This Little Piggy Went To Market

-This post originated 02/22/11 but I was too lazy to find my pictures until today-

We had our wires crossed. I swear it was his manly moontime! We herked and jerked through Monday morning when we both discovered the other wasn't working. Our eyes opened, we leveled our gazes and our faces said, "What! You don't have to work today? What?"

High noon and I heard him mutter something about "....five minutes without someone calling my name...needing me..." and the camel's back split in half. I heard it. SNAP! All at once it was ON.

But I'm not like I once was. I'm older. I'm slower. I learn from every two-hundred and thirty-fifth mistake. So rather than get my feelings hurt, I got even. Getting even is not about taking revenge. It's about equilibrium. And we needed wine. And cheese. And vegetables.

So, I washed, dried and dressed the kids and went off in search of my friend April. I told Joe we were going to the Farmer's Market and not to expect us home any time soon. I did so lovingly. I swear I did.

The GPS is my new best friend. It guides me and I need guidance like nobody's business. We picked April up and headed to Atlanta. We arrived without incident and after reading all the rules and regulations, we entered the building and checked our bags. I immediately broke the rules by taking the two previous photos on my phone. It seemed a ridiculous rule to me and I readily admit to having a wee chip on my shoulder where authority is concerned.

We bought sake, wines, cheeses, oyster mushrooms, lemongrass, banana flower, olive bread, quinoa, steel-cut oats, chorizo and more. We even tasted the best bit of walnut baklava ever. There were animal hearts in buckets and a restaurant serving a lot of things that looked like vomit. And even though it did not turn out to be an open air market, we were enamored of the place and called it a raging success. 

We were back at the house around 8pm and Joe seemed genuinely happy to see us. He looked a bit sheepish when he hugged me and admitted his earlier error of words. But I, of all people, understand how hard it is to live with me and parent our children. So, I warmed the sake, made him a nice dinner and we worked it all out in the end with a bit of stupid sake sex and and a whole lot of love.

I love happy endings.

Don't you?

The Kind Of Day You Can't Wash Off

What a week.

A nasty viral something causing large amounts of sneezing, coughing and snottiness came upon me and my children. The stomach bug is still making the rounds at school. One morning a little guy produced such foul things, it pushed my buttons and I spent a few seconds retching. I'm a nurse. I don't retch. But I did. The unrelenting mucous forced me to take my Zyrtec-D. Joe begged me not to do it. But I did. By the end of that day I'd picked a fight with a co-worker who happens to be the most unstable person I know anymore. And if you can believe it, we tied up over the sale of candygrams to benefit Relay For Life. And then the candy showed up a day late and I had to tell over 300 elementary school children they had to wait to profess their undying love for their BFF until Monday!

I've had trouble staying awake in the evenings because of the antihistamines and wine. The house isn't looking so great. My office isn't either. I've been so irritable. Joe confirmed that by saying, "Why don't you go to bed? You're very irritable and I can't handle you, the kids and your irritability all at once." The man speaks the truth. And I've been loopy. I spent way too much time on Thursday figuring out the laptop and brand new speakers weren't broken. I tried desperately to turn the volume up and just couldn't! I could barely hear my itunes! Then I realized the music wasn't coming from my computer at all. It was the radio beside the bed playing. Opening a can of beans was virtually impossible. I berated the old broken down opener. Then I noticed the can was the pull tab variety. Which sort of brings us back full circle to the irritability. 

It snowed Wednesday night. It was picturesque. It was breathtaking. I felt renewed for a couple of hours then around 2 am, Sam was crouching naked in the corner of the kitchen and laughing maniacally. I put him back to bed. More stripping, more laughing, more Tom & Jerry theme music and finally naked and wrapped burrito fashion in a pink fleece blanket and lying in the hallway. I was up all night. He was terrible the next day at school. Which might explain my loopiness on Thurday. No more Benadryl for him will be more Benadryl for me.

Friday sucked the hairiest balls of all. Friday was something nasty in the woodshed. Friday will stick with me forever. I can't talk about it due to legalities so I will just ask you to love your children extra-special hard. Love hard and you won't ever have to hit hard. 

Now I am ready to share some good news. 

Something fun. Something bright. 

Let's see what I can find....

Fancy Meeting You Here

Photo courtesy of Awkward Family Photos

Did I tell you my ex-husband found me on Facebook? No?
Well, he did. It's been awhile now. New Year's.
Guess I was so damned traumatized by it I buried it in my drafts.
Until now.

He joined up and found a girl I was friends with. He could not search for me by email or name. I was invisible, as it were. So, he became her friend and there I was. He wrote on someone's wall, "Kim's on fb. I don't think she knows I am yet." and then conversation about me ensued on this girl's public wall. Dumbasses. Because so many days later, he sent a message. It said: tell our son Happy New Year from his daddy. It came through Jan.1, 12:03 am. Now, think about this. Our son could be reached via my phone or his very own cell phone issued by his daddy but he didn't call him. He sent a message to my private profile. He is unaware I have internet access at home. He sent a message to my account, thinking I wouldn't be able to check it until I returned to work four days later. A day after I returned our son to him. It was absurd. At that time in FB-land, one could see your photos and wall for 30 days after a message exchange. I did not respond. But then, I fell prey to temptation. I looked at his profile. It was all public and right there on his info was a quote attributed to me. It was not a nice thing to say about an individual and he had credited it to "my ex-wife to my son about me." Asshole. I never said anything derogatory about him in front of our child. Never. I wish he could say the same.

I blocked him and blocked he'll stay.

Whatchu Talkin' 'Bout, Willis?

Do you think Gary Coleman had or exercised a great deal of common sense? I'm not sure he did but it's not my place to condemn him for it. He had his struggles. He was a human being after all.

We humans are a fallible and fragile bunch. And we are easily traumatized by physical and mental horrors. A week ago, I was impressed by the hard work my Dad was able to do at the age of 69 (almost). But he seemed saddened by what he can't do any longer. He talked about it quite a bit. He stopped to rest in the shade at regular intervals. He's never had to do that before. He's wearing down and he knows it.

My Mom expressed her desire to go tubing with us on our vacation in Pigeon Forge the week of the 4th. She's never gone and she's afraid it's already too late. We'll take the kiddie run but if it requires any walking in the water to get over shallow spots, it's out of the question. She can't walk without her brace and her brace won't work in the river on rocks. She urged me to do as much as I can right now. They both agreed it doesn't get any better. That I should jump in with both feet while my feet still work.

All of a sudden, I felt shot through with life and energy. I felt the need to grab the bull by the horns. I stayed up late and laughed and swam with naked friends. I ate and drank and was merry. I've been working on being more socially at ease so I accepted the invitation to the movie party. I was really excited. I said so on FB so you know it's true.

I have a right knee that pops, grinds, catches funny. I had to drop my Glide class because it stirred it up more than it helped it. I injured it roller skating as a child and it's never been any damn good. Except it has. It's gotten me everywhere I've ever wanted to go. I lost weight to help it out. It's been a good knee. I've talked about having it looked at and possible surgery. I talked about it and chugged along. It took me to the party. It took me to see a movie I've never seen. And when it was my turn to get on the trampoline for my jumping photo, it climbed up there with me. It climbed up to jump. To feel free. To have fun before it's too late to have it. To be like everyone else.

My husband didn't say much when it happened. He'd had some beer and I'm told I was very matter of fact and stoic. I simply said, I fucked my knee up. I thought that was detailed enough. When he came home last night, I asked him if he was angry with me. He said, "No, but I do wish you'd used a little more common sense." That pissed me off a little. I showed this photo to him and I'll show it to you now.


Does this look like a man using his common sense? I think it looks like a man buffered from danger by alcohol. I was stone cold sober. That was my problem. After showing him this evidence, I stuck my tongue out at him. I thought it the only sensible thing to do. I love him but sometimes, I'd like to sic Gary Coleman on him.

Everybody's Dyin', Ya Better Get God

We like to listen to the Carter Family. We purchased the box set and it's one of our favorites. That being said, they sure had a flare for the dramatic. I guess the Great Depression would do that to a person.

We took the kids out last night to look at the moonflowers. They only bloom at night and they are as big as salad plates! Their time is short but they are so beautiful, it doesn't matter.



Some of you have expressed concern about my sickness and why I've started writing about dying. I didn't respond to some texts last night but that's because I fell asleep. I was not dead.

I've had a suspicious lump in my right armpit for at least two months. Now, it's been joined by some of the other lymph nodes. I've had suspicious lumps before but the doctor told me to wait and see last time. This time, he seemed concerned. After my course of antibiotics for my upper respiratory infection and bronchitis is finished, I am to return for a biopsy. Biopsies sound like death to me. I don't even like the word. I'm terrified of cancer.



My husband has been very attentive. He's worried about me, too. He built a fire in the chimnea for me. The kids ran around like wild beasts. We laughed and talked. We sat on the bench and snuggled. We both wonder what is under my arm.



As we sat, watching the fire, the Carter's began to sing a song about a deadly tornado. When we'd had enough of that, J gathered the kids. When we got them both bathed and in bed, he sang a song for me.

The Ghost In Your Eyes

She came from the city

dusty and tired,

worn just a little too thin.

She was not afraid

of living or dying,

only of being alone.

But I can see the ghost in your eyes

and the stars that shine in your sky.

I can see the traces of a life gone by.

I can feel the thunder you left behind.

She left from the city

her memories in the mirror,

speeding on through the night.

She was not afraid 

of staying or leaving, 

just had to keep moving on.

But I can see the ghost in your eyes

and the stars that shine in your sky.

I can see the traces of a life gone by.

I can feel the thunder you left behind.

Isn't that beautiful? He wrote that for me. And he sang it to me. And he couldn't be more awesome to me, even if he tried.  

Fevered Pitch

The baby had bad dreams during the night and I was left alone in her bed while she slept safely with her daddy, hidden from the monsters. I awoke this morning to watch her curtains tango with the fan.



The days pass at a fevered pitch. I'm afraid I'll miss something. I feel hot and bothered and so mortal. I wonder how much time is left. I have no time for illness. No time for death.



So I speed down the gravel road. I watch the storm clouds rolling over me. I think of the past. I fishtail. But just a little. I can't make a mistake. Not now.


I have places to go. People to see. Things to do. I am still looking for the answer. I still long to be whole.

Lost And Found

Guess what that is over there! 

Gosh, you guys are quick! 

Yes! It is Joe's wallet.

First, I'm just relieved to know it's safe. And second, I will readily admit that I was wrong for defending Zoe. A few minutes ago, as I made turkey sandwiches for lunch, I asked Logan if he'd seen Joe's wallet on the tennis court. He said the wallet was in the playroom. He walked out and picked it up off of the floor. It was directly in front of the TV.....where Zoe was sitting last night. 

Zoe is a known pilferer. When she woke up crying, I asked if she had taken the wallet and she sweetly nodded her head in the affirmative. I waved it off. Not my baby, I thought. She didn't know what she was saying. But Joe continued to accuse. Right up until he left for work.

And yes, I've already called Joe to set him at ease. I also asked for leniency on Zoe's behalf.  She is "just a little baby girl", as she puts it.

Oh well. All's well that ends well.

 

What's In Your Closet?

Some people get caught up in the past. They become trapped in a web of their own making and nothing seems to free them. They suffer because of it. The pity other people show only serves to further paralyze. They are unable to accept responsibility for their actions and allow themselves to become incapacitated by deep denial.

I try very hard not to be one of these people. I try to move forward. I try to enjoy and appreciate the good things in my life. When I make a mistake or realize I've slighted someone, I try to make it right. I apologize. I make amends. And when I can't? I continue on the journey without them.

We all have skeletons in our closets. I have more than one. More than once I've caught them weaving tapestry and the last time I looked, they'd started up a quilting circle. Funny thing is, they can only work their craft when I give them material and thread and binding. Without the scraps thrown to them, they would be bored out of their skulls in that closet. They're only skeletons, after all.

Where are you going with this, you ask? What are you trying to tell us?

This is the thing. This is my very own personal blog. I enjoy writing it. I enjoy the comments and the emails. But, a few days ago, I received an anonymous comment on my blog that mentioned something only someone who was close to me could know. Someone close or someone influenced by someone close, that is. Among other things, the comment highlighted a lapse of judgment Joe and I suffered at a party almost seven years ago now. So, I left a cheeky response and closed the option for anonymous comments on my blog.

Because, in my opinion, it's time to move on. This is my blog. This is not Jerry Springer. Let those without blemish, spot or stain, cast the first stone. In the meantime, try cleaning out your own closet.

The devil inside

The devil inside

Every single one of us

The devil inside

-INXS

That's One Mean Mama

The Mother's Day card on the left was presented to me three years ago from Logan. We were pretty friendly with each other then. Notice my bright and shining blue eyes?

Things began to change. He was so different. I was so different. Things were so different. He wanted to be with his Father. He didn't want me and he didn't like me. It broke my heart and I was not prepared to let him go. He was ten years old for God's sake! 

Then I received this card for Mother's Day. I knew in my heart what I must do. I've struggled with it, deeply. Two years have passed now and he's still with his dad. He seems happier now. And I love him more than ever.

I wonder if I'll get a card this year? 

 

The "New" Me

Yesterday, I couldn't bring myself to blog. I had, and still have, much to do to prepare for Easter. Easter has lots of "baggage" attached to it for me. Isn't that weird? The holiday all about rising from the ashes has baggage for me? Easter was the first time I met my ex-husband , sixteen years ago. I travelled out to Louisiana with my friend, his sister. She's the one who set us up. She thought we were perfect for one another. In the long run, she was mistaken. 

I was sifting through old photos yesterday and happened upon some copies of my senior picture. The copy to the left is the one I've kept in an album all this time. But the one on the right is the one my ex carried in his wallet all the years we were married. After Joe and I married,my ex husband took this photo out of his wallet and handed it to Joe. He said, "Well, she's yours now." 

I was inside with Logan, readying his things for a visit with his dad and didn't see this hand off but Joe told me about it later. He showed me the photo and I remember thinking, "Yep. Look how worn out and  broken the girl in that photo is..." I asked Joe if he planned to keep the photo in his wallet and he said that he would not. That he thought it would be better to just put it away somewhere. Maybe come back to it later. 

Well, it's been in a box all this time and yesterday, I happened upon it. I held it in my hand. I looked at it intently. And I thought long and hard about it. I don't know if you've noticed but in the post about Logan's birthday, I posted a photo of him, my ex....Larry. His name is Larry. I've never posted a photo or named him here before. I posted that photo and tried to feel the good in it. I've harbored resentment and anger all these years for what I believed was stolen from me. What was it? My youth? My innocence? My idealism? My optimism? My spirit? I don't know how to name it. All I know is that I came out of it different than I was before. I've always thought of our time together as wasted and ugly- a life of dysfunction and abusive tendencies. But it wasn't all wasted and it must have been a lesson meant for me to learn....

Now I choose to see the photo on the right as warmer with much more character than the first. A girl with scratches and scars but still carrying a smile on her face. I daresay she is even more beautiful than the first. 

That's all I have to say about that today.

TMI Thursday: I'd Rather Kiss A Goat

I don't have the body and Joe is too modest for Half Naked Thursday soooooo...
I made a brand new category.
Too Much Information Thursday.
Hereafter, I will use the standard abbreviation of TMI, if you don't mind.

Now, for this week's installment:
I'd Rather Kiss A Goat

When I was fourteen and a freshman in high school, I managed to talk my mom into allowing me to attend my first "real" party. It was hosted by a senior who happened to attend our church. I can't remember now how I accomplished tearing my mother's guard down for that one evening. It really doesn't matter. She not only allowed me to go but she dropped me off at the top of the girl's driveway and went back home to patiently wait for the phone call I was to make at the end of the party.

I wore my hair back in a ponytail clipped with a big, white bow. My sweater was blue and white and mint green. It was covered in white Scottie dogs. My glasses had those over-sized plastic rims but they were nothing compared to the big golden cross hanging around my neck. When I walked into this girl's house, I might as well have been crossing over into a parallel universe.

The place was packed. I scanned and scanned the room for someone familiar. Finally, I saw a girl I was vaguely acquainted with. I rushed to her side. She handed me a beer. I didn't drink it. I wanted to but it was smelly. I was afraid of my mom's blood-hound nose. I didn't have a clue what to do or what to say. I was bobbing to the music, beer in hand. I wanted desperately to not look like a fool. A fairly cute guy, I'd never seen before, materialized at my elbow and whispered his friend wanted to talk to me. I was to go with him. He wanted to talk to me down the hall.

(This is when you scream at the computer screen as if watching a horror movie: "Don't go, girl! "They're gonna getcha, girl! Didn't your momma ever tell you to stay away from strange boys/men who had been drinking? If you do anything, you should run call your momma right now...before anything happens.)

Well, I went.

I followed old boy down the hall. It was dark. The music stopped and we had to wait for a huge crowd of people to clear the hallway before we could pass by. Prince was playing in the background. Old boy stopped and leaned over as if to tell me something. I leaned in. It was so loud, I could barely hear him.

Then the door we were leaning against opened and I fell backward only to be caught by someone. I saw old boy's face illuminated in the doorway for a moment and then he locked the door. The guy holding me tried to turn me around. I was as stiff as a 2 X 4. Prince was belting out 'Purple Rain' and old boy was laughing. I genuinely was frozen in place and was just waiting........waiting for what?

The guy holding me said he wanted to kiss me. His body was big and soft. His breath smelled funny. I told him to let go of me and got some life back into me. This is when he swooped in for the kill and started to suffocate me with his big, slurping kiss. Prince was just finishing up Purple Rain as I found my knee and put it in Big N Soft's groin. He let go of me and I almost knocked the door down getting out of there. Oddly enough, they ran out after me and when I turned to see if they were behind me, they were.

And that's the worst part of it. In the light, I saw Big N Soft, the french licker. He was someone's older brother and a special ed student. He'd just returned from a long stay at a quiet place for troubled youth. His sister was a friend of mine and we all knew he had a serious problem. He had been found having inappropriate interactions with the family pet; a goat named, Nanny.

That's right, folks. My first kiss was in a dark closet, under duress, from a guy with an IQ of 90 and a special affection for farm animals.


Now, you might ask yourself why I would bust this little gem out on you for the very first installment of TMI Thursday.
The answer: Big N Soft sent me a friend request on Facebook today.