Archive for the ‘TMI’ Category

Day 8 – Someone Who Made My Life Hell

Monday, October 25th, 2010

His name isn’t even spoken in our home anymore.  The kids have figured this out on their own.  On the off chance they bring him up in some random off the wall conversation, he’s called “you know who.”  Allowing T.W. into our life was easily the worst decision I ever made.  Ever.

How it began, how it progressed, how it deteriorated…I hate even bringing those memories to the surface long enough to think them through.  The feelings that he created made my skin crawl.  What kind of mood would he be in, would he even care to speak to us when we walked in the door, would he yell or argue or berate, would he direct his venom only at me and would I be able to shelter my children?

One morning my son ran to me in the kitchen and threw his arms around me in the middle of an argument with T.W. My boy did this because he thought he was protecting me.  My judgement that had been so clouded before became crystal clear that morning when later he told me that he knew why mommy cried.  He said he knew that T.W. made mommy cry.

T.W. and his special brand of hell left two years ago this week.

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Posted in 30 Days Of Truth, Bitter Much?, MeMe, TMI, Writing Prompts |

Wintertime

Tuesday, February 16th, 2010

The building I work in is a large two story building that was quite contemporary in design when it was constructed in the late 70′s.  Lots of brick and dark wood paneling that was thankfully torn out when the building underwent a major interior updating in the mid 90′s.  What wasn’t replaced was all the brick – specifically the brick exterior walls.  More specifically, the exterior brick wall that makes up for 1/4 of the ladies room perimeter.  Set into this brick wall is the steel receptacle that houses the toilet paper rolls and a small trash bin.

There is no doubt in my mind that there is more brick on the other side of this trash bin, but my point here in laying out all this background is this:  it’s drafty.  Very drafty in there.  And when the temperatures hover in the 30′s, it’s not only drafty, it’s extremely cold in there.

Did I happen to mention that the toilet is about 10 inches from the aforementioned drafty, cold, brick wall?  Did I also happen to mention that I nearly froze my tush off this morning in there? 

My greatest fear is that the only thing I’ll be able to do under such harsh conditions is produce peecicles.

It’s that cold in there.

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Posted in Aaaah Crap, TMI, Workin' 9 To 5 |

Jekyll & Hyde

Monday, February 9th, 2009
I am happy being single. I love having my time to myself, to be able to go and do as I please. It’s incredibly liberating not to have to answer to anyone at home. I don’t have to check with a single person before replying to an invitation and I can invite whomever I wish to come over, whenever I darn well feel like it.

But every now and then, a long deep kiss would be nice. And maybe a boob grab too.

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Posted in Hopes Dreams And Unicorns, Single Life, TMI |

Just A Little Bitter

Monday, November 3rd, 2008
I never realized how much toilet paper you used until after you left. I know that we would routinely go through 3-4 rolls in a week’s time. I just thought that the kids were using it as they would go in our bathroom just as much as their own. Turns out it WAS you. You seriously need to go see a doctor. I have counted – in the last week I have used less than one roll. And that includes 100% child usage as well since their toilet has been out of commission (until earlier today, thank you Mr. Landlord for coming over to fix!).

I’m finding myself getting used to, and quite enjoying, a lot of other “missing” things lately. Like the coating of partially dissolved protein shake mix that was always left to dry and cement in the bottom of the kitchen sink. Apparently turning on the faucet and rinsing was too foreign of a concept for you.

I also do not miss your underwear lying on the floors (yes, as in multiple rooms) or your keys thrown carelessly on top of my heirloom wooden jewelry chest (thanks for scratching it jerkface and then trying to say it was already damaged). Ditto on your lazy butt using my bath towel and then not hanging it up to dry, I totally love wiping off with a smelly, soured towel. *hoarf* You obviously knew that you were getting in the shower – would it have killed you to grab your own towel?

I can’t say that I’ve missed the house being dirty all the time either. It’s amazing how spending 5 minutes a day to pick up after yourself will do wonders for the place. The kids understand this concept (to a certain degree) and I don’t have a problem with it. But somehow, your genius level I.Q. 39 year old self can’t grasp it. Buh bye.

No, I don’t miss you and don’t sound all pissy when I confirm this to you every single time you ask me. The kids don’t miss you either. Oh wait – The Boy would like for you to put his basketball goal back together, the one you disassembled before a storm and then have let lay on the grass for the last three months. Preesh.

I especially enjoyed telling your friends at church today that you were gone. Oh and the one that’s known you for the last 25 years? Yeah, she didn’t really seem all that surprised. Go figure.

I hope you had a nice weekend on your bike at the beach. If the check you wrote me on Friday bounces, I’m selling your tools.

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Posted in Aaaah Crap, Boys Are Stoopid, TMI |

The Dream

Friday, March 16th, 2007

I keep having this dream where I’m sitting on the beach at sunrise and as my knees are bent up where I am resting my chin on them, I have my right hand cupping a small pile of sand. I’m letting this sand slowly trickle through my fingers. I scoop up a handful and then watch it seep out. I scoop another and watch again. I do this over and over and over again.

But then the dream changes and I’m holding my last scoop of sand and in slow motion I can see every grain as it slips away. I’m watching it fall from my fingers only this time I’m trying to will the sand to stay in my hand. No matter how hard I try I can’t get my fingers to close in together and keep the sand from trickling away. No matter how bad I want to hold that sand in my hand…it keeps on falling.

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Posted in Aaaah Crap, Boys Are Stoopid, Dating Games, Hopes Dreams And Unicorns, Rambling And Probably Drooling, Single Life, TMI |

Sacrifice

Tuesday, February 20th, 2007

Tip toe closer to the edge of sacrifice. What am I willing to give up in order to gain? I want “this”, but I have to give up “that”. I’m scared. If I give up, then I lose control. It terrifies me to let go of that control when I am not the only one that will be affected if I fail. Why do I settle for the safety of the minimum? It is what I can control. I have to be willing to step out on faith and make the sacrifice. Until then I have little room to complain about the status quo. I can’t shake my fist at the realities of life if I am unwilling to challenge that reality and change the course of my future.

My family.
My faith.
My purpose.
My career.

Where I am at now is not where I intended to be when asked about it six months ago. I want things to be settled yet I haven’t been willing to sacrifice what’s necessary to make that happen. My time – my efforts – my comfort zone. My pride. Ignoring the situation isn’t going to change anything and certainly isn’t going to make it go away. I am guilty of this as much as anyone else.

I wallow. Woe is me and come join me for my pity party.

I complain. Why does it have to be like this? I want it and I want it now!

I hide. I don’t have to participate if you can’t find me.

I act. The smile comes too easily, I am too practiced. If you could only see inside…

I am selfish about some things and I really don’t want to change. For so many years I gave, and I gave and I gave some more. I got nothing in return so I gave even further – in hopes that one day it would be acknowledged and maybe just once, in just a tiny amount, I would get back a morsel.

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Posted in Rambling And Probably Drooling, TMI |

The Badge Of Motherhood

Monday, April 17th, 2006

It is a source of pride – my own medal that will be with me always. It took two attempts, each many months of hard work with great reward in the end. I don’t flaunt it, that would be uncouth. But if I slip and it is seen, I don’t rush to hide it. My medal, my badge of motherhood….my stretch marks. They are my proof and even though I didn’t ask for them, did all I could to prevent them, they were bestowed upon me. I used to be ashamed of them, their silvery white fingers reaching up slightly from the lowest part of my abdomen. No lotions, potions, or creams will ever make them go away. When my body is tanned they take on a translucent, ghostlike appearance, but they are still there, as a reminder to what is really important. My babies.

No matter how old they get or how big they grow, they’re still my babies. They are my passion. I peek into their rooms at night when I can’t sleep, standing in the doorway of their rooms, and I watch them. Their faces are relaxed and serene and the steady rise and fall of their chests as they breathe assures me that they are really real and that I’m not in a dream of my own. I’ll sometimes sit on the edge of Girl’s bed and take her limp hand in mine. Even in her sleep, she instinctively curls her fingers around my own. Boy sleeps like a rock and usually curled up tight with his tattered stuffed dog in one hand and Batman in the other. My little superhero. I love to lean down and get close for a whiff of his scent. Clean or dirty, only Boy smells like Boy.

I ache to give them the best life has to offer. I do my best but sometimes I don’t feel it’s good enough. Did my bad day rub off on them? Did I snip when I should have smiled? Can I add an extra hour to the night time so I can spend it just with them? I want the weight of responsibility and reality to fall off of my shoulders so I can sit and read a book with Boy. Can I add 10 more minutes to the morning? Girl wants momma to braid her hair. Nobody can do it like momma.

They are so innocent and so pure. Funny and spirited. I love to get down on my knees, down to Boy’s level and see the world as he sees it. To look up and wonder what’s out there? I’m envious of their future and the opportunities to discover their destiny.

My badge of motherhood is an honor I wear with quiet dignity and with thanksgiving.

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Posted in Parenting, TMI |