Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
This is a place you'll learn to forget.
Somewhere quiet and solemn
Where you can lay down your head.
This is a place you'll eventually stop coming to.
Where there's a girl by the window
Who always remembers your birthday
And listens to whatever you say.
This is a memory you'll learn to ignore.
Full of songs you'll stop humming
A kiss you'll stop remembering
And perfume that will fade from your clothes.
This is a place you'll learn to forget,
Covered up by all the things you won't.
Forgiveness. For-give-ness: the act of excusing a mistake or offense.
Otherwise known as the hardest thing in the history of ever.
Forgiveness is big in my family. Mostly because we are all so completely fucked up, and we have all fucked each other up/over at some point and in some way over the years, and some of us have done it to the point that forgiveness may never be possible for them. And the messed up thing is, we all think we're right. Yeah, I know. Dysfunctional.
This is probably something I should talk to a shrink or a doctor or guru or what the fuck ever about, but therapy is expensive and if I am going to lay on a couch and talk about my feelings, I shouldn't have to pay anyone to listen. That's what boyfriends are for. So I bring my latest emotional struggle to you, dear Internets, in hopes of finding some clarity.
Excusing a mistake or offense....or, giving up hope that the past could have been any different.
I struggle with forgiveness sometimes. I really do. Several years ago, I committed myself to the idea, no, the ideal of always loving someone for who they were. I vowed that if I was going to go through all the fucking trouble of loving someone, I was going to do it right. No saying "I love you, but you talk too loud" or "I love you, but you're disorganized" it was only "I love you. I love you loud talking, disorganized, amazing hot mess. I love you." Loving the whole person. This meant a lot of acceptance. A LOT. I had to prepare myself to accept the people closes to me, warts and all. The flowers and the weeds, with no hope of ever changing them, or them changing on their own.
That's harder than it sounds. Trust me.
So, flash forward about 6 years, and here I am with a small circle of close friends who I love completely, and forgive infinitely and am loyal to until the end of time. Dragon, The Roomie, Batman, Zombie Justin and Camdon (he doesn't have a code name yet. He needs one, no?) And I think as of now we can count my preceptor too....shit now she needs a code name....
With all this love and acceptance and forgiveness flying around like pot smoke and bodily fluids at Woodstock, I am living a contradiction, and the contradiction is this: I don't talk to or have a relationship with either of my two older sisters. I haven't for going on two years. My relationship with the middle sister who we will call Joe (I have a thing for code names....don't ask) has been strained since I learned how to talk, according to our parents. She never really seemed to like me, and for the most part that was ok, until she committed what in my mind was the ultimate betrayal: she interfered and came between me and my children, to the point of doing some probably irreversible psychological damage to all of us, and leaving Tiny seriously emotionally scarred with some heavy trust issues. I don't know if forgiveness is ever in the cards for her and I, which is fine, she's never asked for it, and she seems perfectly happy not having any relationship with me at all.
And then there is my oldest sister. When we were little we called her Eurika, so I guess that's what she can be here in Blogland. Eurika and I used to be close. She was like a mother to me growing up. She took care of me after Anita left, she taught me how to read and write, and how to cook. She was the first person I called after every major event in my life and she saved me from my Dad when he was at his sickest, more times than I can count. But two years ago, things between us fell apart too. Really, they had been falling apart for a long time prior to that. I won't go into the details here, because it's too sad and too hard to talk about, but I lost my sister. Who pushed who away first, who hurt who more, who said what gets harder to remember every day, but I know that I am hurt. I know that my trust was violated and I feel betrayed once again. I know that I have never felt completely relaxed or comfortable around her, and most of what I have come up against from her is judgment and criticism.
So for the last two years, we haven't spoken.
And then, thank you Facebook, I got a friend request from her. All day I stared at that request, waiting for it to say something. To reveal it's true intentions, to tell me what she wanted, to show me the future and what might happen should I accept, or should I deny her request to be "friends". Friends. Ha. We were sisters, and for the last two years we haven't even been acquaintances.
Finally I accepted her request, and in return, I got a message. A message that said she was sorry, and she missed me, and that she never meant to hurt me. A message that also seemed to blame a lot of what went wrong between us on our dad, which isn't really the case.
At this point I am faced with the choice to either forgive, and try my best to formulate a relationship if I can, or remain where I am: no longer angry with her, and not harboring any ill will or bad thoughts against her, but unwilling to have her in my life, and unwilling to try again.
Forgiveness comes naturally for me in so many ways, so why is my own sister the hardest person in the world to forgive?
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Finding my voice means saying 'fuck you'
Happy hundredth post!!!!
When I started this blog, 100 posts ago, I honestly didn't really know what I wanted out of it. It was something to do, a way to take my mind off everything else, and maybe a chance to rant and vent a little bit about the craziness of being a single mom/student midwife/business owner.
What I ended up getting out of it was something I lost somewhere along the way: writing! I know, it's stupid, I should not be surprised that I got writing out of a blog. I mean, a blog is writing, so....duh? When I was younger I wrote all the time, I wrote everything. I kept journals, I wrote poems, I wrote stories, I wrote songs (terrible ones). Words, words, words. I lived for a clever turn of phrase, or the art of putting together a string of simple innocent and harmless words that could bring a person to their very knees. Writing was an outlet for me through everything I ever went through. I could always turn to pen and paper to find the answers and the relief I was looking for.
Over the years, and primarily during my relationship with The Jedi's father where I endured abuse physically as well as mentally and emotionally, I lost touch with writing. The Jedi's father (who I think we can appropriately call Darth) was controlling, manipulative and jealous. The stacks of old journals and poems of mine in our closet were too tempting for him, and he would read them while I was at work and then interrogate and harass me over their contents for hours when I got home. One day, and much to my regret now, I threw all those notebooks in the trash. I didn't write a word for two years.
And then I made this blog.
Little by little writing has come back to me. I am not as eloquent or articulate as I once was, and maybe I lost that edge and "gift" I was accused of having some time ago, but I'm starting to find my voice again, and enjoy writing. Finding your voice sometimes means being able to say "Fuck you" and stand by it. Sometimes it means being honest when you don't want to. Sometimes it means talking about things only 5 out of every 200495955 people will care about. And I love it. Sometimes I have to stop myself from writing several entries in a day because....well, come on. Who is that pathetic?
This blog, whether it gets read by even a single person or not, has been a shoulder and an ear for me to lean on and cry to and laugh and celebrate with. And a safe place to begin speaking again, from the heart. A safe place to find my voice, and try this time to stick with it.
No longer do I want to be a famous writer, nor do I even care if I am ever published. Most of what I write are journal entries anyway, and who publishes those? But I am happy to be writing again, and I can feel myself healing. Remembering the good parts of who I was, and becoming stronger, little by little after all the shit that's happened over the last two years.
So, to anyone that reads this, thank you for sticking around and listening to me. What I say might not always be the most profound or the most important, but every word in this blog means the world to me, and so does you reading it.
And to my blog (yes, I talk to my blog like it's a real person) thank you for everything, and congratulations on 100 posts together. Here's to 100 more, and a voice that's stronger than ever.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Sleeping past noon
In a half shuttered room
Where I can lay down beside you
In the din and the dark
And the pale blue light
Of the sun barely leaking through the shades.
It crawls across the floor on it's hands and it's knees
Like a child sneaking into our room.
We hide under cotton and white linen bed sheets
And whisper as if anyone might hear us.
This is the only place I can find you,
And this is the only place we call home.
A world apart and a sanctuary together
We stay here until the day is unavoidable.
Until the bells in the street begin calling my name
Until all the unseen roads with their many hands
Beckon and call you onto them
With bleary eyes and wild hair
We drift in this bed
Lost at sea.
Monday, June 20, 2011
As I get older, I encounter more and more baffling, confusing, difficult, heartbreaking and enlightening things about life that I never planned for, expected or even though possible. Call me naive, call me stupid, but some things I just wish someone would have told me about. Like the fact that white jeans don't look good on me, and flats make my calves look huge.
I wish someone would have told me.....
Guys are not 'just friends' with girls: I never deal in absolutes, and there are exceptions to every rule, but for the most part, guys are not just friends with girls. Guys are friends with girls that they would like to fuck. At least a little bit anyway. For years I honestly thought that all my awesome guy friends who would come pick me up at 2 a.m. when I was drunk or bring me food at work when I was hungry, or cuddle with me during naptime with all their clothes on and without making a move, were really just awesome best friends, and had no desire or intentions of sleeping with me, and certainly none of them had feelings for me. Over the last year, I have learned the hard way how very wrong I was.
People are going to disappoint you: Not everyone, and not all the time, but sometimes, even when you really really really need them to come through for you and do the right thing, or just be there for you, they are going to let you down. It's going to suck, and it's going to make you feel pretty alone and maybe a little betrayed. This won't be the last time.
Not everyone will treat you the way you treat them: This is an area I am probably especially naive about, and over the years it doesn't seem to get any better. I am almost 24 and I still honestly expect people to treat me the way I treat them. To hold honesty at the same high regard that I do, to be loyal all the time even when it's hard like I strive to, and to accept me and love me, the good and the bad, all the time like I have committed myself to doing. No matter how amazing you are to someone, they might still be a total dick to you all the time. BUT those people aren't worth a damn, and you should move on with your head held high.
Just say it: I wish someone would have told me that when it comes down to it, if you need to say something, just spit it out. Even if it's a bad time, even if it might not be well received, even if everyone in the room will disagree with you, say what's in your heart, and defend it to the fucking ground. In the eternal words of John Mayer "Even if your hands are shaking, and your faith is broken, even as the eyes are closing, do it with a heart wide open. Say what you need to say."
At some point you will have to choose between buying diapers and paying your electric bill: And it will suck. There's no easy answer. Only a right one. And you will know what it is when the time comes.
Ask for help: Nobody will think any more of you if you struggle through every day of your life miserable and alone because you're too scared or proud to ask for help, and no one will think any less of you for admitting you can't do this all by yourself.
Just because you love them, doesn't mean they will love you back: And when you realize that it's going to hurt. Like hell. Like no pain you've ever felt in your life. But you have to let go. You have to move on, and you have to remember that somebody out there does love you. You probably just haven't met them yet.
Kids actually aren't very good for relationships: And if your relationship is a mess, your parenting will be too.
It's not about being scared, it's about being brave: Be afraid all you want. There is a lot in this world that is going to scare you. It's about being brave. It's about knowing you might fail, but understanding that you have to try. It's about accepting that you might get hurt, but knowing that the journey is what matters. It's about taking a deep breath, a big leap of faith, and doing it anyway.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Well, Fathers Day in the house of Sarah is coming to an end. I spent the entire day today with my dad, and...well, it went exactly like I thought it would. Holidays and birthdays with my dad are complicated, and to put it simply, I never look forward to them. I in fact didn't have a birthday that he didn't ruin until my 22 birthday. And he tried to ruin that one too. Every year on my birthday, either he would be depressed and not get out of bed, be manic and wanting to fight, or calmly and quietly tell me what a terrible disappointment I was, and how my birthday used to be something worth celebrating, but he just didn't feel that way anymore. Thanks pops. Love you too.
To be fair, he does shit like that on his birthday too. So at least nobody gets to happily celebrate the day they were born.
Holidays with him are always stressful and complicated and something I usually save my one Xanax refill for, mainly because he is NEVER HAPPY. By never I mean never ever ever in the history of ever, and by happy I mean easy to get a long with, cordial, polite, cooperative or even in a half decent mood.
The day starts out the same for his birthday and father's day:
Me: Happy birthday/father's day Dad!
Dad: *grumbles* thanks
Me: What do you wanna do today?
Dad: *LONG AWKWARD SILENCE WHERE HE LOOKS AWAY A LOT OF SEEMS MAD*
Me: We can do anything you want. Wanna go out to eat? Go see a movie?
Dad: *grumbles* Idunno. *long silence*
Me: Ok......*looks away and tries to make small talk to no avail*
And it goes on like this forever. Sometimes hours. Oh I so wish I was exaggerating when I say hours. No, I mean it. Hours. Once he finally decides what he wants to do/agrees to do something I suggest, and we set a time for me to pick him up, I can guarantee without a doubt he will absolutely positively with 100% certainty, be just getting out of the shower when I get to his house to pick him up. Not dressed. Not anywhere near ready to go. And the remainder of his getting ready process will take until. the. end. of. fucking. time. It once took him an hour and a half to get out the door when all he still needed to do was put his shoes on. You know how I say getting the kids out the door feels like herding turtles? Ya, I think they learned that shit from him.
Once we're on the road, and the day is underway, it becomes a long, seemingly endless day of pretending to have fun, faking being in a good mood, and hiding my frustration as he sits there quiet and pissed off looking, only smiling and conversing with the children, while acting like I'm not there. And God forbid I discipline the kids for something he doesn't agree with, or the house isn't as clean as he'd like (this coming from him, a bipolar hoarder) for all hell will break loose and he will spend the rest of the day telling me what a failure I am. Thanks again pops.
Assuming we can avoid that, and the day goes without a fight (which is so rare, I can probably count on one hand how many times it's happened) I spend the day catering to him, getting the food and the drinks he likes and enduring whatever he wants to spend ALL DAY doing, like today when we spent almost $100 on food, and 4 hours swimming and BBQing with the kids, and at the end of it, when I drop him off at home, he stonewalls me.
That's right. A BBQ in his honor for father's day. An entire day with his daughter (the only kid he has who still speaks to him) and grandkids (the only two out of the 8 he has that he actually gets to see) and we did everything he wanted to do, and at the end, no thank you, no "I had a good time" no "I love you" not even so much as a "Bye" or a mumble or anything. He kisses his grandkids, gets out of the car, and without looking at me, waving or acknowledging me at all, he goes inside.
Love you too Dad!
So, yet another holiday where the only family who still tries to have a relationship with him, spends the day doting on him and loving him, and at the end the person who put it all together and made it all happen AND didn't stab him with a fork in the process, gets stiffed. Not so much as a fucking goodbye.
And I ask myself: Why do I even fucking bother?
Happy Fucking Fathers Day!
Friday, June 17, 2011
Father's Day is Sunday, and while seeing as how I have completely procrastinated and not planned anything so far for my dad, I am completely filled with anxiety over what to get him, where to take him and what to do.
Bigger than the stress of gift giving and entertaining my father for an entire day, I am more perplexed over something bigger....an issue that stems from the complicated relationship my father and I have had since I was little.....
What do I say to him?
Things between me and my dad have never been....easy. We've always had a complicated relationship to say the least. He's bipolar, as most of you know, and he didn't receive treatment, medication or counseling of any kind until I was 12. By that time, he'd been a father for 22 years to my brother and sisters. He'd made a lot of mistakes, both with my siblings and with me. He was angry most of the time, irresponsible and self centered pretty much all the time, and from the time I was 9 years old I felt more like his parent than his child. He could be vicious when he was mad (which was often) and emotional abuse became a near constant in our house.
Over the years, things were up and down. He got better for about a year when I was 12, and got sick again when I was 13. This is the year he moved me and him into the shop at his junkyard, where we lived for 9 months with no shower, no heat, no oven or stove until my sister came home from college and moved me into her apartment with her. There are, needless to say, a lot of things I still struggle to forgive my father for. I am not bitter, or angry, but despite his best efforts (and believe it or not, he did try his best) he left me with some serious issues that still come back to bite me after all this time.
And still, we fight like cats and dogs. He stresses me out when he's around for more than a few hours. I know that sounds heartless, but I have been taking care of him since I was 11, and as much as he's grown and changed, he is still very hard to deal with. He's mentally ill and that will never change. We don't get along the best, and we don't see eye to eye, and we can't spend much time together without fighting, and the list goes on and on. But still. It's Father's Day. But still. He's some of the only family I have left that I can trust even a little bit. I should say something.
So, on this Father's Day, the 23rd Father's Day we've spent together, I want to say this to my dad:
Thank you Daddy, for never giving up on me. When my mother didn't want me, you always did. When you were too sick to get out of bed, you still never sent me away. When I got pregnant at 15, you told me we were in this together.
Thank you Daddy, for always trying your best. Even when you were so sick you couldn't think, even when we had nothing, even when you wanted so badly to give up and cash it all in, you didn't. You knew I needed you, and you tried your best to be there.
Thank you Daddy, for teaching me everything you knew. I can change a tire, I can jump a battery, I can check my oil and my brake fluid and my tire pressure and my tranny fluid too. I can stretch a canvas and gesso it smooth. I can do a lot of things, because you taught me how.
Thank you Daddy for giving me words. I would've never wrote a poem, or a song, or a story if you hadn't put a pen in my hand and showed me the power of words on a page. Without the gift of writing, there is a lot in my past that I honestly don't think I would have survived.
Thank you Daddy for making me strong. Maybe you fucked up a lot, and maybe you did everything "wrong" but you made me one tough mother fucker and I appreciate that more than you know.
Thank you Daddy for showing me that people can change. For making me more accepting, more open hearted and understanding. For showing me that the mentally ill aren't incapable or untrustworthy, and that they need love just as much as anyone else. You showed me how to love from the very bottom of my heart, Without question, and without holding back. I couldn't do the job I do if you hadn't given me that gift.
I love you daddy, and even though I might have told you otherwise during all those temper tantrums I threw growing up, I really wouldn't trade you for any other father in the world.
Happy Father's Day, Daddy.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
I am a self proclaimed music junkie. I listen to everything. Yes, everything, even country. I cannot function without music. Music makes the world go round for me, as much as love made the world go round for John Lennon.
When I was growing up, as messed up and chaotic as my childhood was, music was everywhere. Music was food and water and air and shelter. Music was what we had when nothing made sense. Music was how my father communicated when he was too sick to find his words. It makes you feel. It makes the little moments in life that pass before our eyes and touch our very hearts and souls, seem real. Seem tangible and immortal. You can say anything with a song.
I like everything from Frank Sinatra to AC/DC to Tim McGraw, and a million bands and artists in between, and nothing makes me happier than sharing new music with people who haven't heard it before. Helping them discover a new genre or a new artist or a new song that changes their life in a place they didn't expect it. I'd like to share with you today a list of songs and artists you may have never heard, or may have never heard of period, who can infinitely change your life. Even if it isn't your type of music or something you would normally listen to, give it a chance. You never know when the moment is right and the right door opens, when something new might shake you to your core and help you see the world in a whole new light. Enjoy.
Bonobo- a.k.a Simon Green. A one man show consisting of amazing instrumentals and techno undertones. Black sands will absolutely chill you out and expand your mind in ways you didn't think possible. Don't worry, it's nothing like doing acid.
Hybrid- Much like Bonobo, but more advanced. If you already know you like music like Bonobo's, then you need to listen to Hybrid.
Bright Eyes- This is poetry in motion. Sure his guitar is out of tune and his voice is a little twangy and hoarse, but his lyrics are mind blowingly real and raw and completely open. If you can't find a single song of his to relate to, you've never ever lived.
Florence and the Machine- This band gained some fast popularity with their single "Dog Days" but their entire album is truly incredibly and sadly overlooked. Their sound is unique and entrancing, and the lead singer is truly gifted in a way that no pop star that has emerged in the last ten years is. She has soul and body and force behind her voice and the product leaves you completely hypnotized.
Chris Garneau- Heavily melodic and much like a lullaby his songs are relaxing and peaceful on the surface, and deep and meaningful when you get into the lyrics. He sings from the heart, and his delicate piano notes and soft voice take you to a place inside where we as a society rarely venture. A place of quiet introspection and solace. Listen, and reflect.
Manchester Orchestra- Again another band that got some radio play for their single "I've Got Friends" and then was widely overlooked. While "I've Got Friends" is a great song, it is not nearly, not by any means their best song. With deep Catholic childhood roots, their songs tell a story of angst, love, sin, loss, guilt, grief and the torment we all go through (especially those of us who went to Catholic school) while coming into our own. These are stories of sex, love and pain. What other stories are really worth telling, anyway?
The Airborne Toxic Event- With "Sometime Around Midnight" being overplayed to the point of making potential fans truly hate the song, it was sad to see nothing else really come "above ground" with this awesome band. Definitely one of my favorite bands of all time. Each song is different, yet similar to the others in such a way that listening to a whole album all the way through is like weaving a delicate and mysterious pattern. You can't see the whole picture until it's over, but once you do, you can see into the very heart of this band. Putting it all on the line, and writing honest, biting and touching songs with kick ass beats and a wonderful use of violin makes this band truly truly special in my so humble opinion.
I hope you've enjoyed this installment of "Sarah and her iTunes". Listen to some new music today. Go change your life.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Frustration is probably the most difficult emotion for me to deal with, because there never seems to be a good way to express it-not deal with it, express it. The two are very different. I am an expressive person, and until I can express whatever is bothering me, vent it, get it out and all that, I can't begin to deal with it. How do you express frustration except by crying and throwing a fit? I haven't found a way.....
I am frustrated on so many fronts it's overwhelming. I don't like complaining, really I don't, and I'm not trying to throw myself the world's biggest pity party but this blog is my escape, my shoulder to cry on and my incredibly impersonal diary, so if you don't want to hear my whining, go away. Here it is: I am frustrated because right now business is slow for me (It's summer, I expected that, summer is always slow for the field I am in) but with the current daycare situation, I can't pick up a part time job to supplement the missing income so I'm stressed out about money pretty much ALL THE TIME. I hate worrying about money, probably more than anything else you can worry about ever. Money seems like a stupid thing to worry about because it's supposed to be so trivial but money is our survival and when you raise two kids by yourself, that doesn't seem so fucking trivial.
I am frustrated because things haven't been awesome in my house for the last couple weeks. The house has been a mess, and despite being here 3 days during the week, I can't seem to keep up with it. It's mostly laundry too, and I loath laundry. The washing and drying is ok, but there are FOUR people in this house and folding and putting away laundry for all four of us is more than a 1 person job. Fuck, it's more than a two person job most days (it seems like anyway) and two of us are small children who can't help. There is an infuriating cycle at play here: We wash and dry everything, there is a mountain of clean laundry, we get through folding maybe 1/4 of it, get tired/lazy/busy/distracted, pile the rest on our bed, and by the end of the night, when it's bedtime and I'm exhausted, it all gets pushed on the floor. It then becomes walked on and mixed in with the now accumulating dirty laundry, and the whole thing starts all over again.
My last and probably biggest frustration is also with the current condition of my home, and it is the status of things between The Roomie and I. Don't get me wrong, we love each other very much. We are best friends, really, and we care about each other more than I could possibly express with words. Batman, if you're reading this, don't worry, no romantic feelings whatsoever. We are just truly very very best friends. However, we have a serious tendency to piss each other off. As much as I love Dear Roomie, he can get on my nerves, drive me up the wall, and send my bitch level from 0 to 60 in .2 seconds flat. It's a talent, really. Lately, and by lately I mean the last two weeks (at least, could be more) it's gotten worse. Every conversation turns into a fight, everything I say pisses him off, every time he gets mad he shuts me out and won't talk, every time he shuts me out and won't talk I get mad and blame everything on him and act like a little baby. Nothing has gotten resolved, nothing is getting worked out and the cycle is perpetuating at a terrifying rate. We tried today to work things out a little bit via email which turned into a cluster fuck of mile long emails, a lot of bitterness, anger and blame shifting and no real resolution. What does that all amount to? A seriously frustrated, pissed off Sarah who doesn't want to deal with it anymore, and begins retreating into the Crystal Palace, A.K.A. her mind, for solace, reflection and some fucking peace. It helps no one.
At this point, I am at the end of my rope with it all and ready to walk out the door, leave all of it behind and hide in the nearest bar until they run out of wine or kick me out for flashing everyone too much. I know I'm not ready to give up, I never really get to that point, and I know when The Roomie comes home I will want to try yet again to talk things out and find a resolution. I know tomorrow I will wake up and want to tackle the laundry and be brainstorming marketing strategies to boost my business for the summer, but right this moment, I'm frustrated.
Thanks blog land for letting me get that all out. It's time now for some ice cream, a little peace and quiet and maybe time to watch Benny and Joon for the 92982938291029th time. Goodnight.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Relationship: re-la-tion-ship: the way in which two or more concepts, objects or people are connected, or the state of being connected.
Otherwise known as the thing I suck at.
Historically, relationships don't work out well for me. At all. They start out ok, quickly begin deteriorating, then end badly in a big burning pile of shit. It's not pretty, and it usually hurts like hell. Relationships scare me, to be completely honest. It's not just the potential to be hurt, because I honestly believe if something is really worth the doing, it's worth the risk of getting hurt by it. Some people love riding bulls, flying airplanes, planting cactus gardens, etc. I don't need to point out the potential for personal injury here. If you love it, if it's in your blood, it's worth the possible broken bones, bleeding cuts and lost limbs. Emotionally or physically, it doesn't matter. It's worth it to me.
Relationships scare me for far different reasons. They scare me more because of the huge potential for me to fuck up. And when I fuck up, I fuck up big. They scare me because I am nearly incapable of giving up on people who mean a lot to me, and when relationships end, I'm always the self destructive asshole who wants to be friends. They scare me because they could possibly go well. They could be wonderful, and amazing and bring all the happiness and joy that sharing your life with the right person is supposed to bring, and then I will fuck it up. Once it's perfect, and everything I ever wanted, thats the point where I will bring it all crashing down. Because that's the dysfunctional way I roll, son.
At this current juncture, I am dating someone that I wanted to be with for over two years. Someone who is sweet and kind and attentive and generous and funny and affectionate and a million other things that I completely adore. Even when I'm in a shitty mood, as soon as I see him I can't help smiling. Waking up next to him makes waking up at an unholy hour on Sunday morning worth it-mostly. Do you have any idea how much being this happy scares me? More than flying, more than swimming with sharks with a bleeding leg, more than being so far out in the ocean that I can't see more than 3 inches under the water, more than ventriloquist dummies, ladders and down escalators. It terrifies me.
The morning after any night that I spend with him, feels like the first few minutes after sex with a new person. "Did he enjoy it as much as I did? I had an amazing time, but what if he's laying there thinking that I am insufferable, and he can't wait for me to leave?" The trip to Vegas together was possibly one of the scariest things I've ever done. I had to be alone with him for two whole days, and hope that at the end of it, he didn't see some side of me that he couldn't stand, or realize I am the most annoying person in the world.
What is it about the potential to be truly happy that makes me pee my pants and cry like a little girl? Oh no! Someone I could possibly develop a healthy and happy relationship with! RUN! Oh dear God! Someone who is nice to me and treats me well, and seems to genuinely enjoy my company! He must be hiding something. He probably secretly hates me and just doesn't know how to tell me. Sweet mother Mary and little baby Jesus! I'm happy. Only a matter of time until I fuck it up and it all falls apart.
Is it knowing that losing something good will hurt more than losing something shitty, that makes this all so scary?
What kind of terrible character flaw makes a person so scared and distrustful of genuine happiness, that they are honestly surprised when they go another week without their fantastic boyfriend breaking up with them?
I'm not perfect, I know that. I mean come on, my dad is bipolar, my mom was a stark raving drunk, I don't talk to like 90% of my family, my exboyfriend fake died on me, then called me at two a.m. a year later from a bar, half wasted wanting to sleep with me. And I'm such a pushover, I still talk to him! I'm still convinced he wants to be friends! Can you spell L-O-S-E-R?! I am surrounded by crazy people, I come from less than nothing and I am so far from perfect, perfect isn't even a mirage on the horizon anymore. But there are good things about me too. I'm funny, I'm fiercely loyal, I love with all my heart and to the very fucking end, I would do anything for the people I care about, and on my better days I am pretty damn smart too. I deserve love, and to be happy.
But for whatever reason, I am so shit scared of it, I've spent the last 23 years and 10 months running from it, and now that it's staring me in the face, I don't know how to act. I feel like I'm standing in front of a crowd of people, about to publicly speak for the first time, and I have no idea what to do with my hands.
Hey, I never said I was good at this.
Friday, June 10, 2011
It's been a pretty long week. Being in Vegas all weekend apparently took a lot out of me, and I spent the first half of this week being completely exhausted and totally out of it. Couple that with being home alone with the kids, and it was a recipe for a schmidt losing disaster.
It wasn't all bad though. I did manage to say plenty of spaztastic shit to my kids, that taken out of context or overheard by my neighbors, could sound.....exactly as fucked up as they are. No one told me that being a parent meant saying things like "Take that hose out of your mouth!" or "Why are you peeing on that?" But apparently it does. Here is the top 10 fucktarded things I really hope my neighbors didn't hear my say over the last week.
10. "How many times do I have to tell you NOT TO LICK THAT?!"
9. "It's NAPTIME, not pee all over everything time!"
8. "If you don't stop fighting over it, I will set it on fire, so help me God!"
7. "Is that chocolate or poop?!"
6. "Did you just fart on my hand?"
5. "Do you want to get locked in the pantry again?!" <--this one sounds exceptionally bad. After The Jedi got stuck in the pantry, I told him not to play in there. He did anyway, and I was honestly asking him if he wanted to lock himself in again. I have never personally locked my children in a pantry. The closet on the other hand......
4. "Are those tampons yours? No? Then stop putting them up your nose!"
3. "Why do you have to get naked to use the bathroom?"
2. "Where in God's name are your pants?"
1. "They are boobs! Not punching bags!"
Happy Friday Everybody!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Considering the fact that my babies are over 4 years apart, and that one is a boy and one is a girl, you can probably imagine how completely effing IMPOSSIBLE it can be to find something they both want to do/watch/eat/play/etc. etc. etc. I feel like Don King sometimes, reffing their fights, sending them off to their corners and rocking weird hair styles.
One thing that me and both my kids all unanimously agree on is Hobo Dinner. If the term Hobo Dinner offends you, you are also welcome to call it Living Room Picnics. But I called it hobo dinner when I was growing up, my kids call it that, and much like the disgusting soup called "Hobo Stew" it doesn't offend me at all. So loosen up and follow along.
Hobo Dinner is a night during the week where for several different reasons, we don't feel like cooking. Summer seems to come with more of these days than any other season. It's fucking hot! The kitchen is small, it heats up like the seventh level of hell when you turn the oven on, and seriously, when you just came in from 100 degree heat, who the HELL wants to ingest a big heavy hot dinner? Ummm no one, that just sounds disgusting. Rather than eating out, we head to the store and get a bunch of our absolute favorite finger foods. The things that always make our list is the following:
Smart Puffs White Cheddar Cheese Puffs. Healthy, no trans fat, sugar or high fructose corn syrup. And delicious!
Caprese is an absolute favorite in this family. It's ridiculously easy and to die for delicious.
Naked Green Machine Smoothies. Full of super foods to boost the immune system and in the eternal words of Tiny "It's cool that it looks so weird but tastes so good!" We call it Dragon Juice in our house :)
Mezzetta Napa Valley Bistro Garlic Stuffed olives. Garlic is an awesome source of immune boosters and helps lower your cholesterol. And yes, my kids eat these. They love them.
Laughing Cow Cheese is dangerously delicious and super fun. The little individually wrapped wedges of cheese mean that no one has to share or wait for someone else to pass them anything. I hand out everyone's wedges, and they open and enjoy them at their leisure. Spread it on crackers, bread, apples or just eat 'em. They're awesome.
This is probably the weirdest one. Our grocery store sells these awesome little packs of fresh California rolls in all different varieties, and they're even really cheap! My kids surprisingly enough love sushi, and this is the most convenient way to get it to them. I'm sorry, I am just NOT taking a seven year old and a three year old into RA Sushi in Scottsdale, and hoping for the best!
This is our hobo dinner, the way we like it. Sometimes we add hard salami or french bread if we're in the mood. Pita and hummus have made appearances too, but these are our go to's whenever a cold, easy, delicious finger food filled living room floor hobo dinner calls our name. It's a fun, cheap and easy way to spend time with my kids in a moment where we all get what we want AND get along. After hobo dinner, we turn a movie on, and lay around on the floor feeling very stuffed and very happy. You can't buy memories like that, or moments like these.
Have a hobo dinner tonight :)
Monday, June 6, 2011
What a trip. I just got home from Vegas, literally like 10 minutes ago, and as exhausted as I am and as desperately as I want a shower, a nightshirt and a long nap, I also felt like I needed to write this all down while it was still fresh on my mind and in my heart.
Vegas was amazing, to say it as shortly and simply as possible. Amazing really doesn't touch it though. I spent two whole days with my still very new boyfriend, even though I've known him for a long time, and I honestly couldn't have been happier or more relaxed the entire time. We walked around, had good food, napped together, drank, laughed, made ridiculous jokes and spent some pretty awesome quality time together all alone with no kids, work, or distractions period. In fact the only time we turned on the T.V. was to use it to check out. Heaven.
We flew there in Batman's plane, which was definitely the smallest plane I've ever flown on, so I was super nervous before we left. I had never flown with him before, I had never been on a plane that small, and a two hour flight for my very FIRST FLIGHT seemed totally out of my league. I was sure I was going to vomit everywhere, have a huge panic attack and Batman would never speak to me again. But it was actually super cool! That little plane kind of kicks ass. It's fun, and it's intimate. I got to sit right next to Batman the entire time and talk to him on a super fancy headset that I'm sure made me look sexy, and see everything we were flying over. Batman was also amazing at making me feel safe. He explained everything to me before it happened, and even gave me a kiss for good luck right before we took off. What a guy :)
Just to give you an idea, this isn't his plane, but it's basically the same thing:
So of all the things I was scare of about going on my first vacation with Batman, the flight was like #1 on my list. Once that was done and I realized that it was actually really fun, it was on to the rest of the shit that had been given me anxiety pretty much ever since we set a date for our trip.
We stayed at the New York New York Hotel. I had never been there, but it was really cool! Of all the hotels and casinos we walked through, the New York New York was the only one that didn't look identical to everything else we saw. It was really original, and a pretty fun atmosphere, although really smoky just like everywhere else in Vegas. I haven't smoked since I got sick almost a week ago, and man just a few days without smoking makes you realize how strong cigarette smoke is. After this trip, I am not even the least bit tempted to smoke again. That's saying something, cuz as disgusting as it sounds, I really liked smoking. Anyway! Back to the story. This was our room:
And yes, that is totally a jacuzzi in the corner. Awesome! I L-O-V-E hot tubs. Especially ones that are like 5 feet from my bed :) We had a pretty sweet time in this room, to say the least! ;)
This might sound lame, but we didn't see any shows, we didn't eat at a bunch of different restaurants, (a burger place and P.F. Changs, room service and then the Henderson Airport Cafe) we didn't gamble at all really, except one huge slot machine that we played long enough to make 20 bucks and then cashed out, and we didn't even go to the Pawn Shop that Batman wanted to see from the show Pawn Stars. We walked around a lot, we went to a classic car show, we ordered room service for dinner our last night there, we went to one bar the first night and two the last night, and even though we got drunk (really drunk, and possibly roofied) at the bar we went to the last night we were there, we still went back to the room early and were in bed by 11:30. That might sound lame to you, but to me, this was one of the best trips I have ever been on in my life.
We got lost looking for a car show and laughed at how silly we were. We wandered through a dirty casino and sat on the floor together in a gift shop. We picked out our favorite cars, and tried to guess what the other person would order for dinner. We shared some orange peel chicken and had a cool private booth and a bitchy waitress at P.F. Changs. We had a lot of small, sweet moments that I will remember for a long time.
I think what made it so amazing is that Batman is a really kick ass person. He's sweet, and a really old school gentleman in a lot of ways. He opens the door for you, he says please and thank you, he even offers to get up at 5:30 in the morning with a bruised and sprained foot to hobble down the hall and get you water because you're thirsty and hungover. He cares when you're upset, even if it's only a little upset over something small and stupid, and he truly considers your feelings. But he's also really sarcastic, and witty and just fun to be around. It was an awesome trip because I really believe now we could go anywhere together, and do anything (or do nothing!) and still have a really good time.
There is no one else in the world that I would rather walk 6 miles around Vegas with, or get sunburned with, or fly in a tiny plane over the desert with, or be retarded in a jacuzzi with, or get drunk at a bar and talk to smelly Scottish man or weird Canadians and get hit on by British people with. He really is like 95% of what was so cool about this trip. He's the amazing. At least most of it.
I am tired, my ears are ridiculously plugged and refusing to pop, I need a shower and some hard core sleep but I feel completely and totally blessed and way luckier than I deserve. It was a good trip, and it's good to be home. Perfectly. Blessed. (Unfortunately we also didn't take like even 1 picture, which sucks, but I guess that makes the memories that much more precious, right?)
Friday, June 3, 2011
FINALLY! After like 4 fucking days my ridiculously sore throat and grotesquely swollen left tonsil is finally better!!!!!
And you know what fixed it?!
Antibiotics? Of course not! It was the following, as told to me by my lovely naturopathic doctor/hippie guru voodoo queen:
1. Massage Grapefruit Essential Oil onto the outside of your throat, directly onto the swollen lymph nodes 3-4 times daily
2. Drink the Green Machine Naked Smoothie, or Green Goddess Bolthouse Smoothie. This shit is packed with Spirulina, Zinc, Garlic, Spinach, and tons of other immune system boosting vitamins and nutrients that kick any infections ass!
3. Up your water intake to some seriously crazy amount, obviously, as you should whenever you get sick PERIOD
4. Increase your Vitamin D and Zinc intake
WORKED LIKE A MURTHER FURKING CHARM! In one day, I am totally healed. As soon as I used the grapefruit essential oil, I felt so much better. Not completely, but so much. Not to be super gross, but I literally felt everything clear up and decongest, and it felt amazing! Anyone that knows me knows how much I hate antifuckingbiotics, and I am all about the natural remedies, and I am always so happy when THEY WORK! Better, faster and safer than alopathic medicine ever has. It's like an In-Your-Face to traditional, Western Medicine.
Ahhhh I am so happy to feel so much better. It is amazing how good "normal" feels after being sick for almost a week. Thank you to naturopathic doctors everywhere! I love you all!!!!!!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
So school let out last week, and it is officially summer time in the house of Sarah. Given our new daycare situation, this means that the kids, BOTH kids, will be home with me during the day 3 days out of the normal work week and then there are weekends.
Now, as anxiety inducing as this is, I am prepared to not lose my schmidt! I have armed myself with my "Handy Dandy List of Cool Stuff to do this Summer so Mom Doesn't Kill Everyone!" I may end up shortening the name. But for now! Here she is:
- Living room picnics with all kinds of yumminess and fun finger foods that keep children entertained and quiet
- Netflix movie marathons
- Going to the park and making the kids race each other. It's competitive, it's exercise, and it wears them the f*ck out!
- Handing out copious amounts of ice cream until they shut up or slip into a diabetic coma
- Building a fort out of sheets
- Finding a way to incorporate bacon into the sheet fort
- Bacon fights?
- Grocery store scavenger hunts
- Chasing the ice cream truck
- Chasing the ice cream truck while crying
- Drinking Grown Up juice boxes from Target while hiding in my closet
- Nap time at 9 a.m.
- Teaching Tiny to make Easy Mac and Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for her and her brother when Mommy is too hung over to get out of bed and make breakfast
- 6 p.m. bedtime!
- 10 days in Illinois and Michigan with The Roomie and his huge family, AKA, other people who want to spend time entertaining my kids while I get drunk in the backyard
- And if all else fails, and we are all 3 still ready to lose our schmidt and hurt each other, there is always the old standby of: Lots and lots of overnights at Grandma's house!
Happy Mother F*cking Summer Everybody!
So my trip to Vegas is coming up faster than I initially expected. We are leaving around 4ish on Saturday, which means I literally leave in like 42 hours and 32 minutes from right. now. To be honest, I'm starting to freak out a little for a couple different reasons.
1. I have never, ever been out of town with Batman before, and our relationship is still super new. Vacations with a new boyfriend always feel like a lot of pressure to me. I mean, who wants to keep dating someone who they can't have kick ass vacations with?! So it has to be an amazing time, without being too much pressure, and without being too exhausting, and it all gets to be so fucking overwhelming, it's like meeting their parents but more important. This is Vegas we're talking about here.
2. This being our first vacation together, AND this still being a new relationship, one can probably safely assume we have never spent more than like 1 day together. Possibly not even that. I mean, he works, I work, he has kids, I have kids, we're busy people. We have our ritual Saturday night date, and sometimes we have lunch together during the week, but as of right now, we don't get a ton of time together outside of that. This is the first time we will be together for an extended period of time, and I am kind of super nervous. What if I am like really sour candy that's fun in small doses, but after like hour 15, I start to make your tongue bleed?
3. There is a pool at the hotel, and I may or may not be expected to swim in it in Batman's presence. Let's get one thing perfectly straight here: I had Tiny at 16, which means my body bounced back like a fucking bungee jumper. I used to rock my awesome flat tummy and still slightly perky boobs, and I had NO CELLULITE mother fuckers. None. Now, Jedi was huge, my pregnancy with him was hard, and compounded with bedrest and a terrible relationship that caused me to eat my feelings of worthlessness daily, I looked like a fucking trainwreck when I was done being pregnant with him. And guess what? Since the day I delivered his chunkiness, I have lost 6 pounds. He's 3. Ya. Who's got the Xanax?!
4. I have been sort of sick the last few days with this weird swollen tonsil thing that is making it super duper painful every time I swallow anything, and generally bugging the crap out of me. I don't have a fever, and I'm not super tired anymore, so theoretically I can still go to Vegas, but my throat still does hurt, I have no idea if I'm contagious and getting shit faced wasted seems like it would probably make the situation worse. Plus, and not to be way too TMI here, I have absolutely no desire to give....mouth love....with this freakin egg in the side of my neck. How do you properly thank a person for an awesome vacation in Vegas without giving them mouth love?!
These are the biggest causes of my momentary, totally meaningless and completely unjustified freak out over going on vacation with my super cool boyfriend. I mean really, who gets freaked out over going on VACATION?! To Vegas of all places?! I am excited, really I am. But I am also a girl, my vagina still functions, my hormones still rage with the best of them, and I still have these moments of freakish insecurity that I could never show my boyfriend, so I word vomit them to the internet at large. That's way healthier, right?.....Right?