Tomorrow

It’s Saturday. The day before Sunday of the “other” week. Meaning, tomorrow Maddy comes home. Day 6 (along with day 1) is always the hardest. So close and yet 24 hours away. The quietness of the house has grown old around about day 3, and although my husband is a pretty funny guy, the laughter is always shorter during the “other” week.

Don’t get me wrong, things are not perfect the weeks that we have her. She is a stubborn, sass-talking, way too smart for her own good, almost four-year-old. Meaning, she’s a challenge. I like to think of it as her having personality. She definitely keeps us on our toes and makes us be creative in our parenting. I wouldn’t have it any other way, well maybe less stubbornness and sass-talking.

To all you other moms, don’t think for one second that I think that I’m above you. I definitely have the occasional, do you think I could have 5 minutes to myself moment and at times have even considered changing my name from “mom” to something crazy like “Amanda” just so I could get a break from the Stewie Griffin style, “mom, mom, ma, mommy, mama, MOM, MOMMY, MA!”

But what I can say is these moments come a lot less often for me than I think they would if she was here all of the time and certainly less than I remember my mom experiencing them (sorry, Mom, but it’s true…we drove you crazy!). I try to live each moment with her with the mindset that half of her life she isn’t with me. And so we have an open door policy at our house. This means, there’s no point in closing the bedroom door, the bathroom door, or any door cuz she’ll bust it open and barge right in because, “I just wanna be with you, Mom.” So she’ll brush my hair while I’m using the toilet, she’ll help me pick out my clothes when I’m getting dressed, and she always tells me when my makeup doesn’t look quite right, because she’s front and center while I’m doing that as well.

So while she’s always under foot, much like the damn dog. I relish having a shadow every other week, because it’s so lonely without one the other weeks. Not to mention, I never know what to wear, my hair is always a mess, and I have horrible makeup lines.

The sun'll come out

Tomorrow

Bet your bottom dollar

That tomorrow

There'll be sun!

Just thinkin' about

Tomorrow

Clears away the cobwebs,

And the sorrow

'Til there's none!
-From the musical Annie

Jon & Kate + 8 = ignorance < Truth

I turned on my computer this morning and as is the case almost every morning, I was disgusted by the “news” headlines on my homepage (good old yahoo!). My husband and I often comment on the fact that somebody somewhere gets to decide what is newsworthy enough to earn a spot on yahoo.com. I’d kind of like to meet this person; to find out where their priorities are. The more I think about this though, the more it becomes clear; their top priority is the same as that of most Americans…money. Celebrity gossip sells way more than current world events. This is not the fault of the person at yahoo deciding which headlines to post; Americans are to blame.

Come on, America, what’s happened to us? We all know what Obama’s doing as far as health care because this would directly affect each of us. We are also aware of the bailouts for major corporations, why is this? Because we hear large sums of money being mentioned, and as true Americans, this always catches our attention. But what about what’s going on overseas? Guess what? We are still at war. How many Americans could say when our troops will be coming home? How many could answer the question of how many casualties have occurred? How many people even know how long we’ve been at war?

I have several theories as to why we as Americans are so ignorant to the state of our nation. First, our government likes it this way and so they keep us in the dark. Everything is censored; we only know what they want us to know. We the people do have power (contrary to popular American belief) and the less we know, the less we will be inclined to use this power. Second, ignorance is bliss. Celebrity issues (Jon and Kate’s failing marriage, Michael Jackson’s death, Brett Favre’s latest drama) are not real to us. They do not directly affect our day-to-day lives and therefore, none of us are going to lose any sleep over them. Would this be the case if we truly understood our government and the war? If we truly knew what direction our country was headed in and what that means to our children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, etc. If we took this war personal and thought about all of our people over there dying for a reason most of us don’t understand and/or agree with. Would we be able to sleep at night then? I have more ideas as to why we do what we do but does it really matter? The point is we do it.

How many people actually go out of their way during election times (whether presidential, or those at the state or city level) to understand the candidates? Sure, we catch the commercials that interrupt our favorite sitcom, reality TV show, or sporting event but do any of us take initiative beyond that? Then we use the greatest power our nation allows us and go to the polls and vote uninformed (if we even exercise this power).


Our country needs us. Each and every one of us. No matter which side of the fence we are on (if we’ve even picked a side). We need to educate ourselves (our government sure as hell isn’t going to do this for us. We need to exercise the powers our democracy allows us, and we need to reclaim the pride our country was founded on. I have personally challenged myself to live this pledge and I challenge you to do the same. Do what you’re comfortable doing, vote, write a letter…start small but do something.

*Once again, I was inspired by a blog written by a friend of mine and so I need to give him proper credit. Please check it out! www.bensonjwright@blogspot.com. As a soldier sacrificing his life to fight for those of us so comfortable with our ignorance, he sees things a little differently than most.

I can still hear you

I literally found a treasure yesterday. Well, I didn’t find it, it was given to me but it is a treasure. It is a rather large 3-ring binder stuffed with both hand-written and typed (on a type-writer) pages filled with poems, stories, recollections, and notes of my great-grandmother’s.

Gramma passed away last summer and very shortly before she did she asked me to do something with her writing. I finally got my hands on it yesterday and am very hard at work already.

There are stories of her experiences in a one room schoolhouse in Wisconsin’s northwoods. There are short narratives written about relatives and ancestors; as much of their lives as she could gather and compile. There are lists of names of students who attended her school, the first people to settle the small (very , very, small) town she lived in her whole life, birthdays of all of her decedents, as well as the heights of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren at different times throughout their lives (these were recorded on the doorway which we entered her house through and then she wrote them all down.

There is even a composition book of her mother’s dated Dec 29, 1904. I have to do some more research to figure out which of these entries are original works and which she copied down (such as the Battle Hymn of the Republic), but it contains several poems and stories and I do know that she enjoyed writing as well.

Gramma was also an amazing storyteller; everything from fairy-tales to things she made up. I have been working on typing these from my memory as best as I can so that we have a record of them and can pass them on to our children. This project has been extremely difficult because as hard as I try, I cannot tell them exactly the same as she did and in this, something is lost. Included in the binder was a list of her stories and one of them written. It looks as though she had started the same project that I have. I was disappointed when I turned the page and realized it was only one of them but one is better than none and at least I have a list to work off of.

Probably my favorite thing that I found though, was what seems to be the workings of some poetry on the back of a football program from my dad and uncle’s senior year of high school. On the one side, was what seemed to be the first draft of a poem she wrote for my grandpa which I recognized. The other side though was obviously a very rough draft, with several cross-outs and write-overs and was clearly not finished. Please forgive me for doing this to you, Gramma; I truly understand the pain of having your work exposed before it is finished, but here it is:

So I’m giving you these tokens of the days
And when you look upon them you will know
That I’ll always love you and you’ll know this to be true…

Of course I don’t know that she wrote this for me but being that I just received this binder which I so truly treasure, it sure pertains.

I’m more excited about this collection of papers than I have been in a long, long time. It is so amazing to see her handwriting again and to hear her voice when I read her words. At the same time, it makes me miss her so much. I’ve also wanted to call her up several times to ask her about some of the things I am finding. I sure wish she would’ve shown me this stuff a while ago so we could’ve gone over it together! Oh well, maybe she wanted me to have to dig, to research, to make phone calls to relatives I’ve never met the way she always did when she needed a question answered. Maybe she wanted me to realize where I came from. Whatever her intentions, I know she wanted to be remembered. Of course those of us who were fortunate enough to have her as a regular component of our lives will never forget but I am incredibly thankful that she left us this treasure, this book of her to make it easier to remember her voice, her attitude, her outlook, and to help us in sharing her with those who came too late or haven’t come at all yet.

What's in a name?

My name has changed 3 times in my 25 years of life. Yes, that’s a lot in a short time, I’m well aware. As expected, each of these times has had a huge impact on my life.

Obviously, as most of us are, I was born with a name. As a small child, I was very proud of this name despite the fact that it followed all phonetic rules and yet people still managed to pronounce it wrong. I was a daddy’s girl when I was very young and with him being an athlete and active member of the community, he gave me a lot to be proud of.

As I got older though, life found a way of opening for me closet doors full of skeletons. In addition to this, my father and I had several falling outs and my view of him changed drastically. It was around this time that my name changed for the first time. Although I didn’t feel the need to hold onto the name I was given at birth, I felt nothing but terror about taking the name given to me at my first wedding. Of course it wasn’t the name I was afraid of but everything about the idea of marrying him. Don’t get me wrong, of course there were feelings between us at one time but by the time we were married, those feelings were all but fizzled. Taking his name represented the last step in giving up the life I had worked toward.

As the story goes, nine months later I was filing for divorce. It was during this time that my dad came back to me or me to him; I’m not quite sure. Either way, we more than reconciled. Both of my parents were truly my rocks during the lowest time in my life. I grew closer to my siblings, came to terms with the skeletons I had discovered a couple years earlier and decided that the mistakes of others did not define me.

It was two years before he gave me the divorce and equally as long that his name haunted me. Every time I had to say my name out loud or write it, I was reminded of the mistakes I had made. If you don’t think you write/say your name a lot in 2 years, try taking the name of the person you loathe the most. I guarantee you will become a lot more aware.

By the time the big D-day finally came, I left the courthouse and immediately stopped at the DMV for a new driver’s license. I think I was more proud of it than the first time I went to the DMV for a license.

My daughter though, shares her father, my ex-husband’s name. At first I had a problem with this. As time has passed (and as the saying goes, ‘time heals all wounds’), I have realized that she is my proudest accomplishment and I couldn’t have her without him, so if this means she shares his name, so be it. Everything that was good in that relationship is in her, as well as traits both of us possessed but were too selfish to bring into the relationship.

Not too long ago, I made a decision to give up my birth name yet again. I couldn’t help but reflect how my feelings about it had come around full circle. This time though, it was very bittersweet. I had absolutely no reserves about taking his name, but I had finally learned what my family was all about and exactly which pieces of me each member had given me.

And now here I am. Again, I have a name that I can say without cringing (or wanting to vomit) and I look forward to making it my own. I am already elated to be sharing it with the family I have acquired but also can’t wait to share it with our children. To expand upon what the name already means and give it everything that I have to offer.

In My Daughter's Eyes

I realized yesterday, that my role model happens to be a not quite 4-year-old. It was our weekly switch day, this time him to me. It went much the same as it always does, both her and I very excited to see each other. In the car she told me she missed me so much as she always does and then said that she missed herself too. I laughed and asked her what she meant by that and she said that she has to be her other self when she’s at her dad’s.

At first I kind of worried that my kid had split-personality disorder, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized just how bright she is. She literally lives two lives, one with them and another with us, each of these being quite different. I was struck by the fact that she is fully aware of this. It was in thinking about this and the way that she copes that I realized just how strong my little girl is.

Every week she is disappointed to have to leave us but she rarely cries. It’s obvious that she wants to but as she has told me, she tries not to cry because she knows it makes me sad and she likes it better when I am happy. When she loses the internal battle and sheds some tears, she always apologizes to me.

One week when we were on our way to his house she told me that she wished her dad didn’t love her anymore because then he wouldn’t miss her and she wouldn’t have to go there. This of course broke my heart but following her example, I choked back the tears and explained to her that she didn’t mean that, that she would be sad if she didn’t see her dad anymore, and I reminded her that she has fun when she is there.

I will be the first to admit that she has a good dad. Obviously, I would love to be able to have her with me all of the time but I cannot deny the fact that he is good to her. We have our differences but I know he loves her and his intentions are good. Yesterday though, she reminded me yet again that her grandma has a picture at her house from our wedding day. Her dad is wearing a tuxedo with a flower and I am wearing a wedding dress. This time though she asked why we broke up. I told her we just didn’t love each other anymore (I refuse to discuss infidelity with my 4-year-old). She asked why and said that she just needed to know. I told her we just didn’t and maybe she could ask her dad next week and see what he says; this seemed to pacify her for the time being.

Being 3 months old when we separated, she does not ever remember us being together and yet the little wheels in her head spin constantly and she feels an extreme need to figure it all out. Much like her mother, she is not content just living the life dealt to her without completely understanding it and making it her own.

Not a day goes by that I am not haunted by the life that I have given my daughter. She will never know a traditional home or family, due to no mistake or decision-making on her part. This is always hard for me to swallow but at the same time, I can honestly say that I am thankful that instead of having one home in which her parents are miserable together, she gets two homes and four parents that are very happy. Because of this, we are all more able to give her the life she deserves.

But above everything else, she has been there for me and gotten me through so many times and in so many ways that she is not even aware of. When I found out about his affair, I was insanely depressed, if not for her I would still be in bed. She’s the reason I enrolled in school and went to class everyday. I even have her to thank for me giving love another chance. I could go on but you get the point. I’m where I am today because she gave me a reason to get here. I look up to her strength and ability to take life as it comes to her and always remain positive, to hold back tears for the benefit of someone else but to be able to cry when absolutely necessary (because there are things that only a good cry can cure), to find extreme happiness in small everyday events and things, the list goes on and on. Yes, she’s my daughter and I will always feel the need to brag about her and will always see great things in her, but how many parents can say that their child is their role model?

Getting to Know Your Friends

The women in my family eat up those email surveys resulting in a flooded inbox of answers to questions that really don’t tell you anything that you didn’t already know about the person (seriously, who really cares what someone’s favorite soda is?). That being said, I will admit that I almost always get sucked into filling one out myself.

As I was deleting the answers to someone else’s survey so that I could plug in my own, I came across the question, “What was the worst Christmas present you ever received?” Her answer was simple but has resonated with me for quite some time: “a patchwork quilt that Grandma made for me out of scraps.”*

We have all received these kinds of home/handmade gifts that aren’t appealing to the eye. I know I’ve grumbled about my own over the years, but at a time when I am missing my grandma and all that she meant to my life, so deeply, I would be happy to have anything made by her hands.

The afghan she made me was wrecked years ago by one of the numerous puppies to go through my family. I have several store-bought gifts from her and of course, they are significant in their own way but only my crocheted slippers, which match the ones she made for my daughter and her doll, Honey (only Honey and I haven’t outgrown ours), encapsulate her touch, scent, and heart.

I won’t wear the slippers because I’m scared. I’m scared of the yarn wearing out and with it her scent and her presence. Most of all, I’m scared that when this pair is gone, there will be no more the way another pair always replaced the ones we outgrew or wore out when she was alive. And so they remain in the shoe box I hid them in. When I need to, I can lift the lid and smell her.





*Now, if the person said this is reading, this is not a dig on you, just simply the thoughts that your words provoked in me. Its okay for you to feel that way, it just got me thinking about my own emotions linked to gifts I have received.

Words from my good friend Alexandre Dumas

"There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness." -- The Count of Monte Cristo

I encountered this quote in high school, the first time I read The Count of Monte Cristo. I remember reflecting on my own teenaged life and how these words hit the spot. Life sure was hard back then, my parents didn’t get along the best, my boyfriend cheated on me, high school girls are nasty to each other, deciding where to go to college and for what was a huge decision, etc. Pretty much, I had no idea.
In the six years since graduation, I’ve had a reality check, or seven. I fell in love my first semester of college and thought it would be a great idea to drop out so that I could move in with him. My parents flipped (this is a huge understatement). I waited tables and had a horrible relationship. A year later there was a baby on the way and because we were both raised that way, we got married. After a nine-month marriage I suspected him of having an affair; he still denies this to this day but the proof was staring me in the face. I then got to share my baby girl with the person I hated most in this world. I worked two jobs, got myself a hole in the wall apartment, bought a beater mini van from my dad for $40 and enrolled in college. After receiving a suggestive text message from my ex-husband, my tires were slashed and my windshield smashed but I’m not going to point any fingers on that one.
Eventually I fell in love again (this time I had a wonderful relationship) and within months of each other two of the most influential people in my life passed away. I became engaged, and had to postpone the wedding because my fiancé’s lupus flared up and his body was killing off his own red blood cells. After seeing several doctors who did nothing to improve the situation, we found one who treated him and once in remission, we had an absolutely perfect wedding. Two weeks later, he had a stroke. Due to a miracle and relentless praying and speech therapy, he recovered 100%. His doctor told us that if he had another issue the next medication prescribed would sterilize him. We did a lot of discussing and soul searching and decided a baby was extremely important to us so we re-vamped the timeline of our lives and decided to begin the process of baby-making. One month later I miscarried. This is not a pity plea, but rather to point out the fact that high school suddenly seemed wonderful.
If I’ve learned anything it’s to embrace misery. I’ve never been more thankful of anything than I am of the affair my ex-husband and his current fiancé had. Thanks to them I am in the best place I have ever been in my life. Thanks to my husband’s period of bad health, our relationship is indestructible, we take nothing for granted and appreciate and love each other more than either of us even realized was possible. Because I dropped out of school, I have matured, discovered what I want to do with my life, and my attitude and grades are better for it. The miscarriage is pretty fresh but I’m sure before too long, there will be an up-side to that as well. Perhaps we will have a baby soon and we won’t be taking that for granted either.

I’ve always been jealous of people who seem to have uneventful, happy lives. Now, I honestly feel sorry for them; how happy can they possibly be without ever having experienced the other end of the spectrum? One’s happiness can only be as powerful as the worst pain they have known. In the words of another good friend of mine (visit his blog at www.bensonjwright.blogspot.com), “When life throws me lemons, I'm going to throw them back, and go get some orange juice.” After all, making lemonade with those lemons is simply accepting the fact that you’ve been thrown lemons. To me this is unacceptable, you need to take control of your own life and make it what you want it to be, take it from me, other people aren’t going to cooperate in giving you the life you have in mind; whether directly or indirectly, they’re simply going to stand in your way, sometimes push you down, and occasionally spit on you while you’re down there. Stand up and walk away and go find yourself a glass of orange juice.