Who Am I. . . . . . Now?

Have you ever woken up one morning and realized that you seriously DON'T recognize that face in the mirror?  Like, who the hell IS that, anyway?  Well, I have.  I did.  I do.  Whatever.  See, I'm a tad bit confused today.  Yesterday.  The day before that, too.  Who.  Am.  I.  Now?

I've been a stay at home mom for the better part of a decade.  Oh, I've gone back to work when finances warranted it, but, nothing too long term or full time.  You see, my family came first.  Does come first.  Will ALWAYS come first.  I believe, truth be told, this is my problem.  Putting my family first.  Putting anyone and everyone else first.  Don't get me wrong, I realize that for my children, I really had no choice but to become their EVERYTHING.  They don't have any grandparents of worth nearby.  My sisters spend as much time with them as possible, but of course, they have their own busy lives to lead.  We're not really close to my husbands family, for various and a-sundry reasons.  My husband works.  A LOT.  He's also gone a lot.  A week here.  A week and half there.  It adds up.  So, there was me.  Little old me.  To be their everything.  Their entire world.  I'm not complaining.  It's been a honor.  But. . . . .what does one do when those "little babies" grow up and they don't need their Mommy as much.  Or, gasp, at all?  Who am I then?

To complicate matters, I'm a peace keeper.  Now, that may sound wonderful.  Like it's a great quality to have; for the most part, I'd agree.  However, there should be rational limits to such behaviors.  This is where I don't know when "enough is enough".  I will keep the peace at all costs.  Mainly, to my own detriment.  Today, yesterday, last week, when ever it was, I realized that I've also created a monster problem in my marriage with this trait of mine.  I've gone about my life with the notion of "shut up and suffer" or "suffer in silence" (take your pick) to the extreme.  This, of course, includes my marriage.  I've gone through the last 15 years and kept my mouth shut as much as humanly possible.  I barely balked at things other woman would have (maybe I should say "should have", here) gone ballistic over.  I've skimmed over hurts and completely ignored pains that have now festered into dangerously poisonous wounds.  Now, please don't hear me wrong; I'm NOT bashing my husband.  He's a wonderful man, whom I'm sure, has kept his mouth shut about a million things that I've done wrong as well.  You see, THIS is, in fact, my point.  I have set my marriage up this way; set it up, where no one complains about anything.  (Okay, except for our kids who gripe about tons of imagined wrongs.)

My husband isn't much of a talker.  Okay, to be fair, he's a man who likes his silence.  He could go for days and not say two words to anyone.  Much less, to me.  It's not a slight.  It's just his way.  So, for those of you who believe in a higher power, may I suggest that He/She has a tragic sense of humor?  I mean, who would put the two of US together?  An avid talker and a consummate mute.  Ironic.  So, I've found myself becoming less and less talkative and more and more introverted as a response to him.  You know, the whole if you can't beat 'em, join 'em idea?  So, combine my "don't rock the boat" mentality with his "silent treatment" and it all works out perfectly, right?  Um, yeah. . . . .NOT!  So, we sit, in silence most nights.  Staring at the boob tube; him also on his lap top.  In the same room, yet miles apart.  I've kept any pain or joy from the day to myself.  Every night.  For years.  It's gotten to the point that I'm not even sure that I'd remember HOW to talk to him, truth be told.

All I seem to know how to do is clean.  Do laundry.  Cook.  Help with homework.  Drive kids around.  Run to the grocery store and the bank.  Sit home.  Alone.   Every day.  Now, I know that at this point, y'all are thinking. . . "So.  Go out.  Do something with your friends."  Hm. . . .now, if y'all have read my previous blogs, you know that it's not quite that simple.  I live in a strangely "tight" little community.  It sometimes reminds me of Stepford.  Truly.  I love quite a few women in this area, but, I do seem to find it hard to reach out to them.  Once bitten.  Twice shy.  I suppose.  Even with that, though, I do reach out.  Sometimes.  Every now and again, it works out.  I do coffee at Starbucks once every six months or so.  (Shocking, right?)  I have a lunch date about as often.  Maybe I tag along to the grocery store or CostCo, just for the company.  No more.  No less.  I chat on the phone almost every day to ONE close friend.  I trust her.  It terrifies me.  What would I do if she choses to end the friendship?  It's painful to think about.

I've had health issues.  She's had health issues.  She gets me.  I get her.  I love her.  I, hope, that she loves me.  Here's where my rock bottom self esteem kicks me in the ass.  I can't count on her loving me.  It makes me too vulnerable.  It's easier to believe that she simply tolerates me.  More comfortable that way.

Add in the economy where PhD's are working at McDonald's and it isn't like I can run out and get a job with my high school diploma.  So, I have no "work identity" at all.

So, I find myself at a cross roads.  A day where it's almost easier to tell you what/who I'm NOT rather than what or who I am.   I'm not a believer in the Christian faith.  I'm not an outgoing person, anymore.  I'm not educated enough to dip my toe back into the work arena.  I'm not confident enough to make new friends.  I'm not sure where to go now.  I'm no longer needed every minute of every day by my children. I'm not a good wife.  I'm no longer weighed down by my past abuse.  I'm not allowing toxic people to remain a part of my life.  I'm not comfortable telling my husband what hurts or upsets me.  I'm not feeling broken or lost, even under the circumstances.  I'm not obsessing over what's WRONG in my life.  I'm not going to allow myself to stay in this place for long.  But ----- how on Earth to I begin to find out what makes me tick?  What makes ME happy?  How do I begin to cut the cord and allow myself the freedom to live MY OWN LIFE again?  Who will I be on the other side?  What if. . . . .no one who loves me now, loves me then?  What if I'm not who I appear. . . . .mainly, to myself?  Is it alright to be selfish, self involved and self loving?  It feels wrong.  Foreign.    But, what if. . . . .what if. . . .things are better on the other side?  What if, I find that I have MORE friends when I quit being so damn "peace keeping" and "selfless"?  Interesting.  What if, my marriage improves when I starting asking for what I need and setting limits?  What if, I show my daughters that there's more to life than just cleaning, laundry, cooking and taking care of a man and your children?  What would THAT feel like?

I'll let you know. . . . . .


Take a deep breath.................it's just another day in Perfect!!!!

The Tragedy in Reunion

I keep on seeing all of these shows about "finding that lost person" and "reuniting" with them, finding that missing parent or long lost friend.  They all want to paint this beautiful picture of the "reunion", lead you to believe that it's always roses and sunshine and happiness and joy.  In my personal experience, that's not the case.  There can be a tragedy that happens in your reunion.

My story begins at birth, I suppose.  Being born to a couple in south Texas, who had no right to propagate. The mother was young, rebellious and angry at the world; the father an addict of sorts, equally angry and more vengeful.  Alas, there's no way to stop people from having babies, even those that shouldn't.  So.  I was born.  The marriage quickly dissolved and my mother and I moved out.  The couple reconciled and remarried.  Then, redivorced.  Shocking.  We moved out again and moved in with my grandparents.  Bliss.  The home was calm, for the most part, and loving, for me.  My grandparents loved me.  The right way.

My mother finds "love" again when I'm seven and she marries, yet again.  Several years later, we move from Texas to Colorado.  Yay.  (Not really.....)  I go for years and years and don't hear a word from my MIA father.  I grow up.  I move out.  I get married at 22.  Yeah, I know, I know, cliche'.   Then, one day, as I'm minding my own business, paying my taxes and working "for the man", cleaning my house, living my life, my mother calls me and tells me that she's received a letter from my father.   Okay.  And???  She wanted to know if I wanted it.  Hm?  Good question.  I don't know.....DO I want it?  So, curiosity takes over, of course, and I do fetch the letter from her.

It wasn't EXACTLY from my 'father', but, from his 'house keeper'.  In it, she writes how ill  my father is and how desperately he wants to see me 'before he dies'.  It explains how he suffers from 'agent orange' from his time in the Vietnam War.  Oh, how he suffers!  She's not sure how much longer he has and is pleading with me to 'come visit before it's too late'.  Compelling.

Except for the fact that he was NEVER in the Vietnam War.  He was never in any war.  My father was NEVER in the military, at all.  Interesting, right?  Wrong.  This is what my father does.  He makes up stories.  He lies.  He wants the world to 'feel sorry for him'.  He manipulates people, in any way he can.  I know this.  I've KNOWN this, my whole life.  Regardless, I feel like he's reached out to me and that's a step in the right direction.  I'm only in my early 20's, so I'm still a bit naive and, in truth, I wanted him to want me.  I wanted him to miss me.  I wanted him to love me.  I was, after all, his only child.

I call my father, at his friends house because he doesn't have a phone (huh?) and make arrangements to come for a visit.  I quickly notice how "well" he sounds, yet I don't mention that fact to him.  Hell, I barely acknowledge it to myself.  I'm a baby girl in desperate need of her daddy.  I stuff any other feelings way down deep, take a deep breath and step on a plane with my husband to go see the man who helped give me life!  Nervousness doesn't even begin to describe it.  I felt a combination of joy, fear, sorrow, excitement, anger and relief.  It was barely containable, truly.

After a perceived eternity, we land in Texas.  We race (ha-ha) off the plane.  Keep in mind that this was back BEFORE the horror of September 11th and people could still meet you at the gate.  My father was supposed to be there, with a sign, with my name on it.  We don't have any idea what the other person looks like, so the sign was a 'necessary evil'.  I scan the area.  Nothing.  Hm.  Disappointing.   Yet, not surprising.  We ran to pick up our luggage.  We wait for another eternity and FINALLY, the luggage monster spits out our bags.  We landed nearly an hour ago and still, no one's there to pick us up.  I search out a pay phone (no cell phones in this day and age).  I call his friends house, which is the only number that I have for him.  No answer.  I wait for another 15 minutes and call back.  After about 20 rings, someone answers.  I young girl, by the sounds of her voice.  She tells me that my father lives 90 minutes from the airport and that he's 'on his way now'.  Um.  Okay.  My husband and I decide to get something cold to drink.  As we're wondering through the airport, I see a man who appears to be homeless walking towards us.

I notice how torn and tattered his clothes are.  I see how grimy and unkempt he appears.  I walked past him and gagged slightly at his body odor.  As I glance back, over my shoulder, it's then that I read the small card board sign that he's holding.  I truly had expected it to say something in the order of "will work for food" or "anything helps".  It didn't.  It had two words on it.  My name.  Oh, My. God.  This is my father.

Once we made eye contact, he recognized me.  I couldn't run away, as I had wanted to, no...he charged at me.  Tossing his small, poorly made sign to the ground.  He embraced me with such love and passion that, for a moment, I forgot how he looked, smelled and kept himself.  He was just my 'daddy'.  Once he let me free, I pulled back and really got a full view of his face.  At once, I saw that he was high.  His pupils were quite dilated and red.  His mouth was so dry that he had a white foam on the corners of his lips.  Cotton mouth, in true form.  Wow.

He's talking a mile a minute, I can barely keep up.  My mind is swimming.  What have I done?  Why am I here?  What's WRONG with this man?  My gut tells me to turn around and get on the next flight home.  I ignore it.  This is one of the reasons why I beat it into my daughters heads to "listen to their bellies".  Your belly NEVER lies.

My 'father' directs us to an old black clunker that his friend is driving, in the parking lot.  My 'father' explains that he has no drivers license, so his 'friend' will be in charge of all our driving needs whilst where visiting.  Little did I know then, we wouldn't be going anywhere.  At all.  Ever.  It's summer in south Texas.  We're in an all black car.  With no A/C.  Hell.  On.  Earth.  We're driven for 90 minutes to what I can only describe as a crack house.  The windows are all covered with aluminum foil and black sheets.  This USED to be my grandparents home.  It was small, but, nice.  Clean and well loved.  It was unrecognizable now.  All the beautiful crystal door knobs that used to fascinate and delight me as a child, were all gone.  Pawned.  If I had to guess.  There was no running water in the house.  None.  I would have to go to his 'friends' house to shower.  Although, he didn't think that I was going to need to do that. I was only going to be there for a week, after all.  Was he kidding?  Nope.

I had to use my dirty clothes as a protective shield between me and the bed sheets.  They were so clearly filthy that I was terrified of getting some horrible disease if I slept on them directly.  The "shower" across the street required a wrench be used to turn the water on.  It also hadn't been cleaned since I was born.  I wore my shoes IN the shower.  My husband had to bathe me.  Wash my hair.  I stood as still as I possibly could and cried the entire time.  I shook and convulsed at the filth.  Embarrassed that my husband would forever equate this experience with me.  With who I am.  Mortified is probably a better word for it.

I spent the week in those two houses and watched my 'father' do drugs and drink himself into oblivion, on a nightly basis.   There was little to no food.  No water.  No sight seeing.  Just watching him.  Feeling myself fall deeper and deeper into the hole I had to dig to protect myself from this traumatic experience.  I wondered if I would ever be able to climb out of it.  Somedays, I feel like I'm still trying.  Digging.  Scratching my way back to surface.

After the longest week of my life, I was finally driven back to the airport and allowed to return to the real world.  The clean world.  The world of sunlight and free flowing water.  The world of clean clothes and clean sheets and clean showers.  The world of fresh meals, cooked hot and with love.  My world.  I was more excited on the return flight than on the arriving one.  I simply could not wait to go back to the way it was.  To pretend that the last week had never happened.  I'd rather be an orphan than have that person be my father.

That man has only reached out to me since that visit during a drunken stupor.  He only calls me to ask for money and to tell me that he 'forgives me for not talking to him, but, does God?"  Brilliant.  Kind.  Asshole.

So, a word to the wise......sometimes, NOT knowing is better.  Sometimes, there's a real tragedy in reunion.  You can't unsee things.  You can't unfeel them.  I feel less than, now.  I feel more broken.  I feel tainted by his blood.  I feel like I never should have stepped foot on that plane.  I wish that I hadn't.  Not every choice is a good one.  Not every reunion is a good one.  Living with those consequences can play on your spirit for the rest of your life.  Choose wisely.

Take a deep breath...............it's just another day in Perfect!!! 

Letter To My Daughter On Her 13th Birthday

My dearest, lovely, beautiful child-

You're at one of the first real crossroads of your life.  The place between childhood and womanhood.  This is a scary place to be.  I remember.  It is full of choices and changes.  Embrace them, my sweet daughter.  Make your mistakes.  Now.  When it's relatively safe to.  Let me help you pick up the pieces, when they fall where they may.  I know that you don't want me around all of the time anymore.  That's okay.  I'm honored to be there, whenever and however I can to help you "cross the road".   My hope for you is that the journey is as peaceful as is possible.  Fun enough to give you wonderful memories Successful enough that you feel accomplished.  With only enough pain to teach you to take the bitter with the sweet, and to appreciate the sweet!

I know that you feel as though you know everything right now.  You're right.  You do.  You know the important things.  You know to be kind to others.  You protect things that are smaller, weaker and younger than you are.  You look out for your friends and even some of your enemies.  Always, pet a puppy if given the opportunity.  Hold a baby with great care and a calm heart.  Always tell the truth, in the most tactful way possible.  The "sting" of getting into trouble for a truth is always less than the pain of getting caught in a lie.  You know to hold yourself accountable for what you're done.  Both the successes and the failures.  You know to eat good food and enjoy it!  You've learned how to laugh and have a good time, at no one else's expense.  You know to hold the door for an elderly man who's struggling to make it across the parking lot.  "Please" and "thank you" are a standard part of your vocabulary.  You know to always offer your help BEFORE someone needs it.  You're a beautiful, graceful person.

I wonder, though, what all you might not know, just yet?  You're still so sweet and innocent that you don't always know when someone isn't being honest with you.  You'll learn that along the way.  You'll learn "what you want to be when you grow up".  You'll figure out how to tell who a real friend is.  You'll learn what your style is and what you like in this big, bad world.   I wonder when you'll learn the joy of falling in love for the first time?  I wonder if I'll be strong enough to stand back and let you get your heart broken for the first time?  Standing back and watching you get hurt isn't a strength of mine.  Please be patient with me when I "step on your toes" and "intrude on your life".   I'm learning how to be the mother of a teenager, at the same time that you're learning how to be a teenager.   While I have years of experience at being a teenager, I have none at being the mother of one.  I'm curious to see how our relationship will change as we walk this road together.   Walking next to you as you meet each new milestone, will be the adventure of my life.  How will the events of your life shape you into the woman you are yet to become?  Can I ask you to be open to my guidance?  Can I tell you that what you don't know CAN hurt you?  Be wise in knowing what you don't know.  Be secure enough in yourself to ask for help when you don't know which way to turn.  I'm here to guide and support you along the way.

The beauty that this life has in store for you is beyond anything you can imagine.  You'll fall in and out of love and each time will be different.  Carry it's own "flavor" and "feelings".  Hold on to them all.  Remember how being in love feels.  Never allow yourself to be last in any relationship.  Giving yourself to someone shouldn't be at your own expense.  I pray that you can find the delicate balance between sharing your life with someone and giving yourself away.  I hope that you find a man that will love you for where you are today and tomorrow and forever.  Once you've found a partner in life, I can see you becoming an amazing mother.  You're playful heart and joyful nature will make you a "natural".  I hope that you can keep yourself whole and grounded during your journey through motherhood.  Seeing your baby girls face, for the first time, will take your breath away!  Trust me.  I know.

I pray that you see yourself as I see you.  Beautiful.  Sacred.  Confident.  Brilliant.  Kind.  Generous.  Creative.  Compassionate.  Strong.  Gentle.  Whole.  I pray that you know how much I love you.  Even when we're fighting and you THINK that you hate me.  I hope that you can read this letter and remember that I have your best interest at heart and would NEVER do anything to intentionally hurt you.  Ever.

I'm ready watch you finish you're time here in childhood.   All I ask is that you don't run from it, just yet.  You still have a "few good years" of being a kid left in you.  Don't chase it away.  Don't rush into being an adult.  You have the rest of your life to do that.  Take it slow.  Be thirteen for a while.  I'd say, about a year would work.  Then BE fourteen.  And so on.  Don't push through your life, always WAITING for the good parts.  THESE ARE THE GOODS PARTS!!!

With my unending, unwavering, everlasting love,


Mommy