of times to make sure they stay, and build those damn walls high.

So that is exactly what I did. I gotta say, it works pretty well. I no longer get hit with freight trains, I knock them out of the way, or run like hell to safety. This week marked several anniversaries for me, that would make most people sad. The thing is, I'm not. The mere fact that I am not, haven't shed a single tear, is amazing to me, and got me a bit curious. I think I overbuilt my armour. I think that, while trying to give my battered feelings a well deserved break, I have made myself incapable of feeling anything at all. Is that even possible? And if it is possible, what the hell does that say about me?

As final proof of my lack of feelings, I was in the grocery store today, shopping for the rest of the weeks meals. On the music that is piped throughout the store, Goodbye Girl came on. This song has always brought me to tears, it reminds me of my grandfather, who died about a year ago. This time? Nothing. Nada. Am I a cold hearted bitch? It makes me wonder....

Cat turns 13

Today my little girl turns 13.

Wow, what an amazing thing. I truly feel like I have been lied to somehow, that my little girl is still the beautiful blonde baby that wakes up each morning singing, yes singing, in her crib. Sadly, this is no lie, no dream, Alley Cat has become a teenager.

I worried when each of my older girls became 13. I was concerned that they would choose the wrong path, the wrong friends. I worried about drinking and drugs, all the usual teenage acts of rebellion. I am not as worried about Cat.

Cat has the most mature set of morals of any child I have ever known. She is quick to correct her siblings, and occasionally me, if she feels we have done something wrong. She disapproves of cursing. She is adamantly anti smoking. She thinks people who drink or do drugs are stupid and not worth her time.

She has a quick temper, inherited from me, and forgives and forgets just as quickly. She loves fiercely, and will defend those she loves with everything in her. She worries and over thinks everything, also inherited from me, and will lose nights of sleep worrying about things that are important to her.

Cat has always made friends easily, and has many that she loves like family. She enjoys life every day, and it is a joy to watch.

So, happy birthday Cat. I love you more than you will ever know.