Watch Out Boy, She'll Chew You Up

Every now and then, the stars align for a perfect night of debauchery for Lori and oh! but she is a tired and weak kitten the next day.

Tall, dark, and so fucking handsome is in town until just after New Years. And we met at the bar, playing pool. And he asked me to come and get him. And he stayed the whole night, which has never occurred before. So, the combination of guilty pleasure and having someone I'm not used to in my bed led to a 2.5 hours night's rest. Oh, and probably the Crown and Coke that Merce and Angela insisted we drink.

I'm thinking that a lot of my stress gets relieved through sex. So I might just take it up again. Although, it's always nice to have a partner that you actually look forward to sharing the act with. And God knows, there is definitely a shortage of those sorts of partners around these parts. May hap I'll start going to bigger city north of us for the sole purpose of finding an acceptable lay. Oh, my, yes. Lori - The Man Eater (did you not notice my rolling eyes?).

Things are quieting down after all of the hustle and bustle of the holidays. Just New Year's left to contend with and the subsequent hangover and removal of all things Christmasy. And he's promised to meet me there, so I'm very much looking forward to Saturday night. Hopefully, I'll be back in fighting form by then.

That's about all I have to post on. Things seem so quiet and... stable? these last couple of days after all of the shock has worn off, accrued after all the hellish things happening over the last week. I'm hoping I'm not jinxing it by the mention of how peaceful I feel at the moment. Even with 3 kids running, screaming around me, playing Cowboys and Indians.

Wake Me Up When September Ends (If I have to listen to this song one more time for the kid, I'm going to cut my ears off)

Will it never end? This turn of events that always leans off center, leaning slightly towards all things bad?

Christmas Eve,one of my live-in teen's closer friends flipped her car. She wasn't wearing her seatbelt and thank the good Lord for suffering fools, she came to a halt sitting in the back seat. Not on the ground after being ejected through a window, which most do. The power outage on Christmas, which on the surface might have been unlucky for some, but ended up providing me some moment of the peace I so often seek. And the day after Christmas, watching a home burn to the ground.

Last night, my mom called and not being able to get ahold of me because I am on the eternal quest of downloading my favorite songs, called little sister. Little sister rushes through the door telling me that "Mom thinks the office or Mike's house is on fire!"

Mike is the older man that is our 'handyman' on the ranch. He takes Tyler on 'rides' on the lawn mower. He taught Tyler how to run it, brave old soul that he is. He eagerly awaits our arrival on Halloween so that he can gasp and marvel at the kids' costumes. And it was, indeed, his house.

I shot from the house, joined by Merce we jumped in the car and sped for headquarters. Short, only of the hood slide, we were like the suburban Ford Escort sedan motherized version of Luke and Bo Duke and it was so much fucking fun. I think low speed through town was maybe 60 mph. If it weren't for the underlying panic that it might be the office and my to-go-to place everyday, I would have laughed hysterically the whole way there. Thinking back, there might have been a touch of hysteria here and there. By the time we arrived, my adrenaline was racing so much my foot was merely tapping the gas pedal to keep us going.

When we left, we could see the glow, but by the time we arrived, it had bloomed into a full fledged inferno and nothing could be saved. He saved his checkbook, his dog and his cat. And while a part of me agrees that yes, it is a blessing that he is fine and his animals are OK, a part of me shatters and breaks at the thought of this man, a mere 2 or 3 years from retirement will have to start all over again, literally, from the ground up. He has his cars, his dog, his cats, a checkbook and the clothes upon his aching back. I cried for him. I cried in front of Ty and Ty worried, tossed and turned all night asking if Mike had been "fired in the fire".

And the worst part is knowing that you can't do anything, really, to help. You can help replenish all of the material things. But what isn't just material is sentimental and you just can't replace most of it. Especially that feeling that is honed from years of coming home to the same place, hurting in it and laughing in it. Truly living in that space. The walls seem to absorb all of that living and it hurts to just leave it when a person moves. I can't imagine watching the safe keeping of that essence die.

Peace On Earth

Day after Christmas and all of this fucking cleaning to do.

First off, you have the utter chaos of the day, wrapping paper and tiny, plastic toys to gash and slice the tender soles of your feet open during midnight trips to the bathroom, trips to the fridge for pickles, etc. Screaming children all wound up on candy appropriated from the toe of their stockings, screaming parents "For God's sake, if I have to tell you ONE MORE TIME, I'll take away that farm set, horse, etc. and give it to a child who deserves it!" Believe me, I've said the latter so many times since yesterday morning, it's become almost chant-like.

Now let's add to it, shall we? How about 5 minutes after the last present is unwrapped, let's take away all of the electricity? For almost 12 hours? Not just in OUR house but in every house through out the valley? Doesn't that sound like a day straight from a POW / Chinese torture movie? OHMYFUCKINGGOD. I wanted to run away, I wanted to cower under the safety of my down comforter, I wanted to MAIM my sweet little boy. The wind was blowing at gale / hurricane force, carrying with it the hint of snow and freezing temperatures so that the little boy did not want to be outside in it for more than 10 minutes at a time and all during my brief 10 minutes without him, he probably walked in and out the door 7 times.

I came to the conclusion that the kid is much too reliant on TV. Not so much the watching of it, but for background noise and the occasional commercial (he's like me and can do anything during the actual program, but the commercial jingles will always tempt us with their siren's call ). Apparently, I have failed in my mission as a parent to teach him that silence is golden. And really, I suppose, 4 year olds really can't stand silence. I know mine can't.

Mom started the tri-tip roast at 7 a.m. so it had been in the roaster for an hour or so when the power went out. It was shortly moved to the barbecue, where it slow roasted all day and oh my goodness, it was succulent. So moist and tender and just falling apart. I am tempted to buy me a gas grill, just so I may roast meat that way. We ate roast beef on dinner rolls, by candle light and I can honestly say, it was one of the best Christmas dinners, ever. Just a magical, mystic sort of dinner, none of the usual fuss and hurry so that we can get all of those fucking dishes washed. Just kind of a filling snack sort of dinner and I was enraptured. It was such a change from the usual hustle and bustle, and so much more...intimate, I think. In candle light, you slow down (mostly in order to prevent a 4 year old from trying to swallow a chunk of beef that is as big as his little boy fat hand) and everything is dark and still. I guess it comes from that same spot in me that loves the midnight hours and the vulnerability of conversations held then. I felt closer to and more thankful for those that I love than I have in a while. I was impressed.

And then we left, after the melting Dairy Queen cake, which I could have most easily just bathed in, as messy and decadent as it was. Vanilla ice cream on top and chocolate ice cream on the lower slice, with crumbly chocolate crispies on top of chocolate cream as the filling between layers. Delectable.

So, we left to return to our quickly freezing homes, where the food that I just bought on Friday was melting in my freezer. And we sat in the light cast by candles, which somehow lost their magic once we got home. Nephew and the little cowboy were playing farm and pissing and moaning about the lack of SpongeBob, Jimmy Neutron, and Danny Phantom and the glow from dinner quickly melted away. I had laundry, dishes, stuff to do. So I sat in the dark and finished the newest Diana Gabaldon book with Ty's little Bob the Builder flashlight. The power came back on around 7:30 - 7:45 p.m. and by then, I was too ensconced within the trials (literally! Oh Merce, you'll LOVE this book) of Jamie and Claire and flipping pages like mad, to get to the end to see if they made it (I won't tell you, you'll have to read it yourself) to get up off of my lazy ass to do anything. Although I did scrub the toilet and cleaned up the bathroom a bit.

And when the power had been on a bit, I went in and soaked in the tub for awhile, listening to the boys chatter and giggle over America's Funniest Home Videos and everything, for once, felt right in my world.

I hope that you all had a nice Christmas.

BzBiff, next year, if you are alone, you are so coming to spend it with us, after all, we're pretty much family, what with Maggie proclaiming so long ago that her and Ty WOULD be married, much to his horror, and Jen becoming like my own this last month.

JR, would it be that you and I could retire to a spa for a couple of days or so, we would tear that place up what with our combined need of peace and relaxation. We'd probably end up being properly and delicately escorted off the premises because I would definitely be smuggling a cache of peach shnapps for me and bourbon for you. Someday, when I win the lottery.

Tra La La La La La La La La

Delicious. I stayed in bed until 8:44 this morning. I awoke upon the dot of seven, tossed, turned, grumbled and started to get pissed off that I couldn't fall back to sleep and then... Ty is telling me "Get up Mom, it's Thanksgiving!!". Roll over to the clock glaring 8:44 a.m. at me. Nice.

I love sleeping in. Love it. I, however, almost never get to do it. More than once, I've wished for a husband/boyfriend who is very fond of Ty, just so he'll have someone to get up with him. He is merciless when you are sleeping and he is not. He will bug me and bug me until, finally, I blow up and set the mood for a very shitty day. But this morning, with his declaration of "It's Thanksgiving!" and then telling me that his horse stomped on a snake, "oh, I don't know? A couple of days ago?" I was enchanted and a tickle kiss fest ensued and the mood was set properly. He seems to think that dreams are merely memories. And really, how do you explain dreams to a 4 year old? I've tried, but he tells me that you can only see movies and the like "WHEN YOU'R EYES ARE OPEN!!!" I have no doubt that one day, out of the blue, he will come up with some theory as to what dreams are and how they come about and I will be thoroughly charmed and convinced, myself.

Oh my god, I have so much to do today. My house is a disaster area. Missing only the yello caution tape stapled to the front and back doors. One of the thinks I hate the most about my life. I get busy and busy and busier and my mind is running in 200 different directions and then one day, I stop, look around and shudder at the hovel my home has become. And then go on a mad frenzy, wanting to get it all done, only to get to the last room and walk back into a living room that looks as if I never touched it. So I am hoping to clean/shovel it out today but chances are, maybe (and that should really be a MAYBE) the dishes will get done. No promises, though. Between a short 80 mile round trip to town, the wrapping of all last minute gifts and getting the mammoth roast cut up into smaller roasts and steaks before it spoils are cutting into my cleaning time. In addition to the stocking I am going to make for a friend of ours who will no doubt shake his head and curse a blue streak at our thoughtfullness. More like our evil senses of humor.

Short explanation: Almost every guy around here would have to have bamboo shoots being shoved up under pinky toenails before they would be mean to a girl. And Nellie, whom I've often referred to in a rather unflattering light, feeds upon this sort of man. She can do and say and push her way into many a man's bed simply because they don't like to come off as mean. And she has no problem taking advantage of this, I, on the other hand, as well as most of my compatriots, shudder at taking advantage of someone's manners and have to be told SEVERAL times that they really do want us to come over and that the invitations to their houses are really not made out of human kindness. Anyway, to Nellie and Joe. He complained, offhand, one night of not having anyone to cook for him. So she just marched right in (no invitation having been issued) and asked him to come to dinner with her. Mind you, Joe and herself aren't even particularly 'friends'. She asked him and he came up with many excuses, amongst them including "I can't. I have dishes and laundry and I have to take a shower." Wily girl that she is, she told him "Oh, go take your shower, throw your stuff in the washer and I'LL do your dishes." Oh, I would have PAID to have seen his face when she foiled his cop out excuse!! So, she marched in, did his dishes and proceeded to follow him to the bar where he had a cup of coffee and left 10 minutes after arriving.

So now, I tease him about it, asking if he has any dishes he wants ME to do? All the while, batting my eyelashes and simpering at him. The first time, he dead panned "I've killed people for less". And so a friend, myself and Merce (little sister) have decided to take him a 'stocking'. Made of rubber gloves and containing dish rags, dish soap, scrubbies and assorted dishwashing materials. He'll love it, I'm sure. At least, he'll appreciate our humor, I'm sure and after we give him the stocking, we'll try to refrain from ribbing him about it so he doesn't get mad.

K, must go. Little sister was here, informing me that she is going NOW and how dare I suggest that she wait for a few! She is ready to go NOW and if I am going to accompany her (in MY car, nonetheless!), I had better get my ass up and moving. Oh how terrible it would be if she couldn't find the keys!!! Tee hee. Later.

Days Go By

Today I had my first "in person" phone conversation with JR. I was a little anxious about it, afraid as coming off as the hick from the back forty. But she was sweet and nice and funny and I very much enjoyed our hour on the phone. I suppose I was anxious over the fact that she is so smart and wise to the world (whereas I'm really not) and I worried that when we talked in person, we wouldn't find any common ground. Much to my delight, she is not only as well spoken, smart, and kind as she comes across in her blog, but she's my type of girl, full of sassiness, with a mouth like a sailor to boot. Thanks, Rose. It was a splendid conversation and one of the highlights of this wicked month that has reduced me to tears more than once.

My god, the boy is growing up fast. This week alone, he has developed a penchant for white bread, slathered in butter and topped with bologna (so gross, the mere thought of it brings a pseudo oil coating to my mouth) and discovered his love of showers. The butter/bologna sandwich he makes himself complete with butter smeared hands, cupboards and even a blob of aforementioned grease upon my computer screen. And the showers. Good Lord, the child stands in there until the hot water runs out - oh, 30 - 35 minutes give or take. He has informed me that "baths are for babies and I'm not a baby, am I?" Last word of the question expressed with requisite raised eyebrow and little boy hands on hips. Good cryin' out loud, next week he'll be driving a car. Well, without being on my lap, anymore. Yes, it does go too fast.

Christmas in 4 days. Sheesh. I feel like last week, I turned around and it was Halloween. I think that once you have a kid, or when you have an 'involved' job, the days just whiz by. Mostly because you are just caught up in the day-to-day bull shit. And time just floats on by. The only notice you receive is when holidays, or the turning of the season comes and you're thinking "What the fuck? Wasn't it just New Years?" If I could turn back time, I'd go back to when he was just born and live it all minute by minute, imprisoning memories to be relived forever. There are so many little things that you think will always last. And one day, you realize they are gone, left while you were busy.

For instance, an entry in my ' Letter's to Ty ' journal I keep:
I lay here beside you watching you sleep. Perfect little fans of lashes lying against sweet cheeks made for mom's kisses. I think back to when I first brought you home. Remember looking over the edge of the bassinet at your perfect little fingers & toes. Putting my finger into your palm, just to watch you grab onto it like the lifeline it's supposed to be, even in your deep sleep. When did you stop doing that? I did it just tonight, just to see if you would grab ahold. You didn't. I see you now, running and talking a mile a minute, all flashing eyes and waving octopus arms. And I am so proud of the miracle you are. To think I held you in my very own womb and carried you, brought you here, for all the world to know. It's amazing. I have never been so graced by magic. I hold your head, cup the back of it and wonder "Did I remember to remember when his little head quit fitting, perfectly snug into the palm of my hand? Or did I just do it one day and it no longer fit?". You grow so quick and steady, it's hard to put distinction to the passing of those things. I wish that we could go back to that little baby and do it all again so that I could make sure that all of those days were imprinted in my mind's eye as well as being adorned upon the very core of my heart so that I would never forget them. I hate that those days sped by so quick, without me taking notice. I know that soon, you'll be going to school, growing more independent by the day and my heart will be full to bursting at the magic that is you but still, it will be breaking and wishing for the days when I could slip my finger into your palm and you would grab ahold, hanging on to it like the lifeline it's supposed to be.

When Will I Be Loved....

Last night was just fine. Things went OK. Mom had a bit of panic and couldn't find anything to wear and they (mom and dad) were pretty late. Resulting in a very cranky father and an anxious mother. I don't know what to do for her or them to make it better. Maybe she should talk to her doctor about it. Alzheimer's has been thrown around a bit. I think it's more acrophobia, but I'm no doctor. I don't know. She looked so pretty and her hair was all curled and nice and she was in tears. My heart breaks. I'm not ready for this yet. She is only 53 and I see her falling apart and us kids having to kiss it and make it better and my heart hurts and breaks. And at night, I cry because she is my mom and it shatters me to see her fall apart. It scares me to know that someday soon, the roles will be fully reversed and it will be my siblings and I holding her hand to cross the parking lot of life.

There is a new guy on the scene. Cowboy and smart and funny and cute (dimples!!). Oh God, he is cute and I want him for my own. A LOT. But it will never be and I will just take the ride, hitting all of the potholes and riding out the storms. I'll be full of unrequited feelings and I'll eventually be sad and lonely and feeling like I'll never find someone. Although... at one point, in a very candid and slightly distorted moment, I told him "Someday, you will love me" (re: my sarcastic humor) and he laughed, looked me straight in the eye and said "I probably will". O! Be Still my fluttering heart! More like O! Go hide your embarrassed ass! I really didn't mean it in the sense that he would LOVE, love me. Just that he would, one day, appreciate my humor. But he rolled with it, and god help me, I love a man that will save me from myself. Oh yeah, and the title of the post... song that he played over and over and would sing it out loud to me, with his smile and dimples flashing in the light. *SIGH*

My friend that broke his neck, chose last night, to broadcast it far and wide that he is "in love" with me. Why do these things happen to me? I love him, I do. I cried when he was away and I couldn't be with him, to help him, to take care of him when he first broke his neck. I cried myself to sleep when I thought that he would never again, saddle up and I hurt for him like I haven't hurt for anyone outside of my family in a long time. And part of me says, maybe that is enough. That you care for him and would cry for him when he is broken and down and out. Just let him love you and help you. I know that he will help me in whatever I ask him. I know that. I know that if things were different, he would be my perfect partner. But he isn't. He takes mucho risks with his life, over and over again. Case in point, the broken neck, a result of drunk driving and no seatbelt. He drinks TOO much. I drink a lot, by some standards. But by no means could I live with someone who is trashed four nights out of seven. And his loving me? It's a result of drunken midnight phone calls, hours spent debating and solving the world's problems. It's the result of hours spent on barstools, laughing and teasing and flirting. But it's nowhere near the sort of love that stable, consistent, healthy relationships are built upon. It hurts me to hurt him. I know though that if I were to cave and let him love me the way he wants to, that it would end badly and I can't afford to lose the kind of friend that he is. Poor guy. Besides the fact that his ex wife is still a part of his life, they still have issues and she is one big, bad mutha. She has let me know, in no uncertain terms, that she still considers him as her husband and no girl is welcome to the picking. So, yeah, course of action is... NONE. I will go on loving him the way that I do, although it isn't the kind of love that he wants from me, and never say never.

Little sister is well on her way to snagging herself a man. And he is sweet and cute and adorable, if not overly bright. He's a helluva nice man and I wish her and himself well. (See? Today, it doesn't bother me. I suppose because hope springs eternal. No matter how much I squash it, the hope that I, too, will be loved fucking comes back EVERY TIME.)

Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly

Christmas party tonight. Hopefully, everything comes together instead of falling to shit as I suspect it might. Tired. Neighbor's music was so loud last night, my bedroom window was vibrating and the light fixture rattled as if it might fall down. I was starting to feel a tad bit irate when he finally shut it the fuck off and everyone went home. Merce and Nellie were there. Hopefully Merce's face isn't awful swollen today from all the beer last night. Wisdom teeth coming in and her jaw line keeps puffing up and looking ugly. Guess I'll go and start the day. Need to go decorate Community Center for party. Cheers.

I'm A Loser, Baby

After a couple of days' thought, I feel better and have come to the conclusion that I am a whiner.

While I still feel that I might possibly be on the long road to solitary senility, I am, today, ok with it. As I said to Merce, some days it really gets me down and blue, but other days, it just IS and it doesn't set at the forefront of my mind, whittling away at my happiness.

Busy, busy. Holidays, work, holiday party FOR work. I seem to be in a constant state of "what have I forgot?". I apologize for lack of posts, but I sincerely hope that you'd rather miss me than read about a possible trichinosis exposure phone call from the Department of Agriculture. Or the meeting that the grant commission wants to set up for Jan. 4th.

The meeting is taking up a bunch of space in my head right now because as acting president, what if they want ME to speak? Ack. I can't, can't, can't. If I could write in my response and go over it with spell check and a fine tooth comb, I would be ok. But I don't like for people to stare at me and wait, expectantly. It wipes my mind blank and I can't form coherent thoughts, much less a semi-intelligent answer. Wonderful. One more think to ponder over the holidays, adding to the stress and misery. I am keeping the faith that the one board member who is 'in-the-know' will be there and will graciously take over, as is her wont. I suppose if I glower and make idiotic moves towards her enough, she will. Hahaha. Either that or eat some more raw chicken, so that I may be sick. I think I'll face the shooting squad, rather than feel like I've already stood and been showered with bullets. Thankyouverymuch.

Tomorrow is the school Christmas play. One of my favorite things of the holiday season. I so do love to watch all the kiddies sing at the top of their lungs and whisper their lines. They are so cute and so innocent. It reminds me of my own Christmas plays passed. Of being dressed up in hot, velvet dresses and tights and shoes that pinched. Singing and whispering and waiting anxiously for the end, so that I may take my turn on Santa's lap and get my own bag full of candy. I am thinking that it's that innocence that I miss.

Help Me Make It Through The Night

Today Merce called me out on the boyfriend issue. She asked 'Why can't you just be happy for me?'. And I am. I really am. I know that having someone there in the middle of the night to laugh with and be with helps her.

But I am also jealous. And sad that I am jealous when I really am happy for her. I can pretend with just about anyone, except her. And to try and pretend all of the time, not being able to express it hurts almost as much as the issues I have within myself.

When is it my turn? Why can't I be loved? If not loved, then at least CONSIDERED for Christ's sake? Last time I had a boyfriend, someone to actually, truly call my own was with Jake, and hell, that's been 5 years now.

It makes me feel so awfully unworthy and lonely and ugly and fat and hideous. Here I am alone for 5 years, going into the sixth when she isn't even divorced. What is it about me that screams 'Run, go, get away. You don't want this one!' when she just glides from one to the other. First it was C, who yes, it was supposed to be just friends, but from all that was said about it, the relationship just seemed like more. Then, D and now S. And Lori? ZIP.

And it seems that all the growing up I've done? Well, is isn't worth much. I can't relate to people who want to spend all of their free time and hard earned money on drink. I want to have someone who can entertain themselves somewhat coherently, without the necessity of 'just add alcohol'. Someone who knows what's going on outside of our little village and actually acknowledges the world out there. Do I really have to dummy down to find a mate?

I always feel like I'll be alone forever and whenever I express it, I hear what they think I want to hear "Oh, yes, yes, you will. It just isn't your time!" Well, when the fuck IS it my time? Has it come and gone? Do the follies of my youth count towards some unknown number of times I am allowed to feel loved and worthy to someone of the opposite sex, outside of my family?

I am lonely. It follows me day to day. Sitting in my throat, a painful lump to have to swallow around. At night, I think of things that can and will never be. Of people who will never want me nor want to be considered mine. I am making my self crazy with the loneliness. The terrible part of it is; I don't know how to stop it. I don't know what to do with this god awful loneliness that haunts me. How do you stop wanting something that is human nature? Something that is ingrained so deep within you that you can't cover it up and coax it away? How can one make themselves happy, living in a solo state, when their basest instincts are telling them to couple up?

The holidays never help. I always feel the loneliest at this time of year. I have my boy and for him, I am more grateful than mere words may convey. But where is the one to pick out a present for me? The one who might steal a kiss under the mistletoe?

I miss someone I've never had. I want there to be someone there for ME in the middle of the night, too. I want someone who will hold me when my world falls apart. Someone who will pick me up when I've shattered and paste it all back together with love. That feeling, when you are out and about, doing the normal day to day, that feeling that someone out there is harboring and cherishing the thought that you belong to them. I want that. I miss that. And apparently, I am not meant for that any more.

I really, truly am beginning to feel like that is the case. And believe me, it's a much harder lump to swallow than just loneliness.

'Tis the Season

And I am far from jolly.

First off, I'm sick. I think I have food poisoning. Yay. I spent maybe a whole hour and a half NOT writhing in pain last night. I'm feeling slightly better this morning. My stomach is still pretty sore.

Secondly, Merce and them partied last night. And when I called to see if she had some antacids, they were all drunk and having so much fun and I just felt so left out and lonely. I know, it's dumb. Just one of those things. My own son tried to dump me in favor of going over and playing with them. He was going to go and stay the night he told me. Then my feelings were really hurt. Oh well. I suppose if they must have a good time without me and it doesn't really matter that I am not there, then *sniff* I will survive someway, somehow. I suppose it doesn't help that the town hooker was there, basting in all her loose glory.

It's been busy. I feel bad for not writing more, but I need to go get showered and go into work, at least for awhile. There are things that need to be done and I need to get them done. Later...

O Christmas Tree

Today we decorated the house, somewhat. Lights and garlands and tinsel. The boy loves it so much and I really didn't want to do it, but because of him, I forced myself.

I'm tired. Not physically. Emotionally and mentally. I'm tired of being everything, yet nothing.

I'm tired of being lonely and unloved, uncherished by someone special.

I'm tired of being a single mom. Of being the laughing mom and the stern mom. Of being the humble and poor mom and still spoiling him. I'm tired of being the forgiving mother who tries to teach her son not to hate the man that walked out on us, twice, while a seething pit of white hot rage burns at the bottom of my soul.

Who is he to walk out on this boy? Who is he to make this kid question his mother about his father and if he will ever come back? He says that he will never talk to him, and yes, he is only four and probably doesn't have a clue what he is saying, but the feeling is there. He just doesn't know the words for it. If it wasn't, he wouldn't say things like that. The feeling of being abandoned and not worthy. He asked me if Jake was ever going to come back and I said he might someday, because Jake will eventually want to know him, not just of him. And he told me that if Jake did come back, he wouldn't talk to him, he wouldn't be with him. That he, Ty, would go someplace else. How can my baby have these feelings already? The resentment and the 'fuck you'-edness of being abandoned by his dad? It hurts me because no baby should feel that way. It makes me angry. It makes me fume.

Just today, I was telling Merce that I missed Jake. Not the woman missing the man sort of missing him, but missing him as a pal, someone who could always make me laugh. And tonight, when I should be sleeping, I am sitting here, fuming and wanting to HURT him.

I am wanting to hurt him for hurting my little boy. I am wanting to hurt him for not giving a shit about this most amazing little person. I want to hurt him for walking away and not coming back to help us up off of our knees.

I hate him right now. I hate him for being weak and selfish and immature. I hate him for not being the kind of man my son needs him to be and for not showing my son where he comes from. Although, I suppose his absence shows plenty of where he comes from.

And Christmas is approaching. For me, it's always been a time for family. Well, we have 2 absent fathers and a grandmother who is depressed and just wants the holidays to pass by without notice. Wonderful. No wonder the Christmas spirit isn't quite working for me as of yet.

When we were younger, my mom adored Christmas. Well, she did up until a few years ago. But the older she gets, the more she dislikes them. For us, the holidays were always special. She made them that way. It just seems like she is taking the magic out of it anymore.

She used to make huge gingerbread houses that she'd cut out of cardboard. I'm talking huge. They were beautiful and magical and meticulous. Now, she doesn't even want to make dinner. She used to make sugar cookies that the memory of still makes my mouth water. Now, she pulls a frozen pie or two out of the freezer. I know she's old and she doesn't want to do this stuff. We would do it, if she asked. But she just doesn't want it. She doesn't want to be reminded of it. She would nit pick and drive us all crazy before the turkey was even in the oven and afterward, tell us everything we did wrong.

I miss her. I miss the mom of yesteryear. The one who would sing Christmas carols at the top of her lungs, giggling all the while. I miss the mom who would spend hours on her gingerbread houses, then go to bed at night smelling of frosting and gumdrops. I miss her spirit. For some reason or another, it's been leached out of her and I don't know how to restore it. I don't know how to do it without her and her Christmas carol screeching. I don't know where to find my own spirit because it seems as if the key to unlocking it lies somewhere within her sugar cookies and frosting smell.

I know I'm a big girl. I know that our parents die. I know that one day, I will really have to do it without her. I just wish she wouldn't have made me start doing it before she was gone, so that the Christmas spirit lived on in her memory.

Suited for a Sunday Morn

Today the teenager has left for a week. It'll be awful quiet without her and the kid will be very lonely. I always figured it was lonely for only children and now I see just how much it really is. Poor guy.

Friday, sister and I went out with the neighbor and his new roomie, Merce's good 'friend'. The neighbor pulled me back into his spell. He was able to cross the barriers, riding on a wave of my own loneliness. But man that he is, he insisted I come to his house and I didn't want to be spending the night with a half grown puppy laying on my head so I came home. And felt ashamed for letting it get that far when I swore I would never let it happen again. Oh well, today is a new day and resolutions still hold. Although that one slow, long, deep kiss was soo nice. Much better than he's done before. *sigh*

The weather is c.o.l.d. Freezing. Every day is mostly gray and when it isn't gray, it's blinding from the reflection off of the snow. And there is half melted, dirty snow all about and if I really try I could find something else to bitch about, like picking stuff up outside, only to have your fingers hurt and burn from the touch of it. Of course, it could be worse. It could be colder.

Today I will go to a small nearby town and spend way too much money on things that I need like dishsoap and trash bags and my phone and TV haven't been paid yet. I will have to pay them somehow. I'll just get the necessary things and hope that I can still pay the bills. I am so sick of my debt. I'm thinking of getting one of those debt consolidation loans and working from there. I'm pretty sure that I'm going to. I've got some information from one of my credit cards that offers a line of credit at a low rate, just specifically to pay debts off.

Going to start the day.

The Sweetest Gift, A Mother's Smile

Worrying over our kids... for some of us it's a constant. For some of us, it's this huge, terrible monster that hides in the closet. We know it's there, we see it's shape. Only when it comes out do we see it in all it's glory and we spend hours with it there in front of us, appalled and yet, we still cannot look away.

A person who worries are they might be going too far with the worrying? Do they know the monster so well that it doesn't even go BACK into the closet? It just lurks at the end of the bed, waiting for the bell.

Ahh, well. There's the opposite of worrying. Not worrying. And for me, that would be the worst. The epitome of a shitty parent. Better to be over cautious than to not care at all, I suppose. And so I try to give in to it, roll it around in my hands a few times and then let it go. Some of us, though, like my friend JR, have a real, tangible worry that takes up a huge portion of their minds, and with them, I sympathize. There's no thinking it out, the logical ends of her worries. No rationalizing with herself that there really is no danger there. Because, yes, there really is danger there. And if I had a magic wand, it would be on the top of my list to remove said danger from the lives of all kids.

When I was just a wee version of my over-analytical self, we lived 60 miles from the nearest town. When we went grocery shopping, it was usually a family excursion. And one of my clearest memories is standing at my dad's shoulder (yes, I can remember standing in the seat next to my dad, while the car was moving, speaking of worrying, my god, i'm amazed i never went through the windshield). Anyway, as I was saying, I can remember standing there singing to him, directly in his ear while he drove "Let's all go to the Dairy Queen". Thus began my eternal love of frozen dairy products. It's a tradition that I carry on with my own and I'll be damned if I can't hear my own voice singing it as he begs me to go "Pleeeease, before we leave town".

And herein lies the danger JR lives with. Her daughter would die upon eating at a Dairy Queen, literally. She is allergic to nuts (peanuts send her into anaphylactic shock) and she is allergic to dairy products and, and.... and my heart breaks for this little angel who treads so carefully through the kindergarten halls of life, pb & j sandwich remnants covering classmates' hands, faces and tabletops. The brave little soldier and her ever worrying mother. My heart and my prayers go out to them.

Work is busy. Life is busy. Talking with my mother today about all sorts of things. We talked for 2 and 1/2 hours. My goodness, not like I don't drive practically TO her house everyday to go to work. Childhood came up, life and all it's miseries. How you can give and give and give and life still bites you in the ass. That nothing will ever be perfect. She's depressed. I think I might try to find her one of those season lights. The ones that are supposed to bring you out of depression. Hopefully it will help. She's having a pretty rough time of it and I really hate that I don't have that fucking magic wand to make everything better for everyone and anyone I care about, goddammit! I really want to. Sometimes it just feels like everything is all wrong and.... yuck. *sigh* It must be December.