Well, This Can't End Well...

Chapter 1:
Hi! I’m Sarah. I wear my heart on my sleeve. Everything we talk about will be honest and true and I will tell you everything if you ask and…hey! Where are you going?!? Come back! I can ruin it in new and even more awkward ways!

So, Chapter 1 is actually more like Chapter 3 or maybe 4, in this adventure that is my attempt at dating. I should start with the real chapter 1 which would be why I decided to jump into dating after 8 years of being single. And chapter 2 should be the first guy I met, but that chapter isn’t closed so I don’t want to write that just yet…

So here we are at Chapter whatever because that’s what I’m thinking about tonight. It’s my absolute inability to play it cool and have guys stick around. Welcome. Have a seat, grab a drink, you’ll need it.

Skipping all the initial insanity of creating a profile and deciding which apps are worth paying for (don’t worry, I’ll go into that eventually), let’s dive right into having met 2 guys in person so far and only sort of speaking to 1 of them, already. I’ve only been on these apps for 3 months, you guys…. If I had written this post a few days ago I would have said not speaking to either of the guys but guy #1 popped back into my sexts, I mean texts, so that’s why his chapter can’t be written yet. And this isn’t even going to be about guy #2, he deserves a whole chapter and I’m not ready to tackle that mindfuck just yet!

This is about that sweet spot that might not even exist: How to sell yourself while still being yourself.

You might think you are someone that has their shit together. Knows what they want, what they don’t want, is full of self-esteem and bad ass bitch-ness. Well, let me introduce you to your undoing, online dating. There is no faster way to make you second guess everything you think you know about yourself than swiping left and right on pictures of people (who might not even be those people in real life).

If you’ve met me (lucky you), you know that I’m not good at….what’s the word….being CHILL. No matter how long I try, my “too much” will seep through eventually. I will get too excited, too honest, too opinionated, too joke-y, too sarcastic, too strong, too horny (not sorry).

You might think this is a good thing. “Be yourself, Sarah!” you might cheer from your comfortable married bubble (Yes, I’m jealous). Sure, BUT….in a world where you have only seconds, maybe a minute if you’re lucky, to sell yourself to a potential match you have to walk this very tricky and fine line of standing out from the crowd while also not trying too hard. Approachable but not over eager, pleasing to the eye but not begging for attention, mysterious but not like Norman Bates mysterious.

So, cut to me being very up front about sucking at small talk (which apparently translates to most guys as “oh, she just wants to see a dick pic” ???). Or me saying what I’m really looking for, something casual (“oh, she’s DTF” ???). Or me complimenting you (“oh, she wants to see a dick pic, immediately” ???).

Yes, I have learned to watch the words I use, I learned that right quick y’all! I no longer say casual, I say I’m looking for something between Friends with Benefits and introducing you to my kids. Because that’s the truth, I am wanting to meet someone but I’m also really struggling on how they would fit into my aggressively single and comfortable life. But this whole topic is yet another chapter that I’ll get into later, including how many guys think that plus size girls are desperate... There has been lots of on the job learning and editing of my bio these past 3 months!!!

Back to if, and HOW, I should censor myself when connecting with matches. (one second, no lie, just got a message on one of the apps…. I’m back. And I quote “Hi there! Delicious curves. Seriously hot” ….yeah, I know, show me you read my bio first. Anyhoo!!) What was I saying? Right, to be me or to not be me.

Ok, first, I do need to mention guy #2 a little bit because he is a lot of what made me start questioning all of this. If there is a guy that I feel no real physical or mental attraction to I can BS back and forth for a bit and see what’s there before moving on without a thought. But with guy #2 there was an immediate mental connection (his chat game was strong) and pretty decent physical attraction (I’m a sucker for a non-surface level compliment….and using my name in a chat… gah…) so it was hot and heavy pretty fast (two words that describe me emotionally AND physically!). And that’s when Sarah can’t be chill. It was about 3 weeks of the real me, and he seemed totally cool with that. Didn’t mind that I have opinions, thought I was funny, was ok with me swearing like an angry sailor, had killer compliments that totally worked on me, quite a lot in common (our first stadium concert was the same band and same tour year just on opposite ends of the world).

All of that is an invitation to just be myself, right?! After spending so much of my life not doing that, it’s been a real conscious effort on my part in my 40’s to not be what I think other people want me to be. But I understand I’m a lot. I tell people that from the get-go. And I’m like that with anyone I like, it’s not just because I’m attracted to you. I’m like that with my friends, my family, anyone I care about. I think initially guys love the confidence, but pretty quickly they realize they don’t know how to handle me. (pro-tip: women don’t want to be handled, we just want you to enjoy being around us, we can handle ourselves, thanks).

All my too-much-ness also comes with a heart that is too big. I know who I am and what I want, that doesn’t mean that someone doing a 180 on me doesn’t hurt and isn’t confusing (yes, I know, this speaks more to their baggage than mine, but still…). If I had played it more chill, more coy, was less obvious about what I was thinking or feeling, would it have been different? Should I try that next time?

Guys, I know the answer to that is no. But I think I might only have one or two, (five tops), more times of opening up and feeling like I genuinely connected to someone before getting the ‘ol brush off in me. Do I genuinely think it’s better to live, and maybe one day love, with an ALL-IN mentality? Yes. Do I think it’s going to cause me to have some pretty dark days in the future because 90% of the dating pool will either take advantage of that or run from it? Yes.

At the beginning of this whole debacle, I mean, adventure… I told myself that I would be myself no matter what. That I open my heart/arms/mind (occasionally legs…) to any new match that I felt I had physical and mental chemistry with. I defiantly said that there was no other way to do this. But now I’m wondering if that was just plain dumb. Which is a more daring, more revolutionary, way to go through life? Is it to keep being open all while knowing my emotions will be bruised or is it really more radical nowadays to play things closer to the chest? I realize now more than ever that my emotions aren’t endlessly rechargeable. That maybe I don’t have as much “bounce back” in me as I thought I did.

But how do I stop getting excited when I feel a spark? How do I not share personal stories to connect on a deeper level? How do I not get geeked when talking about meeting up in person? How do I not get butterflies when they match my boldness? How do I not have SO much fun flirting?

Maybe I’m just an absolute sucker and all these connections aren’t remotely real moments but just amazingly good lies from men that have been on these apps a lot longer than I have and know exactly what to say to get what they want. It’s Love Bombing at it’s finest and I will fall for it every single time. When all my (one) relationships consisted of very few compliments and almost no PDA, having someone love bomb me with insanely nice compliments that I have literally never heard in my life, HOW DO I NOT FALL FOR THAT!?!

I can understand how some of my single friends have become so jaded with these dating apps. I used to roll my eyes when I read bios that said stuff like “please just be real/not insane/honest/don’t waste my time”, but now I get it! But I don’t want to be like that. I’m not ready to change my bio to something passive aggressive about all the people on these apps being fake or a waste of my time. I spent 8 years denying the part of my heart that still really and truly believes in love. How can I have the guts to get on these apps and meet COMPLETE strangers (don’t worry, so far all have promised to not murder me) and then dial back who I am just because it hurts when they don’t like me?

For now, I think I’d rather keep risking getting hurt and staying open. No risk, no reward, right??

Plot Twist!!

Have you ever wondered if you were a seed, or a plant?  
Did you know that forest fires give way to new growth?

Two seemingly unrelated things that I’ve done a lot of thinking about this summer.
Like, a lot. But more on seeds in a sec.

In June my divorce became final after 3.5 years of separation. And in July my ex told me he was in a serious relationship with someone and had been for a while.

The heart aching meltdown I had to this news (even though he technically did nothing wrong) was a big ugly reminder that I’m not progressing along as far as I thought I had. “Fake it till you make it” implies that you will eventually make it. All I’ve been doing is faking it (insert joke about being good at faking it for most of my marriage...winky face zing….)

The saying only works if you are also doing the work to get to the “make it” stage. Turns out, I hadn’t been doing the work. I had waffled from denial to anger to sadness to self-loathing to acceptance with no real road map and next to no self awareness.

I became increasingly aware this summer that something inside me, with the divorce being final and the news of the new girl, had died.

A few days post pity party I woke up thinking about seeds, and a verse I could barely remember, for the umpteenth morning this year. I got online and looked up “seeds and death” and what I found validated that yes, something inside me had died. BUT, it wasn’t a bad thing! In so many scenarios, something has to die in order for something new to live!!

"The heat from the burning trees pops open the cones on those trees, releasing seeds that have been waiting to get loose for years. In fact, fire is a natural part of the forest’s regeneration system. Most forest trees need to be exposed to fire every 50 to 100 years to invigorate new growth."

You guys! Seeds that have been waiting to get loose for YEARS!!
Fire (death, divorce, unwanted life changes) is the painful and much needed event that often needs to occur to allow new seeds to be set free (NEW LIFE!).

It finally became clear to me that maybe this is my PLANT coming from a dead SEED phase of my life! Damn, it feels good to put words to something that had been tumbling around in my head for ages.

Maybe the first 17 years with him, including these past almost 4 years separated, were my seed phase. All along I had I thought I was already a plant! This thinking led to me always wondering why I hadn’t felt comfortable with myself and my “purpose” in life. But, I think I must have always known I wasn’t a plant yet. I was still a trapped seed. Even after Adam left I was a seed still in it's cone. A seed of hope, a seed of longing. A seed of “what if”.

But it wasn’t until something officially died that I realized it.

All these years I had mourned what could have been even though I didn’t want that horrific relationship back the way it was. I had grieved for broken promises, the family that wasn’t a family anymore, the friendship that died. But the divorce not being final and him not moving on kept the seed hidden away unable to be let loose. Whether I realized it or not, it kept hope of he and I, alive.

As much as my heart and pride aches that through all his shitty choices he now gets what he wants, part time dad, full time new relationship (instead of what I think he deserves…).

Then I read this:

"But what of the seed?  Can you dig up the plant, and find it’s seed down at the bottom, with plantybits growing from it’s insides?  No!  It’s essentially died to itself!  It ceases to be a seed in order that the plant would live, it can no longer find it’s identity in that of it’s old self, a seed. And in this way, it has died, it has ceased to exist as it’s original self."

If I wanted to be a plant, the seed would have to completely die. To disappear. Nothing of it can be left behind! It's identity can no longer be found in it's old self! 

I can put words to what happened now, him moving on with a new relationship is what opened the cone, let the seed loose to be planted and ultimately, killed the seed. But I have to let it die. I have to want the seed to be planted, nurtured and die to itself so that a plant can grow in its place!

It is the most painful thing I hope I ever go through but so very necessary. Something has to die in order for something new to live. Now the choice is mine. Do I acknowledge the death and do the hard work needed to nurture the seed into an alive and blooming plant? Wait, change that to flower, I’m definitely a flower not a plant...Ok, do I do that painful work to get to the “making it”? To the blooming flower stage of my life? Or do I try to hold on to the seed that died? Do I hold onto the hate and blinding rage and desire to have std’s strike him and anyone he loves? (the answer is no, you guys)

Both are hard work….and both have completely different results. Do I choose to turn my heart as black as my favorite color of clothing (it’s slimming!) or do I risk it all, let the panic attacks and actual physical heart ache subside (might be a heart attack, guys) and bloom?

Shoot. I mean, how can I not choose blooming right??

If you’ve read this far I beg you to send up a quick prayer that I stay the course and learn to trust that I’m capable and worthy of becoming a kick-ass flower. And you let me know how I can pray for you in your blooming process, what kind of amazing plant or flower are you becoming??

 

 

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I'm Back Bitches!

July 1, 2017

I seem to always learn lessons the hard way. Today was no different.

I have never felt so dumb, I didn’t renew my blog and poof, files lost. How did I not renew it? How did I not know they would be gone? People say stuff on the internet lasts forever right??

Thanks to some clear headed thinking from my amazing brother he got support on the phone and managed to get a restore of the archives so I could get all my past posts back. Because who thinks to write in Word or Docs before posting? Not me, that’s who. Well, until now and forever more that is.

Until my brother worked his amazing magic (the true web guru that he is), I was in complete meltdown mode. And it shocked me. Of course I was upset about losing all my writing, and yes I was very upset at my stupidity, but I had a realization when I thought they were all gone. I realized it felt like my feelings were gone, what I went through emotionally when I first started the blog, was gone. It was overwhelming. The only connection I had to all of who I was, how I felt, was in those words.

If you had asked me last week what I thought about my old posts I would roll my eyes and say “99% of them are over dramatic, whiney rantings of an immature person” and I would have considered deleting at least half of them out of embarrassment for what I shared with the world. But now, those suckers are staying put. They are mildly ridiculous, they are Drama with a capital D. But they are mine, they are my connection to what I felt like then. They are sensory snapshots that I’m apparently way more attached to then I realized. Like my mom said, every post tracks my growth and there is nothing wrong with that.

I’ve felt very uninspired the last year. Suffering is very conducive to writing and I guess it’s a good sign that I’m not suffering as much (edit: foreshadowing!!!)! I don’t know where I am in my journey but I’m definitely not where I was.

So now that I’m feeling a little less shaky (but still very dumb) I’m going to work hard on getting back into writing more regularly. Check back soon and there will be something new for you to read! Please bear with me as I navigate the new site and how all this tech crap works. I think I’ve got all my old posts back up and working, mostly without pictures that used to be there but whatevs!

Thank you for the support and feel free to remind me to backup and save all my writing constantly!! (Thank you JJK!!!!)

Love.

Don't Be A Mean Mom

September 28, 2015

I was going to just rant on Facebook about this but realized it was quickly becoming way too long of a status update.

I’m fuming….

At Kindergarten pick up I decided to forego the car line and park and walk up to the front door.

A lady…or woman….or maybe a human-ish person thing, pulled passed all the cars in the car line right to the front door and into the front of the line. Ok…that’s douchey, but not horrific I guess.

My attention shifts to a mother and son I’ve seen at pick up almost every day. She is always there with her older son who definitely has Autism and probably some other disabilities. He’s a handful and I’ve always been a little in awe at how she handles him as he is almost the same size as her and he never stops moving.

Just as the students are coming out of the front door, her older son makes a run for it. She catches him at the curb, which also happens to be right next to the car-line-butter-inner’s passenger door. As the mom is wrestling her son back from the curb my two thoughts are, “do I offer to help her out because I don’t want her to think we are all ignoring her” and “she probably wants us all to just ignore her and pretend it’s not happening”. As I’m thinking about this the line-cutter gets out of her car and with a loud “Let’s go, this is ridiculous” grabs her daughter and as she is walking around her car says “You’ve got to be kidding me, you have to do that right in front of my door?!?!” and here’s where she made her next huge mistake (other than everything she’s ever done in life)…she shoots me a “you know what I’m talking about” look as if I’m going to give her a Hallelujah!

Oh…Hell…No…Bitch…

I give her a wide eyed “WHOA!” (the one usually saved for when the kids do something awful…seemed appropriate). She keeps walking and says over her shoulder “She’s a STUPID mother!”

By this time I’m holding hands with my son, my niece and my nephew and I looked at them wondering if it would be ok to leave them on the curb while I go to the woman’s car and jump on her windshield. I decided instead that I needed to

a) set a good example for the few dozen kids around us and

b) that I should probably not leave 3 kids unattended.

So all that I managed to get out was a high pitched “That was SO mean!!”

Not only did she just call another mom stupid, she did it in front of  children! Who’s the moron here?!

Look, most of us moms suck at being parents, or at least we feel like we do most days. We all make mistakes and lose our tempers and wonder how the hell to keep from screwing our kids up while somehow keeping our sanity. To drag someone else down with your misery is the worst we can do to each other. Imagine the peace and encouragement that mom could have experienced if the mean mom had been patient, offered a kind word, smiled and told her she was doing a great job. Whatever the opposite is of that, that’s what she did.

What’s funny is that I was just thinking yesterday about assuming the best of people. The Golden Rule, walk a mile in their shoes, and all that. But for the life of me, I can’t think of one redeeming thing about this woman. I can’t think of what might have been going wrong in her day that she would get out of her car and spew hatred to someone that was completely innocent!

But I can think of how she needs to rethink her black lip liner & nude lipstick choices…you are not in the 90’s anymore, nor are you in a Latino gang. (and I say this being fully aware of some horrific lip liner choices of my own…)

So, to the mom who has to care for a son with disabilities, and have everyone’s judge-y eyes on you all the time, I don’t know you…you may also make horrible lip liner choices, you may be just a mediocre mom (aren’t we all!) you might be voting for Trump, I don’t care. I’m sorry you have to deal with horrible people like that, probably more times than you can count, and I pray you keep finding the strength you need every day.

And to the mom-bully….I know I need to kill you with kindness, I know I need to pray for you instead of glare at you at the next drop off. I realize God most likely put you in my path to test my whole “we need to think better of each other” philosophy I’ve been meditating on lately….so I’ll be nice, I don’t want to, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. But I’m still hoping you fall up stairs with your hands in your pockets.

P.S. I really really hope you aren’t my son’s homeroom mom. Like, a lot.

Part Time Parent

August 25, 2015

You’ve told me before that you are a better parent now that you are single. Just because you pay child support and show up to practices and games when it’s baseball or football season? Because you get to have fun when you see them? Because you get to parent on your terms now? Hiking, fishing, projects. All things you could have done while we lived in the same house.

What I’m slowly realizing is that I’m a good parent because I never left. I’m a good parent because I’m here, doing the mundane parenting tasks.

Making lunches for school, checking homework, reading book reports, sitting with a sick kid in the middle of the night, planning birthday parties, going to parent teacher conferences and school parties, putting them on the bus, cleaning their team uniform, taking them to doctor and dentist appointments, setting up playdates, rubbing arnicare on growing pains and sports bruises, listening to their Christmas wish lists, trying to fix brakes on a new bike, and failing and trying again, deciding on house rules and trying to stick to them and doling out punishments when certain rules are broken.

This is parenting, the daily minutiae. This is what matters.

We tried to get over our communication hang ups and present a united front for the kids. We tried to apply rules to both households but communication just isn’t our thing. You don’t ask about the boys during the weeks that you don’t see them. Which is weird because I really do think you care to know, so either your pride won’t let you ask me about them or you think that asking a 5 & 9 year old how they are every 2 weeks really gives you an accurate picture.

I’m the one reading books on talking to your kids about divorce, and about raising confident children. Losing sleep night after night wondering if they are going to be ok through every stage of their lives. One day I might just feel sorry for you that you are missing out on all the little details that makes parenting great, but for now I’m angry. I’m angry that you don’t see how much work it is and how much your boys need and miss you.

No one held a gun to your head and told you to walk away from your family, you did so willingly. You have no idea what it’s like to pick up the slack on this end. All you see is how great a father you think you are now. An absent father that pats his own back.

What’s sad is I get a sense that you take pride in your parenting now. But the thing you are so proud of, is being a part time parent. And I’m not sure that’s something you should take pride in. I’m glad you feel you are now a stellar dad that you no longer have to do it all the time. I just hope your type of parenting is enough for your sons.

Shut Up Already! How Being Silent For Once Changed Everything.

April 30, 2015

A few weeks ago I willingly spent the weekend (or most of it) in silence. On purpose you guys.

Let me explain.

Last year I heard about a silent retreat weekend through my church. I (loudly) made jokes about how impossible that would be for me. The utter hell I would be in having to be silent for a weekend.

A year rolls by and the weekend retreat draws near once again. And a little nagging feeling kept bringing me back to it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I keep saying how I just want to get away from reality for a hot minute. After some very well meaning urging from supportive friends & family I decided to sign up.

I knew it was the right thing to do because the minute it was confirmed I panicked at the thought of it all. Which typically in my life means I’ve made the right decision and my fear is trying to talk me out of something I’m going to benefit from. It wasn’t the fear of not having my phone all weekend, as most of my friends, family and even myself joked about. It was that putting the phone down means it would just be me and my stupid overfilled, over-thinking brain. My phone is less of an addiction and more of a pacifier to all the things I don’t want to keep worrying about.

I had heard amazing things from friends about this place and these retreats and I’d already amassed a pretty massive mental list of things I wanted answers from God on. As if it’s as easy as creating a grocery list.

a) What is going to happen to me after this divorce? Check.

b) Will my boys end up being ok? I’ll get two of those.

c) How do I gain self worth again? Oh that’s in aisle 2.

So the weekend arrived, and off I went. Only a little over an hour from my home, I arrived late Friday afternoon to the beautiful and gigantic Jesuit Center. I was welcomed (with words) by a kind man that works there. He went over the layout and showed me to my room. I knew I had until dinner time and then an evening meeting with the other attendees from my church. On my own. Just me and my thoughts in a tiny, incredibly plain room.

I sat on my bed for a few minutes wondering if this is what it felt like to go to summer camp as a kid. If so, I wasn’t sure I liked it.

I decided I needed to get a better look at the amazing grounds and architecture of the building.

I grabbed my bag of books, journal, pencils and my long list of questions for God and headed outside.

The rest of Friday went pretty much like this:

Wow. This place is gorgeous! I guess I’ll sit here and think. I want to put my bare feet in the grass. Man, I really should have gotten a pedicure first, woof. Ok, God. Here I am. I have my bag fully stocked with a bible and paper and pens to write all my thoughts, and all your answers, on. I have some water and cough drops and tissues. I could not be more prepped. I’m pretty good at prepping. I like this bag too. I need to wash it though, I think a juice box exploded in it last time I used it.

“BE STILL…”

Whoa, spider. I just killed a spider. Sorry God. It was a nasty one though. Great, first hour here and I’m already killing stuff. I wonder what a Jesuit is anyway? I should have brought better walking shoes. B minus in shoe selection Sarah. I wonder if the food is any good here. I wonder what everyone else here is “in for”.

“BE STI…”

Man there are a lot of birds here. Ok, I should pray. Praying. Praying. I guess the birds didn’t get the memo on the whole silent part of the retreat huh? That’s ok, it’s nice. And a train whistle off in the distance. And church bells ringing. Man this is picturesque at it’s best. Oh right, praying. Listening. Listening to God. Listening….I wonder how loud the Garden of Eden was. Man I bet it was insanely loud. The animals that live at this place must have really made it. I bet they write their family members about their lives here and make them all crazy jealous. Oh right, ok God. I’m ready. Let’s do this.

“COOL, THANKS. BE…ST…”

Dinner doesn’t look so bad. God it’s quiet in here. Why am I such a loud human? Please don’t scratch the knife on the plate when you cut your pork chop Sarah. Don’t spill the coffee. Don’t spill the coffee. I don’t even drink coffee. What am I doing? It’s amazing how fast dinner is done when you aren’t talking to people. Do I make eye contact with people? I mean they are sitting right across from me! I wonder what side of the building sunset is on. Sun sets in the west. Where is west?

“BE STILL…”

I wonder how pissed God is that I dropped that crucifix that was laying on my pillow. Honest mistake buddy! What a great breeze out here. Of all the winds, breezes are my favorite. Shoot, this bag is heavy, maybe a study bible wasn’t my best choice. Oh look a bumblebee. Remember when they rode on bumblebees in Honey, I Shrunk The Kids? It was that movie wasn’t it?

“STOP. ENOUGH. BE STILL, AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD”

Whoa…..Ok. Alright. Who do I say you are God? Who do you say I am? What am I doing here?

After that things got much easier. I should rephrase that. Quieting my thoughts got easier, the weekend just got tougher and more emotional but in the best possible way.

Once I realized how very little I could hear God through my own thoughts, all I wanted to do was be quiet and listen. Slowly my list of demands for God melted away and my overwhelming desires for the weekend emerged.

Peace. I needed peace. In all forms and for all things. And joy. I want to be full of it again. That is what I kept coming back to in all my prayers and thoughts all weekend long.

All day Saturday you are pretty much on your own. Come to meals, or don’t. Take a nap all day, or don’t. Make eye contact, or don’t. I got up early and tried to catch the sunrise but missed most of it. Instead I sat on a bench and cried. Not because I missed the sunrise, but because I needed to cry. I didn’t see anyone else that morning, and if I had it wouldn’t have mattered. Everyone is there for their own reasons and respect for that abounds. It was the first good cry I had had in months. Maybe all year. And it’s what opened me up to what turned out to be a kick ass weekend. I walked to a small cemetery on the grounds that has a crucifix between some trees at the back. I stood there, in front of something I have never, ever attached any emotion to, religious or otherwise. I’ve actually never been fond of them. But I stood there and apologized, I’m not sure why. For everything. Ever. And cried.

My day was filled with….calm. There is nothing to rush for there. You don’t walk anywhere, you stroll. You stop and stare at a woodpecker in a tree. You walk through a field and lay in the sun (until you notice a tick crawling on you). You lay under a tree for 3 hours. And think, and pray, and read, and write. Boy, did I write. I filled at least half of a large notepad. I wrote a new list of “demands” for the weekend. A much more attainable and honest one. And I prayed over each item. And journaled every single thought or feeling that came into my head.

It started out as a lot of writing about “Who am I supposed to be? How am I going to get over this part of my life? How can I be the mom my boys need me to be? Will I ever be loved again? Will I ever feel worthy of love again? How do I learn to trust God and receive help? Will I ever be able to look back on this time of my life without hurting?”

Slowly the thoughts and journaling changed from fear and pain to, “He can make all things new again. He heals the broken. I’m not alone. Stop trying to be someone you think people will like. Stop trying. Just be. I made you just the way I wanted you to be. You. Are. Enough.”

Heavy…

I even broke the rules and talked to a friend that was on the retreat. It just sort of happened and I think it was divine intervention because even in that moment, God was there. Speaking to me through a friend that listened and related.

The next day I got up even earlier and walked to a perfect spot to watch an absolutely breathtaking sunrise. As I sat there and, shocker, cried some more, I realized how much God had spoken to me that weekend. Not as I had always wanted him to though. My preference would be a giant billboard with my name on it and details on when and how my life will improve. Neon lights, sky writers, singing telegrams…you know, something super obvious. Nope. God spoke to me in all my thoughts and feelings pouring out on paper. In that perfect sunrise. In a single goose coming to land so close to me that I could hear it’s wings beating. In remembering a verse exactly when I needed it. In the moments lying under a tree, putting flowers in my hair.

The reason I know that this was more than just a weekend away full of rest and reflection? I was moved to pray for my ex. And not like the jokes go “Sure, I pray he’ll get hit by a truck. I pray he’ll fall off a bridge.” And not even in the usual “Please make him come back” sort of prayers. I prayed FOR him. I prayed that he would find what he needed, that he would figure out what is wrong with him and that he would maybe one day find God. This was the toughest, but most necessary part of the trip for me.

After a wonderful meeting & lunch with the other attendees, one where we could actually talk, I reluctantly headed home. Thankful for the connections with amazing people, the intensely personal and revealing time I had within my own heart and feeling utterly refreshed.

Yes, life in the real world goes on and kids will be kids and troubles don’t disappear. Slowly the “glow” from that weekend fades and I have to remind myself of the calm and resolve I found while there. And one thing keeps coming back to me when I most need it.

Peace. In songs and sermons and books, peace has become a recurring theme. That’s how I remember to center myself and continue on the journey that started that weekend.

And when I need to, I repeat the one thing that was my most solid take away from my time there:

“Peace I leave with you. My peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your heart be troubled, and do not be afraid”

A-freaking-men!

 

Pictures don't do this place justice. 

Pictures don't do this place justice. 

This Is Survival Mode

April 2, 2015

First let me say this….please excuse me as I try to write something with honesty and risk coming off as an overdramatic pity-party seeker.

I haven’t written since January. To say I’m in the midst of writers block is an understatement. I have fragments of ideas swirling around my brain but I can’t get them onto “paper”. Most of the time I don’t even want to try. And here’s why….feelings are too messy.

I have spent the past couple of months trying very hard to not focus on the negatives in my life and instead see the positive side of life. Sunny side of the street and all that junk. It’s been rough and mostly I’ve failed and it recently dawned on me why I’m not successful. I have only been pushing aside the negative thoughts instead of replacing them with positives.

What has been sabotaging my efforts? Survival. For 16 months now I have been in full on survival mode. Since my husband decided to leave us I have had numerous cries but only 1 complete gut-wrenching soul-cleansing wail. And that one I cut short because the feelings were too overwhelming.

I am not someone that my friends would call heartless or devoid of emotion. They have all seen me tear up and I’ll ooh and aah over a new baby like you wouldn’t believe. But real, heart-baring emotions? Nope. Not anymore.

A few years ago I used to laugh from a much deeper place. I used to let myself cry at commercials. I used to watch romantic movies without needing a day to recover from it. I used to talk about my feelings. But survival changed that and I didn’t even realize it until recently.

Nowadays, emotions feel faked. My laughter comes from my chest, not my belly or heart. Sadness is ignored because it hammers at the decaying floodgates holding back a year of emotions I haven’t faced. Anger is an even more dangerous emotion because it picks away at the already splintered and bowing walls. Any real emotion I keep at bay, even good ones, because my heart can’t differentiate between them. They all threaten the fragile shell I’ve very carefully and shoddily laid over the tidal wave that’s been building up this past year and a half. Anything that reminds me of where I was 16 months ago is off  limits. I shut. it. down.

It’s protection. It’s primal. It’s my defense mechanism.

When someone leaves you for who you are, because you are you, it’s dna changing. You question everything you do, or are, or feel. Who you are isn’t worth working through and me at my best or us at our best wasn’t worth sticking around and working toward. They are forgoing a life with their kids because of who they had them with. How is any of that not going to permanently change you?

That’s why any emotion is banned because every single kind scratches at the feelings I’ve kept so poorly hidden all this time. A friend having a baby. Wonderful business opportunities. My kids telling me they love me. A stranger saying something nice. Anything that reminds me how much he doesn’t love me, or even more dangerous…how much God still does, and all of a sudden I’m holding back sobs because….feelings.

I’m not happy about this change. It changes me into a bland version of myself and it confuses the ones close to me. My sons, and my family most of all. I don’t want to be this kind of mom to my boys. I don’t want to be this kind of human. I realize the emotions have to be let out and faced and seen through to the end but….ain’t nobody got time for that.

Is there a place to go where they lead you into a padded room where you can safely and privately let out the emotions you should face but don’t have the time or energy for?? ‘Cuz there should be.

I’m not sure how or when I will work through all these icky feelings but I think realizing what’s going on and, gulp, writing about them will force me to take some action.

If I want to be the mom my boys deserve. And the happy, confident and accomplished woman I desperately want to become, I will have to start somewhere.

A quote I stumbled upon, attributed to Elizabeth Gilbert (who knows if that’s true), read:

“The women whom I love and admire for their strength and grace did not get that way because shit worked out. They got that way because shit went wrong, and they handled it. They handled it in a thousand different ways on a thousand different days, but they handled it. Those women are my superheroes.”

I want this to apply to me. I want to tattoo it on my forehead as a daily reminder to me and the world. I want words to move me to action. So….I should probably handle my shit that went wrong, find some self worth and get a move on.

Screw You, Timehop!

January 2, 2015

Who’s familiar with an app called Timehop?

For those that aren’t, it’s an app that shows you an overview of your social media history. “Here’s what happened 1 year ago in your life, Here’s what happened 2 years ago…” and so on.

At first glance, a very innocent app. Little walk down memory lane, cute right? I say…no. I say, screw you, Timehop.

What this seemingly harmless app has the power of doing is reminding you of your past. Yes, I know that’s the whole point but what if you don’t want to relive it just yet?

Every time I stupidly tap on that cute little dinosaur icon I’m taken to a life that I am not yet happy remembering.

It has been 13 months since my husband decided to leave the marriage, so all I’m seeing is what was happening one month after he left us. Mostly it’s me bravely posting pictures of the boys and our life as if all was normal. Keeping up appearances and not wanting to air my dirty laundry on Facebook. But I know what is really going on. I remember how I felt as the boys posed for pictures with their new Christmas toys.  The fear, the anger, the utter sadness. And it doesn’t just have to do with the negative feelings from a year ago. Looking back further is almost more painful. There we are as a family at my in-laws for Boxing Day. There’s a video of us when Danger was 3, you can hear the two of us kidding each other off camera as we watch our kid opening a new matchbox set. There we are 6 years ago at a New Year's Eve party kissing for the camera.

Not only do I torture myself with mourning those happy times. I doubly torture myself by wondering (ad infinitum) if he knew then that we were doomed, because I sure as hell didn’t. Did he know 4, 5, 6 years ago that he was not in love with me and he was going to eventually leave us?

It’s sense memory at it’s worst. It’s not bringing me to any place I’m happy thinking about right now. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to relive those times.

Now, at this point you might be wondering why I keep opening this app. After all, no one is forcing me to repeatedly take this cruel stupid hike down ol’ painful road. Why would I open it every damn day when I know what is going to be waiting there for me? Even when there’s isn’t a picture or video that he is physically in, there is always something there that reminds me of him (cue Naked Eyes song here). We pre-existed social media, so there is no point at which Timehop will show me my “pre-him” life. It could just be a picture of Danger as a baby but there is the dog we bought together in the background, and the picture was taken in our first home. It’s constant. It’s everywhere. But I can’t help it. I can’t help torturing myself…..

Only, I can help it. I don’t have to look.  I think the problem is that I’m not sure I want to do anything about it. If I don’t open the app then I won’t be faced with these old memories, which means I won’t have a reason to think about them everyday, which means I might get over them. I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to do that. There have been plenty of circumstances this past year that have helped me to write him off, but to actually get over the memories of us? I don’t know how to do that yet.

So, I think for a while this cute little, soul crushing, day ruining Timehop app will need to be deleted from my phone…….I think. No, I mean definitely. Maybe.

Was That You God?

November 7, 2014

A few days ago I was walking into Target, alone for once. But wait, there’s more.

On my drive there I was stressing over so many ‘life occurrences’ that I can’t even tell you. If I did, your brains would start crying (literally) and then they would explode inside your skulls, at which point they would start leaking out of your nose and you’d be walking around trying to sniff your melted brains back up your nose and all your friends would be all “Ew! Stop!” and then they’d rename you Brainy McLeaky Face……

So, just trust me when I say that I was dealing with enough stress to sob non-stop and it would be completely warranted.

Having a second to hit Target on my own meant I had plenty of time to stress over all the stressy stresses going on right now (stress). Not the least of which is financial worries.

Anyhoo!

I was walking into Target when a young man approached me in the parking lot and began telling me how late he is going to be for work and how his wife is sick….I know most of you can see where this is going.

He told me he was going to be late, he worked at a Wawa in Bear, DE and went on for a while before I asked him what he needed. Gas, he said, money for gas.

I hesitated a minute, I mean I’m not an idiot, I know what this most likely was. Did he look like a drug addict? Not anymore than I normally do while dropping my kid off at preschool after I’ve hit the snooze button too many times. He was very convincing but that’s not hard to do (ask me how to get out of speeding tickets sometime).

I could have told him that I couldn’t help out, I could have told him I didn’t have any cash on me. I could have made up a million reasons why I couldn’t help. But in that moment of him stopping me in my tracks and rambling on for a bit I remembered that recently I had asked God to make me aware of when he’s trying to talk to me. Please, I had begged Him, I swear I’m listening just please answer some of my pleas. Sure, I wasn’t asking for exactly this scenario (finding a money tree in my backyard was my preferred answer to prayers) but this was a moment that I felt God put someone in my path and I needed to live up to my promises.

I looked in my wallet and realized I only had a few 20’s, at least one of which I was heading into Target to spend on a new fitted sheet. I have ripped (right beneath where my shoulders hit the mattress) 2 sheets in as many weeks. I have no clue why this has started happening but apparently whatever I do in my sleep is aggressive, and sharp.

So, I realize I only have 20 dollar bills in my wallet. Shit. Ok God, I’m listening. I pull out a 20 and hand it to him. He breathes a huge sigh of relief and thanks and heads off to his car. I tell him good luck and hope his day gets better.

I know what the other people are thinking as they pass me into the store, “sucker!”. And I’m thinking it too. I realize that I have no clue what that 20 will actually be spent on. But I don’t care. Because….what if?

What if he really was stuck and couldn’t get to work and literally down to his last few pennies? What if his wife really was sick and he was the only breadwinner? What if he really had no safety net or family around to help him out of an embarrassing situation? What if?

Am I stressed as hell lately? Do I worry about my financial situation on a daily basis? Do I wonder how I’m going to make ends meet? Yes. But will I still be able to go inside and buy milk and a cheap sheet after giving him one of my last 20’s? Yes. Do I hope that if one day I’m stranded somewhere I find someone that helps me out? Hell yes.

Will giving this man money, when I have no idea if he really needed it for gas or not, make or break me? No.

Did I listen when God put someone ‘in my way’ and follow what he wanted me to do? I hope so.

(P.S. I left Target with 4 items, ALL. TIME. LOW!!!!)

Date Shmate!

October 1, 2014

I’ve never really done the dating thing. Being with someone from age 18 to 35 really cuts out the need for meeting potential mates and first dates and boring small talk. I used to say when I was married that I was so happy I wouldn’t have to ever do the “dating” thing again….OOPS!

I am nowhere near ready or willing to date. I have so much work to do on myself, inside and out (mostly out) before I can even entertain something like that. But I am a relationship-y person. I like having someone to be around, I like conversation and touch and comfort. So of course my brain has already moved towards maybe, one day, possibly, who knows, hopefully, sometime in the future having that again.

Lately I’ve realized a problem of a long relationship is habits are formed that might be ok in marriage but that will pretty much kill all my dating possibilities. Some of these habits are cute when you are a couple for years and years (or maybe they aren’t and that’s why my marriage is over….huh….).

Here are some things that I’ve realized will make any future relationships possibilities…impossible.

  • Running to the bathroom yelling “LACTOSE INTOLERAAAAAAAANCE!!!” (A lot of my randomness comes from movies or tv but I don’t use nearly enough popular quotes. So I just look crazy. Points if you know the movie reference to this one).

  • Forgetting I put makeup on (for once), rubbing my face and eyes and then yelling “Oh shit! I forgot I was trying to be a girl today!” (some things should be yelled internally only)

  • Following a burp (or quite honestly a fart too) I will look at the closest person and say “Yeah, I burped, jealous??” (double points if you know the tv reference)

  • Because I’m sure I snore. Super sexy right?

  • Because last night I woke myself up because I was spitting, very angrily on my pillow. You guys. I woke up SPITTING ON MY PILLOW! Not only is that incredibly unattractive (and crazy!), imagine if instead of my pillow it was a new boyfriend, now imagine if he would ever want to see me again?!?

  • The fact that I will randomly sing my responses when asked questions. I can blame this on being a mom and having to find fun new ways to get my kids attention but really I don’t know if that’s it. I just sing stuff sometimes.

  • The fact that I will randomly start singing Backyardigans songs because oh, did I mention? I’m a freaking single mom so not only will I be finding someone to date me they will be dating my kids (I really really hate when people say it like that) but you know what I mean. Imagine how hard it is as a single girl to find love, and double it by 2 insane little boys.

  • Because I really suck at being a girl. And I’m a mom of boys, so there’s no immediate daily need to demonstrate my womanly ways (ha!). When I dress up for a wedding or god forbid a date, I look just like when I was a kid and raided my mom's closet to play dress up. Clothes don’t fit (although nowadays the problem isn’t them being too big), I put on too many accessories and my make up looks like a person with Parkinson’s applied it in the dark.

  • I am the worst at flirting. When it’s happening I don’t realize it and when I’m apparently doing it I don’t know. I think I’m making a great new friend and they think I’m playing hard to get (case in point when I met my ex and I had no clue he liked me until he had to almost scream the actual words at me). My uncontrollable response to a compliment like “You look really pretty” is “No YOU look really pretty!” and then probably punching them in the arm.

  • Saying things like “I think I just peed a little bit” after I sneeze, or cough, or laugh, or stand up.

  • My sarcasm. Just trust me. Unless my next relationship is with Chandler Bing I’m screwed.

  • The insane amount of baggage I will bring along with me, for the rest of my life. I’m a single mom. The two most important men in my life right now are my sons. Good luck fitting a new love somewhere in my heart. I mean, sure, my heart is huge but that’s mostly because I’m very fat.

  • And being a single mom is freaking exhausting. How the hell do single moms find time for a new relationship when my days are jam packed with kid stuff, house stuff, work stuff, emotional stuff? And at night my best friends are my DVR and the ice cream that’s been hiding at the back of the freezer?

Suffice it to say I am not ready for another relationship. But a girl can dream (and then spit on her pillow)!

Driving in Cars With Kids

September 14, 2014

About half the week I have 4 kids. They weren’t all birthed from me, but they are in my possession (I believe God gives you the amount of kids you can handle and he knew to stop after 2). I’m tasked with loving them and keeping them alive. Being that the extra kids are related by blood it’s not that hard to do.

As with any amount of kids, some days are longer than others. If you are wondering what a car ride with 4 kids is like, wonder no more:

  • First, get all kids into the car. Seems simple right? Oh heavens no. For safety’s sake have them all enter through the same door. Realize that every single time it will be a fight for who gets into the car first. No matter what you say, and what makes sense, it’s the end of the world if you are the last kid to get in. Like, the end. Of the world.

  • Once in, the buckling bonanza starts. If you are lucky  you have an 8 year old that can help out a lot, although mine is easily distracted. Next week I’m testing for my black belt in wrangling hyper kids into car seats. It’s an art.

  • Once everyone is buckled the game of “Let’s ask the exhausted adult 10 billion questions in a mumbled whisper” begins. Feel your headache intensifying.

  • That game will lead to you turning up the music to drown them out….I mean to get them distracted with a fun song they can sing along to.

  • After they lose interest 30 seconds later, start playing “Who Can Be Quiet The Longest”, relish the full 60 seconds of silence you get during this game.

  • If you’re lucky, after that, one of them will do something so funny that everyone breaks out in laughter. Sweet, joyous laughter of children.

  • Which will always be followed by a scream and you having to remind them all that pulling hair is not allowed and kicking isn’t either (for being strapped down to within an inch of their lives it’s amazing how much reach they have)

  • Decide to distract them all with dinner from the nearest fast food joint. Try to correctly order all the food via drive-thru while all 4 kids break the “no talking for 2 minutes! please!” rule.

  • Try to start a conversation with the drive-thru attendant because, an adult! Get a weird look from her and awkwardly thank her for the food and drive away.

  • Sit at a red light and rub your eyes with both hands then realize you just changed a poopy diaper before leaving the house and totally forgot to wash your hands. Come to terms with the fact that you will most likely wake up with double pink eye in the morning.

  • Forget you turned the music up and only realize what song is playing when your oldest tells the other kids to be quiet because he wants to hear the song. Snap out of it and realize it’s Rage Against the Machine and he wants to hear the “Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me” part….

  • Spend the next few minutes explaining grown up words can only be used by grown ups and decide maybe the rest of the ride can be sans music. Listen to 4 kids singing 4 different songs at once and decide you’ll chance your music anyway.

  • Arrive at your destination and sit motionless in your car staring straight ahead until one of the kids asks if we are ever going to ever get out of the car ever?!?

  • With hands full of happy meals try to unbuckle kids from car seats that were clearly made by the devil.

  • Remind the kids for the zillionth time that whoever gets out of the car first is not the winner. In fact, it’s not a game at all so stop wrestling over the door handle. But if it was a game, Mom got out first so HA! Mom wins!

  • Realize that wasn’t the best way to handle the situation and demand that all the, now sulking, kids get up off the floor and get out of the car right now please, but if they want to live the rest of their lives inside the car that’s fine because the door is closing in 3…2….

So, the next time you see a woman driving with more than zero kids in her car, give her a hug. If she’s like me a hug from a stranger won’t be creepy at all. It will be just what she needs. But wait until she stops driving. Or you stop driving……Ok, look, I clearly didn’t think this one through. Maybe just send her a quick prayer for a day full of silence. Sweet, sweet silence.

I've Seen Fire And I've Seen A Flooded Basement

September 9, 2014

We’ve all had them. The days that make you just look up at the sky (because that’s where God lives, duh) and say “Really God? Really??” I just had a weekend like that.

First though, I was talking to a friend a few weeks back and lamenting how I just need a win. That if someone told me to literally climb a mountain and all my pain and heartache would ‘poof!’ disappear, I would do it without a second thought. Her suggestion was to find small goals instead. Finish those small goals, feel great about them, and let them snowball into bigger goals and bigger successes.

So, this weekend my boys were with their dad  and I decided it was a good time to do something I’ve been thinking about for a little while. If you know me, I tend to be dramatic sometimes (I know, shocker) and I love symbolism, like love it. I decided Friday night was a good time to burn my 10 year old wedding bouquet. I’ve had it for a decade, in a vase on a shelf gathering dust.

I felt this would be the perfect symbol of what I’m going through. A cleansing moment. Another step towards closure. And a definite little goal that I could count as a success. A baby-step success.

I set up the fire pit that was still sitting in it’s box in the garage. Grabbed the bouquet, matches, a shot of vodka (for me) a shot of kerosene (for the flowers) and a glass of water in case the dust covered deceased flowers decided to explode.

I sat in my dark back yard and took a deep breath. Ok God, I thought, this is going to mean something. This is big for me, to destroy something that was supposed to hold such wonderful and meaningful memories.

I poured some kerosene over the flowers and lit a match. And then about 6 more, it was a windy night. But I wasn’t going to let that stop my dramatic moment. Finally the match hit a mixture of the dried leaves and kerosene and went up in flames. Big ones. There aren’t a lot of fire pits on my block and with neighbors very close on every side I imagined one of them looking outside and thinking something was on fire and calling the fire department. Shit, this wasn’t what I was supposed to be thinking about while I was trying to have such a momentous moment. (Although, maybe I’d meet a cute fireman? No, back to task at hand). I decided to risk it and let the roses burn. Then I noticed my ankles start itching. Damn it, I forgot how much the mosquitos love me and how many there are in my backyard. Ok, it’s ok, keep staring at the burning symbol of a marriage that wasn’t worth working on. Yes, focus on your marriage and desires to still be married, going up in smoke. Let it burn up that part of my heart as well. Shit, another mosquito bite. Focus Sarah. I looked up to the sky to address God. “I’ve done it God, I showed you, myself and the universe that I know there is no going back. Just by burning these dead flowers, I’ve showed that I’m moving on. Please take note.”

The whole thing lasted no more than 5 minutes. I let out a sigh. Tried to soak in some more of the gravitas of the occasion and called it a night. But not before slathering my ankles in Cortizone 10. God damn moment ruining skeeters. They probably gave me west nile.

The next morning my parents were going to come over to help me purge, clean and organize my hoard of a basement. There had been some water in there the night before but it didn’t look like much and I assumed the recent rain had caused it, which it frequently does. But Saturday morning when I woke up and checked on the water it had grown (does water grow?). At least half a foot covered the whole basement and anything that was on the floor was absolutely soaking. I called my parents to tell them the clean up was off but now an emergency was on.

While I waited for them to come over I shot a glance at God. Really? This is happening now? I’m trying to get my life and my surroundings in order and THIS happens?

My parents rented a sump pump, my dad turned off the water to the house and we waited for the water to come down enough to figure out what the hell happened. As we waited, my parents (who can’t sit still to save their lives) started cleaning up my back yard. Then my brother came over and joined in. As the water was being pumped out of the basement we (and by we, I mean they) pruned, cleaned, weeded and swept my front and back yards. Because they are maniacs. And amazing. We (they) took a break and for the 3rd time in two days I looked up to the sky again. Ok God, what is it I’m not learning? When will it end? When will it change? If I could get a hint on why this will benefit me in the long run that would really help me hold on, (which I know defeats the purpose of faith but COME ON!) How are you going to use this for good? How are you going to get us out of this one?  I don’t believe that God punishes for past sins, but shit, I have a lot of past sins so it’s not a far stretch to think he’s getting in some retribution…

My Dad, ever the D. Min., looked at me and said “Maybe the lesson is just how we are going to react in this moment, rather than a long term reason”. And that’s it isn’t it? I am always trying to figure out how I’m going to survive something or when it’s going to get better or what the reason is for trials. Maybe it’s just God wanting to see how we react during the trial and not waiting for the trial to be done. I mean we all know that but in the midst of it, it’s hard to remember. We all forgot it on Saturday as we were stressing over all the work and mess and money involved.

Maybe that stupid broken water heater (which is what the reason turned out to be) and the ensuing clean up and headache will actually be another baby-step success for me. God has been continually reminding me this year how little I really rely on him. How little trust I really have in him. So maybe the trial isn’t how are we going to get a new water heater and how will I clean it all up, but instead it’s how much will I trust that God will take care of me, of us.

I need to remember that just like my marriage died a slow death due to disinterest, silence and depression my journey towards getting over heartbreak might be just as slow. But this time each step will be deliberate, celebrated and encouraging.

Goodbye Summer

September 2, 2014

I’m sitting here on the last night of summer, in a finally quiet home (a pre bedtime argument on whether or not ottomans were made for jumping on has made the quiet even sweeter).

When you have school age kids you no longer think of summer being over on the autumnal equinox or a new year starting on January 1st. The summer ends and a new year starts the day school begins.

All day I’ve been thinking of the summer we’ve just had. As a divorcee (I’ve decided saying it this way makes me sound more fancy and mysterious) there wasn’t money in the budget for vacations this summer. For the 2nd time in a row we had to make the hard decision that the yearly family vacation to the Outer Banks wasn’t going to be possible. Boy was there a tremendous amount of whining and foot stomping! When the boys finally talked me down from that tantrum we decided a family beach day to a closer beach was the best we would get this year.

Somehow everyone in the family was able to get a week day off and head down to the Jersey shore for a full day. I was hesitant because I know a Jersey beach will have almost nothing of what I love in an obx beach. There will be a lot of people, on and off the beach. And there isn’t a fun road trip to boost your anticipation. But, the day we had was perfect. Perfect!

There is just something about the beach that relaxes you. At least it does for all of us, simply put it was magical. The beach brings out the best in each of us, and this day wonderfully summed each of us up. As I lounged in my chair I listened to my kids play bocce ball with the family and it dawned on me how “us” we were being. My dad being his sports announcer self, giving play by play of each bocce ball move. My mom being her joyous “super oma” self. My siblings and their spouses all happy and loving the ocean. And the kids having the picture perfect day full of hole digging and shell collecting.

My boys shocked me as they played in the waves. They told me on the way down they weren’t going in the water and they’d screamed bloody murder the last time we had been near the ocean! Danger was diving over and under the waves and body surfing every wave he could back to shore. Little Lion scared the hell out of me as he tried and mostly failed to stand up as each wave hit him, tumbling down, waves smashing him right in the face, popping up and yelling “Is everyone ok?!?!?” with a huge smile on his face. Laughing their adorable little heads off.

Joy and laughter truly is good for the soul. I didn’t even mind the crowds on the beach or the crowds on the boardwalk as we made our way to find dinner at the end of the day. My children declared it the best day of summer and as I sit here and think about that day and our whole summer, I completely agree. And because of that wonderful summer day that forced us all to slow down and take a breath, because of that day, I see them. I see you Danger and Little Lion.

Danger, I see that you are an observer. Someone who has to sit back and watch and determine all outcomes before daring to do something. I see that sometimes you sit back and observe so much that you miss out on something you really wish that you had done. That day at the beach I saw you make a split decision to get out there, no matter what your inner observer was saying, and it served you well. You were so alive and and amazing and I love to see you laugh at something that normally would scare you.

Little, I see that you are a wild and hilarious little maniac. You can have fun absolutely anywhere. You act first and think later and that day it served you well. You attacked those waves as if you’d been in the ocean a million times before. You found strangers to talk to (albeit awkwardly) and kept us all laughing with your infectious joy.

We were us that day. And it made my summer. I am praying, on this last lazy night, that the feeling we had that day carries on into this new year ahead of us. That as the days get more hectic and full and scheduled, I still take time to hear the waves and squeals of laughter and continually see my boys for the wonderful little ‘stinks’ that they are.

This summer might not have been what we would have dreamed up if money and jobs weren’t an issue. I might not have done all the crafts and projects I thought I should do to make it a “worthwhile” summer. There weren’t many grand adventures and trips. But somehow, I’m ok with that. We survived, we had fun, we were family.

Solo Pool Time

August 6, 2014

It’s the middle of summer and the boys are with their father for 9 days. So here I am with almost half of the week with nothing to do. So off to the local pool I go…alone!

Here is what I consider the pros and cons of a mom going to the pool alone.

Pros:

1) Alone time!!!! Sweet blissful alone time! I can sit far away from the baby pool and watch the moms chasing their crappy little rug-rats around the pool and smile smugly to myself, and I do.

2) I can go into the lap pool during “adult only” swim time. Random children aren’t jumping on me or bumping into me. Just me, floating.

3) I don’t have to worry about small talk with other mom’s as our kids play near each other. I’m really good at the small talk but it’s fucking exhausting.

4) I can get a tan! An ‘on purpose, laying in the sun’ tan. Not the half body tan you get from sitting in the baby pool playing “let’s dump water on Mom!”

5) It’s cheap! I don’t have to lug a bag of snacks along from home only to spend an extra $20 at the snack-bar on food deemed more delicious than my snacks.

6) I saunter in with my beach chair and one bag, not packed so full the seams are about to burst. I don’t need a bag full of snacks, toys, blanket and then more chairs. I practically have a skip in my step (not really, I can’t skip)

7) I can bring a book. And music! I can sit for as long as I want with my headphones in and a book in my lap. It’s the most reading I’ve done in years.

8) I can sneak in booze! If I wanted to, I mean I would never, ever do that. Obviously.

Cons:

1) Alone time. I know I know, I can’t complain about something I also consider a pro. But after 5 hours I get a little bored with my own thoughts and wouldn’t mind my kid asking me for the 1 millionth time why he can’t swim naked. After a few hours I just turn into that weird lady that sits at the pool staring at everyone a little too long. Thank God for sunglasses.

2) I have to run the old lady gauntlet to get into the lap pool at adult swim. For some reason they all just stand in the shallow end, directly in front of the stairs. They talk loudly and they do not hear you when you say “excuse me!”. I don’t want to push an old lady out of the way, but…I’ll push a bitch. And once I’m in I have to listen to the conversations of said old ladies. I’ve learned a lot about which son remembers his mom's birthday, which cat has diabetes and who’s going to the doctor next and for what.

3) Without my kids at the pool I don’t get to catch Little Lion at the bottom of the slide. He has just mastered this thanks to a PuddleJumper (best kid floatie ever!!) and a severe need to be able to do anything his big brother does. I love treading water at the bottom of the slide ready to catch Little as he flies out of the slide with the biggest smile on his face I’ve ever seen. Then we wait and cheer on Danger. I could do it all day.

4) Although I hate other people’s shitty kids jumping around me, I love it when my kids do. Counting down for cannonballs and letting them dunk me is what pools are all about.

5) Without my kids there’s no excuse to eat ice cream. If I eat ice cream alone I’m the sad fat chick who’s devouring a King Cone solo. But with my boys there I’m just a mom enjoying an ice cream with her kids.

6) When I take the sleeve off my book (which I swear I only did because it’s bright yellow and bees kept trying to check it out) I look like a woman trying to read 50 Shades of Grey in public. If my kids are with me I obviously have no time for a book or such judgement. (Plus, give me some credit, I read 50 Shades on kindle in public, I’m not an idiot).

Wasn't That Marvel-ous?

July 25, 2014

Yesterday was my birthday. And as parents so often do, I spent it with my kids doing kid things.

A few months ago I had come across an advertisement for a Live Marvel show coming to town. I toyed with the idea of surprising the boys with tickets but our activities need to stay on the cheaper side and the tickets just weren’t in the budget. I was glad I hadn’t told the boys about it.

Then a friend of mine offered me her free comped tickets this week! I was pumped. I told the boys about it yesterday morning. I said that we were going to a real live Marvel Universe show where we would see all of their favorite Marvel superheroes doing superhero-y stuff, in person! There wasn’t much on the web that showed exactly what the show would be about so they were kind of confused but still excited. Danger was the most excited, Little Lion was confused but he loves superheroes and if his brother was excited then so was he.

We got ready and the boys picked out their favorite Marvel t-shirts to wear. Everything was going so smoothly. We arrived on time, got rock star parking, picked up the tickets, and entered right where the food, bathroom and escalator to our seats were located. I was so proud of myself.

Of course they bombard you with all the gear that every kid just HAS to have. All of which I explained to my kids we couldn’t buy right now. I wasn’t about to spend $15 dollars on a bag of cotton candy that had a cheap plastic Captain America mask attached to it. I did spend money on the way overpriced food (next time I’m sneaking food in. Mommy fail.)

We get to our seats in the Mezzanine and we are 3rd row right in front of the “stage”, great view! Although the arena didn’t fill up there were still tons of families all waiting excitedly with a few middle aged “comic book” dudes sprinkled throughout. We had overheard from the man selling programs at the entrance that this show has 29 tractor trailers to hold all of the gear for the set, while a normal arena band travels with 8-10 trailers. And it showed, the stage was huge and amazing.

We  had only a few minutes to kill before the show started so I used it to explain some more to Little Lion about what was going to happen. There would be lights and loud bangs and maybe some fire and I kept it all very upbeat saying, “Isn’t this going to be awesome??”

Little Lion does not do well with loud noises. At the July 4th fireworks he spent the whole time on my mom's lap hiding his face while she covered his ears. He also REALLY doesn’t like when seemingly “good” things change into bad things. He hates the bad minions in Despicable Me 2 and although he likes Hulk if he sees Bruce Banner change into the Hulk he goes bat shit crazy.

I could tell he was nervous so I let him know he could sit on my lap but he told me he wanted to sit in his seat and then told me to not even touch him (jerk!).

The show started and I could feel the excitement buzzing out of Danger, he was in heaven.

Within the first 30 seconds a loud flash-bang type firework goes off and Little Lion practically flew out of his seat. Before I knew it he was on my lap trying to hide under my skin. He was screaming and crying and telling me he wanted to go home. Actually it was more like “I WANT TO GO HOME I WANT TO GO HOME LET’S LEAVE PLEASE LET’S LEAVE I’M GOING TO POOP I THINK I HAVE TO POOP I THINK I HAVE TO POOP PLEASE LET’S LEAVE THIS IS HORRIBLE!!!!”

I held him on my lap and covered his ears and spoke into his ear “We can’t leave, we aren’t allowed to leave, please stop screaming, I promise nothing will happen to you, it’s just noises, it’s just people dressed up in costumes, it’s not real, it’s just pretend, it’s going to be ok” and on and on.

The screaming and pleading went on for a few minutes but it felt like forever. He asked if we could just sneak out, since we “weren’t allowed” to leave. I contemplated leaving and imagined what that would mean for the very very happy 8 year old sitting next to me, so enamored with the show already that he barely noticed his brother's screams. Why didn’t I see this coming?? Why hadn’t I invested in the huge noise canceling headphones for kids?

Eventually he calmed down and I spent the next 2 hrs holding him like a baby while digging my fingers in his ears as he squeezed his eyes shut. For 2 hours. If I let up my fingers just a tiny bit he would yell at me. If I asked him to open his eyes just for one second and see the show he yelled at me. No matter how many times I told him how cool it was or that Thor was now fighting Rhino or that Captain America was doing tricks on a motorcycle he yelled at me and kept his eyes squeezed shut. I pray he fights off all peer pressure in his teen years as well as he fought off my pleas last night.

The show is definitely geared more towards kids than adults. Puns galore (like so so many…) and it had an almost Power Rangers feel to it because the actors are acting out the lines that are played on a soundtrack so they gesticulate more than anyone really would in normal life and I noticed far too many times where the action and special effects didn’t match up with the actors movements. But the kids would never care or probably even notice any of it because one, they are kids and two, there was so much going on all at once for them to notice smaller details like that. Although the Lizard costume was way ridiculous and cheesy. And I thought the Hulk costume was a bit silly but you should have heard the kids cheer when he made his entrance! The fight Wolverine had with some henchmen was on point and pretty cool, as were all the stunts that Captain America and Red Skull did on their motorbikes. But I digress.

During intermission when the lights came up and people milled about he would not let me remove my fingers from his ears or open his eyes. He reached an almost zen like meditative state where a few times I thought he might have fallen asleep but if I adjusted my body even the slightest bit he would remind me quite harshly to not move a muscle. I even spent way too much on a plastic sword (telling the boys they would have to share it….hahahaa!!) to bribe him into opening his eyes. It didn’t work.

Finally, during the last 2 minutes of the show when everyone is taking their bows and doing their last flips I got him to open his eyes. He couldn’t stop staring. Then it was all over. And he rebounds like no kid I’ve ever seen. As soon as he knew it was done he was fine. Laughing and telling me how much he liked it. WHAT?!?!

All in all we had a blast and I’m so glad we didn’t leave early. Even if the people around us probably weren’t feeling the same way.

The Do's & Dont's Of Your Friends Divorce

July 19, 2014

Do you have a friend or family member going through The Big D? No, not Decomposing (although….).

I’m talking about Divorce.

If you do then here is a list of things to say, or not to say, to your friend in the months (years) ahead.

1) Never say It will get better/in the long run this is better for you/eventually it will be okay.

None of these are words that mean anything to someone going through a break up of a marriage. Your friend is concerned about the here and now. The “short run” not the long run. Right now, it sucks. Right now, there is immeasurable pain. Telling your friend that eventually they will feel normal again is little to no consolation.

2) Always say It will get better/in the long run this is better for you/eventually it will be okay.

As a friend, especially one that hasn’t gone through a divorce, there isn’t much else for you to say and you really just want to make your friend feel better. They will need reminding that life goes on and they will get over this. Even if they stare daggers at you any time you remind them of this. Keep saying it, it’s ok.

3) Don’t say I’m so jealous of the time you have alone!

Think about the reason your friend is without her kids.  She now shares custody with someone she thought she was going to parent with, under the same roof, for the rest of their lives. Your friend has time alone now but she misses her kids the minute they leave and can’t wait to get them back. Her life for those few days are lonely and far too quiet. Which means she has far too much time alone with her thoughts. You might be jealous of her time alone because you can’t imagine how it feels to take a dump in peace but remember how jealous she is of your still intact family.

4) Go ahead and tell your friend you are jealous of her time alone.

Your friend, also being a mom, will totally understand your need for alone time and the almost impossible reality of making it happen. She will actually enjoy some of that alone time eventually. Going to the pool without dragging along 3 bags and 3 chairs and 2 sweaty kids does kind of kick ass. Just know that her enjoying that alone time comes with a heavy burden too.

5) Don’t say your kids will be fine

How do you know that? Can you guarantee her that her kids won’t have severe emotional and attachment issues when they are older? Can you promise that they won’t have trouble trusting someone in a relationship after they see what can happen to their mom and dad? No one can promise this. It’s little comfort to someone that spends most of her time worrying about her kids even on a “good” day. Just let her know that you will be there if or when her kids blame everything that happened on her.

6) Do say your kids will be fine

By saying this you are reminding your friend that you trust her parenting abilities. You know that she is as a good a mom as she can be and that is all her kids will need to survive and to thrive.

7) Don’t pretend like it’s not happening.

It’s happening. And it’s not normal, your friend doesn’t care what the statistics are, it’s not normal. Pretending it’s not happening doesn’t mean your friend isn’t thinking about it. Almost all the time. Not saying anything about it just makes your friend think you don’t care.

8) Do pretend like it’s not happening.

It’s ok, your friend is sick of talking about it too. And she knows that there is more to life than what is going on right now. She is probably fine talking about anything but the divorce for a little while.

9) Don’t ask “How are you doing?”

It’s too vague of a question, and you both know how your friend is doing. Shitty. Be more detailed with your question. Ask how the kids have been handling it. Ask what the latest is with mediation or court dates. Ask what she needs prayer for. Being specific shows you care.

10) Do ask “How are you doing?”

If you are at a loss for words, or don’t want to seem like you are prying, asking “How are you?” is fine. It shows you are thinking of your friend and want to know what her emotional state is without getting too personal. Just don’t be surprised if she answers you honestly with more emotion and information than you expected. Don’t worry if she starts crying, you might have caught her right after she heard “their song” in the doctor's office waiting room, and the grocery store, and the bank…(seriously, how can a barely good song released 18 years ago get SO much play?!?!). So don’t ask that question unless you are prepared for more than “fine!” in response.

11) Don’t defend him.

Even if you are right to defend him in certain situations this will almost always result in violence. You’ve been warned.

12) Do defend him…

No….just don’t. Your friend might have said she doesn’t want you stuck in the middle of two friendships but it’s not true. Pick a side. She might have said that didn’t matter to her in the beginning but fuck it, it does. Pick one. All divorced couples lose friends in the process, if you plan on being one of those lost friends tell your friend right away so she can move on.

13) Do check up on your friend

Your friend will probably not unload all her emotions on you the minute she has them. Or she will want to but will feel bad texting you at random times to tell you how sad she is. So check in on her when you think of her. She might need the lifeline that your check in will bring.

14) Don’t check up on your friend

Nope. Always touch base with her and remind her that you are her friend in good times and bad.

And the final rule is…there obviously are no rules at all. Just be there and do your best to be her friend. It might take more than normal strength to be a friend to someone going through a divorce, at least for a little while. But trust me, she will need you to be around. If you can’t be a friend to her, bow out now….but please don’t.

The Most Fragile Thing In The World

July 8, 2014

Frag-ile [fraj–uhl; British fraj-ahyl]
adjective
easily broken, shattered, or damaged; delicate; brittle; frail.

I have learned what the most fragile thing in the world is. And it’s not an object.

Family is the most fragile thing in our world.

We assume that a family is what it is. Either because it exists outside of our choice, you can’t choose who you are born to or with. Or because we have made a decision, a vow, to create a new family and keep it that way forever.

Neither of these are written in stone. Yet we don’t treat family with kid gloves. We don’t realize that once it’s broken it will take an amazing amount of work to fix it, if ever.

Whether it’s losing a dad far too young, or a parent leaving a marriage/family, or siblings choosing to end their relationship. All of these can break a family into a million pieces. Sometimes they are possible to repair but always forever changed.

We don’t take our familial relationships nearly as seriously as we should. We don’t live with the realization that the family we are born into and the family we create is a gift. An amazing living structure that needs our attention, care and love.

There are plenty of phrases thrown around about “living like today is your last day on earth”, not often enough are we reminded to live our lives as if it’s the last day our families will be whole. What would you do if you knew tomorrow your family would face hardship? Or a tragedy? That’s how we should love. That’s how we should parent.

That doesn’t mean I need to become an anxious mom that assumes something awful could happen any second.  Or become a party mom and throw rules and punishments out the window. I still want to raise my boys to be polite, sympathetic, stable men. But I also want them to know how very much I cherish them. They are the best gifts I’ve ever been given, and the only gifts that ever came with this much responsibility. And I will love them and raise them as the treasures they are. I will be aware that they are fragile. That this life is fragile.

The same goes for my family. We can’t take our parents, siblings or relatives for granted. We aren’t an immovable boulder that will remain as stable and constant as we assume it should. I don’t want to leave anything unsaid. I want my family to know how much I appreciate and love them. Everything can change in an instant, why do we keep our love for one another to ourselves? Why do we tell ourselves “well, they know how I feel”?

Luckily I believe humans are amazingly resilient. Hardships and tragedies are not a death sentence to the families involved. It’s a hurdle. It’s a road block that will probably take more work than we think we can handle to get back on track. And when you get back to traveling on the new road that is your life, it will look different. It might have more potholes, or steeper hills than you had imagined for yourself, but that doesn’t mean it’s insurmountable.

I will fuck up all of these wonderful epiphanies daily (if not hourly) but I will remind myself daily (if not hourly) who and what is important (hint: it’s not me first). I will treat my family and the day ahead of me with happiness and love and that is exactly what will come back to me.

You've Got A Friend In Pennsylvania!

June 17, 2014

I said something to myself on a little road trip that I took by myself this week. On the drive back home I saw the big “Pennsylvania Welcomes You” sign and said out loud “I’m glad I live in Pennsylvania”….then my jaw dropped to the floor of my car (which it has no place being because I have kids, my car is filthy. Not to mention all the safety issues).

It shocked me so much because I wasn’t even aware that I felt this way until the words came out of my mouth. I’ve lived in Pennsylvania for almost 19 years. You’d think I would have made a decision one way or the other by now.

But it wasn’t my choice to come here. I grew up in Amsterdam. What? Amsterdam you say? Isn’t that the most amazing city in the whole entire world? Yes, yes it is. And I lived my whole life there, (minus a year outside Chicago and 6 months here or there in Europe) up to almost 17 years old (that ‘almost’ really counts, it just sounds better than saying 16. Let me have this ok?). My parents were missionaries there for 21 years. We left rather suddenly. I’m sure there was a lot of thought that went into it on my parents end but I was a teenager that had no say in if I stayed or left, so for me it was sudden. I didn’t want to move. At all. But it was time to go and off we went.

I packed a lot of living into those “almost 17” years. I felt like a grown up. I had memories attached to almost every single cobble-stoned street in that city. I was a part of that city and it was a part of me. To move to a country that was technically in my dna but not in any part of my soul was the absolute worst thing I could have thought up at the time.

When we moved here my teen angst doubled, or probably tripled. Not only was I your typical miserable teenager, I also hated my new life. I swore to my parents that the second I turned 18 I would be on the first plane back home. But I never was.

At 18 I met my future husband. I met amazing friends, that thought like me. I had adventures and experiences and before I knew it I was married, had 2 kids, bought and sold a house, and found myself single again. I might not be able to walk around this town and see the sidewalk where I had my first kiss or the bus my sister and I took home the night I first got drunk or the canal that the drunk was pulled out of. But I’ve spent almost half my life here now so I have just as many memories in this place. Just different ones. Like, that’s the wawa where we would all hang out when we were too young to go to bars but didn’t want to go home yet. Or that’s the church that I got married in. Or that’s the hospital my second son was born in.

Throughout all the years “stateside” I’ve stayed fiercely loyal to Holland. Some might say a little too much (Een beetje te), I will shout from the mountain tops that I’m Dutch and proud of it and if anyone messes with Holland I’m the first to step in and set them straight. Something my friends like to do on purpose just to see me get riled up. I see now that I have many fierce loyalties to this place too. I love the town I live in now. I bleed Eagles green and I always root for the home team. If someone talks shit on Philly I will be the first, or rather third person probably, to step in and set them straight.

And I have 2 sons who are growing up here. They are making their childhood memories here and I don’t want to be so focused on a place that I miss, that I deem better than here, that I miss being involved in their memories. They might not be the same kinds of memories I had as a kid (mostly in part to strict drinking and drugging laws in this country…thank god) but they’ll be fantastic ones that they will cherish. July 4th fireworks, eating watermelon on a hot summer day, snow days and blizzards, vacations to a beach with huge waves, trick-or-treating, taking a school bus to school, Thanksgiving, Memorial Day parades, all things that I didn’t grow up with.

No, I didn’t come to this country or state or town by choice but I’ve made a choice to make a life here. And I intend on living it to the fullest.

Excuse Me Sir, You Can't Park Your Van On The Diving Board...

June 10, 2014

….This line from Family Guy always pops in my head at the beginning of the summer (google it). And this year was no exception as yet another 9 months have gone by without me losing enough weight to feel even semi decent getting half naked in front of….anyone.

I recently read this blog post by Harmony Hobbs on Scary Mommy and couldn’t agree more. But summers are hard. I’m not just mildly lumpy, I’m not just dealing with a few stretch marks, nor am I the mom that just needs to lose the last few pounds of baby weight. I’m F-A-T, fat. The kind where I need to lose probably half my body weight to be a “normal” skinny human. Yup.

Yesterday we went to the pool for the first of many visits this summer. So, as much as I agree with Harmony’s post I had trouble applying it to myself as I wiggled into my all black, super unflattering one piece, with skirt attached of course. My boys are water babies and as much as I avoid attention to my body, I am too, I’ve always loved swimming. In theory I love being at the pool or beach, picnics in the sun and splashing in the water is a great way to spend a summer day.

Sure we can all convince ourselves that people really don’t pay us as much mind as we think they do…but what if they do? What if the way the one lifeguard twirls her whistle and smacks her gum is code for “Look out other lifeguards, pale fatty mcbutterpants on deck!” Yes, this is stuff that I actually think about. And you can’t prove it’s not happening.

I try to wear my fat well, I try to be confident and unapologetic but the truth is I am just really really good at pretending. Like Meryl Streep good. Most of the time I want to say sorry to the people I’m with that they have to be with me. I’m sorry I’m not a plain 120 pound face in the crowd. I’m sorry that on top of being fat I’m also loud and silly. If there was a contest that involved not drawing attention to yourself I would lose. Loudly.

We have a large Orthodox Jewish community in my town and a lot of them attend the pool. The women swim in long sleeved swim dresses and I admit that I’ve considered pretending to be an Orthodox Jew just so I could show less flesh but then I figured there was probably some major sin involved in me doing that. Or at very least, a major insult.

There is a reason they say you don’t have a second chance at a first impression. Because while I’m standing in a bathing suit with my patchy tan/burn lines, my never-ending cellulite, my “is she or isn’t she pregnant?” belly and my freckle mustache that John Waters would be jealous of….no one can tell that I’m a nice person, or that I’m funny or that I’m a world class reader of bedtime stories. Sure, what people think of you doesn’t really matter, but what they see on the outside is what they will form opinions on. We all do it.

I’m sure Danger has already seen the difference between me and his friends moms. He’s at the age where making fun of people that are different is a popular way to pass time in the cafeteria (we’ve had plenty of talks about how I feel about that. trust.) I know it’s only a matter of time (if it hasn’t happened already) where a friend brings up my weight to him.

So yes, I will keep working on losing weight for my kids, I want them to not only be proud of me but I want them to see how important exercise and eating healthy is as they grow up (but that’s a topic for another day and another blog post).

Bottom line is, I will still be fat this summer, but that won’t stop me from taking my boys to the pool and splashing and playing and laughing with them. I’ll let other people see the fat chick with tan arms and shoulders but pale as a ghost legs (they are always in shadow!) and I will let them think what they may and then maybe if I’m lucky, leave them wondering why I’m fat AND so happy. And it’s because I want my boys to remember these summers as times they had a blast with their mom, and nothing else. While I’m still the most important person in their lives I will make it worth all our while. But one thing I will do differently is next pool day I’ll look at the suit I’m putting on. Yesterday I didn’t notice, until taking it off at home, that the suit I wore all afternoon was so worn and weathered most of the back of the suit was pretty much see-through…for fricks sake…