That special day that comes once a year, created for the soul purpose of reminding us to take a moment and tell the woman who gave birth to us how much they are appreciated. We give them flowers and make them breakfast in bed, give them gifts and take on extra chores to help them out. We spend the day telling them how much we care. It's a lovely holiday.
When I was little girl, my parents divorced, and for reasons that I didn't know then, my father cut off all contact between me and my mother. He remarried and the woman who became my step-mom was the person I considered "Mom." I made her paper flowers in school, colored her pictures, and even made her burnt toast and cereal for that all important Mother's Day breakfast in bed. When I was 9, her and my dad got a divorce. She told my dad that she never wanted to see me again.
A few years later, my dad met a woman through a family member. She had three kids of her own, so when my dad moved us in with her, we already expected a challenge. Mixed families are extremely difficult even in the best of circumstances. I remember my dad telling me that I didn't have to call her mom if I didn't want to, but that it would make her feel good. So I did. It was just a name, after all. But what I didn't understand then, was that just because you called a person "mom" that didn't mean that they had to treat you like you were their kid. Unfortunately, it was very difficult for her to accept me and treat me like I was one of her own. After living in that house for a few years, being treated like the "step-child", my dad finally decided enough was enough. Things just weren't working out.
When I was 13, my dad realized I was at that age that he officially had no clue what to do with me. I was failing every class except gym, refusing to do my homework, running away from home, and lying through my teeth about anything and everything. I think he was a little afraid that he was going to have to start buying me tampons soon, and that freaked him out too. So after spending my entire life only knowing step-moms, he was finally sending me to live with my real mother.
Over night, I went from being my father's only child to having two older and two younger sisters. I was dead middle. I had a mother that I never got a chance to know as a little kid and I couldn't even get her sole attention for 5 straight minutes. I over heard a phone conversation between her and my dad in which she told him that I was a brat because I didn't know how to play with my younger sisters. I didn't know how to share, how to talk to them, how to act. I didn't know how to be a part of a family. I wanted her love and attention, for her to show me what I was supposed to do, and she called me a brat. That broke my heart.
During the most important years of my early womanhood, I was treated as invisible, a rebellious stain on the family, and was considered little more than a free baby sitter. My refusal to do homework, my constant running away, and my compulsive lying didn't end. And sadly, the worse I got, the more I was ignored. Finally, one night I told my mom that I was going back to live with my dad. I was moments away from dropping out of school and my life was looking like my destiny was to become a statistic. My mom took the news hard. So hard in fact, that she attempted suicide in front of me. In a drunken stupor, she burned her own wrists with her cigarette and said "Look what you're doing to me." Then she took a knife and attempted to take her own life. I was 16.
Less than 24 hours later, I was back in the safety of my dad's care. My mother was taken for a 72 hour lock down and my sisters blamed me for everything.
I didn't have a whole lot of faith in mothers after that. So when my dad told me his girlfriend was moving in, I was skeptical. I thanked my lucky stars at the time that I was 18 and living on my own. I had no intention of ever calling anyone "mom" ever again. To me, the word was synonymous with uncaring, unloyal, and heartless. I told my dad to never expect me to call her "mom." It simply wasn't going to happen. It was in that conversation that my dad told me how sorry he was. He had been afraid to raise me alone and in his haste to find me a mother, he hadn't been as picky as he should have been. He told me he made choices that he thought would be the best for me. Obviously they didn't work out the way he'd planned. He asked for my forgiveness and I didn't hesitate to give it.
I'm 31 now, and a mother of three beautiful daughters. I have moments where I question my abilities to parent and get down on myself for making mistakes. I look back at what I have been taught from my "mothers" and I struggle to not become one of them. I see some of the same things I did as a kid being repeated in my eldest and it scares me. But my dad assures me that most of that is genetics. He was pretty rebellious too.
His live-in girlfriend became his wife and they've been married for 10 years now. It was very slow going between my step-mother and myself, but we've actually grown closer than I expected. I still refuse to call her mom, and she's okay with that. She has no other children. So my kids are her only grandkids. It's nice to have someone who treats my kids like her own, yet doesn't require me to treat her like my mother.
What's really interesting, is that even though I have an extreme distaste for having a mother, I've realized in my adulthood that there are people in my life that have filled the holes left behind by those other women. It's not just one person, but in fact many, who have added to my ideal version of a mother. My dad, ironically, has been the biggest part of that. When I was sick as a child, he took care of me. He was awkward and clumsy, but he was there. He never failed to give me the honest, sometimes brutal truth. He stayed awake at night, wondering what the hell to do with a kid who was simply unmotivated to do anything. He made choices about what was best for me, not necessarily for himself. But most importantly, when I was in trouble, during the most difficult time in my life, he was there to pull me out of it, then proceed to kick my ass into gear and tell me to make something of myself. He's the only reason I finished high school.
Strangely enough, my husband has also filled the role of mother from time to time. Yea, I know. It's weird. But he encourages me. He has my back, and he never gives up on me. I didn't have that as a kid. I hold no grudges toward my dad, but even he had a moment where he couldn't do it anymore, and he gave up on me. He sent me away. Now, that's completely forgiven and totally in the past. But my husband, even when I pushed him away, even when I tried to leave him, even at my worst, most bitchiest moments, has never let me go. He will never give up on me. He has complete faith in me. That's the kind of relationship that I can trust will always be there. That's the kind of thing a mother should always be to their kids.
My best friend is always there to help fill the role of mommy to me, too. She never fails to be there when I need her. I can cry and vent or laugh until I pee. Either way, she's there. There is no judgement in her. Not an ounce. I could tell her that I murdered someone, and she would probably start a car wash to raise money for my bail. She never doubts me, never criticizes me (unless it's constructive), and always pushes me to be my best. It's one of the most important traits of a mother, one I hope always have for my kids.
My step-mom (the current one) has this amazing patience. She's very soft spoken compared to my dad's loud, booming presence. She's always thinking of me and my kids. She remembers little details about everyone and never fails to show up with little presents, even if it's just a cut out of a magazine article she thinks I'll like, or a dollar package of crayons for the kids. And despite the numerous attempts to push her away, she never fails to let it ride off of her like water off a duck's back. I even find myself thinking about her this year for Mother's Day, and considering sending her a card.
So to the mothers out there, whether you gave birth to someone or not, whether you have step-kids, foster kids, adopted kids, or kids with four legs and fur, whether you lack the necessary body parts to actually have kids, or are the type of person who just doesn't want to raise babies, if you've touched someone else's life and made them feel loved, important, and cared for, thank you. You may not know how important you are to someone. But trust me, you've helped. You were there. And that's the most important thing in the world.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Defying Gravity
Once upon a time, there was an adventurous young girl. Her bright eyes were full of wonder of life's possibilities. She lived alone with her grandfather, an old crippled man with a love of maps and story telling. Her grandfather had thousands of maps in his collection, old, dusty maps of far away places. But there's one map in his collection that the little girl was most fascinated with.
Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes and leap!
When the little girl first came to live with her grandfather, she was sad from the loss of her parents. So he took a map of mountains not far from his home and drew over the top of it. He drew a gateway to an imaginary word of his own creation; a world that doesn't exist. That night, as he tucked his sweet, sad granddaughter into her bed, he pulled out the map and began to tell her a story.
The little girl's heart filled with curiosity and delight over this magical place. Every night she begged her grandfather to tell her more. It was a world filled with magic and mystery. It was a place where anything could happen and the impossible became possible. Call it Wonderland, Neverland, Narnia, or even the fae world. The name didn't really matter. It was the fantastical fact that simply anything could happen there.
The more her grandfather told her, the more the little girl believed that this world was real. And the fact there was a map made the whole story that much more valid. Her grandfather had no idea how very real this place he invented was to the little girl, for if he had, he would have surely told her the truth.
One day the little girl was gazing upon the map, tracing the lines with her fingers, when she finally decided she HAD to see this place for herself. But she could never ask her grandfather to take her. He was old and had trouble walking. There was no way he could make the journey, and she knew he would never allow her to go alone. She was a little girl, after all. But her passion and desire to see this kingdom overruled her common sense and duty to obey her grandfather. So she packed her backpack with jacket, a change of clothes, and few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When she was sure her grandfather was asleep, she slipped out into the night.
In the morning, her grandfather awoke to find a note on the little girl's bed with a walkie talkie laying next to it. The note told him that she'd taken his map, that she was sorry, but she needed to go see this magical land for herself. She promised that she would be careful and that she would call him on the walkie talkie soon. The old man was terrified of the danger his precious granddaughter might be in. He paced and paced until finally, the walkie talkie clicked and the sound of her voice filled the air.
She assured him that she was safe and that even though the journey was dangerous, she knew she had to do it. He begged her to come home where it was safe. But she refused. Then she told him she needed to save the battery on the walkie talkie. But she promised to call again soon before the radio clicked again and went silent.
Terrified and in a state of complete panic, the old man picked up the phone and called the police.
For days, they combed the forest land and the mountains nearby, searching for any signs of the little girl. But their efforts were in vain. Each night, she called on the radio and spoke to her grandfather, and each night she told him the most wonderful stories. She told him about her adventures slaying dragons, meeting elves, and dining with dwarves. He was always relieved to hear from her and each night, after she finished telling of her adventures, he begged her to come back home. But she always refused.
Then one day she made her final call. She told her grandfather that she'd found the doorway that she'd been searching for and that she was sorry, but she wouldn't be able to call him again. The magical place was everything he'd told her about. But once she went through the door, she could never come back.
"I love you grandfather. Thank you so much for telling me the stories."
One more time, he begged her to come home to the safety of the real world. He told her the place in his stories was just a fantasy and that he'd made it all up to make a sad little girl feel better. He pleaded and cried, terrified that he would never see his beloved granddaughter ever again. But she only responded by calmly assuring him that she would be okay. Then there was silence.
A few days later, the police find the little girl's backpack and the walkie talkie next to a steep, rocky cliff with a raging river rushing along below. No body is ever recovered, but the little girl is pronounced dead.
For the rest of his years, the old man spends his days sitting on his rocking chair on the front porch. Sometimes he cries for his granddaughter. But sometimes he looks at that big, looming mountain in the distance, and he wonders. What if she did make it? What if the world that he thought was just a story, was real? What if.....
This story was a dream of mine a few nights ago. It was a lovely dream that reminded me of all the fairy tales and stories I'd grown up with. But the more I thought about it, the more it nagged at me. This wasn't a typical dream for some reason. There was something about it that bugged me.
I've always believed that dreams are a gateway to our subconscious. Dreams are important in understanding ourselves and processing the things that are most important to us. So with this in mind, I did a little research.
For those that don't know me, I'm a writer. I've never been published, though. In fact, I've never actually finished writing a story. I come up with great ideas and then I lose focus and give up. The idea of having a book finished and published....that's my fantasy world. That's the story that I keep telling the little girl inside me. I show this little girl the map, the proof of the existence of this world. The map is my friends who have all been published, who have all shown me that this fantasy world DOES IN FACT EXIST.
But the old man inside me still believes that he made this place up. He still believes that it's just a really lovely story he told to a sad little girl to make her feel better when she felt so alone. But he had no idea that she would take it all in and believe with her whole heart that it was real.
Ladies and gentleman, I think this little girl is ready to pack her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and hit the road. I keep trying to tell myself that it's all just a story, don't go, stay home where it's safe! But I can't. Because I think it really is real.
I want to know what the little girl sees in this magical world. The journey will be hard, the road will be tough. But if I'm lucky, I'll slay a few dragons along the way, I'll meet with some really cool elves, and I'll have some dinner with a couple of dwarves. And then, when I'm ready to make that final call, I know what to expect. I know I'll beg myself not to go. I'll tell myself it's not too late to turn back. It'll be hard. But I think I'm ready for that leap.
Elphaba said it best in Wicked....
Something has changed within meSomething is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes and leap!
It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you can't pull me down!
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you can't pull me down!
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Christianity vs Homosexuality: A third side to the debate
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Saturday, February 1, 2014
Advice for my soon-to-be teenage daughters
In five short years, my eldest daughter will be thirteen. That thought horrifies me and keeps me awake at night. Then, two years after that, my middle child will turn the dreaded age, and two years after that, my youngest baby will join the ranks. That means in nine years, I will have lost my little innocent girls to boys, hormones, and pop music. I will no longer be the cool mom who understands them, the sole source of comfort and advice, the all knowledgeable person they look up to. They will go from being obsessed with My Little Pony and Monster High to bras and make-up. They'll be at the mercy of the Miley Cyruses and Justin Biebers of the world.
*Panic attack ensues*
Eleven years ago, I officially stopped being a teenager. So before I completely forget what it was like to feel awkward and hormonal, I have a few bits of knowledge I'd like to share.
#1 Boys
With all honesty, boys don't become really interesting until you hit your twenties. I don't say this because I don't want you to date in your teens. I say this because between your hormones and the pressure that boys put on you, you're going to want to have sex. Its totally natural. I'm not asking you to wait until you're married. (That would be ideal. But let's face it, it's not going to happen. It wasn't that way when I was younger, and it won't be that way when you are older. So feel free to remind me of that when we have this conversation in a few years.) What I am asking, is that you wait until after high school at the least. Because if its true love, it can wait four measly years. But more to the point, I promise you that even though he's super cute and sweet, you guys make the perfect couple, you have all the same interests, your friends like him, and you believe with everything in your heart that you will be together forever....he isn't nearly as exciting as the guys will be when you are older. I can say this with utmost certainty because of one very important fact. That whole "Girls mature faster than boys" thing is absolutely true. Teenage boys are incredibly boring compared to their older selves. The older they get, the more interesting they become. Of course, some of them will never grow up. But those that do are WAY more fun.
Plus, (and I will deny saying this when you are older, even if its in print) sex with boys is lame. Sex with a man, however....well that can be amazing. So wait a few years. Its not the eternity that you think it is.
And if you don't believe that I know what I'm talking about, remember that I write romance stories and I have three kids. I know what sex is. But more importantly, I know what GOOD sex is, and there's no such thing as GOOD sex in high school, there's only mediocre sex.
#2 High School
As much as you tell me that its different for you than when I was younger, its not. The music is a little different and the clothes have changed. But the basic concepts and struggles are the same. The majority of your high school career will be filled with fear, anxiety, apprehension, and the need to "fit in." High school is like this tiny society that functions within the real world. It has it's own set of rules and unfortunately, it doesn't come with a manual. There are going to be a ton of problems that you will face. Its just a part of growing up. But there are two things that I want to remind you of, two things that you need to remember when facing ANY tough problem.
A. High School lasts four years. Its four tiny years of your life, and almost immediately after you get out, you forget about it. No matter what you do, no matter how embarrassing the situation is, it will be forgotten almost as soon as that diploma is in your hands. From that moment on, you don't ever have to look at those people again if you don't want to. So if you fart in the middle of doing sit-ups in gym class, you blow chunks during algebra, or someone gets a video of you doing something incredibly stupid and posts it on YouTube, don't despair....you'll only be known as "that girl" for no more than four years. Your future co-workers won't know anything about it.
B. No matter how tragic, how life or death, how eternally soul-crushing your problem is, there will be a moment in your adult years where you would rather switch places with your younger self so you won't have to deal with what you're going through. You think your boyfriend breaking up with in the middle of the cafeteria, in front of everyone, is hard? I promise you that having the lives of three tiny kids depending on you and NOT having any control over your circumstances is FAR more panic inducing. Try being stranded in a car in subzero weather, terrified that your kids may freeze to death. And I know you don't get it now, just like you think I don't understand your problem. But someday you will. All I ask is that you allow me the moment to say "I told you so."
#3 Your Parents
Here's a little tip that you need to know. Look at me right now. Do you see the wrinkles and gray hair? This is how I appear to you. But on the inside, I'm still only twenty-two. I'm a dork. I will embarrass the crap out of you. Don't bother trying to make me "cool." I never will be. Don't offer to give me a make-over. I don't want it. Don't give me advice on how all the other moms dress and act. I'm not them. I have never been society's version of "cool" and I never will be. Sorry. You're stuck with me. I will probably embarrass you in front of your friends. I will tell stupid jokes that I believe are funny, but you will find ridiculous. And its possible that there may come a time or two in your life, when you wish you had different parents.
Your Dad is going to be a challenge, too. The first time you even mention boys, he's going to hit the roof. Expect that the first time you bring home a date, he's going to be sitting on the couch, cleaning his rifle, telling your boyfriend what a great marksman he is. There will be moments where you wish you could just crawl into a hole and die. He will purposely try to embarrass you enough that your date will never want to go out with you again. (See #1 for dealing with boy problems.)
He will be overprotective, and I will make you feel like the social outcast of the school. But you know what? We love you and we want what's best for you. No matter what happens, there is nothing you can do that will make us stop loving you.
#4 Friends
There are two kinds of friends in high school; the ones who genuinely care about you, and the ones who throw your ass under the bus to save their own skins. Learn to spot the difference quickly. But sometimes, its hard to tell. I'm not saying to never trust your friends. But remember that anything you say to a bestie in private, can be plastered all over Facebook if you two have a falling out. So before saying anything you wouldn't want seen on the internet, stop and think.
But the most important thing I can tell you about friends, is to be a good one. High school is hard enough. Don't be that kid that makes someone else's life miserable. Don't be the one who posts embarrassing videos or gossips about the geek. Its not awesome or funny, and it doesn't earn you respect. Be trustworthy and nice. I guarantee that those qualities go a long way in the adult world. The theory that "nice guys finish last," is completely ridiculous.
"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." ~Maya Angelou
I wish you the best of luck in your teenage years. If they're anything like mine, they will be traumatic. But the good news is, I survived and look at how normal I turned out! That doesn't really help, does it? Well, with a little luck, you'll come out of it a little less scathed and hopefully not pregnant.
Oh God, please don't get pregnant.
*Breathes into a paper bag*
*Panic attack ensues*
Eleven years ago, I officially stopped being a teenager. So before I completely forget what it was like to feel awkward and hormonal, I have a few bits of knowledge I'd like to share.
#1 Boys
With all honesty, boys don't become really interesting until you hit your twenties. I don't say this because I don't want you to date in your teens. I say this because between your hormones and the pressure that boys put on you, you're going to want to have sex. Its totally natural. I'm not asking you to wait until you're married. (That would be ideal. But let's face it, it's not going to happen. It wasn't that way when I was younger, and it won't be that way when you are older. So feel free to remind me of that when we have this conversation in a few years.) What I am asking, is that you wait until after high school at the least. Because if its true love, it can wait four measly years. But more to the point, I promise you that even though he's super cute and sweet, you guys make the perfect couple, you have all the same interests, your friends like him, and you believe with everything in your heart that you will be together forever....he isn't nearly as exciting as the guys will be when you are older. I can say this with utmost certainty because of one very important fact. That whole "Girls mature faster than boys" thing is absolutely true. Teenage boys are incredibly boring compared to their older selves. The older they get, the more interesting they become. Of course, some of them will never grow up. But those that do are WAY more fun.
Plus, (and I will deny saying this when you are older, even if its in print) sex with boys is lame. Sex with a man, however....well that can be amazing. So wait a few years. Its not the eternity that you think it is.
And if you don't believe that I know what I'm talking about, remember that I write romance stories and I have three kids. I know what sex is. But more importantly, I know what GOOD sex is, and there's no such thing as GOOD sex in high school, there's only mediocre sex.
#2 High School
As much as you tell me that its different for you than when I was younger, its not. The music is a little different and the clothes have changed. But the basic concepts and struggles are the same. The majority of your high school career will be filled with fear, anxiety, apprehension, and the need to "fit in." High school is like this tiny society that functions within the real world. It has it's own set of rules and unfortunately, it doesn't come with a manual. There are going to be a ton of problems that you will face. Its just a part of growing up. But there are two things that I want to remind you of, two things that you need to remember when facing ANY tough problem.
A. High School lasts four years. Its four tiny years of your life, and almost immediately after you get out, you forget about it. No matter what you do, no matter how embarrassing the situation is, it will be forgotten almost as soon as that diploma is in your hands. From that moment on, you don't ever have to look at those people again if you don't want to. So if you fart in the middle of doing sit-ups in gym class, you blow chunks during algebra, or someone gets a video of you doing something incredibly stupid and posts it on YouTube, don't despair....you'll only be known as "that girl" for no more than four years. Your future co-workers won't know anything about it.
B. No matter how tragic, how life or death, how eternally soul-crushing your problem is, there will be a moment in your adult years where you would rather switch places with your younger self so you won't have to deal with what you're going through. You think your boyfriend breaking up with in the middle of the cafeteria, in front of everyone, is hard? I promise you that having the lives of three tiny kids depending on you and NOT having any control over your circumstances is FAR more panic inducing. Try being stranded in a car in subzero weather, terrified that your kids may freeze to death. And I know you don't get it now, just like you think I don't understand your problem. But someday you will. All I ask is that you allow me the moment to say "I told you so."
#3 Your Parents
Here's a little tip that you need to know. Look at me right now. Do you see the wrinkles and gray hair? This is how I appear to you. But on the inside, I'm still only twenty-two. I'm a dork. I will embarrass the crap out of you. Don't bother trying to make me "cool." I never will be. Don't offer to give me a make-over. I don't want it. Don't give me advice on how all the other moms dress and act. I'm not them. I have never been society's version of "cool" and I never will be. Sorry. You're stuck with me. I will probably embarrass you in front of your friends. I will tell stupid jokes that I believe are funny, but you will find ridiculous. And its possible that there may come a time or two in your life, when you wish you had different parents.
Your Dad is going to be a challenge, too. The first time you even mention boys, he's going to hit the roof. Expect that the first time you bring home a date, he's going to be sitting on the couch, cleaning his rifle, telling your boyfriend what a great marksman he is. There will be moments where you wish you could just crawl into a hole and die. He will purposely try to embarrass you enough that your date will never want to go out with you again. (See #1 for dealing with boy problems.)
He will be overprotective, and I will make you feel like the social outcast of the school. But you know what? We love you and we want what's best for you. No matter what happens, there is nothing you can do that will make us stop loving you.
#4 Friends
There are two kinds of friends in high school; the ones who genuinely care about you, and the ones who throw your ass under the bus to save their own skins. Learn to spot the difference quickly. But sometimes, its hard to tell. I'm not saying to never trust your friends. But remember that anything you say to a bestie in private, can be plastered all over Facebook if you two have a falling out. So before saying anything you wouldn't want seen on the internet, stop and think.
But the most important thing I can tell you about friends, is to be a good one. High school is hard enough. Don't be that kid that makes someone else's life miserable. Don't be the one who posts embarrassing videos or gossips about the geek. Its not awesome or funny, and it doesn't earn you respect. Be trustworthy and nice. I guarantee that those qualities go a long way in the adult world. The theory that "nice guys finish last," is completely ridiculous.
"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." ~Maya Angelou
I wish you the best of luck in your teenage years. If they're anything like mine, they will be traumatic. But the good news is, I survived and look at how normal I turned out! That doesn't really help, does it? Well, with a little luck, you'll come out of it a little less scathed and hopefully not pregnant.
Oh God, please don't get pregnant.
*Breathes into a paper bag*
Friday, January 31, 2014
Nine Insane Years
It amazes me how much can happen in 9, short years. I mean, the first 9 years of my life were virtually uneventful as far as I could tell. But these last 9 years? Phew!
Tomorrow marks the 9th anniversary of the day I walked into a Phoenix courthouse a single woman, and walked out a married lady. 9 years. I'm still in complete awe. Especially when you take into consideration how our marriage came to be.
I met Daniel at work. The two of us worked in the marketing department at Sears. (Which is a fancy way of saying we put up the sale signs in the morning and rearranged displays in the afternoon.) Our boss needed a display done in the men's department and sent myself and my future spouse to go dress up some mannequins. The shirts needed ironing and this incredibly chauvinistic male of mine, said that was a woman's job. (I know, right? Why did I even marry this dude?) But I learned quickly that this guy could take all the crap that I dished out at him and give his own share in return. Our work relationship turned into one of competition and friendly banter. Finally, after having a conversation about who was better at video games (I was really into playing Fable at the time and he stupidly told me that he beat the game in a single day. The dork had never even played it before. lol), he finally challenged me to a showdown at Castles and Coasters. (A local arcade and theme park in Phoenix, AZ.)
I feel inclined to mention that he totally whipped my ass. (*Coughs* I let him win...)
Two weeks later, I was moving in with him. Now, that's normally not me. I don't just randomly move in with guys I just met like two months ago. But due to some extenuating circumstances that I won't air in public, I was suddenly without a home. I'd only been in Phoenix for a few months and I had no where else to go. I couldn't afford an apartment on the measly part-time, hourly wage I was making at Sears. So this seemed to be the only solution. (Thank God he wasn't a serial killer, huh?)
The November before we married, I found out I was pregnant. Terrified, I blurted out to him that I didn't want to be a single mother. That wasn't my way of asking for a proposal. I'm just the kind of person who doesn't have a filter and has a habit of saying what I was thinking. And at that moment, I was thinking that this guy could leave me at any time and I would be left utterly alone to raise a newborn. What the hell was I gonna do? In a move that was classic romantic Daniel, he took the amethyst ring that he'd bought me the week before, slipped it off my left hand, and put it on my right. Then he looked me in the eyes and asked me to marry him.
I smacked him.
No, seriously! I thought he was pulling my leg and I wasn't pleased by the joke. It took a few minutes to realize he was serious. Then I said yes.
A few weeks later, I woke up to the most intense pain in my stomach imaginable and I had no idea what it was. I tried everything that a person with gastrointestinal pain would do. But nothing worked. Daniel was upset with me because he thought I was trying to get out of grocery shopping that day. (Honestly, I don't blame him. Its something I would totally do.) He almost walked out the door, completely pissed off at me. His hand was on the doorknob when I fainted. I woke up to him screaming at me, paramedics talking around me, and being half carried down three flights of stairs. I'll never forget how utterly calm I was while he was completely terrified. Ectopic pregnancy. I remember telling the doctor that if it were at all possibly, I'd really like to live through this. His response was that he would make sure I stayed alive if he could deliver my first born. I really loved that doctor.
The next day I was home (completely groggy and high as a kite) and in one piece. Mostly. I'd lost a lot of blood. In fact, if I had been any later getting to the hospital, I would not be here today to retell this story. My abdomen looked like someone had taken a baseball bat and beat me repeatedly. It felt about as bad too.
But more than anything, my relationship with my then fiance changed drastically overnight. I went from the woman that he loved, to the woman he was terrified to lose. This whole near death thing was completely devastating to him. Looking back, it wasn't the best reason to get married. But luckily it worked out pretty well for us. I'm not a psycho hose beast, and he's not an axe wielding monster.
Two weeks after our wedding, we found out I was pregnant again. 9 months later, Dr. Oland (the man who performed my ectopic) delivered Jenny into the world. It wasn't much of a honeymoon period, and its taken a long time for us to REALLY get to know each other. But after 9 years, I can honestly say that there isn't anyone else in this world I can see myself with. Its been turbulent, messy, heartbreaking, gut wrenching, agonizing, and absolutely wonderful. There have been births, moves, fires, evictions, a brief period of homelessness, moments of great prosperity, and moments of total devastation. In a nut shell, its been life, and its been beautiful.
I've known more love in 9 years than some people know their whole lives. I've taken most of it for granted and have had moments where I wondered what it would be like if I hadn't gone on that first date. But the truth is, I don't want to know. I love this insane life. I love my family. I love my husband and all his crazy stubbornness. I wouldn't trade him for anything.
Happy Anniversary, Babycakes.
Tomorrow marks the 9th anniversary of the day I walked into a Phoenix courthouse a single woman, and walked out a married lady. 9 years. I'm still in complete awe. Especially when you take into consideration how our marriage came to be.
I met Daniel at work. The two of us worked in the marketing department at Sears. (Which is a fancy way of saying we put up the sale signs in the morning and rearranged displays in the afternoon.) Our boss needed a display done in the men's department and sent myself and my future spouse to go dress up some mannequins. The shirts needed ironing and this incredibly chauvinistic male of mine, said that was a woman's job. (I know, right? Why did I even marry this dude?) But I learned quickly that this guy could take all the crap that I dished out at him and give his own share in return. Our work relationship turned into one of competition and friendly banter. Finally, after having a conversation about who was better at video games (I was really into playing Fable at the time and he stupidly told me that he beat the game in a single day. The dork had never even played it before. lol), he finally challenged me to a showdown at Castles and Coasters. (A local arcade and theme park in Phoenix, AZ.)
I feel inclined to mention that he totally whipped my ass. (*Coughs* I let him win...)
Two weeks later, I was moving in with him. Now, that's normally not me. I don't just randomly move in with guys I just met like two months ago. But due to some extenuating circumstances that I won't air in public, I was suddenly without a home. I'd only been in Phoenix for a few months and I had no where else to go. I couldn't afford an apartment on the measly part-time, hourly wage I was making at Sears. So this seemed to be the only solution. (Thank God he wasn't a serial killer, huh?)
The November before we married, I found out I was pregnant. Terrified, I blurted out to him that I didn't want to be a single mother. That wasn't my way of asking for a proposal. I'm just the kind of person who doesn't have a filter and has a habit of saying what I was thinking. And at that moment, I was thinking that this guy could leave me at any time and I would be left utterly alone to raise a newborn. What the hell was I gonna do? In a move that was classic romantic Daniel, he took the amethyst ring that he'd bought me the week before, slipped it off my left hand, and put it on my right. Then he looked me in the eyes and asked me to marry him.
I smacked him.
No, seriously! I thought he was pulling my leg and I wasn't pleased by the joke. It took a few minutes to realize he was serious. Then I said yes.
A few weeks later, I woke up to the most intense pain in my stomach imaginable and I had no idea what it was. I tried everything that a person with gastrointestinal pain would do. But nothing worked. Daniel was upset with me because he thought I was trying to get out of grocery shopping that day. (Honestly, I don't blame him. Its something I would totally do.) He almost walked out the door, completely pissed off at me. His hand was on the doorknob when I fainted. I woke up to him screaming at me, paramedics talking around me, and being half carried down three flights of stairs. I'll never forget how utterly calm I was while he was completely terrified. Ectopic pregnancy. I remember telling the doctor that if it were at all possibly, I'd really like to live through this. His response was that he would make sure I stayed alive if he could deliver my first born. I really loved that doctor.
The next day I was home (completely groggy and high as a kite) and in one piece. Mostly. I'd lost a lot of blood. In fact, if I had been any later getting to the hospital, I would not be here today to retell this story. My abdomen looked like someone had taken a baseball bat and beat me repeatedly. It felt about as bad too.
But more than anything, my relationship with my then fiance changed drastically overnight. I went from the woman that he loved, to the woman he was terrified to lose. This whole near death thing was completely devastating to him. Looking back, it wasn't the best reason to get married. But luckily it worked out pretty well for us. I'm not a psycho hose beast, and he's not an axe wielding monster.
Two weeks after our wedding, we found out I was pregnant again. 9 months later, Dr. Oland (the man who performed my ectopic) delivered Jenny into the world. It wasn't much of a honeymoon period, and its taken a long time for us to REALLY get to know each other. But after 9 years, I can honestly say that there isn't anyone else in this world I can see myself with. Its been turbulent, messy, heartbreaking, gut wrenching, agonizing, and absolutely wonderful. There have been births, moves, fires, evictions, a brief period of homelessness, moments of great prosperity, and moments of total devastation. In a nut shell, its been life, and its been beautiful.
I've known more love in 9 years than some people know their whole lives. I've taken most of it for granted and have had moments where I wondered what it would be like if I hadn't gone on that first date. But the truth is, I don't want to know. I love this insane life. I love my family. I love my husband and all his crazy stubbornness. I wouldn't trade him for anything.
Happy Anniversary, Babycakes.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Soul Mates
Have you ever asked yourself what being in love actually means? What is love?
My very first thought when someone asks this question is to immediately respond with "Baby don't hurt me. Don't hurt me. No more."
Night at the Roxbury? Haddaway? Saturday Night Live? Anyone? Well, I thought it was funny.
Seriously though, its a common question with a very complicated answer. Unlike the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything, it is not 42.
You can ask the question in several different ways.
Philosophically. What is love in the grande scheme of the universe? What does it really mean to us, to our very souls?
Physically. How do you actually feel when you are in love? Is it a specific sensation?
Psychologically. What changes inside your head when you finally make that connection to someone special, and how is it different from a "crush? How do you know when you're in love?"
When I was a young girl in my early teenage, hormone driven years, I thought I knew exactly what love was. Love was when you got that tingly sensation in your whole body when you were around someone you liked. It made you act goofy and want to do anything to make that other person happy.
Of course, my parents were divorced and had both been remarried a few times. So I honestly had nothing to base this theory on.
When I was in my early twenties, I had a completely different outlook on love. I was less optimistic and theorized that love was a chemical reaction that could be reproduced by eating large quantities of Chunky Monkey ice cream while taking a long bubble bath and reading a really good book.
Of course the end result of that is going to bed alone and dreaming of the brawny hero of your romance novel and gaining a few pounds in your thighs. It wasn't exactly a suitable alternative.
Being single is a lonely feeling. Especially the older you get. Its like there's this deep seeded need for another half of you that's been ingrained in your soul. According to ancient Greek myth, humans originally had four arms, four legs, and two heads. The god Zeus was afraid of the strength of the humans, so he split them as punishment for their pride. The halved humans were in misery and longed for the lost pieces to their bodies. Its said that when they one day found their other half, it was as if they just knew, and they found eternal happiness.
Maybe this is the reason for our lonely despair.
But if the story is to be believed, that would mean that love is something that happens to us. Its something that just falls into our laps. Its a lovely and romantic notion. Two people walking along a busy street one day and they bump into each other. Eyes meet, they smile, and they just.....know. Its beautiful.
But its hardly logical.
As a romance writer, its almost sacrilege to admit that the concept of soul mates is not something I believe in. Its just....unrealistic. Real, honest to goodness love, is not something you fall into, its not something that Ben and Jerry's can package in a little cardboard container, and it isn't something you can find inside a paperback.
So then what exactly is love?
As a married woman, there have been moments in my marriage where I've looked over at my husband and wondered "What would my life be like without him?" Of course, having that question in my heart would leave me with this sense of guilt. After 10 years of marriage, I'm not supposed to wonder this. I'm not supposed to question my love for the man I pledged to spend the rest of my life with. But I still do. Am I really in love, or is this just a comfortable situation that benefits both parties?
We've had our share of ups and downs. We even had a moment a few years ago where I was absolutely sure that we wouldn't make it through. I left him. I packed up my bags, grabbed my laptop, and just left. Of course, I came back. He's a stubborn fool who didn't accept no for an answer and he wore me down. But I'm glad I came back. Honestly, I can't survive without him. I think I forgot how.
But that's not love.
Then something happened to me last night. In the middle of Wisconsin's second "polar vortex" this year, our car suddenly decided to blow a radiator hose. It was 8 pm and my kids and I were on our way to pick up my husband from work. The wind chill was around -30 degrees and here we were, sitting by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, freezing. I frantically call my husband and beginning screaming incoherently into the phone that I had no idea what to do. A panic attack was fully underway as he began telling me over and over to calm down.
I should mention now that I don't do well thinking under extremely stressful situations.
While my scattered thoughts were on how to get home and if my kids were warm enough, my husband's first action was to begin walking. He could have stayed in the warmth of the restaurant he works at, sipping hot coffee and waiting for me to figure something out. He could have simply said "Its way too cold and it would take me several hours to get to you. There's no point." But he didn't question it. Not once. My husband, my frustrating, stubborn as mule, sometimes aggravating husband, began walking in subzero weather to get to us. I told him he was stupid and he should just stay there, that he could get severe frost bite from not wearing enough layers, that he could actually, legitimately DIE from exposure.
I wasn't exaggerating.
Thankfully he only had to walk a half hour before we figured out that we could drive the car still. We just had to watch the gauge to make sure it stayed within a certain temperature. I drove to pick him up, he bought me and the kids hot chocolate at the gas station, and after 3 hours and several stops to cool off the car, we finally made it home.
I want to go off topic for a moment here to say that first degree frost bite seriously feels like someone smashed your toes with a sledge hammer when it begins to thaw. There were no serious injuries and after some hot tea, cocoa, apple cider, and coffee, warm cuddles on the couch, and turning the thermostat up to 80 degrees, we were all feeling much better.
Once the entire ordeal was over, I thought about the sacrifice my husband made for me. He knew I needed him and he was willing to risk his own life for me. In all honesty, I could have been dead before he got to me. But that didn't matter.
But then I wondered to myself, would I have done the same thing? Of course, I never would have risked the kids. But if it had been just me, would I have attempted to walk the five miles to get to him in the subzero weather if he needed me? In a heart beat.
So then I think back to that question I asked myself before, "What would my life be like without him?"
What would I have done if I'd been single, sitting on the side of the road in subzero weather with a busted radiator hose? Truthfully, I would have ended up calling 911. My Dad would never have heard his phone ring, there are no 24 hour taxis in Racine, and my best friend lives over 2,000 miles away. There was nothing else I could have done.
I would have been utterly alone.
I can't explain what it feels like to know that someone is willing to actually die for you. Its something we talk about, a romantic notion that's highly fictionalized in stories. But real life?
I imagined different people in my life being in my situation and I try to think if I would have braved that weather for them. My kids? Without a doubt. My best friend? You bet. My Dad? My Step-Mom? Yes and yes.
So maybe that's what love really is. Its not doing what ever it takes to make someone happy. Its knowing that that person needs you and doing whatever it takes to get to them. Its braving the worst sort of storm so that you can hold them because they're panicking and scared. Its wanting to take the pain that they feel and bear it yourself because you can't stand to see them cry.
Love is not a "feeling." Love is not something that falls into your lap. Love is not Chunky Monkey ice cream.
Love is an infuriating man who is a pain in my ass on his good days, but willing to stupidly kill himself for me on my worst days. He's not my soul mate, he's my protector, my strength, and my partner.
And I love him for that.
My very first thought when someone asks this question is to immediately respond with "Baby don't hurt me. Don't hurt me. No more."
Night at the Roxbury? Haddaway? Saturday Night Live? Anyone? Well, I thought it was funny.
Seriously though, its a common question with a very complicated answer. Unlike the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything, it is not 42.
You can ask the question in several different ways.
Philosophically. What is love in the grande scheme of the universe? What does it really mean to us, to our very souls?
Physically. How do you actually feel when you are in love? Is it a specific sensation?
Psychologically. What changes inside your head when you finally make that connection to someone special, and how is it different from a "crush? How do you know when you're in love?"
When I was a young girl in my early teenage, hormone driven years, I thought I knew exactly what love was. Love was when you got that tingly sensation in your whole body when you were around someone you liked. It made you act goofy and want to do anything to make that other person happy.
Of course, my parents were divorced and had both been remarried a few times. So I honestly had nothing to base this theory on.
When I was in my early twenties, I had a completely different outlook on love. I was less optimistic and theorized that love was a chemical reaction that could be reproduced by eating large quantities of Chunky Monkey ice cream while taking a long bubble bath and reading a really good book.
Of course the end result of that is going to bed alone and dreaming of the brawny hero of your romance novel and gaining a few pounds in your thighs. It wasn't exactly a suitable alternative.
Being single is a lonely feeling. Especially the older you get. Its like there's this deep seeded need for another half of you that's been ingrained in your soul. According to ancient Greek myth, humans originally had four arms, four legs, and two heads. The god Zeus was afraid of the strength of the humans, so he split them as punishment for their pride. The halved humans were in misery and longed for the lost pieces to their bodies. Its said that when they one day found their other half, it was as if they just knew, and they found eternal happiness.
Maybe this is the reason for our lonely despair.
But if the story is to be believed, that would mean that love is something that happens to us. Its something that just falls into our laps. Its a lovely and romantic notion. Two people walking along a busy street one day and they bump into each other. Eyes meet, they smile, and they just.....know. Its beautiful.
But its hardly logical.
As a romance writer, its almost sacrilege to admit that the concept of soul mates is not something I believe in. Its just....unrealistic. Real, honest to goodness love, is not something you fall into, its not something that Ben and Jerry's can package in a little cardboard container, and it isn't something you can find inside a paperback.
So then what exactly is love?
As a married woman, there have been moments in my marriage where I've looked over at my husband and wondered "What would my life be like without him?" Of course, having that question in my heart would leave me with this sense of guilt. After 10 years of marriage, I'm not supposed to wonder this. I'm not supposed to question my love for the man I pledged to spend the rest of my life with. But I still do. Am I really in love, or is this just a comfortable situation that benefits both parties?
We've had our share of ups and downs. We even had a moment a few years ago where I was absolutely sure that we wouldn't make it through. I left him. I packed up my bags, grabbed my laptop, and just left. Of course, I came back. He's a stubborn fool who didn't accept no for an answer and he wore me down. But I'm glad I came back. Honestly, I can't survive without him. I think I forgot how.
But that's not love.
Then something happened to me last night. In the middle of Wisconsin's second "polar vortex" this year, our car suddenly decided to blow a radiator hose. It was 8 pm and my kids and I were on our way to pick up my husband from work. The wind chill was around -30 degrees and here we were, sitting by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, freezing. I frantically call my husband and beginning screaming incoherently into the phone that I had no idea what to do. A panic attack was fully underway as he began telling me over and over to calm down.
I should mention now that I don't do well thinking under extremely stressful situations.
While my scattered thoughts were on how to get home and if my kids were warm enough, my husband's first action was to begin walking. He could have stayed in the warmth of the restaurant he works at, sipping hot coffee and waiting for me to figure something out. He could have simply said "Its way too cold and it would take me several hours to get to you. There's no point." But he didn't question it. Not once. My husband, my frustrating, stubborn as mule, sometimes aggravating husband, began walking in subzero weather to get to us. I told him he was stupid and he should just stay there, that he could get severe frost bite from not wearing enough layers, that he could actually, legitimately DIE from exposure.
I wasn't exaggerating.
Thankfully he only had to walk a half hour before we figured out that we could drive the car still. We just had to watch the gauge to make sure it stayed within a certain temperature. I drove to pick him up, he bought me and the kids hot chocolate at the gas station, and after 3 hours and several stops to cool off the car, we finally made it home.
I want to go off topic for a moment here to say that first degree frost bite seriously feels like someone smashed your toes with a sledge hammer when it begins to thaw. There were no serious injuries and after some hot tea, cocoa, apple cider, and coffee, warm cuddles on the couch, and turning the thermostat up to 80 degrees, we were all feeling much better.
Once the entire ordeal was over, I thought about the sacrifice my husband made for me. He knew I needed him and he was willing to risk his own life for me. In all honesty, I could have been dead before he got to me. But that didn't matter.
But then I wondered to myself, would I have done the same thing? Of course, I never would have risked the kids. But if it had been just me, would I have attempted to walk the five miles to get to him in the subzero weather if he needed me? In a heart beat.
So then I think back to that question I asked myself before, "What would my life be like without him?"
What would I have done if I'd been single, sitting on the side of the road in subzero weather with a busted radiator hose? Truthfully, I would have ended up calling 911. My Dad would never have heard his phone ring, there are no 24 hour taxis in Racine, and my best friend lives over 2,000 miles away. There was nothing else I could have done.
I would have been utterly alone.
I can't explain what it feels like to know that someone is willing to actually die for you. Its something we talk about, a romantic notion that's highly fictionalized in stories. But real life?
I imagined different people in my life being in my situation and I try to think if I would have braved that weather for them. My kids? Without a doubt. My best friend? You bet. My Dad? My Step-Mom? Yes and yes.
So maybe that's what love really is. Its not doing what ever it takes to make someone happy. Its knowing that that person needs you and doing whatever it takes to get to them. Its braving the worst sort of storm so that you can hold them because they're panicking and scared. Its wanting to take the pain that they feel and bear it yourself because you can't stand to see them cry.
Love is not a "feeling." Love is not something that falls into your lap. Love is not Chunky Monkey ice cream.
Love is an infuriating man who is a pain in my ass on his good days, but willing to stupidly kill himself for me on my worst days. He's not my soul mate, he's my protector, my strength, and my partner.
And I love him for that.
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