We interrupt this regularly scheduled depressing blog post…

…to not only give you more ellipses…(is that like more cowbell?), but to present you with some honkin’ big zucchinis!

Exhibit A: My almost 11-year-old holding the biggest squash family relative that I have ever seen in my life.

Exhibit B: His little sister, not to be outdone, decided to cradle hers like a baby. Too bad she won’t take a bite out of this thing when I grill it up tomorrow night.

My question is this–if someone can find a way to make these kind of godzilla veggies, why can’t we find a way to feed our nation’s hungry?

A funny thing happened on my way to the big “D”

I have had a series of harsh realizations slap me in the face over the past few weeks. I feel about 10 years older than I did just a month ago, actually. I am learning that many times you can think you know someone, and you can take the time to really pick your friends carefully, but that does not mean these are the friends who will last the long haul. And, there’s really nothing you can do about that.

I have had very few friendships that haven’t ended up either fading away over time, or where I end up feeling betrayed by one friend or another in the end. So, the friends that I have that I know really get me…know my soul…and look out for me? Well, they are very rare gems that I hold very dear to my heart. (You know who you are and I love you for it!)

Ironically enough, I am getting a divorce from a person who has probably been the best friend I have ever had for a good 20 years now. And, that’s a hard pill to swallow when you’re in the midst of realizing that you have a lot less good friends than you thought you did. It’s hard to walk away from that good of a friendship.

Some people say that a good friendship is the basis of every successful marriage, and if you have that, that’s all you need in the end. But, we didn’t find that to be true at all. There needed to be more than what our friendship could bring to the marriage. And, so, we are now closing that chapter on our lives. But, in closing this chapter, I am having to also grow up a lot all while dealing with a devastating failure in my life. And, that’s really more difficult than I can put into words.

So, today, I just want to tell my soon-to-be ex, thank you for being my friend. Even in the midst of all our ups and downs and this separation, you have still stayed very true to our friendship, and have protected me when I needed it the most. And, for that, I will forever be grateful. I know that it is not realistic to say we will stay the same friends as we are after this split. It would be lovely if we could, but I feel certain that life and time will change things.

But, for now, I can say that you have been the best friend I have ever had. I have never had to worry that you are not who you say you are. I have never had to wonder if you are truly my friend. And, that is a very rare and special gift you have given to me.  So, happy birthday today and thank you for two decades of true friendship. I only hope that I was able to do the same for you…

I’m ready to get off this ride.

I’ve been addicted to ellipses lately in my blog titles. Trying to break that pattern with this one!

——————

Growing up, I wouldn’t call myself a daredevil. In fact, I was pretty predictable and safe whenever possible. I’d can still say, I’ll never jump out of an airplane or hook myself to a bungee cord. But, I can say that I probably surprised my parents with a love of roller coasters.

You see, I was a fairly shy elementary school girl who tended to do what was expected of me most of the time. Just standing up to a bully at school or speaking out in front of my class were big challenges all the way through middle school for me. I came out of some of this in high school, but a part of me will always be that introverted shy girl.

So, I know my father thought he had it made when we went to our nearby amusement park one summer and he challenged me to ride on the parachute drop first. For those who didn’t have the pleasure of this ride growing up, picture someone ripping out a bench seat of a car, strapping two seat belts to it and welding this to a giant parachute. After attaching it to some sort of mechanical and not altogether safe pulley with metal cords, this ride was destined to be the best view of the park.

I think I would probably hate this ride as an adult, to be honest. But, when my Dad challenged me to ride and I took him up on it, I know he was shocked. Slowly we inched up to the top of the ride and got a better and better view of the park as we rose. I remember looking down at my mom and watching how small she was getting and feeling so nervous and yet excited all at the same time. You couldn’t pry the smile off of my face.

I have a hilarious memory of my father’s face going completely white as we fell from the sky on that ride, and I laughed and laughed. My center of gravity was not the same as his, so I did not feel that sense of the impending doom of crashing to the ground. I just felt the stomach tickles. I am certain from his expression that my father was convinced we were not going to make it.

From that ride, it was all downhill…and then uphill for me in the years to come. Loops, old style coasters with giant hills, and corkscrews–I rode most all of them as I was growing up.

As I’ve grown older, I have gotten more discriminating with which coasters I will ride. I am not near as much of a daredevil, but I still enjoy them. My husband and I used to find ourselves in the predicament of having take turns and ride the coasters alone, because our kids were too small and then my oldest son ended up being way too fearful of them to join one of us.

I have realized that recently, my life has taken on an air of drama that resembles one of those old rickety coasters. Within minutes I find myself going from being on top of the world and looking forward to a new future, to plummeting down with disappointments. Angry words whip around on occasion like my long hair on one one of those high thrilled rides. I know for my friends, this may be hard to witness, given that I tend to be the calm friend who repels drama or at least avoids it at all costs most of the time. I am thankful for those who have held their hand out to me in a show of support because they make me feel like things will get calmer soon.

And, this time, I can whole-heartedly say, I want to get off this wild ride. I’m tired of the drama. I want calm. I want peace. I am tired of feeling things altogether. I would settle for a general numbness to settle on me like a calm boat ride about this time.

I found out today that my home closure has been moved up a week and by the end of this month I will be moving into my own place for the first time since college. There will be a lot of emotion with this move. Saying goodbye to a home I have known for the past decade, and figuring out how to make this move not be utterly devastating for my children or our loved ones will be a big challenge.

Like that parachute ride up, I find myself feeling exhilarated and yet sick all at the same time. I’m scared of the free fall that may be ahead of me. Will it be amazing and fill me with happiness and laughter? Or will I go pale and think my whole world is ending? It is hard to know until I get to that point, quite honestly. But, I hold out hope.

So, if you have some drama for me, send it elsewhere would you? My stomach constantly feels like I’ve just eaten two corn dogs and hopped on board the loop-dee-loop. And, honestly, I just don’t have it in me right now to raise my hands up and scream along. Right now, I just want to get off the ride and sit on the park bench and get my bearings back. I can ride another day…

Guilty as charged…

I have often thought, there should be some kind of blog police that monitor writers and can suspend your blog on occasion if you get too depressing or hormonal. Because, really, why should unsuspecting readers have to be brought down by it all, I ask you?

Granted, I get the argument of “this is my blog and I can cry if I want to”. But, honestly! I need a scary Susan Powter fairy to come down and scream at me lately, “Stop the insanity!”

As I sit here, unsure of where to start or what to say, I know for certain that my blog may take a heavier tone in the months to come.

I had a friend recently comment to me that my blog definitely seems to reflect the deepest parts of me, or where I am in that moment. I guess that it truly does. I have Facebook for my lighthearted observations and silly asides now. Gone are the days of bulleted lists of what I hate and American Idol Haiku entries. Maybe one day those will return. You never know.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been dealing with the loss (or vanishing) of some friendships, family disappointments, the physically gruelling work of sorting through my entire adult life and boxing it up for a move, and the emotional pains of a divorce that looms over me. It is hard to process it all. Every once in awhile I have a day like today, where I just want to wallow in it a bit and fill sorry for myself.

Deep down, I know that I will be fine in the end. In fact, I truly feel like I’ll grow and be stronger from this all. But, sometimes it hard being the responsible one, the one no one ever has to worry about, the anti-drama queen, the stable shoulder to lean on, and the ear always willing to be bent. Typically, I like that I am these things in my day-to-day life.

However, it becomes difficult when you see a day where you are the one hitting the low point, and you need someone to reciprocate that back for you. Because people are unsure of what to do at that point. Some come through, but some that you really feel like should step up do not, for whatever reason. That is what I am finding may be more difficult than divorce itself, quite honestly. Realizing that some of those who I’ve really been there for over the years are not going to be there for me right now.

I even had someone close to me openly admit that she, “knows she takes advantage of me sometimes.” She said this without an apology or a guarantee that she wouldn’t do that anymore either. I could only pick my jaw up off the ground and think…niiiiice…

So, I fight bitterness and resentment, and the feeling inside that I want to be that small child again, stomping my foot down and folding my arms up with my bottom lip out screaming that it is my turn! I’d like to have a complete Veruca Salt moment, even though I know I am entirely too old for that sort of behavior. (Wonka would certainly send the Oompahs to take me away, if i did!)

Deep down, I know life just doesn’t work that way. I will have to make that choice between becoming jaded and pessimistic about people in general, and trying to continue to believe the best in people as I have chosen to do in the past. But, it is hard. It truly is harder than I ever thought it might be. I know that making this choice will make me stronger in the end, but for now it just plain sucks.

Here’s my blog license, officer.
Yes, I know how fast I was going.
Yes, I’ll try to bring it down a notch.
Thanks for letting me off with just a warning…this time…

On moving on…

I look down at it a lot.
The fourth finger of my left hand.

It feels naked.

I even have moments where I still feel a rush of, “Oh, no! Have I lost it?” Or, “Where on Earth did I leave it?”

For almost 18 years the ring took up residence on my hand, so it only make sense when you think about it.

This past month has been the hardest of my life. Looking into the faces of my lovely children and telling them their family is going to change. Their response left a pierce on my heart that will never heal. A wound that will be my reminder and will cause me much pain and guilt for the rest of my life.

Walking away from two decades with another person is no easy task. I will never understand those who can throw off and on that kind of commitment right and left–like it is a some kind of sweater that can easily be picked back up and put on again when things are cold. Thrown to the side when you don’t need it. Because coming to the decision we did was a long and painful dance of ups and downs that has changed both of us forever.

There will always be a part of me that hates myself a little for making the choice that I did, even if it was to save myself. I did not live in a situation of abuse or extreme hardship, after all. I pray a lot these days, asking God to forgive me for not living up to what I promised. Disappointing others is hard, but disappointing Him is almost unbearable.

When I look to the months to come, I will admit that sometimes it exhilarates me. A first home purchased solely by me. A first time to figure out where I want to keep the cereal, how I want to furniture to sit without asking anyone else’s opinion. A lifetime of only a few monogamous relationships lined up one after the other means that I never had that time to find myself and live on my own. Perhaps that is some of the problem.

But, if I were to be totally honest I also look to the future with some fear and trepidation as well. For in the life I leave behind, God had truly blessed me with many things. It isn’t that I took them for granted. It is more that what used to be good for me turned sour somehow. Overnight it seems I woke up and felt suffocated by the very life I had put together for myself.

Years of trying to figure out why I was not happy took their toll. The guilt. The self-hatred. The struggles. The questioning. By the time I realized that I was drowning, I was such a different person than when I first started trying to paddle my way out.

Since we made this decision, I have felt breaths of air more often. I have looked in a mirror and started to see what is left of me and marvelled in shock at the sight of it. But, I have realized that while I hate the fact that this decision is hurting those I love the most in the world, it has to be made for my own survival. And, so, somewhere inside I try to tell myself that this is the road God wants me to take, and the ride will soon get smoother and more peaceful. I pray that I’m right in thinking that we will all be happier after I make this turn, even though we’ll have some dips and bumps along the way.

When I awoke this morning after restless sleep, I reached down to my hand and had that momentary panic again. Since I stopped wearing it, my hands have been extremely dry and uncomfortable. I wonder when that feeling will go away or if this is just how it will be forever.

This song keeps echoing in my head like maybe it was meant for me, somehow. My hands must find the keyboard to express what I have been feeling and holding in for many months now, at risk of possibly causing him more pain to read it. But, I know we both deserve more than what we have been living.

Oh, half of my heart’s got a grip on the situation
Half of my heart takes time
Half of my heart’s got a right mind to tell you
That I can’t keep loving you (can’t keep loving you)
Oh, with half of my heart
With half of my heart

Your faith is strong
But I can only fall short for so long
Down the road, later on
You will hate that I never gave more to you
Than half of my heart

Half of my heart
Oh, half of my heart

And for my 40th birthday…

It looks like I will start my 40s off with major life changes by way of a divorce. I haven’t shared on here out of respect for my husband, but it has been very hard to not write my way through the tought times this past year. Ending an 18 year partnership and 20 years of togetherness isn’t easy, even though we’re both pretty calm and certain this is the right thing to do. And, so now I struggle with the thought of being divorced at 40, with worry for my children, and with anxiety and sometimes anticipation about the life that I must build for the next half of my life.

I do not know if I will write much on here in the future, if I’ll switch to another more anonymous blog, or what at this point. But, I’m grappling with a lot as my 40th year rolls around and it felt almost like lying to not share that with my blog friends.

OH, Lawdy…the irony…

I’ve had an interesting development recently. That is that I think my blog is being read. That fact, in itself is of interest to me because I have managed to move around and lose most every regular reader aside from a few beloved ones in the past few years. But, not only is it being read, but it is being read by family members who are only now just telling me they are reading. And maybe they have been reading for some time.

(pausing for a moment to recover from the shuddering…)

And, while I need to get into why they are admitting all of this to me, I should probably first let you in on the ironic part of it all. That gem would be that they are reading my blog, and I am not currently writing on this more than maybe once a month now for many, many complicated reasons. This comes after years and years of blogging pretty regularly.

I guess I knew that eventually, my life on Facebook, Twitter and my blog would all come crashing together. I chose to use my blog name on Twitter, but not on Facebook, thinking I’d only connect with other bloggers or maybe some work peers through my tweets anyway. Well, now Twitter and my professional lines are crossing and I’m wondering if this was a good idea at all.

So, why would family members be openly acknowleding to me that they have read my blog (and kindly telling me they liked it)? Well, I guess that will have to be saved for another post. See, I’m learning to blog more concisely. Aren’t you proud of me?

If you have read this blog for any length of time, you should be…

A cup of blog love…

One of my favorite things about writing on my blog is that, typically when I am writing, I am also reading other blogs more frequently. My blog love cup runneth over during these times. Unfortunately, I have so many favorite blogs that have faded or disappeared over the years. But, some of my tried and true ones are still going strong. Comedic blogs, emotional blogs, self-help blogs, even tip blogs make my list.

And, just as exciting, I’m finding some new blogs to love. One of my mom friends just started up a new blog and another one is about to unveil hers as well. I can’t wait to have new blogs to read! So, for now, check out Giddyup Girl–it’s off to a fun start! Love her scientific theories!

While you’re out there reading, Organizing Junkie has a great post on getting rid of your clothes that you don’t wear or need. I have a closet just sitting there waiting for me to read this blog post. Seriously, I have “saving” issues.

And, that makes me think back to the person to whom I may have inherited this lovely trait. And, that’s my first teaser to my next blog post…so stay tuned!

There once was a girl with a blog…

…and she loved to write. It was an outlet. Through happy times, funny times, and even for her most bizarre and random thoughts.

Then, one day, the girl discovered something called Facebook. And, all her random and bizarre thoughts that she used to build blog posts from became short statuses. She got a kick out of connecting with old friends and new and loved reading what they had to say.

Slowly, her blog got a bit dusty. Left just for the occasional rant or product review, she gradually lost her blogging mojo. This made her sad when she thought of it.

The girl had some major life changing events going on in her life. Some very good. Some not so good. Some she didn’t really want to share.

And so, she continued to not write, even though her writing had gotten her through some really tough times in the past. And, she found it harder and harder to go back and write again…even when there were good things going on to talk about.

One day, she decided to try and go back. She tried to fight the voices that have been censoring her from her own blog. Taking it public may have been a mistake because she now worried about who might read it and what they might think, where she never thought about it before. Perhaps that was the whole problem.

The girl vowed to come back a few times a week to write about something…anything. She couldn’t promise it would be good, funny, or even moving. But, it would be a step in the right direction. A step back to herself. And, so, she asked her few remaining readers to hold tight. She’ll be back to it soon…

She doesn’t DO sweat…so what DO I do?

My daughter just turned six-years-old. She is a bright and happy girl with a wonderful disposition. It is not uncommon for parents of her friends to comment to me that they’ve never seen a frown on her face, or anything less than her beaming smile. It is truly one of her greatest charms.

As she’s getting older, I’m increasingly appreciative of the girl she is becoming, but also a tad confused by it. You see, I was a bit of a tomboy as a girl. Don’t get me wrong, I played with my share of Barbies and wore dresses to church and for special occasions. But, I spent my summers playing softball, and joined about every sports team I could by the time I was in middle school. Because I lived in a small town, this settled into me playing basketball, volleyball, running cross country and track by the time I was in high school. And, I loved every minute of playing on a team. I still have moments where I miss that, actually.

But, my girl is not the same. We’re playing our second season of soccer. And, she’s made big progress. Instead of holding hands with her best girlfriend and running in the opposite direction from the ball, she is kicking the ball when it comes to her. Sometimes she runs even!

But, a lot of times she walks. To the point that her coach has had to yell to her to start running. It’s been one game where she tries, and one where she doesn’t. I don’t really get this. I can’t remember being on a team and not trying. Perhaps I was like that so long ago that I don’t remember.

After one of the non-trying games that was particularly frustrating for me, I asked her why she wouldn’t run like all the other kids. FInally, she pulls me aside and quietly says,

“Mom, I don’t like my legs to get wet like that.”

“What do you mean, wet?” I asked.

“Sweaty. I don’t like to sweat, Mom.” She said in a polite and very girly way, but I could tell she meant it.

I don’t know why, but it suddenly became obvious to me that my girl wasn’t going to be wired the way that I was growing up. And, that scared me. Mothers and daughters need to stay bonded together. And, I started having flash-forwards to teen years where she wasn’t on a team and what would I have to share with her from my growing up years?

But, it was more than that. I have a lot of bias in saying this, but I will admit that I didn’t want her to be one of the pretty girls who just sits and watches the boys play sports. I didn’t want her to be just a cheerleader, or worse, do nothing at all. I want my girl to take on the world!

So far, most of the activites we have tried, she has been sort of indifferent about, quite honestly. She likes gymnastics OK, but doesn’t practice or care much if she can’t hold a handstand, even when most of her friends seem to be into things and progressing. Soccer obviously is not her thing. She’s also shy and doesn’t like to do things like church choir or dance. We joined Girl Scouts and she loves her Daisy troop, and wants to keep on with that. So, she’s into the social thing. Homegirl has a bunko group in her future, let’s put it that way.

But, there’s more to this story.

Days after this revelation I had about my darling girl, I sent her down to a neighbor friends house to deliver a birthday invitation. She insisted in usual form that she walk herself there and I wait on the corner. (It was only a block away and I could see her quite clearly the entire time.) She couldn’t find her flip-flops so she delightedly put on her church sandals which have a little bit of a small kid-friendly heel to them. She’d thrown on her shorts over her swimsuit. I didn’t think anything of it as most of the kids on our street were swimming in their pools that day.

After she delivered the invite, she began walking back. I noticed two middle-school aged boys rounding the corner at the street where she was crossing. And, I watch my six-year-old smile and, as hard as it is to say this, “work it” for the boys. She starts strutting and watching the boys as they passed her, batting her eyes in their direction.

These boys didn’t even notice my little girl, thank goodness. But, I felt sick thinking that, at six, she already knew and cared about getting boys attention. What is going on with our society that a kindergartener knows about sex appeal and charm? At that age, some of my best friends were boys, but it wasn’t a flirty thing. We built forts, joined clubs and basically just played together. I had as much dirt under my fingernails as they did!

As a mom, I have a lot of fears about this. My daughter is quite cute and boys do seem to like her. And, I am not saying she acts inappropriate or even too old. She dresses her age and plays like little girls play. She is a very sweet and nice girl. But, how long will that innoncence last? Do I have something to worry about here?

It all has me left wondering, what will I do with my girl as she grows up? Will she find something that is her thing? Will she find meaning outside of boys to know that she’s a girl of value? My feminist side feels very on guard with this whole darn thing. 

You see, I like to sweat. I still like playing sports. It makes me feel strong and independent and confident. I can do anything I put my mind to. As a Mom to a six-year-old girl, all I can hope is to somehow instill this in my girl too…somehow without making her sweat in the process!