The End

It has recently come to my attention just how much traffic my little corner of the blog world was getting. Took me by surprise, I must say. Online discussion to a recent commentator has made my decision to continue or not continue blogging just that much easier.

I'm sure that in just a few short weeks, though I will have many blog-worthy stories to tell, I will just not have the time or energy to write my stories. That also made my decision just a bit easier.

I have learned so much about people in recent months, even weeks. About life. A reader recently asked if my husband knew how much I was still hurting and healing. And the answer to that is, "Yes." He is journeying right along side me, feeling the hurts and healing from them. What is said and done about me is also done to him, unfortunately behind his back.

I wish you the wonderful blessing of having someone to love you this much, work this hard, and look this far forward.

You may need me there
To carry all your weight
But you're no burden I assure
You tide me over
With a warmth I'll not forget
But I can only give you love

Fall on me tell me everything you want me to be
Forever with you, Forever in me
Ever the same
Call on me
I'll be there for you and you'll be there for me
Forever it's you, Forever in me
Ever the same

-Rob Thomas, Ever the Same

So thank you for reading, and following my healing journey from hurting, used, abused, confused wife, mom and friend to just wife, mom and friend. Someday I suppose that daily life and stories, quips, et al will find me posting my motherhood journey again. Maybe you'll find me again, maybe you won't, but thank you for letting me be a part of your life.

Namaste.

The Bad Day

Friday before last, I had a really bad day.

Any where I went in my little New England town, I came across the same vehicle. Not once in my errand running of 2 hours, but four times. What are the chances? At a stoplight. Twice. Pulling out and driving behind. Across the intersection from.

I know the vehicle well. A silver minivan with a license plate bracket declaring the driver to be a Philadelphia Eagles fan. Yes, I am very familiar with the van. I thought I was familiar with the driver, once upon a time, but unfortunately, it was only the facade I was given that I was familiar with, not the real person.

I made my way home feeling desperately crushed. Anywhere I went that day it seemed I could not escape the past.

Then I remembered that I had to bake a pumpkin bread for my children's school that evening. I am on the PTO Baking Committee, too. And I didn't have all that I needed for the bread. Damn. I would have to go out again. And risk seeing the van. Again.

I thought about not baking, but I felt my responsibility sitting on my shoulder, reminding me, prodding me. So I heaved myself off the couch, and went off to the store.

I bought only what I needed for the bread. Plus a big box of Famous Amos chocolate chip cookies, which I planned to consume most of while the bread baked in an effort to soothe my sorrows.

As I was walking out of the store, and elderly gentleman stopped me.

"Have we met?" he asked. We had not, but not only was he elderly, he was a World War II vet. I have a soft spot for veterans, a thank you to my grandfather. I was only just beginning a true friendship with my grandfather when he passed away when I was 19. Talking with veterans reminds me of him, connects me to him. A connection I could use a hug from every now and then.

The gentleman then asked me if he could just "enjoy my beauty" for a moment, and he gave me a squeeze on my hand. We parted ways and started walking away, and then he said something that stopped me in my tracks.

As he was walking away he said to me that I am a good Christian woman. That people could talk what they want to about me, think what they want to, do what they want to, but they could never take Jesus Christ away from me. That if I keep with Him, we will have everything we need, and those people will be taken care of, too.

That made me tear up. I thanked him, told him I needed to hear that, and told him that I hoped God blessed his day. He said He already had.

As I drove home, of course I cried. What 6.5 month pregnant woman wouldn't? I thought that day of a lot of people.

The friend who used to pray with me for my best friend, over both their cancers, who now blamed me for a church's demise. Had I acted alone?

The friend who once hugged me, expressing her gratitude that my first missions trip was on the very same team as her daughter's first missions trip, who now exiled me publicly on a social networking website.

The friends who once celebrated holidays and birthdays in my home who now walk blindly past me when we meet in public.

The friend who promised me wonderful things, and then covered up those promises with lies.

The minister who let us turn to her in confidence, only to turn away from one and then the other, and what she was told as an avenue for gossip, in a manner most unbecoming.

The six-year-old Sunday School classmate who had told my seven-year-old at a birthday party that her mommy said she wasn't supposed to talk to my children.

The friend who once played a role as work supervisor, who attended not only wedding showers but a wedding, baby showers and visited in the hospital after each birth of a child; attending birthday parties and celebrations, ballet performances and plays, who now shuns with disapproval and judgement.

The friend who felt it right to broadcast her unhappiness with me on the same social networking site by calling me names.

The friends who took part in those conversations, never standing up for me or championing me the way I had hoped even just one of them would.

The friends who do stand by me, beside me, holding my hand and my head high when I can't, or won't, or forget how. My husband.

I've seen the van again since, but, suddenly, it doesn't seem to make my day so bad anymore. And I did eat a lot of cookies that day. Not because I was wallowing, but because they were damn good!

Four

I fail to understand how I was so difficult towards my mother as a child that I am to receive four little girls in return. I did not drink, I did not party, I did not steal. I was a good girl, a church youth group groupie, Sunday School teacher. Sure, I was moody and hormonal. What 13 year old isn't? I may have said a few not nice things to my mom (and dad), but really, I just wasn't bad enough to be getting four of me in return!

Each time I have been pregnant, I have been positive that I was carrying a boy. This time is no exception. But this time we did something a little different. At the 20 week ultrasound, we asked the technician to tell us the gender of the baby. We have never wanted to know before.

After having three girls, we wanted to be prepared if we were, in fact, adding a little boy to our family. After all, this is completely unplanned!

It is kind of fun knowing who this little person is flipping around inside of me. I love all my girls more than life, and loved them regardless of not knowing who they were as they were growing inside. But this time, I feel a little different. Like I am bonding in a different way with this little girl now. I know more about her already than the others. But I am still just as curious about all the parts of her that I don't yet know.

Having four girls growing up in our tiny yellow house is going to be a sight to see. But, God doesn't give you what you want. He gives you what you need.

A Different View

Yesterday we celebrated my husband's birthday a few days early, and took a little day trip from our quiet New England town down to New York City. I had arranged a tour for him of Fox News Studios, as he is a big fan. And what a wonderful tour we did have! We got to see the ins and outs of the network, saw all the sets of the shows he watches, and got to see a few of the network stars, too. Round that up with lunch in a little out of the way pub and being caught in a tremendous thunderstorm, and it was a magnificent day.

Usually we take the train to the city, but as he has been feeling unwell, and I am still experiencing morning sickness and some of the other fun that comes with pregnancy, we decided to drive. The storm came as we were heading back to our car, so it delayed our return home with massive amounts of traffic. We decided to exit the Henry Hudson Parkway, and try our luck on some of the West Side's city streets.

After a while we realized that we were approaching the 125th Street Metro North Train station. In the middle of Harlem. When we are riding the train, this stop always looks dismal. Tenement houses, run down buildings. Degredation.

But being in the middle of the neighborhood offered us such a different view. The buildings looked like homes. There were parks, children playing. Shops that we wanted to go in, restaurants that looked inviting, delicious.

My husband commented how different things look when you are down in the middle of them. What we look down on from above really isn't so bad when we are part of it.

Different indeed.

Disconnected

Over the course of the last few months, a new lifestyle has evolved in our house. It is less technological, more personal, quieter even, dare I say?

It's not been spoken about, but somehow my husband and I have reached an agreement, a commitment to each other. From 5:00 in the evening, we are not online. And that extends to the weekends, too. (All weekend.) No email, no chat boards, no blogging, no news reading. More family time, more playing, more couple time, more togetherness. More meaning.

Sure, we occasionally break the "agreement" to do a little shopping online, or respond to an email we anticipate receiving. But it always feels as though we are doing something contraband, and we tend to the task as quickly as possible so we can return the laptop to its quiet corner of the dining room and get back to the fun we are missing.

Our evenings have been quieter. The children (usually) have been nicer. They, and we, are getting to bed earlier (which is starting to garner more and more importance as we prepare for the number of months where sleep will evade us by something other than our own doing! Er.... You know what I mean...)

Weekends have been more fun. We've had the time to spend with each other doing things that families need to be doing: riding bikes, playing in the pool and the yard, fostering healthy friendships, going to the park. We've noticed that for 2 weekends in a row, our telephone didn't ring! They just so happen to be the best two weekends that we have had as a family in many, many years.

Coincidence? I think not.

First Communions

We have recently begun visiting churches in our town as we try to find a new church home for our family. Our current church does not fulfill the needs of our family with the right attitudes, love and Christianity that a church should provide.

It has been a while since we have been at a church service where communion was served. This Sunday, our children each had their first communion.

This particular congregation partakes in communion as a whole, not by dispersement from the pastor. The trays of bread and wine were passed, and each of our girls sat patiently holding their little cube of bread and tiny cup of grape juice.

"What is this for, Mommy?" asks my middle child, with all the innocence of a 5 year old.

"This is called Communion. When we eat the bread and drink the juice we say a prayer asking God to forgive us for the things that we have done wrong."

"Does He do that?"

"Absolutely, sweetheart. He forgives us. All we have to do is ask."

I don't know if she truly understood what I was telling her. For that matter, do most grown-ups? Perhaps she was thinking that God really would forgive her for hitting her older sister, talking back to me or breaking something. Perhaps she thought it was just a little snack. Whatever she thought, I was glad to be sitting with her, sharing communion, praying to my God.

"As far as the east is from the west, so far does He remove our transgressions from us." Psalms 103:12

"I, I am He who blots out your transgressions for My own sake, and I will not remember your sins." Isaiah 43:25

"There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." Romans 8:1

And being forgiven.

Today Could Be a Birthday

Today could be a birthday.

It is something that will be a part of me for a long, long time. A haunt, a what-if, a why that will always be here. A reminder of good or bad, evil or graciousness, right or wrong. A penance.

My penance.

And I am so, so sorry. For so much.

Brave Girls, Brave Mom

Summer vacation is in full swing, and after a nice week of being lazy at home, I've been packing up a picnic lunch everyday and heading out to the lake with my three little blondes for swimming lessons. Not being a beach person, this has been just a little bit harder this year since I am also dealing with the full throes of morning sickness. Pregnant is not something I do well.

My oldest wanted nothing more than to swim out to the diving board dock. From the first second she saw it at the beach. One day the first week of lessons I indulged her, and swam with her out to the dock. It's a far swim for a 7 year old, but she did it. I had to wait in the water for her as she climbed the diving board, and jumped in. She loved it.

I hated it. Mama Bear was watching her cub grow. I watched her jump into the water, and waited for what seemed like an eternity for her little head to pop back up from under the water. And then she did it again.

I realized that while we were out there, I did very little breathing. It was time to head back to shore. But my little one was so proud of herself.

The next day she wanted to go again. But she had to wait for Daddy to go with us. The following week, out they swam. This time it seemed much quicker for her to reach the surface after her jump. Of course, I was watching from the shoreline, and did not swim out to the dock. That is what Daddy was for!

The next day, my middle one wanted to swim to the dock. Donning life jackets, they swam out to the dock together, as we waited on shore. Jumping from the dock, they took several turns before heading back in, proud as can be of their accomplishments.

When they reached the shore, we both breathed.

Learning to Forgive

Last month, at church, I was listening to the minister read off the list of names and prayer requests that had been submitted that day. When the minister reached the point in the prayer where we spoke to God in silence for the prayers and concerns weighing on our hearts, I, as usual, began to pray.

I found myself praying that morning for two people who used to be in my life.

My eyes flew open, my stomach fell. WHAT WAS I THINKING?? Why was I giving thought and energy to people who had hurt me so badly?

"But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you." Matthew 5:44

"And when you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone so that your Father also who is in heaven may forgive your transgressions." Mark 11:25

I have to forgive so that my life, my broken heart can heal, and I can move forward and be the mother, wife and friend I am supposed to be.

And it is hard.

I need to forgive someone who was so invested in themselves and too much of a coward that they could not see their way clear to telling the truth.

I need to forgive someone who has pointed fingers in my direction, not realizing that when you point a finger, there are three pointing back at you.

I need to forgive people for referring to me not by name, but rather by an acronym, with an easily determined meaning.

I need to forgive someone who has bullied friendships ranging from mere months to decades into lining up behind those pointing fingers.

I need to forgive those friendships for doing just that.

"...Do not judge, and you will not be judged; and do not condemn, and you will not be condemned..." Luke 6:37

But mostly, I need to forgive myself. For trusting what should not have been trusted, for believing what should not have been believed, and for hurting what did not deserve to be hurt.

"Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you." Ephesians 4:31-32

It is time.

How to Love Your House

Right around the same time that we began to start our family, we also began to find a house for that family. The family started on the one year anniversary of when we moved into the house. How little did we know about how big or how fast that family would grow!

I was the one who found our house, but my husband was the one who pushed us to buy it. The outside held much more appeal than the inside. The inside needed so much work, I was immediately turned off by it. But, my husband pushed, and it turns out that he was right to do so.

We have spent so much time working on our home, inside and out. We are never at a loss for something to change, something to make better. Parties that we have celebrated with friends. Children's first steps, first words, first days of school. Sometime along the way it became a place that we decided we never wanted to leave.

But we have been contemplating just that. Why? Because we are outgrowing our house. Our children are growing, by size, age and now number. In a few more months, there will be another "us" in the house to live, grow, laugh, cry.

So we have begun the unthinkable. We have started to look for a new house. Every now and then we think to ourselves, we can manage in this house with a bigger family. We can make it work. But maybe it is time for something new? Something better for us to make our mark in. Something to help us grow, just a little bit more.

The thought of leaving this house hurts our hearts. But we've had hurting hearts before, and they have always healed and shown us something better.

The Final Baby Frontier

My youngest is three. Long past the time ready for potty training, but that's my fault. Now she is asserting her stubborn attitude, a birthright she got from both her mommy and her daddy. I am sure that we will have a battle of wills. A learning experience for us both.

When it gets right down to it, I just wasn't ready to give up the babyness. I needed the comfort that it brings. The fragrant smell of a new package of diapers when you open them. The cuddles, tickles, hugs and kisses that invariably come at the end of a diaper change. I still sing my kids songs at night when I tuck them in. Still cuddle up to each of them, rub their backs, and inhale their smell. I wash their clothes separately, still, in baby detergent, even though my oldest is approaching the age of 7.

My lack of insistence on the potty training means that I have been changing diapers every day for almost the last 7 years. Sometimes more than one tooshie, too! But maybe it is time to let the babyness go.

Or is it?

An Angel in My Pocket

Some eight plus years ago, when my husband and I started out to begin our family, we found it very easy to get pregnant. The hard part was staying that way. After one particularly painful miscarriage, my mother sent me a little coin. An angel, for me to keep in my pocket. To comfort me in my (our) pain, and to remind me to keep faith.

I kept that coin in my pocket as often as I could. It saw me through one more miscarriage, and then the pregnancies and births of our three beautiful blonde, blue-eyed angels here on earth. Having done its job, I put the coin away for safekeeping.

Several months after my best friend was diagnosed with cervical cancer, I came upon that coin in my jewelry box. Holding it in my hands, I knew that I needed to send the angel to her. To stay with her during the pain and fear of her treatments, to comfort her when needed. To help her keep her faith.

And that she did. That angel stayed in her pocket everyday, or in her car, her purse, somewhere where she could feel its presence. We rejoiced together in happiness when she received good news, and cried together when we learned the prognosis was then grim.

Two months ago, she sent the angel back to me. I knew then that my friend was dying. The angel, she said, had fulfilled its job for her, keeping her comforted during her trials. As I was then (and still am) going through some trials of my own, she sent the angel back to me, to comfort me, and help me keep my faith. The angel has stayed in my pocket for the last 2 months.

One year and one day ago, we celebrated with my friend and her family at a "celebration of life" party. It seemed then that she had beaten her cancer, and life was wonderful. Today, she is being buried.

Our faith has been a common bond between us, especially the last two years. I will keep that angel with me now, as I continue to fight through my trials and look forward to a most happiest of endings. The angel will help me keep that bond of our friendship with me day by day.

Kristie, I love you and I miss you. Be one of my angels, always.

The Gift of an Open Door

It has taken me some time to realize a gift that I have been given. It didn't seem that way at first, to me.

Someone "gave" me friendship a few months ago. Gave me wonderful things, said wonderful things, wrote wonderful things. They seemed wonderful to me, anyway, better than what I thought I had in front of me.

But in reality, I was given a greater gift. That person's inability to be in my life opened up so many better things from the ones who already are. It allowed me to see the things and people I had for what and who they truly are. When one door closes another one opens up, right?

I was given my gift of writing back. And, oh, how I have written. Journaling, poetry. I am never at a loss for something to write when I sit down and put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard.

I was given the chance to talk with my husband about what we truly needed. And we were given the chance to give each other those needs. While our marriage is indeed different, it is now at a different level. Higher, richer, more meaningful, more loving. What marriage should be.

My friendships are stronger, healthier, more real. I know who I can trust, and who I cannot. I know that there is bad in the world, but there is also good. There are those who can love you for who you are, and forgive your faults, and love you more because of them.

There is a part of me that will always be missing because of the door that has closed. A part of me that I will always wonder about. I have the chance to realize things that I need to do, for me, to make me better and happier with who I am and for those I care about. I've made decisions for my future, things that I need to do for me. There are more parts of me, better parts of me, that are eager for the open doors in front of me.

Thank you for the gift of closed and opened doors.

Classroom Mom

Wednesday mornings I visit my oldest's first grade classroom, to read with the children, be a mother's helper. Do whatever I can to help the teacher. I love having this opportunity. My daughter loves to have me in the classroom, and is so proud. I think she even tries to work better when I am there! And I know the teacher really needs my help. They all do.

Today she gave me a task that I have not yet done before. A bulletin board. Ugh. Something crafty.

I hate crafts.

Really, I do. I do not have the patience to sit and cut little whatevers to fit into the spots they are designed for. Forget scrapbooking. That's why God made photo albums with already made sleeves. Knitting? Needlepoint? Too stressful for me. I get too agitated. About all I can really tolerate is crayon-coloring (something we do a lot of). Now THAT is cathardic.

I didn't get as far as the teacher wanted me to, I'm sure. I was too fastidious with how the background paper lined up with the edges, and how to get the least amount of staples into the board, making sure to leave enough non-stapled space for the other stuff she needs to put up!

I wonder if my task next week will be to finish the board, or if the teacher, or some other more crafty parent helper, will have redone it? Maybe I'll sneak back there tomorrow to check.

Lucky Mom

May is always a busy month for us. Ballet recitals, Balls, birthdays, graduation... the month seems to fly by. That's why I haven't had an opportunity yet to talk about my wonderful Mother's Day weekend. The whole weekend.

On Friday, I was lucky to spend time with my oldest and her ballet class, preparing for their amazing recital. One mom and seven girls. Sunday we enjoyed the show as only our big family could. But the show was magical, as my now 5 year old said. And who would have known that during this little ballet recital, I would have come upon a song that would move me as much as this one?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IqCfxgKZd8

It has become my theme song. My reasons, my explanations for the last 8 months of my life, the hurt, the good, the bad, the people who have come in and made a mess and left. The friends who aren't at all what I thought they would be. I had a hard time picking myself up off the floor after hearing it. Still do. It's become the most played song on my iPod.

Saturday I spent a wonderful day with my family, traveling around the northwest corner of the state we live in. Enjoying the scenery, the time with each other. We shopped in little boutiques. Dined in a fancy restaurant. Drove. Laughed. Smiled.

At one point we were shopping in a kitchy little store. My three girls entertained themselves with books from the store, and hunkered down in the sloped-ceilinged dressing room. I heard giggles from behind the curtain, and saw six little feet sticking out from under it. I pulled back the curtain to see my favorite new picture, the screen saver that is now always in my mind. Three little blonde heads, 6 big blue eyes and 3 wonderful smiles looking back at me, all in a row.

The best Mother's Day present that could ever have been given.

Free Will

A few weeks ago, my husband and I were watching an episode of Saturday Night Live. Why, I am not really sure. We never watch the show, haven't in years and years, since all of the good actors went off and got famous. It has always seemed like a waste of perfectly good sleeping time.

There is one skit that stands out in my mind in particular. The cast characters were attending some sort of party, and they just happened to decide to party in a bear's cave. The bear was awoken, and in turn took his anger out on the partygoers. Instead of realizing their mistake, the partygoers in turn got mad at the bear for stepping on their free will to party wherever they wanted to.

Really?

A few months ago, while I was still on Facebook, there was a long drawn out conversation about "free will." That people have free will to do whatever they want. Regardless of what happens as the outcome. If someone gets hurt, well, the "hurter" had free will to hurt, and the "hurtee" just has the free will to deal with the scars left behind.

Using the term "free will" is a cop-out. People think that it frees them from responsibility and accountability. In reality, it only furthers their cowardice.

Life's a Beach

Today was my usual day to go into my oldest's classroom at school and be the mother's helper for the day. Usually I read with the children, but today my task was cutting frogs. Paper frogs, for a performance in a few weeks.

My youngest goes to play with a friend for the hour or so that I am at school. The two play nicely together, friends in their own right. Usually I spend the rest of the morning at my friend's kitchen table, drinking coffee and being talked down from whatever ledge I might be on that day. My friend has been very instrumental in my life over the last few months, so I am glad our children enjoy each other so much.

Today I had planned to pick my little one up and head out around town to run errands: library, dry cleaner, bank, food pantry, Wal-mart... the list goes on.

None of it happened.

The three of them joined another friend and child at the beach to enjoy the abnormally warm May weather. So that's where I headed to meet them.

We ended up staying there until it was time for the three moms to head out and pick our older children up from the preschool they all attend, the tie that binds us all as friends. Our children were wet and sandy, tired and with full tummies (from a quick run down to McD's). They had spent the morning playing in sand, poking fish, running, splashing, and we spent the morning lying on the dock in the sun, sharing our trials, tribulations and triumphs of mommyhood and wifedom.

Wal-mart will be there tomorrow.

Cinderella

The days of a stay-at-home mom can tend to get a little hectic, especially as children get older. Driving to and fro, activities, friends, house cleaning, errands... there are days where time just seems to fly by. Weekends aren't immune to it, either.

This past Saturday I took my children to a birthday party for one of their friends. In the middle, I had to leave with the youngest and the oldest to get to the oldest's ballet rehearsal, and then go back and get the middle child from the party, leaving room for cake that the other two missed. Then we had to rush home and await grandma's arrival to watch them while my husband and I went to the Ball.

Yes, the Ball.

Saturday night was the annual fundraising event for the organization that my husband works for. We go every year. We get to dress up in ballgowns and tuxedos, have fancy hors d'ourves, mingle, dance. Pretend that, just for a night, we are high society, with money to spend and philanthropize with.

As I was telling my friends at the birthday party our plans for the evening, my oldest asked me, "Mom, does Daddy get to be your prince?"

We all laughed at her innocence, such a loaded question from the mouth of a 6 year old.

But I got to thinking... what does a prince do? Shower you with love and attention. Make you feel beautiful, desirable, worthy. Sweep you off your feet and whisk you away from all the bad, protect you and give you everything better.

I answered those big blue eyes, "Yes, baby. Daddy gets to be my prince."

Fancy Mom

Last week I went to the park with one of my very closest girlfriends and her three children. 2 moms, 6 kids, a whole mess of Kentucky Fried Chicken and 1 jug o' soda that spilled all over everywhere, all piled into her SUV.

The kids always play wonderfully together. They don't fight. They help. They take turns. They always have, for all the years we have been friends, which is closing in on four.

My friend and I talked as the kids played, watching them run all amok around the park. We sat on swings, and talked of the cancer that has invaded her body and is taking her life, and the cancer of sorts that has invaded my life. Each of us amazed at what the other has handled and gone through, thinking we could never do it ourselves.

As we were swinging I realized something that just made us both laugh. Years ago we would sit at a different park, four children running and two babies nursing. Overwhelmed moms-of-three that we were, we would laugh at the "fancy moms" we saw at the park, with their fancy sneakers, rich cars, stylish sunglasses and fantastic clothes.

I had brought with me from home a pair of sneakers, but had forgotten them in the car switch as I made sure all children had seats to sit in. So here I was running after children in the park, swinging as I wore my new gold espadrilles, my (a few years old) designer sunglasses, a fashionable shawl, my highlighted hair swept into a clip, my new Ann Taylor jeans. All of the sudden I was a "fancy mom," missing only my Starbucks latte.

This made us laugh, and for just a moment, we were able to forget all the struggles we both are going through, and just bask in the ties that bind and the wonderfulness of true friendship and unconditional love.

Painted Lady

I like to call my house a Victorian, though it might be a little small and a bit too plain to have that determination. But it sounds nice to say it.

My husband and I have spent some time the last several weeks painting our Victorian lady. Not the outside... Unfortunately, back in the 1970's some inspiring person decided to clad over the paintable siding with vinyl. So our Victorian sits with a not so Victorian color, and there is not much we can do about that until our budget allows, if it ever does.

We've been painting inside our lady. Seven years of a changing, growing family living in it left shabby remnants on the walls, and it was time to make it better. We've painted in the evenings, after our children have gone to sleep (or at least lead us to believe that they have).

Some nights we paint together, near each other. Some nights we are in different rooms. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we don't. Sometimes we fight, sometimes we cry. Our talks have focused on the 17 years we've been together, where we have been, where we are going. We've talked about our children. We've reminisced. We've talked about changes, good and bad, mostly the inspiration for the changes we are making in our home. Rooms have been painted completely different colors. Furniture has been moved around, rooms rearranged. It's had the effect of our lady being an entirely different being from time to time, something that is proving good for us.

Change is good.

Five Truths of a Journey

I have learned a lot about myself in the last few months. Truths about myself that I never fully realized, but needed to.

1. I spent too much time focusing on new friends, and forgot about true friends. Thankfully, those true friends have stuck around to help me realize the error of my ways. And are continuing to stay by my side.

2. I am too trusting. I always assume that others have my best interests at heart. Afterall, that is where I have theirs.

3. I will no longer allow myself to be used for other's selfish gain, or selfish game. I was violently used and abused by people in order for them to get what they wanted, and then thrown very quickly under the bus, still used, regardless of how it left me in the end. No more being a doormat. It is time to stand up for myself.

4. No one is better than any one else in this world. It is easier to take someone else down than to lift yourself up. It is easier to follow lies than to listen to truth. Anyone who projects the air that he or she is better than someone else is recognizing the fact that there are truths in their life that they refuse to acknowledge.

5. Reminders of hurt follow a person everywhere. It all depends on how you let yourself live with them. I traveled 400 miles to bury and destroy parts of myself, only to turn around and come face to face with a reminder of what left me feeling so broken. I could drop to the ground and cry, or wipe my tears and put on a happy face. I chose the latter.

Unfortunately, realizing some of these truths mean I am changing the person that I am, the person that I used to be. But, maybe that is for the better. Even people who can be very bad to you can help you to be a better person in the end, and send your life in the right direction.

Friendship

I have been thinking a lot about friendship lately. No surprise, given what's been going on in my little world.

The dictionary defines friendship, among other things as:

"Good will, warm, comforting."

And, true friendship is just that.

Three times in as many weeks my family and I have had occasion to spend time with old friends. Friends from college, a couple down the street, and the family across the street. Each time our evenings together were relaxing, rewarding, effortless. My husband and I spent some time talking yesterday about how enjoyable those times were. How little work was required of us to spend time with them, and how lifted we felt when it came time to part.

It brought to mind some friendships that didn't and don't leave us feeling as fulfilled. Friendship with others should not leave you hurting, in any way. It shouldn't leave you second guessing your choice in life partner, the way you chose to decorate your home, the way you raise your children. It shouldn't leave your children feeling pitted against others in a race of "who comes first," for inevitably there is a child whose feelings become indelibly crushed. You shouldn't have to prepare yourself to spend time with people, and prepare yourself for "fixing" when you have parted.

I've realized that some friendships aren't friendships at all, but perhaps just simple ways to pass some time. Some of the relationships that I've had with people don't fall under that definition above. They've simply left me feeling empty, worthless, hurt. Why did I think to call those friendships?

So I could fully appreciate the many true friendships that I have been given, and that continue to be given and grow. The help, the unconditional love that a true friend shows at all times. The lifting up when you are down, and the pushing along when you can't make yourself go. And those far out number any friendships that I may have lost.

PTO Dad

Yesterday was the usual monthly PTO meeting at school. My littlest and I went, juice in hand, though we actually arrived on time for once. (!) My husband was home and offered to take kid #2 to school, which I jumped at the chance for. I mentioned to him about the meeting, but he declined the invitation, as he was worried he'd be late for the appointment that he took the day off work for.

So imagine my surprise when at 9:15 he walked into the meeting! And my pride. And my happiness. Such a simple gesture on his part made a very large statement to me how he recognizes the things that are important to me. How he encourages me to enjoy them, and how he wants to help me in them, as well. (After all, we have shared many a romantic evening counting and sorting those aforementioned box-tops and labels!)

Other PTO moms made obvious smiles of approval towards him and me, noticing the effort he made on my behalf as well. He wasn't able to stay for the whole meeting, but he was there. And that's all that matters.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Yesterday we worked a bit in the yard, as it was a beautiful spring day. Weeding, moving plants around, tending to whatever survived the winter. Planting fruits special to my children in their own special pots, with the children's help. It made me so happy.

And I realized something. I have never been more excited to work in my garden. Pulling the weeds was cathardic, removing all the bad things from the little plots of dirt, and planning replacing them with only good. Determining which flowers to plant where. Dividing and splitting, planting. And for once, I didn't have my trusty gardener's gloves. Didn't even take a second's worth of time to get them. Didn't even change out of our Sunday church clothes! Just got right into the dirt with our hands, and our whole selves.

I wonder if it is the desire for nurturing something missing. Probably. But maybe it is also the desire to nurture something that is healing, growing, blossoming in ways one only dreamed that it could. Most likely.

Definitely.

Easter

The coo of a dove
in the morning.
Mourning.

The silence before the dawn...
The calm of the evening...
Echoing, reaching,
Hopeful.

Man vs. Woman

I was told when a woman has an indiscretion, she has a lot of work to do to make it right. And even then, it's not truly better. There are always questions, moments of distrust, wondering, hurts. It continues, far beyond the time when the indiscretion ends. She is the one who loses the most... friends, acquaintances, freedom, respect. If forgiveness is there, it is far on the horizon.

But a man... his work is far less daunting. He doesn't have as much to lose, doesn't have as much work to do to earn his freedom and forgiveness from all those around him. He is given a much easier ride. Almost saying that such an indiscretion was expected of him, and such an indiscretion might just very well be expected again.

For that matter, did the "again" just finish? Maybe the "agains" just continue to happen for a man, and that is just the track record? For a woman, there will not be a track record. She works hard for it to be put in the past. But a man, he is just given it.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

My middle child drew a picture the other day. It is now hanging on the wall next to my and my husband's bed. It's one of those pictures that I will be keeping in a little box for years and years after I finally have the strength to take it down off the wall.

It's not a very big picture. Nor is it very detailed or involved. She simply drew a stick-figure picture of our family. A mommy, complete with long hair and a skirt. Three littler versions of mommy, also with skirts and varying lengths of hair. And a daddy, no skirt, though she did give him hair, more than her currently has now! Just like that. Mommy and Daddy, with three little girls in between.

She wrote our names at the top of the paper, too. Mommy, Daddy, and each of their names in her perfect little 4 year old handwriting. Complete with the "c" in her name written backwards, as she always does.

I wish I could carry that picture with me everywhere I go. It says everything I need it to say, have been needing things to say for months.. years! How could I have been so blind as to miss it?

Journey

I am starting a journey of healing tomorrow. Spending some time with myself to mourn and grieve for some things and people I have lost, some hurts I still have to overcome. I don't know what answers I will get from the questions that I will ask myself, and whatever those answers may be scare me. I do know that I am resigning myself to the fact that I won't receive apologies for the wrongs done to me, but I am still not quite sure I can accept that fact, or if I ever will be.

I do know that I am grateful for the support and love that my husband, family and friends are giving me along the way.

Namaste.

Just Another Day at the Park

Today after school, which was a shortened day anyway, due to parent-teacher conferences, my kids and I had a slew of little piddly errands to run: bank, church, Girl Scout cookie delivery, town-sponsored Easter contest submission forms, turning in said Girl Scout cookie monies). The last errand ended us at the new park in town. So being the good mom that I try to be and think I might achieve every now and then, we got out of the new car to play.

And the kids had a blast, despite the intense wind we are having today. The weather is beautiful and sunny, perfect for the park. There were friends there that we haven't seen in weeks...months! It was a nice end to our errands.

Until, of course, the littlest started getting tired. And the oldest got blisters on her hands from the monkeybars. And the middle one bonked her head on a mountain climbing wall. And then the oldest fell and hit her head. Sounds like it's time to leave.

Sounds... yeah... let's call them "sounds." The whiny, screechy cry of a kid hurt from the playground, from whatever wrong wronged them at that time. I corralled my children into a group and herded them to the car, sounds emitting from each of them.

Yeah... just another day at the park.

Brothers & Sisters?

For the past two years I have been a member of a local community of faith. The denomination of that faith is not important. Rather, it is the responses from it that are.

For the last 2 and a half months, my husband and I have been trying to put our marriage and family back together. Yes, I messed up. Yes, I made big mistakes. Yes, I fully admit them. (And am embarrassed by them. And wish they could be retracted.) A lot of hurts, physical, emotional and psychological have come from those mistakes. Hurts that take a very big toll on a person, and hurts that will take a very long time to heal.

When it became apparent that my husband and I were dealing with a trauma to our marriage, people in and outside of our church offered support. Counseling. A shoulder to cry on. Friendship. But when it became apparent what some of those hurts to our marriage were and are, those offers of support dwindled, and some were retracted.

Still, some remained vitally active, and actually grew the amounts of support they offered to us. I've recently tallied those avenues of support, and was somewhat surprised at what I found.

Nearly 75% of the friends and family who have continued to come forward offering us that support claim no affiliation to a denomination of faith. They are friends from "outside" our church. Interestingly, they are the ones who see a hurt, and offer the most help.

This brings to mind a scripture that I have always held dear, and have always ascribed to:

"A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity."
Proverbs 17:17

It's a shame that from the one place you truly expect that support to be the least confidence one can have in it. Isn't there something about those being without sin?

"...He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone..."
John 8:7

Outside

Sunny day, warm breeze
Churchbells from town
Sounds of nature
Walking, laughter, children, parents
Woodpecker

Basking in the warmth
of the Sunlight
Provided from above
Serenity

is mine.

Six Months

Today is a turning point. A point of not looking back.

Six months ago today, I gave up control of my life. Rather, I let something take control over me. I'm not sure what it was or why, and probably never will be. But I do know the costs. Some good, and some bad, but definitely some costs.

I'm sure I will have days where something will stir a memory, someone will be seen, a name will be mentioned, a birthday will pass. I will have to fight hard on these days not to lose myself to the places I've already been and have be working so hard to come back from.

But I have a good circle to draw from.

The friend who holds your hand and says the wrong thing is made of dearer stuff than the one who stays away.

~Barbara Kingsolver

Play-Doh Prisoner

My littlest one is sick today, which means the plans for the day have gone out the window, and we're hanging out at home. So much for today's PTO meeting!

Don't you wish, though, that you could get away with being as cranky and bossy as a sick three year old? (Some might say I do, but that's a conversation for a different post, I guess.) So far this morning I have played with Play-doh, painted with watercolors, made a craft (and I hate crafts), cut paper, glued, stickered, and painted again - twice more - gotten yogurt and drinks countless times. And there is only 1 child at home. Tylenol and Motrin aren't nipping this thing, either.

Did I mention that I have not yet had my cup of coffee or even had the chance to take a shower? Come to think of it, I don't think I have even gone to the bathroom yet today!

I love kids when they are sick. Uh, oh... Now we're playing Wii...

Crash

Looking ahead, on the right path.
Staying straight.
A glance to the side... distraction.
Stop abrubtly.
Crash.

Confusion. What happened?
Hurt, loss.
How to fix it? Where do I turn?

Totaled. Hurting.
Cuts bandaged. Mess
and destruction cleaned out.
Moving on.
Healing.

Newness, changes.
Smaller. Better?
Maybe. Time will tell.
Back on the right path.

A New Mantra (or two)

I came across this saying the other day, and it spoke a lot to me... loudly. And it turns out that my little sister wrote it.

The days are going to pass.
Don't fear the future.
Stop mourning the past.
Live for every moment, as
The days are going to pass.

My sister is wiser than her years or her life learning make her seem. If only I had listened to her wisdom many, many moons ago, a lot of what has happened, a lot of the pain and hurt and tears, might very well not have happened. Everything happens for a reason... just sometimes I wish those reasons were clearer to me.

My sister-in-law also has a saying that I am going to take as a mantra of my own.

Repeat: Myself... Everyday.

I need to pay a little more attention to that one, too.

Get Off The D@$n Phone!

A few nights ago we went to the Family Fun Night at our oldest's elementary school. It was all about family fitness. Kids were running around, doing jumping jacks, Tae Kwon Do, Zumba dancing. It really was a lot of fun.

My husband and I were jumping and dancing along with the kids. But all along the gym walls stood parents, mostly dads, texting away on their cell phones or iPods. As their kids had fun, they couldn't put those things down. And I thought, "How sad. For these kids."

Don't get me wrong... I'd love to have a better phone or an iPod right about now. What better way to pass time while waiting for gymnastics to end, or for your turn to come up at the dentist while you wait, again, for him to poke around at a tooth you've recently had removed? But I digress.

We had a wonderful time playing with our kids the other night. That's what those nights are supposed to be about. So, please, just put the phone down. Facebook will wait, but the little girl shaking her booty with you won't wait much longer.

Burn, baby, burn...

For the last 7 weeks I've been carrying a photo in my wallet. Why, I am not really sure. Maybe hoping? Maybe confused? Maybe hurting? I don't think I'll really ever know.

I've not been given a chance for closure with the person in that photograph. That person has run from me and the situation that was caused like the coward I refused to see that he really was. Now I know better. Still, since I can't yell, scream or hit, I need closure.

I took that photo into my kitchen. I got the lighter. And lit him on fire. It took a few times, much to my frustration. But it was nice to watch that little photo shrivel up and burn, the remnants turning black. And now in the garbage.

Where he belongs.

Angels

Lots of people will say they believe in or they have guardian angels. I know that I do.

Nine years ago, when we started out to have a family, little did we know how hard it would be. Oh, getting pregnant was the easy (and fun) part. It was the staying pregnant part that was hard. While 2002 was the hardest year that I could ever imagine, I wouldn't want it to have happened any other way. Those three little angels knew that I needed my girls, and my girls needed me, more than I needed them. What wonderfully unselfish things for those little angels to do for me. I can't wait to see them one day and thank them.

It's my fourth angel that is hardest for me to heal from. He or she was given to me when least expected, not prepared for. And that baby was given up for someone I thought I loved, for someone I thought loved me. I can't believe that this is now part of my life. It may take 50 years for me to understand the reasons why. I can only hope that one day I can see that child, and ask them to forgive me. To forgive us.

Mommy loves you.

Loss

Last night, I went to a memorial service for a friend's son. He was 27 when he passed away last weekend. I heard about his death at the memorial service for another friend's wife.

There has been a lot of loss in my life lately. Loss of friends, loss of love, loss of respect, loss of self, and loss of my own child. It's becoming rather hard to deal with.

Before the service, I spent some time cuddling on the sofa with my oldest. For some reason, yesterday she looked even older than her long 6 and 1/2 years that she has grown. I felt so scared, wondering how I can help her to grow up and keep her sheltered from all the things that have led to loss in these last few months.

The best I could come up with was to hug her. Just to keep hugging her.

Box Tops, Box Tops, Box Tops!

Here I sit, surrounded by little children playing on the floor, and piles upon piles of little box-top coupons. Those things on the top of cereal boxes, tissues, feminine pads. And soup labels. Why am I doing this?

Because I wanted to be more involved in... something. So in September I checked the little box on a slip of paper that said, "Yes, I want to volunteer!" And now my PTO existence is Box-Top lady. Even my oldest calls me that.

I've been really lax in counting the labels et al from the latest contest. It ended before Christmas break. I haven't really been able to focus on them enough, and it's time to buckle down. (Anyone want to offer help?)

All the other PTO moms are asking me when the next contest is. And I am thinking... are they nuts? Am I? Whatever did I get myself into?

And then I know. I walk into my daughter's school...and I know.

The Beginning

I'm a PTO Mom, with 3 girls. Three beautiful, loud, wonderful and painful little girls. And a less than perfect husband. But they have a less than perfect me.

This blog will highlight those experiences of growing up with them. What I do right, what I've done wrong, and learning what being me is all about.