Looking out to the hills
To the setting sun
I feel a cold wind
Bound to come
Another change
Another end I cannot see
But your faithfulness to me is making it

All right
I fall down on my knees
Tell me that it’s all right
You give me what I need
Years of knocking on heaven’s door
Have taught me this if nothing more
That it’s all right, what may come.
- Amy Grant, All Right

When I was young, maybe 3 or 4 my grandma used to take me out on the back porch and rock me on the porch swing until I fell asleep. The safest I’ve ever felt. My entire life, nothing has ever come close to it. Maybe the first time I finally took a breath and relaxed into S.O.’s arms. But at 3 or 4 there is an innocence that you never have again.

There is nothing like being outside, seeing the stars and hearing the wind blow through a pine tree followed by the rattling of the breeze through the neighboring palm trees. What can I say? It’s living in California.

About 5 years after my grandma died a 14 year old me found herself heartbroken. Boys… are bitches at that age. My mom was clearly enthralled with whatever romantic drama she was entangled with and, as always, her worries were far more important. Having no where to turn I remember padding out the backdoor to the porch swing. The same porch swing. I sat down on the same cushion that my grandma had sewn. Only there was no grandma, no arms, and no lullabies.

Grandma died when I was 8 and at that time I remember begging for God to just let me switch places with her. At 8 it seemed far easier to be in her place than to be me living with the grief of losing her. After I had my children I realized there were worse things someone could live through. I just get the feeling that things damage us as we go and while we lose that innocence we manage to keep the desire for that kind of safety, even if we only knew it for just a few years.

The last few years have been nothing short of devastating for me. I remember at a (several) crazed moments, looking up at the bathroom ceiling needing something. Needing to feel that breeze, see those stars, and hear the porch swing chains creak. What I needed was 5 minutes surrounded by the arms of unconditional love. My grandma’s arms and her voice softly singing whatever song popped into her head.

“Mares eat oats and does eat oats
and little lambs eat ivy.”

A friend of mine is going through a tough time. It’s her dark time. After sitting with me, holding my hand, showing me a little tough love, and still being there… it’s her turn. Somehow it doesn’t matter what I’ve gone through. I sit here with a heaviness in my heart for her pain and a helplessness that infuriates me. I want to give her those visions, I want to find a 14 year old her and take her by the hand out to the old porch swing and just swing and listen to the trees.

Snowfalls, phone calls, broken hearts,
Clear summer days,
Warm and lazy;
Long walks, long talks, after dark;
We vowed we’d never forget.
Now it’s hazy.

Oh, stay for awhile.
Well, it’s good to see your smile,
And I love your company.
(Oohhh) Stay for awhile.
And remember the days gone by;
For a moment it can seem
Just the way it used to be.
- Amy Grant, Stay For A While

Just like when a 14 year old me with far fewer stretch marks, no children, and far less of a broken heart sang along to records (actual records) in her bedroom and hoped she could take her finger off the “pause” button in time for her favorite song to record to 6 track.

Only now I sit here at 34 and realize there are far worse things in the shadows than mommy and daddy’s divorce, grandma dying, and the boy you fell in love with choosing mommy over you. There are far worse things, things that the porch swing and singing songs innocently with your friends just can’t fix.

Tell me, why then is the hand slow
And the dog bites, well, I don’t know
But the sky will fall
And heads will roll
And it’s all that we can do
To wait for the healing
- Amy Grant, Wait For The Healing

That’s what it comes down to now. Watching your world fall apart, breaking to bits, all the pieces burning to ash and taking a deep breath just “to wait for the healing.” It’s not about being a victim or being passive. It’s about being water. Taking the path of least resistance and letting it run.

Sometimes, all you can do is keep a firm grip until the bleeding stops and then try not to scratch the living hell out it as it itches into a scar. You start to realize that bad times come and go and the cycle repeats until we’re gone. We have to learn to treasure the ups because we know the downs will come eventually and somewhere in there hopefully we learn to be really human by allowing our dark times to give us the compassion to be there for someone else later on. I don’t mean to say that I think that’s the entire point of this whole human experience gig. I just think it’s the best reason for the bad shit that happens. After all, it all comes out in the wash and sometimes the scores even get settled. In the end it’s all right, it passes, it changes and it gets better again.

I’ve heard it said
When the river’s running high
You get to higher ground or you die
Well muddy waves of pain
Washed over me
And it only made me see it’s gonna be

All right
I fall down on my knees
Tell me that it’s all right
You give me what I need
Years of knocking on heaven’s door
Have taught me this if nothing more
That it’s all right, what may come
- Amy Grant, All Right

The kids are out for spring break tomorrow. Deirdre’s boyfriend is coming home with her today to have dinner with all of us. Scarlet will be here as well. Should be entertaining, at the very least. We love Deirdre’s new guy. Even Julien loves him and that says a lot because Julien doesn’t usually take to “new” people entering into his orbit, typically.

Deirdre has horrified her father by asking to have her belly button pierced for her birthday. S.O. has his ear pierced twice. Somehow this belly button thing has completely freaked him out. I’m a little worried because Deirdre has just about zero pain tolerance. But, it’s really the first time she’s asked for anything remotely like this and it’s not like it’s a tattoo. The only thing “forbidden” in our house are tongue piercings. I’m not having any kid of mine whack the enamel off their teeth while I’m still responsible for their freaking dental bills.

Long story short, I told her she could and she waited until her dad had had a couple of drinks one night and he agreed as well. Heh. She’s not stupid. S.O. on the other hand stands by his agreement, but remains horrified.

S.O. called me this morning and asked me to please remind him to read some of Rowan’s readers with her as well as give him the flash cards so he can work with her on that. I sent him an email yesterday reminding him of how he had helped with Deirdre when she couldn’t memorize her phone number and struggled a bit counting by 2′s and 5′s. Having two older kids in high school who rarely require more help than money or transportation can make you forget what it took to get them there, I guess.

I’m a mixed bag of emotions these days. Julien and Scarlet are going into the local college counseling office to arrange their school schedules as closely together as possible since they are carpooling in the fall. I have to admit, they have it all mapped out, two years at a local college and then they’ll get married and move in with her grandmother to finish out and get their degrees at a university there. “There” being about 4 hours away. *sigh* But, it’s a better college and Scarlet will be able to get her Master’s there as well. They have to get married before they move because her grandmother won’t allow them to live together and live with her. I think that’s pretty cute, actually. Probably because it’s still two years away… so I can deal with that.

Part of me is surprised at how okay I am with kids becoming adults. The other part of me worries when “empty nest syndrome” will hit and I’ll lose my marbles.

Rowan is still being completely uncooperative where her phonics lessons are concerned. We’re still behind, nearly caught up in all of the other subjects, but behind in phonics.

After sitting through an hour of her whining and complaining, S.O. said we should sit down and figure out another way to handle it. Foolishly, I suggested maybe he help with the phonics lessons.

He said that if he were “home all day” that he would be working with Rowan, but since I’m home all day that’s my job. I suggested to him that if Rowan were in public school that she would have homework we would need to help her with at night and that maybe he could help by just doing some flash cards or reading through her beginning reader book.

That’s when he actually asked what Julien and Deirdre do to help with Rowan’s classes. Julien occasionally reads to Rowan, Deirdre will sometimes do a fun music lesson.

Somehow, S.O. seems to think that working outside the house absolves him of all responsibility where Rowan’s lessons are concerned. He even suggested that we just send her to public school next year since I’m having so many challenges with her where phonics are concerned.

I explained to him that phonics is basically our only sticking point right now and the rest of the curriculum is pretty advanced compared to the standard kindergarten curriculum.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s asking too much to expect him to work outside the house and help out with Rowan, too.

Is it too much to ask a father to help his kid learn to read because I’m a stay at home mom?

Had an awesome weekend. All my boys were here. “My Boys” meaning all of Julien’s friends. The boys who have stuck by him through thick and thin. Even though two of them are about to turn 21 – I still see them as “my boys.” I’ve said it before, but it does make me feel a bit like a modern day “Jo” from the sequel to Little Women, “Jo’s Boys.”

It’s funny. I never wanted a boy, I always thought boys were pretty icky. Now my boy’s friends are around more than my daughter’s friends are. It’s nice. Boys are funny, rowdy, obnoxious, and awesomely simple. I like that about them.

Eventually I’ll have to start giving them names around here because summer is coming and my house will be overflowing with boys out on break from college.

The weather was warm and pretty. Spring is definitely here. We had an
“Irish” party complete with whiskey, Guinness, Smithwicks, and Harp. Corned beef brisket, potatoes, cabbage and the like. Monday morning was back to the grind. I’m dragging my feet though and Rowan is happily hiding in the other room while I figure out which lessons we’ll dive into next.

Teacher meeting again on Friday. *sigh* I hate those. This time will be end of the year testing for Rowan. The expectations are minimal, I think she’ll do well. We’re still behind in phonics but trying to pull through. I’m going to take advantage of spring break and bust out two phonics lessons daily to catch us up completely. Rowan’s spring break is the week after Julien and Deirdre’s that was a frustrating realization but it’s okay. Summer break will be here soon enough and they all get out at the same time, thank goodness.

This is just how my life works. I busted my ass, nearly killed myself to get our home mortgage modified. Done. Did I get any help with that? Nope. Not really. Kinda got left dangling on my own because certain other people had given up.

Got that settled finally. Am I superbly happy with it? Not 100% but it’s better than what most people are getting, I can afford my house payment (barely), and uh, YAY! a place to live.

I’m on the lowest dosage of anti-depressants I’ve ever been on. It’s taken weeks to level out. I’ve endured probably half a dozen panic attacks in the last couple of weeks alone. I’m tired. I just want a little peace of mind. I want the constant chattering of the negative monkeys in my brain to stop for a little while.

I also wanted this to sound funny in a dark humor sort of way. Let’s see what happens, shall we?

I’ve actually slept hard and solidly for the past few days. It’s a welcome relief. I’d like to take a few days and really let that sink in. These days, most of the time, I feel like I am fighting to make it to the weekend. The weekend… the phones stop ringing, I can keep the grim, nastiness of reality at bay for just a couple of days. It’s nice.

Not so nice is how nearly every Friday, almost like clockwork, S.O. begins some negative spin. Today? Ahh, yes, checking the value of our house and noting that a house, with a pool, larger lot, same size as ours (although, not in nearly as nice shape, I might point out, but didn’t) is selling for about $60,000.00 less than what we owe on our house. Now, one comparable does not a total value make – but it’s not a good sign.

Fine. Not a good sign. Shit isn’t good anywhere right now. Nothing is magically rebounding and I just want to keep my shit together long enough to survive the drought. Doesn’t that make sense?

So, over his shoulder S.O. is spouting market trends, values, comparables, etc. I finally said, “I can’t do this with you again.”

Now, he admits, I’m the one who shouldered all the responsibility for the loan modification. I’m the one who fought to pull it out. It also took a lot out of me. It was probably one of the most, if not THE most, stressful thing I have ever done.

Which is simply why, just a few months after settling it, I am not wanting to hear his doomsday stories of how it’s all just going to shit anyway. Somehow, that makes me a bad partner.

Although, I didn’t call him a bad partner when he didn’t lift a finger to do anything for the modification. Yes, I bitched over here. But, I think I’m entitled after going through all the garbage I went through… virtually alone.

I can’t mentally or emotionally afford to have him start this negative cycle all over again.

Wow, no, this wasn’t funny now that I think about it. I’m not far away from the garbage last year to find the humor in any of it, I guess.

My romantic horoscope for today:

Sure, you like them for their bod, but right now it’s what’s going on upstairs that’s really causing sparks. Put your heads together, add a big idea and see where the two of you end up.

Aha! The joke is on them. I live in a two-story house. It’s ALL going on upstairs.

Since the garage is no longer an option.

Feeling very out of current trends I asked my daughter, Deirdre, what Formspring.me was. The little darling actually rolled her eyes at me and gave me one of those sighs of extreme disappointment. It would seem that I was slowly ruining her perception of me. You see, she is the first to tell people that unlike most parents I encouraged her to join MySpace and Facebook and now not knowing what Formspring.me is was kind of spoiling that.

What I wanted to say to her was, “Sweetcheeks, I can’t be that cool all the time.” But that thought even depressed me. At least I had built up some coolness in her book to actually have a shot at ruining it.

It made me start to think about things. Things like, what else do you need to know about me? That I’m pro legalization of marijuana? That I’m pro gay marriage / equality? That I’m pro-choice? Or maybe it’s the scandalous fact that I actually believe that gun control means hitting what you are aiming at? That my kids took gun safety courses?

Would you like to know that at one point I loved to write and was much better at it than I am now? That sometimes my posts fall far short of the glory I want them to reach? Or the fact that most of the time that’s exactly what happens?

Do you wonder who my online bffs are? Do you wonder which side of what line I’m on? Do you really care? Do you think I’m climbing some popularity ladder or desire to?

Do you wonder where I stood on the Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie argument? Truth is I like them both but Angelina more. I think everyone has the right to be happy and sometimes people get hurt in the process, it’s when you continue to purposely hurt that it becomes a problem. Better to say goodbye with one big ouch then draw it out by humiliating and degrading someone for months on end.

Do you wonder how I secretly picture myself in the darkness of my own thoughts?

I’ll tell you, I picture myself as some free spirit, artist type, living in a little quiet town on the coast surrounded by other free spirits of the liberal sorts. Maybe I wear flowing broomstick skirts, tunics, and silver sparkling dangling earrings. I imagine that my heart of hearts is more like Barbara Streisand in Meet The Fockers and Diane Keaton in The Family Stone.

My darling husband once quelled a stale mate between my son and myself that had gone on far too long by telling Julien that he was cutting into his sex life. Even worse, S.O. told Julien that either he could make up for the lack of lovin’ or he could apologize to his mother so she could get on with the making up.

I know that some people feel it’s necessary to hold their spouses in high regard online, that discussions of marriage and happy or unhappy should be kept behind tightly closed bedroom doors, others go to the far end of the spectrum and name names, degrade, humiliate and disrespect.

I’d like to think for once in my life I’m playing happy medium. No extremes necessary. Think S.O. doesn’t know what I write on this blog about him? Think again. Think he reads it religiously or takes it to heart? Think again.

He sees this blog as being cheaper than therapy and since I don’t name names and he hides behind a generic moniker of S.O. – he’s really okay with it. Not that he agrees with everything and that’s well within his right.

Wow, when did this become about my marriage? Oh, right. Back when I started posting my feelings of very dark aspects of my life. The truth is there is someone who knows far darker moments and she still assures me that S.O. and I are soul mates and that he does indeed love me… hard.

Ugh. Whatever. Let’s move on… that being said while darling Deirdre will never know (because my children know far too much about my life already they don’t need to come here) I created a formspring.me account. I even put a little widget over there on the sidebar.

So tell me, what is it you really want to know?

You’ll have to excuse me. See, I’m breaking a cardinal blogging rule – “thou shalt not blog after drinking” it’s just that sometimes the call of the keyboard is far too strong to resist.

Unfortunately, I thought I had this phenomenal point that was so deep while appearing relatively benign and shallow that it would hit even the broadest side of the barn. Alas, it is not to be because I no longer understand my point, maybe you can help.

You see, not only has my sister begun cavorting around with my mother again she has also gone back to the “old crowd” she had prior to the two of us reconciling and what-not. Not long after the horror that was the last 4th of July I exiled a few people from my physical social circle.

My dad was beyond thrilled that I in the process I had managed to exile them from my sister’s life as well.

My sister has a friend that most of the time people confuse as being her girlfriend. I don’t have a problem with that, but obviously they (my sister and her “friend”) do or they would have come out of the closet years ago OR they are just friends who share a bed and a bedroom at my dad’s house with nothing more than platonic friendship and love between them. WTF-ever… I really don’t care.

Except that my sister’s friend (I need a name for her) had a group of friends who were trashy and crude and just straight up nasty. One of them kind of had a thing for me (not like it sounds, more just a “gee, I want to be your best friend” kind of thing) and she was too freakin’ unstable to deal with. I booted her ass out of here.

I assumed my sister was done with her as well because… well, for a lot of unsavory and craptacular reasons.

Until yesterday when my sister announced that the twit was back to being her bff. /eye roll

Yes, I found out on FB.

And, fine.

Except that now it’s my mother and the creepy friend. Which means my sister is officially not happily received around here. S.O. tells me that I need to stop being so angry. Don’t get me wrong, he agrees with me. He says my sister has “creepy” energy and that something is wrong with her. At first I was angry that he told me that and then I started to see his point. It made sense.

Last night I had another panic attack. S.O. noticed they seem to set in at night… a lot. Although, for the record, last night was much milder than the last night-time panic attack, but that is beside the point. He thinks it’s the conflict between being hurt and being angry (as in covering hurt with anger) that is causing the panic attacks. That I’m not dealing with things or I’m holding on to things longer than I should and thus being far too hard on myself.

You see, no one out there can judge me as harshly or as cruelly as I judge myself. I’ve spent many years beating myself down and I’m damn good at it. Too good at it, according to S.O.

We had this conversation as we stood in the shower taking turns under the shower head. We went downstairs and made a salad. I offered him the last of the Ceasar salad dressing. Only, he then mixed it with some balsamic vinaigrette so he could get the rest of the Ceasar out of the bottle.

This enraged me. I felt victimized and I was angry about it.

Projecting, I think is what they call it. But, at the moment I didn’t care. Somehow all of my anger was focused at this splash of salad dressing knowing that I would have rather had the rest of the ceasar than the balsamic vinaigrette and there that asshole went and mixed the two after I sacrificed and gave him the last of the Ceasar dressing.

See… there is a bigger lesson here and right now, it’s completely eluding me. Much like that word that is on the tip of your tongue but you just can’t quite bring it to your lips.

It’s there… I’m just missing it.

I’m a fan of apologies both as a tool of humiliation (ie. shit-tastic teachers and school staff, craptacular customer service reps, etc.) and as means of conveying genuine feelings of remorse.

I’m a sucker for an apology most of the time. I can respect that at some point everyone has to apologize and it takes a certain amount of character to apologize and accept responsibility for something utterly awful.

What I’m not a fan of are contrived apologies that carry an agenda. The apologies that come across as hollow, insincere or as Kari mentioned one time – like part of a 10 Step program.

John Mayer said, they don’t make 10 step programs for being an asshole. So that makes an apology for being an asshole sound even more insincere than had it actually been part of a 10 step program.

Following me?

Here is the thing, when you apologize you are supposed to be doing so with the intention of never making that mistake again, never causing that damage again, never contributing to whatever atrocity again.

It’s not a get out of jail free card. You don’t keep an extra one tucked under your corner of the board. And, you sure as shit don’t apologize and then two weeks later take a big, ol’ heaping shit on someone again.

Blue skies, sunshine, a couple of nifty craft projects almost completed – I swear I am almost feeling like a brand new woman.

My sister stopped by on Saturday. My dad told her I knew about her and my mother and I wasn’t too happy about it. It drives me nuts that she thinks she is smarter than she is and believes she was really pulling one over on me. She had no intention of telling me about her rekindled relationship with mom. If my dad hadn’t said something she wouldn’t have said anything to me thinking I was totally oblivious because somehow she thinks I’m just that stupid.

She acted as if this was a recent thing (her and mom) and like she was being upfront telling me about it now. She tried to assure me that she hasn’t spoken to mom about the kids, S.O., or I. But, she wasn’t making much eye contact and I’m pretty sure she’s not being 100% honest with me or herself for that matter.

S.O. expected me to rip her to bits. I’m a bit surprised at myself, honestly. I’m typically Miss Confrontation Don’t Let Anyone Get Away With It – but this time I just sat back nodded my head, cleaned my kitchen counter and made it clear I wasn’t going to really discuss it and that I was very busy getting ready to head out the door to run errands with S.O.

She looked uncomfortable. Julien described her as “slinking in” – her “friend” was with her as she always is (except when she visits mom, from what I hear) and neither of them acted very comfortable or were big on making eye contact. Whatever.

It is what it is. But, I’ve circled the wagons, essentially. I’ll be polite but I’m pretty much done with her. I know how my mom is and if she hasn’t already she’ll eventually wear my sister down.

Even with that garbage I still had a great weekend. I’m feeling more relaxed than I have in a long time and part of me is almost afraid I’m going to jinx it by talking about it. Things with Julien were resolved last night over beers and barbecue. S.O. played no small part in it and I’m starting to realize that while the man can be a terrific asshole, he also really does love me and he wants me to be happy.

Sometimes it’s the simple things that you have to really appreciate and let count for more than just face value. You know?