When I grow up...

My daughter's on a kick--

"When I grow up, I'm going to be..."

Her list has included everything from astronaut to veterinarian; actress to rock star. Somewhere in that list, she wants to be "a mommy like you."

Most mothers' hearts would burst with joy at the sound of that--that my daughter is so happy with my role as her mom, that she'd want the same thing for herself. It's either that, or I'm screwing up royally and she wants to do better than me.

I always knew that I wanted to be a mother. The first time I got married, I was eighteen years old. I believed it was the right thing to do, because it seemed like my only opportunity to live a truly good life. I married a young preacher and set off on a mission to change the world. We started strong, or so I thought. By the age of twenty, Josh was born and then Cale just two years later. By twenty-four, I had accomplished more than I ever thought; I owned a growing business, had two beautiful kids, a successfull pastor as a husband--but I was absolutely miserable.

I couldn't put a finger on why until a few years later; but I was so sad, lonely, frustrated and fearful that it just ate me up inside. By the time I was twenty-five, deception, heartbreak and despair set in full force. Our marriage ended and I couldn't deal with anything, so I could only assume that suicide was my only option. Better for everyone around me (including my boys) if their crazy mother wasn't around to ruin their lives. I failed in my follow through...thank God.

Fast forward a hospital stay and a few years later; and I was married again, in control of my depression and anxiety, had two more beautiful children (including my only girl) and my life was still falling apart. Before we ever reached our 6th wedding anniversary, marriage #2 was over.

Thanks to the love and support of really good friends, my mother and brother, and a lot of time alone to think about my choices and what would happen next; I found myself quite at peace with my decisions. I slept well, felt strong and secure in my own skin for the first time in years. Don't misunderstand me...it hurt like hell. Failures like that (twice) take time to get over; crap, I'm still getting over them. But I realized that I could be happy & healthy without another person telling me I was. I could look in the mirror and be okay with the woman & mother I was. My life was nowhere near ideal, but I was content and safe; all four of my kids were in healthy environments and as a mother, I couldn't ask for more than that.

It was then, that I fell in love with my best friend.

So here I am, almost thirty-four and very happy. Jason and I are committed to ourselves, each other & our family. Sometimes, I wish that the kids only ever saw this time in my life--no drama, not heartache in their parents' eyes. But other times...I think that maybe they are lucky to witness certain parts of this. I've decided to always be honest with them, to answer their questions with care and tenderness. I truly believe with everything I am, that if my parents had done this with me--just been honest about how things really were and could be--I could've been spared a little bit of the struggle. I believe that my own kids will make the right decisions in their own lives.

So when Elena says she wants to follow in my footsteps, I tell her that she will be a wonderful mommy. I tell her that someday, she'll fall in love and have a family of her own; but until then, I tell her to love herself, her God and those around her first. I remind her not to be in such a hurry to grow up; that everything comes in it's own time. And that, when it does, it's very well worth the wait.

10 lbs of $h!t in a 5 lb bag...

We have a small house. We lovingly call it our cottage; when what we mean is "Can you please hurry up in the bathroom? It's my turn!"

I'm a fairly simple girl and don't need much. I take great pride in my home; cleaning it like a lunatic weekly and nagging the rest of the family to clean up after themselves daily. I love my little house, I really do. In fact, when we left it behind for a few months to live in Jason's MUCH bigger (more expensive) house; the novelty of the extra space got old quite quickly as it just gave us more room to make a mess. "No thank you," say I, to the extra work.

BUT...when the boys are here from their dad's house in Louisiana, there are six of us in a 2.5 bedroom/1 bath house. Yes, you're smiling now, I can feel it; because you know where I'm going with this. We are all over each other. Add to that, our two rather large dogs, and you're lucky to find a place to sit, stand or sleep if you're not quick about it.

I adore the chaos (my kids would totally disagree with me on this one, but it's true), because it means that my entire family is together and that is bliss for me. What I do not adore, is my anal retentive nature during these weeks as it makes me and everyone around me miserable. And the more I see them in the house (i.e. teenage boys playing XBox360 all day or my daughter with her dollhouse furniture everywhere) the more "retained" I become. LOL! So, unfortunately, for my reader(s) ;-) I am venting it here.

Everyone who knows me, knows that I have a gift for shoving 10lbs of crap in a 5lb bag and doing it with charm; but we're beginning to tip the scales a bit. Oh well, at least the mortgage payment is small enough that it still affords this single income household the ability to get OUT every now and then. (zoo pics posted)

Until next time.


b~

Peeking behind the curtain...

I'm very new to the concept of blogging as I'm doing it now. I've written before on MySpace and even a little on my FaceBook page, but as both of those are networked only to friends and family, the responses or comments aren't truly organic in nature. It's funny this time; cathartic in a way. I'm writing to an audience of strangers and so far, one person it seems (thanks Keri for reading at least the first posting).

I don't know that anyone else will ever read me; I'd be lying if I said I didn't want them to. You don't write if you don't want someone to read what you've written. But for now, I'll just have to learn to be satisfied with finally having a venue in which I truly get to be honest; a place where I can be myself without having to worry about watching what I say so I don't hurt someone's feelings. That's just refreshing.

So, for those of you (Keri, LOL!) who don't know me or these precious sources of my inspiration, I thought I'd provide a sneak peek into my life. The slide show posted is a glimpse of our life. My oldest boys Josh & Cale spend most of the year in Louisiana with their father and so some of the pictures are from there and the rest are from Florida where I am with Jason and my youngest two kids, Elena & Ian.

Until next time!

Perimeters, Pyramids & Other Random Battles

My best friend Jill asked me yesterday,

Do you ever have one of those days where you question everything? Your abilities? Your reason for being? And just get F@#KING pissed off about it? (paraphrased)

Oh yeah.

I gave her a very specific list of instructions on how to deal with said type of day & relieve stress:

1. Have a very stiff drink.
2. Masturbate.
3. Take a very hot shower and make sure to wash your hair and shave (whatever you shave) in order to delay getting out of shower.
*I should note here that all of the above steps should be taken while your favorite music is blaring. Feel free to sing at the top of your lungs, cuss, cry or scream as needed.
4. Turn off music (and everything else that may be on); make sure that there is total silence and darkness.
5. Take a Xanax and a nap.
6. It will all be a little bit better when you wake up. And, if not, at least you will have gotten an orgasm, a shower & a nap out of the day.

She laughed. My job done. So today it's my turn.

I have yet to take my own steps as listed above, as I prefer a partner in my stress relief, not to mention, I'm working. But I'm also, really pissed off.

My daughter, oh my precious little baby girl, is going to be the slow and painful death of me. She's six and has developed the masterful habit of only eating as many foods as years in her short little life. Not kidding you. She eats potatoes, pound cake, powdered donuts, noodle soup, Land O Lakes White American Cheese, and Sprite. I can't tell you how proud I am that my daughter is a food racist; especially since she is of Puerto Rican, Mexican & Irish descent. Should you think I exaggerate, please feel free to ask the school custodian who's had the pleasure of cleaning up her vomit, because she smelled a "stinky food" in the cafeteria on several occasions.

Her fabulous little habits are encouraged by her other primary caregivers; whom, unfortunately, share many of the same issues. After six years of this crap, I've had enough. Her little brother Ian, who is now 3, is beginning to exhibit many signs of following in her footsteps and we can't even go to a normal restaurant (like Sonic or Chili's...just kidding) without there being a major emotional trauma over the menu. So, I've had to declare war on my daughter's habits, her other caregivers, and our way of life as we know it.

I've spent the morning at the Dollar Store stocking up on positive reinforcements for the battle to come (princess stickers, fake jewelry, and all the other "Hooray, you ate a carrot without puking!" items a Mom could want). I've let her Dad and her Grandma know that after tomorrow afternoon, she will be spending the last two weeks after school with me and then all summer with her Dad in the mornings and with me in the afternoons and nights. No more pound cake and donuts at Grandma's. No more hunger strikes at school just so she gets crap to eat later. No more guilt tripping down to diabetes lane. I have set the perimeters; I have done my research and have printed out the USDA's Dietary Guidelines for Americans (for Children) (www.teamnutrition.gov) We are climbing to the top of a (food) pyramid and planting a flag this summer. I am DONE!

Whew! That felt good!