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It was... offuckingcourse... the first day of Spring Break.  The first day of seven consecutive days OFF with nothing to do other than play with the kids and go on adventures.... Whereupon the week would end gloriously with a Cupcake Jones Breakfast on Friday for my 40th Birthday, the kids would go with El Capitan and I... *I* would go off for a fun-filled weekend of fancy dinners on rooftops (courtesy of The Sexy Boyfriend), brunch, a Birthday Inferno (courtesy of my friends) and another brunch..... 

I saw him coming.
I thought he had time and distance to slow down.... so at first I wasn't worried.
Then I watched him try to swerve into the other lane.... but it was also stopped.
Then I watched his front end hop as he slammed on his brakes....
With nowhere to go and only a half-a-foot between us and the concrete wall that separates west bound traffic going 50mph.... 

I had read somewhere that when someone say's "I love you"... that the brain releases endorphins upon hearing it which help you relax.

So.  I gripped the wheel with my tires straight.
I stepped down on my brake.
I watched in the rear-view mirror as his front end hopped and I said.... "hey guys....I love you!"

And BAM.

We were rear-ended by a giant ass truck going at least 40mph or more .....
Sigh.

I grabbed my phone and immediately took a picture out my back window - in case the driver tried to leave the scene on a busy highway - I thought I would get their car...
However, now having no back window, all I got was a blurry picture of two shocked children.... which is rather heartbreaking and yet pleasing to look at... because crying kids are alive kids:  and that's a good start.

I jumped out of my car and took another picture, then I ran to the truck.
The door opened to another family and I asked them if they were "ok"... they said they were.
I said, we're still sitting on a major highway, so lets get off at the next exit and exchange information. 

They drove off and I took a few more pictures... 

We met at the exit and the man, the driver, looked so sad.
He told me he was sorry and didn't see the stopped traffic and that they were on their way to the Saturday Market in PDX.

Both my kids were still crying, The Boy said his head hurt and The Girl was crying over her wrist.
I was still trying to process what had happened and was nursing a painful left wrist...
Even still... I felt bad.

I felt bad for him that he had made a mistake.  A mistake plenty of us make...
And so instead of being upset at him I consoled him.
I told him that 'accidents happen'... that insurance would 'sort it all out' and that in the end.... I kind of had a 'love/hate' relationship with this car and I wasn't all that upset about it being hit.
I mean.. it's a damn mini-van, not someone's prized Corvette.

He chuckled.

He already seemed to feel so much guilt and shame.. I felt the need to ease it.
Damn feelings.
Sigh.

So.  We exchange the usual info and I do not, in fact, call the police because we had already left the scene and a rear-end accident is fairly cut and dry....
Or ... is it?

I drove us back to The Bubbie and The Papa who then piled us into their car and drove us to the E.R.  Both kids were scanned and checked.  The Boy had hit his head on the window and The Girl had gotten her wrist jammed on the arm of the car seat and it was sprained.
I had the usual head/neck/back injuries and a sprained wrist....
Good. Fucking. Times.

Didn't I say Spring Break started with a BANG?

The next day I called my insurance and reported the accident... they offered me a rental car, to which I said that I didn't feel much like driving for a few days and perhaps we could sort that out on Tuesday.  No sense in paying for a rental car I won't yet be driving.....

I called El Capitan and told him he needed to come get the kids... I had a splitting headache and I hurt and I needed rest... meanwhile, the kids needed a parent who could be paying attention to their needs and health and so he took them for two days.
I went to stay with The Dutiful Boyfriend who changed out ice bags and pain killers.

Both kids were having nightmares and bedtime issues... both didn't want to ride in a car and they had dug out their die-cast Cars collection and were driving them around the house and crashing them into each other.... clearly they were processing what had happened to us.

I re-surfaced in the world on Tuesday .... only to discover that Mr. I Didn't See The Traffic Stop... wasn't returning phone calls to my agent... or his agent... and also... according to his agent, there was an "insurance question". 

Oh... holy crap.
As one might suspect:  that's not a good thing.
It's really not a good thing.  

On Wednesday The Girl brought me this wee little booklet wrapped in a Frozen napkin.  It was all about a Fox whose car gets into an accident and they fix it.... and she said, "we'll all be ok, mommy...."

Well... Mr. Fox is a goddamn liar.

As it turns out.... Mr. I Didn't See The Traffic Stop is also Mr. Didn't Pay His Car Insurance Premium.... That look of worry and concern on his face wasn't the guilt of having hit me... it was him *knowing* that he was handing me a bogus insurance card and that he didn't have coverage.
So... now it all becomes my problem.

I saw a video recently... and it's message was "a simple act of caring creates an endless ripple of kindness".... well, frankly, I'm call BS on that....
All of this is happening during a week when thousands of people donate money to a certain pizzeria all just for having some kind of twisted view that denying a certain group of people wedding pizza makes them righteous and devout Christians (it doesn't imho)..... and is that kind?
IS THAT KIND?
I'm not asking if it's right or something they are entitled too.... I'm asking:  is it kind?

Showing someone empathy in the moment that they have made an error which will cost thousands of dollars to fix and be unfair in about a dozen ways.... THAT IS KIND.
Refusing someone your shitty pizza.... it's not kind, but somehow in this backwards country of ours:  it's pays.
It pays almost a million dollars!
Where the heck is my "ripple" ....?  I don't need $800K... I'd settle for a red Kia hamster car....
I'm such a cheap date.
Seriously.

While I didn't really love the Mazda 5 and all the bullshit I have dealt with in owning it... it *is* the only car we have... and it's rather hard to be a single Mom and get your kids and yourself to school without a vehicle.
In fact... it's impossible.

And... because his insurance was covering fuck-all.... and my policy didn't have rental car coverage:  I was, as they say... shit out of luck.
Mind you... one could easily and successfully argue that I have been shit out of luck for a very, very long time... but I digress....

So now I have a deductible for my uninsured motorist coverage.
I have no rental car.... but I was crossing everything by my legs in the hope that they would total out my car and I could go get one of those super CUTE Kia's... you know the one with the cute hamster commercials???  The kids LOVE Those commercials and I thought...well, I can make the car payment (same as the one I have now) and at least we get a fresh start.... so:  silver lining.

But again..... S.O.L:  they opted to pay the $8,000 in repairs to the Mazda.
Good Grief.

So here we are.... three weeks later... the Mazda is still in the shop.
My wrist is still in a brace (except for when I drive because I'm borrowing a friend's car and it has a clutch).
I get no new car.... no clean slate to start over....

On the one hand I should have stayed on the highway (risking further accident and injury) to call the cops so Mr. Doesn't Pay His Insurance Premiums would have gotten a ticket (the LEAST that could have happened to him!).... but instead I was just as worried about him as I was about me.
Damn empathy.

The only teeny, tiny upside... is that while The Boy is constantly showing me his ability to love others and be kind and be empathetic... this time, I got to see The Girl rise up and show me what she's made of.

She knew I was hurt.
She knew the car was hurt.
She knew I was sad and a bit frustrated and.... for whatever *crazy* reason she had recently made this little book at school to practice reading ....

And she made me a present.
She wrapped that book up in the napkin of Elsa and Ana - her favorite people on the earth.
She chose a book with a message to soothe my worries... in real time.

The Girl showed me empathy.
Wow.

Best 40th Birthday Present ever.

My Birthday Weekend was a bit of a train-wreck... the new term started and it's been chaos relying on a borrowed car and keeping doctor appointments and such.... and now all the financial responsibility of someone else's mistake becomes mine (*again*).

Most First World Problem of ALL is that in attempting to FIX the damn Mazda they found *more* damage and now the repairs exceed it's value... so I *could* have wound up with a new car ... but didn't.
Le Sigh.

Instead... I'll (eventually) get my Mazda back with after-market repairs (oh... goody), my wrist will (hopefully) eventually heal... I won't get my 40th Birthday weekend again - but .... 

In one very small, but very important to me, victory:  The Girl showed me empathy.
Single Mommy Winning... 
kind of. lololol

I loved this day.  I can't remember... but I *think* it was the first time I took the kids out on my own post him leaving... which, for the most part was fairly unfucking remarkable because that was a theme through our entire marriage: me and the kids.
Me and the kids go to the zoo.
Me and the kids to to the beach.
Me and the kids go see Santa... the Easter Bunny.....

Me and the kids did... all the usual "family" things because El Capitan "had to work"......
So when he left I was already somewhat versed on doing "big" outings as a singular unit... just me and the kids.

Truth be told, it was more than just "the big outings" where I was.... alone.
I chose which diapers to buy.
I chose to breast feed... until each of my children were 3 years old.  (yes...i know: shocker).
I chose to co-sleep and pursue a "family bed".
I chose to Attachment Parent.....

El Capitan never cared. 
I would read a book on whatever subject matter... may be a few books... then I would to him and say - "this is what they say and this is what I think..... what do you think?"  
and he would say.... "Yup... that sounds good."

And.... we would do.... whatever I said.
At the time I thought it was nice that we were so "on the same page together"... and how we rarely ever fought and how we "agreed" on everything.... and how amazing that was.... how lucky I was.

I mean.... keep in mind that there wasn't ONE SINGLE FUCKING NIGHT that El Capitan EVER got up with a crying child needing a diaper change or a bottle in the middle of the night.... 
He used to boast, with extreme pride, that he slept soundly through the night *every* night when people would say the usual "up all night" with a newborn type comments to him.

However... looking back, now I wonder how much he agreed with things and how much he just acquiesced to them.  Or..... possibly - and most likely according to Chloe and Jenny B.... how much he just clearly gave no fucks about things generally......
Sigh.

I digress....... 

Looking at this picture takes me RIGHT back to that space and time when he had just left and life was.... hard.  I was still struggling through the leaving and putting together the web of lies trying to find sense and truth (still trying for those... clearly that ain't gonna' happen)..... and thoughts like those always go right back to that first night.

That first night of me and the kids....
Curled up on the couch, amidst the quiet sobs and remote controls and kindles and tissues.
Just me.... and the kids, and my new found fears.  

The only thing louder than my cries was the audible sound of all my hopes and dreams as a mother crashing around me, dragging me under and to a dark, dark place that took me weeks to climb out of.
A dark place that still beckons to me as it fills with doubt and regret and still more fears, even these few years later..... I never seem to run out of those: fears.

Since that first night on the couch I have only tried to maintain the one remaining dream:  two happy kids from one broken home.
Period.  Find a way to ease them into two houses while keeping them happy and whole and as unbroken and unharmed and unfucked up as humanly possible.....
Believe me when I tell you this is no small or easy task.

I have, for a very, very, long time.... listened to the world, to society for direction.

Find yourself a partner they said..... you'll be happy.  Find a healthy relationship where the kids can see how happy you are and model a good "marriage/relationship" for them..... they said.
Which I did and.... I was... we were... happy.... but really..... they lied. 
again.

It's NOT AT ALL about Hail Mary.  I want to make that CRY.STAL. CLEAR.
She's..... great.
She's this ... firecracker. 
She's on the go and ready to pick up and help out and swoop in and save the day every day and every time and every disaster that she can save you from..... with a smile and good heart.
She's babysitting during night class and all day Sunday when I work and bed time routines and dinner and chores and homework..... she's pretty great.

However... since things didn't work out with Hail Mary 6 months ago..... I've been going a lot of thinking.

The issue's isn't other people.
the *real* issue.... is me.


The issue is my greater sense of loss and how my ideal of being a Mom has been molded and changed in ways I never asked for and never approved and never ever fucking acquiesced to.....
There was no reading of books and conversations of contemplation.... 
It just was.... and it changed every single thing.


I've had to give up so much as a Mother.  Hands down it's the biggest of ALL the losses.... homeschooling, the constant closeness the three of us... marred and jarred and interrupted by night classes and other people putting them to bed and hours of homework.... and life.
And.... I hate it.


I hate looking around and knowing all the things I'm missing and all the days I'm running down with errands and school and work.... and NOT with my children.  


To that end, I've always been an unconventional mother.
My children have never not one fucking time 'cried it out' to go to sleep.... 
They went to sleep wrapped in love and woke up the same way.
They have never had the sting of shampoo trickle into their eyes.... never not one time.
They go to school in clean, matching clothes, hair neatly brushed, and tooth too.... with smiles.
If my daughter needs to come and sleep with me every night... so fucking be it.



Oh.... and at least two mornings a week I'm like... "We're gonna be so fucking late! Let's go!"
True. Story.
And man oh man... do other people - friends and potential partners... everyone has opinion.
But hey.... lookey here.... here's me:  giving no fucks.


And then we try to add another person to the mix..... and .... a whole new internal battle begins.  I love this person, I want them to be happy and feel fulfilled and love the kids and have a say and be a "parent.."
So I'm constantly trying .... to make everyone happy... and instead that darkness starts to swirl and I feel myself going under ever so slowly.

But THAT'S THE DAMN THING OF IT:  if you're trying to be a partner and a mom:  nothing comes first.
Instead it's all a balancing act of putting out this fire or stopping this fight or that one... .Hail Mary say's no they can't have the TV in bed... but I usually let them.. but tonight they didn't behave and Hail Mary took the TV away and now she's pissed because I won't 'stand behind her discipline' and the kids are sobbing and I'm like.... fuck this.
Just.... fuck it.

Now instead of just being a Mom - which is hard enough all on it's mothertrucking own - I have to figure out how to make another adult AND two half people happy.... balance their needs with me and with each other and craft these relationships where someone else is coming in from a different team and a different coach and a totally different 'game of life' and entering mine and now I have to "teach" them all new rules and yet be willing to change and alter and compromise those rules to include their thoughts and opinions on parenting and kids...... and ... and ... and.... it fucking blows*.
B.L.O.W.S.

And.  I hated it...... and again I read the books and tried to learn all the things to make it smooth and happy and solid.... but man... if it just didn't suck and always leaving me feel like I was a horrible Mom and horrible partner and you know what.... life kind of already has me feel rather shitty about myself, just generally speaking.... and this... this wasn't helping.

There was this is a whole new sense of disappointment and frustration that rushed in, taking over me and dragging me under..... and man... am I fucking tired of treading water.

AGAIN.  It's NOT at all about Hail Mary.  

It's about me..... 
It's about me... and the kids.

We are a threesome.
Or may be we're a foursome... or a five-some if La Novia ever decides to come to the parenting plate....
But.  We will no longer be a foursome.

Yup:  you read that right.  We will always be a threesome.
Party of three.
One and two half peoples..... and not another half or whole person more.

You see back when I was a married straight lady I used to listen to Dr. Laura ALL.THE.TIME.  This, of course is mostly prior to her loosing her nut on the radio that one day.... and sure, sure.... some of her uber conservative advice would get under my skin... and yes - I know she is a bigot who thinks gays are a "biological error".... like I said:  she's a crazy ass-hat.

But... every asshole has their day in the sun and what I hear in the back of my mind is Dr. Laura telling single Mom's who called into the show for dating advice... to NOT DATE.

You already fucked up one marriage... why do you think the second or third one is gonna' work out?
and on and on and on...... the base nugget of her advice was this:  Your first job and ONLY job is being a Mom.  This should be paramount and the only thing you work on to get right..... date when your kids are 18 and not before then.

On top of Crazy Bigot Lady's advice.... there are the countless friends I've had growing up and as an adult who tell me ..... "things were kind of okay after the divorce and they got better and then my Mom/Dad married so-and-so.... and then it all went to shit and I was miserable as a kid....."

I seem to know a lot of people who grow up in a blended family.... and didn't seem to like it.  For SOME PEOPLE - some amazing people who shit rainbows and find upside down horseshoe's and four leaf clovers every time they leave the house.... for THOSE LUCKY BASTARDS.... being a blended family works out AMAZING and wonderful and is everything Disney say's it won't be..... (see:  Cinderella for reference on wicked step mothers).

And man..... good on those people.  Good for them that they figure out that balance and find that right person that makes their family and their kid whole..... what an amazing gift.

However, if we've learned nothing else in the (almost) three years of blogging... my life is.....
a funny sign to sell your house that instantly makes you 'internet famous' for being 'crazy' or 'vengeful'....
trips to the beach where The Girl nearly drowns.....
poopy troubles that turn into scary medical diagnosis for The Boy....
family vacations end abruptly with my child shitting on a bathroom floor.....
our life is anything but ....lucky.
hahahahaha

And that's fine... because I'm still grateful.  It doesn't have to be perfect, or wonderful..... I can dust off the sand and stuff down the Metamucil and do the paper-towel dance to clean the shit up on the floor.... but what I have discovered is that I want to do that ON. MY. OWN.

I don't want someone else's opinion on how bedtimes should go.
I don't want to know what you think time out should look like....
I give no fucks that you, friend, potential lover, whoever you are.... thinks my kid should bed in at this time or that.  No. fucks... not a single one.

Just two weeks ago I had a meeting with the school principal where the office ladies tell me that every day my sweet, sweet Boy leans in their door and tells them to have an awesome day.
That every day he walks in with his head held high and he is kind and sweet and friendly to everyone.
The Principal say's The Boy is exceptional and The Girl is quickly following in his footsteps.

Thus far.... my children are not *yet* a mess.
They are more than the sand and the shit on the floor and a father who left them..... we have over come all the hurdles big and small.... and we did it: together.
Alone. (mostly)
As a threesome.

I'm not saying I'm the perfect Mom.... far fucking from it.
But... do I let my kids listen to the explicit version Macklemore's Thrift Shop because The Boy thinks it's hilarious when he say's.... " ... piiiiiiiiiisssssssssssss".
Absofuckinglutely.

You have a problem with that.....?  
Oh look... here's me giving no fucks about that.... and you wanna' know why?
Because NEVER NOT ONE TIME has either of my children used naughty or crude language in public - on a playdate, at school, whatever.... so. 
BOOM.  
(Clearly they leave this behavior to their mother.... cough cough.)

So.  I've come to the realization that going forward for the foreseeable future..... I will not be in a 'conventional dating relationship'..... yes yes - I'm queer, isn't that unconventional enough?
hahaha

Well.  No, it's not.

I don't want a partner who ... "co-parents".
I don't want a person who is around who discipline's or is involved in any significant way with my children.
I don't want your advice....
I don't want your input......

Why?
Not because I'm arrogant and think I've got this shit on lock down (clearly I don't..... hahaha).
But  because I'm selfish.
I've already missed on out on so many hugs and kisses and smiles and good times and sad times... I don't want to fucking share.  I don't want your advice and I don't want YOU to get my hugs and kisses.
Those are my dammit.

You wanna' date me.... cool:  I will see you every other weekend and may be a few times during the week here and there.

You aren't coming to the park..... 
You aren't coming round for dinner and bed-time chaos.....
You aren't coming on family vacations and life events.... those are mine.  
They belong to the three of us and no one else.....

My kids.... they *deserve* all of my time. 
All of my attention.
They *deserve* the mother who set out to raise them to the tune of HER HEART... and no one else's.  
That's how I parent.... I listen with my heart to theirs and go from there.

And guess what..... there's just no room for any other hearts.

So.  That's the scoop.
I'm not dating anymore.... at least for the foreseeable future.
I reserve the right to change my mind any time I like..... but for now.  My heart tells me that this is what I need and this is what the children need..... and I have to listen to my heart.
My heart said... pack El Capitan's stuff:  don't burn it on the lawn.
My heart said... protect them, don't expose them.... 
My heart said... do the right the thing even when it hurts......


Thus far:  my heart has mostly gotten things right (mostly).
So I have to listen to it now.... 

I'm not sharing.
These kids are mine.... and I don't want to share them.  
Period.

Life.... is hard enough.
Complicated enough.
Challenging enough.....
Sad enough.... and I only have two arms to hold you.... one for each child and not an arm more.

So that's how it's gonna' be..... 
Just as it's always been.....
Me and the kids.


*Yes, yes, yes..... grammar police:  I know this was a run-on sentence of epic proportions.... and look at me:  I wrote it anyway! bwahahahahahahaha

Not the least of which, is that my friends house burned down.
Completely... to the ground.  
Heartbreaking, sigh.

They weren't home.  They were away for the holidays.  All of them. Safe and sound in another location... initially unaware of the tragedy that awaited them.
The tragedy that would engulf them in grief and take with it all the *things* they loved..... 

I know a thing or two about that.

I'm not sure, in the grand scheme of things, that is matters whether or not your tragedy is the vacuous snatch of a 22 year old co-ed  or a fire accidentally started by a worker which came down from the roof incinerating everything in it's path.

And even though my friend wasn't there... didn't bear witness to the smoke and the flames... the pain is just as real, just as awful.  His home was gorgeous... the kind of home you might have seen in the days prior to MTV Cribs when it was all "Lifestyles of The Rich and Famous" and you could hear Robin Leach saying, "just off the designer kitchen, around the large leather couches.... we escape to the infinity pool where the view is almost as amazing as the heated water that surrounds you......"

It was elegant and beautiful.  It housed all their memories and photos and tickets stubs to first dates and baby books.... and everything.
All of it:  gone.  
It's a tragedy even I have a hard time trying to grasp the entire gravity of.

It got me thinking about my house... it wasn't grand.  It certainly wasn't regal and I only possessed a $100 water slide that El Capitan never cleaned and put away... so we ended up throwing it out. 

It wasn't fancy.... it was simple... but it was mine.  And I miss it.
Mostly... I miss The Girl's room.  It was the most perfect shade of pink.  I had filled it with all the things I thought a little girl would want.

A magic mirror.... so she could see how beautiful she was.
A vintage metal kitchen... where we dined on plastic grapes and avocado's for hours.
Her bed.... a hand-me-down from a friend because I couldn't afford to buy a new one.

Her quilt.... all my friends had trendy Potty Barn sets for their cribs and toddlers beds and whatnot.... but that was just so far out of my price range.... so instead, I spent a few weeks going from Goodwill to Goodwill collecting up fabric and then I instructed The Bubbie to make a butterfly quilt with the fabric... it was gorgeous.  It was retro and fit her room perfectly.

That room is gone.  
Painted over by the new owners... they did a lovely job... but that room is gone.
The kitchen, the quilt, the mirror... all wrapped up in storage.
The bed.... gone to another friend who needed it because it was just going to sit in storage.

That's the thing about a home:  it's more than a foundation with walls.
It's every piece of you and every piece of your life that tells a story about who you are and where you've been and what you love.... it's your personality and your joy and .... your everything.

Losing everything.... it's hard.
Harder than I could have ever imagined.
Lucky me... *some* of my pieces are in storage... though that stash get's smaller every year as I can afford the storage unit less and less..... but.  I still have some and some is better than none.

My friend: has none.
That's just heart breaking.

I actually haven't looked at these photos in well over a year.... it's just too hard.  They take me right back to that place where I'm treading water, frantically trying to keep my head just above the incoming emotional tide.
That's what it still feels like.... emotionally frantic.

That picture of The Boy playing in his little spot in the front window..... that one pulls me under fast.... because I can't tell you how many days and hours I just *assumed* that I would always see that... him playing there... watching TV there... reading there.... 
But that's not there anymore either.
Sigh.

The last few years have been spent living inside the kindness of others.... family who let us move in, and then with Hail Mary... but even then, I didn't have a say in the things.  I didn't change the curtains, I didn't get to make the house "my home" with my things.... we've been living in others people's spaces.... and that's actually very hard to do.

So I try not to think about what I've lost.... but instead, I always try to think about what will be.
I will never, as long as I live, own a home where the likes of Robin Leach would walk through talking about a grand staircase or the barn just outside housing my horses.... fuck:  I'd be grateful just to be living in the actual barn at this point. lolol.
True story.

However.... one day, I will be done with school and we will get our own place.
I think about how I will paint the walls.  It will probably be a small apartment, or *may be* a town home if I'm super lucky.... three bedrooms will probably be a stretch.

So, it will be two bedrooms, one for The Boy, which will have an appropriate Spirit Halloween theme.  I will let him get out all of his animatronics from storage.  Freddie Kruger, Electrocution Guy, Insane Clown, Frankenstein... all of them..... out so he can enjoy them all year long.

The Girl will have (may be) her vintage kitchen if it's not too late and she's outgrown it..... a new bed and her quilt (unless she insists on a Frozen theme... which is likely... sigh.) I will hang shelves to house all her dolls and put up her doll house.... BUT, it will be pink:  I saved the paint chip.

I will likely be living in the main room.... which is why I bought myself a $140 day-bed frame from Wal-Mart for Christmas (The Bubbie and Papa helped).  I have been hauling/storing a double bed mattress that El Capitan and I inherited from his Grandmother when she passed away.....

At 39 years old:  I have never bought myself a bed. I never seem to have a few thousand dollars on hand for a fancy, comfy mattress and whatever..... I'm all Seely and Simmons circa' 1980's style. 
True story.

So this bed frame was kind of a big deal for me.... and I bought something that would lend itself to be a "couch" of sorts later down the road... so that when we have our own place, the kids and I can use it as a couch for watching movies and stuff.....because my room will likely be the living room. lol
It won't be perfect, it won't be a lovely two story home that most of the people at my age with kids are living in... it will be small and cramped and yet.... I can't wait.
I really, really look forward to it.

That idea.... of what I *will* create out of what we have collectively lost... that is what keeps me going.
When it's after midnight and I'm still struggling to nail down the judicial opinion of a case brief and I have to be up in 6 hours.... I just keep going.  Every time I have to tell The Girl, "No, Mommy can't come play dolls... she has a Table of Washington State RCW's to build for Criminal Law..."  all of which sails right over The Girl's head and all she hears .... is Mommy saying no.
It sucks..... but I have to hold onto hope that it will be worth it.

I wasn't going to BE THAT PARENT.  Too busy for playing dolls. 
Too busy for my kids.... but alas.  The greatest loss that my 'inferno' took from me... was my ability to truly be the mother I wanted to be.... stay-at-home, homeschooling... MOM.

And that's all I really want my friend to know.
While the things are gone... and fuck me do I EVER understand how great and horrific and painful that loss is.... and how you will NEVER EVER truly get over it.
It's too great.... it's emotional cost is just too gigantic for you to ever full move past......

You're still you.  You have the resources to build anew.... and what a joy that will be.
You will sit down and create a whole new place... this time with the knowledge of all the "this would nice" and "that would be cool to have".... alllllll added to the new house.

You will paint walls and create new memories and new bedrooms.... build another grand staircase and by this time next year.... the heartache of this loss will have been pushed out... pushed to the side - by the memories of a summer spent splashing around in a new pool with your kids.....

Because that's what life does..... it's crashes and burns.
It's like a computer.... you have all these things and files and memories.... and then the bad shit comes down and overwhelms you... you can over it or around it or through it..... your only choice is to move through it one  awful heartbreaking fucking day at a time.

And.... the amazing thing is that while you're going that... inching along over the broken glass of your own emotions and pain.... life is still writing your new memories for you.  Etching them alongside the hurt and the loss and the anger..... and over time, as each day passes.... you suddenly find yourself with a heart still full of love, a family still full of life, a life full of hope.... and all of that will have become greater in size than the pain you currently feel.  It will subside to the hope and the newness and the life you are living.... *now*.

I know it's hard to get there.... and there won't be a day you aren't thinking about your Girl's "perfectly pink room.... gone".... but - you'll be so busy living life it just won't hurt as much.

So... I wish you hope my friend.... it's going to be the bridge over the broken glass and the strength of the walls you now build around your family.  

Those walls are going to be the brick and mortar kind... strong and holding up a room.
Those 'walls' are also something you already have.... in the arms that comfort your wife and toss your children in the air with glee.....the 'walls' that encircle your family and love them and keep them truly safe.... the inferno, the tragedy.... it didn't take those.

How do I know?.... 'cause I have the same 'walls'..... :)
Trust me.... you are made of greater things than I am.... and I'm still here. 
Still happy (ish).
Kids still very happy.... life... still full of hope.  heart still full of love.... 
Living.  

There are days lately where I open my eyes and all I really want to do is grab my purple bike with the giant black banana seat and head on over to Angie's house.  Whereupon we will sneak cards from her mother's poker set and use wooden close-line pins to attach the playing cards to the frame so that they would slap against the spokes of our tires.... that way when we rode around the neighbourhood our bikes would make cool "motorcycle" type noises.
We were cool.

Well... cool for a couple of 9 year olds circa 1985.  

Angie, Mary, Amy and I would ride our bikes around for hours and hours.  
We would head down to Bear Creek and wade in the water.  Sometimes we would ride, one hand on the handle-bars and one arm laced through the center of a giant inner tube... and we'd just float down the creek and walk back up... and then ride home.
In the summer we would chase the ice-cream man and scarf down ice-cream sandwiches, or a Trumpette or a Rainbow Rocket.
Most days we would start out Angie's house and then to go to Mary's and then (if we were soooooo daring) we would ride our bikes all the way to the other side of the grade school to where Geoff XXXXXXX lived in the hopes that he might be outside and we could gawk at his coolness.
That kid was hot.... seriously.  H.O.T.

But almost everyday... you would see us riding around our neighbourhood, past Shane Shaeffers house, playing cards flapping and arms folded across our chests .... "look MOM:  no hands!!!!....."
Because we were cool like that.

Some days we sat around Susan's house listening to Motley Crue or playing "school" with her life size home-made Leif Garrett doll.  For the record... some of us may or may not have learned to "kiss" a boy by molesting that poor, floppy, stripped shirt doll..... just sayin.

Some days we were all piled into Cheryl's Mom's VW camper van, the kind with the pop-up roof, where we'd pretend we were a family going camping... just piled into that van and playing for hours and hours.  No one was worried about anyone suffocating in a closed up vehicle or whether or not a parking brake was on... no one.

Almost every day we rode past Mr. & Mrs. Schilling's where we all dumped our bikes on their front lawn, knocked on the door to say hello and collected our free cookies that the Schilling's always seemed to have on hand.  My parents never went and met The Schillings.  

We were getting FREE COOKIES from TOTAL STRANGERS.... and yet:  no one died.  
No one got sick.
And every single day, this lovely old couple would get visited by a gaggle of little girls who told funny stories and were polite and scarfed-up cookies......
It sounds utterly un-safe and yet.... perfect all at the same time.

It was somewhere between The Goonies and Stand By Me... only sans a super hot Keifer Sutherland chasing us or robbers and pirate ships.  But, we were young and wild and free..... 

And by wild, I mean to say that none of us wore, let alone owned, a helmet of any kind.
And by free, I mean to say that the only "rules" we had were to be home before dark.

Carefree days of childhood look ... almost unrecognizable to me these days.
I can't trust that my children are safe just playing on their own in the front yard without an adult sitting out their watching them.... let alone let them ride around a two or three mile radius on their bikes.  Sh*t... I don't let them the ride past the house three doors down without making them turn around and come right back.
Frankly, I don't even know the names of any of the kids in my neighbourhood and .... The Boy and The Girl don't either because they never play outside after school. 

Gah.... 9 year old me would be sooooo disappointed in the kind of Mother I am.

Instead, these day's I'm more pre-occupied with the scores of homework they have to do (common core for the win: not), or after-school gymnastics, or choir practice for The Boy.  There is so much pressure on them and on me.... honestly - too much pressure.

Benchmarks and testing and scores galore... that's what school and childhood have become.  
Finely tuned and planned play-dates are the only "adventures" the kids have... isn't that sad?

Goonies might never say die.... but it doesn't feel like there *are* Goonies anymore.... Instead, everyone is stuck in their house doing yet more reading and trying to figure out a common core Math problem that is so convoluted and ass-backwards that Pythagoras himself wouldn't be able to solve basic fourth-grade Math homework these days.
True story.

My kids are not wild or free.... 
Sigh.

I worry about this... .and frankly:  we should ALL be worried about this.

Bill Gates and Steve Jobs and Einstein... they didn't have mother's with flash cards in their faces from birth and highly structure pre-schools and daily tests that start in third grade monitoring their "progress"... and yet:  they turned out pretty f*cking smart.

We no longer learn how to solve our own problems, because now we have 'zero-tolerance' policies and parents who have meetings with principles because some girl chased down our son on the playground and kissed him on the cheek.  
KISSED HIM ON THE CHEEK:  that's sexual harassment you know.
Sigh.

When I was a kid there was this girl Laura and she... she was a bully.  She had a horrible bowl cut (clearly her Mother didn't like her very much) - and she was just plain mean.... one day she hit me and pushed me off my bike.  That night I re-told the story, bruised pride and arm on display, and The Papa showed me how to "box" her ear and said that the next time she went to hit me, to strike out and box her ear first and that would solve the problem.

Not too many wild, bike riding days later.... Little Bowl Cut Bully Laura ran home with her left ear ringing and a headache.
And that.... was that.

Cool for 9 year olds these day's looks a little different....
Now there are programs in schools to encourage being kind and caring and a 'good citizen'.... ideals that I have attempted to instill in my children since birth.  LIT.ER.ALLY.  Before The Boy could talk, I have tried to teach him to choose kindness.

But... let's be honest, I've been trying to teach/accomplish/do *lots* of things that haven't worked out so most days I'm just grateful when I can tread water long enough to keep our heads above the rising tide of chaos and life just long enough to get us back into our beds safely at night without any kind of sh*ttastic catastrophe taking place. Clearly... that doesn't happen that often.

Yesterday, however.... I was standing firmly in the shallow end high-fiving The Boy:  and it felt good.

Yesterday, The Boy came home from school wearing a t-shirt I had not sent him to school in.  This would usually lead me to ask a series of questions that would end in something not awesome.... BUT NOT THAT DAY!

He gets into the car and informs us that his class voted on which kid was the "Most Caring" kid in class.  He say's.... "yup, and I voted for my friend Gunner.... but you know what?  I guess other people voted for me.... I mean - I really think Gunner should have gotten it, Mom.... but hey - it was me!"

So there he was....with his sweet toothy grin and his t-shirt and he was so proud of himself....
So. FREAKING. PROUD.
So UTTERLY COOL.

And.... it might be sans flapping playing card bikes cool or incredibly dangerous creek floating type of cool.... instead, The Boy was recognized by his class and the ENTIRE. SCHOOL. at an assembly where his name was announced and he stood up and people clapped.....

"The kids were allllll clapping, MOM!"  he told me.
So. Totally. Cool.

So I have to hold on to the hope that for The Boy and The Girl, the Goonies take a different shape.... one where they can *may be* be a part of a generation that understands that racism and discrimination are wrong and that *really* the way to deal with Little Bowl Cut Bully Laura isn't by boxing her ear... but with kindness and caring and being a good friend to everyone......

It's a pipe dream, this I know... but I have to keeping believing and raising the kids to believe the same.  I mean, just imagine if alllll kids were raised in tolerance and understanding.... I mean, I know it seems so far away when we read about the horrible episodes of cyber bullying and whatnot... but - I still feel like we are so much closer to accepting each other than we were 20 years ago.

If nothing else.... I can take this small piece of Cool Croc awesomeness as a mothertrucking win for this single Mom..... it isn't often that I feel like I'm actually winning at this thing called life and motherhood... so today I WIN.

Today I ride... arms folded, smile on my face, playing cards flapping and handle bars-hands free.....

I managed (somehow) to pull off taking the kids to the Great Wolf Lodge in December (our annual family tradition if you remember).... and we even had our time booked to eat lunch in the Ginger Bread House.
Woofreakin'Hoo.

We arrived on our first day, running a bit late because I'm always trying to squeeze out one more client job before the holidays... but we made it!  We checked into our room and hit the slides asap.  It's crazy to think about, because the first year GWL was open and we went, The Girl was only 9 months old and I mostly floated around the Basketball Pool singing to her and stuff.... and now she's all:  I wanna' go on the BIG SLIDE!

Oh... and aside from public bathrooms, amusement parks are a single parents *worst* nightmare.  There are two of them and ONE of me.  So rides that take multiple riders - someone has to sit out... but I can't very well leave my 5 year old alone and unattended.... sigh.
So it's complicated.

Also, I'm insanely afraid of heights and going fast.... so these super high up and twisty and fast and scary water slides are a no bueno for me.... and to my GREAT SURPRISE:  The Boy and The Girl went on them ALONE!

YES! ALONE!  There were my kids going on their biggest and wildest and scariest water slides:  
BY. THEM. SELVES!!!!!

So... it was all water slides and good times and snacks and arcade games....

Until The Girl sh*ts on the floor.
True story.
Allow me to explain.

You can't bring food into the park.  You check in on day one, do the slides and dinner and then they have a story time and this animatronic tree that sings (the kids love it) - and then you go to bed.  You wake up, eat breakfast and check out of your room but you can stay at the park until 9 pm.  Clearly, with wet kids in bathing suits, you just stay there onsite and eat whatever food they have, you don't leave.

Day one went great... I was SO PROUD of the my kids:  unafraid and brave and having a good time.
After sooooooo many personal failures of the last few years, I always try to hold onto these moments of parenting success because the feeling of being "on top" is all too fleeting for me.... 
(foreshadowing here).

Day two we got up *early* and hit the park by 9am.  We swam and played and hung around until it was time to get out to have lunch in the Ginger Bread House.  The kids were ecstatic.  I usually put them in dressy(ish) clothes, but this year I let the girl wear her sacred Frozen Dress.
I got my usual, The Boy got his usual (grilled cheese sandwich) and The Girl got her usual (mac and cheese).

This time though.... three bites in, The Girl say's:  Mommy... this doesn't taste very good, it's rubbery.

We send it back but The Girl doesn't want something else to eat.. which I find a bit odd because we haven't had food since breakfast but we had plans to get ice-cream upstairs on our way back in and so I don't worry about it.
Yes, yes... ice-cream *can* be a meal:  don't judge.

So, we finish up lunch and pictures and the kids play some games in the lobby and then we head upstairs for The Boy to play some arcade games.... it's all going well... and suddenly The Girl HAS to go the bathroom.
No biggie.  We're almost *6* - The Girl has actually *never* had an accident in public, so at first I'm not too worried... The Boy is playing some Batman driving game and suddenly The Girl is like... in a panic?

I make The Boy jump off his game (he's none too pleased) and I go running after The Girl who is now dashing for the bathroom.  The bathroom... is across the park, down a flight of stairs and then alllll the way back across the water park to the locker rooms.
It's not close.

As we are running past the ice-cream shop, I'm like - "Hey, didn't you want to get ice-cream?"
Because let's face facts:  sometimes I'm just plain stupid. lololol

The Girl looks at me like I'm the dumbest person on the earth because at this point I realize that she's jogging for the doors and using one hand to hold her butt closed....... 
Hmm.... that's odd.

We get inside the park and usually the first thing that hits you is the steam and the humidity... but instead there's this smell.... like a really bad sh*t smell.

As we crest the top of the stairs I'm thinking....."man... did someone take a crap around here?  It reeks like poop in here now..... that's odd"

The Boy is running after The Girl and I'm running to keep up with them both and we make it to the bathroom.  I tell The Boy to stay outside and he's questioning why we ran past the ice-cream shop and didn't get any..... 

The Girl and I enter the bathroom and all of a sudden I hear:  MY PANTIES!!!! MY PANTIES!!!!!!

And there it is:  sh*t on the bathroom floor.
FROM. MY. CHILD.  DEAR. GOD..... what just happened????

Oh... and fun fact:  human poop coils up like dog poop when launched from mid-air.
Who knew?

I'm instantly horrified for The Girl AND for the fact that this is a WATER PARK. 
NO ONE IS WEARING SHOES!!!!!  ugh.

So, The Girl jumps on the toilet and I'm trying to help her, meanwhile I'm yelling:  "PLEASE WATCH OUT FOR THE POOP!!! THERE IS POOP ON THE FLOOR!!!!"

The Girl is sobbing and sh*t is EVERY.WHERE.
It's in her hair.  On her face.  On her hands.
Up her back and down her front.... the Frozen dress is COVERED.
I'm begging her to keep her hands away from her face, but she's crying and keeps reaching up with sh*t covered hands to wipe away her tears.
Awe.some.

Now I can hear women talking and steering their children around the big pile of steaming sh*t on the floor.
Good. TIMES.

So I pull the dress off The Girl and she's filling bowl after bowl, flush after flush and it smells so awful.
And she's crying and at this point I'm crying....

And The Boy is outside the door yelling... Mom - is everything ok?  Why does the bathroom smell so bad?
And alll the while a big pile of steaming sh*t sits front and center on the bathroom floor.

So I leave the stall and I'm trying to clean up the sh*t on the floor... which is a task because it's NO small pile.... and I'm there:

Waive hand.
Wait for five inches of paper towel to dispense.
Tear.
Waive hand.
Wait again....
Tear again.....

F*ck me.  
I'm practically dancing with this machine and I have barely enough towel to dry wet hands let alone clean up a pile of poo from the floor.
Sigh.

I get the poop cleaned up - but it's in the tile groove... so I cover the entire area in paper towels (more waiving and dancing commences to make this happen) and I go flying outside to find a worker to help me....

Trying to explain to some teenage kid that your child just took a giant sh*t on their floor and has also re-decorated an entire stall and that I'm going to need someone with proper cleaning supplies to come and disinfect is utterly pointless... but eventually they agree to send someone.

This poor sweet little girl shows up and is pretty nice about the whole thing... until I open the stall door and she nearly throws up in her own mouth.

Again.  COVERED.  The Girl was COVERED.
Sigh.

So The GWL lost a few towels in that experience....and The Girl has a shower of sh*t shame... then I dressed her in my pajamas, I grabbed our stuff, The Boy and I headed for the door....

Trip over.
The Boy was crushed.  The Girl couldn't wait to leave.... and me....?
Well, it's just one more example of how life continues to be sh*t-tastic.

Two hours later we arrive home and The Girl.... is fine.  
Traumatized... but fine.

Isn't that really a theme for me..... Traumatized but fine.
Sigh.
 

I'm not gonna lie... the last few weeks have been rough.  Almost too much to bear at times.  It's hard to ... come to terms with things with The Boy and try to  (as a Mom) not blame myself for it all somehow.... and emotionally it's been the hardest thing to wrap my brain around since El Capitan left... and oh yeah.
This last week marks the two year annaversary that El Capitan left.

I can, though I try not to, still go back to that place.  I can still fold up inside of myself and feel the same dark pain where the air leaves my chest and I'm struggling to breathe..... and I'll be honest when I tell you that there isn't one day in this life that doesn't go by where I don't sit and wonder if I can just run back in time to the driveway and just stand..... just stand still in the moment of the kids jumping in their home-made "muddy puddle" , shirtless and in their rain boots.... happy.  Jumping and happy...... untouched by the pain, unmarred by the choices of their father and all the changes and hurt and pain and confusion that would follow.

Not a single day goes by that I don't continue to wish that for them.

However, lacking any kind of Marvel powers..... I can only focus on *trying* to carve out a life and a future for them that eases the pain and softly sands-out the marring in the wood of their little beings..... damn good thing I took wood-shop in high school... right? lololol

So where we are.  Well..... money is beyond tight.  I never made a single penny off the sign or this website, or the Blog... or even The Book (long story).  BUT, this journey was never about money, it was about just finding a way to get through it and being wiling to share that journey.... and writing a book was certainly never on my own personal 'bucket-list' and it's kind of huge that I can just cross that off now.  So that's a win.

Sometimes what we *learn* in life, what we can take away from a personal experience is worth more than any amount of money.... at least that's what I keep telling myself. lololol

This past year has been so full of changes... HUGE changes.....
The Boy started public school.
He's been doing really well, no concerns by teachers, got a solid role in the class musical, he has a bit of a rough time getting picked on for having the long hair... so last weekend he asked to cut it.  I figured we have enough new medical challenges facing us, that getting a hair cut might just make things easier altogether.

The Girl has been in preschool.
She loves it - they lover her.  Every day she leaves there are countless little girls running up to "hug goodbye".  She's already READING AND WRITING.  Which is blowing the minds of The Bubbie and The Papa.... but again, she get's it all from brother who continues to teach her things and be her Best Friend.

They started daycare... which has gone pretty well.
They have their own room - and now they have their own beds..... I saved up and we bought them a bunk bed from Ikea - which The Girl was super thrilled about being on the top-bunk and The Boy loves his "bat cave" below with a light for reading and journaling.  

They both got new hair cuts. lol

For Easter, they got themselves up and dresses up in Superhero outfits and waited for us to get up... so I let them go hunting in their costumes..... The Boy was especially thrilled to discover the Easter Bunny had left him Captain America, Hulk and Iron Man eggs.... so that was super cool.

Me... well, as we all know:  I'm a lesbian.  For some people that was a 'big change'... for me, it was more about finally being able to honor my feelings in a way that I hadn't been able to for the first 37 years of my life.  

The biggest change this year is that I've gone back to college..... I am currently in a program to being a Paralegal and when I graduate,  I will hopefully find a great firm to work for and continue to pursue becoming a Limited License Legal Technician.  As an LLLT, I would be able to work ... kind of a "baby attorney" in the field of family law/domestic relations.  I don't have the time and money to become an attorney, The Boy is only ten years from going to college himself.... it seems irresponsible for me to acquire over $100,000 in student loans only a few years before HE needs me to help him go to college....

I want to be an LLLT because I feel like I could (may be) be able to help women through what *I* went through, on a legal level.... at least that's what I'm really hoping.  I have just about four terms before I'm finished and hopefully I find a firm that will hire me. :)

So.  My days and nights are full of classes and studying.  Thus far I have earned and continue to maintain and 4.0 in my Paralegal program which *was not* easy given that I have two kids to raise, we had the freakin' FLU for two weeks and I had horrible head lice all during the first term.... lololol.

BUT.
And a BIG BUTT... here.

The BIGGEST change... is that it was only *yesterday* that I realized what month is was.... in terms of the timeline of my life.  Only yesterday I thought to myself... "Oh, wait - it's April... he left in April.... what day was that - the 10th?  the 20th?"

I had to look it up on the Blog today, it was the 22nd.

This year on the 22nd, The Girl woke up and requested that she wear her "fancy" clothes.
She wanted a dress that sparkled, her 'lady boots' that sparkled and a coat with a "gem" on it.
Oddly enough I had all of those things in the closet - thanks to Lashla for always keeping us stoked up on fancy dress's for little girls.... MUAH. :)

And that was the day.  
School, fancy clothes.... lady boots.... coats with gems on them.
Life is busy and gets busier... and in many, many ways... continues to get harder for me.  I'm often wondering just how much fucking character I'm meant to "build" in this life.... I have to admit I get tired of 'pulling myself up by my bootstraps', I grow weary of facing down issue's and situations that are 'character building'..... I would *like* to move the fuck on.... but sometimes life just seems to be one big toilet and every time I swim us to the edge of the bowl, drag us up onto the safety of the porcelain edge... someone or something pushes the level and water swirls back up to the top dragging one of us or all three of us back to the bottom.... just swirling and swimming around the bottom..... again.

BUT.  Like it said.... a BIG BUTT:  this year *that* day.... *that* moment..... *that* annaversary.... it slipped by me:  unnoticed.  It went past me, without taking me down, without overwhelming me..... it just went on by.

It's not a big win.... I still haven't figured out how to survive financially... each month is a dance between what get's paid and what doesn't get paid... defined by my circumstances and not by desire, that's for sure. lololol.

I don't think we'll ever own a house again.... I've resigned myself to that.
I went into storage and cut back on *everything* .... got rid of everything I could so that I could keep all their baby toys and collectibles and whatnot - and move it all into a less expensive storage unit.
Sigh.

However... with everything going on..... I'm going to celebrate the small victory that *that* day when by and I didn't shed a single tear, I didn't crawl back into that place, I didn't dread the day coming for fear it would hurt.... I didn't notice it until it had passed.

It *had* been a 9.0 on my personal 'richter' scale.... but this year.... it didn't even rate.

It was a day like any other.... school, fancy clothes, lady boots, worrying about The Boy, and as always... trying to move us forward.

As you know, the kids and I moved North to Washington so that I could attend school (more on that another day) - and moving is a royal Pain In The Ass.  You have to change schools.... done and done.  The Boy LOVES his new school and his teacher - which is the *first* time he's had a successful attempt at public school.  Winna winna chicken dinna'.  (see... spelling be dammed, right?)

The Girl LOVES her new pre-school as well... but she generally just loves everything and everyone... and at her recent 'conference' they told me she's a "joy" in the classroom, she "loves to dance" and when I asked if she was bossy - they said she was the only girl who wasn't bossing kids around.
Winna Winna chicken dinna'..... also:  nothing like her mother, clearly.

School for me has had it's own challenges... not the least of which was our two week trip to Influenzaville and my own personal time spent in Head Lice Hell:  Winter *was* actually my college term of discontent.
Sigh.

Moving means changing your bills and your license and car tags and ..... doctors.

The kids have always gone to the same pediatrician, which was a pretty big deal to me.  When I was a kid we moved... a lot.  I went to over half a dozen schools in four states, so I never had that "I've been best friends with this person since pre-school" moment"... and I always wanted that for the kids.  (Having said that, the Internet has brought back many people from my childhood that *thrills* me.)  So, I tried to pick high rated doctors and good schools and blah blah blah... so that my kids would 'grow up' with the same people in their lives.... and moving meant I had to give all that up.

So, I had to find a new pediatrician in Washington and because there was "nothing wrong", we had to wait for them to have their "Well Child Check-Up" until closer to their birthdays.  When we were leaving Oregon, I took them into their doctor to make sure they were up to date on their shots for public schools, and at that appointment they told me that The Boy doesn't need any shots until like 2 or 3 more years, but I knew The Girl would be due one on her 5th birthday.  Every parent knows that shots appointments are *the worst*. 

In the great To Vaccinate or Not Vaccinate Debate... I have always erred on the side of thought that I am *not* a doctor in spite of being obsessed with ER for it's full eight year run.  So, when The Boy was born I asked the pediatrician:  did you give these to your kids?  Did you separate them?  And then I just did the shots they advised and moved on.

I'm *that* parent..... I do what I'm told.
If a cop pulls you over and tells you to get our of your car:  just get our your damn car.
If there's a stop sign: stop your car and don't roll through.
If your doctor tells you to vaccinate:  just do it.

I'm also BIG on "early intervention."  At 18 months, I told the doctor to test The Boy for Autism, because I knew that early intervention is key and that if you catch it early you can really work against it with therapy, etc.  I didn't *think* he had it - but again... I'm not a doctor, so I wanted him tested.   So they tested him and he was fine.  I then had him tested *again* at age three and evaluated by one of the best Autism specialists in Oregon... again:  he was fine.
Winna Winna chicken dinna'.

I've never wanted to hide my head in the sand.... right or wrong, fat or thin.... you made a sign to sell your house and you wind up being seen and judged by an entire *world*.... okay: you face it head on.
You take the lemonade of your husband finding greener pastures in a 22 years pants... and you face facts, own your part of it,... and you move the fcuk on.
You find yourself in a media storm.... and you hold on.  You hold on to your values and to what you know is right and wrong... and you don't lose your shit and expose your ex and his extremely young girlfriend to the vile media.... because that's only more damage and hurt and pain, and it's revengeful.

Revenge doesn't rain healthy kids.
Hate doesn't breed love and whole relationships.
Anger shatters already fractured families......

So I held on, sometimes by mere threads.... and I made it through, because I never compromised me.
Or at least I hope that's what I did.... at this point, I'm not so sure.

Do what you're told.
Listen to professionals:  take their advice.
Do the RIGHT thing.... always.

Since The Boy was two, he's had the same..... 'issue's'.
I would go to the doctor with the same laundry list of complaints - appointment after appointment and year after year.  It was.... he'll grow out of this... try that  (we did) - or go to this doctor.... we did.
I never got any answers.... and nothing ever changed.

This appointment though..... at the new pediatrician, was different.

The Boy was alllll kinds of stressed out about getting shots - driving me *Crazy* about needles and shots.... he barely slept the night before even though I assured him that he *wasn't* getting any shots, only Sister was. 

The Girl went first and she blazed through with flying colors.... she's articulate, she tap-danced for the doctor, she's the height and weight of your average nine year old:  happy 5th birthday!!!!! lol
and .... she got her shot.

The Boy, however, was a different and still unfolding story.

I started off with my usual, standard, everysinglevisit list of things that I have "concerns" about.
The doctor just kind of started at me for a second, head cocked slightly to one side.
He asked the The Boy to do a few things... looked at this, then looked at that..... aside from personal issue's I don't want to broadcast on the internet (but if you're friends with me, then you probably know what these issue's ARE and how HARD I tried to solve them for the last 8 years......) - but, most notably The Boy has one foot that turns in.

This foot has always turned in.  He always sat in the "w" shape in pre-school.  
They said.... he would grow out it.

So now at nine I'm freakingthefcukout because the leg still turns him, and it hits the other toe as he walks and he's...... slow.

He doesn't run very fast.
Sister is much, much faster at four years younger.

So, Dr. Tall (not his name), say's this:
"First we're going to do a urine sample.  We're looking for organ function and diabetes.
Second, we're going to order a set of x-ray's, we're going to look at the hips and make sure that they are lateral and that there aren't any issue's there forcing one leg to turn in.
Third, we're going to do blood work to check organ and body functions and for diabetes again."

Umm.... ok.  Sure. Do whatever you want.  Run whatever test you want.

"Then.... we're going to book [The Boy] in for a sedated MRI and get an appointment with a Neurologist, because I don't think any of those above are what is 'wrong', and we're going to need to do further testing."

Umm.... okay, no problemo.
I've had this kid tested for everything and they always say he's "fine".... so - cool, more tests.  No worries.

Of course now The Boy is hysterical because now it's viles and viles of blood and they can't find a vein for the long time and they are just digging around his arm with the butterfly needle.... and I'm holding him on lap and trying not to cry and I look over and The Girl had stepped up next to Brother and is holding and patting his hand and telling him to be brave..... Best Sister Ever.

In that moment I realized that no one is ever holding *my* hand in these situations telling me to be brave.
Dammit.

A few days later A Call came.... no diabetes and all organs appear to function just fine. From the Urine.
Then later Another Call came.... no diabetes and all organs appear to function just fine. From the Blood.
And, the Hips are fine, the x-ray shows lateral hips with no abnormalities that would turn The Boy's foot in.
Oh, and here's your dates for the MRI and Neurologist to look further at things.

Yup... cool..... no worries.  
May be he will 'grow out' of these things..... 

Then, the day after my birthday, The Call came and a voice on the other end of the phone said:
"The doctor sent your x-rays out for further review and an affirmative diagnoses for Spina Bifida has come back."

I'm sorry.... what?  
Did you say... SPINA BIFIDA?

"Yes."

So, we're going forward with the MRI and the neurologist.....?

There is a slight pause and then the voice say's, "Well, yes.... you are booked in for the MRI, but you're not seeing a neurologist, you're seeing a neurosurgeon, and their specialty is Spina Bifida.  The expected outcome is surgery."

And again.... I feel like I'm tethered to the ground only by mere threads.
How does this shit keep happening to me?
To my kids?
Have we not gone through enough.....?  
Ya'll don't even *know* about how The Boy went blind in each eye once and has already had TWO lens replacement surgeries..... 
They weathered the divorce and all the chaos and moving.....

We're settled and in new schools and doing well... and The Boy is telling me he loves his life.
Which... I haven't heard that in *years*.......

And now.... The Boy has Spina freaking Bifida?

There are day's when I sit and think about anything and everything I have ever done in my life that was wrong or bad or rude.... and I wonder just *how much* nicer of a person I have to be.
How much kinder?
How much more *generous* do I need to be.....?
WHEN will whatever 'karma' I've made ... be *finally* paid off??????
for fcuks sake.  WHEN?

As Jenny B once said, "I swear if I didn't watch all this shit happen to you, I would NEVER believe it."
Sad but true......

Who makes a sign to sell her house and winds up on TV for it?
Who loses everything, every penny, her house and her property to infidelity?
Who got her vagina 'sewn shut' but a doctor?
Who's kid goes blind in one eye at 3 and then again 5 years old?
Who's kid get's diagnosed with Spina Bifida at 9 years old?

THIS GIRL.
But this isn't about *me*.... even though, it always feels like it's my fault somehow.
And I feel guilty somehow... I *always* do whatever the doctor say's.  
I've *always* been open to finding whatever is 'wrong' and taking whatever steps are needed to 'fix' it.
So.... HOW is this happening *now*?

More over.... why does this have to happen to my sweet, wonderful Boy.
But it has.... and now the concern, and the thought currently held, is that the foot turns in due to nerve damage and bigger questions loom in regards to continued use of that leg/foot as he get's older:  because he's already 'dragging' it a bit.
Sigh.

I don't know much about Spina Bifida, and we're not sure where he lands within it's 'spectrum'.  I read that 10- 20% of the population has it and doesn't know it and it doesn't usually "affect" a lot of people.  However, I also know that we have three *concrete* symptoms that are Spina Bifida related, and we know there is already some nerve damage.... so we are *not* in that 'lucky' 10-20%.  We're just not sure how much damage has been done and to where.  I've already been on the phone with the counselor The Boy was talking to.

I'm crushed.
I feel like these things keep happening because of me... and how unfair it is that bad crap keeps happening to my kids... I can usually take the world throws at me.... but .... I wish things were different for them.

I don't know anything.
I don't know what the future holds.
I don't know what's going to happen..... I'm guessing MRI and then surgery? 
I'm hoping and praying that physical therapy will help his foot.....?

And we haven't told him yet..... so if you see us, if you know us... don't say anything.  We're going to wait for the Neurosurgeon to help us with that.  

I'm tired.
I'm tired of holding on onto threads.
I'm tired of hurting.
I'm tired of .... always living in a world where I'm waiting for the 'other shoe' to drop.
No more trips to the Beach, that's for sure... lol.

If nothing else the last two years have taught me that the *hardest* part of being a Mom is constantly trying to make the best of the very worst of things..... and this, well.... this certainly feels like it's the worst of thing.
Right.....?  
This HAS to be the worst of things.

Good news for my kids is that while I'm not a doctor, I'm certainly a master 'vodka maker' with all the lemonade life has been raining down on us......
I'll find a way to pay for therapy....
I'll find the money to put him in theater, which he loves and he's great at.
Because he'll need those things, he'll need to be doing things he's good at to balance out what's going on with his body.
I'll find ways to 'tether' him to the ground so he still feels confident and proud.
So that he'll grow up knowing he's more than than the things that have wrong wrong around him and with him.
I feel like we already have  two year head start ..... kind of. lol.
So there's that.  At least I'm good at something.
Winna Winna...... 

When life gives you lemonade.... make vodka.
When life gives you Spina Bifida.... well.... I guess we're going to figure that out.

Wow... where has the time gone?  ANOTHER month has flown by and I'm doing a shitty job of staying on top of blogging... I really am sorry.  Life is *incredibly* busy, other than that... I have no excuse. lol

So, as some of you might remember, The Girl's birthday was this week and, as per usual, I was taking this one pretty hard.... As The Boy has gotten older I've always tempered my sadness with the knowledge that The Girl was "still a baby"/still in her "toddler years".... well, turning FIVE punches a big ole' hole in that one.
Sigh.

FIVE????
My sweet, sweet baby girl who I begged and pleaded and bargained with God that I would stay pregnant and get to keep her... when we hadn't kept the others.... her big moon shaped face with toothy smile, her silly faces and her hair that JUST. WON'T. GROW... dammit. lolol.  She's everything I dreamed and more and being my 'last baby', this turning five stuff was wearing me down a little.

As always, we set out the day before her birthday to make a memory of the "last day" she would be four, and seeing as how the kids and Hail Mary love the beach so much, it seemed like the obvious choice.  For *once* we actually got out the door on time:  beach bag with fresh towels, swim suits and clothes to change into, flip flops and camera... oh, because it's freaking OREGON:  clouds and rain.  check and check.

This is nothing unusual for my kids - we've been to the beach *plenty* of times in the rain and they could careless.  They run and play in the sand and rain and so... off we went.

Answering:  Mothertrucking head-lice.

I'm thinking of writing a new books:  The Sexy Adventures of My Lesbian Love Life.
So far.... it's a real fucking page turner, let me tell you.
Seriously.

A few weeks ago El Capitan had the kids - post the angry/picking them up as per the parenting plan but early visit - and Hail Mary and I went to an sports event at a local bar.
A local bar that *happens* to be one of my favorites.....

We were pretty stoked because after the kids and I had the flu... yes, as in full diagnosed, complete-with-a-stay-in-the-ER, THE FLU.  First The Girl got it... the next day I got it and around day 4 The Boy came down with it.  SIX DAYS of fevers over 101 - and usually over 102 for The Girl.... and the three of us could barely move so I was staying on top of water for all us of and later Gatorade to try and keep everyone out of the hospital... but day FIVE for The Girl saw her and I in the ER being treated for dehydration because she had started throwing up the medicine and all fluids for 6 hours straight and I knew we were headed for sicker times if we didn't get in and get her sorted.  

At that point I was so sick, they admitted me and gave me fluids as well.... 
Matching hospital bracelets!  Good times.... lololol

All told, it was *just about* the ENTIRE month of January which was spent in bed - for almost a full two weeks, moaning, groaning, sleeping and having The Flu. 
Conspiracy theorists be dammed:  next year we're getting the freaking flu shot. 

So, this event was pretty much the first time Hail Mary and I were heading out into our community for an event where we get to see our friends and have adult conversations that don't include begging and bartering with a four year old to pleasepleasepleasefortheloveofG*ddrinkthecherrymedicine, and getting to dress up a little bit (clean sweatshirt, Wal-Mart jeans and Chucks of course) and.... I usually wear my hair down.

By far, if I have any features to speak of... it's my hair.  The color is ... unique - it's very dark but has natural red and brown highlights, I've never dyed it, though with all this grey coming in around the edges I'm getting a bit tempted... lololol

Wait... ok, not *entirely* true, the summer after ninth grade we were living in Iowa and it hot... H. O.T. HOT.  And it was a small town, so I would walk around town in these 90s, thin, floral dresses and usually I would walk to the pool, swim, pull on my floral dress and walk home... barefoot.  The end result was that I was SUPER tan, like I should probably be keeping and eye on some of those moles - TAN.  :(  Anyhow... I had this GREAT idea that I had read about in JANE magazine and it said to put lemon juice on your hair to get those "sun streaks"... which I *think* works for blondes... for brunette's, it just turns your hair this shitty, shitty yellow.
Ugh.

So there you have it .... one time a thousand years I kind of sort of dyed my hair. lol

Aside from that though... it's all natural and I really feel like it's my best feature, so on this momentous day - the FIRST day Hail Mary and I were heading back out into public for lunch and friends and fun:  my hair was down in all it's very very long flowing glory.
Fuck.

We had a GREAT time with our friends and it was a fantastic afternoon - after which I picked up the kids from El Capitan and we went home.  Monday I had homework and the kids go to preschool/school/daycare and then I picked them up.  It was a normal Monday: except for all the itching.

That night I crawled into bed, exhausted and still stressed from missing so much school of my own (more on that later) and I commented to Hail Mary that my head itched So.FU.CKING.BAD.... and while I nestled down into my pillow Hail Mary shot out of bed with super-human speed and with Spiderman-like-reflexes and demanded that I get to the bathroom: NOOOOOWWWW.

The look on her face meant business so I did what I told... scratching all the way there.

You see, Hail Mary 'grew up' in a daycare. Her Mom worked at one, so she went there and later she worked at the day care in high school.  Nearly 15 years of either being *in* a daycare setting or *working* in a daycare setting, Hail Mary knows that an itchy head means only one thing:  HEAD FREAKING LICE.
good grief.

Hail Mary artfully pulled through my hair.... oh, and *while* my hair *is* my 'crowning-glory' there is also A LOT of it... and by that I mean to say that my *entire* adult life, hairdressers have to add an extra 45 minutes to just FINISH my hair because there is soooooo much of it - it take twice as long to style and dry - and THAT was even when it was just a nice short bob style - I have A LOT of hair and it's super super thick.

So.... over an HOUR and a dozen nit eggs extracted and in the sink.... Hail Mary confirmed the worst:  I had fucking head lice.  At which point I PRAYED for a sink whole to take me away... but nothing happened.
Where's a good head lice sink hole when you need one?

By now it was well after mid-night and Hail Mary went into the children's room to check their heads in their sleep, and curiously... *they* did not have head lice.  Which is *very* odd because usually parents get head lice from their kids.....

Then I had to look through Hail Mary's hair.... and I found nothing.
Sigh.

So off Hail Mary went to the local Wal-Mart to buy RID treatment and bring it home... then I bent over the tub and we washed/treated and nit-combed my mid-back long, long, thick hair..... 

I cried for most of the time, watching my hair breaking off under the stress of the nit-comb being dragged through it.  A bug hit the bottom of the tub and I nearly threw up.... snot rolling up my cheeks (because I'm upside down) tears and chemicals burning my eyes and my hair.... all my lovely hair... broken and swirling around the tub..... and Hail Mary just carried on helping me scratch and massage and comb.

We finished around 4:30 in the morning.
We woke up a few hours later, I braided my hair tightly and headed off to school, Hail Mary took the day off work (not knowing if she had head lice, she thought it better not to take it there) - and called her Mom who came over with her two decades of head-lice at a daycare experience and she checked both children (who also stayed home) and Hail Mary.... and no one had head lice.  NO. ONE.
Just me.
Sigh.

I got home and Hail Mary checked my head..... more eggs.
Which means you STILL have active lice.

This time we decided to do the Mayonnaise treatment, which took an ENTIRE BRAND NEW JAR of Best Foods finiest on my head.... I coil wrapped my hair and pinned it to my head and put on a sleeping cap.  It stayed there for over 27 hours... then I rinsed and washed my hair - finding only ONE tiny tiny bug.... I thought my nightmare was over...... it wasn't.
Crap.

I had to call El Capitan and let him know that while I was *pretty sure* the kids were 'in the clear', I needed to let him know that I had picked up head lice and he should probably wash the kids bedding, etc.....and let me assure you that having to call your ex-husband and let him know that you have mothertrucking HEAD. LICE is almost as bad as calling him to tell him you have crabs or something.... 
My humiliation never seems to end.

So I tell him, and the phone is silent for a second.... then El Capitan say's, "Of course you do, that sounds about right." 

Who get's viral meningitis?  This girl.
Who get's some rare disease the CDC investigates?  This girl.
Who puts up a funny sign to sell her house and winds up on TV?  This girl.

So yeah... Head Lice just seems par for the course.
lololol

But he was kind, he said he hadn't seen them itching, but he would wash their sheets and thanked me for letting him know.... good times.

But that night Hail Mary sits me down on the toilet and starts going through my hair - and we find yet MORE eggs... further down the shaft and new.

At this point I'm starting to have my own personal, Britney-Spears' moment and Hail Mary is prying the shaver out of my hands and assuring me that I don't need to shave my head Sinead style... I'm not so sure.

So back to Wal Mart she goes, more RID treatment (which is technically too soon but whatever) - and we do the horrible, crying treatment alll over again......

Every night I'm sleeping with my hair pinned to my head and in a bonnet.
Sexy I know......

Every night we're spending over and hour looking for head lice.
Even sexier.....

Every day I'm trying not to hug the children, or let my hair touch them, I'm doing loads and loads and loads of laundry... cleaning the car, spraying everything down the RID spray.... car seats and seat belts and EVERY.FUCKINg.THING. I can ...... plus the usual homework for The Boy, homework for me, making dinner and lunches and all the usual 'Mommy stuff'....
I was so tired.

Thursday comes and we sit down *again* and ... yet MORE eggs.

So we do the Best Foods treatment again, only this time we look it up on a different site and it say's to saran wrap your head after you pin your hair up and THEN sleep in a shower cap. So, another jar of Best Foods, a hundred bobby pins and cling film on my head..... I'm miserable.

The mayonnaise is dripping down the wrap and into my eyes and down my back and into my ears... I'm sobbing and tired and angry and frustrated and Hail Mary can't even hug me because g*d forbid BOTH of us get this.... and she feels horrible every time she's pulling the nit comb through my hair because she's 'hurting' me but there's no other way.....

I didn't rinse out the mayonnaise until late Friday - and then I DID NOT shampoo my hair.... for another FIVE DAYS.  I just kept braiding up the greasy mess and pinning it  my head a'la 'Frozen' style... and suffering through it in public.  Thankfully.... by Sunday, I had no more nits, no more eggs.....

I was Head Lice FREE.

The kids and Hail Mary had dodged the bullet and never came down the critters at all - and we finally decided that I most likely got it at the bar because I had sat in a seat that had a FABRIC BACK.  Lice cannot survive on plastic, but they can linger for a wee while on fabric - hence why your children should NEVER share coats and hats in schools - and why lice can jump from one hat in a crowded closet room to the next......
Sigh.

Friday the kids has their usual play-group and we were there for our Valentine's Day party with the kids.  These kids, these friends of mine, have been such a life-line to all three of us.... and of course I had confess my Head Lice sins to the Mom's who were gagging and grossing and taking notes for when *their* kids get lice... lololol.... and we were all enjoying a good laugh at my hair's expense.

One of the Dad's was there that day because the Mom was at work, and when I was done telling my tale of Head Lice Woe and leaned over the kitchen island and said:

"That's THE BEST love story I've heard all Valentine's Day..... "

I was mid-bite into my heart shaped cookie and I realized he was right.... it's not sexy and it didn't come from a store that sells little blue boxes of jewelry heaven..... but what Hail Mary "gives" me every day is unconditional love. 

Unconditional-kids screaming-kids throwing tantrums-sick for weeks in bed with the flu-ex-husbands and media shit storms and documentaries and broken hearts and that might never heal- HEAD LICE LOVE.


It sure as shit isn't sexy..... believe that. lolol
But it's unconditional.... and I'm so lucky, head lice and all.


*******
PS - for Mom's with kids in school, here is my head lice advice:
In your car, keep the RID head lice spray, two garbage bags and a shower cap.

ONE.  if there is an 'outbreak' at your school and you get the dreaded letter, DO NOT PUT YOUR KID IN THE CAR.  Instead, spray down their backpack, coat and car seat.  Put their coat/hat/backpack in one of the garbage bags.  Put the OTHER bag on the car seat (if you aren't using the harness) - and put the shower cap on your kid.

Go home and put your kid at the kitchen table NOT on a couch.
Clean off their bed and put all sheets/blankets/etc in the wash.  Look ONLINE for instructions on washing.
Then SPRAY DOWN their pillows and mattress and their carpet.  
Vacuum the carpet.

THEN CLEAN OUT AND SPRAY DOWN THE VACUUM.  this is a must.

ALSO, if you want to avoid sprays, you can FREEZE Head Lice - put everything in a back - coats/hats/ etc and put it in a freezer for one week.  That works, too.

Take your kid upstairs and FIRST go through their hair by hand with a pencil making small parts in small sections and pull out all the nit eggs you can find by HAND.  
THEN do the treatment.

The Mayonnaise worked best... but was BRUTAL and runny.... I'm guessing most kids would hate it.
Keep it braided and close to the head at all times.
If you have a boy... just shave his head.
lol

Good luck!

So today is Valentine's Day.

I think that the worst thing I *ever* did for 'love' on Valentine's Day was in the 8th grade.... we were living in Alabama at the time and the 'fancy' department store there was Parisians - I think that's what it was called.  Anyhow.... in the perfume department, they had these biggish stuffed teddy bears with a ribbon around the neck and like *every* girl in 8th grade was getting one and I REALLY REALLY wanted one.

Fuck, I really wanted one of those bears.

And there was this super nice kid in my typing class (totally worth it because I still type waaaaay fast with few errors.. lol) - his name was Josh and I knew he liked me.  I liked him - but did I *like* like him???  May be... but may be not.... but I *really* wanted one of those damn bears.  

So Josh asked me to 'go-steady' and I said yes and sure enough on Valentine's - *I* was lucky enough to get one of those bears and it seemed like our entire hallway was full of this ribbon-necked stuffed bears... and mine sat proudly outside my locker.

I felt soooo loved.  
I felt so excited that a boy bought me that bear - as though it were some kind of seal of approval stamped over my heart saying, "You are worth being loved... .and here's a fluffy bear to prove it."
I was stoked.... but deep down I felt guilty.

The more that time went by I knew that Josh was waaaaay more into me than I was into him... also, I knew we were moving before 9th grade, so after a while things just kind of fizzled out and we "broke up".  Towards the end of the school year I remember seeing Josh's Mom somewhere at school and I said something to her about how nice Josh was and she commented back something along the lines that he was a nice kid and he 'sure had a hard time getting over [me].'

In that moment I felt myself get very... very small.  I felt horrible about that.
I *did* like him... and we held hands and passed notes and kissed and all the usual things you do in 8th grade.... and that was genuine - but deep down, I knew that really really really.... I always knew he liked me more than I liked him and I probably SHOULD have not said yes initially - but I just wanted that damn bear.

And I got my bear and poor Josh got his first 'proper' broken heart.
That sucks.
I suck.

Fast forward nearly two decades and a extra's pounds... I thought I knew what "love" was.
I thought that I had my 'forever' Valentine and that my life was.... pretty much set.
I had a wedding ring and ten years of 'blissful' marriage under my belt:  the OFFICIAL stamp on my heart that said I was worth being loved.

And  then..... well... it turns out that neither El Capitan or I actually KNEW what love was.

Love isn't fucking some 22 year old and racing home with cookies and a diet coke for your wife... still dripping in sweat and cum.
Nope... it's not that for sure.

Love isn't insisting on your cell phone and the Saturn car keys as you move out - don't insist on the kids or visitation or pictures.... or any piece of them... just the phone and the car.
That sure as shit isn't love.

So.... LAST year was hard because I spent *every day* thinking about what 'love' really was and what being 'in love' and what 'loving someone' really means..... and *most importantly* trying to find ways to put my *own* stamps on my heart.... stamps I wouldn't later feel guilty about... stamps that wouldn't later turn into tramps.

Here's what I learned:

Miss Chloe bringing me dinners hugging me, tear soaked on my front porch:  that is LOVE.
Jenny B holding my hand while I cried a river on the dining room table:  that is LOVE.
Veronica for always answering her phone to make out small words between sobs:  that is LOVE.
My SIL who came over to pack boxes, mourning her own personal loss:  that is LOVE.
Miss Megan who opened her home more than once:  that is LOVE.
Miss Katie & Tim who brought me an "ugly cry kit" full of chocolate, tissue's and eye cream: that is LOVE.
Lashla... who lives a million miles away, but is always part of my heart and spirit:  that is love.
and everyone else who walked with me... and sometimes had to drag me through the dark times... Carrie, Erin, Sara O, Miss Bridgette, Miss Tiare, Miss Courtney, Janda..... that is LOVE.

and then I came out......

Fabs who changed my life and helped me see myself through new eyes:  that is love.
Anny who's strength and sheer will raises the bar of the things I can accomplish:  that is love.
Marta who is always driving me to be a better me: that is love.
Miss K who taught me how to dance and the kids, too:  that is love.
Welen who became one of my besties in no short order:  that is love.
Nats who offered me a place to live and would jump over oceans to help us: that is love.
J... to whom I can tell my deepest darkest secrets, who is there for me anytime all the time: that is love.
Scarlet who sent me the most lovely Christmas present ever: that is love.
Pauline & Joyce who paved the way for me to find myself: that is love.
K&K who gave me the chance to play softball and bask in the togetherness of lesbian softball: that is love.
Emilio and his Latino lover who have embraced me with hugs and smiles and support: that is love.
A whole community of wonderful people who accept me:  that is love.

Hail Mary who has seen me at my very, very worst.
... at my most broken.
... with swollen eyes and a hurt heart from things she didn't cause and can't 'fix'.
... yelling at my kids in a moment of lost patience and utter frustration.
... with the flu.... for almost two entire weeks.
.... and most recently.... with head lice.  yes. head lice.  (more on that adventure later lol).

A Bubbie and a Papa, who opened their home and their hearts to the three of us.
... who took up parenting on days when just keeping my eyes open seemed too hard a task. (early days)
.... who helped with bills and presents for the kids.
.... who love me and found a way to accept me... even lesbian me.

Two kids who have seen me fall totally a part, fight to get back up, and still have the capacity to forgive and love El Capitan and me.... THAT is LOVE.

So.... what I've *really* learned is that 'unconditional love' is actually all around me.
It might not come with a cute ribbon wrapped around it's neck (No, Hail Mary... that's not a hint lol).
It might not always come in the form of a "life partner"....

Sometimes.... it comes in the form of thousands of Blog readers who are STILL coming back and reading about scorned me and divorced me and angry me and hurt me.... and even dyke me.
That's kind of awesome.  Thanks for that.  You don't know how much I appreciate the figurative you - and how much this Blog has helped me get through the last two years.....
THAT is love.

So.... I've learned to define love differently - I like to think I can define it more honestly now.  
I've stopped "looking" for it because now I can sit back and rest in it like a giant comfy chair because truthfully, it's all around me. 

It's in the faces and hearts and words and actions of the people who fill my life with their friendship..... and I'm fucking lucky for it.
Really. Lucky.

So I hope the real 'valentines' of your life are everywhere you look.