walking into the dark again: the year that will make or break me

My blog has gone silent (gasp!) but I still take a lot of care to select music I think would fit the post, so if you were one who liked a little soundtrack, feel free to make it play right over there. <--------

I have no idea what is going to happen in the next year. I am terrified and overwhelmed by its immense power to forever change me, and my children's lives--for better or worse.Somehow, if I manage to survive next semester with it's 1000 pages of reading a week, plus non-fiction writing, plus my Senior Seminar...I will graduate with my Writing degree in April. Unwilling to leave the state because of my custody arrangement, I have put all my eggs in one basket and applied only to the MFA in Creative Writing program at the university I currently attend. It's a fairly prestigious program that would give me a chance to work with this guy, and this one, and this one--writers I have admired for a long time. Writers who I know could help mold me into a force to be reckoned with.
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My life has been largely shaped by things beyond my control to this point--death, sickness, abandonment, abuse. I know that doesn't mean I'm helpless, and I have done all in my power to keep my attitude toward it all in check. To keep fighting and believing that there are amazing things still out there for me. There are opportunities that I have really wanted, and dreams I was willing to chase--but amidst those there has also been this persistent voice in my mind saying: "you know if it doesn't come to pass, you need to still love where you are and who you are and what you have, right now."
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Unless I get the situation with my alimony figured out, my funding will run out within the year. It has been such a blessing to just live, knowing that our needs are taken care of. I lost a LOT of money to taxes and loss of interest, orthodontic work for kids, schooling, hospital bills, and keeping my van running. I have lived within my budget every month aside of those things and feel at peace knowing there was nothing more I could have done. I will more than likely lose our home. We will live off student loans and whatever income I can generate through freelance writing and cleaning offices at night. I don't know where the boy squad and I will go or what we will do, we really have no one to fall back on, no parents to move in with. But we have proved that we can do hard things---and we will do them again. If I give up my dream now--the one I know, if given the chance, can provide for us; if I let it be just another one of those things beyond my control--well...I'll honestly still be ok doing whatever, wherever. But can I just say that I really, really want this? I want to write. I want to teach writing to other people who want to write. God's will be done first and always, but I'm kind of hoping this is one of those situations where our wills are in harmony.
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Anyway, I am inching along day by day, knowing I will be consumed by fear and my own inadequacy if I spend too much time looking ahead. It's going to get really, really scary here. I'm going to need all the prayers and good thoughts and good advice I can get. I keep hoping one day we'll finally emerge onto the other side of all these trials, but if nothing gets better, there's still a lot to be grateful for. What a comfort that is.

So, Big Bad Scary Year (or two or three or four), I have no idea how I'm going to tackle you...but watch out! because I am going to do it.

shelter

Fall is setting in. Our high temperatures here are dipping into the low 50's. Hard to believe that just two months ago, we were in the throws of summer. And summer for me means an annual trip to the state fair.




I'm sure yours look similar to ours...
Crowds. Heat. The smell of deep fried everything.



Well, this year the fair taught me quite a lesson.


Ninja and I had gone together. It was getting dark, somewhere in that dusky gray stage that happens about 9 pm. The once soft breeze began to pick up speed, and the sky grew ominous-- like a thunderstorm was on the way. Suddenly, a huge wall of wind came from out of nowhere. They're called micro-bursts--Hurricane strength winds that only last for a minute or two. Only I didn't know that at the time.

I heard screaming and looked up to see the sky around me filled with all kinds of blowing debris, swirling and hurtling every which way. Some of it was small stuff--wrappers and cardboard boxes, but other stuff was bigger, scarier--poles from canopy tents and small boards whooshing by. My eyes stung with the dust blowing into them. I could see parents hovering protectively over their frightened children. Much of the crowd was rushing, panicked, towards exits. A piece of something struck me hard and sharp in the back.


I looked around, terrified myself now. What was happening? Were we in the middle of a tornado? Sparks erupted from a building across the fairground. I looked around for somewhere to take cover....but where do you go in a place like this?:

In a place where everything is meant to be quickly taken down and moved away? Where nothing is staked down? Nothing permanent? It was a genuine moment of terror....and clarity.

How could I not see the truth in such a scene?

I think about the world--the up and down-ness of it all. The scary twists and turns it takes. Do I have a place to take shelter when those things happen? Have I created a place for my children to take shelter? For certainly everything has to seem doubly frightening in their eyes, so dependent upon others to care for them.

I ran across a quote not long after my experience at the fair: "A child has the right to feel that in his home he has a place of refuge, a place of protection from the dangers and evils of the outside world. Family unity and integrity are necessary to supply this need." (David O. McKay)

I know that I can't give them the same kind of unity and integrity I could have before the divorce. I'm just...me. But I do what I can. I cleave to as much of a routine as possible--praying together, eating together, reading together, playing together. I try to give them opportunities to spend one on one time with me so we can talk about things they're worried about. We treat one another and our home with respect.

I don't know what more to do. I worry for my children greatly. They're good boys, but I know how kids-- especially boys--of single parent homes can really struggle. I hope, for now, and for as long as it will take for our life to really feel "normal" again and not like we're walking shades of what we used to be, that what I am doing is enough.

Any advice you have on how you provide a shelter for your kids would be greatly appreciated. And I hope you've figured out where your shelter is... And that it's not a corn dog stand.

don't be dissin' on silly bandz. remember the junk you drug home?

Chances are there has been some debate, major or minor, going around your child's school over these: What are those, you ask? Have you been living under a rock, woman? They're SILLY BANDZ! And you know they're cool since the -s in bands has been replaced with a -z. Thatz what we do to any word we want to sound frezh.

I wonder what child in what state first decided to put one of these on his or her wrist?; and what other child thought that was a good idea and did the same thing?; and what poor third child's mother came home from the store with plain old rubber bands?...which were neither silly nor cool...nor bandz?

Anyway, there is a point to this, being that: since the beginning of time, or at least the beginning of capitalism, we, the consumers, have been encouraged to believe that if ONE is good, why not lots?

I'm 35. If you're anywhere around that age, chances are you lived through these "one good, lots better" fads.

I don't know that Strawberry Shortcake figurines were meant to be marketed as a "buy them all" product, but you can't give a 6 year old girl one strawberry scented doll and not expect her to also want the one that smells like lemons, and apples, and blueberries, and potatoes. (What?! There wasn't a Potato Shortcake doll? Well, there should have been! Potatoes have a lovely, earthy smell.)

How about these?--the fad of 1985-1987 (cue Miami Vice music here):

How many of us walked around with enough plastic bling around our neck that if we fell into water, we'd drown? Seriously, just looking at this photo--I owned half the charms on there.

Then there were the gumball football helmets. Maybe this one was just a local trend, but I checked every gumball machine in town trying to round out my collection....

Remember these?....

I bet your mom wouldn't let you bring them in the house because they were so disgusting. And your school wouldn't let you have them in class because they were so disgusting. And you were left to trade them under the monkey bars at recess like they were cocaine smuggled in from Colombia.

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And then there was the scratch and sniff sticker phase...

Which was wonderful until they started to add scents like "old shoe" and "dirty sock" to the lineup.

I was too old when these were all the rage...

But I watched my niece go through it. She was like a little crazy person when McDonalds included them in their happy meals, calling every day to see if the newest one was being handed out yet. She had an entire room devoted to her collection of Beanies. Just FYI: she got married 4 years ago, and guess what she didn't bring into her newlywed home? Uh, yeah. :)

So, relax school districts! No need to ban anything. Today's Silly Bandz are tomorrow's Furbies (or insert other once coveted now obsolete toy in that spot). In the mean time--the economy could use any boost it can get. And if that means robbing 6-12 year olds of their stash of quarters in the frenzied, peer-pressure driven pursuit of disposable junk. Well....that's not so bad, is it? :)

Be honest: What junk did you drag home?

why i haven't moved on

I got an email from my ex husband last week. He was curious to know why, after 2 1/2 years since our separation and divorce, I hadn't "moved on yet" ? He was certain I would be immediately snatched up by (in his words) somebody more worthy of me than him.

Well, gee, Brad--it's not like I haven't been trying. First, there's the issue of the fact that I was stark, raving in love with you and in love with our marriage and our life and family in general. That took some time to get over, and--in truth--is still a healing wound. Then there's the fact that the pool of eligible, sane men willing to date divorced women with 4 children isn't exactly vast. Well, that's not entirely true. There are a lot more available men than I would have guessed. In fact, I have dated, pursued, or been pursued by 17 men in the last 2 years. Been in 3 serious relationships (Haute Cakes, Green Eyes, and one I'm still in the midst of, with hope, with Ninja). Gotten flowers, jewelry, candy, and love letters that would put a healthy blush in any woman's cheeks. And did my fair share of kissing. It has truly been like living in a soap opera.

---That's not as cool as it sounds.---

Because I really would just like to find someone--or not find someone and be ok with it--and get on with my life already. I don't think I'm too picky. I don't have a particular type ,and my interests and personality are varied enough that I can be happy with a lot of different kinds of people. But I do have a short checklist of areas of compatibility that I know I need have to be happy and thrive in a second marriage, and despite dating some really amazing men--none of them have passed the whole checklist yet.

I need to be compatible with whoever Mr. Jennifer P. might be:

1. PHYSICALLY: He doesn't have to be superstar gorgeous (you're talking to a woman whose celebrity crushes are Alan Rickman and Sporticus, so, yeah.) but let's face it, if there isn't a spark, a chemistry, a type of raw attraction--what's the point of going on? I tend to be most attracted to men based on personality, but a great smile or a nice set of shoulders or happy eyes don't hurt either :). Talent and/or intelligence are just as attractive as any physical attribute in my book, too.

2. EMOTIONALLY: I need someone who understands I'm a creative, slightly quirky soul. That sometimes I worry too much, and it might come off as being pessimistic--but that I truly believe that everything works out for the best in the end. I feel deeply, I hurt deeply, but I also love deeply. I need someone who makes me laugh--every day--and is willing to pick me up when I'm down, and let me pick him up, too. Someone who doesn't dote on me, but gives me regular, genuine compliments and makes me feel like I'm the only woman in a room.

3. SPIRITUALLY: I hate to mingle religion with spirituality but, at least in my life, they're pretty inseparable. I need someone who puts God in the center of their lives. Who practices what they profess to believe. Who is willing to pray and search the scriptures and listen for answers. Someone who isn't afraid to surrender themselves to a Higher Power. I believe a shared faith is a type of glue that will hold a couple together through the toughest of times.

4. FINANCIALLY: Most divorced men are supporting an ex-wife and children. That needs to be their priority. But that usually leaves very little left over for them, or for the support of a new family. And with economic times being like they are the situation is even more bleak. I don't need a rich man (not that I'd complain if I found one), but I do need someone as dedicated to living within a budget as I am. One that's not going to bring a crippling amount of debt with him. And, ideally, someone who makes enough to let me stay home with my family (and potentially his) as much as possible. As a younger woman looking for someone to marry, this didn't matter much to me at all. It was all about potential then. But now, at 35, I have to look at what is *actually* there and ask myself if I can live with it. Boo for being a grown up. But I have to use what I've learned and can't hide behind naivety.

5. FAMILIAL-LY: (did I make that word up? hmmm). I am not looking for just me. If I was, any number of these men I've dated would have been perfect. My boys and I are a set. If you don't know their names by our third date, you're out. If you aren't kind to your own children, you're out. If your kids are out of control brats who are mean to my boys, you're out. If you act like I'm the only one who matters and pay no attention to my kids, you're out. Simple as that. I know I am fully capable of loving someone else's children like my own, and I expect the same. They will need to come first in my life and my priorities until they are grown, and Mr. Jennifer P. will have to understand that and treat his own children the same way.

So, ex-husband, that's why--after 2 1/2 years I haven't moved on. Sorry if I've disappointed you. I would have liked to just have the perfect man in the perfect situation dumped in my lap right away. Like a reward for the unreciprocated time and effort and devotion I put into our marriage. But it didn't happen that way. Almost. But not quite. So, I will continue to be the butt of jokes about assembling a "man harem" or whatever--but I am not just playing around here. I'm looking for keeps. And if that takes 3 years or 5 years or 10, I'm going to do it right.

i'm bringing friday fotos back...not as good as sexy, but it'll do.

Here's what we've been up to....



We've enjoyed a nice indian summer around here with cold mornings and 90 degree afternoons. That makes for a lot of being outside. We went to the Highland Games. There were jumpy dancers and cabers and bagpipes and kilts, kilts, kilts (!!!) But the thing my boys loved more than anything were the Scotch/Irish dogs. They would have stayed here petting them all day had I let them!

There really is something **manly** about a dude secure enough to wear a skirt and tassled socks. Though after a few hours, bagpipes start to sound like you're stepping on a cat. Just my personal observation.

Bought some mums, some pumpkins, and pulled out a bit of the orange. And voila! House is ready for Fall! I like having this pre-Halloween decoration phase.


I used a gift card to buy some rock star boots. These are over the knee, gray suede, with heels. My other shoes were very jealous.

And finally---I changed up the hair again. Poof! I'm a blond!

Except not really. I just have an affinity for good wigs. Who says only strippers and old women should get to wear them?! I like to refer to them as "hair hats". Sounds classier than 'wig'. I don't think you can beat being a red head, but blond for a day here and there is pretty fun, too :)

~Go get your weekend on!~

i'm aware. trust me, i'm aware.

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. And I'm aware, trust me--I'm aware.

My mom went in for a mammogram in 2000. She was 59. I'm not sure if it was her first mammogram or not--I just remember that one because she got some "irregular results". They told her there was a slight mass that they wanted to biopsy but that the chances of it being cancerous were low. Under 10%. Except--that it was cancerous.

She had the tumor cut out and all the lymph nodes on her right side removed. She went through a few radiation sessions, then settled into a 5 year regimen of Tomoxophin. There were some side effects from the drugs but, overall, her life (and ours) seemed hardly affected. It was a scare. We caught it early. She was a survivor. The end.

In April 2005, we celebrated her "official remission" with a family dinner at her home. It was near Easter and she sat at the table, surrounded by grandkids, coloring Easter eggs and beaming.

Not everything was alright, however. Over the next few months, she went to the doctor several times feeling like something was 'off'. Despite exercising regularly and being very active in her everyday life, she was having a hard time breathing. At Christmas, she kept asking us to take pictures for her because she had a blurry spot in her eye that was making it hard to see through the camera lens. A few days later she went in to see her Optometrist. He was the one who found the cancer.

It was in her eye. Her lungs. Her liver. Small cell. Stage 4. Metastasized breast cancer. The Tomoxophin had held it off. But now it was everywhere.

I can't get the night she told us out of my head. She was trying to keep her diagnosis from all of us. She was hoping she'd just go to sleep one night and not wake up. But cancer isn't like that. Cancer likes to drag it out and make it hurt. The pain in her lungs was so bad that she finally went into the emergency room. That's where we found out. My husband and I had just finished date night. I was four months pregnant. We thought it was just pneumonia and were coming for a visit to cheer her up.

When they told us the diagnosis, I wandered the halls of the hospital for two hours. The carpet had a leaf pattern on it that I kept trying to make sense of. I called my sister. A few friends. I was numb.

I will spare you the gory details of caring for someone dying from cancer. I can't even imagine the pain she had to endure. It was the most trying thing I had ever gone through, watching my sweet mother who had cared for me all my life slowly wasting away. Especially when she did it all smiling and laughing for as long as she could. She never turned visitors away. She wrote all her children and grandchildren letters to read after she was gone, including the grandson I was carrying that she would never meet. She planned as much of her funeral as she could. She tried to prepare us all. Strong to the end.

It was only 6 weeks from her diagnosis till her death. Only 10 days were spent with her unable to recognize any of us (she just called us all "baby"). I know we should count ourselves lucky--that some people have to deal with this nasty,evil monster for years. But--how could we ever say we were lucky when she was still...gone?

I miss my mom every day. Four years after her death, I still think I see her sometimes at the grocery store. I still have her phone number memorized and want to call to tell her something funny the boys said or did. I know things would be very different for my little family and I after the divorce if she had still been alive. It wouldn't have hurt quite so bad if I'd just had someone to hold me and tuck me in and play with my boys and put all my dishes away in the right place and do all those things that only a mother can do.

I still feel her around me though, thankfully. She told me every time I saw a butterfly-- that would be her--just checking in on me. So, if you ever see me talking to butterflies, that's why.

I go in for my own first mammogram next month. Now I have a "family history" and already had a benign tumor taken out of my own breast when I was 20. My risk is high. Early detection is my only weapon. So, I appreciate seeing all the supportive pink out there but even if it wasn't, I'm very, very aware of dummy stupid head breast cancer. One day I'm going to stomp on cancers throat and kick the crap out of it. Believe it.