Cycles & Change

I made a pointed trip to the library last week with H on a day off that I had. I checked out what books they had on Sexual Abuse Survivors (a small amount, surprisingly). I've been browsing, reading, skimming, and skipping my way through them. Gathering information on what seems to be a usual process.
I keep flopping back and forth between "God why is this taking SO long??" and "I don't think I can do this", and "Ok, what's next on the checklist?".
I can see myself failing in the communication department. I feel pushing all around me, and when I don't want to move quite so fast or try quite so hard I clam up and run away.
That is my cycle.
When I don't want to rush something, and just take my time to deal with something and I feel pressured to go faster, I just stop.
I was pregnant with H, and my boss wanted me to work straight through until I didn't get a clear ok from my Dr. I didn't feel up to the task of doing my job as a home care aide anymore after reaching a certain size by a certain time. I literally just stopped going to work. I stopped taking her calls, emails, and snail mail. I just stopped. I stayed at home and slept a lot, and I didn't really get anything done.
While trying to work my way through my marital problems a few years ago I was feeling pressured to discuss a certain topic and rather than dealing with it I loaded it on the forget it pile and shoveled it away.
While volunteering for the PAC in Ohio, I was supposed to send out Thank You letters as soon as I received a donation from a company, and instead, I waited until just before we left Ohio to ship them off.
Obviously, I'm in need of a new coping mechanism. it's not my intention to shy away from things, I just sort of let it happen. I keep saying "I'll get to it" and then with each new reminder I just keep saying this to myself.
This is an emotional cycle that I keep dredging up, and I'd really like to change it.
I have, in the past, used physical cycles as well. Take the cheating behaviour I exhibited in past relationships and the rampant promiscueity.
I used sex as a tool to both temporarily make myself feel better, and to degrade myself. I did it dangerously too. If I had to count the number of partners that I can remember that number would be far too high for me to want to admit out loud. Add to that the number of folk who were aware of what they were doing while I was not, and you've got a significantly higher number. I did it because it made me feel special in the moment. That special and accepted feeling never lasted beyond their climax. I did it because it made me feel just as disgusting outside as I did inside. I truly wished I could match them up, and did my damnedest to make it happen.
By the time I had dropped out of high school in my 9th grade year (14 to you folk who don't get that term), I had a most horrendous reputation that led to sexual harassment in my own school halls. Word had spread about my behaviour, and the guys were always bugging me, not to mention their popular girlfriends. I gave up trying to fight people off, and instead decided to drop out. I decided to run away from the rumors, and behaviours, rather than stick up for myself. I decided to get as far away as I could...and then I met my 1st husband.

I've been talking about cycles here, and how I really just don't want to keep repeating past behaviours. While I don't see myself honestly repeating the behaviours, I can totally see myself trying to repeat the emotional cycles here. I'm shutting down, and diverting my attention elsewhere, which is kind of alarming, and sort of disappointing on the same token. I'm having some toruble working my way up to contacting someone for help. Come to think of it, I've always found it difficult to ask people for help (whole 'nother story).

D & Mr were supposed to be away for the weekend to go to Cub Scout camp but came back early because poor D was sick. It was the first time he was throwing up in his 7 years (he's don't it sporradically after motion or chocking) and he was kind of traumatized by it. I actually wound up taking him to the ER, but that was because all of the clinics were closed. He's ok, we figured maybe a swiftbout of food poisoning got to him. Sending him off to school again tomorrow.
Gotta find time to sit down and figure out what I'm buying ppl for X-mas this year, or maybe what I'm going to make them.
Distraction distraction distractions.

Havin Fun

Wow. Went out with some friends last night, after waiting since my Birthday to do so. Was so much fun, and I had a blast.
Met some ppl from Australia, and made some new acquaintances.
I've discovered that I can email my pictures from my phone to my email. Yay! I've been making do with editing my pictures with just the software on my phone, and I'm happy that I can now do it on my comp.
In any event, I was very happy to finally catch a break and find a reason to smile for a while.
Mr & D go off to Cub Scout Camp this weekend, and this will mark the first weekend where the cafe I work at is open on Sundays, which means I work straight through the weekend. I'm just glad it'll make this next pay decent enough for Christmas. We're planning a party at work, for staff and fav customers. Can't wait. I'm smiling today, despite how tired I really am, but I'm betting I'm gonna be bagged tonight!

Half Nekkid Thursday

There are things that I just love about my Mr. One of them is how he holds me.

My Basket

And now for a break from the dreary.
I've been trying my hardest (sometimes I have a shift at work) to make it to Okanagan Language Class each Monday eve.
I started taking these classes years ago, and always seem to taper off for one reason or another. I now remember some words, but have no idea how to make a conversation out of it.
This years classes have been such a blast to attend, that I'm really disappointed when I can't join in. I went lastnight, with my mom and H. They served two different kinds of stew, Salmon, and Elk/Deer Stew. Oh so yummy. After we finished eating, worked on some words, we moved on to learn some traditional techniques in Basket Weaving. Oh what fun I had!! I've always wanted to learn how to make baskets, and I excelled at it! We chatted with each other, teased each other, chuckled & giggled at our abilities (or lack, thereof), and just relaxed while enjoying the company.
I'm really working hard to make sure we stay a part of the community here, and make a name for ourselves that brings to mind respect.
Anyways, as I was weaving I was dreaming of the possibilities this newfound hobby could make. From survival gear, to harvesting aides, to fancy gift baskets for family and friends. *sigh* I wonder if I'll actually give it a go?

Pondering Friendship

I've been absorbing the events of the last post, and I've come to settle on pondering my perspective of friendship.
I've never really had a lot of "friends". I have a lot of acquaintances, but not a whole bunch of what I would consider real friends. The friends I do have are loyal, reliable, and true blue.
See, when I decide to call someone my friend, and actually mean it in that sense, there is nothing I wouldn't do for them. I'd give them my last dollar and the shirt off my back, and have on occasion. When I decide to devote myself so much to one person who isn't my spouse, I expect that much in return. It sounds like a lot, but really what I'm demanding is that they be capable of listening, and to turn out to be worthy of the trust that I put in them.
I am an open book. As if you couldn't already tell that by the posts that you find here. ;o) It's true though, that there is a certain amount that I hold back from my blog. Surprising as that may seem, I choose to keep a part of me from everyone in the world.
At heart, I'm a honest, kind, generous, a perfectionist, and sometimes insecure person. I don't mind my insecurities, they remind me I'm human. All that being said, it took a lot for me to get where I am today.
In the years following the Scene with my stepfather, I ran through loads of people I was trying on as friends. Street people, homeless people, drug addicts, high school drop outs, straight A students, adults, kids my age, teens, boys, girls. I was spontaneous in who I chose to talk to because I had chosen to ignore the intuition that told me when someone wasn't worth my time (which I've always had, BTW). That got me in to trouble, and also led the downfall (even more so) of my ability to trust and have faith in those around me.
There were a lot of situations where my trust was betrayed. Trust that a secret I told someone was going to be kept, that I thought I would be safe if I stuck close to someone, that I could hang out with people who liked me, that I could leave my personal possessions with someone for a minute while step away and know it wasn't going to go missing. Those times I was proven wrong.
I know better these days, and am extremely wary of who I place my trust in. I know when a business person I'm involved with is going to screw me over, I know when a person my Mr is chatting with (through some new organization here or there) is going to take advantage of us, I know when I should just not talk to someone simply by the way they look at me.
That all being said, it's extremely difficult for me to make friends, and the ones I do make are for life. Those people make up a small core around me, and I know I can call them at any time of day or night if I need help. Seriously, only a small handful of people have ever met these standards.
I've often moped and moaned over why people don't meet my standards for friendship, and yes, even shed a tear or two...maybe out of frustration, maybe out of self pity, who knows. It's hard to go through life without a wide base of supports, especially when you're as expectant as I am.
There have been many times where I've wondered how some other people can be so lucky as to have a full address book of friends, a party that's always happening, and never be left alone on a Friday night unless they choose to be. I envy those kind of people. I'm also baffled by this ability.
So, this whole situation I find myself surviving right now leaves me wondering, if I work hard enough, can I gain the skills to be like this, or will I make the conscious choice to remain as reserved as I am now. It should be interesting to make the comparison in any event.

Remind me to blog about surviving.

Flashbacks Pt 2

**Usual Family Disclaimer**

I've been absorbing what my ex said to me lastnight, along with what old friend tried corroborate.
It didn't paint a pretty picture, and I feel that it could be true, though I really don't want to admit that out loud.
According to them, I always had my way. We partied together, we had fun, and sometimes...they pulled me out of a tough situation.
As far back as I can remember men were always predators to me. I've had a difficult time finding just one that I could trust. No matter which ones I chose, they could never be trusted...except one.
That one would be old friend.
When I found him on Facebook last year I was ecstatic, and phoned him the first chance I got to catch up on each other, and find out what was new, what I had missed, and to find a connection in the universe that I needed. He remains the sole man in my life (asides from my step-father right now) who has never betrayed my trust. That is a huge thing to me.
I've always hated when people call me beautiful, because I couldn't perceive it as anything other than a note of distrust, envy, or desire in their eyes and it has never been a genuine compliment to me. The result of spending time with folks like this is something I'd like to call it a death wish. It's a wish that people treat me the way I feel about myself. Disgusting, filthy, and just plain fucking stupid. I've hinted before on here about my feelings towards myself, and I can admit that they've always been there as long as I can remember, but after the scene with my Step-Father leaving, it rocketed out of control, and took me on the road to hell from which I've never fully recovered from.
That road led me to believe that I wasn't worth anything, to anyone...least of all myself, and my actions showed it. I drank heavily, and started letting the users in to my life, and eventually run it for me because I truly believed I wasn't worth saving. With that belief, I was also desperately looking for someone to prove me wrong. As cliche as it sounds, I have a hard time watching (but also seem glued to it once it starts) the movie Georgia Rule because it hits far too close to home.
There were a number of really bad folk in my life during this period of my life.
I lost my virginity because I got drunk. This was the first in a series of alcohol induced bad choices, and choices that were made for me because I had had so much I had passed out.
I was an unfaithful person. I was dating a guy and went to a party, and had sex with this revolting human being in a basement bedroom of an empty house. For weeks afterward he hounded me to sleep with him again, only in the light of day and sobriety, I couldn't stand to look at him. Still dating same guy, and we partied at my house, and a friend of his came over. B/F slept in my bed with me, and friend was on the couch. I'm not sure how it happened, but I assume I instigated it, we wound up having sex on my couch. I can remember going to parties and having groups of guys hound me. Touching me, trying to kiss me, hugging me, teasing me, all with the same goal...to get into my pants. I've been wondering for a while why that was. Truth is I've been hiding memories deep down so I don't remember them, so that I look like the good guy in the images I do recall. In my mind, I was an angel. It's become increasingly clear to me that I was not. It's really coming clear just how fucked up I really was.
There was a party that I went to with a friend of mine. I remember she was dating this asshole who used to get into fistfights with her, and I didn't care for either of them much. I went because there was going to be lots of alcohol, and as much pot as I could get my hands on. I don't recall what happened, only that they kept handing it to me, and I obliged by drinking and smoking each time it came my way. Eventually, I don't know what happened, but I remember we were outside (in the middle of winter) and her b/f was hitting me and calling her a bitch. I don't know how I got home, or what happened, only that I lost some of my items because I never went back to get them, like my winter jacket.
Ex told me lastnight that he pulled me out of there with old friend. He also told me with a sincere amount of passion exactly what he did to the folk who were there that night. After he was done telling me about that, he proceeded to tell me about the condition he found my body in when he got me home. The whole conversation left me feeling truly ill. It left me feeling ill because after he started talking, I began remembering what had happened.
When he finished talking, I told him I was sorry for all of the stuff I must have put him through. I felt horrible. I felt horrible because I know what it must have been like for him to put up with me. When we started dating, I asked him out because there was no one better at the time. It sounds awful, but I had wanted to date his best friend, and when he refused to give me the time of day because he was loyal to my Ex, I just gave up and went with my Ex. I wasn't loyal feeling. Often times I remember just wishing there was something better. It was a pointless relationship, and was just for show. While I did come to love him, I had no idea how to function in a relationship and continue down the path of distruction. So, he was just shoved to the side every time I wanted to continue. I feel horrible admitting that, because I know how much he loved me.
The purpose of this post, is the beginning of me accepting that I did what I did. Learning to find out why I did what I did, learning how to properly deal with the resulting emotions about what happened, and to say I'm sorry to those I've hurt.
I told y'all this was going to be a hell of a journey. While this is mainly about the past, it all connects to how I live, and function in my relationship right now. I'll get to that in another post. Right now, I'm going to go and have a good cry, and finish processing the bulk of this.

The First Step

What a night.
I was chatting with an old friend, trying to get more info about my past. Had to ask him what he remembered. He talked about our fun, and old friends we had lost touch with, and my ex boyfriend.
After getting off the phone with him, I bumped into said ex-boyfriend. Talk about blow my mind. Asked him to sit and chat with me a bit about that time period, and some of the things that happened to me, and such. Wasn't a pretty conversation, and I'm so not proud of what he had to say about the type of person I was. It was scary to see him describe what happened with such passion. Evidently I kinda traumatized him a bit...but the same thing happened on my end as well. I'd like to ask him more about what happened back then, as I met him not long after the case was blown open with my step-father, and he saw me down that spiral to rock bottom. I don't know why, but I need to know what happened then, because I effectively erased it from my memory, and that scares me.
After just a snippet of what he told me tonight, I understand why I'm scared.
I figure if I'm going to let my skeletons out of the closet I need to let them all out, and hopefully by the time this is over with I'll have the strength to move on, and grow up.
I desperately want to change the pattern of how I do things, and I can only see this as a beginning of that attempt. It's dangerous territory though, so I'm trying not to tread on any toes while I'm at it. I can only pray that I don't repeat anything here and find the key to moving on without hurting anyone in the process.
From what I can see now though, that's going to be pretty tough to do. I hope it's not as bad as I think it is...

I Think I Can.

**Family Disclaimer**

I'm almost beginning to think I should start up a separate blog just to follow this story away from my family's prying eyes, LOL


I'm anxious. Have been for over a week now. After doing some research online, I now know that the statute of limitations regarding child sexual abuse if going to leave me free to pursue charges right now.
I'm going to take a deep breathe, gather my thoughts, and attempt to go through with this.
There's just one problem. In order to do this, I need to tell my mom first, and have the talk before I can feel free to pursue the matter further.
This is going to kill me. I'm quite certain.
I've come to the conclusion that there is no "good time" to bring the subject up. There's no getting around it.
As I said before, I can't hold it in any longer. Though I long to just forget about it, as I've done for many years now, it just can't be done. It's been years since I've seen that man, and just the thought of what happened between us, leaves me unable to have any intimacy with my husband. I shrivel at his touch, and shut down when he only wishes to have a conversation with me. I yell when he wants to discuss our responsibilities because there's no room for it in my brain, or in my heart. I'm being swallowed alive...again.
I have to do it...but it scares the hell out of me. I'm terrified...clammy, sweaty palms, nervous glances behind my back, and nearly unable to sleep or be alone.
I have to dredge the courage from somewhere. The courage to go on living, because I truly think it would be a great thing to find something to numb me right this second, and every second following, until I die. I need the courage to look her in the eye, and ask directly, regardless of the answer. I just want to be able to say that I asked.
I'm scared. I feel like I'm a child again...little, confused, and not comprehending anything about how the world operates.
I can't take it...the pressure from folks who think they know exactly what I should do, the thought of hurting my family, the thought of anyone treating me differently.
I'm going in a million different directions, just so I can avoid what's glaring me right in the face.
It's time. Time to let it all go, and get on with the life I worked so fucking hard for. It's time to let me believe that I'm worth more than just some person's whim. It's time for me to re-define beautiful, and free.
It's time, and I'm terrified to take this leap, but somehow...I think I can.

Revelations

***Add my usual Family disclaimer here. If you don't want to be involved, please stop reading***

It felt like my stomach had bottomed out.
I was chatting with family members, and somehow my stepfather was mentioned. When I expressed disgust at his name, they asked why I disliked him so. My response was "Well, anyone would be disgusted with a person after what he did to me". They gazed at me blankly, and it dawned on me that they had no idea what I was talking about.
I could feel my head spinning, my visions was blurred, and my heart almost stopped beating. I whispered that he had ruined the word beautiful for me. I said he hurt me, and made me feel like a simple piece of meat, who was only there for a man's whim. They asked me to tell them why. I started at the beginning on my memories of him.
My step-father was in my life as long as I could remember. He and my mom met in a group setting, and began dating when I was about 4 years old. They married in a civil union in our own home with a Judge present when I was 8. He left when I was 13. That's a huge portion of my life with him in it.
When it was all over, I was still young. I had no comprehension of just how deeply this would affect me. I was still a child, and wanted more than anything to just forget about it, like I had done for so long. I wish someone would have explained it until I understood what it would mean to me as a person...but I can only move forward, they say.
I remember speaking to police about it, and being at the station with my mom over my shoulder. When they asked if I wanted to press charges I heard a little voice say that there was no reason for that, because nothing had really happened. I let that voice tell me this was all being blown out of proportion, and that I was being over-dramatic...like a typical 13 year old girl. I listened to it, and denied pressing charges.
At the time I had only a few memories, and not a whole lot to go on. I remember more of what happened now, and since this has come to light again, am considering going ahead with charges.
I curious now, in the aftermath of that conversation, just how many of my relatives know what happened to me. It's true though, that our demographic has sexual abuse rampant in it's history, so I know I'm not alone in it...but I want to know now, how many of my family members were involved with this particular man, and how many knew. I'm burning. I had two aunts and an uncle live with us for a time, and we're all rather estranged. Sure, the love is there, but since the time of the split, they seem to really be more distant. We were the best of friends as children.
It hurts to know that no one may know. It hurts because I know now, what my family must have thought of my behavior, and me, in the aftermath of the split. I was experimenting with drugs a small amount before they split, to escape pain. Afterwards I was in a daze nearly the whole time. I chose to keep myself high, and I began binge drinking. I began having random sex with random people. I was even arrested for shoplifting. I truly went on a downward spiral, and I can clearly see that in reflection, though at the time I had no idea what I was doing, or why. I ruled over my mother. I'm ashamed to admit that, but it's true.
That first year, after I came back from running away and making sure he was gone, I don't remember that Christmas following. I do remember that that New Year's I was alone, and invited friends over. I spent the major part of the evening being too high to move, and the rest of the night having sex with my boyfriend.
My mother spent the holidays and such at my great aunt's house. I later found out that he had moved in with her for the time being. I can only speculate that they were hoping things would calm down, and that he would be allowed to move back in, because during the time he was there, he had at least 2 visits with me. I always made sure we were never alone together, but I rarely had anything to say to him, and despised even being in the same room with him.
All in all, I've been thinking a lot. I'm trying my hardest to find the best way to approach this. Charges, asking the question no one wants to answer, and finding out the reason why no one may know what happened to me. I want to know if this changed how people look at me. It's changing the way I look at myself. I'm trying to figure out if this will only hurt people along the way, and if it's worth it to even ask. Is it worth hurting those members that I love most, by asking them the "what happened" and "why" questions? If it is, will I be satisfied with the answers I receive?
I've also been trying to explain it to my Mr. It's difficult to admit to him just how much this is consuming me. It's difficult to explain that I don't want to talk about the responsibilities we're facing right now...financial, vehicular, children. I have no space left in my brain for anything but this. My mind is digging. Digging for more memories that I didn't know I had. Digging for more instances to see if anyone else was involved. Digging for the ability to do this with dignity and grace. Digging for courage.

Flashbacks

***To my family members. I understand if you don't want to read this post. It's explicit, and would be painful for you to read. Unless you'd like to include yourselves in my personal crises, I suggest you stop reading here. I'm sick of burying it, and it's time it came out in the open.***

Hold on to your keyboards folks, this is the beginning of a journey that you will be taking with me.
I can't hold this in anymore. I can't just let it sit. It's rotting me from the inside. It's forcing me to loose the will to live.
Over the weekend whilst visiting with family members, I had a very frank conversation that turned my world upside down.
I feel stupid, and lost, and angry...and after it's all died down, I've come to the realization that sometimes there just aren't any answers. The answers that could be there if I asked, would probably not satisfy me in the least, so I'm unsure if I even want to ask the questions. The only solution that I could come up with was to write about it.

I'm 6 years old. My mother is on her way out for the evening. I'm begging her not to go. I don't want her to leave me alone with him. She leaves anyways, and I'm devastated because I know what's going to happen when it's time for bed.

I'm 8 years old. My mother is out for the evening, I think she had a night job. It's a bath night for me. He runs me a bath, and then insists he sit in the bathroom to watch and "make sure" I wash myself up, instead of just play. When I play for too long, he comes over and washes me himself. I had that feeling. I remember being scared when I finally get out and get to bed. I'm praying he won't come and tuck me in too. I'm trying to count the seconds until it's over.

I'm 8 years old, and I'm terrified that my step-father is coming to tuck me in. I remember him taking the Alf doll that I had and making me giggle...and I don't know what happened after, only that my heart was racing, I was frozen, and I was trying not to show my emotions because I was scared. I was praying that he would leave. I remember his voice smooth and sultry when he told me how beautiful I was to him.

I'm nine years old and we're on our way across the country, moving to Nova Scotia where he's from. I remember having a conversation with my mother about him. In child terms I told her that he wasn't a very good man. I remember feeling disappointed and frustrated that she couldn't understand why. I remember not being able to tell her exactly why.

We're playing in the living room of the little two bedroom house we're renting. It's summertime, and really hot. My step-father always wore cut off jean shorts. He sitting with just these on, on the floor, watching tv. We're playing not far away, and I realized he wasn't wearing anything underneath because I can see his penis. He caught me looking and adjusts himself, so I can see the whole thing.

I remember while my relatives were living with us during this time, that I woke to a shadow in my doorway more often. I also remember that that pulsing, burning feeling came...the one that lets me know just how terrified I really am.

I'm 9 years old, and we're in Nova Scotia. I kept getting "growing pains" in my calves. It's a cold night because I'm wearing a flannel nightgown with slippers, and I've been complaining about my legs hurting. I keep pestering my mom about how much they hurt, hoping she'd give me some relief. Instead she gets him to massage them. Then suddenly everyone goes to bed and I'm left alone with him. That same feeling comes back. My heart racing, blood raging in my ears, I'm terrified. He's massaging and I can feel him working his way up my legs. He rubs in small circles between them and tells me that I should never let anyone touch me there. He continues rubbing and I see a funny look in his eyes. In what felt like forever he finally stops and laughs and says "Did I scare you?". I can hardly breathe.

It's spring, and we're playing in the hallway. Our room is directly accross from theirs. They're making love, and through the crack of the open door, he's watching me the whole time.

He's getting me ready for a bath, and he tells me in that voice how beautiful I am. I'm wondering why every time he says it I feel so ugly and dirty.

We were never really well off people. My step-father was a loser. He was often without a job, and chose to while his day away by smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. When we moved back to BC, we lived with relatives until we got back on our feet. Each time we moved we shared a room. I was painfully aware of when they had relations, because I knew he was watching me when he did it.

I'm 11. I've begun experimenting with smoking. He tells me to get into the bathtub. I don't want to. He runs it for me, and tells me again to get in. My mom isn't there. I finally get into the bathtub. When I come out and go to my room, I discover my underwear drawer is open, and I immediately walk in and close it. I turn to close the door behind me, and I discover him there, hiding behind the door. He's waiting for me to let go of the towel. When he realizes that I'm not letting go, he starts asking me about the lone cigarette in the bottom of the drawer. I tell him it's a friends'. He leaves the room.

I'm 11 and having nightmares. I wake up one night and go into my mothers' room and crawl into bed with her. I wake up to him stroking me, with my mother sleeping between us. I know he's realized that I'm awake, and he moves his hand over me. I roll out of bed and go back to my own.

This is just a snippet of what's been on my mind since this past weekend. I'm dreaming about shadows of someone in my doorway again. I'm dreaming about that awful, scared feeling. I feel like a child again. Like I have no power over what happens to me and my body.
My world turned upside down, when I realized that nobody but the three of us involved, knew.

Not Enough Words

Lots to say, not enough words.
Had a decent enough weekend at Gramma's house. Was fun and relaxing, as it should.
All that being said, there was a serious cloud being left over. A serious, life altering cloud.
My thoughts have been swirling between shock, and disbelief.
The kind of thing that will slowly change my outlook on myself. Once it absorbs and I figure it out, that is.
I feel stupid, because it's obvious to me now. I was naive. I am bewildered.
It was nice to spend a weekend away from the house, and not have to worry about cleaning up after ourselves obsessively (though we haven't been doing that cause I haven't been pushing it quite so hard). We went hunting (but didn't get anything), and enjoyed the atmosphere. Gramma even gave me a wedding band in replacement for the ones I had to have cut off.
We'll be looking into getting D involved in a Rock Climbing Club as well as a Mixed Martial Arts club. Might be interesting.
Been feeling slightly overbooked, and that may be a major factor in my stress levels of late, which, of course, affects my energy levels, and the way my body has been functioning. Suffice to say that I am all out of whack.

I love my cell phone. I haven't had it all that long, and I'm totally dependent on it now. It's my day planner, calculator, phone & address book, and it keeps me in touch for those stupid questions that I need to ask when I'm at the store. I also sleep with my cell phone...but that's because it my alarm clock too ;o) I keep thinking, gosh, what a brilliant little gadget. I'm addicted. I've even started mobile pictures and sending them to my Facebook account.

Hunter has learned his ABC's at pre-school (something he never really attempted while we sang it to him) and has thoroughly enjoyed singing the whole song to us repeatedly over the weekend. We'll be looking at maybe getting H into daycare at least once a week for a few hours, because he loves it, and because we have such a busy schedule it really does require it.

I'm hoping the road smoothes itself out over the next little while. I'm praying for the strength to endure what I can see coming my way. I'm praying for the patience to understand what will be forcing it's way, soon enough, into my brain and heart and soul. God help me, and please keep us together through what we are about to face.

It's a Bronze Year

Tomorrow is my Mr's and my 8th wedding anniversary.
Traditional gifts say that it's a Bronze year.
Hmm...
Modern Gifts say that it's the year for Linens and Lace.
Hmm...
I wonder if I could get that all in one kinky package? LOL
Anyways.

Happy Anniversary love, I hope you know just how much you mean to me. You are the person that I turn to every day for advice, my solid rock to lean on, and the person that I dream of every night. You've always been my knight in shining armor, and I'm glad I met you, because you are truly the person who rescued me, and saved my life. I'm always amazed at just how much we've been through together, and I look forward to spending the rest of my life with you each and every day I wake up next to you.

As for us, well, we're headed to Gramma's for a weekend away from all of the hubub that's been getting us down of late. A much needed vacation together as a family. Time to relax and enjoy.
Did I mention that my place of work made the local TV today? Well, we had a show called Roberts on the Road come in and tape a spot with us in the middle of our crazy lunch rush. I'm expecting it to be a huge success and a big boost for business. I think it's supposed to air two weeks from tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it, and I'll letcha know if there's a link.

Why Optimism?

I am an optimist. I've been an optimist since I seen the need for one in my family (or maybe all my life).
Why then, am I having trouble getting out of bed each morning?
Why then am I feeling so tired by midday (regardless of caffeine intake) that I really need a moment to pick myself back up enough to keep moving?
Why then, am I so tired of my husband's voice that I'd rather watch a movie, play on the computer, sleep, or ignore him all together, than actually have a conversation with him?
Why would I rather just let my kids have their own way for the evening than bother with fussing and putting them to bed by a decent time?
Why don't I care when there's an accident in the middle of the night?
Why don't I care enough to pick up the toys that are strewn about, and would much rather step over them for the next week or so until I feel like making the kids pick them up?
Why am I starting to pick out of the plastics cupboard for my bowls, instead of doing the dishes?
Why is the laundry sitting in a crumpled heap on my bedroom floor, with the occasional footprint on a stray item because I could care less about putting it away?
I seem to have lost sight of the reason for my unfailing optimism. I've lost hope, clarity, and faith that things will get better eventually. I don't want eventually, I just want it to end. Period.
I'm tired of trying to find room in my mother's house for me, and my 3 other family members. I'm tired of cramming thing sin closets, under beds, on shelves, and in random places because they don't have a home.
I'm tired of cooking.
I'm tired of constantly cleaning up after my kids because I'm so afraid that any mess they make will bring down the wrath of parents who are as fed up of living with us, as we are of them.
I'm tired of shushing my kids when they get excited, upset, or just plain feel like being kids.
I'm tired of telling them they can't do something because this house isn't our and I don't want them ruining anything.
I'm tired of relying on other folks to keep me afloat.
I'd sleep with the entire fucking city if it meant that my kids could have a place of their own, and actually be comfortable. I'd rob a bank if it meant that I could stop answering my kids with "I'm sorry honey, that's stored at Ama's in Washington because we don't have room for it here". I'd sell my soul if it meant that my children wouldn't have to struggle like I am now. I'd seriously just take some blunt metal instrument to myself right now if it wasn't for the fact that that's exactly what I'd be giving them if I did it. A life of struggle.
I'm an optimist because I have to be. I have to believe that there is a reason for this. I have to believe that it will all work out. I have to believe that someday it will give someone a chuckle, or an epiphany. If I don't, I'd give us all some Kool-Aid and call it a day.