Love at the Start of Things

Late night musings.

I love the first hints of new life outdoors. Small animals are being born and it's probably a good time to visit the zoo.  Old plants are shooting out young buds of bright green leaves and the blossoms that have died away are starting as small fruits preparing for a summer and fall harvest.

I love the first week of school when kids are in school and I can walk into Target and breathe deeply along with the collective sighs of mothers everywhere that are basking in the first break in a long summer of arts, outings and too many playdates with the consequences of parenting you don't always agree with and without adult libations.

I love Mondays.  I spent many years looking at Friday as the start of my busy time.  It was kids coming home and excited about the weekend.  It was the start of the yelling and fighting and a house full of boys.  It was a weekend of being a short order cook running on too little sleep and breaking up too many fights.  Monday was mine and the time when I could recharge and reflect. Now Mondays after a kid free weekend mean my boys come home.  After so much silence, I'm excited to see them and hug them and surprise them with random tickles.  I love every other Friday for the same reason. But Mondays are special.

I loved being a student at the start of each quarter.  I loved the long line for my parking permit where I took the time to make new friends to complain about the line with, and picking out my textbooks in an empty bookstore the day before the quarter began.  I loved new pencils and pens and highlighters.  I loved index tabs and post it notes in every color being sold.  I enjoyed a good syllabus.  Most of them were a straightforward itinerary and list of expectations.  One was so full of humor that I still have it from some time before 2004.

I'm big on meeting new people.  I'm an ambivert with strong introvert leanings.  I like it when I push past my shyness into full comfort.  I can be intense and a bit too much at times, but I like that being shy is a choice at that point and new meetings and tender beginnings are the best time to see that.

I love a new book.  The start of a story in any format is always special, but I love the start of a new hardcover.  I love the smell, and the stiff binding.  I love the weight of it and the sound of pages clapping closed.  I love meeting new characters and paying attention to the differences in the tone of their voice.

I love blank pages because I'm not confined by what I've started and the story that hovers in my mind has the space to span widely across my heart, building and breaking in moments that are too large for quiet reflection.

I love it when I meet someone and as we talk I can see that they understand me.  It's not that they can see my point of view, but that there is a shared experience lived independently that binds us into a unique communal camaraderie. The experience helps us to articulate an open rapport, jumping past explanations and into expressions that go beyond what happened and open the door to the meaning we find in the paths we took through it all.

Reflections on a Great Weekend

A friend was teasing me about my desire to be a rescue effort on the news when I told him about my Saturday shenanigans. He thought it was hilarious as I was explaining how amazing it felt.  He sounded so much like my Dad as we were messaging on Facebook. His sense of humor and the amazing feeling of accomplishment had me in fits of giggles and full belly laughs. I really wasn't trying to be reckless in ignoring the signs warning me to not trespass because it was dangerous.  I wanted to explore and relive a few memories.  I've been thinking about it since I blogged This Water Baby Is Raising Her Standards.  I finally did a couple of days ago and shared the exhilaration in Rewriting the Past in the Present.  Today is about reflection.

Preparation

Dad was shocked and slightly appalled that I would hike in river shoes, a bikini, skirt and tank top.  I didn't think about sunblock and didn't bother when I saw I already had tan lines before hitting Santa Monica. When I headed out, I remembered that I mainly walked down the cliff before.  I had forgotten how fearless I was because I felt protected.  I had a hand to hold mine and a guide to tell me where to put my feet.  It was very much like walking before because I was leaning so much on someone else's strength.  This time my feet slipped and shifted in the soft dirt of crumbling rock. It was up to me to find solid footing and maintain balance.  I spent most of the time downhill in a crouch, holding onto solid rock where I found it. My confident goat hopping didn't happen until I made it down to large boulders and smaller rounded rocks where everything was mainly horizontal. I remembered my tennis shoes sliding through algae slick rocks and taking forever to dry, and never smelling the same.  I went in rugged river shoes and though it was still slippery, I had a better ability to remain vertical.  Good things happen when you aren't a lovesick puppy watching your man instead of walking hazards.

My Dad has silly ideas about rigging me up to rappel down the cliffside in hiking boots, but I was happy to do it the way I did.  And Dad's way makes me giggle.

Danger

I never thought about the danger.  It was about wanting to see what I had seen before. Really, I was looking forward to the many starfish I had seen.  It never occurred to me that it was too dangerous or that I couldn't do it.  I did it before, so there was no reason I couldn't do it again.  It never crossed my mind that the years between then and now would strip away my ability to do whatever I felt like.  Maybe I needed to prove to myself that capability begins as a mindset, but I already knew I could do anything I'm motivated to. I was afraid.  At times I was terrified, but I wasn't about to let fear stop me.  I had a goal down that mountain and below those waves. I wanted to see and do and be.

Change

I wanted to see the starfish and when I didn't, I had to know what happened to them.  I had to know if the seascape would have shifted in 20 years.  I did.  Believe it or not, I'm far less reckless than I once was.  I'm still pretty insanely impulsive on some things, but for the most part I'm more cautious than I should be.  When my bravery hides, I coach myself until I figure out how to conquer my fears and pick up that phone or climb that wall.  And my confidence is strong, but not like it once was. It looked familiar, but the sea life changed.  The creatures in the tide pools were all new neighbors as if they old ones had moved out.  I don't remember seeing sea slugs and hermit crabs before, or maybe I was just too excited about anemones, urchins, mussels and starfish.  I had to know and see the similarities and differences.  There were so many more hermit crabs than I remembered and they were so tiny that I could have probably set a couple on my fingertip if I wasn't so squeamish about their spider like crawl.

Souvenirs

20 years ago we tried to bring home some animals, but they were dead and stinky by the time he brought me home.  I had no plans to bring anything home Saturday for that reason.  My trip was about doing and mainly seeing. I also had no pockets and kept my car key and phone in my bikini top. It was an area ripe with life.  I imagined taking home a shell and not seeing the creature inside of it.  It would have been smelly.  Then I considered rocks and sea glass but thought maybe there should just be a next time with pockets.

Next Time

I don't know what my next trip to San Pedro will look like or how long I'll wait to go back.  I may never go down there again, or I may decide I need that amazing boost next week or next month.  Well, maybe not.  Part of being Mom means being the example I want them to follow. My kids will likely go to the Cabrillo Beach Aquarium, but I wouldn't take them down that cliff. And there are so many more places in my home town left to explore and no one to stop me from doing so.

Right Now

Right now I'm still basking in the badassery that kept me riding a wave of excitement and joy.  My body is still sore but I can at least avoid wincing when I walk up and down stairs or squat.  I think my body forgot it could do what it did and it's angry at the reminder.  It's like a happy set of battle scars that remind me I'm pretty phenomenal.  It hurts in a good way.  It reminds me of the amazing I just lived through when something tries to bring me down.

Today was filled with really low moments.  I usually love Mondays but today kinda blows as far as my start to a busy week. It's natural to have an amazing weekend and then Monday blues, but today was especially difficult with tears throughout the day for various non blog worthy reasons.  That just means the week will pick up and dust me off in amazing.  Life is cyclical and you can always expect rainbows after a heavy rain.  At least I do.

Custom Made Kicks

Greeting a friend, I told her about my week.  It was a good week as far as my weeks go. Still unemployed and Kid3 had been tantruming and banging his head on walls to the point where he gave himself goose eggs, but it was a good week. I did the dangerous and scary and conquered a cliff.  (Rewriting the Past in the Present) It was awesome! The person near us asked about kid3, and I explained the separation is hard on him and sometimes more so than others.

She wanted to try her shoe on my foot.  She wanted to compare her divorce to mine. I wish I could say that no one has gone through what I have, but my story really is a cliche.  Most divorces just are not one size fits all. No one can make any of us feel better for what we do or what is done to us. No matter what, it will chafe and leave you raw in delicate places.

"I know people that stayed together for the sake of the kids.  I didn't.  I decided the fighting was too much.  Is that what you did?"

I wasn't inclined to lie to her.  There's no point.  I couldn't make her feel better about her choices in telling her about mine, so it came out. It was a matter of fact statement that didn't have the energy or desire to hide something I didn't have a choice in.

I ripped off the bandaid and it didn't bleed all over the place.  It was a statement of fact much like telling her my birthstone is amethyst.  It was like saying my favorite color is green.  I was thrown away. It is a fact and nothing could or should be done about it. It is what we've made it and I'm choosing to accept that.

"No.  My husband left me.  He chose what we did and I didn't have a say so.  We didn't decide together. He didn't give me the choice."

I used to feel like it takes two to get together and two to break apart, and for so long I refused to let him go. We didn't fight and I thought we were happy. I didn't know that I should have been looking for it so I didn't see it coming. 

The thought valve wouldn't shut off and I remembered that he vowed to never give me another cent and he's been good to his word as far as the courts will allow.  He took me off of his medical insurance but won't divorce me because then I could request alimony. Years and children and promises became monetary value and visitation and kids that won't answer my call or his for that matter.  I hinted at things in An Open Letter to the Man That Abandoned Me but most of the stuff he's done and that I have done back came out when I was bleeding all over the place on social media or in conversations that always got back to him.  I eventually got it under control enough that places where I was spilling my heart out wouldn't stain his shoes.

Today's thoughts washed over me in icy pain and the shock was real, but I remembered it's low tide, and the bandage that was ripped off didn't take that thick layer of skin with it.  I wasn't bleeding all over the place.  I also wasn't hiding his actions in my shame.  I let go of that shame and I didn't see it happen. It was wrapped around me and must have blown off in a warm wind during a moment of joyful laughter. I don't want his shame back any more than I want him.

I didn't have a choice last year, but last year has nothing to do with the choices I'm making today. There isn't a record book that says I have to take the same path repeatedly. I can offer forgiveness and grace because those are choices, just like we choose to love. Just like I chose to let go. There's sunshine outside of his shadows.  There's lightness and frivolity in me that I thought had died. There's no waiting for him to move on with a new girlfriend, because that's been done and I got through that as well.

Today the floodgates were opened and the torrent that would have washed me away took a handful of moments from me.  There was no blood seeping out of me and left in the places all around me.  No tears were shed and the anger flashed like fire and burned out in pale grey smoke, leaving the acrid smell of destruction, but nothing more. There are no singe marks and the lack of visible destruction shows me how I've grown.

There wasn't a huge emotional fallout, although I did give in to a Mcdonald's craving that is already coating my insides in greasy salt and too much sugar as I raced to finish a strawberry sundae before it melted and hot fries before they turned into cold disgust. That might just be an emotional fallout from the body that is in so much aching pain from that hike yesterday.  I feel like it needs a great big thank you in replacing all of the calories burned.

Rewriting the Past in the Present

I woke up early yesterday and decided I wanted to walk over memories made in San Pedro in 1997. It was my first thought at 6 in the morning. Actually, I waffled back and forth for a few hours while in bed, thinking I would take a niece. One didn't answer her phone and the other two were busy being productive young adults.  I checked the weather report to see if those insane winds we just had would revisit and threaten my comfort at the beach. No crazy winds and it's too hot to not wear a bikini.  I've been to the beach alone plenty of times, but to go alone in a bikini is another thing altogether .  I almost stayed home, but I noticed the toe nail polish I chose earlier this week matched my bikini and took it as a sign and finally left after 10. The boyfriend I had in 1996-1997 was a special guy.  He was German and El Salvadorean.  We met through friends.  He knew them before he left Los Angeles for Far Rockaway, New York where he finished out high school with his grandmother because he was out of control in gang life here.  He came home with an accent that I will always have a thing for.  I think it was just the way he straddled ethnicities and racial identities the way I do.  He didn't fit in one place just like I couldn't and he felt like home. He was the type to remember every month anniversary with flowers.  He remembered I'm not fond of baby's breath and each bouquet was unique and beautiful.  He designed a lot of them himself. Before he bought his Mustang, he would hitch a ride with his best friend who was dating my best friend.  Once, he rode his bicycle from his home in North Hollywood to my home in Elysian Park just to see me.  He always had a hiking adventure planned, or wanted to take me out somewhere special.  He bought me a couple of dresses, and had a great sense of style. He once bought himself a jacket but gave it to me when he saw how much I loved it and how happy it made me. He made serious things fun, and sensual things funny.  I was devastated when our relationship ended. There were other men and a whole marriage happened since then, but I had always cherished this one memory in San Pedro and it was time to walk through it with the clarity of time.

I took the 110 Freeway to the very end.  I remembered when he drove and I fell asleep.  Falling asleep while someone else drives is always a sign I feel completely at ease and trust the person I am with.  I think falling asleep with someone else means you feel safe enough to give them your vulnerability.  I remembered waking up on the way because he had decided to race someone else on the freeway and the speed change and swerving woke me.  I startled awake, freaking out a bit and he laughed at me.  I laughed too, and only now see I would have been justified in being angry that he was always driving recklessly with little regard for my safety.

I got to the Korean Friendship Bell and walked around for a while.  I remembered holding hands and walking around the bell.  He was so happy and he looked all around, but I was just focused on watching him.  We stayed on the concrete path around the bell, but I didn't yesterday.  I wandered around the grassy hills all around because I wanted to explore all sides.  I want to see all there is to see.  I love a good view and forgot how much I do in the flow of being so much to other people.

I drove a block from the Friendship Bell and parked at Pt. Fermin Park.  We had hiked down from the park almost 20 years ago, then we ate Cheetos and  made sandwiches from all that he packed in the lunch he surprised me with.  Today I hopped the wall like we did before.  The fence seemed bigger today than it did before.  The "No Trespassing" signs were everywhere. And people were still ignoring them. I wore a bikini today with a tank top and skirt over it.  I put on my river shoes at the car and hiked down the way we did last time.  It was steep and at times completely terrifying.  I forgot about it because he made me feel safe back then. I focused on one step after another, and secure places to hold onto while the dirt shifted and wrapped around me feet, sliding me further along than I planned in many places. When I got to the bottom, I started hopping from rock to rock reminding myself of a goat, shocked and excited that I made it all the way down the cliff face without falling or injuring myself.

I walked around and looked at the life in the rocks. There were sea urchins and anemones.  There were so many tiny hermit crabs in the small tide pools.  In one area, I saw three sea slugs at once, and clams with long arms reaching out to hold on during the rise and fall of the tides and violent crashing waves.  The High and Low Tide schedule I had gotten from a lifeguard in Malibu informed me that we were already at low tide, and as I watched, I remembered seeing millions of starfish, when I couldn't spot one today.

At one point I saw a man hike over the rocks from the eastern side of the shore.  He stood at the base of the cliff, ready to head back up and he seemed content to enjoy the waves that were crashing and flooding around my ankles as I stood on boulders and watched a rocky shelf appear out of the Pacific. I smiled his way because it was a friendly place to be and everyone there was happy to be there. He waited and when his girlfriend joined him, I could see she was wearing strappy sandals.  I remembered with gratitude the last time I was there and I was warned to bring sensible shoes and had a hand to hold and constant guidance over the rocks.  I could remember and feel the love through all of these years and it was a great feeling as I released that memory of his gentle kindness.  I took a moment to reflect on the selfishness I witnessed today and redirected my thoughts as I saw the parallels in this stranger and my own life. It was Magic Mountain and Disneyland all over again, where we lost kids for a while.

As the rocks spread out before me, I realized that even in low tide, the water would still reach me, and wash around my ankles.  It still splashed the hem of my skirt even as I could see rock formations that were completely hidden when I first arrived.  It was this profound moment when it dawned on me that even in low tides, the waters will reach me, but they won't over take me because they crash so far away from my place - my focus, that the little waves don't matter.  It was a life lesson that I could apply to the roller coaster that is what started as a marriage.  Some days the waves splash much more painfully than others, but I'm at low tide, and it's nothing like it was in those first months where everything was devastating and the water raged above me and there was no air to breathe or a sun to warm the chill of the icy waters.

I decided to hike back up on the other side where that couple had ascended the cliff.  I turned and took a picture where  I thought I had reached half way.  In reality, I was only half way to Sunken City.  Sunken City was a small community of bungalows.  The cliff began to fall and the homes were evacuated and relocated.  Two of the houses fell into the sea, but the place is full of bare foundations covered in graffiti. While waves lapped around my feet and sea life swayed in the tide pools around me, I could see several people up there, watching me, and I assumed it was the top of the cliff, but lower from where I hiked down. The climb from Sunken City to the park was the most difficult. It's possible that if I had explored a bit I might have found an easier path. I reached the top and it felt amazing to do so.  I kept looking back and thinking, I could have died, and how dumb this idea was because I'm a Mom.

But I didn't die and it felt amazing to do it on my own.

I kept smiling because I did it.  I did it without twisting an ankle, falling, or scraping my hands or legs. I broke the law in going past the signs that were placed for my safety.  I went down, then up the side of a cliff without a buddy or even letting anyone know what kind of shenanigans I had in mind.  My sister knew I was planning on going to San Pedro, but I didn't mention the climb.  If I had one of her girls with me, I wouldn't have made that part of our adventures, but I felt fine doing it alone.  I also talked to my Dad and he wanted to know what I was getting into.  I told him I was on a field trip in San Pedro and he mentioned how much he wants calamari.  I told him he could meet me at Santa Monica later and we could have dinner.

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I arrived in Santa Monica and sunbathed for a while.  I chose a spot near the pier where there is no swimming a fewer people. I had already hiked in my tank top, and spent the day sans sunscreen (poor planning) so my awkward tan lines are a product of that, but I spent some time on a beach in my bikini, completely alone.  It took a while to realize no one cared what I looked like.  It's a truth I once danced in under the protective gaze of a husband and my constant vigilance over our children. Alone on the beach surrounded by other people . . . no one really cared about my stretch marks or soft parts and the ones looking sent a smile of appreciation.  I didn't bother to go in the water.  I am fully aware of how cold it is, and the icy sting on my ankles and calves in San Pedro were enough.  I walked up and down the pier and again saw that friendly photographer.  He found a ladybug on my shoulder and handed it to me, saying it was good luck.  His smile was friendly as always.  He opened his arms for a hug, and I returned it with half of one.  My instincts are telling me I'm not comfortable with him in that way because how I feel about a hug says a lot, and I will probably avoid that part of the pier unless I'm walking it with someone who wants to hold my hand.  I mainly wanted to see what people are catching, but I haven't seen any fish yet, so I'm probably not missing much.

I stopped in the aquarium under the pier to ask about the missing starfish.  The guy charging admission told me there was a virus that attacked them a few years back and there aren't really any in our waters anymore.  He told me to give it three or four more years because the last time he was scuba diving, he saw some tiny ones and they're coming back.  He was impressed with my observation and I had a few moments of joy at the attention to my curiosity.  I'm always curious, but it's not always a good thing to be. I left and wondered if I should have flirted with him, but didn't feel inclined to correct that.  I was still enjoying the way it felt to hike up that cliff and that feeling left little room for any romantic endeavors.

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It was my Dad and sister's first trip to Bubba Gump.  More than that, I was open to including them in part of my day, without altering my plans completely to make someone else happy. It was the first time I had been there since going with my family - with my ex.  It was nice to see their food joy and see them enjoy the pier as briefly as they did.  It was last minute, so they weren't prepared.  I walked them to their car and then walked to mine where I pulled on a pair of jeans, then pulled off my skirt.  I slapped on my Uggs because they keep the sand and cold out and walked along the shore to catch the sunset before walking along the pier again where I offered to take pictures of strangers that were trying to catch their coupledom in a Santa Monica Sunset. I sat on a bench and smiled at the day I had while a musician played Greensleeves.  I spent some time singing along to some K-ROQ classics with Rock and Roll Jesus, and one of these days I will take a picture of him. He sings and hustles almost every day of the week.  Most of them do, and I admire that. I had a bag of cotton candy to myself.  It was my reward for not drinking my calories at Bubba Gump when I had their unsweetened tea.

I left and took the streets again.  This time I thought I'd take a new street, which is something I used to do all of the time and how I found my way to Will Rogers.  I used to just drive and take streets that were interesting.  When I was younger, I kept a Thomas Guide in the trunk in case I got lost.  I got a little lost last night and when I asked Siri to rescue me, I started laughing at how far off I was.  I pulled over because I didn't trust her sense of directions, and looked at the map and saw where I went wrong.  I made two left turns where she was sending me right, and I knew where I was again.  That is growth for me.  My greatest adventures through Los Angeles used to be in getting lost and mapping my way out of it.  Then I dated gang members.  My ex was the only one to get jumped into Vet status, and that was after we had started our family.  No one got jumped out. They're still gang members. They will always be afraid to "get caught slipping" in a rival gang's neighborhood.  They will avoid certain areas in the off chance someone will recognize them, and it's not as simple as saying you have the wrong person.  For some reason, it's possibly worse to deny you're the person that made really bad choices.  I remember getting lost around the Citadel with the ex.  I went into a full on panic attack.  Last night getting lost gave me joy and great belly laughs.  I laughed at myself and laughed at how exhausted I was, and how much I was enjoying the ride home.  I even smiled through departing Dodger traffic, and decided it's time to look for a schedule because that area affects my escape hatch trips.

It was a lovely day and I'm so glad I listened to Goddess Gloria when I met her in that child support court and she suggested I re-do that memory in San Pedro.  She was right.  It was a good memory and he was a great guy, but he had a cruelty streak that I saw in how he treated my younger brothers.  I would never introduce him to my sons because of that.  It wasn't okay then when I was a selfish big sister, but I'm a mom now and it's my job to protect my kids.  I take that seriously.  He had a problem with accountability.  Nothing was ever a result of his actions, and I have enough sins of my own to cover.  He's another person not worth looking up, but that memory was special and I needed to see it for what it was and making new memories - memories of my accomplishments and my growth made yesterday so much more than what happened in 1997. And my old lady knees feel great. It's my calves and thighs that are looking for a day of soaking in epsom salts in my jetted tub. It hurts to move but I'm smiling.

Shadows and Clarity

We can split our lives into before and after and it would still lack the meaning to make sense. What was before made sense for then.  It was right to do and be and exist in the spaces we occupied. That time of a language spoken without words and thoughts pouring out in hope into the distance between us was everything and all, but is nothing now.  What was then can't make sense now because none of it fits like it once did.  It just doesn't fit. I imagine him now in the spaces of the nothing we share. The vision of time and distance help me see where he was real and large and where he was small. So small and insecure. The shadows looming above him are my creation. The shadows are false armor and his strength was in my shadows of light.  I see where I imagined him as he stands alone and the ripples of memory wash around him, stripping my fake for his real. I was trying to save him when I should have saved myself from him.

This island is my home and the forgiveness that pardons me shines on my skin, warming the cold cavern that once burned with passion. Embers fight the darkness but refuse to burn out. The haze of memories taste of citrus tang, and spin under the light of the moon with blinding clarity.  All I see is what was real and the place he once claimed as home was full of my light and now he walks in shadows I don't care to see.

The Authority of My Life and Choices

  I was talking to one of my sisters about my drive last night and how it dawned on me that I had been living the last several months as though I was still subject to someone else's rules. Even when my children are gone and the house echoes in shared custody solitude, I am on my own, but subjected to the authority of what I've always done, whether or not previous choices were mine.  It made me examine the rules I live by and who I give authority over my actions.  It made me look at what I bow down to. Yesterday it was a revelation born from my field trip.  I had this idea that a beach day should be a whole day.  It was the idea that it had to be lived out the way I had always done it because that's how it's always been done and it's the way other people have said I should do a beach trip. There was so much freedom in acting on my every whim to visit several places in brief moments. I stopped where I wanted to and stayed long enough to see and feel and be.  My latest struggle is for the power and authority in my life and my choices.

God

My parents love God.  My Dad kept a poster on the wall with the alphabet and characters in Hebrew because he was reclaiming a lost heritage in learning all he could about it. For Dad, faith comes in studying the bible and doing what it says, as he sees it. My mom reads her bible early in the morning and reminds me that God is in control.  Trust Him, and it's a lesson she reminds herself of. My parents had bible studies in our livingroom.

I grew up in a Foursquare Church.  I was baptized on September 11, 1994.  We went to Sunday school each Sunday morning and in the afternoon we went to a Thai Presbyterian Church.  My parents were open to allowing me to go to other churches.  I went to Baptist and Catholic churches with friends.  I went to Synagogues and Buddhist Temples (my Mom grew up in Thailand and was Buddhist until she married my Dad). They drew the line at a few places, but I saw it as an arbitrary line. In my teens as part of youth group, Mondays we had Discipleship Groups.  Wednesday nights were youth group services where I was part of the worship team.  I loved singing and in honesty, it was performance, and not worship.  There was inauthenticity in my praise and I could never again be on stage for worship for that reason. Fridays we had more fellowship.  Tuesdays and Thursdays I was learning karate at a Christian Martial Arts Dojo. God/Jesus/The Trinity was what my parents valued and it was a great way to be with other kids in a safe place.

I went through my rebellious years.  I refused God and church and rebellion became me knowing God is real but deciding He had nothing to do with me. About 5 years ago I started taking my family to church again because I needed to let go of my anger. There is community in shared belief, but there's also the belief that there is something in charge of everything, big and small and that there is a plan and that plan is amazing if you believe in it.  I'm not perfect.  I lust after strangers and have a newfound affinity for male Crossfitters everywhere.  I get angry and it takes a little longer than I'd like to let go of it.  My rage is based on my lack of control and my beliefs are based on willingly releasing control because He knows the plans He has for me and they are greater than I can imagine. I believe in a bible that tells me to remain faithful to a husband that has rejected and abandoned me. I still struggle with the fact that I no longer want him because I believe the bible says I'm not to move on with my life, but my God wouldn't want me to remain in an abusive situation, even if I can't find the verses to back that.  I read that God hates divorce but hear He loves the divorcee, and my struggle is in knowing that the anger and pain can turn into bitterness and at times I feel I can't control my rage.  I let it go, I give it up and I forgive the ex so it doesn't destroy me and any future relationships.  I've been entertaining the idea of dating, even though I am still very married.

Attention

I love attention. I love posting something and obsessively reading my comments.  I love checking my Wordpress views, or hearing the little alerts that tell me I have a like or a new follower.  I don't like my own posts on Facebook or Instagram but I can see the allure in doing that. (I just refuse to be that person.  Everything I share is solid gold, so naturally I love what I shared because in my sharing, my awesome is showing.)

In the 5th grade, my teacher's wife wrote a song, and culled her singers from her husband's classroom.  We did a two day filming at the VA property in West LA in a Japanese garden (go past the golf course past housing) where I was part of a classroom singing a song on Almost Grown (a season long drama) and having a kid crush on Raffi Di Blasio, because he was adorable. My freshman year was about Leadership and Drill Team.  I loved standing out.  I was a singing, dancing drama kid in high school.   I spent several months as a television extra in 2000.  It was great to have a job where I was booked because of my looks.  I was cute or pretty according to the casting directors and that was enough to get a job where I could look for myself walking in the background of my favorite shows.  I have a reel somewhere from the beauty contest on The X Show (1999 men's show on FX) because someone in the mall thought I was hot and would look great in a lifeguard bathing suit, several sizes too small. Being an extra had it's downside.  I had the biggest crushes on certain celebrities and those crush fantasies died when I saw how petite they were. It wasn't about short men, but men that looked like little toys to me.

I like to see who is watching me when I go out, even if they don't say a word.  I like being seen. When I was younger, I would wear low cut shirts or short skirts, but I don't do that anymore because I feel I should dress and act a certain way as a mom.

Motherhood

Before I was a mom, I was bar hopping, shooting pool, smoking cigarettes and binge drinking.  I got my first tattoo from a friend's Dad on their living room floor with a tattoo gun he made using a walkman and a stick of deodorant to transfer the design.  I was living out whatever fantasy I felt like and there were no rules because I was doing my best to break all of them.  When I got pregnant with my first, I immediately wanted to be a good mom.  I wouldn't even eat chocolate because chocolate has caffeine in it and caffeine affects lung development. My mom is amazing but it took a long time to see it.  The first glimpse of her amazing was during the first few months with a cholicky infant, on my own all day and night while the ex worked, and was jealous that he couldn't get more of my attention when he was home, (and that's where his first girlfriend met those neglected needs, and the first time he made me feel like his failings were my fault). I called Mom while sobbing and thanking her for not killing me in my infancy.  At the time, I didn't know I had the baby blues, but in the second half of his first year, I could see the many ways my mom showed us her love for us and I wanted to be that mom.

Parents

So much of what I see as acceptable falls on the authority of what my parents taught me about being a good child, daughter and person.  It follows their values and ideals.  As a good child, I need to be quiet and obey what they tell me. I need to sit quietly and accept what they say as the gold standard, no matter what I think about it.

The other day, my Dad was explaining a situation to me a second time and justifying his actions to me.  I was in the middle of looking for seashells along a beach, so I stopped him to ask, "I don't mind the retelling, but are you telling me so I understand why you did what you did, or because you feel bad and need to make yourself feel better about your actions? It's okay to decide you're wrong.  (He started telling me about the history of this relationship.) There's no reason to be stuck in what you have done when there are so many rewards in what you can potentially do."

As their child, I need to be nice and put the family first. God, family and education were what they taught us and through all of it, I felt the responsibility of being ladylike from my Dad because my mom reinforced hard diligent work. I used to hate her work ethic because I wanted her around and she was always working.  When I was a kid, I had a recurring nightmare.  I would dream that my Dad killed my Mom, dismembered her body and put it in the barbecue.  Then I would wake up in a panic and look for her but she was always at work.  Being home alone with Dad in those first few moments after I woke up were terrible but he never knew about my dreams.  His PTSD is a family gift that keeps on giving. Dad may believe in negotiation, but my Mom is the one that has the analytical business mind.  Her English is something she's always been embarrassed by, but she speaks Thai and English, has a huge heart with more generosity than most, believes in and rewards hard work . . . I could go on, but this is about me.

In the conversation with my sister, we were talking about her going out to dinner with her daughter and how it wasn't the financially responsible thing to do, but then we both said, "why not?" (That was about our Mom, and had nothing to do with how we want to live.) We make space, give time, and put money toward what we value and what we value cannot be dictated because then we would be living someone else's dream.

Marriage

I'm not a fighter in relationships.  My fight is a silent treatment.  It's not in anger or as punishment, but more that I try to hide my words so they don't hurt others.  If my words are raging in my head, and causing me pain, I imagine the devastation on others would destroy someone I was usually so careful to shelter and protect. Maybe I should have seen him as less fragile. I'm much more interested in sacrificing so snuggling could happen.  I'm a hugger and snuggler and a giver by nature, but at one point I felt I needed to give so much of myself that I believed putting myself second was about making him happy and his happiness was good for me as well.  There was a backlash.  I would hide things or lie. There was lots of lying because I felt a certain way that didn't seem okay to him, so I hid who I was in senseless lies. I didn't see where his happiness became the only thing that mattered to me or him.  I didn't see how I taught him it was okay that I was second.

Patriarchy

My sister told me about an issue with her insurance agent. He tried to diffuse her ire by bringing up the brother in law that introduced them.  He asked how our brother was doing. She is a better person than I am, because that shift of authority onto a male without any connection to the transaction would have angered me further.  Tonight I went to the movies with my Dad.  He likes to talk through movies, and during the credits I pointed out the people watching the scrolling screen and suggested they might have been listening for the score.  He said he likes it when his kids teach Daddy something.  He meant it as a compliment, but I saw him infantilize me in calling himself Daddy, which isn't a name I've used since I was little.  A few months ago, I would have soaked up the compliment, and I'm not saying I reject it.  What I see is how he needed to fit his idea of me into a concept that didn't make him feel like less for the ideas in me that are bouncing around independently and in spite of him. I feel owned by the rules and values of a society that is still making strides in equality because we just aren't there yet.

Fitting in.

Fitting in means I'm willing to acquiesce myself into what goes against who I am in a way that makes others accept that I want to be around them. For the most part, I'd rather hide the truth than face the reality of who I am. Tonight I told my Dad about my blog and I very nearly lied about it.  I don't want to write under the weight of his judgement but it means more to be honest and authentic. I told him how to find it, but admitted I'd be okay if we never discussed what I write in it.  The power falls into what I've seen other people do or what would make fewer waves.  I'd rather be flexible and content, but so much of how I live and parent has to do with what others think and I have to make an intentional effort to put my kids first in terms of what is comfortable to them. I'm a pretty transparent person, but we live in a world where it's not normal and not typically accepted.

Me

I'm walking in a new authority.  I decided it's far better to belong.  I will be me in authenticity and passion and I will walk in faith that I am acceptable as I am, without needing to change to fit in. In the age of social profiles that are created to show others the best side we can possess, it's hard to just be who you want to be.  I can alter your perception with the angles and half truths I illustrate myself in but it is a constant challenge to not do that.  I don't use filters but I will crop out parts I of my body I want to hide.  The value in being authentic and refusing to hide is impossible to quantify.

I live in an indulgence of what feels good, and it can be excessively epicurean, but it makes me happy. I'm drinking alone right now. It's Whipped Cream Vodka with Simply Lime.  I feel good right now but I'm sure there will be editing in the morning.  When people ask how I feel about a movie, I'll usually say it was good because I assume most people don't really want to know what I think.  Tonight my Dad asked, and I told him.  I tore it apart like literature because that's what I do, and for the first time, I took ownership of my thoughts, no matter what I thought it would look like.  For my job hunt, I've been excessively picky because for the first time I'm directing my career and making sure it makes sense for me and my family.  That feels empowering and amazing. My autonomy isn't complete, but I'm getting there.

Your turn.

Where do you sit your power down, and who holds the authority over your choices?

A Panopticon Lesson on a Field Trip

I took a trip to Zuma Beach because it was suggested and I wanted to go.  I've had friends suggest ways to go out and meet people, but this trip wasn't about meeting people.  It was about getting out and exploring and doing something for me. I wanted to go and I was excited. I took the streets over 40 miles and I kept passing places that I had always wanted to see.  I was always interested but didn't have company or time.  Or I felt like I didn't have that freedom over what I wanted to do. Laying on the sand at Zuma, I watched surfers and birds.  I enjoyed the warmth of the sun.  I applied for jobs and secured an interview for tomorrow.  In that space where I was watching a young family build sandcastles I was thinking about my next trip and where I wanted to go, and that's when it occurred to me that this was my moment.  I didn't need to wait for next time or perfect conditions.  I would go and do what I had always wanted because this moment - this day was mine, and I was done giving up my time for the responsibility of what I was supposed to do based on someone else's rule book.

With joy and purpose, I headed south and stopped wherever the ocean was too beautiful to keep going.

A new favorite beach is Malibu Lagoon State Beach.  There was so much life everywhere.  There were birds and in one of the pictures I actually caught a fish jumping out of the water.  There were sea shells with live creatures still in them.  The lifeguard was so full of information and on his suggestion, my next long trip will start at Point Dume. He handed me a tide schedule and I plan on catching a grunion run this year.  I had been wanting to for over 20 years, and now I can stay out all night if I want to.

I stopped at the Self-Realization Fellowship Lake Shrine on Sunset in Palisades.  It was beautiful and peaceful.  People drove into the parking lot with smiles and yoga mats.  There is a sign asking to turn off phone ringers.  It was beautiful and in some ways surreal.  It was interesting to see the Windmill and Houseboat near the shrines and statuary.  There was this beautiful cove of greenery.  I was so in love with how I felt that I took a selfie and forgot a more private picture for the blog, but I loved the way it felt, so I'm sharing it.

My day ended at Will Rogers Beach.  I sat in my car, watched the waves and ate my dinner.  I watched the runners and skaters and bike riders.  I smiled, and said a quiet thank you to a few men that cared about their bodies as much as I did in that moment.  Then I started practicing that not so obvious look that is a covert check out and far less creepy than my lack of impulse control. Before the sun went down behind the clouds, I took a nap.  It was a really good day.

There was a moment while I was laying on a blanket and watching the men in wetsuits as they straddled their boards, and realized I could go to all of the places I passed on the way to my destination.  I decided the present moment was mine to take and that was huge because I was giving myself permission by deciding I didn't need permission. It happened around noon at Zuma Beach, but the gravity of it didn't hit me until I was driving down Sunset on my way home and passing Vin Scully Avenue around 8 or 9.  For years I felt confined to the plans and agendas of other people. I had always felt like I needed company or permission.   I didn't have access to time that was my own for dreams or frivolity. Here I was, spending an amazing day proving to myself how remarkable this new freedom is, and then it hits me, we've been sharing custody since the start of October. It's the middle of April and I'm only now deciding I could go and do what I wanted to do.  It was a shock to finally see that my restraints are in my head as ideals of what I am supposed to be or how I'm supposed to spend my time.  I am my own warden.

I Need Some Space

I was just talking with a girlfriend about the spaces we need. I don't have many girlfriends. Having more than one female friend is a new area of growth for me, and even then I don't call the ones I rely on.  I see them when I see them and open up completely when I do. There are a few amazing exceptions, but for most of my life, I have had a hard time making a connection with other women.  I've heard people say that women are too full of drama but that's not my cop out.  I was never all that girly and that lack of girliness was obvious and uncomfortable. My loaner and somewhat Tomboy side is my weakness and my strength. I'm not into purses and shoes, but I love hand me downs from my sisters because they come from my sisters.  I get my retail therapy in grocery stores because I love food.  I hate clothes shopping.  It's necessary at times.  I get that, and I will shop but I hate it.  In high school I wore a 36DDD bra.  At my largest I was wearing a 40G.  I'm not a fan of looking for clothes that I love and can never wear. I play in makeup sometimes, but I'm not an artist.  It doesn't always occur to me to wait for someone to walk around a car and open the door for me because I can do it myself.  I still don't know my way around a curling iron and only got the hang of a straightening iron in recent years.  In Junior High one of my great (male) friends named me "Lion Lady" and he loved to pull my puffy mass around my face.  (I didn't mind.  It was better than being called Chewbacca for the same reason when I was younger.)

I had a friend right after high school that always wanted to hang out and I loved nights when all I planned to do was stay home and do laundry.  She wanted to be attached even then and her need for connection ended a friendship I couldn't appreciate.  Most of my friends at that time were guys.  We hung out and drank together.  This was my pizza and beer crew. We hit night clubs together.

I watched my male friends in their relationships.  Part of it was the maturity level we were at, but they needed space at times.  They were ready to romance their girlfriends and hook up with others in between, but they needed their time with the boys where they could claim their brotherhood meant more than whoever they were playing with that night. I'll spare you the phrases that rang loudest while they were pounding beers and smoking cigars and cigarettes. They needed space to reset.  I understood that.  They were gaming on a console or balling on the courts.  They were street racing their rice rockets. It was a thing. This was their reset.

When the ex wanted to go out with friends and paintball all weekend, I got it.  When he wanted to go on concert tours for his rap music, it was okay.  He was chasing his dreams.  When he wanted to go deep sea fishing all weekend, I remembered to wash his fishing clothes separately so we didn't all have to smell like fish guts and sunscreen.  He needed to reset with the boys and I understood it and didn't complain.  My job as mom was to be with my kids.  That was how I usually felt.  It was the life I accepted.

I had my impressions of what a mother was from Joan Cleaver but more so from my own parents.  They were usually hard at work or sacrificing for our family.  Dad took a road trip across America and that was when Mom decided she was done.  Their divorce was final the same month I turned 18. I have never even seen either of my parents drunk or high.  Dad used to smoke pipe tobacco.  It was cherry vanilla, but they were the example of family first that I grew up with. My adolescence had a reality check and rude awakening once I became a parent.  I couldn't do what I wanted to, and I felt I was supposed to want to be a stay at home mom.  When I found out about my ex's first girlfriend after we got married, I decided I needed to finish my schooling. I needed something that was mine and had nothing to do with being wife, mom, daughter, or sister.  I needed something that was selfish and all about me.

After one of my last finals at Glendale Community College,  I was planning on meeting a friend and his girlfriend at a local bar.  He was one of those guys I used to hang out with.  I was one of the guys to him and one summer he picked me up after work every day and we would stay for a while at Manhattan Beach where he was learning to body surf  and I was soaking in the sun.  We'd go through an 18 pack at my place and he'd fall asleep on the couch. I covered him with a blanket and he called me mom. That evening it was just hanging out for drinks at a local dive bar. It was really one drink.  I ordered a Cape Cod that was too strong and slowly nursed it, begging my ice to melt and sucking on my lime wedge. I ordered a second one I couldn't finish. My ex insisted on taking me and we didn't have a sitter so he waited in the family van right outside with our kids while I had a drink in a bar.  We had been married around 4 or 5 years at this point and I had learned by then that going out wasn't always worth it in the end, but I really missed my friend.  As a wife, eventually going to Target or the grocery store meant he would call me around an hour after I left to make sure I was okay and coming home soon because the kids were being kids and he needed help.  Then I would get home and usually unload and put all the groceries away myself.

Now we have shared custody. My time alone starts tomorrow after they leave for school.  I'll have a five day stretch to do whatever strikes me as fun.  I'm thinking of heading to the beach in jeans with a sweater because I expect it to be cool.  I'll watch waves and pack a lunch. I may take the streets there and back.  I'll come home and taste the burn of alcohol and I won't worry if I've had too much to drink or acted too drunk.  I'll put on loud music and probably dance in my underwear while drunk because that sounds really fun right now, but my kids are home and I will not stress them out with my need for freedom.  I'll watch bad television and read mediocre prose with a good storyline.

I like these spaces.  I don't want to give these spaces up.  These spaces make going solo on expeditions my first choice and dating is not an option if I want to keep these spaces as my own. These spaces help me see the abuse in the spaces I didn't have. Even if checking on me was framed as needing help, it was control that was taken from me. These five days are mine.  I'm eager for the chance to kick the joy into them.

Under Construction and the 6th Street Bridge

I visited the Sixth Street Viaduct today.  It's being demolished and replaced because it's not safe in our shake happy state. I could go into the North American and Pacific plates and the mysteries of Alkali Silica Reaction, but I'm sure not everyone finds it as fascinating as I do. My earth science geek out can wait.

It was a field trip suggested by a friend from high school.  He's been the reason I've been taking so many field trips lately.  I told him I was staying home and job hunting as my latest career move and I conserve gas for the necessary outings.  He pushed me to just enjoy myself and I'm really glad he did.  I love my field trips and I've found so much healing along beaches.  My next trip is Zuma because he says it's his favorite and he makes it sound amazing. Tomorrow looks promising. I can job hunt using apps between selfies and iPhoneography.

He's one of those friends that always leaves me in better shape than he found me in. Every so often he wants to know how I'm doing and he gives me just enough push to encourage me while guiding me. He's a salt of the earth kind of man with just enough sweetness to let me know he's always going to be a heartbreaker. We talk about my kids and he reminds me this will be okay in the end because he has an optimistic streak even I'm envious of.  I remembered how shy he was and he reminded me it's because I was always flirting with him.  I had forgotten about that, but I've always had a thing for guys in football uniforms so I wouldn't put it past me.  It wasn't intentional and he didn't make me feel bad about it in reminding me. We're just friends but there are moments when he'll call me love, or ma, or princess and I feel loved and not so thrown away.  He was the only one I wanted to talk to when I was having chest pain and eyeing that hot Italian ER doctor.

He suggested I check out the bridge and I asked if I could just wait to see the pictures he takes, because writing screenplays and capturing artful pictures is his thing.  It was one of those moments where he was calling me a princess. In my defense, he had just suggested I don't carry a large bag because it would make me a target and I was thinking about needing an escort. In most of what I do, I don't have an escort. I was thinking about not going because there is construction dust. It's a hard hat area . . . full of construction workers . . . Okay it was the thought of that last bit that had me sold. His warning on my mind had kept me in my car for the most part. I drove around and under the bridge, but I only got out of the car for a quick couple of minutes because I was wigging out about muggers and rapists at 10 in the morning lurking around dilapidated and graffitied buildings that were crumbling and abandoned in a quiet area in Central Los Angeles.

On my way home I thought about the bridge being destroyed.  I watched the machines pick at the concrete for a while.  It is falling apart and unsafe, but it still took so much work to chisel it away.  They used water hoses in jetted streams along with heavy machinery.  For such a large task, there weren't that many construction workers.

It made me think of my life in the last year or so.  There were times when structures were being demolished and it felt entirely lonely.  The beauty I saw in the past was being destroyed and it was hard to watch and painful to live through.  I didn't use a hose, but there were plenty of tears to help wash away the debris. I couldn't imagine what my life would look like as my own. My team was tiny.

Rebuilding started and I missed the foundation being poured because I was so busy missing the old me.  My construction and support team has gotten larger.  There have been a few men working hard to build me up and restore my confidence.  I may have even used one or two as a tool in strengthening my self esteem. I sometimes feel bad about that. There has been so much undeserved family support. The audience that watched me fall apart under the loss of a marriage I couldn't imagine living without watch me grow in silence, or offer quiet acknowledgement that they're glad I'm no longer begging for another chance to prove I'm willing to beg for scraps. They stop in from time to time and have watched my frame being erected.  They're curious now that the wiring and plumbing are in and the mudders are sealing seams in my drywall.  I'm feeling stronger and I can see my amazing when I look in the mirror and that is pretty epic. I can see what the architect envisioned when the structure was destroyed because of the first major cracks from a slipping foundation.

Sexy Fiction: The Rub

The day behind us was long and difficult.  I could hear it in his voice when I called to see if he was still in the mood for the dinner I had planned. The smell of the roast was just starting to waft out of the oven and would be ready about half an hour after his arrival. He walked in with his tie neatly rolled in his hand, and his worn brown leather messenger bag slung across his chest.  The top buttons of his dress shirt were undone and I could see the soft tangle of light hair peeking out below the slight adam's apple that shifted under his square jawline which was already covered in a 5 o'clock shadow. I nibbled his chin just below his left ear and relieved him of his bag. I pulled him to his favorite chair.  It's the overstuffed one that feels like a throne.  He reads in this chair.  He tells me about his day in this chair.  I sit him down and pull my bathrobe tighter around me before pouring his favorite single malt whiskey over a ball of ice in an old fashioned glass with his initials acid etched on the bottom. I love his sense of style. He looks so worn and I can see the weight of his day.  I kiss away the words that start because I won't continue his frustrations until we've melted the edge off a bit.

I place a towel at his feet and remove his loafers and trouser socks.  I fold the legs of his slacks up and push them the rest of the way past his calves to his knees. He cocks his head to the side and the sweet crinkle of laugh lines around his eyes tell me his mood was already improving. My bare feet padded softly on thick charcoal carpeting to the bathroom where I filled the vibrating foot spa with warm water and scented bath salts. Walking back to him, his smile pulled at the edges of his mouth, but not quite his eyes. Not fully.  He often wondered if he was doing enough to make me happy and if he should have been doing more.

I placed the spa before him, and he began to protest that he should be doing this for me.  I give him the look of promise that he is learning to anticipate and lifted and placed each foot in the vanilla scented warm water.  I plugged it in and walked away, dropping my bathrobe on the couch that had become my favorite spot to watch him. He loved it when I showed him that Victoria's Secret is that she is a man after his own heart.  I could see the reflection of the smile that has now reached his eyes in the mirror above the fireplace.

I returned to him with a shallow bowl filled with rough mounds of cool coconut oil, and a stiff brush.  I started scrubbing each tired foot with the brush.  Once the water began to cool, I took his feet out and dried them gently before each foot took a turn being rubbed with coconut oil. I started with the bottom of his feet, kneading them with the soft pads of my thumbs.  The oil softened and melted quickly from the heat of my hands and his feet.  His eyes closed and I flicked the arch of his foot with the tip of my tongue while holding it firmly and I enjoyed the shock that he tried to pull away in.

"Watch," comes out more as a pout than I intended.

The heat in his gaze maintained his silence and I took his second and longest toe into my mouth and watched his expression shift from contented joy to anticipation and excitement. His eyes were on me and I continued rubbing his feet, and ankles as I worked my way up his calves.  I loved his firm muscles and soft hair on my sensitive fingertips.  His body relaxed and when he started to look too relaxed, I used my mouth or hands to remind him of the sexual nature of our situation. It usually resulted in a groan that tried my self control.

As he nursed his drink, I started the important questions about his day.   I could feel his body relax as the stress began to fall away.  He told me about his latest acquisition and the challenges of combining the two entities into a cohesive new company.  I can see his excitement return to his features as he explained the unique skillsets of his teams and how they worked so well together.  He alternated between being in his excitement and looking to me to make sure he could continue because there's fear that he may bore me.  When we first met he wanted to talk about his accomplishments and I just wanted him to keep looking at me the way he did.  I could watch this man read nutritional values on a box of cereal and still be riveted. I smiled at his slight insecurities because he can't see how amazing he is to me and I liked it that way.

The smell of our dinner was strong enough that I knew it was done.  I stood up and slipped into my bathrobe so I could pull dinner out, and finished setting the table so the roast could rest.  I caught his expression in the mirror again, and saw shock and petulant disappointment. He's so cute when he's disappointed.

"Dinner," I remind him.

"But we were in the middle of things."

"Dinner before dessert," was thrown over my shoulder with a smile and a wink and his smile matched mine.

Do Better and Be Better

You have the individual power to uplift someone or tear them down. You can wrap your needs around someone else to the point where your survival takes their life. Don't be that person. This will be a day of conquest and joy for me. I'm feeling good.

You never know when another person is dangerously on edge and the words they hold and chew into calm are ready to unleash scars that will ripple into your silent places of reflection.

Do better and be better. Kindness is free.

Motherhood as Leadership

I was one of those Leadership kids in my Freshman year.  Over 20 years ago it was the last year of Junior high and not the first year of high school. We had meetings and someone took minutes, but it was really a free pass out of class to run around and plan school dances and fundraisers.  There was so much more to what it was supposed to be, but I only ran for my office as a popularity contest on someone else's social agenda.  I got the hall pass and sweatshirt and front and center seats for major assemblies, the panorama picture and graduation.  We booked the d.j. and diluted fruit punch concentrate into hydration for the circles of dancers that showed off their moves, but would pretend to be wall flowers as soon as the lights were back on.  We sold tickets and decorated a depressing boys gym into a room suitable for raging hormones, gross insecurities and cliques of kids rushing in hordes for potential dance battles and fist fights. I never understood what the goal of the class was meant to be because we had a series of tasks but I didn't have the understanding of the reasons behind them. In recent years, my thoughts on leadership have grown.  During my last pregnancy, we spent a lot of time at amusement parks.  The ex lost over 100 pounds and he wanted to go and keep going with his new-found energy.  We had littles and I was pregnant with another couple's twins.  We would walk in a line where he would lead and I always took up the rear to make sure we didn't lose anyone.  That was when I decided I wanted to be more than a mom.  I wanted to be a leader to my sons.  It was in noticing that our pace wasn't set by the most capable, but by the one that needed the most guidance and hand holding, which switched between kids several times per hour.  In taking the rear, and making sure my kids were on course, I was guiding them. I was encouraging them to catch up to Daddy and watching that they didn't wander in a different direction.

Leadership isn't about telling people what to do and expecting them to jump because of your position or their fear of you.  It's not about puffing up your position, but letting your team know the ways they are a valuable and essential part of your team. It's about guidance and encouragement to lead your team to want to do better and think in ways that promote the team, and not the individual. Leadership means the leader is as much an integral part of the team as every single member, but the leader is accountable for fostering a culture of advancement.

For my family, leadership is about establishing a compelling direction and for now that is a direction founded in acceptance and unconditional love.  No matter what choices they make in life and love, they know I will always love and support them.  Soon after they started telling me they loved me, I started telling them that I will always love them, whether or not they love boys or girls. Their choices might not always make me proud, but I will always be proud to be their mother.  I do my best to encourage open communication and I don't place my shame or my feelings on them if I can help it.  I help them solve problems and the day they stop coming to me with them, is the day I know I have failed them as a leader.

My goal for my family is to foster relationships that build each other up.  I hear it gets easier when brothers are older.  Leadership in this way takes the direction of enabling a structure of support.  It's encouraging them when they play together and discouraging destructive competition. It's in helping each other to do well.  It's a thank you when one sacrifices for the other, or when one helps with a homework problem explanation when my reserves are low and I need the perspective of someone else in my single mom home.

One day the authority I empower as mom will help my children internalize my ideals.  When those thoughts become theirs and they understand their own manifest and latent benefits, they will idealize and live out these lessons in every area of their lives.  Leadership teaches others to lead their own lives with intention.  It's not enough to be an angry mother with timbered calls of authority.  It's the gentle guidance that makes them search for answers on their own, with nudges from me that lead them along the path I had scouted in my own adolescent adventures.

It's been a difficult year.  There's no way to sugarcoat that. Being positive is part of my personality but it's also about leadership.  If my kids see that I can be positive in a negative situation, it shows all of us that our answers are not impossible. It's about knowing I will make mistakes and just get things wrong. It's allowing them to hold me accountable and asking them to call me out on my prideful ignorance.  I frequently remind myself to be the mom my children deserve, and not the mom I feel like being.  I let them know that our family is ours, and our home is not just mine.  It helps them find enthusiasm in being part of our family and obligation becomes privilege.

I believe leadership is found in doing what is right, rather than what is easy.  It falls in line with financial stewardship and embracing the idea that you don't know all of the answers, and you don't have to, but your curiosity will be rewarded with at least trying to find the answers.

That Time I was the Other Woman

It wasn't on purpose.  It never was.  He was sweet and made her feel like his world was better with her in it.  He wanted her to meet him while he was working because he was always working and she was his happiness.  Her new soundtrack was about the longing and love he made her feel as they sat and talked and kissed in her car while he was on a break. She only saw him at work.  He was on location and she was happy to follow him on sets all over Los Angeles.  He would wrap warm arms around her and lend her his jacket.  She wore Versace Red Jeans and he wore Versace Blue Jeans. It was unintentional but it must have meant something in the signs she was searching for. They would smoke cigarettes together, and he would light hers with the Zippo lighter she bought and had engraved with his name. He always lit her cigarettes in a show of old Hollywood chivalry. His house was in Rancho Cucamonga and too far for her to visit, but he told her she would be proud that he mowed his lawn every weekend.  He only had his kids on weekends and he wanted her to meet him at his house one day - to meet his kids.  His kids were his world and his ex girlfriend wasn't in the picture anymore. His work schedule made it hard to see them anytime but the weekends.

Her friends didn't believe he was real because they never saw him but made fun of his last name and called him Mango.  He was sweet and they gave him a code name she loved.  Her friends saw the shiftiness and wondered why they never saw him.  If he loved her, why was it so easy to stay away from her?

His story began to shift in the days and weeks they dated. Working as a gaffer was hard work and long hours, but eventually he became the supervisor of the security company on most sets.  She didn't question his lies because it didn't matter what he did as long as he kept making her smile. The ex was all the bad in the world.  She was the source of his pain and she took all of his hard work and spent it and didn't care about him.  She went from ex girlfriend to ex-wife in a few dates, because his dishonesty was killing him and he needed her to know that she meant enough to be open and honest.

He met her at her favorite pool hall with his son Michael and brother Jason.  They played 8-ball.  Michael was sweet and shy and happy to be with his Daddy and Daddy's friend.  Daddy kissed his friend, but friends sometimes kiss and it was innocent to a five-year old.

She met him at work and his co-worker told her that he was still married, and she shouldn't trust his lies because his lies were destroying worlds.  She couldn't believe that.  His words brought hope and happiness.  His words made her feel lovely in all of the low places because he wanted her but loved her enough to wait and fill their visits with words and kisses and the kisses were chaste because he respected her.

One day she ran into his brother on a location set.  Jason felt bad that she was so misled and he gave her the honesty his brother was withholding.  She was dating a married man who went home to his wife every night and beat her when he was angry.  She was dating a married man and the proof was irrefutable. Jason took her to meet their mother and unwrapped her Christmas gift in memories through a scrapbook wedding with grand babies. Her boyfriend was the groom and the Daddy and she was a homewrecker.  She was a trollop.

Jason wanted to touch the places she wanted to be touched.  Jason knew how to pull her across a dance floor and wanted to show her what he thought the meaning of life was and it filled the spaces her boyfriend left.

She would never kiss her boyfriend again and dumped him because he had a wife.  The longing and pain were real. He was pretending but it was real to her. She wouldn't see him again, though he begged her and she missed him.  She would want closure because it was a word that meant she might not have been wrong to give him her heart. She would spend weeks feeling like the lowest scum on earth for being with a married man, for feeling like her happiness could justify the destruction of a family.

She would never again date a married man because the point of marriage is that you aren't open to dating. What this boyfriend taught her would settle into solid lines never to be crossed because he taught her what marriage isn't in the weight of what she danced in.  His allusions made her feel beautiful and the unfairness of his lies made her wonder how much was real.

She would settle for a man who wasn't handsome but made her feel desire that consumed them both.  He wasn't successful but she found home was in his arms. She would learn to trust him through the times he betrayed that trust. She would wait in faithfulness through his solid and malicious rejection, until she would decide that she had enough of what he offered and she would want more joy than he could ever give again.

One day she would look up the old boyfriend because cyber stalking is her gift.  She would see that he is divorced and looks nothing like he did in her memories. In 16 years, his children grew into beautiful expressions of their parents.  She could see that the pain he caused them cut him out of their pictures and likely their lives. The shadows of released inhibitions weighed down the happiness in his smile and though he now tips the scale far less than he used to, he stands as though there is more weight on his shoulders.The fading tattoos that were one or two now mapped destruction all over his entire body. She would decide he wasn't worth a hello.

She would continue looking up other ex boyfriends to hold them up and see if she would want them back.  She would decide to keep the memories they gave her but that they weren't worth the friend request. They weren't worth a revisit.  She would pour herself a fresh cup of coffee and daydream about the shape and form of her next lesson with a Cheshire cat smile and joyful anticipation.

Fiction Fun: Running through Water, A Selkie Escape

She makes her way through weighted sand that is begging her to stop, holding onto her with each step. The water has beaten wet sand into submission as she treads woodenly in staccato steps. The song of night calls her name and she has no will of her own.  The cool waves crash at her feet, reaching icy fingers toward frozen toes. She's in the depths of a lost reserve and the song she hears howls a sad refrain that promises she'll forget. Slow steps lead to a cacophonous harmony of angry ocean churning until bitten ankles are numbed and the piercing pain gives way to  stiff movements. She's urged forward. A fresh sting of cold hits her thighs in a shocking protest of discomfort. She begins to run forward in a slow lift and fall as the water lifts her and pulls the sifting sand from under delicate feet.  Layers of clothes cling to her and pull her deeper until the water lifts her up then in deeper and she's pulled by the will of the waves. She makes it past the breakers where pinpricks of ice slow her breathing and a shooting star draws her attention away from the siren call that will silence the pain that echoes in her mind and she looks back at the shore where she sees him. He watches her go and longs to save her, but he's not enough.  She often told him that she couldn't be enough and in the moment before them, he was the one that couldn't find enough within him. The shroud of loss fell away and he could see that the well of life within him kept him from seeing where he was empty and she was filling his barren spaces.  Her life hid his death.  He calls her name but she can't hear him.  He can feel her forcing through the waves away from him because as her pulse slows to the chill of the night, he can feel his own heart slowing because she's taken it with her.  She has taken him and his powerlessness leaves him shattered on dry sand.

As she watches him there is a tingling throughout her body and the painful numbing becomes a warmth of freedom.  Her clothes burst free from her as the waves strip her body, but the cold is no longer painful.  She feels warmth burn through her body and her legs are suddenly light and strong. Silky hair halos around her head as she is taken under and she begins to breathe in the salty water. She feels peace and knows she is finally home.

Just when he felt it was her end, she shifted into her selkie form and swam away.

Have a Drink with me, part 2

My kids are home this weekend and the coming storm means we'll be home.  That makes them happy and it means I can lounge in pajamas and maybe bake some comfort. This coming kid free weekend I will be working up to the idea of relaxing inebriation, but I'm learning it's not just my comfort zone that needs stretching.  My family is used to seeing me as the designated driver because I put my ex's wants first.  They're used to seeing me sip a soda or water or anything non-alcoholic because I needed to be ready to Mom through a situation without worrying if I need a driver. I've written about my relationship with Drinking in the past, but I'm fleshing things out a bit today. Kid3 was with me last night and asked for soda.  We rarely have it in the house and I gave in to a 12 pack of Coca-Cola for my boys because a once in  awhile splurge should feel like a splurge. I picked up a purple bottle of Viniq.  I used to love Alize and Moscato d'Asti was my favorite wine until I had a reaction that required Benadryl.  I think it might be a good thing to try.  Over ice.  With a splash of club soda. I have a great drunken memory of drinking Alize on the floor of Pro's Billiards and telling my friends they were beautiful and asking if I could kiss them on the nose. I was loads of fun until I ended the night calling the boy I was nuts about and asking him why he was such an unfeeling asshole.  (I'm so not kidding about not being able to handle my liquor.)

Kid3 didn't like the idea of me drinking and didn't want me to buy the bottle of Viniq. A few months ago he said his Dad drinks a lot when they aren't around, but I never prodded.  We're grown ups.  We can pay taxes, vote and buy our own booze and cigarettes. I wasn't planning on drinking in front of my kids, but he was determined to let me know he doesn't want me drinking. I promised him I wouldn't drink it in front of him because I wasn't going to drink in front of my kids anyway, and I wanted it because of the pretty shimmery swirls. It was on clearance and cheaper than his lava lamp. We got home and kid1 had a problem with it too.  He pointed out that nothing good comes out of drinking.  My pretty bottle may remain a pretty bottle for a while.  I have other bottles that have gotten far less attention and no one will notice a dip in their levels. This morning I told my sister about the bottle of Viniq and she said, "wow, you're going all balls out." That made me giggle, and yes, we talk like that.  I very rarely write like that but spend enough time with me that I feel comfortable telling you the many things that I don't write about and I will talk like the teenage mom that doesn't want to grow up.  My walls come down and my censor is silenced. When I'm comfortable enough, I talk with my inner child more than I talk to my inner porn star and my inner porn star has made a few appearances on this blog. I'm very in touch with who I am and what makes me special.

Right out of high school the start of my week was about pizza, beer, cigars and Monday night football.  Sometimes alone, but often with friends.  A normal gathering included one to three 18 packs of beer for a group of 4 or 5 .  Back then it was MGD or Corona and sometimes Heineken and Mickey's. It took a while to decide I wasn't nuts about beer, and when alone, I would experiment with a bartender's bible in one hand and a jigger in the other.  I loved peach schnapps and would often drink Sex on the Beach when home alone. At bars, I ordered a Cape Cod because back then I was often in dive bars where the drink was different depending on who made it and people rarely got cranberry juice and vodka wrong. I liked apple martinis that tasted like blow pops, and not at all sour.  I don't remember how to make these anymore and I misplaced that bible many years ago.

With family, we used to drink Hennessy and it was my late grandmother's favorite. The one from Thailand would drink it straight up with a can of Pepsi next to her.  I have no idea if my grandmother in Houston drank. The family shifted the shared bottle of Hennessy to Courvoisier. Drinking with my family is fun and funny and not every time I've had a few drinks was scary, even if my last drinking post gave you that impression.  I had plenty of scary moments that I could never reconcile with being who I want to be as a person and as a mom but they were nights when I wanted to drink alone in public. It's not the drinks I had, but the choices surrounding those drinks that aligned with the path to self-destruction I was determined to walk on. I'm not afraid to drink or drink alone.

Alcohol never left my home.  I make coq au vin with red wine and cognac.  I add too many capers and a little white wine to my chicken picatta. My beef stew starts with beer and the darker the better, but I'm not picky.  I deglaze pans with dry red wine when I make pot roast.  Pork chops glazed in peach schnapps with shallots will always be a favorite.  I make hot buttered rum batter every Christmas and use spiced rum and whipped cream if a can survives the day with kids around after they've gone to sleep.  My kids still freak out a bit when they see me cook with alcohol, but then they taste what is familiar and see it's okay.

Every holiday we gather at my mom's house and there's drinking. The holidays are a time for love and silliness and just enjoying each other. I rarely join in on the drinks but I plan on changing that when I am kid free and don't have to worry about rushing out in the face of a sudden meltdown or ER visit.  I know I can hang around, grazing on too much food until I'm sober and not going to endanger the general public. I know I'm safe with family and that no one will judge me for not being able to talk without giggling or being overly affectionate. I'm not a binge drinker.  Not anymore.  Once I feel warm, I stop sipping and just enjoy the relaxed haze of intoxication. When it comes to drinking, I'm past testing my limits because we're well acquainted and I have nothing to prove.

Withholding Words: Self Censorship

You may have noticed a missing post.  Or you may not have because I may be overestimating how much my words mean to you because they mean a lot to me.  My words are symbolic of a freedom I'm dancing in. I admit that I'm still walking a line and feeling out my comfort. I censored myself. I'm a really light sleeper with a huge day finally behind me and when I got an alert at 4 in the morning, I stayed up and typed.  It was honest and raw and not entirely pain free, but not what I want my blog to be about.  This is about me.  Mainly me.  It's also about the many ways I've been shaped by relationships that are no longer relevant. It's about me and how I'm crushing this chrysalis, and that last post was more about me and the ex and it gave him more proprietary space on this blog than I want to offer him right now.  One day there will be no fear of what his reaction will be.  There will be no fear in closed spaces with him. There will be no need to forgive him because I will have forgiven him. It was a post about our sins against each other, and maybe in time I'll make it public again.  Just not tonight. Not when I see him in court and the attorney can tell by my body language that a bailiff escort out of the courthouse was appreciated by me. Not when strangers can see my body language shift from confident to fearful in the shift of a gaze. This is my selfish therapy platform where I point out my weaknesses and find gentleness from within with an accountability to a nebulous crowd.

I met a woman at the courthouse.  She introduced herself to me and handed me a card with her name preceded by the word, "Goddess" as the first part of her given name.  She called me Goddess as well.  She asked if I spoke spanish and I admitted I only know enough to get me through a conversation about love or food - the important stuff.  She thinks I should rewrite that memory in San Pedro at the Friendship Bell that I shared about in Water Baby.  I let go of that boy so long ago, that it's faded into good memories and I'm not sure I want to walk over them with new ones. We talked children and beaches and the healing I've found facing the Pacific Ocean under a blanket of stars.  Her beliefs differ from mine, but I could censor my disbeliefs into appreciating the beauty in healing wherever we are blessed to find it.  We talked and her light brought me peace amidst the snickers and phone conversation about me going on a few feet from me.

While I didn't get what I wanted in court, there was grace and an alignment of circumstances that can only be described as favor.  Miracles happen where you look for them.  I was encouraged by four men that looked me in the eye and expressed the value they saw throughout my day.  It was just the pick me up I needed, when I needed it and least expected it.

While I uncover our sins

While you were talking my thoughts roamed into the list, picking apart what to do and when to do it and not worrying where I fit in because I never did. While you were sleeping, I ate while I watched you snore and I cried silently and sometimes I wrote in a journal I tried to hide from you.

While you drove me to the bar and waited in the car for my fun to end, I couldn't see your paranoid control and fear that I would find another person in the drinks with old friends I never wanted to date but I knew it would be my last night with friends at a bar.

While you were running away for weekends of paintball or deep sea fishing or concert tours, I was being Mom to our kids and asking my parents for help with groceries.

While you said we couldn't afford to pay the debts in my name, I managed to pay them without your consent or assistance.

While you were ignoring me, I was escaping into teenage paranormal romance books, because these books didn't have a sex life to be jealous of.

While you were flirting with the waitresses in front of me, I was afraid to look at other men because of the reaction you might have had.

While I was birthing babies, you were kind enough to let the laundry wait for me.

While you were battling food poisoning, I came home from the hospital to make my own dinner after the birth of our firstborn which set the tone and my practice for the other pregnancies.

While you were losing weight and excited to go on adventures, I was willing to walk through Sea World a couple of weeks after our last child and years later Legoland with a c-section scar less than a month old.

While you had lost the weight of a person and insisted on amusement parks, I tried to ease the sensory needs of our autistic children.

While you wanted the fame on stage, you didn't see that we were putting you first and sat uncomfortably in your shadows and darkness.

While you were our leader, I took up the rear to make sure we didn't lose children on adventures because it never occurred to you that we couldn't keep up.

While your words said later for nearly a week and I was stumbling in the dark to do our laundry, I made the choice to step on a ladder and change the bulb myself at 5 months gestation.

While I was on bedrest and you made yourself look like a hero, you forgot to mention the help our surrogate couples hired so you wouldn't have to pick up my slack.

While you were working, I had phone calls and follow ups and exhaustion from lack of sleep because sleep came in the morning when you were gone and I had peace.

While you were getting drunk I was sober and moming and driving and urging you into bed.

While you were raging and breaking cabinet doors, I was raging right back in my mind, afraid to move because of where your rage might have turned.

While you were locking yourself in the bathroom with a knife I was irritated because I knew you wanted my audience, but you didn't care that our kids could see it too.

While you were driving home and not excited to see me and the weight I waited to rest on your shoulders, I was excited because you could see the children destroy all I had done in their artful undoing and I really wasn't sleeping all day - just most of it.

While you were punching cracks into the windshield on the freeway, I wondered how this came from a game of punch buggy.

While you walked through the door, we were happy to see you but we missed the puppy joy mark that was the bar you were setting and you thought we didn't care because we were only matching the joy you showed us in coming home.

While you were hungry and forgetting your wallet or keys or running out of gas on the freeway, I paused my day to rescue you for a moment to be with you and be the hero I hoped you would be to me.

While you ignored my suggestions, I found I could feed them to others and you would actually hear them.

While you complained about money I hid in my Amazon account, I found you were hiding so much more and convinced myself it was your right but guilt and shame plagued my sins against you.

While you were gambling, our son nearly died and the fault was mine because I am his mom even though that tub was filled on your watch and the destruction in the house was a mess you sat in while I took two kids to the grocery store and battled the budget you gave me alongside their wants.

While you had a girlfriend online, I had baby blues that nearly ended our eldest son's life.

While you joked about my being on my phone during our dates, you were tagging me on yours.

While you wanted to snuggle and just be with me, the house wouldn't run itself.  I had to get up and be a wife and mom while you lounged in bed and couldn't hear me not asking for your help.

While you watched television, I was escaping into books right next to you because not being present while next to you was my idea of bliss.  I loved watching Legolas, but couldn't see the point in memorizing a trilogy when there were books filled with new worlds to discover.

While you were trying to impress her and found her so amazing, I was secure that our marriage would survive because in my selfishness I saw my happiness and couldn't see you didn't have any in yours.

While you were waiting outside a concert to drive home an artist that wouldn't even get you into the show, I was being awarded at an Honor's Convocation.

While you were making financial choices I didn't agree with or believe in, I was borrowing from my parents who now trust me on business accounts for emergencies as long as me doesn't include you.

While you were trying your best to not be my husband I was trying harder to be your wife.

While your Christian rap ministry took you on tour, I was home with our children, wondering why you couldn't be that man on the streets in your own home.

While you wanted me to be a wife and only a wife, I fought you each semester and quarter to be more so we could have more, never imagining my new identity would be the one thing you couldn't take and that you would try to destroy all else.

While you were buying three touch screen computers and a WiiU for Christmas, I was giving our sons a welfare Christmas from the Dollar Tree, and they were giving me gratitude and love.

While family and friends pointed out what I couldn't stop seeing, I defended your actions and managed to make them my fault.

While you were working to provide for our needs, I was shopping as therapy for the home I wanted us to build.

While you were figuring out our finances, I was planning on retail therapy in the grocery store.

While you hated my friends, I avoided them for you but you still spent the night out with friends who kept bringing strippers to the house that you spent the night at.

While you shattered who we were, I've been picking up the pieces I want, and smashing to dust the parts meant to die while I find the ways in which to fall together.

Resisting the Slut Inside of Me

I'm having a night.  It's not a good one.  I'm digging deep for those happy places.  I'm remembering the heat of a blush that starts in my chest and races up my face because I had joy in my Crushing. I'm remembering the giddy joy that took over my Easter evening over the ocean in Santa Monica because that night was filled with Laughter.  I'm not crying, but I feel angry enough to, and the animals know.  I have a cat determined to head butt my temple and a dog trying to become a foot rest.  They sense my tension and the anger as it ebbs around me. Yesterday's phone call is getting under my skin and I have to face the ex tomorrow.  I'm not worried about seeing him or the girlfriend he'll probably bring with him.  I'm not concerned about how I'll look or what I'll wear.  My confidence has grown since he left me in insecurities and doubt. I'm angry that I had to change my plans to fit the maelstrom he's caused in my week. Yesterday's powerlessness is raging again tonight.

It feels like a lifetime ago, but once upon a time I may have felt this mood and ended up at a bar.  I would have looked at a stranger from head to toe. My gaze would have lingered in a way that made him question if I was actually looking at him or behind him. Not many can take that intensity without doubt and it was intentional. I would have looked him in the eye, disrobing all doubt - disrobing him visually. I would have let him buy me a drink to watch him try to convince me that he had what I needed.  My Hunger was for attention but he would have seen what he hoped for. I would have left after using him for an ego boost and a couple of free drinks.  These instincts are primal and I'm killing them with every choice to be better than the person I was. I would have looked like the girl you don't bring around your family and friends but I would have felt empowered.

The person I am now will blog it out.  I'll then read some of the posts that revive the memories of those happy moments. I'll click on "author favorite" in the tag cloud because putting them all together like that makes my happy place easier to get to.  I will then re-read the papers I was just served, gathering whatever documentation I think will be relevant in the morning. I'll clean out my purse and make sure I don't have a pocket knife in it. I will get elbow deep in dishwater, probably breaking another nail in the process.  I will switch laundry loads, then flip through my bible until I find peace.  And I will repeat my forgiveness into the quiet of an empty home until the peace stills into sleep.

Broken Birthday Wishes

My birthday sucked this year.  Big time.  Most birthdays aren't days I celebrate.  I had one year when the ex invited my large family for a restaurant meal.  It was big, and for a few hours it was special, but it came with a price. The emotional lashing in the days before it tempered the night.  There were pictures posted on Facebook and my smile was genuine, but I don't even remember if it was 29 or 30.  I wanted to make it a big deal because it was a milestone to me. It was the lead up that felt like a big deal because there's supposed to be significance in it.  When the next morning came, I was slightly jaded.  I still had laundry and dishes and kid chasing and the part where I was special felt like exhaustion from the gratitude I was in service to.  I'm used to still being Mom on my birthday because if I don't do dishes or laundry, it'll be waiting for me in double portions the next day.  I didn't expect breakfast in bed. I rarely eat breakfast.  I often made my family breakfast as a short order cook, and hoped for time to go back to bed. I've spent birthdays at the zoo and Chuck E. Cheese's. I used to say that all I wanted for my birthday was my Kindle, Amazon store credit and a hotel room with room service and housekeeping.  No one ever believed me and one year I'll do it for myself. My birthday hasn't been about me since I was 21 or 22.

Birthdays and especially Mother's Day are not about me.  These are days when I get to show my family how much I appreciate whichever ways they want to show me they love me. Kid2 once took the cookies I had baked and made them into cookie sandwiches with school glue.  I almost ate it until I asked what he used.  I would have swallowed it with a smile because mom duties include instilling value in the children we raise.  My birthdays have become a day to really feel gratitude for my Mom because I know my birthday is about her as much as it's about me. I don't get it when people celebrate the entire month, because usually I want the day to end. I'm not afraid of aging.  I like where my years have placed me.  I've earned my laugh lines and the random gray hair I sometimes find. Eventually I will take ownership of my birthday again.

In the last year, I've found there is so much peace and joy in life alone and on my last birthday, my ex reminded me of how much pain and damage he could cause. I'm all for putting individual needs first until those needs start to fall as burdens on others.  I took off my wedding band on Valentine's Day, but I decided I was not going to continue waiting for him to divorce me on my birthday which was the Friday before it.  Up until then, I felt that if he wanted to leave me, he could be the one to divorce me.  I didn't want to hold his hand, or finish what he started because for a long time I didn't want that. We didn't fight.  I'm not a fighting type for the most part because I'm fully aware of the damage I can cause and I never saw him as capable of handling me at my worst.  I never wanted to hurt him but my reactions would say otherwise.  I don't think he could imagine the damage I could inflict intentionally. On my birthday, I saw that it wasn't about waiting for him to finalize things, but deciding his choice was the best thing for me as well. I am content in the knowledge that he will no longer be able to control my financial freedom or how I look or behave around other people.

Every year my birthday Facebook post is a reflection of where I am in that moment.  I had been posting for years, but In 2015 I started expressing more than gratitude for the happy birthdays I received and I wrote:

I'm at the age where decades blur with the business of life and if you asked how old I turned today, I would say I turned old. It's easier than doing the math because I won't remember my age until the next milestone which will be 40. 

 I'm at a place where I feel that love means doing what you know is best for the person you love, even if it's not best for you, and not looking at it as a sacrifice, but as a gift, because in the end, their wellbeing is what's best for you.  

I found passion in school but failed to temper it with goals or a dream, so now I'm living the dream and it looks nothing like I thought it might. I still don't have a live in housekeeper. Or a dishwasher. Or more disposable income than sense.  

I went from finding a random $20 in the wash to a few coins and sopping wet toy cars and game chips.  

I stopped going with the flow of life to picking fights for everyday injustice. My calm nature holds in check the furious beast that loves to research the alleyways to victory. (Autism Mom superpowers)

As a new Mom I refrained from buying toys by gender identity. 13 years later I hope to raise feminist men because equality feels better to me than misogyny. 

 Another trip around the sun and my creaky joints keep trying to tell me to slow down, but that girl in the mirror keeps telling me I'm gorgeous and slim (clothes sizes lie - arbitrary numbers and nonsense) I used to try to show off my cleavage or legs. Now I just don't want to embarrass my kids when their friends see me. 

This was when I was still content in my marriage and I thought both of us were happy. This was posted in February with a few redacted bits:

 2016

Life is about balance and there might be beauty in my ashes or hope through my despair and the gift of humanity is emotional interaction and deeper meaning in the mundane.

I reached out in love to two really amazing people before the sun came up. I saw them posting online and I knew I wasn't waking them-although I could probably call them at any time of the night and get the same love. Love can't tell time. That's why infants survive until they sleep through the night. This morning there was anger and rage streaming through my tears, and I called them instead of passively aggressively posting that it's my party and I'll cry if I want to. I see that as growth. I was greeted with love and encouragement and a reminder to pray through. 

I got to work (stepping out of my car) and a complete stranger found me as a person well put together. She couldn't taste the salt stained cheeks or see the red eyes begging for rest as I fought my bedding through fitful sleep last night. I'm still running on fumes of 4 hours of sleep and way too much of that burnt coffee that Starbucks calls medium roast. I looked at her. I looked into her eyes, ignoring years of meaningless meander through a faceless city and I thanked her. She was safe to confess my latest heartache to, because after this morning I'll never see her again. She hugged me. She saw me for my strength and embraced me for my vulnerability. 

As my day progressed, new co-workers peeked over at me to wish me well for my birthday, one spending moments of his day to ask about my plans. I was encouraged. They complimented my white Home Depot dress and found out what a Home Depot dress is. It's sexy and classy and you wear it at Home Depot when you're feeling low and it'll boost your day by the time you leave. It pairs well with my Ruby Woo Mac lipstick because nothing says you're kissable like red matte lipstick that is a cross between berries and blood. It reminds people of love, sex and death and is somehow sensual.

My new license plates came for my new car and I was grateful for the unwrapping of my present to myself. I finally have a car I'm excited to stick my CSULA Alumni license frame on. My neighbor offered a hand (that Home Depot dress kept delivering all over town) but I enjoyed putting them on myself. 

There is no cake because I don't eat wheat and didn't plan a flour less cake. I've also always thought blowing spit and lung juice over a cake that others are expected to eat is a bit gross. Sometimes frosting will seduce me with the siren call of a sugar rush and pre diabetes because I am a sugar addict. Self-control isn't always one of my gifts.

Tomorrow is a new day and a new year. It's leap year so I have 366 days to set new goals and kick the custard out of life with a blowtorch in hand. Custard is creme brûlée with extra sugar and a torch. And the food joy is exponential when custard becomes brûlée. And fire. (I just pictured Beavis and Butt Head, did you?)

Parts of that post were cut out.  I stepped out of my car that morning knowing that by this time next year, I would be a divorcee. As much as I was crumbling at the edges, I was determined to face my day with pride and grace.  That was the face this stranger saw.  After nearly a year of believing that I could forgive anything if I kept my eyes on my faith, it was a moment of deciding I didn't want that anymore and a test of what my faith means to me. My prayer life has suffered since then.  That's my truth.  The day was full of good and bad, and there are times when the bad still batters me.

I had planned to take my kids to Catalina Island that weekend.  My car died in January and my trip became a down payment. The ex did his best to control my birthday weekend and my powerlessness reduced me to angry tears on my commute home that day. Plans were shifted because I do what the kids allow.  I tried to salvage a good memory that weekend and bought a Playstation 4 for my kids which was met with a meltdown by kid2 and collects dust because kid1 and kid3 believe in the gaming potential it holds.  Just Tuesday kid1 and kid2 were talking gaming, and I heard kid2 say, "you should just get a Playstation 4." I reminded them they have one and I was met with laughter.

What I didn't include in my Facebook post that day was a moment.  It was a brief moment and for a while it was my private happy place.  It was a moment that made me feel attractive and desired.  There was a look and that look was everything.

Beach Therapy and Rage Control

The divorce diet shaved about 30 pounds and put me in the sizes I wore the last time I was single which was six pregnancies ago. I was really happy about that this morning. Caller ID and voicemail are a gift I need to learn to use more often. I answered a call I didn't have to and I felt a familiar rage and my happiness melted away. My plans for the next few days have shifted and the lack of control feels like powerlessness and it boiled into fury. I get angry at times and today I just needed to drive. Driving in, wispy purple clouds curled overhead in sheets of fog through Palisades. It was hot and sunny at home.

I picked up rocks as I walked along the shore, depositing them in a pocket. The stretch between jetties was covered in ladybugs. Some were walking on damp sand. Some were on their backs, stuck in the sand, having been tossed by the angry surf. Some ladybugs were making baby ladybugs. One hitched a ride on me as I walked back to my car for a short nap.

 I love the the life around the rough waters and the way the water filters through mud and sand and back to the ocean.    I am enjoying the quiet and solitude. The people ride by on bikes and share their smiles as I watch the horizon. There is goodness here and just past the breakers I can see my joy again. [wpvideo 6ikycC3g]