Tag

Independence

Soulmate

soulmate
I could write a book about all the ways I love you…

I’ve finally found someone with whom I share myriad interests and passions.
We enjoy the same kinds of movies (horror and comedies- nothing that makes either one of us feel emotions).
We have the same taste in music (all over the place; much like my mindset).
Figuring out our food options is never an issue (sushi again? Sounds great!).
I think I’ve found my soulmate.

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Ladies, Behaviors of a Man that you Deserve

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Ladies, find a man who you deserve.

Find one who notices the goosebumps on your thighs, rubs his hands together and blows his hot breath on his palms, then rubs his warm extremities on your legs.

Find a man who is dependent on you in some respects, yet invaluable in others. You should both better the other.

… opens his eyes on a lazy Sunday morning, smiles sleepily, and kisses your elbow, because it’s the first skin he can get to, and he needs to touch his lips to you immediately.

… who makes you laugh uncontrollably and genuinely.

… who appreciates YOU: your sense of humor, your quirks, your un-made up face.

… who doesn’t even flinch when you storm in the morning, angry and ugly; pissed at everyone, pissed at life, pissed at the morning sun. He just simply says “Coffee?” (Bonus points for making it himself)

… who doesn’t lie.

… who doesn’t judge.

… who hopes that you’ll talk back, then truly LISTENS when you do.

Ladies, you deserve the best, as do I, though sometimes it’s hard to realize that. We make excuses, we try to change them.
Love isn’t supposed to be hard.
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P.S.- I compiled this list based on my son’s actions toward me within the past 24 hours.

P.P.S.- Before you all “aww” about his behaviors, please note that on the flip side he outwardly refused to make his bed and/or clean his room, smacked his sister on the arm, and made up a song with the chorus, “Girls are such stupid-faces, with dumb butts.”

Backyard Bonfire

Wedding dress bonfire

Sizzle.

Crackle.

Hisssssss…

The tips of the flames licked the night sky as I tearfully witnessed the ivory satin turn to ash. He would be back soon, I knew.

“Went to take a drive,” he said, “to clear my head.”

 

Just like that, my wedding dress, and all it represented, was gone.

Hot Mess

**Disclaimer: Poor language choices to follow. Perhaps it shows the extremities of my messiness**

 

I am a hot fucking mess.

There is sand stuck to my exposed skin, laced between my toes, and caught in my windblown hair from yoga class this morning, held on the beach on this cold and damp and EARLY morning.

A freshly penned speeding ticket sits in the passenger side of my Prius. I mean, come on, isn’t the trooper aware that my car is unable to maintain speeds past 65 mph without beginning to tremble? I’m not exactly a threat on the road.

I had no time to put on makeup before, so my blonde eyelashes look like the white falsies that a drag-queen might wear to a diva competition and my brows, almost the same overly-milked-oatmealish color as my skin, look nonexistent. I must’ve scratched the side of my face while I slept, because I noticed a red gash stretching across my cheek. I squeeze my eyes tightly, trying to recall the dream from the night before that caused my abrasiveness. No memories though.

My finger nail polish is chipped: noticeably so. My toes too. Crap. I look like a hot fucking mess.

I focus on myself internally. That’s what really matters, right?

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Better Than Me

Everyone had expected me to be upset by my divorce- perhaps a little angry, definitely hurt. I was all of those things, but my reasoning actually just came to me. It bulldozed its way into my brain and then sat there: horrible, awful, and unpleasant, just waiting for me to address it. So here it goes…

Why I’m Pissed

I wasn’t on the search for my future mate by any means. At 23 years old, as can be imagined, I had a list a mile long: smart, funny, good-looking… (the classics). Also, I was enjoying the single life.

I could do whatever I wanted, go wherever I wanted, say whatever I wanted- within reason of course; I still lived with my mom.

The truth is, he chased me down, and I knew (or thought I did) that he’d always idolize me. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that when someone puts you up on a pedestal, eventually you have nowhere to go but down.

I loved dating him, and I was deliriously happy when we moved in together. It would be a lie if I said that I had any apprehensions when we finally vowed to love each other in good times and bad. For richer or poorer.

In sickness and in health.

Pissed

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Misconceptions

Life is a series of misconceptions.

When we are kids, this is more direct: the belief in a magical fairy who creeps into our bedrooms as we sleep to take our old canines and slip a couple dollars under our pillow; a 6-foot tall rabbA misconceptionit, who hops around laying chocolate eggs and leaving baskets of candy and fake plastic grass, wrapped in cellophane and a giant pink bow; an elf who flies from the family room curtain rod to the bookcase in the den at nighttime, surveying our behavior in December in order to report it to the big guy.

Okay, perhaps these are less misconceptions, more like lies.

 

But, as kids, we also have misconceptions about the people we are surrounded by. That our parents are always perfect. That everything will always turn out okay in the end. As a parent now, I have first-hand knowledge that the former is not true. Not even a little bit true. I am admittedly flawed, yet I try to live up to the conceptions that my children have of me.

And, perhaps it’s a little naïve of me to think so, but hopefully everything will turn out okay in the end, or, at least, how it’s supposed to.

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Christmas Past, Christmas Future **one**

C-31 the code on my boarding pass proclaimed. Great, I thought: the cheap seats.

After a long stint Coming home after Christmaswaiting in an organized line for the flight attendant to take said pass, then another wait on the jetway while the passengers in front of me crammed their stuffed-to-capacity-and-then-some carry-ons into too-small overhead compartments, I boarded the aircraft and stood on my tip-toes to view my potential seats.

“Ladies and gentleman, there is a full flight this morning, so please be sure to allow these new passengers access to all the seats in your row,” a nasally woman’s voice came over the loudspeaker.  I noticed a few people who were already seated roll their eyes, huff, or curse under their breath. Sigh.

In a feeble attempt to get myself a seat that didn’t involve being sandwiched between a crying baby and someone who looked like a “talker,” I scanned available openings as I continued to amble down the narrow aisle.

Each time I found a potentially decent place to sit, I was rammed forward by the horde in back of me. Before long, I was given the choice of a middle seat in the back row of the plane, or one on top of the toilet. I chose the former so that I didn’t infuriate the flight attendant.

I began mushing my way into my destined residence in a flourish of body parts and bags and whispered “Excuse me!”s and “I’m so sorry!”s. In order to get to that particular seat, I had to apologize for my very existence.

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Attempting Contentedness (1)

digital clockMy eyes fluttered open and I looked up at the ceiling where my new, high-tech (to me, anyway) clock projected the time across its facade. The red numbers revealed the early-morning hour as 4 am. Too early to start my day, I decided. Turning my head, I had expected to see his sleeping face next to mine, but the bed was empty, save for me and a few blue shams that were still in place from the day before. Huh, I thought, he’s usually in here by now. It was at that moment that I heard footsteps trudging down the hallway, then the door was pushed open and slammed shut unapologetically. I heard a grunt as he climbed up the foot of the bed, but the first thing I gazed upon was his white stuffed whale that flew from his hands and ricocheted off the headboard before finally settling down on my face. It was a nice start to the day. Hunter’s sleepy, yet maddened little face came into view next. “Hey! That’s mine!” he said, snatching the beluga off me, as though I had been keeping him captive there.

“Yup, babe. Now go back to sleep.” He nodded, then mushed his face so that it was exactly one centimeter from mine. “Hi. Did you want to move over a bit?”

“Nope,” he quietly said, before yawning and closing his eyes, allowing sleep to take him. I looked at his angelic little face and tried to memorize it, so the image could be recalled in my mind later in the day when his behavior became less than heavenly.

Trying to get back into dream-world was futile, as thoughts (most of which had never been contemplated before and/or were completely unwarranted) crept into my cognition. Deciding that the morning was inevitable, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, allowing my bare toes to touch the carpet. Careful not to wake my sleeping child, I slowly stood up in the darkness, and stumbled over to the bathroom to brush my teeth. The bright vanity lights felt like daggers to my still-adjusting eyes.

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Independence

In my family room, amongst the watercolor landscapes painted by my grandmother and carefully placed portraits of my children, is a shadow box, within which is a circular plastic pig from a children’s board game.

“Why the hell did you put that there?” is a question often posed by my dear, and so incredibly refined, friends.

“I, single-handedly, pulled it from the hose of the vacuum cleaner, so it now works.” I announce triumphantly.

“Umm…so?”

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I’ve fixed things before. I’ve completed tasks on my own. I’ve independently lifted heavy boxes, painted walls, and carried cumbersome objects up the stairs. For some reason, however, this silly task resonated with me. It represented my self-reliance, because when I was able to take that stupid hose out of the stupid vacuum cleaner, discover the stupid piece from the game, and fish the stupid thingy out of there, I was the victor. There may have been no one there to hand over a blue ribbon, but I knew in my heart that I became the champion of my own independence that day. So that small, red pig? That’s my sovereignty, and it hangs on my wall with pride.Independence is a pig from children's game