Happy Birthday Tinkerbell

Today you turn 17 years old. How is that even possible, when I can remember bringing you home from the hospital like it was yesterday? You wore the cutest little yellow dress, and looked like a little doll in your carseat, which seemed way too big for you.

You were a very different baby than your older sister, independent from your very first breath. So independent, in fact, that you would not fall asleep if someone was holding you. You preferred to be left alone, to do things on your own terms, in your own way. Looking at you now, it is obvious that some things never change.

I am so proud of you for so many things. Your independence, your determination, your unwavering loyalty. You have seen and lived through so much more than you should have, but your experiences have made you who you are today, and I am so grateful that you are you. I know that you will never make the mistakes I have made, or let anyone (even your mom) tell you what to do. I love that about you. I love that you are mature enough to trust you own instincts, and to know what is right for you. I tried to raise you to question authority, rather than blindly follow, and you, more than any of your brothers or sisters, have gotten that message loud and clear.

When you had BabyG at 15, a lot of people were quick to doubt your ability to handle the responsibilities of motherhood. I never for a second thought you couldn't do it. You have proven to everyone that you are a great mother, and can rise to any challenge put before you. Your son is living proof of that.

Happy birthday Tinkerbell. I can't wait to see all you accomplish in the next year.

Becoming Real

What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room…

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

The Velveteen Rabbit

I just read this quote on another blog. It amazes me how much adults can learn from children's literature. For the last year of my life, I have been living this quote. I have finally, at long last, started becoming real. Last August, I took the biggest step towards real I have ever taken, and for the first time, tasted freedom. For many reasons, mostly for my children, I had to backpedal temporarily, but now, now I know. I will not live someone elses life anymore.

I have been called many things in my quest for real-ness. Selfish, a liar, a cheater, a fraud. But, real truly doesn't happen to people who break easily, and I cannot be broken. Not by words, accusations, hatred or anything else anyone wants to throw at me. I have no sharp edges, and I surely do not need to be carefully kept. In becoming real, I have learned independence, and strength, and integrity. You don't become real alone, and thank God, I have the best and most fiercly loyal friends in the entire Universe, and children who are an amazing gift even when they are being impossible, and I owe them more than I could ever hope to repay. They make sure I am not alone. They are helping me to become real.

I thought I was alone. I thought that I was the only one who realized, at the age of 40 that I was living a life that wasn't mine, fufilling someone elses destiny. Thanks to blogs, and online friendships, I have found that is far from true. Sometimes it takes a long, long time. It did for the skin horse, and it has for me. I wish it didn't. I wish I had always known the real me. I can't live my life in regret, however. I can help my children to know themselves, and remove the toxic people from my life. I can be content and peaceful in the life I have now. Yes, I may be loose in my joints, and somewhat shabby, but that only matters to people who will never understand.

Good Enough

The beginning of the end of my marriage came on October 22,2008. Mr. Wrong told me that he didn't love me, hadn't in fact, loved me in years. I should point out that up to that point, I had been completely faithful. I tried, in every way I knew, to be a good wife. He said a lot of terrible, hurtful things that day, but the most hurtful of all was "your best isn't good enough." I have heard that ringing in my head at every low moment I have had from that point on. You. Aren't. Good. Enough.

This past year has forced me to examine myself in ways I never have before. At my very core. I have had to strip away every defense I have ever had, layer by painful layer, to discover who I truly am, physically, spiritually, and mentally. The person Oprah calls my authentic self. It has been a long journey, and it is by no means over. There have been parts of me that I really don't much like, and I have had to change them. I have had to step way outside my box, my safe little comfort zone, and do things that I honestly never thought I was capable of. I have found out what I truly believe in, what I want, who I want to be. To some, this has seemed selfish of me, to take the time and energy to work on my own happiness. To me, it was that or die. I couldn' t be the mother my children deserve if I stayed the person I was a year ago. More importantly, I need to be able to teach my girls how to be strong women. I need to be sure that my experience will never be their experience. That is vitally important for these beautiful girls who have already seen way more than they ever should.

Today, I am totally ok with my marriage being over. The thing about learning who you are is you learn the type of people you want to allow in your life. I still have a lot of anger towards Mr. Wrong, maybe I always will. You know what though? I am good enough. I always have been. If Mr Wrong or anyone else can't see that, well, that's their problem.

No more Miss Nice Guy

I tell ya, sometimes it just doesn't pay to be nice.

I moved back into Mr. Wrong's house to help him out of a crisis situation. I left a situation that was far from perfect, but it was pretty good. I fought long and hard for my independence, I finally had it. I was happy, I could breathe. I should have NEVER left.

Somehow, Mr. Wrong's promises that he was a changed man went out the window as my suitcase came in. As my shirts and pants were placed into the drawers, his real personality was unpacked from it's temporary storage area. The harder I tried to get along, the more obstacles and road blocks were thrown in my face. As the days turned into weeks, I began to feel the familiar acid churning in my stomach. As the weeks turned into months, the return of my insomnia assured me that there was a storm coming, it was just a matter of time.

Last Tuesday the storm hit. Mr. Wrong came home at 11 at night drunk. He then spent the next hour and a half terrorizing my children and my home. There is no way to avoid the truth any more. I married a violent alcoholic. There is no question of if he will be violent, just when. There is no question of if he will drink, because I now know for sure, he will always drink. He may not have another drink for a year or more, he may drink tomorrow, but he will drink.

After his latest display, I told him that he will have to leave. I cannot and will not make my children into human yo- yos. This is our home. We like it here. So far, Mr. Wrong has agreed to leave within a month, but I have heard that before. This time, however I will go to the authorities if necessary. You see, Mr. Wrong might not have learned anything in the past year, but I did. I learned that I am a lot stronger than I ever thought possible. He can call me whatever names he wants, he can do whatever he wants to do, I can say I'm not taking it anymore. This time, I mean it.

I wouldn't have believed it if I wasn't there

She came into my room pale and crying. "Something is really wrong with me mom! It hurts!" Through bleary eyes, I looked at the alarm clock. 4:00 am. As I slowly woke up, one thing registered more than anything else. Tinkerbell was crying. Tink never cries. Never. Especially during the past year and a half, with her teenage rebellion going to the extreme, she never cried, especially around me. something was definitely wrong.

I went through all the typical questions a mom asks, Do you need to poop? Do you have your period? Gas? Even as I asked these questions, I knew we were facing something far more serious. Mr. Wrong and I exchanged a look. Even with our marriage in the toilet, we still had that silent communication that couples develop after spending a lifetime together. This was bad. I quickly got dressed, while Mr. Wrong called an ambulance. While we waited, we decided logistics. I would go to the hospital, Mr. Wrong would stay home and get the rest of the kids to school. I would call him at work when I knew something.

In the ambulance, the paramedic watched Tinkerbell and then looked at me. "Is there any chance she could be pregnant?" I quickly assured him that wasn't possible. Tinkerbell was only 15 years old, I explained. She wore a size 2 jeans to school just the day before.

When we arrived at the hospital, I started to worry. By this time I had decided she had appendicitis. If an appendix ruptures, can't you die, I wondered? I moved away from my daughter reluctantly, to make room for the nurses and doctors who were suddenly everywhere. I desperately wanted someone to tell me what was wrong, and how to make it ok. Finally a young nurse came over to me. She looked at me sympathetically and suggested I may want to sit down. Now I was really scared. I assured her I was fine, and begged her to just tell me what was happening. "There is a head between her legs." A head...between....WHAT?

Apparently someone had told Tink too, because she sat straight up on the bed. "No, I can't have a baby! I am NOT having a baby!" The nurse assured her that not only could she, she would in about 10 minutes. 5 minutes and 2 pushes later, Baby G made his appearance. As the nurse put this tiny child in my arms, and I looked with shock at his adorable face, which somehow looked as confused as I was, Tinkerbell looked at me and said timidly, "Mommy? I think I should tell you, his father is black."

All of this took place one year ago today. I was in no way prepared to have another infant in our home. I was not ready for my little girl to be a mom. I really wasn't ready to be a GRANDMOTHER! I wasn't ready for any of it, but I am so grateful for all of it now. Little Baby G has been the greatest blessing this family has ever received. He turned my rebellious teenager into a different person, and the way she has taken to motherhood has been a source of constant pride and amazement. He has completely melted everyone's heart with his quick smile and easy laugh. A year ago, I wasn't at all sure things would work out the way they did, but I will always be thankful that they have. Happy birthday Baby G! We are all so happy you are here!

Life Lessons

Today, my bff and I went to Starbucks for "girl time". I love doing this even more now than I ever did, because while we were roommates, girl time was whenever I wanted it to be, and I miss that dearly. We now schedule our time, and try to make the most of her break from work. We drink awesome coffee, window shop for expensive things we can't afford and don't need, and talk about anything and everything.

Today, after discussing kids and men, our conversation turned to affairs. Certainly, that is understandable, since it seems lately every time I turn on the news someone else has had a scandalous affair. Really though, we were talking more about every day people, not people in the public eye. People, perhaps sitting next to us drinking coffee. People like her. People like me.

I hate to admit it, but I did have an affair. I could spend the next several hours explaining (justifying?) my reasons, but there really is no point to that. What I did was wrong. Period. I know that, and I live with it every day. I can't change that, I can't undo an affair. All I can do, is try to figure out what happened, something I am still trying to figure out.

What I do know, is that happy people do not have affairs. That is not to say that my husband was to blame. In the end, the blame and responsibility lies with me. I was very unhappy, living in a marriage with no communication and no trust. I felt like I was unloved and unappreciated. I asked for help, and was told I was helpless. I lived in relative isolation, I had no outlet for my feelings. I cried a lot.

When my affair began, I knew, deep down, that there was a possibility of being caught. At the time I would have said it wasn't likely, because I really didn't think my husband paid that much attention to me. Deep down though , I knew that I was taking a chance. I guess he was paying closer attention than I thought, because I did get caught. I will not say that he handled it the best way, because he did things that there is really no excuse for. Again, I knew my husband. I knew he would blow up and do inexcusable things. So, wrong or not, ultimately, I have to take responsibility for that, too. Believe me, I have, and I do.

I have often said that my affair was a symptom of my marriage breakdown, not the cause. I still truly believe that. I was so starved for love, for affection, that as soon as I was shown a little,even by a stranger, I jumped at it with both feet. However, many times a person dies because of the symptoms of a disease, rather than the disease itself. So, if my marriage does die, I have to take my responsibility for that as well. There are other ways I could have handled my situation, I am sure. My regrets are too vast and great to mention. I believe very strongly in living not in the past, but using the lessons we learn to move foward, and that's what I do, every day. Honestly, that's all I can do, accept responsibility, and move forward.

Confusion

My last post was a total downer, to quote one of my many favorite 80's sayings. That is because, my life right now is a total downer. Interesting thing though. Mr. Wrong always reads my blogs. Always. I think he is probably my biggest lurker. So, I was a little worried about posting that last night. We have argued before about posts, and I was mentally preparing myself from the time I hit publish. He never said a word. I am reasonably sure that he read it, like I said, he always reads my blogs. So, this means what exactly? I have no idea. Does it mean he is so angry that he doesn't want to talk about it? Or, does it mean that he really doesn't care how much he hurt me?

This not talking about the big elephant in the room is driving me crazy! It's funny, this time last year, Mr. Wrong was constantly demanding that I talk to him. If I didn't talk to him, well, doors were broken, objects were thrown, general destruction ensued. So, where did this need to talk go? Now that I would LOVE for him to want to talk to me, I live in icy silence. Sometimes we "surface talk", about the kids, the news, something on television, no real talk. It kills me to think this, but I really believe that this is all part of his getting back at me. For most people, this would seem to have been a very long, detailed plan, just for payback. They don't know Mr. Wrong. He would totally do something this detailed, and more.

So, aside from trips to Starbucks with Mama Ho, I am still not quite sure what to do about this situation at all. I guess, as with so many things in my life, it's a game of wait and see.