Underwhere?

So... I cleaned out my underwear drawer today. Are you intrigued about what I found???

I threw out some old brassieres that had stretched elastic and bent clips, some old panties from Vicky's 5 seasons ago when they still made underwear that covered your ass, a few bottles of lotion and even an old pregnancy test (two lines! - yes, I did save it -I know, yuck, like any kid is going to want to see the stick Mom peed on to find out about their impending arrival, but pregnancy hormones make you do weird stuff!) I reorganized fancy pants and cotton pants and..."control" pants, belts, scarves and bras by color. I can now lay a proper foundation for any outfit in no time!

There were a few things hiding in my underwear drawer that I just don't know what to do with...should I save them for sentimental reasons or do I throw them out as if they never existed?

What do I do with all of the baby teeth the tooth fairy has collected and deposited in my underwear drawer? Really? Am I a bad Mom if I throw away these tiny treasures or am I sick and disgusting for saving them even this long? What if one of my children becomes involved in a crazy cult some day and needs his/her baby teeth to exorcise a demon? (really? I wonder where Paddy boy's imagination comes from)

What does the tooth fairy DO with all of those baby teeth at your house?

Full Circle

It is just one year ago this weekend that I started to become aware of how much my life was about to change. My husband was away on business, and even though we still hadn't quite ironed out our differences from an argument a few weeks earlier, my heart ached from missing him. I anxiously awaited his return, wanting so much to feel his strong arms wrap around me and his soft lips meet mine, but I was left feeling very cold when the reunion was anything but warm.

One year ago this weekend he first mentioned how unsure he was, that he didn't really know what he wanted. Just a few days later, sitting on the beach he told me that he was "done", that he would no longer share an emotional connection with me, it was too much for him to bear. Despite the tears and the pleading and begging on my part, he pronounced that from then on we would merely be partners in raising our children. There would be no emotion involved. No love, no fighting, no sex. I told him that was the "stupidest thing I ever heard".

And so I began the fight of my life. It wasn't for at least another week that I would find out about his illicit relationships (yes, plural, but that is another story for another day), my mind was already made up, I was not going to give up easily. For the next three months that he continued to live at home, and even beyond, I fought with all my being to save my marriage. I made fabulous dinners, I made desperate love, I made counseling appointments, and I made it to Mass every Sunday and most weekdays too, because even if Hubby was deaf to my pleading surely God was not. I offered to turn myself into a contortionist of sorts, willing to bend whatever way necessary to save our marriage, to save my life as I knew it, and to protect my children from having to feel the inevitable pain that comes with a broken family.

Lord, just thinking about those days gives me a pit in my stomach. It all came about so unexpectedly. I was completely blind-sided by the break-up. It hurt. Badly. It hurt to try so hard, and get nothing in return. It hurt to be so needy. To be so broken. It was a dark, dark time in my life, and even though my strong faith assured me that someday there would be light, it was at times a struggle to keep hope. I did though, keep hope, at times I didn't know what I was hoping for, but I never gave up.

Now here I sit, one year later. I am in no way basking in sunshine just yet, but I am no longer cowering in a dark corner. I am still fighting, only now I am fighting for myself, for my children, for our future. My marriage is, for all intents and purposes, over. I am sad, but I am okay. I never thought I would, but I have survived this far and I intend to keep going.

I am in a hotel room for the weekend, in Albany, NY. I am here with the Niece, babysitting her sweet one month old baby "g" so that she and her husband can attend the nuptials of a longtime friend. It is a vacation for me. I will gladly trade four messy kids in a messy house for a sweet smelling infant, room service and complete control of the remote (plus, in case you haven't noticed, time to blog).

It is so ironic. We just never know where life is going to take us, do we? I promise you this, eventually, it comes full circle.

I haven't been to Albany since I left here in tears in January of 1995, over fifteen years ago. I had been a student at the University of Albany, right out of high school and with enough financial aid that I didn't have to worry about much. I went away to college for the wrong reasons though, and it didn't work out. I wasn't a party animal, but I wasn't a good student and it caught up to me. At first I was on academic probation, and then finally I was, how did they put it? Oh yeah, "Kicked Out".

It all seems so far away now, I almost forget that at the time it was Armageddon. I didn't tell any of my family until all was over and done with. I struggled in secret for weeks with what I knew was certain failure and I kept it all to myself. I wrote a letter to the administration, I sat before the board begging for a change of heart that didn't come. At the end of the day I had to pack up my dorm room and call my family to tell them I was coming home. It was awful. My soul sister Chiquita was there to drive me home while I cried and sobbed and basically fell apart. When I got home, my family was there to help me pick up the pieces. It was a dark time, not something I like to talk about, I really truly thought my life was over. I couldn't see past the failure of that "today" to even imagine the success of my tomorrows. I did it though. I picked myself up and I kept going. I eventually earned a business degree. I eventually married, bought a house and I have four amazing cherubs, and beautiful friendships.

I am once again faced with a failure of "today". This time however, I see the possibility that is held in my tomorrows. I am not going to let myself be defined by my divorce any more than I am defined by the "academic dismissal" that is on my permanent record. I am so much more.

I am healing. I am growing as a person, becoming better every day. I am strong. I am not broken, just bruised. I have no idea what the future is going to hold for me, I know that it will be at times wonderful and amazing, and I know that at times it will be dark and scary. I also know that the darkness doesn't last forever.

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.