Two of a kind, sort of

This is the picture that my Curly Girl recently made for me. It's us. She and I, me and her.

I love it.

I love that we both have curly hair. Mine is brown and hers is yellow. As you can see from her artful swirleys.

I also love that while our outfits coordinate, they are not all matchy matchy. I like that. She is wearing a purple shirt and red pants, where I am wearing a red shirt and purple pants.

I LOVE that I am wearing purple pants.
I wish I had real purple pants.
I do have purple shoes though. Real purple shoes. They are so cool.

Oh! and big fat flower hands! I mean, do you love the big fat flower hands?

What a girl, my Curly Girl.

Princess of Power?

On the infrequent occasions when I sit and consider myself in comparison to children's fictional characters I usually lean more towards She-ra Princess of Power than say, Little Miss Muffett. Usually. She-ra is known for her superhuman strength, speed, stamina, agility, reflexes, and durability. That's me. I take it all on, no fear. I even shop the cereal aisle with four children and emerge unscathed with my box of plain old "toasted oats" - if that doesn't demonstrate stamina, agility and super-human strength you probably use Peapod.

Since my husband left I have had so many people offering to help. Friends, neighbors. You know "please let me know if there is anything I can do" - "Thank you, I will". I am pretty self-sufficient, uncomfortable taking help. In the beginning I could barely function and so I did have friends and family here helping all the time, but only the people closest to me. They were here, helping with the kids, cleaning the kitchen, sorting through baby clothes, etc. Some neighbors have brought over groceries, flowers and even dinner on occasion, but still, they offer to help, "if I need it".

My therapist tells me that it is important to accept other's offers of help. It helps them feel helpful. In other words, my acceptance of help is actually a charitable act of my own. I consider myself to be a generous and charitable individual, so this view presents me with a bit of a conundrum. I feel compelled, but I don't know what to ask for. I don't know how to let these people help. In truth, I don't need that much, save for some magic potion to shake some sense into Uncle Dad and bring healing and restore trust in my broken marriage. Short of asking for black magic, I just don't know when the opportunity would present itself that I could help these people and allow them to help me. Imagine my surprise when, a few weeks back I was presented not just with an opportunity, but with an absolute dire need for neighborly assistance.

I was sitting in my living room on a lazy Saturday morning enjoying my Christmas tree and the company of my dear friend from Philfadelfia, DD. I was in my pajamas, sipping some hot tea, and she was relaxing on the chaise singing nursery rhymes to her godson Dexter (both in pajamas). All of a sudden we heard a "thud" (incidentally, I LOVE a good onomatopoeia, don't you?). DD declared that she definitely heard eight individual, yet synchronized thuds. Upon further investigation I found that she was indeed right...it was the biggest, huge-est, most insanely large arachnid I had ever seen.

She-ra: exit stage left. Miss Muffet: enter stage right. Cue girly screaming. Ew. Spider!

Damn it! Where is a man when you need him! Ugh. First Son, is unfortunately just as afraid of spiders as I am. Fortunately though, he is quite capable of dialing the phone. I screamed the neighbor's phone number and had First Son tell them that Mom needed a Man NOW!!! (hmmm...I am only now hearing just how..wrong that sounds...) I kept my eye on the creature while we waited for help to arrive. If we had lost sight of that ...thing, I would have had no choice but to put the for sale sign on the lawn and head to the Motel 8, cuz there ain't no way I be sleepin in the same house with a mutant arachnid. (That's right, I said "ain't")

So there I am in my living room, in my pajamas, on the verge of tears doing my charitable good deed for the sake of my neighbor down the block. I won't mention his 12 year old daughter who stood in my hallway watching the whole scene unfold and laughing her ass off, though perhaps there was charity even in that.

I can handle a lot. I have four little kids. I have seen poop, and vomit and temper tantrums that would make your hair stand up. I can tell you true life stories that the greatest writers of our time could not make up. I am not a lightweight, but to be fair, this spider was no Charlotte of Wilbur's "Some Pig" fame. This spider would have eaten your baby just like a dingo.

She-ra. Princess of Power. At the end of the day, still just a girl afraid of a spider.

Gratitude

Last night as I drifted off to sleep I held my CurlyGirl's perfect pudgy little hand in the clamshell of my palms. So sweet, so small, so peaceful in her slumber. An angel sent from God. As I lay there enjoying the quiet of the evening, and the closeness of my daughter, I listened to each of her slow even breaths and paced my own to match. A prayer perched upon my lips...

My Dear Merciful and Loving God,

THANK YOU.

I am going to be Okay. You have sent me so many angels. You are with me each moment of every day, I feel you here with me. You have given me my family, my friends who are a second family, my beautiful, amazing children and so many blessings.

This year has been long and hard and I am glad to put it to rest, but I value each heart wrenching day that I have survived. I am a stronger, smarter, happier person. I am a better mother. I value all of the relationships in my life more than ever. I know who my friends are, and who they are not. I know what is important to me, and I know what things I can let go of.

I still cry, but I also laugh. I vowed that I would find Joy, and I have. I find joy, look for it , search for it. It is an active pursuit. Joy is a decision that I make each day. I am proud of myself. I never wanted to be a single mother. I never wanted this life. This was not part of my plan, but life doesn't always go along according to our plans. Separation, divorce - these are not part of my value system, but marriage requires two. I am but one, and so each day I try my best, and when I lay down to sleep at night I am grateful to have made it through another day.

I am so full of gratitude. First to God, who provides all things for me.

Next, for my children. My sweet cherubs who give purpose to my day. They are always by my side to make me laugh, to give me hugs, and to redirect my focus from my needs to theirs.

My sisters, who have been here for me in so many ways, to sit with me and cry, to make me laugh, help me keep perspective, to brainstorm idealistic revenge plots and to watch my kids. My niece, who is like another sister, and who has taken on all of the sister duties listed above, as well as several late night (early morning) desperate phone calls, sinks full of dirty dishes and sticky children in the midst of complete temper tantrums. Also, her extremely patient husband.

My brothers and BIL and nephews, who sit and stew in quiet contemplation ready to pounce to my defense, to pick up the slack and who long to find a way out of the helplessness that traps them.

My aunts and cousins who send cards and e-mails and offer prayers.

There are my in-laws, who are in a very precarious position. They love their son of course, and this I understand only because I too am a mother, but they are heartbroken because of his actions. They are so good to me. My mother in law is here almost every day, helping with the kids, bringing groceries, sweeping the floor. She builds me up and reassures me each day that I am a good Mom, that I am doing a good job. I do not honestly know what I would do without her - how crazy that the great chasm between myself and my husband has brought me closer to my mother in law, but again that is life for you.

I have Sister Patty. I meet with her each week and she knows just what to say to help me see the "God" in all of this.

I have my friends. Wonderful friends who call me, e-mail me and drop by to see how I am doing. Exceptional women who are always here and always seem to know just what to say. Friends who bring me dinner, bring me books and ice cream and statues of Indian gods. Friends who bring me hope. Friends are pulling me through this darkest night. They have swept my floor, watched my children, invited me to dinner, brought me chai and most importantly listened to me for hours and hours on end. My girls, you know who you are and I love every one of you.

I cherish all of these angels. My life is good, different, but good. I am blessed and I am ready for the New Year. Thank you, Lord.

A dream denied

Life is not fair. It's not. Life is not fair.

Tell me something I don't already know.

Today is my birthday. The anniversary of the day my mother so gracefully brought me into this world. For a long time, this day was the one I have most anticipated, celebrating as if it were a sort of unofficial holiday. Then I became a mother. Now my most favorite days are my children's birthdays. All four of them. I guess when you have a child they automatically become more important, more amazing than you are, even in your own mind. Since I have become a mom I have come to think of birthdays as being as much a celebration of the mother who did the birthing as it is of the child who was born. For the last 28 birthdays, I have had to celebrate without my mother.

When I was six years old my mother died. She was sick. A lot of my memories are of her being sickly. In and out of the hospital. Having to be careful and cautious. I remember wanting so badly for her to be able to come upstairs and tuck me in to bed, and my Dad being upset if she did. She needed to "take it easy". Then, one spring day when I was six years old my world changed forever. I was in first grade and I had been sitting with her reading Sally, Dick & Jane. Suddenly she didn't feel right, she needed to go into the bathroom. Next, she was asking me to wet a cool washcloth for her, and go wake up Daddy. Not long after, I watched her wave to me for the last time from the passenger seat of our car as it pulled out of the driveway and my Dad rushed her off to the hospital.

I am 34 years old today and the memories of my Mom leaving that day still bring me to my knees.

My sister and I went "across the street" to our neighbors and friends and played Atari. Later that night we returned home, and I went to bed. I could hear downstairs that other people were there, and the Stanley Cup hockey was on. I already felt so lonely and scared. I pooled all of the blankets around me in a circle, creating a sacred private space for myself to try to feel safe, but I fell asleep feeling very scared. In the morning it was my aunt, my mother's sister, who came upstairs to tell me that there was "no more Mommy".

No child should have to hear those words, or words like them, but they have rattled in my brain ever since. Life isn't fair.

As you might imagine, from that day on I was changed. Just as a mother is defined in the moment her child takes her first breath, I was defined when my mother breathed her last. I was formed into the mother I am today so many years ago when I became a motherless daughter.

Although it means different things for all of us, we all want better for our children than we had for ourselves. I wanted "normal". I wanted the sitcom family a la "The Cosby Show", "Growing Pains" or "Family Ties". I wanted a family. I wanted family dinners with lots of siblings around the table sharing stories about the day. I wanted drawers full of clean clothes, lunchboxes full of carrot sticks and sandwiches. Milk and cookies and Mom waiting after school to help with the homework. I wanted fresh Christmas trees, Sunday church and pot roast. I wanted a Mom and a Dad.

This year when the anniversary of my mother's death approached it was particularly poignant for me. My FirstSon was six years old. It struck me hard to realize that in his short life he had already lived more time with his Mom by his side than I ever did with mine. I also realized that while the past six years have created rich memories for me, have been in fact the greatest time of my life, FirstSon will probably not remember much of it himself. Basically, it hit me this past spring that if I were to die (and as irrational as I know it is, I am always afraid that I am going to die), this whole time would boil down to very little in the memory of my precious children. It made me sad to think of it.

Now of course, I didn't die. No one has. Not really. My marriage. My dreams, maybe. My children can't possibly comprehend what they have lost. They will live a new "normal", and it will be okay, but I will remember. I will remember the time when we were a family, when we were everything I ever wanted.

I wanted so much more for my children. I tried so hard. I thought I had it all. I did have it all. Something, no, someone changed somewhere and now it is gone. Everything that I didn't want for my children to experience is happening, and it is out of my control. IT SUCKS. It sucks to realize that you cannot control what happens to your children, that you can't always protect them from getting hurt. Right now the best I can do is hold them in my arms, kiss away their tears and love them. Life is not fair, but they have their mother.

I Will Find Joy

This has been my mantra of late. I don't know where it came from, but it has been playing over and over in my head. It is true, my life right now is nothing that I ever thought it would be. It is nothing short of a nightmare. In a million years I never thought I would be googling "divorce mediation". I never pictured myself packing an overnight bag for my kids to spend the night with their father. I am living in bizarro world. It's weird, uncomfortable and I don't like it. It is a work in progress though, and while there are a lot of bad days, lately there are some good days too, and for that I am grateful.

Have I mentioned that I have the four most amazing cherubs? They bring so much light to my world, to my life. Every night at least one of them crawls into my bed and shnuggles up close to me. In the past I would have been diligent about shuffling them back to their own beds, but lately I am way too tired, and besides, I like having them there. In the morning we hug and shnuggle, we giggle and talk. They are absolutely delicious, better than cinnamon rolls oozing with sweet gooey frosting. They are my reason for being, they are the ones who make me smile, even make me laugh. My children are my greatest blessing, and in them I will find joy.

I Don't want a Strap-on

There's another thing that happens when I am having a bad day. (such as today) I start missing my husband with a terrible ache. I imagine a patient who has lost a limb in some terrible trauma waking from a coma to find that their life, their very selves are irrevocably changed. The arm is gone, they scream, they cry, they get angry, they grieve. After a while they accept, a prosthesis is created, a strap on, semblance of what used to be. Skills are re-learned and eventually life goes on. They learn to live this new one armed existence, but, each morning when they first awaken- reality stings. They expect their arm to be there, reaching to shut the blaring alarm, but nothing it seems is where it is supposed to be.

I want to call my husband, text him, e-mail him. I want to say:

I love you.

I am sorry.

So sorry.

Please come home. Please let's fix this.

Please, I love you.

I want to wrap my arms around him, I want to burrow my head in his chest. I want to feel his lips on mine. I want to wake up with two arms, damn it!

Today is a cold rainy day. It reminds me of a day we shared thirteen years ago when we were young, in love and relatively unencumbered by responsibility. We were in college. Separate colleges, but mine was on the way to his and so he would drive me. On this particular morning we got ready for school and climbed into his cold ugly gold mazda pick-up truck and headed on our way. Well, we only got to the first exit on the parkway before we decided that it would be a much better idea to turn around and go back home to cuddle under the covers - just skip school altogether and spend the day instead wrapped in the warmth of each other's arms. That was the day that a family tradition was born..the "shnuggle". An early morning, still under the covers, warm and cuddly hug that lasts half a day or more. Our children love to shnuggle.

Today is a day like that. Only, I have woken up once again to find that my arm is missing. I must start the process all over.

I have said it all. I have begged. I have pleaded, I have bargained. I have said I love you through tears, and with calm, steely resolve. I am gifted with words, and I have used them. Every combination I can think of. I keep thinking that there must be some way to get through to him. If I could just figure out the riddle, unlock the code. Sometimes I get discouraged. I feel like I have tried everything, and I am exhausted. Emotionally exhausted. Physically exhausted. Bent. Broken.

It is frustrating, but the truth is that there is nothing I can say. He has to want to be here, and right now he doesn't.

I love you. I miss you. I want to make things right. I want to fix our family. Please. Come home. It is a cold, rainy day. Let's go back to bed

It must be nice

Yesterday I made an apple pie. I gave Dexter a haircut and a bath. I sat outside and chatted with a neighbor while I watched my kids ride bikes "in the street". I am trying to get on with my life. Yesterday was pretty good. I didn't even take a Xanax. I made some spaghetti for dinner (a team favorite), and then left my sister with the cherubs while I went to see my therapist. My therapist thinks I am doing great. I admit, some days are okay.

Some days are not so good. Some days I just can't shut my mind off. Some days I start thinking about him. I start thinking "It must be nice". You know, like:

It must be nice, to come home at the end of each day and not have to worry about taking care of anyone but yourself.

It must be nice to be able to go off to whatever appointments you have made for yourself, and not have to give a thought about who will be taking care of your four little children.

It must be nice to be able to decide what to have for dinner, and not have to worry about who is going to complain that they don't like it, who is going to throw it on the floor or wear it in their hair.

It must be nice to have several hours to yourself in the evening to do whatever you want, and not have to referee sibling squabbles, oversee a reluctant kindergartner's homework, or convince a toddler to stop climbing into his baby brother's crib and jumping on his head while he is trying to sleep.

It must be nice not to realize just minutes after the last cherub has finally fallen asleep that you are actually out of diapers, milk or bread.

It must be nice to be able to watch TV, or go to the movies, or the mall whenever you want.

It must be nice to be able to leave your children on the ONE night that they are your responsibility and go sit on a bar stool in the local pub - since you live in your mother's house and she can just watch the kids!
It must be nice.

I have already heard all about how nice it is to be able to go to the beach and spend a few hours surfing and not have to worry about anyone but yourself. SO NICE.


It must be nice to be able to take your kids to the park and feed the ducks and play kickball and then finish off the evening with a trip to the local pizzeria.
It must be nice to be the great hero, the fun parent.
It must be nice to not have to worry about keeping it all together, not have to worry about plastering a fake smile on your face and pretending everything is just fine.
It must be nice not to have to listen to your children crying themselves to sleep at night.

How though?

After I start thinking about how it "must be nice", I start thinking about how totally unbelievable that is. HOW can it be nice? How can you rather be anywhere else but here, with your kids, in your house? How can it be better? How can it be nice to be sitting in your mother's basement, sleeping in a bed that, while I am sure is nice - cannot possibly compare to the $3000 King Koil that we just bought? How can it be nice to sit on an old recliner watching a boob tube instead of sitting in your own living room watching the brand new flat screen that you spent two weeks shopping for? How can it be nice to not be with your children? How can you go even one day without hearing Dexter laugh, or Paddy sing or even Firstson and Curly fight? How? I cannot understand it.

If I am being completely honest, it was nice around here too, for a little while. It was nice not to have to share the remote, or to have to answer to anyone when I burned a pot on the stove because I always turn the burners on too high. It was nice to leave my popcorn bowl on the table and not have to worry about who I was annoying by leaving it there. It was even a little bit nice to have an evening to myself to have dinner with friends or go to the bookstore because it was his turn to put the kids to bed. The novelty is wearing off. It is wearing thin. I miss my husband. I miss my friend. I want my life back. I want my family healed.

Here's the thing. Neither of us is innocent. My husband left because he is hurt, has been hurt in the past and just can not stand to be hurt anymore. I am responsible for a lot of that hurt. Some of it I know, and take responsibility for, some of it I need to gain a better understanding of. I never set out to intentionally hurt anyone. I love my husband. I am not a perfect person. I can be a better wife. I have been hurt too. Really, really hurt.

Our life is overwhelming right now. We have four little kids. We had two babies back to back, on top of the two we already had. When I look back over this last year, I realize that it was impossibly hard. Most people I know would have cracked. I didn't. Or, maybe I did. Having these four children, while a blessing for sure, it hasn't always brought out my best. I acknowledge that. I own it. There are too many times when I have taken my husband for granted. Too little time spent focusing on what was happening in my home and marriage, and too much time spent out. PTA, catechesis, book club, family, friends. Did I make these things more important than my marriage? I didn't think so at the time. I am so not perfect. I have work to do, Lord.

Apparently my previous post upset my husband. It's funny, because as one friend who knows way more about the situation than I would ever publish here said, "Really? I thought you were being very polite". Anyway, I guess he didn't understand why I feel the need to tell the world what is happening, and isn't it a very one sided view? Well, Hubby, you do not need to understand why I choose to write. Writing is "my thing". You go to the beach, I go to the keyboard. Second, YES -it is a one sided view - it's a blog! Want one? They're free! At one point Hubby asked if I would like him to respond to my post with a list of his grievances as he had done a few weeks ago in an e-mail to a third party who was trying to help. Perhaps this would embarrass me? Well, surely I do not want to air all of my dirty laundry, but, yeah. Sure. Go ahead. Your feelings are real and they are valid. I do not dispute your unhappiness. I do not think that you should just come back and accept your life. I believe that you can make your life what you want it to be. I believe that we can do it together. I believe that we are so much better than this. Our family is worth so much more than this.

I want to be a better wife. I want to have a better husband. I want us to be a family. I want people to see us and think to themselves "Look at that family, Look at that couple. It must be nice."