Some Words...

Thanks for all your comments on my Friday post and it turns out the book Tab recommended is one my mom already has. I asked her if she'd heard of it and she said 'yes'. "Have you read it," I asked not meaning to sound sarcastic. "I suppose it's time to read it again isn't it," she replied? You see, I learned how not to let go from my mother. She dwells on things, things that have passed, things she has no control over, things that matter less then she thinks they do. I can remember the numerous men in her life that fell into that category "needs saving." Even when I think back to the friends she had, most of them needed saving too. I guess she figured that she couldn't save herself so if she helped someone else it might even out the score. Sound familiar? Isn't it funny how strong we become by saving other people yet when the tables turn and it's us that needs a hero, somehow we're paralyzed?

My last attempt to save a man was about 5 years ago and he was the man I moved to Chicago for. I was desperately in love with him but he needed to be saved from himself before he could love me the way I wanted him to. I still remember the day he broke my heart and the pain that consumed me. It was the moment that the last piece of string that held me together - snapped. As much as I hated him for breaking my heart he was also the reason I sought help. There's something about hitting rock bottom that makes you look up because there's nothing left to look down at. Over the weekend I went into the restaurant that he owns like I've done many times since I've put my heart back together and one of my old friends told me that he just got divorced. I remember when he got married only 8 months after we broke up (we'd dated for 2 1/2 years) and I was devastated once again because I wanted that person to be me. I can't say I ever really got over him. I'm a true believer that you never really get over love you just learn how to live without it or to love someone else. I learned how to ache less, how to trust myself enough to allow love back into my life but at times, I still miss him. When I heard that he just went through a divorce I didn't feel any of the satisfaction that I thought I would from his apparent loss; I felt sadness. As much as he hurt me I still loved him and wanted him to be happy even if it wasn't with me. I'm mostly whole now with only tiny bits still missing but my life doesn't belong to that same broken girl who chased after a man that couldn't love her. I left that girl behind and maybe that was the very first step towards walking away.

I thought that I still couldn't do it, walk away from pain and then some higher power sent me a reminder. Sometimes we cannot see the distance between what was and what is. More times than not we spend so much time convincing ourselves to look forward that we forget to glance back to remember where we started. People always tell you that it's looking to the future that saves you but sometimes it's what's in the rear view mirror that moves you in any direction at all.

P.S. I've added a new artist to my list of favorites and to you he's going to be an unknown. Ryan Star was on RockStar Supernova and he won my support after hearing a few of his originals so I bought his cd "Eye of the Elephant". Some of my favorites can be found here and the song I've chosen for Musical Monday is "So Ordinary" which seems to be fitting. I hope you enjoy his music as much as I do.

There are some people in this world that have trouble staying but me, I find it hard to walk away. Most times I let the moments pass that are meant to save you from yourself or even more importantly - from other people. I stay beyond the realization that I belong anywhere but where I am. I stay even when the moments of bliss that brought me to a place have all but expired. I endure pain as if it were my destiny. After years of therapy and countless nights spent running away from myself just to allow one more day of staying put, I thought that I'd changed. I stay in friendships that only weigh my wings down - not lift them up. I take rejection personal and then I work harder to be accepted. I cannot walk away from work not because I love the job but because I can't stand to let someone down that depends on me. As I sit here staring out the window I realize that for all my effort, I still have no idea how to put myself first. I want to learn but can I do that without feeling selfish? Sometimes what I really want is to walk away from myself. The self that thinks she can heal every wounded bird that lands on her front doorstep. The self that believes letting others down is a worse fate then letting herself down. The self that sits here tired and broken and wanting to move her feet in the direction of the door - but has no idea how to turn the handle once she gets there.

I always believed that if I stayed it would erase all those moments where I was the one being left behind. I was wrong. Staying doesn't rewrite history - it repeats it.

Have a great weekend.

You are lying there beside me and as I watch the gentle rise and fall of your chest, I feel only peace. The curve of your tiny nose, the dimple in your chin are all parts of me yet they belong to you. The way your eyelashes curl at the ends as they touch your cheek must be the most beautiful thing I could ever lay eyes upon. Although I've known you for over two years, there are still parts of you that seem new to me on a daily basis. So many times I am amazed that I had a role in creating you. I never believed I had the power to create something, someone, so utterly perfect. Before you, there were only brief moments where I had enough faith in myself to believe in anything worthwhile. And now you are the most worthwhile being I've ever dared to give myself to. I've faltered so many times before without regret, without conscience, and the moment you were born my conscience became the guiding light that I knew I had to follow. Every single day that I am allowed to know you, I become a better person.

Someday I'll tell you these things or maybe you will already know - but I'll tell you again anyway.

Sometimes I wonder if it's just inevitable that parents let their children down. When we're young we put our parents on pedestals to separate them from the rest of the mortals. They are our protectors, our heroes, our friends and we never think about them making mistakes because they are not like other humans - they're special.

Someone told me once that childhood is what you spend the rest of your life getting over. I wish I didn't believe that but when I look around at all the broken people it's pretty hard to deny it's validity. It would seem that even the best parents somehow screw up their kid without really knowing that their doing it. I think about this a lot because as much as I want to be a good parent, to not let the demons of my past affect my own ability to parent, I know that the chances are pretty great that someday Alice will look back at her childhood and think, "my parents really screwed me up." Maybe it's how we're programmed, to remember the negative moments over the positive ones. Generally we choose doubt over faith, lies over truth, the road more traveled than the one leading somewhere off into places unknown. I don't really think my parents taught me to be that way, in fact it was just the opposite. They wanted better things for me, better chances, more choices, but somewhere down the line I faltered. I know I'm ok now but when I think about all the pain I had to go through and how long it took me to get here, I fear that somehow I'll make the very mistakes my own parents did.

I want to believe that what happens in life is not inevitable. I want to pinch myself every day to make sure I stay conscious of my actions. When we become someone else's parent life becomes less about you and more about them so the mistakes we make turn them into the victims. I never want my children to be victims of my actions. I wish I could believe that being aware was enough. Sometimes we know exactly what we're doing, who it might hurt - but we do it anyway. Sometimes we forget that we're standing on that pedestal in front of our children and it's up to us - not them, to have a damn good grip so that we don't fall off.

Ten years ago today I got my very first tattoo. It took me forever to decide what I wanted because it had to be something feminine, something subtle, something you could only see - if I let you. Ten years ago I had just left my husband and had gotten involved with a verbally and physically abuse man. I suppose that in a way, I was punishing myself for not being able to love a 'good man' the way he deserved so I sought out a man that would treat me like the loser that I felt I was. My heart was in a million pieces and I had absolutely no hope that it would ever be whole again. Hell, I wasn't even sure it was ever whole to begin with. So as I pondered what sort of 'mark' I was going to brand my body with, there really was only one option that seemed appropriate - a heart. It's a plain, simple little red heart placed near my left hip at the top of my left butt cheek. I remember feeling foolish as I laid on my stomach with my bum exposed on that cold hard parlor table. The tattoo artist had beautiful tattoos covering most of his body and here I was feeling brave for enduring one tiny 'label'. He could see that I was nervous, that I was unsure, and he touched my arm and said, "at least you aren't wearing your heart on your sleeve." I had to laugh because he didn't realize how true that was; I'd never been able to let my guard down long enough to put my heart anywhere, let alone my sleeve. So I got my little heart branded on my bum and I hid it from everyone for a very long time. I'd occasionally look at it in the mirror and it became more of a reminder that I had a heart and less of a 'statement' of my individuality.

Every morning as I'm dressing for work and Alice lays in my bed watching Dora, she jumps out of bed and races to my side, "Touch mommy's heart," she asks? She puts her tiny little finger right on top of my 'heart' and smiles. "It's a pretty heart," she says. "Yes it is," I reply and finally I actually believe it.

Someday I'm going to tell Alice how much it meant to me that she 'touched my heart' and how lucky I am that she came into this world to remind me that I had one.

Have a wonderful weekend.

Someone told me once that the only person who can control your life, is you. I've battled with this theory my whole life because most of my life I've blamed other people for the things that happened to me. I blamed my father for teaching me that trusting in people essentially meant letting yourself be hurt. I blamed my mother for teaching me that it was ok to a let a man treat you badly as long as they claimed to love you. I blamed people but I never blamed myself. I convinced myself that I had no control over how I turned out because circumstance makes you who you are and there's nothing you can do about it.

I can't remember exactly when I realized that I was in control of my own destiny. Maybe it was the moment I accepted that my self destruction was entirely of my own doing. I know things happen to us. Things that hurt us, damage us, scar us in ways that seem unrepairable, but what we choose to do with those things - is our choice. I've had many pity parties for myself and every time I've been the only guest. I've found that as much as people are drawn to tragedy, they are not drawn to misery. People can love you, support you, but even the best of friends refuse to stand on the sidelines and watch you self destruct. Once a very good friend told me she loved me and then walked out of my life. I hated her for a very long time because I thought she abandoned me when I needed her most. Years later when our paths crossed again I asked her why she left me behind. She replied, "I didn't leave you behind, I stepped out of the way so you could see your own reflection."

We often base our opinion of ourselves on what other people see in us. We measure the success of our lives by someone else's standards. We give control over the most important parts of ourselves to someone else because we're too afraid to grab hold of the reins and navigate our own path. We seek, we follow, we fall. And then we get up not because we're tired of laying on the ground, but because we're sick of the view from someone else's eyes.

Yesterday someone said, "this is how I see you...". My reply, "It's a good thing we're looking in different mirrors."

As my wise old grandfather always said, "If you don't like the view from where you are, turn around and look in a different direction."


Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Yesterday as I sat in my big fluffy recliner watching the rain pelt against the window and felt the gentle rhythm of Patrick's hiccups inside my belly, I felt at such peace. I've always loved rainstorms because it seems like God's way of giving us another chance. All the dirt and grime is washed away leaving a nice clean surface to start anew. I've always thought those storms that lasted days on end was His way of telling us that the dirt was pretty thick and it was going to take more than a simple shower to see the glisten again. When I was a kid I used to love to stand out in the rain, let it run down over me as if it really could wash away all the bad. Even though I know technically it takes a whole lot more than some drops of water to get a clean surface, I always felt better after I dried off. Have you ever done that...stood out in the rain and let it wash over you? Sometimes I think we let the water run over us but we hold on so tight to the grungy parts of ourselves that even a hurricane couldn't wash away the bad. It's all about letting go. Tipping our head to the side, letting the water run in and out of our ears to unclog the grime that's stopped us from listening to ourselves. Closing our eyes, letting the water drip from our eyelashes so that when we open them again, we see only hope. And while we're at it, lets open up our shirts and let the rain pour over our chest to wash away the layers we've let accumulate over our hearts that prevent us from loving the way we were meant to.

I walked outside yesterday and lifted up my shirt and let the rain wash over my pregnant belly. I was hoping to give Patrick a clean start when he decides to make his entrance. I'll leave you with my daughter's wise words..."the rain makes me pretty again." Sometimes we all need a good strong rain storm to make our skies sunny again.

P.S. an appropriate song for Musical Monday is by a very talented singer songwriter named Kasey Chambers and one of my favorite songs is "Am I not pretty enough". You can listen and download it from here. I also encourage you to listen to the song "The Captain" too.

Have a great Monday.

First I must apologize for being so incredibly busy at work that I have had little time to much else...including blogging. I'm going to catch up this weekend because I'm missed all of you dearly.

My niece started high school. Although high school was many many moons ago the experience remains in the forefront of my mind.

Girls are mean. In case you didn't know this I'll explain why I know this to be. When I was in 5th grade I decided to become a bully much the same way someone decides what their going to eat for lunch or which shoes to wear with which outfit. I was popular but not because I earned it, my father was on the school board, I was lucky enough to be blessed with decent looks, my family bought me things, I wasn't shy, I had a built-in pool in my back yard...all things which made it easier for me to be noticed and to be liked. Shallow reasons to befriend someone but when you are a kid you don't analyze the reasons people like you, you just accept it. I started off nice. I liked most everyone because my parents taught me to and I rarely ever questioned if someone was 'acceptable' to be my friend...until I met Ellen. Ellen took a liking to me, not in a sexual way since we were only in the 5th grade but rather in a 'look up to you' way. She followed me around the play ground, she listened in on my conversations, she was in an essence my shadow. I never much minded having Ellen around because sometimes it's rather nice to be admired even when you are too young to actually realize what real admiration is. And then one day Ellen wrote on her notebook "Ellen and NWC, Best friends forever." Sweet I know, but one of the 'mean girls' saw this and started teasing me that I hung out with losers. Ellen was small for her age, she wore thick glasses, she lived in a house that used to be a funeral home so instantly she was labeled 'weird'. As soon as my 'friends' started to tease me I lashed out, not at them, at Ellen. I called her 'weirdo', I told her to stop following me, I told her I'd never be her friend and amazingly enough - she listened. I continued on the path of 'meanness' by not becoming a follower but a leader. I led the campaign against little Ellen and in no time my popular friends thought I was cool again. Most of my 5th grade year and part of my 6th grade year were spent being 'mean' to Ellen and any other girl deemed unacceptable by the 'click' I belonged to. Eventually Ellen's family moved away and I changed schools and all those moments of meanness disappeared as if they'd never happened - at least for me.

Luckily after I changed schools I found the sweet girl I used to be and rather than become an enemy of the 'unacceptable' people, I became an advocate. Somehow I was always able to maintain my 'popular' status and make some very good friends with the people that nobody else deemed 'worthy'. Maybe it was because I cared little about what other people thought and more about what I deemed acceptable. When you stop worrying about measuring up to other people's expectations, the tables turn and you become the one people take measurements against. There's something appealing about a person who is secure enough with themselves to live their life the way they see fit. People stare, they wonder, they sometimes try to make you the strange one but when they realize their efforts go unnoticed, most times they accept you for what you are.

So, my niece started high school. Her very first day of school she fell off the bus when exiting, she got lost going to her classes and began to cry so her counselor had to walk her around to each classroom. In her second week her best friend decided that she needed to hang around more popular people and in a matter of days my niece went from being accepted to being an outcast. Her parents nag her about finding friends. They pressure her into finding 'just one friend' that she can ask to the football game. Without even realizing what they are doing, they have peeled the sticky label 'loser' off the wall and placed it firmly across her forehead. I know it's hard for parents. Parents want their kids to be liked but in reality who are we really wanting their popularity for? For us or for them?

Girls are mean. We can be emotionally cruel. We can throw insults out and forget them later. I'm not saying boys don't do this - but girls do it better. I wish I knew why this was true but I don't. I only know that I've been there and luckily enough my parents influence was strong enough that eventually I remembered who I was born to be.

A few years ago while visiting some old friends in my home town I ran into Ellen, the girl I bullied in 5th grade. Strangely enough she recognized me but she was far from the person I remember with big thick glasses. We sat and talked for awhile and as she explained her life, her accomplishments, her failures, all I could think about was how mean I was to her. When she got up to go I touched her arm and said, "I'm sorry." She knew exactly what I meant without me explaining. Her only reply was, "I always knew that underneath it all - you were, sorry."

I am worried about my niece. I worry that in her quest for acceptance she'll seek out the wrong types of people to be friends with. She'll allow herself to be manipulated by those who prey on the 'unaccepted'. I suppose part of me wants her to be mean back...at least to those who treat her with such little respect but the bigger part of me wants to march down to her high school and kick some freshman ass. Yes I know, real grownup of me right? I suppose what I will do is sit her down and drill it into her head that the very best friend you can ever have is the friend you find in yourself. It starts there you know? Acceptance.

Have a wonderful weekend.

Once I had a dream that I could fly. I climbed up on top of a mountain, firmly planted my feet squarely beneath my shoulders - and jumped. I had no fear of falling. No questions about whether someone would be there to catch me. I leapt before I looked, I spoke before I thought, I lived before contemplation of what may come. I was a child then, even though my years were many in number and technically designated me as an adult. I lived without regret not because I was brave; because I was afraid.

Sometimes clarity only comes when you experience regret. When the mistakes of your past flutter carelessly around your existence until you notice them, acknowledge them, and place them in the archive of your memory. It is then and only then that you can classify yourself as an adult because living a life without forethought or consequence - is called 'childhood'.

In my life there have been many moments where regret has plagued my thoughts but if I'm honest with myself, in those moments there was little ownership of the actions that brought forth that regret. I've discovered that it's damn easy to regret something you've done and quite a harder task to take possession of it. Recently I was listening to someone apologize to me for the way they treated me and immediately following their apology they began to place the blame for their actions back onto me. As I stood there listening to how much control I apparently had over their actions, I remembered being in that place. A place where nothing was my fault and everything that had gone wrong in my life was because of someone else's actions. I remembered that as much comfort as I thought being unaccountable gave me, it also left me powerless to change my life into something better.

Once I had a dream that I could fly. I climbed up on top of a mountain, planted my feet squarely beneath my shoulders - and jumped. I had no fear of falling. No questions about whether someone would be there to catch me. I leapt before I looked, I spoke before I thought, I lived before contemplation of what may come. And then when I hit the ground and the only thing there to break my fall was my own self esteem - I stood up, brushed myself off, and realized only fools jump without a parachute.

Once upon a time I lived in a place where stars lit the night sky. I'd lay with my dad on a blanket out in the middle of our pasteur and search for constellations. I remember thinking that I could stare at those stars forever. And then I grew up and I gazed at the night sky less often. Stars were still beautiful but I appreciated them less because I took it for granted that I'd always be able to see them if I just looked 'up'.

Eight years ago I moved to a city where the night sky is filled with smog, reflections of bright lights, and airplane beacons. Sometimes we don't even realize what we're giving up to be somewhere else. Every once in a while either because of a black out, less pollution, or a slow air traffic control night - I can remind myself how beautiful stars can be. It's not as easy to spot the stars but if I look really hard, I can spy one far off in the distance. I never thought I'd miss them but that's usually what happens when we take something for granted and then suddenly - what was once assumed, now becomes what's wished for.

My daughter and I were out on our patio the other night looking up at the sky. It's so different than when I was a kid, star gazing with my dad. I always had hundreds of stars to wish upon and now if we find just one, we're actually pretty lucky. So there we were gazing up at the night sky and for whatever reason, the stars seemed more plentiful or brighter or maybe it was that we looked around the obstacles - but we saw them in all their glory. I taught Alice how to wish upon a star and as she sat on my lap chanting "Starlight, Starbright, I wish I may, I wish I might..." life seemed so uncomplicated. She closed her eyes and made her wish and I hugged her tight hoping that some of her innocence would rub off on me; I remember when I believed that wishes on stars actually came true. We sat there for awhile longer staring up at the stars I've promised never to take for granted again, and Alice points her chubby little finger towards the sky and says, "Look mommy, there's love in the sky." "Where," I asked? "Right there," she said stretching her arm even higher as if she could almost reach out and touch those stars. Even at the tender age of two I still have no doubt that she knows exactly what love is and that somewhere up there...she did see love. And you know what? As I sat there watching her believe in something, I didn't even have to strain my own eyes to see what she saw.

There's love in the sky. The same stars I see are the ones you gaze upon which makes the distance between us, less important. We are different people, we have different experiences, but in those moments we notice those tiny spots of wonder - we are the same.

This is a somber day which marks 5 years from the tragedy of 9/11 but maybe for one day, one night, we can search out those stars that have no boundaries, no dividing lines, no ownership. Maybe we can gaze up at the sky and see the love that Alice sees shining as brightly as her heart. Let that love carry you through. God Bless.

P.S. As a tribute to Musical Monday I've changed the music playing on my blog to one of my favorite artists Alice Peacock. The song is I'll Start With Me and it seemed fitting for today...have a listen.

I never get tired of looking into the eyes of my sweet Alice. It's not just because she's my child, it's because in her eyes I see the type of person she has the potential to be. I often wonder if my own parents looked into my eyes as a child and knew the kind of person I'd be when I grew up. Did they know that my heart would always stay tender even after picking up the broken pieces time after time? Did they know that babies and animals would always make me feel 'squishy' on the inside? Did they know I'd be strong enough to not only believe in my convictions but to practice them? I think they knew. When I look at Alice I know that after all the bumps and bruises she'll surely endure, the person that remains will be full of compassion and conviction. I know because every day that I still have a say...I'll teach her how important those things are. And even when she wanders off the path I hope she'll follow, those lessons will be there like a lighthouse in the storm, waiting her return.





Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

A little bit of humor for today...I'm standing on the El Platform waiting for the train and I notice this guy in a tight black shirt. His man boobs were easily detected and as grossed out as I was, I couldn't look away. I guess I was curious as to whether or not he knew he had man boobs and didn't care that the whole world now knew too, or that he really was oblivious. I'm not really making fun of him, maybe he can't help the extra little 'somethin somethin' he carries up top there. But, couldn't he be like a woman an cover it up with a loose shirt, a jacket, or at least not wear a skin tight shirt?

It got me thinking about what people think looks good, and what we know - doesn't. I could name a few....but then you'd think me bad and shallow and...well something less desirable than I really am. So I'll pose the question to you. What sort of fashion faux pas really make you do a double-take and shake your head in wonder?

I hope everyone had a nice long weekend to relax. I spent part of my weekend attending my 20 year high school reunion. At first I was reluctant to go because what could I possibly gain from going back to a place where so much pain was endured? It's not that the actual experience of high school was painful, it's the moments that went along with it. Some would look at my high school year book and think I had it good...there are pictures of me on the cheerleading squad, pictures of me at prom, pictures of me with my 'football player' boyfriend - but as we all know looks can be deceiving. Sure I had a lot of friends, I had boys that liked me or thought I was hot, but I also had an alcoholic father, a mother that had to travel for her job so she was absent for most of the important moments, a brother that tried to escape our reality by joining the Navy. I was for the most part - alone. But despite all the painful memories, I decided to go back to the place where so many moments defined who I was going to be for the rest of my life. Back to be with the people that stood there beside me sometimes noticing the sadness behind my smile but most times looking past it.

As I walked into the reunion my heart began to race. I clutched my husband's hand tighter and leaned in towards his shoulder. I needed him to hold me up in case I fell, he knows that sometimes I'm not the 'wonder woman' I play on tv. As we stood in line waiting to check-in I noticed a few familiar faces, faces that had aged just as mine had, faces that carried the wait of their own realities in the laugh lines around their mouths. They handed me a nametag with my senior picture printed on it. My husband laughed at my 80's hairdo and I had to remind him that back then, I was considered 'in style'. As we started to wander around the room I started to feel more comfortable when I noticed a few of the most popular girls and guys now were sporting bellies and receding hairlines. I know it seems kind of cruel to celebrate someone else's misfortune of losing their hair or gaining weight, but there was a sweet justice to it all that I couldn't ignore. Back then, those people thought they were untouchable but time had proved them wrong. We all stand within the reach of time don't we?

I mingled with a few of my old cheerleader buddies and just like back then, I felt out of place. I was always the one to stand out of the crowd, to make friends with the 'outcasts', the unpopular, the kids that no one else noticed. Some of the people I knew back then, were still the same. The same sour expressions still decorated their faces and I could tell that they hadn't figured it out yet - none of us are more special than anyone else. Part of me was relieved that I wasn't the same, I've traveled miles past that scared mixed up teenager that adorned those hallways. But part of me wishes that something remained, something that still resembled innocence, but life has a way of beating that out of you.

After making the rounds I finally saw the one person I'd actually come to this reunion for, my best friend. We'd lost touch many years ago when I moved to Chicago and part of her held resentment towards me for leaving her. But as we stood there looking at each other all that remained was the love we'd once felt. She was the sister I'd never had, I was the friend she always needed. She was one of those outcasts, the people no one noticed - but I noticed her. We talked for hours and I know that I will try my damnedest never to lose touch again.

As my husband and I got up to leave someone grabbed my arm, spun me around and kissed me on the cheek. As I looked up I saw the very first boy I'd ever kissed; I was in the 2nd grade. I'm amazed I can still remember hanging upside down from the monkey bars, grabbing a hold of his arms, and demanding he kiss me. He obeyed of course after all I was still wonder woman back then. We laughed as we reminisced about old times and he told me something I'll never forget. He said, "you're eyes are still the same, full of sadness yet softened by their hope for change." At first I wasn't sure what he meant and then I remembered he was the one and only classmate that ever saw my father intoxicated. My father came to pick me up from a school function 2 hours late and Joey waited with me on the playground until my father finally showed up. As my dad stumbled from the truck I remember my face burning with shame at the thought of someone else discovering my secret. Joey grabbed my hand as my father called out to me, "I'll never tell," he said. You know what? He never did tell and neither did I.

20 years out of high school is a long time but I discovered that no matter how many years pass between what was and what is, there are some things that remain the same. I never used to be grateful for that.

No nekkidness today.

About a year ago a friend of mine sent me a link to a website of her former neighbor/friend http://www2.caringbridge.org/il/vickip/ . She explained how her friend was going through a tough time, she was in her 7th month of her second pregnancy when she was diagnosed with Colon Cancer. Almost reluctantly I clicked on the link, afraid of what I might find. Afraid that someone else's plight may be too intrusive on my life. Lord knows I had enough plight of my own. But I clicked and I read and ever since that moment this woman and her family have been in my heart. The baby was taken early so she could start treatment and although the baby survived and is actually doing well, the mother's fight against cancer ended yesterday. Left behind are a husband and two little girls, 3 and 1. Life is so goddamn unfair isn't it?

I think about my life and the things I've been through, the pity I've often felt for myself - I'm ashamed. When you strip away all that we are, all that we've been, all that we may become, what is left? We build walls to protect ourselves, we tell lies to avoid truth, we run away to avoid standing still, we search for ways to survive. And still we are the same fallible human beings. No matter how many times we jump off cliffs and manage to survive, we must face the reality that somewhere, life will lose to death. It's a battle we often ignore because we all know that ignorance is bliss right? And then one day every truth you've ever avoided manages to stare you in the eyes every time you look in the mirror and it's then that you realize, there is no avoiding the inevitable.

I've been so wrapped up in my work and my life lately that I've failed to make my rounds to all the blogs I love and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry that I can never seem to remember how precious life is until someone else's tragedy lands squarely in front of me, reminding me how lucky I am. I am bruised, I have fallen and gotten up more times than I care to remember, but I am alive. I have chances to right the wrongs, chances to create new memories to overshadow the bad ones, chances to love the people I've hated, chances to choose honesty over lies, chances to become something other than I am right now - something better. We let so many chances pass us by and then before we know what has happened, there are no more chances.

I encourage you to click on that link above. Read the story, feel that family's pain, and make your life less about chance and more about choice.

This morning I walked out to get in my car and right by my car door was a dead yellow finch. How depressing is that? I wasn't even aware that finches came around our place. Mostly I see those dreadful rats with wings otherwise known as Pigeons. It's funny how my daughter thinks those nasty birds are the prettiest things ever! I suppose when you are young there are many things you deem as 'beautiful' until eventually the rest of the world's view crushes the existence of your own opinion and sooner or later you end up playing along whether you wanted to or not. Sometimes it's hard to remember what you believed before someone else told you it was the wrong thing to believe in. I think we live in a society where people feel down right uncomfortable if everyone else doesn't think exactly the same way they do. It's sad isn't it? We learn at an early age to lose our individuality and become 'like' everyone else. People call you a freak or 'eccentric' if you happen to follow your own rules, believe in your own things -regardless of the majority. I suppose I'm guilty of both, following the crowd and expecting someone else to think like me.

I want not to be one of those in the majority. The real test on how much I believe in individuality will come when my daughter comes home one day with blue hair and her nose pierced. God give me the strength to celebrate her uniqueness instead of fear it.

I actually had a date with my husband last week...hard to believe isn't it? One of my favorite artists who remains to be an 'unknown' was playing a free show at a local hangout and I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to see him.

Amos Lee has become the kind of music I listen to when I need to 'feel' things. Did you realize that music has that kind of power? When you feel numb, some music has a way of reaching down inside you to give your heart a good 'flick' to get it to started beating again.

I first discovered Amos one morning when I was playing hookey from work and I switched the tv to the Today show. They were doing a series on Rising Stars and Amos Lee was the feature of the day. He comes from Philly and when you hear this guys voice, every single thing about him shares a glimpse of what the real Philly is like. My favorite song is Keep It Loose, Keep it Tight. There's a line in that song..."Sometimes we forget what we got, who we are - and who we are not." I think all of us can relate to that can't we?

So enjoy the music and as always if you'd like to download it and have a listen for yourself go Here .

Sorry I've been bad at keeping my blog up to date...but hopefully my week will slow down and I'll be off to visit you all tomorrow.

Enjoy the music...and don't forget to 'feel something' while you listen.

Alice is going to be such a good big sister...she already shows Patrick how much she loves him by kissing my belly every single day. Children are precious aren't they?







Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

When you are pregnant, you can think of nothing but having your own body to yourself again. To be able to sleep in any position you want without someone kicking you. To eat what you want without fear of heartburn. To walk farther than a block without your back aching from the distance. But after giving birth you realize that the biggest part of you is now somehow, external. You'll spend the rest of your life trying to figure out a way to keep your child close enough for comfort and most times you'll fail.

In my life there have been many moments filled with disappointment. Hopes and dreams broken by fate, fading into the background because life just has a way of doing that to a person. Although I managed to survive and somehow come out the other side while keeping some part of myself in tact, I never wanted to experience disappointment through someone else's eyes. There's something about watching a child hope for something, then witnessing that same light fade from their eyes, that can break your heart in an instant. I know it's part of growing up, part of being human - to experience disappointment. But why? Why do people make promises they cannot keep? A promise is a contract right? Why do so many people care so little, so much so that they are willing to disappoint a child? Maybe it's because the person breaking the promise is rarely the same person who has to stand in front of that child and watch the hope flee from their eyes.

I want to protect my children. I want them to hope for things and to never be afraid that having faith in something, costs too much. I'm just not really sure I know how to teach that lesson. How can I tell someone else how to have faith when so often I have so little? People disappoint you. People break promises. Are these lessons I want my children to learn? Maybe the lesson is really for us, not for them. Maybe we need to learn what making a promise means.

I finally found a song that touched my heart just as much as the one I constantly play on my blog. Although I'll always consider Alice Peacock's Into the Light song one of my 'theme songs' I thought this new song, the one playing in the background fit perfectly in blogland. Listen to it and tell me what you think. Just in case you are curious the name of the band: . I found them by accident while channel surfing one night, trying to block out a fight I'd just had with my husband. The voice in my head was barely noticed over the volume of my anger and then I stopped on the Publice Broadcasting channel and this band was playing this song. Needless to say it stopped me in my tracks and as I listened to the words, mysteriously my anger subsided. Finally the voice in my head began echoing the lessons learned from my past, lessons shared from my blogger friends, lessons I need to learn over and over again. Being angry can strike you deaf, so much so that you'll miss the voice of reason.

I suppose it's fitting that I'm sharing this song, this band, on Musical Monday. I hope you enjoy it just as much as I do. You and I, we all have voices and here in blogland we choose to integrate them to make the most beautiful music on earth.

I was reading Caterpillar's blog and her posting about the tough decision she's faced with - ending a relationship that will not go where she wants it to, or staying out of fear that she'll lose the friend she's found. Reading her words has brought back so many memories. Memories not created so long ago. Memories that will probably never fade far enough into my past that some remnant of their pain will not linger. I know that it's not just women that do that, stay in relationships because they keep hoping it will eventually be more than it is. I know men get hurt too. I know this because I have been the one to hurt someone, the one to take and never give. I've been the person that we all despise not because I wanted to be, but because protecting myself made me selfish. It's easy to hate someone because they can't love you the way you want them to but it's much harder to understand them - and then let them go. I think we all get so tied up in the 'understanding' part that we actually start to believe once we do understand, we'll be able to get them to love us the way they should. I've learned something the hard way. Understanding why someone does something doesn't take away the wounds they've inflicted. It doesn't erase what we know or what we feel, it simply exists. We all scream "Understand me." We thrive for it, we claim that if we have it then all is right with the world. But we're wrong. Understanding someone means you don't hate them for their choices but it does not mean acceptance.

So I'm rambling. I suppose I just want to send Cat a message because I'm fearful that it may take much too long for her to 'understand' what I'm saying. In this life there are choices. Choices to stay. Choices to go. Choices to sacrifice. Choices to be selfish. Choices to understand. Choices to be confused. Choices to love ourselves. Choices to abandon ourselves. Choices to listen. Choices to be deaf. Choices to see. Choices to be blind. Choose wisely sweet Caterpillar. Some choices can only be made once.

It's easy to look tough when you have red popsicle on your face...really it is. My dear sweet Alice is just as tough as her mama. Good thing...she'll need that 'toughness' in this world we live in.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

I feel horrible lately for not being able to visit all my fav blogs. I swear it's not fair that people actually expect me to work and not go blog surfing all day. Honestly though, I'm one of those over achiever types that can't say no when someone asks me for help. It's nice being appreciated, it's nice when people have faith in your skills - but sometimes I need to step back and take a few moments for myself. I'm entitled, I think.

So I apologize to all my blogging buddies...I promise today to stop by and pay a visit. I may have to skip lunch to do it but I'm going through withdrawals here so sacrifice is necessary.

I wanted to leave you with a quote that I found in one of the best places to find meaningful words - the bathroom stall. Yes people still write on bathroom walls...some things never change. The quote seemed fitting given the events of days past.

"No doubt one may quote history to support any cause, as the devil quotes scripture. "

Most of you know by now I made the call to DCFS about the little girl that lives next door. I was scared, mostly that they'd find out it was me and seek revenge, but I decided that my fear was less important than Savannah's.

So I go home on Friday after work and I'm sitting there with my husband and Alice watching Sesame Street when the doorbell rings. Husband answers and I hear a woman asking him if he was the one who called DCFS on her grandson. I immediately go to the door so he doesn't have to face the piper alone. I ask her what she wants and she repeats the question, "Did you call DCFS on my grandson?" "No," I reply. It may seem cowardly but when you are holding your two year old on your hip, your instincts to protect yourself and your family kick in. So she continues to say that someone in our building did. We live in a two flat so it could only be us or the upstairs tenants. I tell her that I don't believe it was either of us and ask her why she's going door to door. "Well I think it's pretty rude for people to stick their nose where it doesn't belong," she replies. I tell her that it's pretty awful when people don't get involved and a child suffers because we're all too scared to speak up. She goes on to say that her grandson is a wonderful father - I almost choke because it's quite obvious that this woman either has no clue how Savannah is treated or she thinks that threatening to strangle a child is acceptable. At this point I don't care what she thinks, I know the truth. I tell her again that I didn't make the call but I am not surprised someone did because the whole neighborhood heard the threats made to Savannah. "What threats," she asks? My suspicions are correct, she has no clue. She then asks me if I'm a racist. "Um, what the hell did you just say." She accuses me of being a racist because Savannah is part African American. My blood is boiling at this point and my husband asks her to leave. My last words to her - "Ignorance has no color does it?" I think I stunned her because she was speechless.

Part of me is angry at the system for giving my address out as the house that called in the complaint (they didn't have my name). It's no wonder that so many people are afraid to get involved, revenge is scary. I still don't regret that I made the call. Although Savannah is still there living with the same freaks as before, at least now they know 'someone' is watching. God willing, I hope that's enough to save her.

I have a dilemma. I've learned over the years when to keep my mouth shut and when to speak up. It's something I've learned the hard way and trust me those lessons were not always pleasant. But now, I'm really at a loss so I need your help.

The people that live next door to me are...well there isn't any other way to put this, they are white trash. I hate labeling people but I'm not sure how else to describe them. I live in an up and coming gentrified neighborhood but there are still a few houses that remain where the people owned the property for 20+ years. I don't judge people, normally, but I've found it increasingly hard not to pass judgment on these people. In the house there is a grandpa, two grandsons, a mother, a boyfriend of the week, and the house owner who lives upstairs and only comes out when he feels like smashing his car into his fence because he's completely hammered. Oh I almost forgot the most important person, there is a 3 year old girl named Savannah. I'm always friendly to them and I say hello to Savannah every day. Most days she's found outside in the backyard with her grandpa because her father happens to be one of the grandsons and is all of 19. Her mother doesn't live there and comes around once in a blue moon. The sons, one of which who is the father, are quite frankly - trouble. I see them chugging beers, smoking pot, cussing up a storm - all in front of the kid. I've often had to ask them to refrain from the nasty language while my daughter plays in my backyard and they've politely obliged. Honestly I feel really sorry for Savannah. She's such a beautiful little girl and so clearly neglected. I've watched her fall down and hurt her knees, begging for her daddy to kiss it better, only to have him push her away and tell her to get lost. I say nothing because it's not my business right? But now, it's different. Last night I was out watering my flowers and I hear Savannah crying. She's throwing a usual 3 year old fit because she wants something of her dad's and he won't give it to her. Normally a parent would ignore these tantrums but instead her dad puts his hands around her neck (not tightly) and shakes her and tells her if she doesn't stop crying he'll strangle her. He pushes her away, he yells at her that he's going to beat her bloody if she doesn't shut the F*ck up. He grabs her arm and tells her he'll break it if she doesn't leave him alone - and she never stops crying. He yells over to his mother, his grandfather, to take the kids before he beats her - they return blank stares as if they've seen it all before. No one tells him to stop, no one picks the child up and comforts her, no one does anything except look on. Finally her dad takes her in the house and locks her in a room, I hear the door slam, I hear her screaming to let her out (their windows were open), and he returns to the outside to sit quietly on the back step and finish his cigarette. The blood is boiling inside me, my heart is racing, I want to run over and scoop that child up and keep her from harm - but can I? I finally go in the house because I cannot stand to look at them any longer. I cannot stand there and keep my mouth shut, I'm not that strong.

So all night I tossed and turned because I do not know what to do. Do I stay out of it? Do I continue to watch these people neglect and abuse this child or do I call DCFS? What if I say nothing and Savannah really is hurt? What if his threats really do come true? What if they already have? There is no doubt in my mind that she is neglected. There is no doubt in my mind that the type of threats he throws at her are verbal abuse. There is no doubt in my mind that he is absolutely not fit to raise a child. But can I interfere?

Who will protect our children? I can protect mine but do I have a right or obligation to protect yours?

help.

I know it's Half Nekkid Thursday but today I don't feel like revealing much. Waking up to the news that yet another terrorist plot has been averted in London kind of makes me want to be anything but naked. As I sat and watched the news in surprise tainted with bits of horror, I thought to myself, why does this news shock me? This world we live in has been changing ever since someone flew two planes into the World Trade Center. It shocked us then right? And for awhile we went on with our lives as if it never happened. Sure we claimed that we'd all change, we'd be nicer to one another, but our good intentions were short lived and sooner than later we were all back to being the same. We blame our problems on politicians, on oil prices, on an economy - but the blame really belongs to us. We may think we're different, we don't fight wars based on religion or ethnic background, do we? But how many times have you walked out your door and passed someone on the street or stood next to them on the train and never noticed what they looked like? How many times have you cursed at the person in the car that pulled out in front of you and you let it ruin at least half of your day? How many times have you listened to an ignorant comment that was either directed at you - or wasn't, and you let it affect who you were even if it was only for a moment? I'm guilty.

There are many times that I lie awake at night wondering what kind of world my own children will grow up in? How will I teach them to be kind and compassionate when there is so much hate surrounding them? I can prevent them from watching the news but I cannot keep them from living in a world where hate inspires so much action. How do we change? How do we make our world safe? How do we stop placing blame and take responsibility? It's up to us you know? This world is ours.

Over the weekend I attended a surprise birthday party for my dad's 65th birthday. His birthday was actually on August 2nd so we had to make him believe that we'd all been too busy to acknowledge it. I learned that even at age 65 a grown man pouts. Turns out my dad complained to just about everyone he knew that no one did anything for his birthday. It's kind of ironic really because my dad has forgotten my own birthday quite a few times in my lifetime but that's a whole other story. So anyway, we all show up at my dad's place while he's out golfing and he was pretty surprised by the time he came home. I could tell he felt kind of stupid for complaining to everyone about being forgotten but as he always tells me, what's done is done. It's strange celebrating one of your parent's 65th birthday because even though you know that everyone gets old, somehow you never see it happening to your parents. You don't think about your parents getting sick and you most definitely don't think about them being old enough to collect social security. I see other people's parents and they're old, but not mine. I'm not sure why we live in denial for so long except maybe it's because we don't ever want to think about losing them. As I sat there watching my dad squint trying to read the birthday card I'd handed him, I realized that my dad is human. He will get old, he will most likely get sick, and some day he will pass on to the next life waiting beyond this one. It's not a pleasant thought coming to that realization but I suppose it's inevitable.

As always my dad left us all with some words of wisdom, words I file away under "things to remember". He was talking about his life as a boy, his poor family moving here from Ireland with exactly $53 to start a new life with. He said that growing up he believed that he knew everything. He knew that life could be hard so he decided to be harder than life. When he was in his twenties he started to wonder if maybe he didn't know as much as he thought he did and that left part of him vulnerable. When you don't know everything, you risk losing what you've already obtained. And now that's he's an old man he can't remember if he ever knew anything at all and that vulnerable part has become what's left. He said that all the time he spent trying to convince himself that he was hard enough to survive his life, should have been spent accepting that being hard is what makes you unable to survive at all.

So my dad is 65. He's what some consider old but luckily for now, he's healthy. He still has the flaws he had before, some seem larger and more apparent now. But as I look at the father that's been in my life for 38 years, finally I see that the 'hardness' has escaped him. The edges of who he is may still be like stone, but the inside, it's pure marshmallow.

I know that I never change the song on my blog but I think it's because I need to hear it. Each day when I load my URL in my browser and that song starts to play, I stop and listen to the words and they never cease to move me. Ever since I was a kid I either had a theme song or a poem that I made myself read each day. I've always been a words type of person, expressing the things in my mind and never really being able to 'get it' unless it was literally spelled out for me. I suppose that's why I love blogging; the chance to write down my thoughts and read other's just the same, inspires me. I wrote this little diddy last night so I thought I'd share because it seemed the perfect way to end a long week.

There's something I cannot grasp.
My hands reach beyond what I know, what I feel, what I've practiced - because I know there is something more.
Something more necessary than the indulgences I've given myself as reward.
As I peer over my shoulder glancing at the road that's brought me here, I wonder how much of that path was truly the "Road less traveled."
So many times convenience rather than courage has chartered my course.
When I look back I have to wonder, what was I afraid of?
Fear has changed me but then again, it's changed us all.
Sometimes I open my eyes in the morning and there is no trace of what came before.
And part of me is scared.
If it's all gone, who is the person that remains?
Maybe there's a way to remember and still be free.
Maybe what I cannot grasp is acceptance.
I must remind myself of this and make a promise to never stop reaching.

This is my son. Isn't his face beautiful? As I lay there looking at the monitor while the tech swirled her little wand around my belly, my heart fluttered with excitement at seeing this tiny being tucked safely inside me. I didn't care whether it was a girl or a boy, I just wanted a healthy baby but when they said "It's a boy" I saw my husband's face light up. He loves Alice and she's his princess but I think every guy wants a son too. One of each...aren't we lucky?

I have to admit that boys scare the heck out of me. I have not been able to figure out how their minds work in my 38 years of living...I doubt I'll be able to get it all sorted out now. At least I'll have a shot at bringing up my son the way I'd want a man to be, compassionate, repectful, and loving.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

My niece was here for a long weekend and I was excited to see her. I don't get to spend as much time with her as I would like since she lives 3 hours away so I was hoping this would be a chance for us to catch up. She's starting high school in the Fall so pretty soon hanging with her aunt will become a thing of the past. You remember how it is right...your parents and any other adult related to you suddenly tops the 'Uncool' list. Anyway on the ride back to my house I asked her how her therapy sessions had been going. She's been having a hard time dealing with her home life since her dad married her step-mom about 3 years ago. So she tells me that the therapy is going well and that her psychiatrist has now put her on 3 medications. One for AD/HD, one for depression, and one for mood swings. I have to tell you that I'm no fan of doctors that push meds on kids to make them behave the way we think they should. I've known this kid since she was born and I've been there for all the heartache she's endured. Her problems are emotional not physical and although I agree that sometimes our experiences do lead to the need for medication, I do not believe it should be the first priority. What happened to healing the mind and heart instead of trying to medicate it? My niece takes so many meds that basically she has no emotion. She has no highs, no lows, no expression of anything. How in the world can that be healthy for a 14 year old? Isn't it by experiencing those emotions that we learn how to deal with the things that life throws at us. Those emotions are not always pleasant but I believe that they are necessary. How will a child learn what sorts of actions hurt us emotionally and which ones are beneficial? I can tell you from experience that the pains of my past have allowed me to become the person I am today. Sure I wish some of the pain didn't exist but do I wish I'd felt nothing at all - NEVER. I also heard my niece describe herself a few times as 'border line Autistic'. She said her therapist told her she has Autistic tendencies. I happen to know a lot about Autism and there is no way this kid has any form of Autism. They said she doesn't show affection, she focuses too much inward...hello....you have her drugged up what the hell do you expect her to do.

When did we become a society that believed for every ailment, for every emotion or action we do not want to experience - there is a drug to cure you. What is the cure anyway? To me it seems too many of us believe that a cure means being able to exist without feeling anything. Sounds a lot like denial if you ask me.

I was all ready to post about my weekend with my niece which ran over into yesterday but then on the train this morning something happened. I had an encounter with a small mind. As I stood on the train platform sweating (it's already 85 at 7:30 a.m.) I was kind of pleased to see a train pull in that actually had open seats. As I got on the train and took a seat next to a lady who decided she needed a seat and a half to accommodate her morning commute, I refused to be ungrateful for a place to put my bum since it so rarely happens. I glance across the aisle and see a young man sprawled out on two seats as he drifted in and out of consciousness. A woman friend sitting in front of him told him to move over because someone was going to get mad that he was taking up two seats. He responded that he didn't give a damn. I suppose the look on my face showed my annoyance at his comment. Honestly people like that really piss me off. So his other friend who is sitting behind me says, "that chick had a stupid look on her face when you wouldn't move your arse." He replies, "that's because she's white." As much of a realist as I am I was still kind of shocked to hear such a racist remark. You see I'm one of those people that don't look at the color of someone's skin. I don't see Asians, Middle Easterners, or African Americans...I see people. I know I'm naive thinking that everyone has the same pair of 'non racist' glasses I have on but when you hear someone blast a comment like that in your face, it really hurts. I just shook my head in disgust and then he tries saying something about me to his friend behind me. His friend obviously doesn't catch on because he then says, "the one sitting in front of you." Gee...I wonder who that could be. So I respond, "What about me sir?" I happen to be the kind of person that rarely has the will power to keep her mouth shut. In my opinion this world is made up of too many people that keep their mouth shut. Anyway, he stutters. It would appear that I caught him off guard. He didn't expect me to face him head on. I was supposed to be intimidated by his stupidity. He replies, "oh I was just pointing out your shoes." Wow...what a comeback. His friends start to laugh, another girl says I can't believe she said something to you. He replies, "I'll let the first one slide." Funny thing is, he left me alone after that. People on the train were giving me glances like...we know they are idiots but the only thing I kept replaying over and over in my head was his original comment to me.

I cannot stand the fact that this world is made up of so many small minds. Minds that have no room for love or respect because they are filled to the brim with hate. Who teaches them that? How does a child learn to despise someone because of the color of their skin? I know for a fact that my own child has no awareness of skin color. I will never teach her about skin color. I will teach her that people look differently not because of what's on the outside, because of what's on the inside. Our minds color our skin and when you see shades unpleasant to the eye, it's because a small mind has no appreciation of a rainbow.

As long as there are small minds there will be war. War among those of us who have room in our hearts for love and those that have every crevice filled with hate.

My niece is coming to stay with me for a long weekend and I'm sort of baffled on what we'll do for entertainment. I've been stuck in 2-year old mode for awhile so I doubt she'll enjoy putting on a princess dress and dancing around my living room. When I was fourteen the only things I wanted to do were locking myself in my room with the music on high, veg out in front of the tv with a bowl full of cheese puffs, or be somewhere that there were cute boys to flirt with. Although I can probably accommodate with the first two, I honestly have no idea where cute fourteen year old boys hang out these days. Plus, her father would probably kill me if he found out I was actually promoting flirting with boys in any sense of the word.

You know as old as I am I still remember exactly what it felt like to be fourteen - hell. Your hormones are raging, your emotions are running high, and absolutely no one in the whole universe understands how you feel except your best friend. This weekend should be interesting...we can't even go outdoors since the temps are soaring to 98 with heat indexes to 106. It's really too bad because I'm quite positive one of the best cures for those raging hormones is to get thrown into a freezing pool of water.

Have a great weekend....

I was thinking that maybe if I where a sign like this....someone will actually give up their seat on the train each morning. Probably not...my luck no one would be able to read. :-)


Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

So here I sit...two less wisdom teeth than a couple of days ago and I still feel a little wise. I'm not a wimp but let me just tell you that if you ever have to have your wisdom teeth pulled and you can't get anything except local anesthetic, run ten miles in the other direction. And when anyone tries to convince you that you can handle the pain...since you've been through child birth, laugh in their faces. I hate when anyone compares pain to childbirth. One big difference, when you are in labor you know you are getting something good after the pain subsides. When you get your teeth pulled, you get two less teeth and that's about it. No comparison.

I'll admit I was feeling a little sorry for myself after the procedure. My mouth hurt and I wanted someone to take care of me but there is no explaining to a 2 year old that mommy needs to sit and rest. I told Alice I had a boo boo in my mouth so she politely kissed it better (on the outside of course) and then told me to get up and play with her. As I sat there playing with Princess Barbie I have to admit that I forgot about the pain for awhile. As Princess Barbie danced around singing her lovely princess song, somehow my weariness became the last of my worries. We rarely do that, keep on dancing to the music even when we'd rather be hiding under the safety of our duvet. And while we're stuck under the covers, life goes on with or without us. It still amazes me every single day that I can learn something new from my toddler. I'm convinced we're born with common sense and it's the growing up that makes it dissipate. We get caught up in our pain so much so that we close ourselves off from the world, we numb the pain with whatever anesthetic we can find, and we do anything but cope.

I hope that Alice can keep teaching me the lessons I need to learn and I hope with all that's in me...that life never goes on without me.

I did it...I made it through an entire weekend without apologizing for something that wasn't my fault. At times it was stressful because a certain somebody kept looking at me waiting for me to say I'm sorry. I never realized how often I must say those words for someone to expect them so easily. It's hard breaking a pattern you've become so accustomed to but it also feels wonderful being able to walk away with your self respect in order. I also ended up talking to my dad last night as I usually do on Sundays and I asked him if saying your sorry makes up for things we've done wrong. I suppose I was asking because he's said those words to me so many times but they never seemed to make a difference, the pain was still there. He told me that he'd told so many people he was sorry in his lifetime that he'd lost track of what he was supposed to be sorry for. Part of me wanted to remind him but the larger part understood exactly what he meant. And then he told me something that did make a difference, he told me that beyond his sorry's he was ashamed that he relied on words to ease his own guilt. Instead of telling me he was sorry he should have said, I want things to be different, I want to take back the actions I've thrown into your world that caused you to ever feel sorry for things you had no control over. That's it isn't it? Us people that apologize for actions not our own, we are trying in our own desperate way to gain a tiny bit of control.

Someone told me recently to make it simple, go with the flow, avoid conflict. I've been doing that my whole life and what I really ended up with is a whole mess of complications. I've said it before and I'll say it again, be accountable. Own what is yours and leave the rest behind.

Hope you have a fab Monday...I'm off to get my wisdome teeth pulled. Let's hope I come back at least 1/2 as smart as I was before. :-)

I'm not in a good mood today. I know that there are trials and tribulations to every relationship but when do the trials get verdicts and a sentence handed out? To put it plain and simple, I'm tired of asking for things to get done and it never happening. It's a vicious cycle, the task remains unfinished for days that turn into weeks, I end up doing it myself because I can't stand the fact that it's not done. I get pissed off, my mood shifts, and somehow I've now become the executioner and my husband the martyr. I'll be honest, most of my life seems to go this way and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I've formed this bad habit of apologizing for things that are not my fault. Like...I'm sorry that you lied to me and now I don't trust you. I'm sorry that you can't love me. I'm sorry that you broke your promise to me and now I have lost all faith in you. Why or why do I do that? You know what's more frustrating than apologizing when you are not at fault? That the people responsible actually let you feel sorry. They not only accept your apology, they expect it. Well, things have to change for me. Whether it be a broken promise or as small as not doing household chores....I am not going to apologize for something I have no fault in. I've played the big bad wolf too many times when in reality I'm just the little girl in red too frightened to stand up for herself.

I have to wonder, if we stop apologizing for the things we have no fault in will those people that gobble up those apologies stop expecting them? Probably not. There must be a way to own only what is yours and leave the rest by the curbside.

Here's wishing you a weekend with no apologies.

Well here it is...my head after I cut all my locks off. Today it was raining and it's humid but you know what? My hair still looks half way decent even after standing in the rain ....I forgot my umbrella. Although I still have moments when I go to flip back my hair and nothings there but air, I still feel a heck of a lot 'lighter'. It's amazing how good you can feel when you let some of that baggage fall off your back. :-)


Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Have you ever noticed that people are meaner when it's hot? It's been pretty darn hot here in Chicago for the past week nearing temps of 100 and with the humidity famous in the Midwest, it feels like 110. As much as I'd like to stay locked inside my house basking in the wonderfulness of air conditioning, I can't. I have to go to work downtown which means I have to ride a train...where there are other people pissed off that it's so darn hot. I have to walk a couple of blocks to our building and stand on street corners waiting for stop lights to change while people brush up against you and it pisses you off more because IT'S TOO DARN HOT to be touching bodies. I've managed to stay in a decent mood regardless of the heat but I have noticed that most of the people I encounter are in anything but a good mood. Yesterday I had three different people let door slam in my face because they were in such a hurry to get inside to the A/C that they didn't much care who was behind them. I had a bus almost run me over because the driver tried to speed through a yellow light. I see people yelling, I see people with frowns, I see people pretending that no one else exists except them. Although I live in a city of 3 million and it would seem that having that many bodies crammed into one space would make people mad in general, generally it's not like that. People usually are pretty friendly. We say hello or smile when our eyes meet, we hold doors for the people that are coming through behind us, we still might yell but we tend to have a bit more 'tact' when the heats not turned on high. I'm not sure why the heat affects us so negatively. I know it sucks to be hot but isn't it worse to be cold?

It's like that old saying states....If you can't stand the heat...get out of the kitchen. Ok so it doesn't exactly fit but you know what I mean right?

Have a wonderful HOT Wednesday.

They say when you are pregnant you tend to have vivid dreams and I have to agree. Lately I've been dreaming things so vividly that I wake up sobbing or angry because I can't figure out if it was real or a figment of my imagination. Supposedly I'm a text book case because when you are pregnant you tend to dream about old relationships and unresolved issues from your past. You can probably imagine that my mind is in overdrive when I sleep because I seem to have a plethora of both of those things. The problem I have with dreaming about old relationships is that I seem to be reliving the pain along with the memory. The dreams are not exactly historically correct but they are pretty darn close. Sometimes the faces change or the names, but the result is always the same...someone is always leaving me. The strange thing is that sometimes in my dreams I put someone that's never left me, like my husband, into a memory where I was abandoned. The pain feels familiar but worse if that makes any sense. Sometimes I wake up so pissed off at myself for falling into the same old pattern that I spend at least half the day trying to convince myself it was just a dream and nothing else. I'm not sure I believe that theory though. When you sleep your inhibitions are low so every insecurity you have surfaces. If I wanted to spend more time analyzing my dreams I could probably come to the conclusion that some part of me fears being alone. Some part of me believes that this guy will also leave me stranded. I suppose fear resides where insecurities thrive. I better work harder on laying those parts of me to rest so I can actually get some rest.

Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you. I think my book will be a best seller.

I cut off my hair. That action was strictly prohibited for many many years of my life sometimes due to a controlling boyfriend who claimed to love my long locks and sometimes due to my own insecurity when I actually thought my hair made up 80% of the reason anyone would be attracted to me. Rubbish I tell you. It's been a long time since I cut my hair, almost 3 years to be exact. When I was pregnant the first time I cut my butt length hair up to my shoulders because...well I was pregnant and hormones do things like that to you. But, since having Alice I vowed to grow my hair long again. I'm not sure why, maybe I was feeling less than attractive since becoming a mom but the truth is that even though I'd still get the occasional glances from unsuspecting men, my hair couldn't quite live up to the task I'd placed on it. So this weekend while trying desperately to escape the near 100 degree temps in this lovely city I call home, I snapped. Well not exactly snapped but I couldn't get my hair up far enough off my neck to feel cool. It looked dirty and sweaty ten minutes after getting out of the shower so up it went into a pony tail. My hair had gotten pretty long, almost to the middle of my back, but honestly not many could tell how long it was because it spent the majority of its time up in some new fab doo. I came to the conclusion on Saturday that it's rather ridiculous to put so much importance on something growing outside of my head when the real meat and potatoes of who I am grows on the inside. I picked up Elle magazine and flipped through it with about as much interest as I have in reading one of my hubby's engineer magazines but...this picture of Halle Barry and Natalie Portman caught my interest. Short hair, a pixie, seems way to drastic but really, what do I have to lose? So I asked my hubby what he thought and he said..."honey you'd look good with a shaved head." I took that as a green light and I made the appointment. I walked in to the salon and said...cut it all off. My stylist had to catch herself from fainting but then she asked me if I was sure. "Well, no, but if I wait too long I'll lose my nerve." So she cut, and she cut, and she cut. When she was finished I hardly recognized myself but I wasn't nearly as scary as I thought I would be. She actually told me that I should never grow my hair out again because I have the face made for short hair. She said my head shape and my thick wavey hair are perfect and I should take advantage of the fact that I can pull off this short style and still look feminine as hell.

I love my hair. I feel sassy (not that I needed a new hair cut for that), I feel beautiful, I feel like I've cut off a huge weight - literally. It's funny when I think back to all the times that I refused to cut my hair because I thought I'd be ugly because now that I'm older, wiser, and less vain, I realize that being ugly comes from the inside of your head and no amount of hair can cover that up.

So...I'm exposed and you know what...I feel pretty damn good.

Beyond what is and what was there is what will be. There are rainbows after every thunderstorm and pots of gold waiting to be discovered. Birds sing their lovely melody as we listen in hopes of hearing words of wisdom. We open our ears and our hearts to be filled with something more than we possess in the here and now. I believe these things because of you. Although my vision often blurs and I have to blink a few thousand times to gain focus, it always comes when I hear your voice. The sacrifices you made so that my own debt would be less has given me strength that can never truly be measured.

Today is your birthday and I celebrate your life as you have so often celebrated mine. I love you mama....Happy Birthday.

Since I've been digging through this history of mine trying to make some peace with it all I've realized that I have overlooked someone, my mother. Sometimes I focus so much on the pain my father inflicted on me that I forget the many many years my mom spent trying to protect me from the inevitable heartaches she herself experienced. I love my mom not only because she is my flesh and blood, not only because she spent 36 hours in labor trying to bring me into this world. I love her because she was the shield or at least tried to be, that stood in the forefront of my life taking the brunt of all the blows. Of course she couldn't protect me as well as she hoped but honestly I do not give her enough credit.

My mom is the perfect definition of a self made woman. She married my dad two days before her 18th birthday. She lied to the judge and told him she was already of legal age, that's how much she loved my dad. Little did she know that she was signing up for a life of uncertainty. She survived his infidelity, his verbal and physical abuse, his alcoholism. She hid her demons from my brother and me so that the person we saw seemed in control. When I think back I can remember the times when her fragile facade was in danger of revealing the cracks beneath the surface. I remember when she kicked my father out for good that she lived on cheetos and jelly beans for almost a year because it was the only food she could stomach. I remember being angry at her for making my dad leave, for breaking our family apart, when in reality she was the glue that held it together. We as children are so naive aren't we? Of all the memories I have of my mother the one I seem often to forget or to place importance on is the night my mom stood between my drunken father and me as he tried to force his inebriated affections around my little body. I ran outside to escape him, he ran after me, my mother followed. It was pouring down rain and I jumped inside my dad's blue Ford truck and locked the doors. As my dad tried unlocking the door, keys fumbling in his unsteady hands, my mother grabbed the keys and threw them. I'd forgotten the next moments partly out of guilt, partly out of fear. My dad grabbed my mom's arm and twisted it, he threw her on the ground, I screamed and ran to her as fast as I could. My dad stood there unable to speak. I suppose he knew what he did and for one of the very few times in his life - he felt regret. I remember my mom driving to the emergency room steering the car with one arm, her wrist was broken in two places. I sit here and try to remember what came after those moments but I can't. My mind rolls around in the blank spaces as if the film has been spliced and the next things I remember are years later. God it hurts to remember pain doesn't it? I think at this moment what hurts me more is not the pain but the guilt over not being able to recognize how strong my mother was. She must have been scared out of her mind yet for her child, she remained whole - at least on the outside.

After my mom divorced my dad she worked as a secretary and mail room clerk. At night and on weekends she put herself through college, obtained a Marketing degree and eventually worked her way up to be nominated the first woman vice president in the same company she'd been an hourly employee. She didn't do it for herself. She did it so my brother and I could have a life that had some resemblance of normal. Although I often look back on my childhood and consider it anything but normal, I really didn't have it as bad as it could have been. When I hold my daughter, when I promise to chase away the monsters and protect her with all that is inside of me, I feel my mother's love bubbling to the surface, seeping through my pores to all those that touch me. Because of her - I'm not as broken as I could be. Tomorrow is my mom's birthday and the gift I want to return to her is my gratitude.

Yesterday I was going to post about the things I'm grateful for following CeeCi's suggestion of Grateful Tuesdays. Instead I wrote about my daughter and I suppose when I look back at that post it was about something I'm eternally grateful for - her. But then something happened, something that made me stop and realize I better get that list in order because it's not only important, it's necessary.

I usually leave work about 4 every night and I take the Blue Line El train home. Yesterday I was asked to stay late, until 5, to attend a meeting where they needed my input. Of course I agreed but I told them I'd have to clear it with my nanny first to see if she could stay late with Alice. When I called the nanny she told me she had a doctor's appt. and could not stay late so I had to tell my superiors that I had to decline the meeting and asked that they reschedule. I ended up on my normal train and I didn't realize how fate played a part in my commute home until I turned on the news last night and saw that there had been a train derailment and fire on the Blue Line at 5:09 two stops after my entrance stop. I would have been on that train because the train comes at 5:05 and takes exactly four minutes to get to the stop where the fire occurred. Over 100 people were treated for smoke inhalation, 2 are in critical condition. It's not that I think I might have died, chances are I wouldn't have, but smoke inhalation when you are pregnant is almost always fatal to a fetus or has a high risk of causing birth defects. I sat there watching the news and I told my husband that I was supposed to be on that train. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought of what might have happened to my sweet baby to be.

I know that a lot of bad things happen in this lifetime and most times there are no answers as to why. But sometimes we're spared from the pain and the question of why seems much less important. Today I'm going to make an effort to stop asking why. I need to remember the good and the bad and accept it for what it is so that each of my tomorrows can be spent remembering the things I'm grateful for.

Have you ever watched a child sleep? Before I became a mother I never imagined how fulfilling watching my own child in her slumber could be. Last night Alice had bad dreams so I brought her into my bed. She immediately went back to sleep as I laid her beside me as if the heat from my body chased away all the monsters. I laid there for what seemed like hours watching the rise and fall of her little chest. She was so peaceful and I have to admit it was contagious. I thought about the life I want so desperately to give her. A life without pain or at least a life without pain caused by me. She's 'unspoiled', her canvas clean, her heart still in tact. I know some day I'll probably help pick up the pieces of that heart and it will hurt me just as much as it hurts her. I have to wonder if my own parents watched me sleep and wished the same things for me. I have to wonder if my father ever felt guilty when so much of the pain in my life was caused by him. I suppose it doesn't matter does it? Pain exists and whether someone owns the responsibility or not, it's still yours to endure. Alice is whole. She's unbroken. Her world is filled with possibility and my job as her mom is to make sure that I never take one single possibility away from her. I never want to the person she blames at age 38 while she lays in bed unable to sleep because her demons swirl around in her head. I never want her to ask the same questions I have pondered so many times only to be left without the answers every single time. I know we never mean to hurt people and as much as we try to always do the right thing, the fact is - we don't. I don't want to be perfect, I want to be accountable. Accountable to Alice, accountable to myself.

I'm convinced God put children on this earth to remind us that life doesn't start off painful. It starts off simple, with a canvas waiting to soak up the color of happiness.

Did you ever notice how much easier it is to reach 'in' than it is to reach 'out'? I'm talking about how difficult a task it is to let someone help you. I'm pretty sure I inherited my mother's strong will to take care of myself. I've spent so many years saying, "I don't need anyone to take care of me," that most of me actually believes it. I've often told people, "I'll just do it myself," as I angrily stomp off into the other room resenting the fact completely. Maybe it comes from being disappointed too often so I've learned this coping mechanism where I just refuse help all together and then the only person I have left to blame if something goes wrong is myself. It can be a simple task like sweeping the floor or emptying the dishwasher....instead of asking ten times I end up just doing it myself to avoid controversy. I've found that even when the task is a bigger one, like healing an old scar, I much rather just learn to deal with the pain than to open up to someone else and let them figure out a way to help me. Maybe it's that I believe there really isn't a way to help, pain exists and no matter how much you 'work on it' there's always going to be some remnant of it left behind. A perfect example is how Christine gave me some numbers to call for Alanon and no matter how much I really want to pick up the phone and dial, I've found an excuse every single day since I opened the email not to call. I want to call, I want to heal, I want to feel better - but it's the feeling worse first that scares the hell out of me. I've spent so many years carefully dressing my wounds so they blend in with the rest of me, that the thought of ripping off the band-aid and exposing the scar that lies beneath sends shivers down my spine. I remember how it felt after I had my heart broken...one of the many many times that clutter my history...I knew that before I felt better I'd feel worse. When you come to that point where it's finally possible to let go of someone or something it's almost like losing them or it all over again. We hold on to the pain of the loss and it becomes our comfort tool, without the pain we're forced to look ahead and that's scary in itself. So I'm here or there in that 'catch 22'. I want to feel better but part of me thinks feeling better will be too much work so maybe I'll just stay this way...it's worked for me this long right?

I know some days it seems like I've come so far and if I give myself the credit I know I deserve I can admit it's true...the miles I've traveled could get me across the US a few thousand times. But still here I am, in this place. I guess pain is like an onion...you peel away the layers to get to the edible part but layer after layer - as tears sting your eyes, you realize you still are not there yet and there's just another layer beneath waiting to be revealed. I've always hated onions.

When I was a child I wanted to be an Olympic gymnast. I actually got pretty darn close...I competed and won 1st in the State Meet 4 times, I won Nationals twice and once I actually competed against Mary Lou Retton and came in 2nd place on the beam. I was on my way to trying out for the National Gymnastics team when the summer before try-outs I blew out my knee for the 3rd time. It's strange that although it happened so many years ago, when I was 14 to be exact, it still feels like a part of me is stuck in that moment where the doctor told my parents that if I injured it again I could end up on crutches for the rest of my life. At fourteen I wanted to take the chance because when you are young you feel invincible like nothing can touch you and life seems full of endless possibilities. I'm not exactly sure when it was that the invincible feeling subsided and the fear set in. I'm not exactly sure when life changed from being full of endless possibilities to being filled with endless lessons that I'd have to learn over and over again. Some say it's all part of growing up, the learning thing that is...but why is it that each time I learn a lesson the possibilities seem anything but endless? There is still a part of me that wants to be up on that podium in front of thousands of people while a medal is placed around my neck. I want someone to pat me on the back and say, "Good job networkchic here's a medal for your efforts." Sounds dumb doesn't it? But sometimes we need someone to notice how far we've come, how much crap we've waded through, how strong we are despite circumstance. I know recognition shouldn't matter but if I'm honest with myself, it does hold a tiny bit of importance in my life. Maybe that makes me shallow or flawed but honestly I think it makes me human. Sometimes it's really ok to be that way, a human with flaws.

I'm back...and kind of exhausted. Why is it that when you take a few days off you need a few more just to recover? Anyway, I spent some time visiting with some relatives that I don't see very often and it was pleasant except the part where I found out my cousin's husband of 3 years quit his job and is now selling everything in their house to get money for drugs. I wish I could say that I'm surprised but I'm not. He's been an alcoholic ever since I knew him and my cousin has constantly made excuses for him, promising that his promises of change will actually happen. But now, his promises to be something she wanted him to be have turned into wishful thoughts on her part. I'm not sure how he made the transition from alcohol to crack but whatever road he took to get there, it appears it was a seamless journey.

So my 4th of July weekend which I'd hoped would be drastically different from the ones I'd experienced as a child turned out not to be so different after all. As we sat around chatting about how we wanted the future to be, the past lingered heavily underneath a blanket of denial. Christine told me I should try Alanon and I think I might because no matter how hard I try to accept what was, what is, I still harbor unbelievable feelings of resentment and anger. For as much as I've learned on this journey I'm on, I realize there is still a wealth of knowledge waiting to be discovered. I swear, sometimes my brain feels as if it's at maximum capacity but it's the times that I sit and listen to someone else's heartache that my own memories come bubbling to the surface. Why can't we just forget and move on? Damn, life would be so much simpler if that were possible wouldn't it?

This holiday was about independence but I've been thinking about what that word really means. I used to think it meant being able to stand on my own without needing anyone because needing someone made you weak. I'm learning that it's not the needing that makes you weak, it's the unwillingness to accept help. My cousin is at that point right now where she will not accept help from anyone either out of fear or out of denial. There is a part of me that wants to reach out and hold her up but I know that even if I was strong enough to do that, she'd still fall the moment I loosened my grip. Maybe we all have to fall....so we learn how to get back up.

I hope you all had a fab weekend...and in two more days it's starts again.