Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Living At The Hyatt

So, I now live at the Hyatt.

Like... I'm not just staying here for a bit, I live here.

My family lives at the Hyatt.

Friday, June 15, 2018

Remember Always

The baby was fussing this morning, so my daughter climbed into bed and asked me to snuggle him up with her. "He just wants to feel safe and loved mom."

I look at her, loving on him, and the reality of her life hits me. Abandonment. Abuse. Trauma.

Knowing what her biological father did to her and her other brother. She watched him punch an infant in the face! And now, here we are, several years later, and she's giving her new sibling what was never given to her, by one of the people supposed to have protected her most.

It gives me hope for humanity. Hope for my children. Hope in a world that's teaching our children lessons that we are trying to protect them from.

Our kids know how to be good people. They all do. I just pray that they remember that when the world tries to teach them differently.

Remember always, that it's never too late to be the person that you intended to be, when you started out on this journey of life.

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

No One Is More Surprised Than Me, To Be Writing This.


We moved.

I know, right?

Trust me, no one is more surprised than I am to be seeing those words.

We moved.

After deciding to stay, renovating our house, and writing a long blog about it all, we moved out.

I'll be honest, I really didn't want to. I cried when we made the decision, and I cried my way through packing.

Thursday, May 31, 2018

That Post Where We Talk About Why My Kids Think I'm A Fraud

The Boy Child is the kind of kid, that when his feet hit the ground in the morning, he takes off running and doesn't stop until after he is in bed at night.

But not that long ago, he surprised me by waking up and climbing into my bed to snuggle. Not wanting to waste any of that precious time, I took the opportunity to ask him a few questions about life.

"So buddy," I inquired. "Tell me about your friends at school. Who do you like to play with?"

"I play with Samuel" he replied. (Not his real name)

"Oh," I said, hoping for a bit more. "And what is Samuel like?"

Being six, The Boy Child went for the most obvious answer, and began to describe Samuel's physical appearance to me. "He has black skin and brown hair..."

Thinking that this might be the perfect time to expand on his observances, to include a discussion about looking past skin color, I said in my teaching-mom-voice, "isn't it neat that we all look different? The only thing that matters is" and then he interrupted me.

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

It Was An Accident, I Swear

OK. So something happened today.

You see, when the baby was born, he had kind of a folded ear. He must have been laying on it in the womb or something. No biggie, the ENT just taped it down for a few weeks. The worst part of it was that he needed to have a bit of his hair shaved off so that the tape would stick.

Anyway, the ear was fixed and the tape came off, but now he had a patch of hair missing, that just looked strange.

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

It Mattered In The End

****** TRIGGER WARNING******

This post deals with the subject of death, and although I think that the overall message is worth discussing, I respectfully wish to warn you that some may find this post to be upsetting. Should you choose not to proceed through this one, I look forward to your return next time.


Towards the end of winter last year, we had an unseasonably nice day that also happened to fall on a weekend. Finally able to enjoy venturing out of the house again, The Guy and I were looking for something fun to do. But after contemplating how crowded the zoo would be, and realizing that most of the farms near us were still closed, I suggested that we do something different, and visit the local historic cemetery.

Yes I did.

“A… cemetery…” The Guy said slowly, as if he were trying to mentally absorb the meaning of the words.

“Yes” I said. “Where they bury people.”

“Why would we do that?” he asked.

“Why not?” I asked back.

And because he is exactly my type of person, off we went to the cemetery, taking the kids with us.

We spent the next four hours wandering through the rows of headstones, while the kids did crayon rubbings over the words. The Guy and I chatted about the husbands and wives who were buried side by side, and contemplated what life must have been like for them to have either lived decades without each other, or passed away only days apart. We saw the headstones of families that clearly had died in wealth, while others eluded to the fact that they most likely died while living in poverty. There were men with multiple wives resting next to them; proof of the intimate moments they had gone on to lead — one after another — without the one that they had left behind. And then there were families with centuries of descendants who had died decades before others were born, all grouped together; sharing nothing more in common then a last name, an ending fate, and the fact that their physical resting place will spent forever together.

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

I'm Lost, And I Have No Idea Where I'm Actually Supposed To Be


"Uh... you won't let me in?" I asked, the confusion written all over my face.

"Sorry" she said flatly, giving no other indication that she actually cared.

"Um... but... this is a support group... and... I need support. I called yesterday and they said that everyone is welcome. I even got a babysitter and drove 30 minutes here" I said, adding in that last bit for the sympathy factor.

"Well yes, all are welcome, at the beginning of the 12 week session" she stated. "The divorce support group is more of a class than a group, and we require that everyone start at the beginning. We aren't currently at the beginning, we are 3 weeks in, so you will have to come back in 9 weeks and then you will be welcome."

No one had relayed that vital bit of information to me over the phone.

She then closed the door to the not-very-supportive divorce support group that was actually a very strict class, and left me standing in the hallway of a church.

It had been a year and a half since my husband had left and I was having a difficult time. Initially I had jumped right into a relationship with someone else, and if anything, it had only served to deflect a lot of the issues that I really needed to be dealing with. When that relationship had gone down like an atomic bomb, I was left standing for the first time, truly alone, and in the destruction of what was left of my life.

I had absolutely no idea where to turn.

So I didn't turn anywhere, instead, sinking inside of myself and shutting everyone out.

I remember one night in particular where I was lying on my bed, face down in my pillow, and bawling my eyes out. In the midst of my tears, the doorbell rang. I crawled over to my window so that no one outside would see me, and I peeked out to see two of my best friends standing on my front porch.

I could hear them out there talking to each other "she has to be home, her car is outside. Do you think she is OK?" but I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed and answer the door. After what seemed like an eternity, they left and sent me a text that read "We left a case of diapers for The Boy Child and a carton of ice cream for you on your front porch. We hope you are OK. It's alright if you don't want to talk, but just at least let us know you are OK."

I texted them back, apologized, thanked them for their kindness, and I felt awful.