Some Words...

I've read a lot of posts lately about relationships and how scary they are. I've noticed confessions about how some want to be in a 'couple' but they are too scared either because they think they've forgotten how to be in one or because they are afraid of being hurt. I've been in that 'place' more than once in my life, you know - the one where you keep shouting "leave me alone," and then suddenly you wake up one day and realize everyone actually listened. The worst thing about being alone is that it never happens when you really want it or need it to. Some of us get so good at pushing others out of our life that we completely forget how to let them back in. Once, I got so good at telling everyone that I didn't want a relationship and that I enjoyed being alone, that I actually started to believe it myself. I believed it so much that when the right man came along, the one who actually treated me like the princess I am, I ignored him. I even went so far as to set him up with all my friends and even when they asked me why I didn't keep him for myself I'd reply, "I don't want to get involved." The real truth was that I was scared to death of being hurt. If you never let people close enough to actually touch you in the places that matter most, those places stay safe - don't they? Not really. The funny thing is that every time I'd meet a great guy I'd find so much fault with him that it was damn near impossible to like him. My mother used to tell me that if you look hard enough and long enough for the flaws in people - you will surely find them.

So how did I stop being so 'single'? I stopped being so scared. I told someone yesterday that the scary part is not letting someone in - it's keeping them out. You have to let yourself be loved, first by yourself and then - by someone else.

I really love the song playing on this blog so much in fact that I have a hard time taking it off here. When I first discovered the song Into the Light by Alice Peacock I was in a bad place - emotionally. I know that many of you know exactly how it feels to live your life with the burden of not knowing where you belong. But this song, each and every time I hear it I'm reminded that all the searching I've done, all the paths I've explored trying to find my place, have led me exactly where I need to be - right here right now. It's accepting that you are in the right place that's the hard part. Some say it's the journey and yes that can be hard too but do you ever notice that when you get to the 'right place' it seems camouflaged in the mistakes of our past? People always tell you to 'live in the moment' but I've done that many times and it's not always the right thing to do. Sometimes we live in the wrong moments. We get caught up in what someone says, what they do, the pain in the here and now, that it becomes all we can see, all we can hear, all that we are. Last week I lived in a moment where my s.o. said something that hurt my feelings and I wallowed in that moment far too many hours. Instead of living in the moments where he's been kind to me, where he's been the shoulder that I leaned on - I existed in a moment of weakness. The truth is that life does not exist in one moment - it exists in many. I think the trick is making life exist from one moment to the next.

I've had rough morning. My daughter's nanny thought it was Saturday so she decided not to show up...until I called her and gently reminded her it was actually Friday and I had to be at work. An hour late she rolls in apologetic, ok so you over slept but honestly that doesn't put me in any better mood you know? Then I make the mistake of accepting a ride to work from my sig. other. I somehow let it slip my mind that he's a slob and he only plays the clean act at home because I force him to. I refuse to live in clutter ya know? Cluttered houses = cluttered minds...I really believe that. Anyway, I hop in his car and shock smacks me in the face. His car is a mess...not just a mess - it's a pig pen. Papers strewn everywhere, empty Dunkin Donut bags on the back seat, books, guitar cleaning lotion, an empty pop can (actually 2) and dirt on every surface. YUK...maybe it's my fault because I should have known better but come on, who can ride in a car like that? Ok, so maybe I over reacted but I'm pregnant and hormonal and gosh darn I feel like hurling so the smell and the dirt and the total lack of sympathy for me was enough to really piss me off. I was fuming most of the way to work but just before we reached my building I apologized for being so dramatic but explained that he knows how much I hate messes. I jokingly said...I love you even though you are a slob. He replies, "I love you even though you are a bitch." Um....what? Ok, so that's like he nicest thing anyone's ever said to me - NOT. I'm pretty sure he regretted the words just as soon as they slipped past his lips, maybe it was the look of shock on my face or it could have been the tears that instantly sprung from my eyes. I'm not usually a crier but geez...that really wasn't nice was it? The thing that bothered me most is that if I was really a biatch I could handle it...but I know I'm not. I put up with more crap then most women I know.

He probably didn't mean it right? He tried to apologize as I swiftly removed my 'bitchy arse' from the car but the damage was done and words are like nails pounded into a smooth piece of wood...even if you pry them back out the holes still remain ruining the surface forever. I'm sure this moment will pass and hopefully he'll try to make it up to me but the truth is that no matter how many times someone tells you they are sorry you still remember, it still hurts. There are just some things you cannot take back - even if you want to.

I hope y'all have a wonderful weekend...wish me luck on this hormonal roller coaster.

There you are, so tiny, so full of life even though your life has just begun. Some may look at you and say you are not yet a person, but I know different - I saw your heart beating and that makes you real.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

I had a wonderful conversation with my niece last night. We talked about life and how sometimes it downright sucks but the best thing about it is that there is always another day to make different or better than the day before. She told me how scared and excited she is to be leaving grade school and entering high school next Fall. She likes her school and she afraid to leave it, it's comfortable and safe but she loves the possibilities that high school will bring. As I sat there listening to this child, this young woman, talk about her fears and how she wants to overcome them I was amazed at her strength. I have to admit that she reminds me of a younger version of myself and that makes me smile because as damaged as I might have been - I was strong and I survived. We also talked about her day and how disappointed she was because she had to read a poem that she wrote for English class in front of all her friends. She wrote it about a boy she liked and he didn't pay attention when she read it aloud so it hurt her feelings. Part of me laughed a little...on the inside...but I told her not to be surprised because honestly it takes boys a long long time to pay attention to the things most important (no offense guys). I told her to write things for her and not for an audience because that's the only person that truly needed to pay attention. She said she wanted to be a writer - she has a lot to say and I smiled because when I was young that's what I wanted to do - write words that made people feel something. It took me years of writing words to realize that the person that needed to feel something, was me. I truly believe that the most talented writers in this world are people that have experienced pain in their lives. People who have loved and lost, people who have fallen and gotten up, people who have failed and then succeeded, those are the people who write from the only place that really counts - their heart.

I do believe my niece will be a wonderful writer and just maybe someday a scared, broken young woman will read her words and realize that her tomorrows can be different, can be better - then they were the day before.

Do you remember when your parents taught you the difference between the truth and a lie? I do. I was six years old and my brother was being his usual mean self by hanging my 'baby tenderlove' up by her neck from the garage door opener. I was so mad at him that even at six I was beginning to realize how sweet revenge could actually be. I snuck into his bedroom and took his GI Joe out of it's secret hiding place - the bottom of his hamper. Even though it smelled of dirty socks I stuffed it down my blouse and left his room as quietly as I'd come. I locked myself in my mother's bathroom and decided that GI Joe was quite in the need of a makeover. I shaved his head with my mother's razor (GI Joe had real hair you know), I painted his face with eyeliner and rouge, I took his clothes off and re-dressed him in Barbie's best gown. He was smashing to say the least. When the work was complete I put him right back in the secret hiding place as if he'd never left. I remember the anticipation of my brother finding GI was almost enough to drive a six year old mad. It took three days for my big bro to find him but when he did he let out a scream that could curl your toenails. He ran all over the house searching for my mom (he was such a mama's boy) and when he found her he dangled pretty GI Joe in front of her, "look what someone did to GI Joe," he yelled. I was tucked carefully behind the davenport watching the whole thing unfold. I could see that my mother was holding back a laugh as she consoled my brother but I also knew she'd soon be heading my way looking for an explanation. "NWC, do you know anything about GI Joe's makeover," she asked. "No mam, nothing," I replied. "NWC do you know that telling a lie is a sin?" "What's a sin," I asked. "A sin is when you know something is wrong and you still do it anyway," she replied. "So what happens if I sin," I asked. "Well, God will be very disappointed in you." I contemplated her words, I hated for anyone to be disappointed in me. "So NWC, do you know anything about GI Joe's makeover," she asked? "Yes," I replied, "he enjoyed it very much but I think next time I'll use a different shade of lipstick." My mother laughed until there were tears in her eyes and I started believing that lies did that to you, made tears appear. The older I got the more I realized I was right, lies sometimes make you laugh but most times they make you cry and there's nothing funny about that.

Yesterday I called my niece to wish her a happy birthday and I asked her what she special thing she was going to do to celebrate and she replied, "nothing." Her response wasn't unlike that of any other teenager but I was surprised when she followed up her statement with, "I'm not going to do anything special because I don't feel special and that's no lie." I told her she was wrong, I told her how special she was and that she better believe me because I was a person that could not lie. I told her that story I posted above hoping to convince her it was true...I was an honest abe. I'm not sure she believed me, that she was special, but she laughed and it was like music to my ears. Before we hung up the phone she told me that she believed me. "What, you believe that I cannot tell a lie," I asked. "No, I believe I'm special - I just hope people notice."

I noticed.

Tomorrow my niece turns 14. When I was fourteen I drank my first bottle(s) of beer. When I was fourteen I ran away from home to be with my 23 year old boyfriend but only made it two towns over to a corn field in the middle of the night before I realized that there really was no place like home. When I was fourteen I realized that people are either mostly honest or mostly liars and never are they both. At fourteen I realized my father was an alcoholic and my childhood would never be 'normal'. When I was fourteen I discovered what infidelity meant the moment I caught my dad cheating on my mother in the back of our family sedan. At fourteen I watched the strongest woman in the world become one of the weakest. When I turned fourteen I was not a child any longer, not by choice but by necessity.

My niece turns 14 tomorrow and at fourteen she will have survived the divorce of her parents, her mother giving up custody of her to her father, five different homes and six different schools, a new step mother, two new sisters, a diagnosis of AD/HD and depression. She will have discovered that people are either mostly honest or mostly liars and never are they both. She will have lost faith in those she loves but more importantly she will have lost faith in herself. She will know what it feels like to have love and lost love yet she will not be able to distinguish the two as separate. At fourteen she will have contemplated her life, searched for answers to questions she's never been brave enough to ask, and she will have lived more pain than most of her classmates. When my niece turns fourteen she will not be a child any longer, not by her choice but by necessity.

Maybe I can love her enough to let her be a child just a little longer. We all grow up too damn fast, not by choice - by necessity.

Oh my goodness....I feel horrible today. The sun is shining, it's going to be 70, and I want to hurl. It's official, morning sickness has begun. I never had morning sickness when I was pregnant with Alice so I escaped quite unharmed through most of my preggy days. I suppose I am not going to be so lucky this time. Maybe it means it's a boy...boys like to cause trouble don't they?

So forgive my lack of post this fine morning but I really must put my head down on my desk and breathe deeply. Happy Friday...and have a most fulfilling weekend.

I'm positive about a lot of things in this life of mine. I'm positive at the moment that I'm pregnant and I'm positive that I'm ecstatic over the new little soul I will soon have the chance to know. I'm positive that although life is sometimes down right painful, sometimes - it's not. I'm positive that my heart is big enough to love more than one person. I'm positive that this heart of mine sometimes feels too small to love myself. I'm positive that there are people in this world that do not deserve children. I'm positive that there are people in this world that any child would be lucky to have as a parent. I'm positive that when someone I love is in pain - I feel it as if it were my own. I'm positive that I cannot save everyone that needs saving, but - I'm positive I can save myself. I'm positive that I come here to this place each day because I need all of you. I'm positive that some tiny part of cyberspace - needs me.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Thanks for all the well wishes yesterday...I'm still glowing and I'm sure there will be many more days of that to come.

I wanted to post about something that's been bothering me for awhile. My niece, my brother's child, is in pain. She lives with my brother and his wife of about 2 1/2 years and her 5 year old child from another marriage and a new sister they had together. My niece has had a horrific time adjusting to this new life. My whole life I've pretty much known that adults can be extremely selfish and most times it's the children that suffer. My own childhood was filled with selfish adults who put their own needs before mine - but I survived. I have to wonder, is surviving enough? In my nieces new family structure she has been diagnosed with AD/HD, depression, suicidal tendencies, and now because all of the medications are not shaping her into the model teenager her parents want her to be, a new label must be found. Asperger's Syndrome. For those of you who don't know what that is it's Autism. I'm so furious at my brother. I'm disappointed in his ability to remember that when he was a teenager he was far from a model child. I'm pissed at my sister-in-law for giving my niece the silent treatment as punishment. The worst possible thing you can ever inflict on a depressed child is isolating them from all forms of communication. Can't they see that she doesn't need a slap in the face, she needs arms wrapped around her body and the words 'I love you' shouted over and over until the moment that she not only hears them - but she believes them. I'd ask all of you if you can imagine how it feels to think that no one loves you but I know that most of you know exactly how that feels - it hurts - it breaks your spirit - it makes you want to run away - it leaves you feeling more empty than you did before. Adults can be so selfish and it's always the children that suffer. I remember once when I was a child and my father left me locked in his truck for 4 hours while he got plastered in his favorite watering hole and when he returned I asked him if he was going to drive, he replied, "of course." I told him I was scared. I told him I wanted to walk home. I begged him to love me enough to call my mother so she could come and get us. It was as if he his ears fell deaf on any words I spoke. My father was so selfish that he could not see my pain. He could not hear my pleading. He could not see - me. Right now I feel as if my niece is the one locked in the truck while her father and step mother dangle the keys to her future in front of her. Why can we not hear a child's voice over the self indulgent voice in our own head? They are so innocent and we steal that from them. I wonder what it would take to give it back?

I'm not sure how to help my niece. I tell her I love her. I try to talk to my brother but he's brain washed by his wife who has no interest in saving his child. Pretty soon she just might have her wish - there might not be enough left worth saving.

In a child's eyes you will see a reflection of yourself - look closely.

Sometimes just when you think you couldn't be surprised by life anymore, life slaps you in the face and says, "guess what - we're not done here yet." I have a secret. Part of me thinks I shouldn't say, sometimes secrets need to be kept - at least for awhile. But inside my stomach is turning round and round with tiny butterflies and each time I open my mouth it feels as if that secret is going to pop right out. I've never been good at keeping my mouth shut and this apparently is going to be one of those moments. Do you think secrets are good? Sometimes I'd have to agree that a secret should be kept if it's going to cause someone pain but then again, doesn't it always hurt worse when the secret comes out...because they always do don't they? I suppose there are people in this world that just don't want to know, they like to be the 'uninformed' because denial is so much easier than acceptance - at least in the beginning. I'm getting side tracked. This secret of mine is not a bad one, at least I don't think it is. So I'm going to tell you but you have to promise not to tell anyone ok? Are you ready? Ok, here it goes - I'm pregnant. Yowza, the mere word makes me giggle. It's still early but baby is in there as real as you or me. You want to know the most amazing thing...I wasn't even trying but then again I wasn't not trying either but they say when you are my age it's much harder for a woman to get pregnant so I didn't really think it would happen. Sometimes surprises are the stuff that makes life worth while. I have this litte girl named Alice to prove it. So, it's new and exciting and scary because I'm old - sort of. But one thing is going to be very different this time around, I have no fear that my sig. other knows he can be a father and a really good one too. You know I didn't realize when I was saying those prayers every night for God to make my family whole...that there was actually one tiny piece still waiting to be part of our puzzle. Then again...there's a lot I don't know but I'm learning - one day at a time.

It was such a beautiful weekend that my daughter and I planted flowers. My heart was full as we pushed our cart through the aisles and Alice pointed to the flowers she wanted. "They pretty mommy," she'd say pointing to the 'fowers' she wanted me to put in the cart. As we filled our cart with colors of pink, orange, and yellow I was lost in the fascination in her eyes. Isn't it amazing how quickly we forget how simple happiness can be and how easy it is for a child to remind us? We unloaded our car and Alice ran to get her shovel and gardening gloves. I'd dig the hole and she'd place the flower in it and then help me push the dirt over the roots. After we finished she grabbed my hand and gave me a mini-tour to admire our work. "Mommy fowers are happy," she said. She was right you know, the flowers were happy because they have to put down their roots in order to blossom. We so often wonder why our lives are not pretty to look at but we forget the most important part of growing something, planting our roots firmly so we have a solid foundation. If only we could stop and replant our seeds in a soil more fertile, maybe then we'd discover how beautiful we are when we let ourselves blossom.

The other night I was talking to my mom on the phone and she mentions that my brother is mad at my dad because he clearly loves me more. "What," I exclaimed. "Your dad loves you more and he doesn't even try to hide it," she replies. She goes on to say that my dad is always bragging about Alice and he hardly ever talks about my brother's kid who is almost the same age. I sat there listening to her complain about how inappropriate my father is and I really couldn't think of one thing to say in response. My parents are divorced and have been for 20 years and as much as I love my mom I can't stand how she talks about my dad. I told her she was wrong and I hung up the phone. I've been thinking about that conversation ever since and it really bothers me. My whole life my brother has been jealous of me for being my dad's favorite. Is it wrong for a parent to have a favorite - probably, but I'm sure it happens. Do I feel bad that sometimes I have to admit my dad does favor me over my brother? Yes I feel bad but only for a moment because there is one major difference between my brother's relationship with my dad and mine, I actually love my father regardless of all his faults. It is so easy to hate someone for not being the way you think they should be isn't it? But you grow up and you realize that people are who they are, good or bad, sober or not, and that still has nothing to do with how much you love them. Why do people put so many conditions on love? I'm sure my dad doesn't love me more than my bro but I do know he feels closer to me. Maybe it's because I've been honest with him about our past, how he hurt me, how he stole my childhood and made me grow up before it was my time. Maybe it's because I've told him I know he's an alcoholic and that I accept that it's a disease he cannot shed like an old coat that doesn't fit anymore. Maybe it's because I love him despite the pain he's caused me and I love him with my whole heart - not just the parts that escaped damage. My father loves my brother but he also knows that no matter what he does my brother will always be his judge and jury. Instead of telling my dad how he feels he punishes him by keeping his children from their grandfather, by talking behind his back to my mother who is the least objective person on this earth. My brother cannot accept that my father is human and has flaws just like the rest of us. My brother is like so many people that I know - a hypocrite.

I wanted to tell my dad how my brother felt but I didn't see the point because I know that my dad does love us both equally. He loves us both but he knows the love he has for me comes with less stipulations, less rules, less judgment. It's so much easier to show your love for someone that has their arms wide open ready to accept it. Love belongs to those who want it. Love belongs to those willing to accept it for what it is and nothing that it's not. I want to leave you with something that my father wrote me so very long ago:

My dearest girl with eyes so full of question, it has been my fear that those beautiful dark eyes that came from me will end up being the judge that sentences me to a life away from you. Once you made me promise that I'd never go away and I've struggled to keep that promise because sometimes I know that distance may be your only savior. So I'm writing words on paper hoping that someday you'll read them and know a part of me exists that lives to protect you and your brother from the cruel world I have created. I am weak dear child but when I falter I look back at you and still you are standing there begging me to return to your arms so you can hug my neck and kiss my cheek and remind me that nothing on this earth is stronger than your love. My lil' Irish lass please love me when I cannot love myself.

My dad doesn't love me more, he loves me back.

My daughter makes me laugh. Sometimes I look at her and see myself many many years ago before life made me cynical. I pray every day that my child never experiences the pain that I did in my childhood. I pray that I'll be strong enough to show her the right path to choose when she comes to me with those questioning eyes. We have so much responsibility to help them through the hardships we know will surely come. Today I'm grateful for my scars because they give me strength.


Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Thanks to everyone for their 'doggie prayers' yesterday. I really think they helped because when I went home yesterday Jake was walking...slowly but still under his own power. Hopefully he'll be back to semi-normal soon so we can get that first ACL surgery!

So over the weekend I went back to my hometown for Easter. It's the first time I've been back since my step dad was put in a nursing home so I was a little worried that my daughter would be confused as to why her 'Papa' wasn't there. Before we even got to my mom's driveway Alice started saying, "Papa's house," and my heart started to break. She's only two, too young to realize what's going on but old enough to realize how much she loves him. So we started trying to distract her by pointing out trees and birds and a park with slides (her favorite) but nothing worked. As soon as we pulled in the drive and got her out of her seat she ran up to the door saying, "Where's Papa." I think it was one of the first times in my life that I've actually been speechless. Luckily she saw Nana and soon forgot that Papa was nowhere in sight. On Easter my mom brought my step dad back from the nursing home to spend the day with us and as soon as he walked in the room Alice ran to him, "Papa where you been?" Kids are so darn innocent and life ruins that doesn't it? As I stood there watching Alice hug her Papa and her Papa's face light up at the sight of her I feared that too soon he wouldn't remember who she was. God I hope that I can teach Alice to remember enough for the both of them. It seems that on a daily basis I'm reminded how damn unfair life can be. I want to make life easier for Alice. I want her to feel less pain in her days of growing up than I did in mine. I want her life to be more fair. I know that's impossible isn't it?

When it was time for Papa to go back to his new home Alice cried, she hung on to his neck, she screamed, "I see you." I remembered JJ and how she's always telling us the same thing. It has taken me years to see people for what they are and still love them anyway. Alice is two and already she's figured it out, she sees Papa as the whole man he once was - not the fragmented version. I'm not scared anymore. When she finally let go of Papa's neck she kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "love me papa." Some day not too far off Papa may not remember Alice - but I know she'll remember enough for both of them.

In my lifetime there have been few things that I could give my unwavering faith. Faith is a risk and sometimes it's just too damn hard to make the leap. People tend to let you down, maybe not always on purpose but the result is still the same - mistrust. Once, I took a leap of faith with no forethought or fear of what may come. Once I placed my faith in a male as if he were the last living creature on this earth with the power to heal me. I let him near my broken self, and as I wrapped my arms around his little body, he wrapped his heart around mine. Ten years ago I adopted a dog. A furry little brown ball of energy who chewed on my toes and ripped my shoes to shreds. Jacob Marley was my beacon of hope.

Yesterday I went to pick up my dog from the borders where he stayed while I went home for Easter. When I arrived they told me that they had trouble getting him to walk. "What do you mean," I cried. As I stood there listening to their excuses to what may have happened my heart was sinking farther and farther into the pit of my stomach. Last week I took my dog into the vet to get his hips examined because as a Labrador he's pre-disposed to hip problems. He'd been walking slow and the natural meds I'd been giving him stopped working. Turns out his hips are fine but he has torn ACL's in both of his back legs. I don't know if you have pets but if you do and they are a part of your family like Jake is a part of mine you realize that no matter what the cost - you want them fixed. So I'm standing there listening to my vet tell me that it will cost $1800 per leg, 12 weeks recovery, therapy...but when it's all said and done he'll be good as new and without a flinching I decide that the vacation I planned to Spain will just have to wait. There are things in this life more important than money, more important than vacations, things that matter more - than anything else. So I'd decided to get the surgery for Jake and when I'd dropped him off at the borders I was specific in my instructions that he needed to be walked, he couldn't be caged, he was my baby and they damn well better take care of him. They didn't. I took him back to the vet and they said he had severe muscle cramps from being caged but after a shot of pain meds and some PT he'd get back up again. Yesterday was spent massaging his legs, carrying him out to the yard so he could go to the bathroom, rubbing his belly, kissing his nose, and making sure he knew how much I loved him. Yesterday I discovered that love helps you lift a 90lb dog up into a wagon to wheel him down to the vet, love allows you to never think twice about giving up a vacation you've dreamed about, love makes you wake up at 1, at 3 at 5 in the morning to make sure your very best friend in the whole wide world - isn't in too much pain. Love erases limits.

Jacob Marley is better today, he can walk a little bit and his tail is wagging and I'm here back at work writing this post to all of you. You may deem me silly for having so much dedication to an animal but you see, Jake's my heart. He was the shadow that followed me around in the darkest days of my life reminding me that life would in fact get better. He was the cold nose nudging my face forcing me to get out of bed when nothing else in life could. Some might consider his life insignificant but me...I know better. A beacon of hope is always significant.

Well...I have a half day today and I'm excited but that also means I have to work harder so I don't fall behind at work. Why do vacation or holidays always come with a price? Anyway this is short and sweet...I hope all of you have a fab weekend whether you believe in that seven foot rabbit or not! Personally I'm making sure my Easter basket is out before I go to bed tomorrow night. I never miss a chance to get free candy.

Have a great weekend!

When you look into the rear view mirror you see the things you left behind;
Some good, some bad, some you've grown indifferent to.
You see the mistakes that lead you to this moment, right here, right now;
Some you've learned from, some you have to repeat a few more times.
You see those you've loved that have loved you back;
And those you've loved who didn't deserve it.
You see questions you now have answers to;
And some you are still perplexed by.
You look back to remember where you started;
So you can measure how far you've come.
Sometimes you think you can step back into those moments...but then you remember,
In the rear view mirror things always appear closer than they really are.


Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Do you remember the first time you told someone you loved them? Someone other than your mom or dad that is... When I was fourteen I was sure I knew what love was. It was the butterflies in my stomach when I heard my boyfriend's voice. It was the anticipation of seeing him every morning before school. Love was that feeling I knew would last forever - no matter what. Do you remember the first time you realized that loving someone hurts like hell? When I was sixteen and twenty and twenty five and thirty and....I was sure that I had no idea what love really was. It was hard realizing that those butterflies in your stomach eventually flutter off into oblivion and that the anticipation of seeing someone you love quickly turns into an expectation. It took me a long long time to admit that the memory of love sometimes lasts longer than the love itself. And now I'm thirty-something and still I'm not exactly sure I can define that word - love. Is it a feeling? Is it an action? Is it something we're all entitled too? Can you give it back if you don't want it? Can you shape it into something that suits you better? Can you lay it down if it becomes to heavy? Will it save you? Will it comfort you? Will it be something special - always? I'm not sure I can answer any of those things but this morning I think I felt it, touched it, heard it...when my sig. other kissed me on the forehead as he passed me in the hallway and said, "you're really pretty." Maybe love is what we never thought it would be - simple.

When I was a kid Easter was a big deal because it meant two things, one - another day off school since Catholic kids cannot go to school on Good Friday, and two - tons of candy. Those two things were always in a battle with each other for the top spot of 'most important' things. Easter also meant that my mom would drag me shopping for a new dress and Easter bonnet. Oh yes I was quite the sight in my white tights, frilly dress, and perfectly placed bonnet. All the old ladies in church would stop and pinch my cheeks or ask me for a hug. Why is it that when you are a kid you hate hugging old people...they seemed scary or something didn't they? Easter was the one day my mother made me look like a girl. I was much more comfortable in my torn up jeans and sneakers because really, I wanted to be a boy. You see, I discovered at a very young age that boys had it much easier than girls. No dresses, no getting told to 'sit like a proper young lady'...they got to play with trucks, and climb trees, and get dirty...and everyone expected them to do those things. But if you were a girl, dirt was a big NO NO, trucks were for boys and dollies were for girls. I remember once taking my cabbage patch doll and strapping her to the top of my brothers army tank...because it looked cool. My mother about had a heart attack. "Girls do not behave that way," she said. My father wasn't much help either because after my brother was born he wanted a girl more than anything so when I came into to this world I was his real live princess. Let me tell you that being a princess is not all it's cracked up to be. Anyway, on Easter my mom scrubbed my knees, cleaned the dirt from under my fingernails, pulled my hair so tight into braids that my eyes slanted, and dressed me up like a girl so that everyone could see how pretty I was. Actually I think my mom wanted everyone to see how pretty she was and I was just a side ornament..but that's another story. So we'd go to church, my mother would pull my braids to make sure I was paying attention and life was the way it was supposed to be - for one day.

Now I'm one of those 'old people' but not much else has changed. I still prefer my torn up jeans and sneakers to a dress and my mother still calls me to make sure I have a proper outfit for Easter mass. I don't much mind anymore - the scrubbing of my knees, the cleaning my finger nails...and one more thing - I don't want to be a boy anymore. Life is the way it's supposed to be - at least for today.

I had a fabulous weekend. I didn't go out partying or do anything mildly spectacular but it was one of the most fulfilling weekends I've had in a long time. On Saturday my work had an open house geared towards children so we brought my daughter down to watch Ralph's World (children's band). As I watched how my sweet angel worked the crowd with her 'butt shakes' and 'hand clapping' I realized I was having a proud mama moment. She stood up in front of the crowd as if they didn't exist at all. She was lost in the music oblivious to anything else around her. I have to admit I was a bit envious of her boldness, I remember those days when only my own happiness mattered. I suppose that soon enough she'll grow up and the importance of her own happiness will be shoved behind that of someone else. Why do we do that? It's not that I think we should only take our own happiness into consideration but shouldn't it at the very least be near the top of our list? As sweet Alice danced her way across the room she actually came back for me, grabbed my hands and said, "dance mommy." She wanted me to share in her happiness as if it were big enough for both of us. You know what? It was. Maybe the key to being happy without being selfish is to always get other people involved.

A lot of you left comments yesterday about your own experiences similar to mine and although that comforts me a little to know I wasn't unique, it saddens me that we 'like' people traveled that path in the first place. It's amazing how many different routes can take you down the same road isn't it? I wish that somehow we could break the pattern, change the bad choices, make the scary stuff disappear. But we can't do that can we? One blogger commented that her daughter is headed down the same path and I can only imagine how worrisome that must be. It takes so much for us to escape our pasts, the pain, the memories, the mistakes - that it seems impossible to be able to turn all those things into the power to convince someone else that they never deserve to be inferior. We know from experience that when you are in those moments, you listen to no one. I think back to all the words of wisdom people spoke to me and I realized that not one of them shouted. No one screamed in my ears, " Wake up, you're making a mistake." No one tied my hands behind my back so I could hurt myself any more. Would any of those things have made a difference, maybe. So from this point forward I think we all need to take that pain and turn it into something positive. Tab said she's going to be a counselor and I applaud her for that. Although not all of us have that in us, we can still make a difference in someone else's life. Maybe the whole point of healing is to start a chain reaction. What a wonderful thought...one heart heals another.

Ten years ago I left my husband, not because he was bad - because I was. I wasn't bad in the sense that I did cruel things to him or anyone else, I was bad in the sense that I thought I wasn't good enough or nice enough to deserve a man that loved me so. He was a wonderful man, caring and sensitive and he loved me for all that I was and nothing that I wasn't. When I left him I got involved with someone I deemed more appropriate, a jealous, ego maniac, controlling man. I didn't really go in search of him, he just sort of found me. I know now that when you are in that place where you think you deserve less than everyone else, you will find someone that completely agrees with you. I hesitate to use his real name but honestly the man caused me so much grief that I feel I can't make any part of him make believe...not even his name. Mark was probably one of the worst mistakes I've ever made in my life. Before I met him most people considered me a strong woman, independent, willful, not the kind of person to let anyone control her but when I let Mark into my life - that changed. One thing I've learned about control is that just when you think you have the reins of your life gripped securely in your hands, it only takes one strong 'jerk' to pull them free. Mark controlled everything in my life. He once went through my closet and threw out all the clothes he classified as 'slutty'. He told me who I could talk to, who my friends could be, where I could go, what time I should go to bed, how to wear my hair, how often I could speak to my mother. I was never allowed to talk to another man without his permission and if he found out that I did, well then I was the biggest whore around. He had people follow me to make sure I wasn't disobeying his rules. It sounds crazy doesn't it? When I look back at those two years I let him control my life, I shudder in disgust. Sometimes I can hardly believe that person was me, that I could give up so much of myself to another human being and be left with an empty shell. My friends and family tried to hold a mirror up to my face but I refused to see my reflection. When anyone tried to tell me how awful a man Mark was I'd simply reply, "but I love him." I know now that wasn't love, it was an addiction. People assume addictions can only be to drugs, alcohol, food, sex...but I'm here to tell you that is the farthest thing from the truth. I was addicted to this man because I believed he was treating me the way I deserved to be treated. It's not like I told myself on a daily basis, "you're trash, you deserve pain." But in my heart of hearts...I believed it to be true (and that's a whole other story of why). I wish I could say that I wised up and saw Mark for the monster that he was but that would be a lie. Mark grew tired of me and threw me by the wayside. He was such a selfish man that even when he decided he needed a new woman to break, he still kept a firm hold on those reins. I remember the lows after he left. I remember the pain like it was yesterday. I remember feeling that nothing would ever feel different than how it felt in those moments. And for a long time - nothing did.

So how did I escape? How did I manage to become the strong willed woman I am today? I hit rock bottom where I laid in my own self pity. No one came to pick me up. No one brushed the dirt from my face and told me I was worth something more. No one could do those things for me because I wouldn't let them. I honestly can't tell you how I escaped. It's almost as if I blocked out that journey back to myself...I know it's there somewhere in the recesses of my mind but at this moment, I can't recall the exact point in time that I realized I needed to change. Some say it's important to remember how you got somewhere...but I believe the more important discovery is that you realize where you are now. When I think about Mark now I realize it wasn't him that destroyed me, that was something I did all by myself. If I ever doubt that I must remember one of my favorite quotes: No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. — Anna Eleanor Roosevelt

Today, I feel deserving as I stand before you...half nekkid.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

After being 'stuck in the moment' yesterday and many days before that I actually started thinking about the things that lead up to that moment and the things that followed it like a dog chasing it's tail. Moments do not exist like an enigma, separate from everything else, they exist because of everything else. The thing I realized yesterday is although I thought I was stuck in just one moment, I was actually stuck in many. Sometimes we put blinders on and all we can see is what's right in front of us. We don't ask questions - we make assumptions. Assumptions that we know why things happen or why they don't, but in reality most of us have selective memories. Some of us remember only the bad because we believe it's shaped who we are. Some of us remember only the good because we're in denial that bad things happened at all. I wrote a post a while back named 'Remembering makes you free' and I had forgotten the words I spoke, I'd missed my own advice. Last night I remembered things, some good - some bad and you know what? Today I feel lighter, maybe not any more enlightened as to why things were the way they were, but definitely lighter. Isn't it strange how heavy moments can become? Sitting on top of your shoulders whispering in your ear, "remember me?" I've never been good at laying those burdens down but I really want to try to change. I'm not sure how to begin but I suppose a first step is to write those thoughts down, make them as real as they were when they happened. It's painful to remember isn't it? But not remembering can be just as harmful.

So for a few moments beyond this one...I'm going to write about some things I thought I'd forgotten. Things I should remember so that I truly can move past them. I hope that's ok...that I let you into those secret places that even I had forgotten about. You know...today is 04-05-06 and they say it's an occurence that will never happen again in our lifetime. I think today I'm going to do something special to mark the occasion, I'm going to 'unstick' myself from the moments that came before this one. This moment right now, it's my new starting point.

Have you ever been stuck in a moment? A moment you keep remembering, keep re-living, keep pressing to the front of your brain so it's near impossible to forget? For some time now I've had this moment pulling me back to things already passed. I dream about it, I let thoughts of it consume me as I'm standing in the kitchen drying the dinner dishes. The strange thing is that even when the moment was actually happening, it didn't seem that important. How can something become more important after it's already happened? It's not a moment that defined me, not a moment that completed me, not a moment that even seemed like it was something I'd need to remember for later...at least I didn't think so at the time the moment was occurring. So this morning I'm combing my hair and there it was, the moment flashing back at me as if it were a reflection I'd been trying to escape. Some people say we get stuck in moments because there's something unresolved that we need to deal with. I guess I believe that but how can you resolve something that never appeared to be a problem in the first place? I try to force the moment out of my brain by closing my eyes, refusing to look at it's reflection. I manage to escape it briefly but it leaves this nagging feeling inside my chest that I can't quite define. As I'm riding the train in this morning I close my eyes hoping to block out the images of strangers surrounding me and I let it happen, the moment. I'm remembering several years back when I went to this all night boating party which was supposed to be with my boyfriend but he ended getting pissed off that some guy was flirting me so he left me...I ended up there alone, knowing not a soul. I managed to make a few friends and ended up staying on their boat. Like I said before it was nothing significant. I remember drinking way too much trying to block out the reality that my boyfriend cared more about himself than me. I remember waking up the next morning forgetting where I was and wondering how the hell I was going to get home. I remember...and then it hits me, a moment that wasn't a moment at all rather it was a string of moments wrapped up into a lifetime. The ironic thing about moments is that when you are in them you think you'll remember them always, like tattoos branded on your arm. But moments are not permanent, they fade and sometimes they fade so quickly that you miss the relevance of them.

Today I realized that I'm stuck in a moment not because it was a moment I wanted to remember forever, but because it was a moment I wanted to forget forever. It was a moment that I let define how I would deal with rejection, loneliness, betrayal...by not dealing with it at all. So why now? Why does it resurface six years after it happened? Because not so long ago someone mentioned to me that they had seen my old boyfriend, the one who left me stranded at that party so many years ago. I remember my heart sinking into the pit in the bottom of my stomach but I quickly dismissed the thought that I could still be affected by that man. And then the moments came to me like a thief in the night, stealing something so precious - the facade of strength I display so proudly. The truth is, that moment wasn't insignificant. And so I remember, I get stuck in it, I wrap my sanity around it. What do I do with it now? I feel it. Moments are meant to be felt regardless of their pleasure or pain. So right now, I'm feeling it - the loneliness I felt, the escape I tried to make, the pain of knowing someone can love you but still leave you behind. And when I let it go - finally, the moment will fade into something less.

Sometimes I think I have all the answers. There are always so many questions and I've always been the one at the back of the class, jumping up and down in her seat, hand waving furiously in the air, "Pick me, pick me." Sometimes I do actually have the right answer but most times I end up forgetting what the hell the question was to begin with. Have you ever searched so hard for an answer that by the time you think you have it, the question has changed? My father used to say, "We are always searching for the right answers, but there are no answers, there is only life." I wish I could remember that piece of advice every single day because if I could...

I'd stop wondering why people are not as kind as they should be.
I'd stop trying to figure out why lies hurt more than the truth.
I'd stop looking for the easy way around things because the easiest path is usually the wrong path.
I'd stop second guessing someone's good intentions and just accept that sometimes good things are just good things.
I'd stop wondering why God picks on me when really all he is doing is saying, NWC pay attention.
I'd stop wondering how things get so messed up and start straightening them out.

Life is a not a question, it is the answer.

Have you ever noticed that Winter is the longest damn season of the year? I've always hated the cold because no matter how many layers I pile on to protect me from the harshness of it all, somehow I'm still freezing underneath. The past two days have been so beautiful, a whopping 65 yesterday and this morning it's already 55. I have to laugh every Spring when this weather comes around and we all think we're having a heat wave but in Fall when the temps drop to 60 we're freezing again. Yesterday I couldn't resist going for a walk on my lunch hour. I'm lucky enough to work downtown a few blocks from Lake Michigan so strolling along the beach is an easy task if I'm motivated. I walked out to Adler Planetarium and when I arrived I looked back at the city I work in. It seemed so far away as if I had stepped outside myself into an alternate universe. As I perched myself upon the rocks and watched the people go by I couldn't help but notice how happy everyone seemed. Children were running and laughing, grown ups dressed in business attire smiled as they let themselves be dazzled by their innocence, dogs wagged their tails as strangers scratched them behind their ears. People were at ease and honestly it's something I either rarely see or barely notice. Sitting out there in the warm sun with the wind blowing through my hair - life seemed simple. There were so many people sitting on the same shoreline, looking across the same body of water, forgetting the same realities that wait for them several blocks away. There were people who if only for a moment, or for a day - reveled in their existence at that precise point in time. You want to know the most amazing part of it all? Not one person was talking on their cell phones. It was almost as if they had carved out that space for their own personal use and no one was allowed to intrude. That's certainly how I felt as I purposely left my cell lay on my desk as I walked out the door. Sometimes we need life with no interruptions.

As I walked back from lunch that peace I'd discovered followed me back to my reality. Yesterday I walked the line between remembering life could be simple and realizing it was if I let it be.

It's simple really, life is only as complicated as you let it be.

when I walk through this life I often overlook your tiny bud pushing it's way up through the hardened earth.
so much strength, so much power - to exist in such a dangerous place.
yet you grow into something beautiful, and still - most days you go unnoticed.
I saw you this morning, stretching your tiny petals towards something warmer than the earth beneath you.
Capturing rays of sun, wrapping them inside of yourself, believing that if you held on tight enough - you too would be warm.
your hope is infectious and so I stopped to bask in your uniqueness.
you resemble someone I knew not so long ago.
I must remember you - tomorrow.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

A friend of mine is going through kind of a rough patch with her significant other. As I sit listening to her talk about the pain her heart feels I wanted to reach through the phone and hold on to her, keep her safe - from the pain I've experienced resembling her own. I used to look back at all those painful moments and think, "how unlucky am I." But now, in times like these when someone needs my advice, I think, "I'm a stronger person, I have knowledge to offer, because - I've felt all that pain before." It's such a strange thing how when you are in the moment, in the pain, you see nothing else but that pain. Most times you convince yourself that nothing will ever feel any different than 'this' feels right now. When I think back to those times that I lost myself in someone else I wanted to scream, "how could you have been so stupid." In reality I know it wasn't stupidity at all, it was this thing I have called a heart. Those damn hearts can really get us in trouble can't they? Once, a therapist told me that I would always pick out people to be in my life that would take the most from me, people that would rarely give back even half of what they had received. I hated that statement, mostly because I knew it was true. People are givers or they are takers and rarely are they both. I picked out people who took things from me because deep down lost in the shadows of my pain, I believed I didn't deserve anything better. So many people that loved me would look at me and say, "why do you stay, why do you want to be with someone that takes so much from you." I could never answer them because I didn't understand it myself. I thought if someone treated me kindly even 25% of the time, that meant they really loved me. I believed it when they told me my fears were due to my insecurity. I believed I was the one with the problem - so I stayed because who else would want such a broken person? I repeated those patterns for years and no matter how hard I tried to break the chain, I'd always end up the person who sacrificed the most. I still remember the very moment that my life changed. This man who claimed to love me, a man who took so much from me including my self esteem, stood in front of me and told me, "you need to change or this won't work." I pondered those words over and over until finally I got it. I did need to change. I needed to love myself, I needed to believe in myself, I needed to give myself as much as I had given him. Those steps away from him was one of the hardest journeys I've taken in my life. That part of me that stayed - it was a part I gave back to myself.

So how do you help someone decide to always choose themselves over someone else? How do you show them that love isn't a give give thing...it's a give take thing? How do you take the memories of your own pain and hold them up to the light as if it were slideshow to teach someone else what not to do? I suppose part of that saying, 'learning the hard way' is true but does it really have to be that way? Can't something good come from someone else's pain? God I hope so.

Last night I watched Elizabethtown, ever heard of it? I highly recommend it and it's not a chick flick either. In the movie Kristen Dunst refers to herself as a substitute person, the person that people keep in their lives for every reason under the sun except love. As I lay in bed last night I kept turning that phrase over and over in my mind, "Substitute People." Had I ever been one? Had I ever had one in my life? What makes someone a substitute instead of the real thing? I remember many times when I used other people to take away the pain in my life. People to make me feel worth loving. People to make me feel less alone. People to make me feel - something. As I look back at those not so proud moments I realize that they were my 'substitute people'. Part of me feels guilty but part of me believes that while I was using them to fulfill my needs, they were doing the same to me in return. Every person is a substitute at one time or another, a substitute friend, a substitute lover, a substitute conscience. Does that make us bad when we use a substitute for the real thing? I don't think so. Sometimes we don't have the power,the will or the way to find the real 'thing'. Sometimes we need someone if only for a moment, for a day, for enough time so that we realize what it is we're substituting. The funny thing about 'substitutes' is that most times we can convince ourselves it's the real thing; real love, real friendship, real feelings. No one really likes substitutes - being one or using one. But sometimes the calories from the 'real thing' seem much more hazardous to our health. When we heal on the inside we realize that having the real friendship, the real love, the real conscience is the only thing really worth having. Eventually we learn that even substitutes have calories.

Well, my sig. other and I had our date Saturday night and although it didn't turn out quite like we planned I must say it was actually quite a bit of fun.

You know you are getting old when you make plans several weeks ahead of time to go on a date and when the time finally arrives you both look at each other and say...well, do you still want to go out? But we did, go out that is, despite our tiredness, despite the fact that we had to pay a babysitter $10 bucks an hour, we went - kicking and screaming. We headed up to the Riveria theatre about two hours before the concert thinking we'll grab dinner first and then stand in line waiting for the doors to open. So we drive past the theatre and there's a line of people stretched down the block and suddenly I feel like I'm 50 and about to crash a high school prom. We look a each other with the same skeptical frown pasted across our face. "Wow, we have to wait in that line," I asked? "We have to wait in that line if we want to get towards the front of the stage," he responds. It's GA - general admission and now I'm regretting my choice of musical talent to pay my homage too. Why couldn't I have picked a nice jazz concert where people actually get to sit down instead of standing in a large clearing, jumping up and down, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tiny figurine on the stage? What the hell was I thinking, that I was eighteen? So anyway...we look for parking and much to my surprise we score a prime spot (free to boot) about a half block away. My spirits start to rise as we decide that we won't wait in that line, we'll wait for the doors to open and cram ourselves in the back where maybe we'll catch a glimpse of James Blunt himself. It all sounded good - in theory, forgetting of course that I'm a whopping 5'3 and the only thing I was likely to catch a glimpse of was the wide arse standing in front of me. This was becoming one of those times that I hated being short. My sig other is 6'3 so he has no trouble seeing over half the population so he really didn't understand my frustration. We park the car and start to walk towards the theatre and decide that we'll eat at the grungy little cafe nestled next to it instead. We have roughly 2 hours before the doors open so that's plenty of time to eat something completely unhealthy. Just as we are about to open the door to the cafe we see a sign that states, "Cash Only." What the hell kind of restaurant only takes cash? We realize we have about twenty bucks between us so we decided to run across the street to the ATM machine and grab some more cash. Jokingly I mention that we should just 'scalp' our tickets and head out to something more suitable for a couple of old timers. As I'm standing in front of the ATM trying desperately to remember my pin number I hear this voice behind me, "Got any tickets to sell." Huh, you talking to me? Well...as a matter of fact....ok, that's not right is it? We're supposed to be going to a concert right? We look at each other, nod in agreement, "Well I have two tickets to sell." "Yeah, how much," the nicely dressed hoodlum replies? Now my brain starts calculating, how much would be enough to erase the guilt I'll feel for selling our 'pre-planned' date? "175 bucks," I exclaim. "Whoa..that's a lot of dough," said hoodlum replies. "Well, if you want to see James the man you have to pay," I respond. "How about $150," he replies. "How about $170," I demand. I'm thinking to myself that this sort of activity is strictly prohibited and I'm breaking the law..then I remember I'm not a big fan of rules and I tend to like a bit of 'danger' so I continue with my banter. "How about $165," Mr. Hoodlum asks. "How about $175," I quickly respond. "Ok," he says as he pulls out the cash. As I'm taking it from his hand he realizes I've just screwed him royally. I actually paid $50 for those tickets on ebay but the concert is sold out and obviously he really wanted to get those tickets so he could sell them to some other unsuspecting sucker. On that day - I was no sucker, a criminal maybe...but definitely not a broke one. As I'm tucking the cash inside my back pocket I start to wonder if I've really pissed off sig. other...but he looks at me with and we both start laughing. "So now what," I ask. "How about dinner - at a real restaurant that takes credit cards and a couple of drinks at a local watering hole." "Sounds perfect," I exclaim. There happens to be a Borders Books across the street so we both decide to pop in there and buy a couple of new books for our daughter. As we're standing there trying to decide between Baby Einstein and Elmo this guy taps me on the shoulder, "excuse me, can you tell me what sort of book a 3-year old girl might like." As I begin to explain that girls prefer books with fairies and princesses I realize that I recognize this guys face. "Well....James, I say you should buy this My Little Pony book, any little girl would love it." "Hey thanks...my niece is really going to like this," he responds. My sig. other is dumbfounded at my ability to remain calm and collected and not even attempt to ask for an autograph. As we're standing in line waiting to pay James asks me if we'd like tickets to his concert...uh oh! "Well actually, we had tickets but now we don't." "We sort of sold them about ten minutes ago." He smiles and responds, "how much did you get?" "Enough," I reply. And as we're walking out the door I turn to look at the man I thought was going to make this night special and then I grabbed the hand of the man that already had.

P.S....we did have sex and wine...exactly in that order.

Sometimes it's so good to be old.

It's been so long since I've been on a date, the kind with romance, dinner, drinks. Tomorrow night my sig. other and I are going to see James Blunt and I'm really excited, not to see James but to be on a real honest to goodness date. I knew when we had a child that things would change but I guess I never thought that my 'dating' life would all but disappear. It's no one's fault really, most days we're so tired when we get home that's it's all we can do to go to guitar lessons, volleyball games, and manage to keep our 2-year old pacified. Sometimes Life just gets in the way doesn't it? When you have children your sex life is reduced to "How about sex tonight," and then you politely say, "I'm really too tired, how about tomorrow?" It's not that you don't want sex it's that you want sleep more. I never thought I'd be one of 'those' people but low and behold....I am. So anyway, tomorrow we're going on a date with dinner, a concert, and sex included. You know the main lesson I've learned over the past 2 years about relationships is that you really have to work at them if you want them to be good. Friendships, romantic relationships, co-worker relations, they all require you to sacrifice a bit of your time to make them worthwhile. Sometimes I think we forget that the only things worth having in this life are the things you have to work to obtain.

Happy Friday everyone.

Yesterday I wrote a post about my belief in God and for awhile after I posted it a tiny fear came over me. A fear that somehow people would think differently about me after learning about my faith. The moment of fear soon passed not because I wasn't afraid anymore but because I was too busy at work to think about it. As my day went on I barely noticed how light I felt. Most days things seem heavy and it's become a feeling I'm accustomed to, so like all things we take for granted, it took me awhile to realize - the feeling had changed. As I started out the door, quick to end my work day and make it back to my child, I caught my reflection as I passed by a picture hanging on the wall. I wasn't smiling but my brow wasn't furrowed as it usually is at the end of a long hectic day. My eyes were not focused on the floor, they were looking above the endless trail of reality that follows me home each day. I felt - lighter. On my train ride home my sudden euphoria perplexed me. Nothing extraordinary had happened today, I completed several projects and acquired several more but being successful at my job has never really caused me to shed extra emotional layers...so what was it? And then I remembered how I started my day, I shared a very private part of myself with people I've come to know as my friends. I started thinking about how afraid I was of revealing those bits of my make-up that were virtually unknown before, how I feared that people might think of me differently, and then I realized I was the one that was thinking about myself differently. I made it home yesterday, played Barbie's with my sweet girl, made dinner, watched Lost, and headed down to bed for a few precious moments with a good book and as I lay there trying to concentrate on my reading I smiled because for the first time in a very long time - I liked myself. I liked the fact that sometimes I procrastinate so long that I'm forced to scramble things together to make things turn out the way they are supposed to do - and I'm successful. I like that I wake up every morning tired and wishing I could go back to sleep until I hear my daughter singing 'Row Row Row your boat' and instantly I have all the energy in the world. I like that sometimes I'm scared of things, the darkness, strangers, going places I've never been - it makes me feel normal. I like that I shared a piece of myself with virtual strangers and I contemplated their opinion of me, it makes me feel aware of my actions. I like that sometimes it takes me longer to stop loving someone only because I've loved them so much more than they loved me, it reminds me how much capacity my heart really has. So many of us never really think about whether we like ourselves or not. We take it for granted that liking yourself, is required. Today I challenge you to make a list, be it mental or physical, and remind yourself about the things you cherish about YOU. Other people only really like us because they are following our lead.


Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

When I was a little girl I prayed every night. My parents would come in my room, we'd kneel in front of my bed and they would listen to me thank God for the blessings in my life. As I got older my parents stopped coming to my room to make sure I said my prayers but even without their supervision, I still wanted to talk to God before I slept. There are a lot of people that remember saying their prayers when they were little. There are a lot of people that grew out of that practice, but I'm not one of them. Although I don't kneel beside my bed anymore, I do still talk to God every single night before I sleep. I don't really consider myself a religious person. I go to church, I pray, but I'm not someone who preaches my beliefs to the choir because for me, religion is personal. It is not something I wish to convince the world to believe in, it is not something that makes me better than someone who has no religion, it is something that makes me feel less alone in this world. When I started this blog I promised myself I wouldn't post about religion because it's not something I want to be debated. Yesterday I was speaking to a friend who is going through a hard time in her life. As I sat there listening my mind started to wander back to the moments in my own life when living seemed the most incredibly hard thing to accomplish. She asked me how I got through those times. Didn't I feel alone? Who did I talk to? Could anyone help me find hope to make through another day? I sat there briefly pondering her questions. I knew the answers but I was dangerously close to crossing the line I'd drawn. She needed me to answer - and so I did.

"When I was a little girl my parents told me that God was my friend. He was the ear that always listened. He had the arms that always held me. He had the mind that never judged. He had the heart that always forgave. He had the light that cleared my darkness. He had the coat that kept me warm. He had the answers when I was questioning. He had the hope when I was hopeless. He was my rock when I needed to lean. He was the hero when I needed saving. He was my map when I was lost. He was my mirror when I was vain. God was my friend." I told her about those times in my life where nothing seemed powerful enough to take away the pain. How I got down on my bare knees on a cold hardwood floor and sobbed until my chest hurt, begging God to save me. I told her that knowing and more importantly believing that there is some higher power holding you back from the edge, is the most rewarding belief you will ever put your faith in. She asked me how to start. "How to start what," I asked. "To start praying," she answered. "You start like this, talking from one friend to another." "And He'll listen," she asked. "He'll listen as long as you are willing to talk," I responded, "Friends are like that."

Life is about choice. Choices to leave. Choices to stay. The choice to run from something or the choice to face it head on. Some choices are made without foresight or contemplation. Some choices are pondered much too long and in your procrastination to make a choice, the choice is made by proxy. Some choices are full of regret, some cause us to be grateful. Some choices can change the course of many lives, some can ruin the life of one. A choice is not always yours by default, some never have a choice - to choose who their parents are, to choose who they love or who loves them, to choose safety over harm, to choose truth over lies. Some, take choice away from those most vulnerable, those too weak, those who rely on someone to love them enough to make the right choices.

One day in the life of you or me is roughly made up of at least ten choices. The choice to be in a good mood when you wake up tired from the night before. The choice to ignore the co-worker who treats you with disrespect. The choice to take a walk on your lunch hour or the choice to stay chained to your desk oblivious of the outside world. The choice to notice that the sun is shining or the choice to see only the clouds. The choice to wish upon stars or the choice to never notice they exist. The choice to share bits of your life with anonymous friends or the choice to keep it all to yourself. Some choices seem insignificant, some seem insurmountable, some come quickly, some never come at all. In all your choices, the ones you've made, the ones that have been made for you, which ones do you remember the most? Why not remember them all? Why not make the choice to make each one significant? Remember those who never live long enough to make any choice.

This post is dedicated to the two little girls who died within the last two weeks from stray bullets on the Westside of Chicago - one as she celebrated her surprise birthday party, one as she got ready for school. Death has stolen their choice. Be grateful people - make your choices with your eyes wide open.

My father sent me this...they are not his words but they are words he carries with him and he wanted to share them with me. Now, I want to share them with you.

" To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and
the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and
endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best
in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a
garden patch or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has
breathed easier because you lived. This is to have succeeded."

How many of you can honestly say you have succeeded in this life? I hope that number is plentiful.

For many years I dreaded this day even though it seems almost sacrilegious to hate a day that celebrates my Irish heritage. When I was growing up this day meant some sort of legalized excuse for my father to take the day off work and get blitzed. He's Irish, the real kind, home grown from Belfast. It was in his blood, the tendency to drink that is. The rest of the days he was inebriated I had right to resent him but not this day, everyone gets drunk on St. Paddy's Day. I remember one year that my friends and I went to the parade then out bar hopping. I was pretty intoxicated by noon and as pleased as I felt with myself, I wasn't prepared to see my reflection staring back at me. As I sat there laughing with my friends I spotted my father sitting across the bar from me. He hadn't seen me but I saw him in all his drunken glory. He looked ridiculous throwing his head back in laughter, women hanging on him, slamming those beers one after another. My father is an alcoholic not only on St. Paddy's day, but every day. As anger swelled inside of me sounds echoed in my head. It was the sound of my own drunken laughter. I was my father, he was me. There is nothing more sobering than a reflection of disgust mocking you from the other side of the room. I left that bar, I left that place. I'm not an alcoholic but I believe it's because I'm always aware of who I could become if I let that path choose me.

This year is the first St. Patrick's Day that I don't dread. My father came up to see me about a week ago and he, my daughter, and I attended our first Chicago St. Patrick's Day parade, together. As I stood there watching my dad hold my sweet girl, kiss her cheeks, laugh a sober laugh that filled my heart with ease, I realized that my dad was giving me what he could, a day in his life where I was more important than booze. I caught a glimpse of the man I knew before that disease tainted my memories. My dad is still an alcoholic, that's something you don't erase, but he drinks less and more importantly he doesn't drink around me or my child. I've learned that sometimes you have to take what you can get and cherish it for what it is.

The picture above is the Chicago river which was dyed green a week ago in honor of St. Patrick's Day. I'll leave you with my favorite Irish blessing:

May you have the hindsight to know where you've been
the foresight to know where you're going
and the insight to know when you're going too far.

sometimes I like to peer inside your windows
hoping to catch a glimpse of who you might become
will you be strong enough to survive this world
or will you run and hide the same as I
I see you so deep in thought and part of me wonders
are those thoughts of me
will you grow up knowing how much you've changed my life
will it comfort you on the days you feel alone
when your heart is breaking
will you let me hold the pieces in my hands
can I teach you to be kind and compassionate
will you remember it always
what are you thinking my dear child
maybe some day you'll tell me

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

I am not a good sick person. After nursing my daughter back to health after her bout with the flu over the weekend, it would seem she's passed it on to me. I guess children share everything when they are young, it's not until they are older that they start keeping things all to themselves. I spent most of the night tossing and turning because it felt as if I were going to lose my cookies at any moment. I made it through the night but wasn't so lucky this morning. I rarely take time for myself but today I'm in desperate need. What I really long to do is climb back in my bed, pull the covers up to my nose, and sleep until tomorrow. But as I said I'm a bad sick person because here I am sitting at work. I had too much to do, too many people relying on me, too many things...period. When I go home I'll have a little girl wanting me to play Barbies and make animals out of playdoh, I'll have a sig. other who has mysteriously made it through 34 years of life without learning to cook himself a meal. I'll have responsibilities that don't go away just because I'm sick. It's kind of unfair isn't it? Life should pause itself or at least go in slow motion when we're not feeling up to dealing with it. Maybe what I need to do is pick up life's darn remote control and push STOP. Why don't they invent TiVo for life? Hmmm, maybe I'll start working on that....see, there I go again, taking on more than I can handle.

Thanks to everyone for your well wishes yesterday. Although it was a hard day, it's done now and a new journey must begin. When my mom left the nursing home yesterday my step dad called her on her way home, "I don't belong here," he said, "these people are not like me." I thought about those words all of last night and I realized that seems to be the purpose of our lives, to belong somewhere. There are times in our lives when we feel alone. When we feel that we're the only stranger in a room full of people. Times when we try so hard to 'belong' that we end up not belonging to ourselves. Some of us travel miles on roads filled with heartaches and pain just to feel like we are part of something bigger than ourselves. We travel light leaving the parts of our identities that don't 'fit in' behind. And then one day when we're surrounded by those people we thought were like us, we realize that we've become a stranger to the one person we did belong to, ourselves.

I'll admit that most of my life I've wanted to be in a place where I thought I belonged, surrounded by people like me. I've hidden things about myself that others might not understand. I've pretended to be someone I'm not just so I could feel like someone they wanted me to be. In all those years of 'belonging' I realize now that I was always that stranger in the back of the room and no one noticed how out of place I really was. My life before, I didn't belong there. Those people that filled the rooms of my soul, they were not like me.

Before she hung up the phone she whispered the only words she could think of, "you belong in the hearts of all that love you and that's the only place worth being."

Belong somewhere - worth being.

As I walked out the front door this morning a warm fresh breeze danced across my face. It's been so cold here in Chicago that I'd almost forgotten how wonderful a warm breeze can feel. As the air filled my lungs I was hesitant to exhale, fearing that along with that breath the hope that came with it would disappear. I wanted to hold it in until my head swirled with euphoria casting a rose colored glow on the world that lay ahead of me. But my chest started to hurt and before I knew it I had to let it go. I took a deep breath trying to recapture some tiny bit of what I had before, but the moment had passed. Moments always pass don't they? But the memories of those moments lie somewhere between what is and what once was and if we're lucky enough, we can find more that resemble them.

Today my step father is going to his new home, the one filled with other people like him, people that try desperately to recapture the moments they are in much less the ones that have already passed. People that have a past yet can't remember it. People that are stuck between what is and what is tomorrow. My heart aches for him but I know this place is where he has to be. My hope is that when he walked out of his home today, a warm breeze caressed his face and he filled his lungs with moments. Moments of happiness, moments of love, moments when he was more whole than he is right now. Maybe tomorrow when he wakes up in a strange bed, a strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, he'll find recognition when he exhales.

Some would say I'm lucky to have heard those words, "I love you," so many times in my life. Some would say I should feel special. I don't really. Maybe it's because most of the times I heard those words I rarely believed them to be true. People can tell you that they love you but really they are just words. They are nice to hear but if those words just hang in the air with nothing to hold them up, then they are meaningless. Some of us spend so much time trying to figure out if those words are meant or are real, the joy we should feel from them, disappears. I've had real love in my life, I think I have it now, but the knowing that it's real didn't come from hearing words; it came from the actions that came before and after them. There have been times that I relied on those words to protect me but as we all know words do not have that power. Words do not make things real. Actions do.

And then things change.

Last night as I was tucking my daughter into her bed she looked up at me with those eyes that reflect a perfect blend of her father and I. "I love you mommy." For the first time in my life words were enough. I never even had to ask if she meant it.

Sometimes I hide. I run for cover when things get tough hoping that if I hide well enough, no one will see me. I feel safe when I hide, invisible to the everyone. And then...someone comes along, steps on my tail and I realize I wasn't as well hidden as I thought I was. Even when we think they can't see us, we're really still - half nekkid.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Sometimes what I need to say escapes me. The words are in my head, swirling around like oil in water. I can write them, that part comes easily. To speak the things that populate my mind, that requires more effort. Most days I'm too tired to put forth the effort. Most days I am a drifter, hiding beneath the comfort of things I can control, running from the ones I can't. It's amazing how fast you can run from something yet still be in the same place when you stop to rest. Life follows you. Behind every door, through every darkened hallway, at the end of every bottle of booze, it's there waiting for you to see it, to experience it, to acknowledge it. So I'm standing here looking at the life that surrounds me in this room and part of me is scared to see it for what it is. But I'm here, still. I know I need to tell you what's in my mind but I'm not good at leaps of faith. I'm weak like that. How do I know that when my words leave their safe haven that you'll be there to catch them? Or will they fall clumsily to the floor and be swept away with the dust and the dog hair? If only you could see inside to read the words scrawled upon my walls, this would be easier. But who am I kidding, we people rarely look past the steel door at the entrance. Maybe if I opened it just a little so you could peer inside you'd be able to see that I'm not as silent as I seem.

Some times my heart feels heavy. Some times it feels as if it just can't withstand any more pressure, it's stretched beyond capacity. You can love someone yet still feel like they are a complete stranger. Doesn't seem possible does it? You can want to be with someone and they can want to be with you but in reality wanting something and having something are completely different. I'm not naive enough to believe that love is enough to make a relationship work. I know that successful relationships survive in spite of love not because of it. I want my relationship with my sig. other to be as strong as I know it can be. But my heart is heavy, the weight of his financial problems lay over me. As much as I try to make him responsible, I can't. I am not his parent, I am not his conscience, I am not and never will be - his savior. There have been many failed rescue missions in my life and I have no desire to add to that number. It's not that I don't love him enough to try, I have tried, but how many times can I bail him out until it's too many? I'm tired of getting penalized because I make more money. I've worked damn hard to be successful at my career and just because he earns a lower salary, does that make it my job to pay more of of our living expenses. I sound bitter don't I? Maybe part of me is bitter because I feel taken for granted. I want to love him. I want love to be enough. I want love not to cost so much. Is that possible?

When I was young my father would pick me up from school each day. When I got into his pickup truck he'd ask me, "What did you learn today." It wasn't an option to say, "Nothin'." I tried using that answer...Once. I'd sit there picking my brain trying to come up with something I'd learned but sometimes...actually most times, I couldn't think of anything to say. I tried making stuff up but as soon as my dad figured out my full proof plan he'd ask me to elaborate on my new found knowledge. My father was an English professor which allowed him to spot a Tall Tale a mile away, he knew fiction when he heard it. More than remembering the pressure of how it felt to be put in the hot seat, I remember how awful it felt seeing the disappointment in my father's eyes. He told me once that a day without learning something new, is a day I've walked through the world with my eyes and ears closed. Eventually I actually started thinking about what my answer would be before I got in the truck and I made it a point to pay attention to life so I'd catch any lesson that was thrown my way. My life has been spent learning. Sometimes the lessons were not easy ones, sometimes they left me feeling more ignorant then when I started out. But after the haze clears...the mind and the heart, each lesson was invaluable. Sometimes I try to remember the most important thing that I've ever learned but it's hard because there have been so many turning points in my life. If I had to pick just one I suppose it would be the day that I learned how to forgive. It was a lesson that saved me from myself.

How often can you sit down at the end of your day and think about something new you've learned? How often do you walk through the world with your eyes and ears closed because you think you've seen it all, you've learned all the lessons this life has to teach? How often do you challenge yourself to open up your eyes, your ears, your heart, and learn something? Those days when I stumble through the passing moments...those days are the ones I've wasted. I hate wasting things...this I've learned.

It's been three days since I gave up clutter for Lent. I have to admit that I'm not much of a material clutter kind of person. I hate having things strewn all over the counter tops, I can't stand misc. items like shoes, socks, underwear - littering the floor. I was brought up to believe that everything has it's place and the sooner you put something back where it belongs the easier you'll be able to focus on what's important. I know those lessons were actually about the kind of clutter you have in closets or the back seat of your car not the 'emotional clutter' that I'm working on cleaning up. But as I look back on all those times when my mother lectured me about how an organized closet could lead to an organized mind, I actually have to agree with her. As much of a clean freak as I am I tend to shove things into the crevices where no one can see them. My counters are clean, my bedroom spotless, but if you open the hall closet you will see all the things I couldn't find a place for, useless things. Every day I walk by this closet I avoid having to open it. When I see what's inside my heart starts to race, my breathing quickens, I feel - out of control. I hate clutter...I said that right? But as much as I can't stand seeing clutter out in the open, I've somehow come to believe it's ok if it exists in places no one looks. There are very few people in this world that will make an effort to open that hall closet door and look inside. It's not convenient, they don't really 'need' anything from inside so they pass by and look the other way and pretend - there is no clutter, there are only shiny surfaces that are pleasing to the eye. I suppose it all goes back to that old theory, out of sight out of mind. The thing about that hall closet is that eventually you will need something from inside. You will stand in front of the door and pause before you turn the handle. You will close your eyes because you are afraid of what might fall on top of you, things that may be so heavy the weight of them might crush you. As the door opens, nothing falls out. You turn the light on. For the first time you see that the things you hid behind that door are not nearly as useless as you thought they were. Everything has it's place, even clutter.

So much of my life has been spent looking in from the outside into a world that seemed foreign to me. I'd read how families were supposed to be - whole and peaceful but it was never part of my reality so I was skeptical that it could actually exist. Sometimes my friends would talk about their family outings, the ones with a mom and a dad and I remember being so jealous. I was like a peeping Tom, standing under the bushes outside a window hoping to catch a glimpse of this life I had no part of. The laughing, the love, the trust they had in each other would leave me feeling more like an outsider than I care to remember. Although both of my parents loved me, they were not together and they spent so much time fighting over me that sometimes I think they actually forgot what prize they were both trying to win. When I look back I think I became an independent person because I never wanted to rely on someone else to love me to make me feel whole. It took me years to realize that someone loving you isn't what makes you whole, it's knowing that you are worthy of that love that completes you.

My life is so different now and for the first time in a very long time I don't feel like that kid on the outside with her nose pressed against the glass looking into a life she thought she'd never have. Every now and then I still step outside myself, outside of my life, to get a better view of how much love I'm actually worthy of. I've come out from under those bushes, I've opened the door and stepped into my life. I never have to be on the outside looking in...ever again.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Today is the first day of Lent. Do you know what that means? Well it probably means diddly if you are not Catholic or Orthodox. Some of you probably celebrated Mardi Gras yesterday and I bet most of you didn't know the real reason that celebration originated. Fat Tuesday falls on the Tuesday before Lent. It's a day to 'live it up' before Ash Wednesday which marks the day you are supposed to start your 40 day journey of soul searching and repentance. I used to find it strange that although lent is supposed to be about finding some higher moral ground, the most common practice during Lent is to sacrifice something you really love or find hard to live without. I'm not sure why giving something up that you love, like sex or chocolate equates to soul searching. Unless maybe people find it hard to really see themselves or do any sort of repentance unless they are horny and devoid of sugar. I guess I can relate to that. There have been times in my life that sex overshadowed many truths. Like the times that I thought having sex with someone meant that they actually cared about me. Times that I thought having sex would actually fix problems that seemed unsolvable. Times that I thought having sex without emotion was just as pleasurable as when my heart was involved. I was wrong each and every single time. Maybe that's why we do it, give up something we think we can't live without, to prove to ourselves that clarity rarely comes without sacrifice. And the repentance part, I think that's about accepting what we find when that 40 day journey ends.

Today I'm starting my journey and for the next 40 days I'm going to sacrifice something I've been trying to get rid of for thirty some years. Clutter. I'm laying that load I've been carrying on my shoulders down by the roadside. I'm learning that it's hard to travel with so much baggage. Sometimes we hang on to so much junk.