where i get it

my dad was born april 5, 1955 in akron, ohio.

he would have been 59 this year.

almost 60.

i honestly don't know what 60 looks like. it seems like people are either close to my age (27-69) or OLD (70+). i'm lousy at guessing ages. but 60. my dad would have been 60. 

i don't know how he managed to be born in akron, ohio but raised in anaheim, california. i don't know way too many things about him. i do know his dad died in 1962 when my dad was 7. i know he was an eagle scout. i know he was part of a baptist church youth bell choir.

that's about it.

what i DO know is that my dad would drive from the yakima valley to spokane every year for my birthday in my adult years and take me out to a nice dinner. since his death i've claimed april 5 as steak and beer day in his honor. he can't take me out to dinner on my birthday anymore, but i sure as hell can enjoy his favorite meal on his birthday for him.

i never appreciated his driving 2.5 hours each direction for my birthday when he was around to do it. this year the small spawns adopted grandparents drove to spokane for his school concert/birthday dinner. about 2.5 hours. i truly appreciated it. i managed not to snot myself during dinner, but i sure snotted all over the car on the way home from dinner.

some people are just...amazing.  you know?

my dad was a grizzly bear. as kids we had to draw the short straw to wake him up for work. he was not a morning person.

that's where i get it from.

he also snored like a cartoon character. i still swear that if he wore socks when he slept you would have been able to see them blow back and forth when he snored. you possibly could have seen the walls of the house flex in and out too.

that's where i get it from.

one of the very last things i learned about my dad was that he loved musicals- chicago in particular.

that's where i get it from.

that whole side of the family- the miller side- not exactly a petite genetic structure.

that's where i get it from.

my dad loved all things related to a good steak dinner.

that's where i get it from.

my dad had some great sayings too-

"close the door, you're letting all the bought air out."

"wow. your legs go all the way up to your hips."

"i don't mind if you work at a stip club. just let me know which one so i'm not surprised."

he always called my brothers either "fuzz nuts" or "son" without exception.

he whistled john denver songs on car trips.

he always stopped at long horn bbq on his way out of town.

and best of all- he knew he had made plenty of mistakes in his life like we all do. he told me his job wasn't to judge me, it was to be there and help pick me up when i fell on my face.

i hope i get that from him.

happy birthday dad.

on being excommunicated...

i don't remember becoming catholic. or joining a cult. i haven't had any koolaid of any kind recently, nor have i sacrificed any black cats at midnight.

i have however managed to be excommunicated.

so. there's that.

a little over a week ago, at the seven week mark since the teenager moved, it officially happened.

the small spawn called the big spawn to tell him about his new bike, chat in general, and he asked if the big spawn wanted to talk to me.

"NOPE."

i knew it was coming. i know there's so much anger and emotion and teenage angst and pure hate. i've been expecting it. but to actually hear it...

OUCH.

you know?

and i did something that i rarely do: I LET MYSELF FEEL IT.

i didn't stuff it down. i didn't distract myself. i just...let it hit. and i cried. holy shit did i cry. snotting all over the place, kleenex in a pile on the coffee table. i went in to make dinner and just stood over the stove crying.

it hurt. and i let it.

the worst part though, was the small spawn. apparently watching mom have feelings, a LOT of feelings, is unsettling.

i tried to reassure him through the snot and tears- it's OK. i held it in for seven weeks. it was bound to come out. i just need to purge it all out and get back to rights.

but seeing mom sad is hard for his tender little heart, so he tried to make it better.

he tried to text his big brother:

"do you hate mom?"

i know he SO DESPERATELY just wanted to see that "no" come back. he wanted to be able to show me a text that it wasn't true. the big spawn isn't so angry, he doesn't hate me.

instead he got back "what's it to you?" and "don't be such an asshole."

totally uncalled for and even more hurtful to a little brother who still doesn't really understand what all happened and was just trying to make things right.

and then i REALLY fell apart. i expected the anger towards me. i didn't expect him to take it out on anyone and everyone in the general range of fire.

i cried. i hurt. i let myself totally fall apart. i snotted and sobbed until 4 in the morning when i finally fell asleep. i called in to work the next day- something i NEVER do and took the time i needed to put myself back together. a friend came over for lunch and let me talk it out. i cleaned house and purged the rest of the emotions while i purged the piles of clutter that had built up.

maybe it's just me, but depression is half emotional and half environmental- neglecting my feelings tends to go hand in hand with neglecting my house. purging both and getting them both in order was a tremendous boost.

i had posts of encouragement from friends, even a bright delivery of flowers from across the state to show support.

and here i am a week later.

it still hurts.

i know i'm missing out on his first season of track. i'm missing out on his new school and new experiences and new friends.

i know it will take a LONG time for him to work through all his hurt and hate and anger- and then only if he chooses to.

i knew it would be hard going in. i expected something like this- i just didn't know what.

one of the side effects of all this is that it's made me rethink a few of my relationships- mostly with my own mum.

as much as i hurt going through all this, i'm sure she's felt similar feelings.

it made me really evaluate the decisions i've made- have i been too harsh? have i been intentionally hurtful and hateful?

end of the day i still stand by my decisions, even going through something as painful myself.

a change of perspective, yes. a change in results, no. but it's good to re-evaluate. it's good to question. 

i'll deny it if you tell people, but it's good to let yourself have all the feelings. they don't just have to be stuffed away and moved past without a second thought.

things are settling down around home now with just the two of us. it's still strange, but it is what it is.

i really hope some day i'll be back on the good list. but until then, it's ok. it's part of the process. it hurts. and it's not fair. and i don't like it. and i SO wish i had a magic wand to just make it all better and get rid of all the yuk. but the yuk is part of the learning and growing process. even plants need a little shit to be healthy.

confessions of a fat girl

not-so-breaking news:

I AM A FAT GIRL.

now. i know that's an ugly word- that FAT word. it carries so many social and self esteem implications in it. it's mean and degrading and hurtful and really just a not nice word.

and i don't use it lightly.

but i am. i'm a FAT girl.

i'm not made to be small. i know this. my frame, my family, my everything does not lend me to being the type of girl anyone ever describes as "willowy" or "flowingly slender" or any of those other teen drama book descriptions of apparently every heroine that ever existed.

i know i'll never be the size i was in high school ever again. hell, i don't ever remember actually BEING the size i was in high school but apparently at some point in life i had a 28" waist and could wear a size 2 dress (there's pictures to prove it.). i don't ever WANT to be the size i was in high school. it wouldn't be healthy for me to be 145 pounds again. i would look like skeletor (but with better hair).

BUT.

i'm tired of being a fat girl.

and here's why i'm using the word FAT:

i eat like CRAP- taco bell, mcdonalds, pizza, endless nights out at restaurants around town. i don't shy away from cheesecake...like...EVER. i LOVE pretty much all foods- especially those of the carb variety (can someone explain how BREAD, a carb, became the standard side to PASTA, also a carb? both of which are on my favorite things list).

i also happen to HATE exercising. well, not hate so much as i'm not good at exercising. i do love yoga. i love the wii fit (when it's not calling me obese). but i'm not good at going to a gym or biking or walking. i know. simplest thing ever- going for a walk. but WHERE do you go. and it's boring to go alone. and walking/running trails are where all the dead bodies get dumped. i get bored with videos easily. i have a million ideas pinned to my pinterest exercise board, but i need a better way to look at them or remember more than one of them at a time.

yes. i realize these are all lame, easily solved excuses. end of the day i just avoid working out. it's easier to sit and read a book or watch a movie.

i would say the rest of my life is SO HARD, i deserve one easy thing! but that's a stupid answer too. it should be that i'm used to hard, so just suck it up and do it anyway.

so yes. i'm FAT. as in i'm not healthy by any of the measurements (physical, exercise, diet, etc). i'm not taking care of myself at all. i'm pretty much pure fat by BMI index measurements as well- i'm sure there SOME muscle hiding in there, but i'll be damned if i know where it is. my clothes are too tight, my bra size is jumping by the week, every part of me jiggles, i'm just not what i want to be.

SO.

i don't want to be a FAT girl anymore.

i want to be HEALTHY. this does not mean skinny. this does not mean a certain number on the scale or on the clothing rack.

IT DOES MEAN: cooking good meals AT HOME. it does mean going for walks or doing yoga or the wii fit. it does mean not being out of breath if i have to walk up three flights of stairs. it does mean setting a good example for the small spawn (who is a solid build as well). it does mean being more comfortable in my clothes. it does mean being more body confident and not feeling like i need to find ways to hide the things i don't like about myself. it does mean still eating the foods i love, drinking wine, having cheesecake but WITHIN REASON.

i will always be a BIG girl. but i'm tired of being a FAT girl.

so. i'm working on it.

i've started making sure i have healthy snacks at work and that i'm actually eating breakfast. i've almost completely cut out soda and am working at drinking more water. the wii has been reconnected downstairs, and as soon as new batteries are procured i'll be getting off my ass and using it in the evenings. the weather is getting nicer and it's staying late longer, so there's no reason the spawn and dog and i can't go out for an after work jaunt. i don't expect this to be some magical overnight change. it will be a process, starting new habits (and sticking to them for 28 days until they become a a natural choice instead of a habit).

i'm honestly not setting any goals or timelines or anything because this will be a LIFESTYLE, not a 3 week kick.

i still want to have boobs and a butt and be able to go out with friends without being the girl that orders a leaf of lettuce and a glass of water. i want to fill out my dresses in different places but still fill them out. i want to be sexy and soft and confident.

so. there you have it.

i'm a fat girl. working on being better. bit by wobbly bit.

...and counting

it's been six weeks since my oldest son moved.

it feel like a lifetime. it feels like a few days.

it feels like the world has completely stopped. it feels like everything is on fast forward.

i've had a fuck of a time writing lately. there's so much hurt and anger and sadness and worry and gut wrenching sickness.

but i still get up and go to work.

i still meet up with friends.

i still make sure my youngest son has a good birthday.

i still try like fuck to hold it all together.

that's the real reason i haven't written.

i can't fall apart.

there's too many things to do. i can't write at work because i can't let them see me cry.

i can't write at home because there's dishes and dinner and grocery shopping and all the things i'm supposed to be doing (but can't because i'm just frozen).

i can't think about it. i can't fall apart.

i've lost my son. for probably a long time. i hope not forever.

but i can't think about it because i still have another son that needs me.

i'm so worried. everyone says he'll come back around. he won't hate me forever. he didn't really mean it when he told me he never wants to see me again.

i shouldn't read into him avoiding phone calls, stilted text message conversations. i shouldn't focus on the anger and blame during the few phone conversations that have happened.

i've taken my time thinking over the last few weeks. i can't say it's all been good thinking. i've used (and quite possibly abused) my sounding board friends. i've tried to look at things from all different angles, all different options.

i still haven't found another option that would have been better. i know this is the way it needed to be. it hasn't made it any easier. even weeks out.

i have so many questions and theories and ideas of why it all happened the way it did. i'm still working through them. i know i may not have any answers, ever. i'm working on being ok with that. some of the questions i'm still working up the courage to ask the right people and hope that they're willing to give me an honest response. i've been realizing half truths and passive destructions and undermining that go back years. it makes me think i'll i honestly never get real answers to my questions. it makes me think i've never gotten any honest answers from some people.

people ask how i am. how i've been doing. i answer politely but vaguely. i'm battling. it's true. i don't say it's a bloody, ugly, mean, horrible battle. i just answer politely and move on as quickly as possible. i feel like i've become adept at distractions- ask people questions, keep an arsenal of current events handy to change the topic, know ways to move on as quickly as possible. 

speaking of which.

i had a huge realization last week with the small spawn aging one more year: i'm the same age now as my mum when she got married to her second husband, and the small spawn is the age as my brother (and then me, three years younger).

it's hard to imagine my mom at 27 dating and...being young. hard to imagine her being the age i am now getting married to have someone help her raise her kids (her words). she's always been old to me. i never remember her being young or going out or anything. i remember one time in seattle she showed us she could change lanes without hitting the turtles in the road (the raised lane markers). i remember she had one gal she worked with that we would occasionally go over to their house on the edge of town. i think that was it for the extent of her friends and the extent of activity. she, to this day, has never had a drink of alcohol. she would go to work parties during the holidays but only stay a half hour because she didn't like being around people "like that" (drinkers). we went to church and i'm sure there were people there...but i dont remember her having a social circle. to this day i have NO CLUE what she would do during spring break and our two weeks in the summer my brother and i spent with our dad. we usually came home to rearranged furniture and her with a fresh perm. that's it.

it makes me wonder how my kids see me. i try to take them places and do things- movies, baseball games, hockey games, vacations (well, just one of those). i have a good circle of friends. i take time for myself and go out with said friends, attend theater, tweet-ups. i have friends over for dinner parties and bbq's and movie nights and just hang out nights. i've attempted dating (as well as that's gone...ugh). i've tried to make life LIFE. i've tried to show my kids conflict and resolution. i've tried to show them how to have a good time but still be responsible. i've tried to show them all the things that were hidden from me as a kid because they were grown up issues (never too early to learn budgeting and being money wise to me.)

i don't want my kids to look back on their childhood and only vaguely remember stories associated with pictures but draw a huge blank for the rest of it.

i'm 33. my youngest is 11. my oldest will be able to drive in a few months. life FLIES BY. i want them to remember it and love it.

on another track- i look at how my mom felt like she HAD to get married to have someone help her raise her kids. while i don't agree with that in any way shape or form, i also realize i've gone almost too far in the opposite direction shunning anyone that offers help (especially those that tried to force their help or tell me how it should be done). i'm so afraid of being like her- not being strong enough to do it on my own. i'm pretty sure i'm able to do it on my own. at least i have been able to for 15 years. pretty sure i don't have anything to prove to anyone at this point, so i need to just cool my jets and stop being so...harsh.

it all comes back to balance. i want someone willing to help, but not someone that thinks i NEED help. i'm not some fucking damsel in distress. i'm a damsel- maybe more of a dame. but i'm not exactly in distress. i've kept the lights on and the cupboards filled just fine. i want a partner, not an asshole knight on a horse that is going to shit all over my lawn (the horse. not the knight. well, maybe both). BUT. to get someone willing to help, i have to be willing to LET them help. i have to quit being so worried people will think i'm weak.

i have to quit being worried about people in general.

yeah. that's the biggest part of the equation. people are always going to have their own opinions. i can't control that. i'm sure no matter what someone out there is going to think i'm baby daddy shopping. someone is going to think i needed rescued. someone is going to think i'm with a guy i don't deserve. someone is going to think i could do better. someone is going to think i'm a fucking beached whale. someone is going to think i have soft movie cuddling enhanced plushness.

i have to quit worrying about others and worry about me. i have to look for what i need. what is important to me. what is best for my little core that's left.

IN OTHER NEWS:

i've said it before and i'll say it again: tattoos are my form of healing/working through things. i PLANNED on finishing up my second half sleeve before venturing out into any other tattoos, but gene had other ideas.

i've already introduced gene:

 well, gene needed a friend.

so.  meet anita:

she helps take care of gene. she's there to ice his injuries, mend his broken little heart. sweet little pigeon-toed anita.

together they're kind of AMAZING.

i know for sure i have gene in me. i've taken my hits. i've had my heart broken. i've been knocked around pretty good over the last few years but i'm still going.

but i also have anita in me (i know it's not a proper sentence. shut it.) i'm a fixer. i'm a helper. i want to make things better and take away what pain i can. i want to help put things back together, be there when someone needs me...especially my own damn self. back to that balance thing. admit my hurt, but also my own power to heal. like gene and anita. they go together. i'm going to keep taking hits over the years. and i'm going to keep fixing over the years.


so. 

six weeks. six weeks and counting.

i have plenty to say. i've been taking notes. i just haven't been able to get it out.

i'm trying to come back around. i'll get there.

six weeks is a lifetime and a blink. i'm getting there.

gene

well. it's been almost a week since the teenager moved. the last few days before the move were tough- PLENTY of emotions on both sides.

the big spawn had a few friends over to say goodbye one night- he really did have a group of GOOD kids that he associated with. i'll miss having a house full of kids arguing over whose GPA is the highest and who speaks the most languages before they go nerd out on zelda.

the next night he went to a party some friends from school threw for him- that one was harder since it was a last minute "hey, i'm going to this." one of a few final defiant moves of "i'm already losing everything, what are you going to do?" no permission asked, just deciding on his own. add that to the HUGE stack of dishes from going on strike, the mess leftover in his room, just all the little things that added up and made the transition somewhat easier.

so much frustration, hurt, anger, relief, everything rolled into one. sunday came and went in a brief not even 10 minute window of loading things into the car and gone.

i stood there watching him load his dads car and drive off and it just...hurt.

hurt isn't a big enough word (i'll come back to this in another post).

i am SO eternally grateful for friends checking in, taking me out for a spa day, being sounding boards, providing distractions.

the small spawn and i are adjusting to a different home atmosphere now.  the small spawn chatters CONSTANTLY now. i'm not sure if it's because he's trying to fill the silence or if it's because he feels like he's not being shut down every time he talks, but either way it's hilarious (and slightly overwhelming) to listen to him go on and on and on for 20-30 minutes NON-STOP.

now. if you know me, you know that my way of dealing with particular shitty-shit in my life is to add the inside feelings to the outside skin via tattoo.

and so, i would like to introduce gene:

gene is the sweetest bad ass mofo you'll ever see.  he's a reminder that no matter how beat up, no matter how broken hearted, you keep going.

it's been a rough few years. i've taken my share of hard knocks. there's been more than once i wanted to quit- whatever that meant. but there's always kids that need food, bills that need paid, a dog that needs out to pee, SOMETHING. i've wanted to quit, but i've never actually given myself that actual option to quit. many times i felt like a little robot- shut off the emotions, shove them deep down, just keep going. just. keep. going.

that's gene.

take a hit, keep going, and try your damndest to come back swinging.

i never...

i never thought i'd be the parent that called the police on my own child.

i never thought i'd have bruises from my own child.

i never thought a lot of things.

i DID think a lot of things though too.

i thought raising a teenager would be hard. i didn't know it would tear me apart piece by piece.

i thought i knew how to handle grief and loss. now i realize i have no clue.

i thought i would always know what to do for my kids and how to help them.

now i realize how foolish that was.

i don't know. i don't know how to fix either of them. and at this point they both need so much.

there is so much damage to be undone.

there is so much hurt and anger for all of us to work through.

i'm having such a hard time with everything right now.

on days like saturday when a police officer is in the front yard talking to my son and another is in the house talking to me i just want the move to be over and done so we don't have to keep waking up to this toxicity. i'm tired of being on edge waiting for the next explosion.

then days like yesterday when everyone is getting along and things seem fine i question the whole decision.

then days like today when both boys can do nothing but argue over every. trivial. insignificant. inconsequential thing i just want to scream and leave them both and move to the middle of no where all on my own.

i feel so much guilt and anxiety right now.

i'm not being a good friend to anyone right now because i'm hiding and avoiding everyone. i know i'll be distracted until all the dust settles.

i also know i have ZERO patience right now for anyone else. the slightest things leave me itching for a brutal knock down drag out fight. i know i'm just transferring my anger and frustration onto (not completely) innocent bystanders. so i've been biting my tongue and hiding to avoid causalities of war.

i'm not being a good mom because i'm on edge and completely worn out (fast food ALL WEEK. disgusting.) the house is a mess. the sink is full of dishes. the laundry is stacking up. all i can do is sit and stare at nothing. i don't want to help with homework or tell jokes. i don't want to pack lunches. it's all i can do to get out of bed and make sure there's still a paycheck at the end of the week.

i'm not being anything besides this shell of what used to be me.

i knew it would be hard.

but i never knew it would be this hard.

the weekend is a day away and i'm terrified to have a repeat of the last one. weeks are fine between school and work and limited hours together. weekends are a different story.

and i have no idea what to do about monday- there's no school and i can't leave the boys home alone at all anymore. and i can't keep letting this distract me from work or there won't be a work to be distracted from.

amd i'm trying not to think about things i can't control.

i can't control what it will be like for my son on the other side of the state. he's going to live with a parent who doesn't know how to be a parent. i know they will make it work, but i'm worried about how hard it will be for them while it's falling in line.

i can't control that other people still maintain contact with my mother and her husband. i won't have any say over my son being exposed to (or protected from) a pedophile.

i can't control how they will get along or the challenges they'll face.

i can't control how my son will feel when he leaves and whether or not he'll ever want to talk to me after he leaves.

i can't control how much anger he's feeling and how much hate he has towards me.

i can't control losing my sidekick, the kid who has been through EVERYTHING with me. he graduated high school and college with me. he's moved every time i have. he's been through marriage and divorce with me. we've visited countless doctors and principals offices together.

i never thought my life would feel this hopeless but hopeful at the same time.

you're not alone

well, it's barely before the deadline (ok, technically after as of now), but here it is, for your birthday:

i grew up in a small town. the type of town where when you look back through your grade school class photos you recognize the same morphing faces year after year because there was a good chance you shared the same teacher with the same kids SEVERAL times.

it probably looked like a pretty average household on the surface. 3 bedroom house in town. no blatantly dark clouds or horror stories connected to our family. church on sunday and wednesday. parents both worked and weren't known as the town drunk, or anything like that. our family didn't have any superstars- i did manage to make the usual appearances in the school news paper when it came time for honor roll. we watched TGIF on fridays and made a once a month trip to the "big city" for necessities before walmart came to town.

i was never a popular kid by ANY stretch of the imagination. didn't attend one party through all of high school. i didn't have a lot of friends. or any, really, for that matter. i had people- drama club people, cheer team people, youth group people. but not really friends. no one that i hung out with outside those activities. no one that i spent hours on the phone with or anyone whose house i would have considered a second home.

beneath the surface- it wasn't great. i was lonely ALL the time. it's pretty sad when some of the only memories i have as a kid are of making a special place in my closet to read my favorite books (yes, i was literally IN THE CLOSET as a kid). school was rough- being on the lower end of middle class with a mom who didn't pay any attention to...well...anything made for some awkward moments. i had ZERO fashion sense and a body that took full advantage of every possible quirk you could- high water pants, frizzy hair, thick rimmed glasses. i was an embarrassment to my brother, had a mom that basically didn't know i existed until my brother graduated high school (she literally told me once she had no idea i had a sense of humor until after he moved out).

I PROMISE, this isn't a total emo post, i'm getting to a point.

POINT: (see, i told you it was coming). GROWING UP SUCKED. from the social stuff to the pretty horrible stuff that was happening at home behind the scene and below the surface. high school was particularly heinous from getting suspended from school my freshman year (after having someone threaten to kill me in front of a teacher who walked away) to being pregnant my senior year.

i was sad. i was angry. i was hurt. i was alone.

and for the longest time i really truly thought i was the only one.

not the only one that had it rough. i mean- i know it's shitty all over to various degrees and all that bullshit.

I GET IT.

but i really thought my set of problems was unique. no one could really ever understand what i went through.

and i graduated.

and i grew up.

and through the wonder of social media i reconnected with a fellow survivor of my little high school.

this gal and i had ONE bond that i knew of. and it wasn't so much a bond as a shared timeline.

we were both "the pregnant girl" in our senior class. AT THE SAME TIME.

almost quite literally the same time. she managed to pop out her little critter a few weeks before graduation, mine came a few weeks after.

so.

there was that.

meh.
 
we had spend high school as what i could consider fringe friends- you know...on the outside of related people's circles. in a venn diagram she would be the yellow circle, i would be the blue circle, and we had a few people that shared the green zone.

in case that was too complex, here's a visual.

but then we started talking.

we both knew what it was like to be the pregnant one in a small high school.

we both managed to graduate high school.

we both went on graduate college with Bachelors Degrees.

we both married and divorced (and remarried- her) and added an extra kid (me) or two (her) along the way.

we even shared the same tragic ear piercing story.

and it kept on going- 

all the horrible behind the scenes stuff that went on growing up? she survived way too many of the same experiences. hell, even our first time sex stories are eerily similar.

we both spent a lot of time feeling alone and hurt and scared.

and here we are. both moms. both older. both wiser.

and we're facing the same battles again.

we're both battling through difficult teenagers that are breaking our hearts. we're both faced with making a choice neither of us wants to make but we know we have to.

and in the middle of this REALLY, REALLY shitty time, i'm reminded of the basic simple fact: i'm not alone.

and i'm not turning cartwheels watching another mom struggle, trust, i'm really NOT turning cartwheels. that would be dangerous and horrible for all involved.

but i AM being reminded that i'm not the only one.

and when you're feeling particularly singled out by the universe.

and when you're EXHAUSTED.

and when you're broken.

and when you're not sure how the fuck you're going to wake up and make it through another day of sludge and battle and when you can't see the other side of the swamp of sadness and your horse has already disappeared...

you can't give up! you have to try! ARTAX! PLEASE!

it's nice to not be alone. even if it's in a shitty spot. ESPECIALLY if it's in a shitty spot.

it's nice to know there's someone that ACTUALLY understands and isn't just trying to say the polite or nice thing. it's nice to know there's someone that gets that you can't just smile and make it better. it's nice to know you're not being picked on and singled out. and it's nice to have someone to cheer on and that's cheering you on right back.

and as you watch each other slowly take one step at a time it's nice to see that steps can still be taken.

and it's nice to see that as much as we have in common, we've both done things very differently and ended up in the same spot, so IT'S NOT ME. i didn't do any ONE THING that caused this change to happen. it's not something she or i did- forgetting a fruit snack one day, not letting them have that certain pair of shorts at the store, taking or not taking them to church, public school vs home school. some kids are just hard. i can't beat myself up for things i did or didn't do.

AND THIS IS MY MESSAGE TO HER: YOU CAN'T EITHER.

we've both battled. we've both done the best we know how. we've both given our kids the best parenting we could. we've both had structure and rules. we've both tried our damndest to raise GOOD kids. and they are. we have both raised two brilliant boys that are amazing kids (when they choose to be). WE HAVEN'T FAILED. we've just hit one helluva mother fucking road block. and we're both going to find a way around it. and it will suck. 98% sure of that.

BUT: you're not alone. and i'm not alone. ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT.

so. on your birthday. please know that you are AMAZING. and you've come so fucking far. look at all the statistics of things we shouldn't have done.

according to all those statistics:
we weren't supposed to graduate high school once we got pregnant.
we weren't supposed to graduate college as a teen mom.
we weren't supposed to be able to leave an abusive marriage.
we weren't supposed to have successful careers.

and we sure as fuck weren't supposed to do ALL of those things.

and here we are. you and me. long lost twins.

i'm not giving up.

on you.

on me.

on our kids.

YOU ARE AMAZING. you are strong. you are a fighter.

this year will be hard. i wish like hell i had a magical candle for your birthday cake that you could just blow out and make it all better.

but instead i give you this: YOU'RE NOT ALONE.

happy birthday. i wish you strength and gentleness, courage and peace, belief in yourself and love for yourself. i wish for you tireless endurance and knowledge it will turn out alright, even when it seems nothing is right. i wish you unity as a family, even when some of your pieces aren't within arms reach.



oh yeah. and i wish you a costco cart of kleenex and chocolate too. that probably should have been at the start of the list of wishes, just in case the genie spaced out part way through.