Sunday, December 25, 2011

a different season

actually, all in all, its been a different kind of year.  and now we are about to walk, hand in hand, into a new one.  its christmas eve and our little one is just as wide eyed as can be.  lol!  but that's ok.  i don't mind.  he is always so excited to put on his christmas jammies; we all are:)

as is every christmas eve the tv runs "a christmas story" for a full 24 hours.  i love it.  traditions.  i breathe a sigh knowing we are safe and sound and waiting for the big day; christmas.  the weather is not the same.  i've misplaced a precious stocking.  friends have given great suggestions for a stand-in.  each one made me smile.  it took the angst out of my heart.  so what if a stocking goes missing?

all of my family's favorite recipes from our house are finished in record time.  i look up thanking God for such a relief of not having to stay up all night long.  while daddy plays santa mama will be finishing a huge project for some very special people in our lives.  i suppose we have begun to hold on to each other tighter as each day goes by.  time seems too fast now.

i have so much to be thankful for.  prayer has become a conversation.  worries fall to the wayside.  family, books, paint, journaling.  making life more simple comes easy.  nothing has to be perfect.  i wish for very little these days.  my dreams have become reality.  i have friends that span the globe enriching my life even more.  i've learned so much in this year.  i have reached farther than i ever thought i would.

merry christmas.  

Thursday, December 1, 2011


after all the writing, re-writes, and proof reading, its just a matter of time.  i'm so glad its done.  publishing is just like anything else...

hurry up and wait ;)

Thursday, October 6, 2011

there is a story people...

collecting little mementos to prove her theory that this is a vale of tears & my advice is you damn well better stay out of her way

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

turning the leaf...

in so many words that is what i am doing.  i've pondered for so long.  i'm 50 with the most scrumptious 6 year old little boy who can maneuver thru a computer like there is no tomorrow and the best (and cutest) husband known to woman.  that being said, i've pondered long enough.

i've always been a crafter, a reader, a movie buff, lover of most furry four legged animals, and happiest at home.  a few years ago i learned the art of scrapbooking and have loved it.  my husband no longer receives cards for special occasions.  he now receives scrap pages and adores them.  however, my beloved scrapbook shoppe closed due to this horrid economy in which we live and i have had time to "ponder."  (i wonder how many more times i will say "ponder" in this post... hmmmm.)  anyway, i have found a new direction.  still in keeping with my love of scrapbooking i have found "mixed-media" and find it fascinating.  so many possibilities.  at this juncture let me say the gang from the scrapbook shoppe still exists and has found a place to come together and scrap.  there was no keeping us down nor giving up.  and, we've become closer, enjoying each other more and sharing our lives; looking forward to each new crop.  and we are talking 16 to 18 hour saturdays.  sounds like too much, right?  wrong!  we start with breakfast; the coffee, the donuts, then lunch out at a local fun restaurant, only to return to our scrapping that we have brought along with homemade yummies to get us thru the night.  it is all very much worth it.

so, as you may have noticed my bit of art on this blog.  i like it.  do you?  well, maybe.  however, its a start.  if you look close enough you will be surprised at what you will find within each piece.  and, maybe, realize where the name of each piece has come from.  either way, i'm liking it.  but, i have more.  i won't stop here.  meaning just this type of media/art.  this is what i have played with for some time; lets say 4 years.  yes i said 4 years.  it was on and off and something i wanted to "ponder."  i had to become brave enough to post it.

i've also begun journaling.  anything and everything.  i have bits and pieces of things to remember and write it all down.  i've gathered things to begin a new phase of journaling.  i will paint it.  i may draw it.  not just write it.  i will add to and take away.  this new journaling will be hand-held and loved.  a legacy should anyone happen upon it after i am gone; which i hope i won't be gone anytime too soon, of course, but you get my meaning.  i will continue my blogging with or without art.  it will depend upon the moment.  if i have a piece i want to share, i will.  if i have something to say, you will read it.  well, i hope you will read it.

but, along with my scrapping, art blogging, artful journaling, i have added something more.  i love to read.  and the genre is varied.  much like the weather; i don't care where you live, its gonna change.  so, i will read more now than i ever have.  i have ventured into reviewing books and am truly excited about this.  how many times have you picked up a book at your local bookstore or library turning to the back cover to read the reviews?  i do it every time and never have i given it a second thought as to who these people are that write these reviews.  however, it is what leads us to our decision of whether we do or don't read the book.  and now i know who these people are.

i am turning the leaf.

Friday, September 2, 2011

keeping vigil

it is constant.
i do not sleep.
i listen.
what was that sound?
a dog barks.
i wait.
my little one coughs.
the first signal.
sounds from the highway.
a neighbor returns home.
the bass of a radio.
i grit my teeth.
the dog snores.
i check the time.
the wee hours tick.
the fever starts.
the night gets longer.
dear God...
my journal continues.
i sit beside him.
he is restless.
i watch him breathe.
i stare at the ceiling.
clouds and sunshine.
he wanted a rainbow.
i count the colors.
a wet clothe for his head.
it seems to soothe.
thank you.
for keeping vigil.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

from where i stand

i can see clearly. these are my words. i write them. they are mine. no one can change them to fit their own needs to be for their own self worth. they are mine and no one elses. i have lived a life worth something more than what others may have wanted me to have. and these are my words in my life. i am not a bauble. or a trophy to be brought out to show about to make you look good. it is not nor has it ever been your right to do with as you please. i'm taking it back. i am worth more than you will ever know or realize no matter how hard you try to take what is mine. and what is mine is me. and what is of me is mine. that will never change. it can not be undone by anyone who believes they have a right to it. this is mine and you have no rights. i am free to be who and what i am. what i choose to be or become at any given time without having to wait for your consent. you can bandy about your own self worth which is really nothing but a mere pittance; that being the merest of one you think you have. it is sad really. you thought so little of yourself that you had to take from others. you didn't have your own self worth so you stole another's. mine to be exact. or you think you did. and if you did it was only for a moment. you have no glory unless you have bestowed it upon yourself and then and only then you know it is worth nothing. it wasn't given to you. you took it. now it is nothing but a thorn in your side to fester forever. i will always be a reminder of what you took. what you thought you could have. you are nothing without me and you know it. it will always be with you. you can't run from it. nor hide from it. you will always have to explain yourself for what you did. sugar coat it all you want but it will always be a bitter taste in your own mouth as you say the words of what you think you have achieved. which is nothing more than a pack of lies and deceitfulness. you chase your own tail having tucked it between your legs and will forever turn in a vicious circle never ending. to imagine you can be something you are not unless you take it from someone else. what a sad state of affairs. to live the rest of your life with the knowing of what you did was wrong. mean. hateful. cruel. but you did not succeed in anything other than your own broken life. your only challenge is in your own mind. you are brutal but a coward. i am so glad i do not have to look in the mirror every day of my life and think of the wrong i have done to another. to spend so much time chasing something that is not there. you think it is but it isn't. you will never find it. life runs from you. only darkness follows you. this life you think you wasted for your own benefit only serves the purpose of destruction that will forever be of your own doing. it can not be rebuilt. you can put it in a pretty picture but it only stares back with blank eyes. it is nothing but the fakeness of your own reality. and i dare say you know or understand reality as a life should be. but it wasn't. this life you live is only for show. the one you watch is something you can never have. you never had a chance. you are a bully on the playground. the one the other mothers stare at and worn their children about. while teaching their little ones to play fair. you must have been absent that day. you are never where you are suppose to be. still you play the game. only a cheater can last so long and then its over. all the fun you think you had was never there. the disappointment was lost to you. you turned your face and showed your true colors. but you didn't think anyone would notice. you watch too much tv. what a shame that you have to build a life on nothing but sand through an hour glass and then your time is up. life is too short to keep chasing your tail. people will only laugh for so long and then they will see the cheap side of what you pulled over on them. to walk through life as if you are somebody when really you were never anybody. self importance is what you see in that mirror. you aren't really that important to anyone else. you think you are because they smile and wave. always trying to keep up with the joneses. it never works. you will always fall short. life has a way of doing that to people. it is always just out of your reach. all you can grab is air. always slipping away from you as you constantly pile on what you think will hold it in place but it is ever changing. you can't take it with you. you can only pretend for so long. and if that is the case then you just might win that race because its a waste of everyone elses time. how sad is that. you surround yourself with what you think is yours. bought and paid for. bought. not earned. stolen. not given. how sad. it all looks good on paper. you think it looks good in the mirror. you only fool yourself because you have nothing else but broken bits and pieces of different lives strung together to make yourself feel better. but it only lasts a moment and then you have to start tying the knots tighter because it keeps slipping through your fingers. never a breath of fresh air. the staleness of what might have been had you only learned to love. you will never learn. you will always chase something. anything you think might make you look good to someone else who could care less. but you will never realize that nobody really cares how you look or what you think you have. its whats inside. pretend all you want. its a slow burn. and i don't have the time to waste blowing it out to save you from yourself.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Thursday, July 14, 2011

if i could paint my life

what color would it be?  so many things have passed; the colors that i see.  the green of my youth.  those "tween" years that i stumbled through.  wishing only to fit in with the city people but surrounded by country folk.  no pink.  the color of spend-the-night parties with your best girlfriends.  laughing and giggling all through the night.  just the same green that spoke of a different time that most had left behind.  the bright neon colors when the fair came to town and how i wished to go with friends and be part of such a big crowd.  the loudness of it all covered in cotton candy and popcorn.  white lights blinking rides to the screams of so many kids you couldn't begin to count them all.  it only lasted a week at most but i missed it when it was gone.  those were the years i picked red tomatoes until i thought i would die if i had to look at another one.  and yet that same green i walked through everyday no matter what i had to do.  the muted colors of fresh grown vegetables that i knew my school mates would never see but only for a can on a pantry shelf.  i hated those days.  they were either long and hot or dark and cold.  that long clay driveway staring at the country road i lived on.  even the house was green.  a cedar tree was our christmas tree and it hurt to decorate and hurt worse to "un" decorate.  but it smelled good.  i just didn't know it.  those were the days of hand-me-downs that were either too big or too small and all the wrong colors.  i left those behind not soon enough.  racing towards the big city with nothing to hang on to.  only the dismal blue of depression i had known as a child before those teen years.  i fell right back into the dust of that blueness.  nothing had changed but the color.  i was still all alone in my world.  i hated the blue more than the green that held me back from fun and laughter and never knowing i could have had a chance if only someone had paid attention.  a shattered world surrounded me regardless of how hard i tried.  it wasn't mine to begin with.  it was someone elses.  but it rained on me.  i ran from the blue so long it seemed to never stop.  i only ended up decorating a new home with blue carpet.  it was the color at the time.  everyone was doing blue and i hated it.  but it was the color you see.  if you didn't have blue, that country blue, your decor was questionable.  and then i painted yellow walls to ease the pain.  for awhile it eased the pain.  then we moved.  and then we moved again.  and again.  the green came back in a darker shade.  i fancied myself a decorator with a new palette.  upon my word i changed the shade and intertwined my life to suit my being.  color became my friend.  i added the red i had once hated.  but as i said i changed the shade.  how well it suited me and looked on by others.  i was a trophy wife as long as i didn't speak.  just like a child who is seen but not heard.  how i changed the color to keep me sane i'll never know.  but it sold.  it sold so well i lost it all.  next!  another long clay driveway staring at the country road i lived on.  i hung onto that green but i couldn't shake the blue.  it followed me like an abyss waiting for me to go ahead and fall into that black bottomless pit never to return to paint my life over again.  how does one paint over their life again?  where is the rainbow of our lives only to show for a moment what was, what is, what will.  a promise from god to heal the devastation of the worst colors we live.  i've painted buckets and buckets full over and over.  swirling my brush to cover the hurt.  the loss.  the eccentricities of my life show now for all those who look and see.  shades of who i am good or bad.  somewhere in between.  the twinkle of a sparkler on the 4th of july.  wearing a blue shirt with an american flag.  those red stripes reminding me of those red tomatoes and the blue a bluer blue for me to see.  a brighter sky with a yellow sun instead of yellow walls to pretend all is well.  the shade of green has changed again and is better than just a tree.  the bluer walls with a rainbow grace my home as a little red plane flies towards the sun.  the pink is in keeping for a childhood not known.  beside the orange and the purple an antique settee squires a tapestry to hold it all in place.  a cross between chili pepper and poppy red bring back my memories.  times meant not to forget but to remember was not so bad.  i was safe and that was all.  i may have needed more.  but the green returns to tell me i always had much more.

Monday, June 27, 2011

soft breath

its summertime.  vacation bible school week has just ended.  all of our little ones have performed their last act until next summer.  my sweet little boy nestled amongst all the other little faces and hands as they show their very proud parents how they are learning to worship God.  he tends to hold back a bit; my little boy.  but, somehow he is always surrounded by others who are willing to look out for him.  showing him the way.  reminding him of the motions for a certain song.  this time he worked really hard to keep up with the lyrics and all of the motions.  a couple of times i caught that look he has about him when he is feeling anxious.  but we always sit where he can see us.  mama and daddy are always there to cheer him on.  reassuring.  showing confidence that i know he isn't feeling.  however, when all is said, or sung, and done, he smiles for the pictures as he relaxes into who he is.

my sweet little boy reaches for the expected hugs and kisses.  and i know he won't be long in wanting more of them.  he squeezes tight like a competition on who hugs the strongest.  he's a funny little guy.  he turns 6 on the 4th of july.  his daddy and i watch while he plays among his friends from sunday school and church.  he's so little in comparison.  we look at each other and smile.  we never fail to comment on that fact.  but he doesn't seem to mind.  everybody knows him.  we are so blessed to have a church home and family to love him right along with us.

in the morning hours he wakes and comes to get me to watch cartoons only to fall back asleep when he climbs up into my bed.  i have another hour or two before he wakes again.  the sweetness that comes from a child when first he wakes.  sleepy eyes, yawns and stretching.  and the sound of his soft breath.  slumber calls him back.  our days blessedly easy once we do get started.  mornings are full of sweets for breakfast and spongebob piled up on the sofas with the dogs and cat.  its comfortable.

our days are filled with what we want while waiting for daddy to come home from work.  we take our days one at a time and choose to be messy or maybe not.  toys and books and blankets and games line up straight thru the middle of the house.  a game of hide and seek when i least expect it.  he's so funny.  his little body fits into the smallest of spaces; helped along by pillows and toys scattered willy nilly.  and he even helps with the laundry if i decide it needs to be done.  and i hear him ask "can i have a hug?"  of course!  and here's another until the next time...

winding down the evening with our favorite shows, books, or games we may have another snack or two.  but thats ok.  no need to rush and worry during summer vacation.  while daddy may have to succumb to his work-a-day slumber my little boy and i play games sitting side by side on into the night.  finally realizing my sweet child is fighting the sleep that calls to him too, he still wiggles and burrows until he settles into my lap.  and, like always, landing in the same position he drops off to sleep.  he is so used to being held and cuddled i find myself combing thru his hair with my fingers long after he is sound asleep.  there is no hurry to put him to bed.  i'm so glad.

i am the sentinal.  the night's guard of that soft sweet boy yet to be carried off to his own bed.  i think back over the years it took for us to get him to sleep in that bed.  like sleeping with a wind mill as his father and i clung to the edges of our mattress to make room.  i knew in his first week of life he would claim a large portion of room for sleeping.  all arms and legs going at once.  i was so tired in those early days. strange how those 4 long years seem to have flown by.

and now, as i rise to carry this soft sweet child to his bed, he sighs.  the sweetness of that soft breath reassuring me that he is well.  he is safe.  all is calm.  the night is quiet.  the sounds of our home comforts him.  he insists that his lamp be left on thru the night.  and thru the night i hear his dreams.  the monitor carrying those sweet sighs into my room.  into my slumber.  my child's soft breath.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

the cost of a yard sale

my sister and her husband bought a new home.  very nice.  she had hers and he had his.  so they commenced to having "a yard sale."  they commenced.  "they."  right.  well, "they" really meant "we are having a yard sale if you want to contribute...."  right.  "contribute."  "you."

so we did.  contribute.  "we contributed."  "we."  lol!!!  translation:  mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, nephew...  bring your stuff to our house so you can help us get rid of our stuff.  you know?  help us price everything.  help us sell.  right.

ok.  the "yard" sale was actually "in" the house.  and since it was hot as 3 hells (pardon the expression) outside "we" were grateful my sister runs her air conditioning around 58 degrees:)  that part was great.  i mean really.  it was.  however...

prior to the yard sale they were moving bit by bit their acquired belongings into their new home every evening after work.  understandable.  its hard work.  but this is what i don't understand...

his washer and dryer from his house, which is rented by the way, was sitting on the front porch of her house, where they had been living up to this point.  so, 3 days later she realizes there is no washer and dryer sitting on the front porch.  he had no idea they were missing.  so she called him at work and asked what he did with them.  he didn't do anything with them.  obviously somebody was doing some late night shopping.  oddly enough my brother-in-law didn't really care.  ok.  well, not really.  but, ok.  so we have the yard sale. 

its very odd having a yard sale inside your house.  all sorts of folks coming and going.  all sorts of stuff being picked up, looked at, tried on, put back, changing their minds, and all sorts of bartering.  i, myself, was sweating it just praying someone would buy my elliptical.  did i spell that right?  well, anyway.  and, of course, you have to consider who's is who's or what's and keep up with the money.  no problem.  between the three of us (mom, sister, me) we pretty much knew who had who's money and when.  the men were just there for the heavy lifting.  and i finally had a taker on my big ticket item.  and i can say with no apologies that i was pretty much done once it was toted off.  the rest was left for donation...  "donation."

after all was said and done "the salvation army" was to show up to pick up, pack up, and drive away with the leftovers.  my sister had to leave ahead of everyone else because somebody decided to throw her a "house warming party" at her house that very same evening.  so as she is counting her money, grabbing whatever she needed to take with her, leaving us behind to wait for whoever to show up, but never did mind you, she tells her husband "don't leave the fridge sitting in the front yard... move it around back."  this she repeats 3 times.  now i know i watched as her husband and my daddy moved that fridge from the back of the house to the front of the house on a set of "hand trucks" as they called it, leaving it sitting pricariously in the middle of the front yard.  and it wasn't long before we realized that "the salvation army" was not showing up as was scheduled.  so in the process of gathering our personal belongings, such as purses, items we chose to keep from said yard sale, my kid, and other odds and ends, we remind him, her husband, not to leave the fridge in the front yard.  to which he asks "why?"  what?  as my parents and i look at him in disbelief.  as my dad grabs that strange gray tape, that all men seem to have, we all at once tell him every reason why not to leave it... "a child could get trapped in it... "it could hurt someone if it falls over... "you could get sued if... "blah, blah, blah."  he answers with a resounding "well, they would be trespassing on my property so it will be their fault if..."  and we all just stood there like time seems to stand still in moments like these. 

so, daddy puts the tape down, i grab my kid, mom gets in the car, i drive away totally thrilled with having a bit of spending money, and no one looks back after two long days of pricing and selling.  the "yard sale" was over!  yaaaaaaaaaay.....!!!!!!!!

like i said, this is what i don't understand....  somebody stole the fridge conveniently on a set of hand trucks and he didn't care but we did.  why?

Sunday, May 29, 2011

looking at God

in his little face i see everything.  this little boy.  his eyes with long lashes.  he looks down.  and i say "look at me."  and he does.  but only for a moment.  i fuss at him.  "look at me."  again.  and again.  finally, he looks long enough to pay attention.

anyone who knows me knows i am not "kid friendly."  sad but true.  my patience is extremely thin.  i don't volunteer for the kids at church.  i don't do birthday parties very well.  i stand back and watch.  all those mothers who jump in and get all dirty and sticky.  ick.  what a reflection i am painting for all the world.

don't get me wrong though.  my kid.  i love.  dirty, sticky, stinky, icky, yucky, rotten.  he's mine and i love him.  but its the other little boy.  ick.  i thought.  ick.  why doesn't his mother clean him up?  he's always dirty, sticky, stinky, icky, yucky, rotten.  eeewwwwwww.  i can't do this.

i can't do this.  i. can. not. do. this.  no.  but i do.  ick.  this little boy with the eye lashes.  his shirt is on backwards.  again.  i say nothing.  he lives differently.  we have rules.  he has his own.  and it drives me nuts.  but i do this.  i do this.  "me too" he says.  "me too."  and he does.

this little boy has a buddy.  a best buddy.  my little boy.  and i have no choice.  "can i go over to his house?"  ooohh nnoooo!  please don't ask me to do this!  "can i go over to his house mama?"  ick.  i have an instant headache.  "go on."  my little boy runs and bangs on the door.  i think "well at least i don't have to worry about cleaning up a mess."  my house is silent.  the guilt washes over me.  i'm not so kid friendly.  no.  i'm not.

it started with wednesday night church.  "can he go mama?"  i realize the age difference.  i realize they have to be together or they will both be upset.  i realize the disabilities others will have to deal with and accept.  i realize i will have to explain why.  "he's hard to understand."  "he's younger than my son but he'll cry if he has to go to another class for his age."  "they have to be together."  "things are different with his family." 

now its sunday school and church.  "we'll see."  we find an extra booster seat by the car.  i sigh.  loudly.  i don't want to do this.  "mama can he come too?"  sigh. again.  how can i explain otherwise.  how can i say no.  i can't explain my "ick" feelings.  he's a little boy.  "me too?"

i left the house today.  to get away from boys.  to go to a girl store.  to look at girl things.  no boy stuff.  the cable guy was coming anyway.  that's boy stuff.  i remember my husband grunted as i left.  not a groan.  but a definite grunt.  i did not feel the least bit guilty.  i was tired of being the meanie.  i'm the mean mama.  you have to mind me!

i left a coupon at home.  it was worth driving back to the house for.  the clerk was more than glad to hold my things while i left to go get my coupon.  "if you give me $20 i'll take the boys with me and stop at mcdonald's."  did i just say that?  were those my words?  i watch my husband light up like a christmas tree waving a 20 at me.  "me too?" the little boy asked.  "go ask your mama."  did i really, i mean really, did i say that? 

load 'em up and move 'em out.  we go back to the store.  we all hold hands crossing the parking lot.  "now you boys behave.  don't touch anything.  no running.  or no mcdonald's."  such good little boys in a girl store.  i find the cure all for my ick.  each little boy gets a blueberry smelling antibacterial hand gel with a neat holder to go on their belt loop.  "me too?"  he asks.  "you too."  i say.

both boys are noise sensitive and mcdonald's was a zoo!  blood curdling screams could be heard for 2 blocks with no end in sight.  it was a birthday party in full swing.  ick.  ick.  ick!!!  but 2 chicken nugget happy meals later and eleventy three (yes, i said eleventy three) trips thru the tunnels and down the slides you would never have known their ears hurt.  and it was soooooooo hot.  and our table was right in the sun.

with seatbelts buckled and headed for home we discovered a great air conditioner.  all four windows all the way down.  with blood curdling screams all my ick flew out the window as  two little boys with full bellies laugh into the wind.

as we ride down the hill and both hands on the wheel i realize i'm looking at God.

Friday, May 6, 2011

until you walk in my shoes...

don't think for a second that i don't know how you judge me.  i live it every breath i take.  its written all over your face.  it is almost audible.  the look in your eyes when i say something.  don't ask if you don't want to know.  because i will tell you.  brutally.  my words will be brutal.  by definition.

i left a window open.  just one.  all others are closed and locked.  because there may come a day that someone wants to ask a question.  or just come back.  even without question.

last night i slept on the floor next to my little boy's bed.  he has rads or reactive airway disease.  its a condition in which the airways in the lungs overreact to certain things.  he was diagnosed last friday.  he will have to wear a medical bracelet.  but, now, he has a stomach bug on top of that.  he can't have his medication for rads.  his heart rate is up.  his temperature is alarming.  his little cheeks have been bright red.  the heat radiating from his little body has been overwhelming.  he's so sick that he sleeps for long periods of time.  and it scares me.  so i stay up and watch.  he tosses and moans.  or he's deathly still and i watch to see if he's breathing.  he is.  tonight i let him sleep on the sofa.  we will both sleep here tonight.  for the moment he is quiet and still and the overwhelming heat has left his body.  finally.

i have another little boy.  i remember so many years ago the hallucinating fevers that were his only symptoms.  he had asthma.  so many nights i would sit and hold him while he fought the raging fevers.  his eyes were glassy and wide open.  "look mama!  the horses!"  reaching his little hand out into the space that was our living room.  long hours.  holding and rocking while sitting on the sofa.  he never knew about the hallucinations.  nor did anyone else.  just me.  just his mama.  i watched him closely.  every day.  i held him tight every night.  he would say "sing mama" and i would hum a lullaby he was so accustomed to hearing before he fell asleep.  always in my arms.  and i would carry him to his bed.  he's all grown up now.  no symptoms of asthma.  he outgrew it.  a relief.  he's all grown up and has his own baby now.  i hope he remembers the lullaby.

those days are gone.  and nothing to replace them with.  he is his father's son.  but i left the window open.

words will never express the hurt.  the broken heart.  the loss.  all of my will never had a chance.  i had no chance.  the rage of the fight in me got me nowhere.  years have passed.  years i tried.  years i fought.  years i'll wait.  no matter.  i will wait.  i'm still here.  and i still have another little boy.  he's just all grown up now.

today i remembered all of these things.  not that these rememberings are ever far away.  but, they were up close.  and personal.  as i watched my little boy struggle with his fever for the second day.  it all came rushing back.  but they are not to be compared.  my little boy was awake for a little while.  as he watched spongebob his fever raged on.  and again he began to fall asleep.  i watched.  and out of the blue he looked at me and said "mama, everybody in my class is bigger than me."  he's in kindergarten.  "that's ok" i say.  as he drifted off again.  and i watched.

it doesn't matter what you think of me.  i know i did my best.  i gave everything in me.  to no avail.  i was held at arms length.  i was pushed away.  i tell the truth.  i will tell it again.  and its not just me.  its family.  life is shorter than you think.  before you realize it can all be covered up.  but i keep uncovering it.  every day.  i live it.  my life wills me.

i have another little boy.  but he's all grown up.  finally i laid my grief at God's feet.  the grief that controlled my world.  i have another little boy and i watch him breathe.  just as i did before.  i was there.  now i'm here.

you can't judge me.  not until you walk in my shoes...

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Words Matter

panic is terrible.  it is a driving force.  without warning it attacks.  it hurts.  it reminds me of things i don't want to remember.  it wakes me in the middle of the night for no reason.  i am minding my own business and it strikes.

i live with panic.  it lurks.  it waits for me.  and just when i least expect it it becomes full blown.  basically, there is nothing i can do but wait it out.  there are those moments when i have to understand the difference between panic pain or is it my heart.  either way its breaking.

its all consumming.  and i have to fight it alone.  there is nothing, no one who can help.  medication?  yes.  for the rest of my life.  but it isn't instantaneous.  i have to wait it out.  the pounding is like thunder.  i can't see the elephant sitting on my chest.  but, its there.  taking its time.  time i can't take.  mentally.

healing comes with time.  time can be what makes me or breaks me.  i've learned to work it out.  that doesn't mean it doesn't get the best of me.  it runs my life.

i don't think about my panic until it sneaks up on me.  maybe its the only thing that gets me thru it.  i don't think about it.  i don't wait for it.  it just slams me and i have to handle it then.  there is no time to think about what to do.

my panic is no secret.  anyone who knows me knows that panic is me.  i face it every day.  every moment.  every breath.  every time i read something that hits too close to home.

home.  panic.  not the same.  my home is my refuge.  used to be hell only a different location.  my husband sees it.  he knows it isn't my fault.  he loves me thru it.  loves me thru it.  every time.  without fail.  he loves me thru it.

i can choose to hide.  my home hides me.  my home protects me.  my home is me.  my home.  but i don't want to hide.  my life is an open book.  its what i tell people.  i have no secrets.  so if my life is an open book then why hide?  because i can.  but i will tell you about it.  about me.  about what i know.  i'm me.  just ask and i will tell you.

i am fierce.  i'm out-spoken.  i'm mean.  i can be meaner.  but i love hard.  so hard it hurts.  i can't not love.  but there are those who think otherwise.  they think because "i let go" i don't love anymore.  but they are wrong.  i love hard but i have to let go.  if i love too hard i am consummed by it all and i fail.  i am not a failure.  but there are those same who believe i am.  but i'm not.

what is it they say   "... if you love something let it go... blah blah blah..."  i let it go.  but not without a fight.  i let it go so i could breathe.  i let go so i could live.  i let go because i love too hard and i shatter into a million pieces over and over.  does anyone believe me?  does it matter?  i let go not because i didn't love.  i let go because there was nowhere i could hold onto.

run.  run.  fast as i can.  i run and chase.  i run faster.  i'm almost there.  no i'm not.  there is no "almost."  but i run.  i can't catch up.  they won't let me.  this is my race.  no one can run with me.  no one runs for me.  no one runs to me.  but i run.  i still run faster. 

i read sadness.  i answer sadly.  it reminds me.  and i panic.  so much hurt.  so much pain.  what happened?  why did it turn sad?  i was there.  i know i was.  this heart was there.  this heart stays open.  it is wounded.  but it stays open.  it hurts still.  it hurts always.  i can't breathe if i close it.  i can't smile if i close it.  a wounded smile that no one sees.  they just see a smile.

time is too fast.  so i smile.  time turns away what was.  that smile is still there.  but no one sees lost time.  no one sees the time that caused the wounded heart.  no one sees the panic inside.  my constant companion.  pretend?  no.  real feelings.  i hide nothing from the world.  but its misunderstood.

i left.  i walked away.  no i didn't.  no one let me in.  i'm not too proud to beg.  i love too hard so i beg.  i can't not love.  but i have to wait it out.  i have to seem the bad one.  i'm not bad.  if you see me you know me.  i'm not bad.  i'm me.  with panic. 

there is no button to push.  panic isn't a button to push.  its panic.  its pain.  and it hurts.  and no one understands.  and it starts all over.

i let go so i could breathe.  i let go so i could love again.  i let go because i have to live again.  i let go so when i panic i don't fall apart.  i let go.

love panics.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

new life

today is the day that the Lord has made.  i will rejoice and be glad in it.

so many will turn their faces to the rising Son.  so many will accept His love.  finally they can breathe new life into their old sore souls.  all of those who wander this earth looking for peace will have the chance again to open their heart and let Him in.  so many more will be in church.  coming to a place where they can feel the peace that is handed to them if only they will ask.

we all look back at what once was in our lives.  the choices.  the hurt.  the unanswered prayers.

my path was paved by the living God.  i've been saved from hell on earth.  He holds my heart in His hands reminding me of the healing only He can give.  choices are what we are given only because we are human.  we are washed clean.

this life i have is one driven by what i know is true.  i am loved.  i am forgiven.  i am new.

what once was is no longer.  to Him i owe the honor and the glory.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

kay? come home.

much like any other day i can be found planted at the scrapbook shoppe.  but the day started with the final step in the completion of filing bankruptcy.  something we both hated with the knowledge of no other choice.

we met at the designated location standing on the sidewalk, waiting for the little white haired man on the other side of the door, trying his best to unlock what seemed to be too much of a task.  a bit of nervous laughter between us.  time seemed to crawl.  with the sound of the click as the door was opened we found ourselves shaking hands goodbye.  it was over.  the weight was lifted as husband and wife left to finish an otherwise uneventful day.

as i sat amongst my fellow scrappers laughing, double overed, eyes filled with tears because it was too funny, my cell rang.

with the remnants of laughter still in my voice i answer knowing its my husband.  the laughter stopped.  something in his voice silenced us all.  was it the look on my face?  was it the air of silence; his hesitation when i answered?  my husband.  i could feel his hurting throb in the emptiness between his words.

"kay?  come home." 

"what's wrong?"  i ask going into automatic overdrive.

"you need to come home.  kay?"  the crack in his voice stabbs, piercing my heart, something caught in my throat.  my head hurt. 

i hear his breath shudder with pain.  knowing he needs to feel something tangible.

"they laid me off.  i don't have a job.  kay?  come home."

"i'm on my way.  its going to be ok."  hearing myself lie.

but i don't go home.  rushing from my tools of creating scattered about i head for those who hurt my sweet husband.   taking his fear with me.  ready to assualt those who are evil.

reaching my destination to face those who have made a mistake; demanding an audience with the upper echelon who refuse to see me.  to face me.

i pace.  i rage inside.  waiting for answers.  demanding, yet again, for those guilty to appear and give credence.  fear driving them to hide.  with the truth of their mistake no one appears.  they know i know its wrong.

i find myself on the curb of a building that had demanded more and more from a man i love so dearly.  33 years of pure innocent loyalty.  knowing it was all for naught. 

sobbing uncontrollably as the street traffic picks up there is a tap on my shoulder.  i look up to see a box of tissues with an offering.

"you are in my prayers."  and she walked back to the evilness she recognized as truth.

Monday, March 28, 2011

she was right... and i hate it.

its been so many years.  and, i'm no longer searching.  for anybody.

it was my birthday.  i want to say it was my 36th birthday.  maybe, but not sure.  anyway, i remember sitting alone in my house.  husband at work.  kid in school.  so i made a phone call.  it seemed like years since i had talked to her.  i had to psych myself up just to dial the number.  a phone number i've always known and will never forget.  "hello?"  "hi."  silence.  dead silence.  "do you know what day it is?"  "no, what?"  "its the day after my birthday."  finally she says, "who is this?"  you see, the day before i made that call it was my birthday and i had waited all day for her to call me.  looking back i don't know why.  but i did.  "its your daughter."  "oh."  i suppose what it had all boiled down to was just one thing.  for me that is.

the relationship between my mother and i was like taking a rubber band and stretching it and wondering when, or if, it would break.  so goes that particular phone call.  that "oh." was like a punch in my stomach.  it took all i had to stay on the phone.  it hurt.  i hurt now as i think about it.  she gives me this "oh, well, happy birthday then."  like, ok, you wanted me to say happy birthday so i said it.  so i plunged right in.  "thanks, but, you know what i want to hear."  she played stupid for a minute or two before i just blurted out "WHAT. IS. HIS. NAME?"

i suppose i caught her at the right (or wrong depending on how you want to look at it) time.  finally, after 18 years she said, "why do you want to know?  he never wanted to know about us.  he saw us on the street and kept walking!  so why do you keep asking?"

because i wanted to know.  my whole life, as far as i was concerned, had been a lie.  i had a right to know who my biological father was.  what i knew to be my entire family (as well as family friends) knew that i was adopted and i didn't.  i guess i would have felt differently had my childhood been something other than being pushed from pillar to post.  but it wasn't different.  i had a very angry mother.  i don't remember her ever smiling.  looking back i do know it was hard for her raising 2 kids and waiting for a child support check.  she worked hard.  she took care of my brother and i.  i know that.  but that isn't the point.  she had kept that name from coming out of her mouth for 36 years and i wanted to know that name.

****** ****!!!

it was like a bomb had gone off.  i just sat there.  on my couch.  in my house.  holding a phone.  in the silence it seemed like an eternity before i grabbed a piece of paper and a pen to scribble the name down.  after that i can't remember if anything else was said; other than "thank you."

eventually i found him.  eventually i understood.

she was right... and i hate.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

letting go

i don't want to.  i didn't want to.  i thought i never would.  all of them profound. 

i am a true believer in the cliche' "things happen for a reason."  truly i believe it.  and, not to forget, "what goes around, comes around."  you may never know the reason of why something happened or why you made a certain decision.  and, you may not ever have the chance to see "what comes around" finally.  but these two statments are permanently stamped into my brain but reside in my heart for protection. 

my oldest son is almost 25.  he's married to a beautiful young lady and they have a preious little girl.  my first grandbaby.  i thought i would NEVER let go; no matter what.  he's MY son.  i tried so hard to keep the connection between us.  in every way possible i tried my best to let him know that no matter what, i love him.  it hurt.  it consumed me totally.  and right in front of me are my wonderful understanding husband and our precious little boy.  and i continued to torture myself while my family suffered.  they deserved better.  they deserved the best from me.  but, i couldn't see the forest for the trees.  but.  finally.  i let go.  with no explanation to anyone.  i turned back to my husband and son.  the life that was passing me by while i did everything i could to keep a part of my past alive.  to me it was worth it; the holding on.  but it took too much from me.  it took what i needed to give my husband and son who never wavered from what i chose to do.  mike and max were with me every step of the way.  i am blessed.  i finally realized.  THEY are my life.  and i have returned to the living. 

i will always carry a broken, bleeding, trying to mend, heart. 

i will always remember.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

words matter

today i have joined a new project called "words matter."  after months of spending time bouncing from blog to blog i came across one that grabbed my heart.  dana over at roscommon ackers has been gracious enough to share her world with us.  although her world has been frought with deep deep sadness she has called us together to share the words that we think matter. 

the heart aches.  no matter what you say.  your heart does not forget.  fifteen years ago my life was turned upside.  before i knew it i was divorced and left with nothing.  including my son.  it was a bitter battle for custody.  the law stated that both parents had to see a court appointed therapist.  at the time i was living 3 states away.  i was allowed 1 hour with this therapist.  she asked "how are you feeling?"  and, by that time i was in a rage like a mother bear protecting her cub.  it wasn't pretty.

i was deemed "an unfit mother."

Sunday, March 6, 2011


when i was eleven years old i remember standing in the kitchen with my mother doing the dishes.  i remember she asked me "who won the war between the north and the south?"  well, thinking since i lived in the south i said "the south."  i suppose i was in the 6th grade at the time.  looking back i really cannot recall much about elementary school other than the things that embarrassed me.  so, there i was standing next to my mother instantly knowing i had said the wrong thing.  she stood there looking down at me with that look.  you know the kind of look that says things you don't understand and you don't know why?  it was the look that was on my mother's face every time she looked at me.  so i stood there looking up at her.  she looked at me and said "NO, STUPID!"  i felt so ashamed.  i just stood there.  i can remember as we finished the dishes her irritated, jerky, snatching movements.  yet again it was just one more instance of the disappointment she felt in me.  it hurt.  the words she said hurt so bad.  she never did tell me the "correct" answer; eventually figuring it out on my own.  years later i got the chance to go to college.  i was in my late 30s.  i was going thru a very bitter divorce and custody battle, working full time, and taking a full load every semester.  one day i received a very important letter.  it was from the college announcing my ACADEMIC EXCELLENCE.  there was to be a banquet honoring those who had accomplished that cherished goal.  i got in my car and drove to atlanta to my mother's house.  when i arrived there was just a bit of small talk before i pulled that letter from my purse.  with so much pride and a pounding heart i handed the envelope to her.  as i stood there watching her look at the envelope and opening the letter i wanted to just SCREEEAM "NOW ASK ME WHO WON THE WAR BETWEEN THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH!"  as she read the letter i calmly said "not too bad for someone who didn't know who won the war between the north and south is it?"  she looked over the top of her glasses while still holding the letter and said "you've got to be shitin' me."  i just stood there and smiled.  drawing out the moment of my glory.  the relief of feeling important and knowledgeable.  and i said "no mama, i'm not.  i never forgot what you called me.  a child never forgets."

Thursday, February 17, 2011

no good night kiss

when we were little we hated going to bed.  especially me.  i don't remember being tucked in or kissed good night.  my grandpa would always tell the story of a little girl who would stand up in her bed and yell "good luck!" "good night everybody!" "good luck!" over and over.  eventually i would lay down and go to sleep.  but in the mornings when i would wake up my eyes would be all gooey and i couldn't open them.  they (i suppose my grandparents) would have to get a warm wash cloth and wipe my eyes until i could open them.  i think i was two years old.  ah, so many stories i've heard about this little girl.  my mother says that when she would come check on us before she went to bed that i would raise up right when she was leaning down to kiss my forehead.  she must have gotten a few busted lips.  the thing is i don't remember any of those times.  but what i do remember is a few years later.  i was in elementary school.  and, at night i was always afraid.  but i didn't know why.  i would lie in my bed surrounded by all my 'babies' and their blankets.  they all needed to be covered up too, right?  as i lay there, in the dark, all i could think of was that i had to sleep on my back.  i had to make sure that nothing would be able to sneak up behind me should i turn onto my side while i slept.  it took so long for sleep to take me.  to this day i am afraid of the dark.  and i don't know why.  but mike is there and i know that "he's got my back."  its very odd to me not remembering being tucked in my bed with a good night kiss.  a book was never read, a night light never left on, just knowing i lay in that bed alone and afraid.  for so long i've been so afraid.  i remember being so afraid.  that little girl lived in fear; i remember the fear. 

Saturday, February 12, 2011

my imagination

when i was little, lets say early elementary,  i can remember getting in trouble and being sent to my room.  i had a little brother which meant if i was sent to my room then so was he.  this memory is after the divorce.  i can remember only 1 time when my father was in that house and he was asleep on the sofa.  after that one time that i remember i don't remember ever seeing him in that house again.  hmmm.  makes me stop and think; i never looked at it that way before.  but still.  we were little. and i would sit in the doorway of my bedroom and look down the hall straight into my brother's room.  i remember how much he played and played while we were "in trouble" and confined to our rooms.  i remember sitting there and wondering how he could PLAY.  it was like it never phased him to be sent to his room.  it didn't matter.  he just kept PLAYING.  and i would just sit there in my doorway.  i'm sure that as many cars and trucks that he had i had just as many dolls and accessories for them.  but i would just sit in my doorway.  and watch.  it wasn't until later on in my life and after i had cameron that i realized i didn't have an imagination.  i didn't know how to PLAY with cameron as he grew before my very eyes.  but somehow he did.  and there i was.  nothing.  i was a housewife and mother.  my house was immaculate but my imagination wasn't.  cameron's father was never home and when cameron was in school i was alone all day.  and most of the time cameron and i were alone until late in the evening.  so there i was in my late twenties and i had to teach myself imagination.  i look back at that little girl sitting on the hardwood floor.  in that doorway.  lost.  i don't remember what i did after we could come out of our rooms.   

Friday, February 11, 2011

this little girl

i have this picture.  its of a little girl.  she has on a pair of saddle oxfords.  its one of those pictures thats just really random.  out of place.  i think this because back then people posed for a picture.  including the kids.  people usually lined up, in stages.  big folks in the back and the smaller in the front.  and, rarely, if ever, did anyone really, and i mean really, smile.  but this little girl looked "caught."  like she wasn't suppose to be sitting there.  she's sort of hanging/sitting half on, half off a sofa with one leg dangling.  duncan-pfife i think.  and probably covered in clear plastic.  i recognize the expression immediately.  the look that seems to be always on my face.  i have bangs with a not quite shoulder length bob hair cut.  my hair is very dark.  but not black.  and my hand is raised up to my lips as if i had a secret.  little did i know from that moment in time there was a secret.  and secrets can be swept under the rug.  in my mind i can see a woman standing on the porch.  she's got a rug hung out and she's beating the dust and dirt out of it with a broom handle.  but, no matter how hard she beats that rug she knows that secret won't come out.  

Thursday, February 10, 2011

a decision

i have put the cart before the horse.

this blog has had an extreme start and stop process.  a couple of years ago i realized that all around me people were talking about "blogs" and building their sites, etc.  so i jumped on the band wagon.  i'm still not very savvy with this kind of thing.  i've poked and prodded.  but i finally got the layout i could work with.  after all of that stress i took a stab at "blogging" and wrestling with just what to blog about.  i jumped around the globe (i suppose) and read what others were talking about.  what they were selling.  what their passions were.  i felt, and still do, so intimidated because i didn't have a specific thing to write about so i chose to just start talking about stuff.  then i stopped.  life was moving fast and i had other priorities.

now i'm back with a purpose.  for years i have written.  and written.  and written.  dare i say composed. 

so i have decided that i do have a passion.  what i remember.

from this point i will tell you what i remember...

what i remember

i don't remember much about my childhood.  maybe its a blessing.  i don't remember birthday parties.  but i know i had one.  my first.  i have a small black and white of me sitting on a table in a pretty little dress in front of a birthday cake.  its a sweet picture.  i remember one christmas at my mother's house.  my brother and i are sitting in front of the christmas tree.  my mother fussed at me for making a silly face while she was trying to capture our picture in our christmas pjs.  i suppose thats why i always have christmas pjs to open on christmas eve.  i won't let go of that tradition.  i remember kindergarden.  the lady that ran it was named mrs weems.  i can remember being there.  like flashes.  we were all sitting at tables.  we must have been coloring pictures.  my stomach hurt so i stood up.  i just stood there.  and the inevitable happened.  the humiliation i felt from my mother was much worse than the embarrassment i felt in front of the other children.  i remember being walked up the steps into the attached home.  her housekeeper, i suppose, had me undressed, cleaned up and in clean clothes that did not belong to me.  i remember the car ride home and the paper sack that carried the offending clothes.  another flash.  my mother has taken me to kindergarden.  it was nap time.  i remember being told if i was quiet i could go outside and play.  i must have had a doctors appt.  i remember standing at the fence.  the courtyard was actually surrounded by a wall with a fence atop the stone wall.  i was holding onto the fence crying.  i wanted her to come back.  i wasn't quiet.
All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt. Charles M. Schulz