Sometimes you can even see the angels...

“Friends are angels who lift our feet when our own wings have trouble remembering how to fly.” ~Unknown 

  End of the month.  What a crappy couple of months it has been.  Probably the worst I’ve had in a long time.  At least since before the divorce.    That’s a time I don’t even like to think about.  I was a different person back then.  I am a different person today than I was two months ago.  Not sure if it’s for the better yet.  I was definitely hammered and melted down and reformed several times just as the brass is here at work.  I was an ugly mess.  I still need some polishing, but I’m getting there.

 What a difference a week has made.  Closure.  Knowing that I can’t do anything to change your mind is helping me to move on.  You feel that you were the only one putting any effort into the relationship (really???) and that I didn’t have enough time for you (single mom with a full time job???).  I won’t convince you to change your heart and I can't change my situation.  I deserve better than that.

  Don’t get me wrong – I still love you.  I can’t seem to throw that away.  But I’m letting it go.  Praying a lot.  And I’ve had help with that.  I have some very incredible people in my life.  Some old friends who have stuck by me through thick and thin.  Some newer that are equally as special to me.  And some very new.  Beautiful angels placed in my path letting me know God is definitely watching out for me.  He wants the best for me and wants me to be happy.  And is telling me that this isn't my fault and maybe it's not me who is being punished.  Maybe he has much bigger plans for me so I need to change my path.  It never ceases to amaze me the messages God sends and who he sends them through if I am just willing to listen.

  Breathe.  That is what’s on my post-it on my computer.  I’ve added patience and listening to it.  Now trust and no expectations = no disappointment.  Maybe my only fault that I expected so much and you weren’t able to deliver on it.  So I’m trying to take it one day at a time.  One step at a time.  Remembering what is now in indelible ink on my foot so I'll never forget.  Not imagine and daydream of how it might be.  Just enjoy it for what it is now.

  I’m not able to dream yet.  I need something solid to stand on.  When I find that, maybe I can look forward again.  It’s still about today.  About making it from break to break.  I don’t even want to plan next week let alone next month because I’m afraid of what it will hold (or won’t hold).  And I can’t afford to slip backwards into that darkness again.

  For now it’s repairing my relationship with God.  Strengthening my relationship with my children.  We have definitely all hurt and grown from this.  And repairing my relationship with myself.  Learning to trust myself again.  To have faith in my judgement.  To trust that I can love again.  Even more importantly that I can be loved again and there are many people out there that love me unconditionally.  Especially when I didn’t love myself.  Building and rebuilding ties with the beautiful people who have stayed.  God has sent many angels to surround me and protect me.  Sometimes you can even see those angels. 

  So here's a thank you to my angels.  You know who you are and I hope you realize how incredibly special you are to me.  I will never be able to thank you enough for loving me and standing by me when I couldn't stand myself.  For lifting my feet when I couldn't feel my wings.  For showing me I could fly again...

Almost time

“You can't change the past, but you can ruin the present by worrying about the future” ~Unknown

Wow.  Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Now that I re-read this I'm mad that I didn't realize it was coming.  But he did.  And now it's done...

January 14th.  It's almost time.  I can feel it now.  The end is approaching.  I don't know when but it's coming.  And I don't think I am dreading it as much as I thought.  
I love this man.  Truly.  Deeply.  And it will hurt a lot when this happens.  But I've learned to love myself.  I don't know if this pulls away from getting too close to someone.  I know this time I've held back a little.  After you've had your heart shattered it's tough to completely open it again.  I made the decision not to hold myself back from love.  But I don't know if I will ever leave myself that vulnerable again.  
I can tell that their has been a shift.  Phone calls have been more brief.  Date nights have been fewer and further between.  I know we have both been busy and tired, but we've settled into being an old married couple.  He doesn't talk as much about marriage any more and he's the one who brought it up in the first place.  
But I want to be an old married couple.  I just wanted to be married when we got to that point.  Now I think it's just comfortable.  I don't know if I've been acting different or pulling back because I'm anticipating the end.  
I'm not saying anything though.  I don't want to make a problem if there isn't one and I don't want to be the nagging girlfriend.  
I think the busy "soccer mom" with three kids was more than he bargained for.  It sounded good that our kids were closer in age.  But his are closer to college and we still have another 10 years before we get there.  He is ready to settle down and start preparing for retirement.  I'm not there yet.  I've got a lot of life left to live.
I wonder if trying to get fit has caused this shift.  I love the way he looks and I know he is ok with my current shape.  But I'm doing this so I can still be active 20-30 years from now.  I don't know if he gets that.  
So I'm still waiting.  I won't be posting these until after it happens, so if you are seeing this, the time came and went.
 

How to Prepare for a Broken Heart

We often try to prepare ourselves for major events in our lives - graduations, weddings, parenthood, etc.  We might condition parts of our bodies such as our brains for learning, our lungs for running a race, our muscles to carry heavy loads.  But how does one condition a heart to be broken?  

The first thing one must understand is that there are two parts to a broken heart - the physical organ and the shattering of the soul.  The organ itself is an amazing object.  It draws blood into itself and pumps it back out to every vein in your body.  It supplies blood with oxygen and helps to clean out the bad stuff.  Without it we would die.  Doctors have discovered many ways of repairing this ball of tissue and vessels to keep us alive.

Then there's the soul part of it.  The mystical thing we tie to this life-giving muscle.  The part that separates us from other animals.  The part that makes us who we are.  The part that actually breaks.  The part that doctors can't fix.  Only God can repair this half of the puzzle.  

We can condition the physical part of the heart by working out.  We can prepare ourselves for battle.  But the only thing we can do for the soul side is build lots and lots of imaginary walls around it.  Walls that keep us from getting hurt (or so we tell ourselves).  Walls that keep us from giving all that we are so we don't get hurt (and in the end makes us the cause of our own pain).  There's no way to exercise it.  No matter how many times we are let down or have our "hearts broken".  

What can you do when you really know you are in for a killer of a broken heart?  Our first instinct is to withdraw into ourselves.  Hide in our shell and wait for the blast to come.  The problem with this tactic is that it shields us from seeing what good might be around us.  It's not a one-way mirror.  

How about pushing the issue and bringing it to a head so you can deal with it on your own terms?  Perhaps a better idea, but only if you are absolutely sure of all of the variables.  Did you read all of the signs correctly or are you filling in the blanks from your own fear.  If you get this wrong, you have just ended a perfectly good relationship.

Or do you just wait?  Wait for the inevitable.  Not knowing the time or place, but knowing all of the signs are pointing to that one moment - the moment you know that again you are simply not the right person.  All of the time and effort you invested in this relationship is wasted.  All of your hopes and dreams thrown away.  All of your self-confidence shredded.  Because you're not good enough - again.  No amount of woman's lib can fix this one.  It will be a long time before you can trust the person you are is good enough.  

 For me - I'm in between waiting and pushing it forward.  I'll know the answer soon enough either way.  The ending - no matter what the subject - will always be bittersweet.

That moment when...

(I wrote this March of 2012.  I knew then even though I was afraid to say it)

Don't you hate that moment.  The moment when you know.  Beyond a shadow of a doubt.  That it's over.  Before they even realize it themselves.

It's like you're on the outside looking in.  Reading a novel.  Knowing what is just around the corner but the characters can't see it.  Scanning ahead quickly so you can get past the inevitable.

I saw it in your eyes that night after Cub Scouts.  It was a tough night.  But I walked out of the meeting and just knew.  I felt every bit of the frustration you tried to mask.  I mean, taking on three kids and an overworked soccer mom is a lot to ask for.  I knew at that point it was just too much.

But you stayed.  At least together.  You left for the night and I broke down in tears.  Because I knew.  I knew at that moment the tide had shifted.  You just didn't realize it yet.

Because I love my children more than life itself.  And I can't fix them.  They are who they are and what they are regardless of my interference.  And I am who I am in spite of trying to re-invent myself.

And I heard it in your voice today.  Well, not today because I won't be posting this blog just yet.  Today being March 5th.  Just barely less than a year from when we met.  But soon it will be yesterday.  I'll wait until you figure it out.  Until then I'll wait.

Because I know my heart will shatter again when you do.  And you will hesitate to tell me because I know you still care.  It's just too much.  You will tear yourself up inside trying to figure out the right time to tell me.  How to tell me without admitting the real reason why.

So for now I will be still.  On edge knowing that the time is coming.  Never knowing when the words will come spilling out.  Writing this now because I can hold back the tears (barely).  I won't be able to then. 

Did you beat yourself up today?

"The only hard part is the waiting around and getting yourself back up to wrestle another match."~Mike Campbell

Yesterday I forgot my sons' Parent-Teacher conference.  Yeah - that was bad enough.  But it was the annual 504 review to extend the assistance he receives.  And I didn't remember it until 12:30 in the morning. I was still fighting to get Jacob to go to sleep.  I had a thought to e-mail his teacher that he would probably be tired and then the sinking feeling hit the pit of my stomach.

It was a pretty bad Supermom day anyways.  Kiara got a D in Science, so I was trying to help her study for her test.  When I say study, I mean pulling teeth to convince this child that she didn't know the subject matter as well as she thought.  I persevered through attitude and rolled eyes and other pre-teen protests until she flat out fell asleep on the couch.  So much for that child.

Child #2 also fell asleep and woke up not only on the wrong side of the bed, she woke up in an altered universe.  Hormonal is not even close to describing how Brianna woke up.  Poor Jacob.  Between the two sisters, he is swimming in Estrogen and attitude!

Went to karate testing.  Got my next belt despite the knockouts that happened there.  One step away from black belt now.  This was the only good thing that happened.

After karate, I send everyone for showers and bed.  That's when the real trouble started.  They refused to go to sleep.  You can make them go to bed, but you can't make them sleep (at least not legally anyways).  After fighting with them for 30 minutes - and they had already gone to sleep later than their normal bedtime - I told them that ice cream after their karate testing the next day was out.  Jacob fell out.  He threw a fit for another 30 minutes.  As I've said before, he has an extreme persistance that could drive Mother Theresa to drink. 

I finally made him come downstairs so his sisters (note: Science test tomorrow and already sleep-deprived) could get some rest.  He had a look on his face that would melt the coldest of hearts.  He said simply "I'm sorry Mommy."  And those three words spoke more than you can imagine.  It was more than he was just sorry for being up still.  He was sorry for having this crappy disease that drives me insane.  Sorry for putting me and his sisters through this suffering.  Sorry for being who he is.

So, now back to the top of this blog.  To beat myself up.  I'm sitting on my couch, thinking that I should e-mail his teacher.  Holding my child as he holds me just as tightly and we console each other.  Because neither one of us will ever be what we should be but so much more than we could ever have expected.  And we will continue to fight.  And beat ourselves up...

I am a doormat

"There is a delicate balance of putting yourself last and not being a doormat and thinking of yourself first and not coming off as selfish, arrogant or bossy. We spend the majority of our lives attempting to perfect this balance."
— Cindy L. Teachey

Today I have to call a vendor (again) and tell them that their machine is crap and to take it back.  I know that's not going to happen because we already paid for the machine.  But it's the principal of the matter.  We got this machine in, it doesn't do what it's supposed to do consistently and they need to take care of it.  Unfortunately I have to prove the machine is broken in order to get someone to make a service call.

And that's where the problem begins.  I have to argue our position.  I am not a born debater.  I'll fight to the death if I think I'm right, but finding the words sometimes becomes a problem.  At least until I get so pissed that I can see red.  Then I go into full battle mode.  Otherwise I shrink back and settle.

I don't know when I became a doormat.  Was I born this way or have people beat me down enough in life that took me to this place?  The verbal and emotional abuse I endured had to contribute to this condition.  But I had to be vulnerable to even start accepting that treatment.  And I fall so easily back into that groove.  And then I get frustrated at myself for letting it happen.

I'm lucky to be in a relationship now with someone who would never treat me as less than an equal.  But he's only one person.  The world can be a tough place if you can't stand up for yourself.  Especially in a man's world like manufacturing.  There are some great people out there, but right behind them is another that would steal candy from a baby. 

So, today I am pissed.   At the people in my past that have made me more of a doormat than I should be.  At the vendor causing me to work through lunch again.  Mainly for allowing myself to struggle so much with something that should be cut and dry. 

30 days and counting...oh hell...

This post title is actually 100 60 30 days and counting... but Blogspot won't let me edit font.  So much for technology.

"How soon 'not now' becomes never." ~Martin Luther

I started writing a blog post around 70 days or so ago.  You see, I did a crazy thing.  When I say crazy, I mean insane, loco en la cabeza totally nuts kind of thing.  I let some really good fellow cellmates friends talk me into signing up for a 5K run.  No, not just a run - a mud run.  A warrior dash.  A grueling run at the end of August at the hottest point of the summer through mud and 12 or so obstacles.  The same weekend I am moving.  And going to a wedding.  And picking my kids up in Tennessee.  With school starting two days later.

And of course I am really in shape sort of in shape a couch potato. Fully prepared for a run.  No worries about the tires and ropes and of course the wall.  The insurmountable obstacle I have since recruited several friends to encourage me help me up push my large bottom over. Did I mention the 5K run in the midst of said obstacles?

I'm all gung ho in May about this race.  I have 100 days to get fit.  Very doable.  I start out of the gates strong.  I start my C25K (Couch to 5K for you other couch potatoes) running program.  I'm eating better.  I save a ton of motivational pictures.  I order P90X.  I am not only going to be fit but I'm going to be ripped.  Melt my muffin top and shred my arms.  I'll be climbing rock walls in no time.  10K's by Fall and a half marathon in January.  I can see the bumper sticker now: 13.1.  Yeah me!

Now comes June.  I'm still running once or twice a week.  I managed to open P90X and see what's inside.  Work and summer break for the kids are keeping me busy.  I have two months so even though I'm behind, I can still make it.  I won't be at the front of the pack but I should at least finish the race.  And then the kids go to Tennessee.  Wayne and I are working on the house.  And I skip a few days of running.  And then some more.

And now it's August.  I have exactly 24 days to get my butt in shape.  I am really in trouble.  I watch the videos on their website again for motivation.  These are all young college kids that look like they took a stroll through the park or hardened trained runners that do this kind of thing for fun every day.  There are no 41-year-old single mom of three kids in spandex and three layers of sports bras to keep from getting a black eye.

I could give up at this point.  But I already paid.  And I said I was going.  Yet if I don't drop out, you may find me at the bottom of the muddy creek.  I should just walk away and let somebody in much better shape run this race.  But I'm not a quitter.  Just a procrastinator.  One that will push ahead even when all logic says there is no way in hell this will happen.

So, on August 27th, you will find me lying in a prone position somewhere.  Hopefully in my bed and not still in the creek.  Sore and bruised beyond tolerable levels.  Wondering what the heck possessed me to prove that somewhere inside this not-quite-so-young body is a runner.  And hopefully, with a lot of luck and quite a bit of psychosis, proof that I finished a race I never should have entered in the first place.