Wishes.

Wishing. I’m done wishing. I’m done waiting. I am mentally depleted and I’m just done.

It’s not fair that I’ve done everything that I can do right by my kids. That I’ve provided and exhausted myself in the process. It’s not fair that I’m the only adult here for them. I’m done waiting, wishing. I’m done being the only financially responsible party. Utility companies, landlords, daycare providers, doctors and grocery stores don’t wait and they don’t answer to wishes. Tears don’t dry themselves with wishes in an empty tissue box. Diapers don’t appear out of nowhere when I open the cabinet after wishing they would magically resupply themselves.

The world doesn’t thrive on unanswered wishes.

I wish the world were fair. That unfaithful spouses were the ones sitting alone sobbing into their pillows at 2 am. That absent parents were sat at tables in dark rooms with a single bulb dangling over their guilty heads as the questions the present parents are assaulted with are piped into the room at full volume.

It’s not FAIR. It’s inhumane and torturous to be the ones left behind. Yes, we are better off without that toxicity but we’re also left answering questions and wiping tears doing our best to not push our anger onto these babies.

Every fucking morning is Groundhog Day. Wake up, be responsible, sign the documents, sell my soul for groceries and other necessities, hold out some sort of hope that boyfriends will have perfect opportunities fall in their lap, that karma will sideswipe the guilty parties, bite my tongue, lather rinse and repeat.

I don’t get the opportunities to take mental breaks, so mental breakdowns steal perfectly sunny days instead. I don’t get to take much needed vacations, so I take an extra second to watch other families allow 5 more minutes of pool time while the days get shorter as does my patience.

I’m better off alone in a world where the children don’t know what betrayal is. Where they don’t know their father or anyone associated with him. That her and her children and their own fucked up daddy issues don’t exist. That space and time, distance and days are irrelevant. I’d like a penny for every wish, want and need that come to pass under this roof and a dollar for every year that falls.

I’m in a bad brain place. I’ll blame it on the moon since everyone else is.

The full moon blues.

Pantry is bare.
Gas tank is on empty.
My power bill came in yesterday and that's all that needs to be said about that.
Daycare isn't paying for itself.
Lawyer is still on the back burner.
Lou is almost out of diapers.
Laundry is piling up.
Sanity is in the shitter.
The house is a FEMA certified disaster.
Boyfriend won't come "home" for another week... but the kids will be home so I can't be selfish and keep him all to myself for 36 hours.
My mama is going out of town for the next week so I can't run the kids off to her house if they get cabin fever.

It's a week before school starts. It's a blood moon. A full moon. A WEEK BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS.

Let us pray.

A love worth waiting for.

I feel safe with you.

Around Christmas time after we came back from Brunswick, I realized that I'm not as open with you as I thought I was. I realized that all of our time together I'm doing EVERYTHING in my power to keep "you and me" as this amazing relationship, not just as it's been on our weekends together but every day. I realized that in order to keep myself from getting hurt again, I had to stop imagining some sort of future with you so I could just live in those sweet moments with you.

Because you're not here, physically with me, sometimes it feels like you're a much needed vacation at the end of a busy week, a reward for good behavior. But, you're not just my prize. My love for you is bittersweet because I'm achingly afraid you will hurt me. I was married to a man that never deserved me, but he told me he'd never hurt me and after seeing me suffer the heartache of a failed engagement, he swore to never see me hurt like that again. I want to believe you'd never hurt me like that. I want to believe you'd never lie to me or rip the rug out from underneath me.

I'm an honest person, painfully honest. Unless someone tells me something leading in with, "don't ever tell anyone," I'll be the first to spill the beans if questioned because I don't keep secrets. So, I'm scared.

I'm scared and sometimes the fear creeps in on me when I don't expect it. I don't want to fall more in love with you even though I'm afraid that's impossible to ask of me at this point. Just please, don't hurt me. Don't lie or walk away. But don't settle for me either. With you, I feel like I'm precious. Like I'm worthy not just in His eyes. That I'm adored. And that's so so amazing to feel that way. Understand that I'm stubborn, strong willed, hard headed and willing to sacrifice my pride should I fail attempting to do something I should have probably asked for help with. I want to love you forever and ever, but I'm scared to death I'm going to let you down with how "vanilla" I am. I don't like letting my guard down and letting loose. I don't know how to be irresponsible now that I'm responsible for three people other than myself. I'm afraid that you'll hurt them too. Just promise me you won't hurt us or betray our trust. Promise me that one day we can be more than an every other weekend love.

Oh, Boo-Ba-Lou!

Sweet baby Lou,

I see you beneath those thick dark eyelashes with eyes that don't hold contact for too long with anyone. I see you. I hear you practice over and over again as you lay in bed in the mornings, "mom, mama, mom, mommy, MOMMY, I love you! I LOVE YOU!" You make my heart sing, sweet son. You make my heart sing and soar and want to reach up and pull the stars down for you if only you were to ask or reach for them yourself. I see you. I see the way you dote on different "cat babies," how you call them by name "black cat, pink cat, purple eyes cat, where are you?" I see how you know where you've put everything ten days ago and how upset you get when I clean JUST so I can scrub the floors of any peanut butter jelly goo you've left in your wake.

I love you, I do.

I love each stinky, sticky, sweaty part of you. I love you even when I have to wrestle with you in the bathtub to wash your toes. Toes stained from tiptoeing around the house, doing the autism dance in search of something, anything that can comfort or bring order to the chaos in your mind. I love you even when you don't love yourself because you're so frustrated and annoyed that you just don't have the words. Baby, I'd find those words for you, I would. Because the stars, the sky, the moon, all the planets in all the galaxies... I'd bring them to you if I could. I'd give up my whole life to give you the opportunities your siblings take for granted. I'd do time if I could just backhand every adult who wants you to quiet your voice, quiet your body language.

Don't hold back, sweet love. Even if nothing comes out when you open your mouth, don't stop communicating the best way you can.

Sweetest boy, I hope you know how wrapped around all of our fingers you are. And not just when you're grasping our hand so we can help you play "Lou Charades" in the next room. Your sister loves you so much that you'd think you'd hung the stars and moon yourself. She doesn't know how not to love on you and squeeze you. She knows very little boundaries when it comes to her love for you. I know you get annoyed with so much attention, specifically from her, but she loves you so much. From the second you arrived she wanted to be a little mommy to you when she wasn't annoying you by teasing you with toys and singing right up in your face. I know you, I see you. I see when you run to your big brother's room and act JUST like him. How you like to leap off his couch onto his bed. How you Bogart his recorder and run with it, playing one note LOUD and PROUD! I see you banging on his drums, using different items as drum sticks to see how the sound changes. I can see the sound change just like you do. Reverberating around the set and tickling your bones. I see the colors of loud deep bass drums played with the butt of your bunny rabbit baby. How banging on the cymbal makes you see bright sunny yellows and oranges, and how the cymbals get the greatest reaction out of your "audience." I love when you run into your siblings rooms full tilt screaming at the top of your lungs, "LOGAN, WAKE UP! SISSY, WAKE UP!" How you snuggle Meatwad the cats belly with the top of your hair so he'll nibble on it while you pet his fat gut so gentle, whispering, "Be nice, Meatwad, don't be ugly." And it's only funny to me because five minutes earlier you were riding him like a pony on the back of the couch, whacking him in the noggin with your juice cup. And he took it. That poor cat takes every ounce of attention you give him, even if it's painful or he'll regret it later.

I see how you love us. How you won't eat dinner anymore unless you're in my lap with your left arm wrapped around my neck and your back leaned into me. I know, mama relaxes very similarly when she gets home. I see you scrambling to hold me down as I get ready to walk out the door for work. When I cry out to the sitter to make sure she's awake and on duty and how you'll wrap yourself around my thighs. I see you waiting as patient as you can possibly be when you watch me make eggs. You know the exact moment I'll squat down to your level so you can whisk them together. And you'll whisk, whisk, whisk until they're fluffy and bubbly as I pour them into the egg cooker. I see you throwing away the cheese wrapper of the cheese you already ate and handing me a new cheese like the first one never exist... I'm onto you...

I want you to be able to tell me when you're scared. I want so bad to hear your voice tell me your secrets, good and bad. I want you forever and ever little man as just that, my little man. You are my last, my final chapter. The unexpected encore. I want to be able to cherish every second of your journey, to be in the front row for every word, milestone, accomplishment. I will forever be your cheerleader if you'll let me.

I love you to the moon and back and back again, sweet boy.

Forever your mama.

Dear sweet Lillie...

Dear Lillie,

Having been the baby for 5 long years, I know it's sometimes so hard for you to relinquish your spot as the baby. I'm not blinded by this fact. I want nothing but sunshine and rainbows and unicorns drowning in glitter for you. I want you to know that you're my favorite daughter, not because you're my only daughter, but because you're my favorite daughter. My favorite Lillie. My favorite sweet girl. My favorite. My heart swells with pride when you get the chance to show off your genius. My brain explodes with love and light when the sparkle in your eyes blows up and the love you have for your brothers, Jesus and the extraordinary in life shines through. You are miraculous, talented, soft (even when you think you're hard), and the love of my life.

I know that sometimes I'm exhausted by the time your turn rolls around each night. I've seen the disappointment in your eyes and your smile sinks and I can hear it in your voice that once again I've failed you somehow. You don't have to say anything to break my heart. I want to be 110% available to you every time you need me, not just some of the times. I want to be able to fulfill your wishes for dance lessons, gymnastics, softball, violin tutors, acting classes, camps... But your mama is no millionaire and I can't fund things on hopes and dreams. I know when you're in a dark space because your room gets 100 times worse than mine, spilling out the door, down the stairs, across the dining room's craft corner, on the floors... your brain is showing. I want nothing more than to turn every light on in the house so you can see yourself under that sweet, sticky mess. I want to bring the mirror around to your face so you can see how beautiful and cherished you are. You're not broken. You're not destroyed. You are worthy and simply uniquely you.

I don't want to destroy all your quirks or silence your imagination. I want to muffle the darkness that creeps into your heart and steals your sanity and puts the hands of panic around your neck. I've seen them attack you and know what it's like because I've lived it. I've been there, sweet baby girl. I would never have wished these darkest parts of me on you. I don't want this moment in your life to dim your light. There's good reason why "This little light of mine," and "You are my sunshine" were my favorite songs to sing to you. I still remember tucking you and Logan into bed each night and singing (terribly) to you both. Each song was begged to be repeated again and again and again...  and I obliged, croaking each note out softer and softer till one or both of you would turn towards the wall pulling your covers up over your heads. I can still remember your sweet baby voice singing made up silly songs and dressing up in ALL your dress up clothes, prancing around like a firefighter dinosaur princess clomping around in your brother's Paul Frank rain boots.

I know that this is your first year alone without Logan at school with you. I can't even imagine the anxiety bubbling inside knowing you're by yourself. But I can promise you this, sweet girl, this gives you the advantage of standing out and SHINING as the only sibling in the elementary school this  year. Please don't spend your days worrying about how Lou is doing or whether Lo is making his way down the halls of middle school worried about you. Worry about just yourself this year even though you have zero to worry about. You're going to "WOW" the socks off all your teachers, this I know is true.

Love, your weird mother.

The lies you tell yourself.

Quarter to midnight Saturday night, I received a text from Lillie. "I can't sleep because the room I am in is so hot I am basically melting." That was the first of many texts leading up to their father telling me that "Of course she can't sleep and is hot. The light's on and she's wrapped up in a comforter. And maybe they should try coming downstairs and talking to me instead of running to you when they're here." His message came an hour later, after many messages between me, Lillie and Logan with me begging them to please talk to their father and them begging me to tell him as they didn't want him to get angry with them. To any other adult human, these would have been red flags. They would have set off warning sensors in the brain and told them to call, to hear their voices. Hear HIS voice. My understanding based off the first 10 minutes after they came home was that he barrelled up the stairs and yelled at them for reaching out to me. Yelled at her for laying with the lights on wrapped up in a comforter cocoon. Yelling at Logan because he drug me into it and they should have come to him. I get it, I get the frustration on his end because the kids don't feel comfortable enough or trust him enough to come at them in an even level headed manner; that they don't feel they are welcome or at home in his home. I get that I am the parent to them. THE parent.

After a fitful night of sleep I woke up and plowed through the remainder of cleaning I needed to do for the day. By 3 pm I was exhausted. I sent him a text asking if they'd be fed and what time they were going to be home and his response was "No and by 5." I figured I could get at least an hour nap in before the babies came home to me. I crawled into bed and he text asking if I was home yet. Worried something was wrong, I told him yes. I still don't understand why neither he nor the kids realize I no longer work on Sundays. Regardless, his weekends with him aren't supposed to end till 5 or later on Sundays. He said he was bringing them home. So I tossed on something clean, refilled my coffee and took my place on the front porch. Something didn't sit right so as I normally do when my gut tells me something terrible is about to happen, I turned on the "voice recorder" app and sat. And waited... I could hear him coming before he even crested the hill onto my street. Music blaring, he was flying through the neighborhood. He came to a screeching halt in the driveway and I heard doors slamming, but their voices were silent. Nobody spoke. I hit record. First Logan sulked into the house, then Lillie came down the sidewalk. "Are you ok? Why are you crying??" She was hyperventilating trying to juggle all of her things and open the door at the same time. I figured she must have gone into another panic attack while with her father. "Wait, where's Lou??" At that time I looked up and their father was all but shoving Lou down the sidewalk, turning to stomp off halfway to me, Lou was on his tiptoes with all of his belongings clutched tightly to his chest. I gave him sweet love and sent him inside while Lillie wailed away inside. Logan came out and huffed stating that it had been the worst weekend ever. That his dad had been rude and blamed his "roller coaster of emotions" on the impending lunar eclipse/full moon. "He believes all of these mythical lies, he's a wizard, he can't control his anger because of the moon." Meanwhile Lillie is breathing fast between sobs about how her daddy was driving so fast, the music was too loud, she was scared because he told them to take all of their things because he wasn't coming back... what would happen if he left his wife? Would she still be able to visit her stepmom? What would happen to her daddy if he left, will she ever see him again??

These are things no child should ever have to question. These are words and feelings that are NOT NORMAL. Your child should never come back into your custody because they "made daddy mad" or they don't know if they'll ever see him again. Bad enough that it will be a month before they go back to him. Even worse that the last weekend they saw him he was in a terrible mood and took it out on him and their step siblings. That all three of his children were yelled at, even sweet Lou. That they don't understand his anger and attitude, that he pushes the blame for his actions on a lunar event.

Once again, I'm having to dig deep to perform damage control on these babies. Lou was so overstimulated last night that he burst into hysterics in the middle, THE MIDDLE, of a meltdown right before bed last night. He woke up with petechia around his eye where the little blood vessels burst on his soft baby cheeks and eyelids. In the midst of the worst of it, while in hysterics, he began slapping and hitting the right side of his face. Logan ran upstairs to assist me and while he's the best big brother any mama could ask for, he doesn't understand Lou's body language and condition enough to understand that we can't stop it. We can only make sure he's safe and doesn't hurt himself any worse than he already has. Lo reached out and grabbed Lou's hand mid swing and ended up getting shoved. Lou couldn't handle the restraint and it only upset him worse. By the time I got Lou to bed, he had little red hand print welts on his face.

This is what I deal with, this is what comes home to me every two weeks. He can brush it off and huff at me, but it is exactly damage control every. single. time. Logan snuggled into me on the couch while we were comforting Lillie and praying with her.

"Mama, no matter what house he is in, that's where the chaos is."

Dear Logan...

It's been a while since I've written you.

You're 11 now and so grown, but so not grown. A big strong boy in an awkward not quite teenager body. You're in between clothing sizes and in between two very complicated stages of your life. I love you to the moon and back and back again, how could I not? You are so loving and care about everyone regardless of whether or not they deserve your love and affection. The way you protect your siblings (again, even if they don't need or want it) is admirable and swoon worthy by every mama of a boy. Your heart is in the right place, even if you think it's damaged beyond repair.

Sometimes, when the tears escape and you can't do it anymore, I just want to hold you tight and rock you like I used to. You want to believe that you're a grown ass adult and I just want to tuck you back inside the shoe box of your childhood and take you back to when you were smaller and the world was a safer place for you.

This year we start the journey of middle school, and I just want you to know that it's going to be ok! I promise! We will survive this together! Some of my best (and also most angst worthy) memories are of middle school. Project adventure, school dances, performances, really cultivating the friendships that will get you through till your final days of High School.

You are so much more than you allow yourself to be, and have worked so hard to gain the acceptance of those who didn't deserve it these past two years. You threw friendships away and pushed away others. You went from being Mr. GQ with your perfectly spiked hair that took longer to put together than your mama's iconic "twist and clip" and your button up shirts to this long haired smothered in a sweatshirt and track pants kid. If you are comfortable, happy and respectful to others (both adults AND children alike), I'll take whatever I can get.

I want you to repeat after me, "I am not my father." You consistently come to me in tears after an outburst or argument telling me how much you worry about becoming him. About how the rage is not you, that to you it sounds like him. That you're ashamed of the rage. I know. Believe me I know. But I also know that 99.9% of the time you are YOU. The sweet, responsible for all living things, little buddy that steals the hearts of everyone I know.

You are the biggest little love of my life. I am so so proud of you, and not just because I built you brick by brick, but because of WHO. YOU. ARE. I couldn't imagine a life without you in it, and for that, I am grateful that your father and I created you with all our hopes and wishes and dreams come true. I want you to know that anything you want in life is yours, but you have to work for it, you have to slow down the way you do when you talk to Will or Lukas. You have to take your time and make sure the work's done right the first time without plowing forward and missing all the scenery. You've always wanted to be the first to do anything and finish any project whether it was walking, running, climbing, smiling, making friends, all of these and more. No matter what you do, I will be proud of you if YOU are happy with your final product because I know that if you're proud, you worked exceptionally hard.

I love you, little big man...

Your Mama

Back to school fever.

All 3 kids have new experiences headed their way and I may be more anxious/excited than they are. Here's a little back story for each kid:

Lo is starting middle school this year. The past year has been filled with ups and downs from emotional issues post divorce and all the garbage that spilled out after and then sharing a classroom with his soon to be and then now stepbrother. Not to mention he's always struggled to keep up and stay on top of his classwork; he's the kind (much like his mama) to leave school at school and home at home. It doesn't always work that way though.

Lillie is going into 4th grade, but for the first time in her life she will not have her brother in school with her or across the street even. She'll be all alone. Which, after our little mid summer mental breakdown and now possibly starting school while medicated, is leaving me a little on edge. She's been in the school system since she was 2.

Lou was transferred from Georgia's Babie's Can't Wait program into the public school system this time last year and had an AMAZING and transformational 1st year of preschool being that he had speech therapists, occupational therapists, AND teachers within arms reach 5 days a week. And while I'm so stoked about all his positive changes, he doesn't handle transitions well. At all. Going from school 5x a week to being home 24/7 for two straight months were a nightmare. At the end of the last school year during his yearly IEP meeting they informed me that he'd be transferring from the elementary school setting he was in to a different elementary school entirely. Same county, different school, different teachers. All of the special needs pre-k kiddos and teachers got shook up and dispersed elsewhere.

I want this year to be successful and productive and to exceed all expectations. I wanted that last year too, but we slacked big time by the end of the first full month due to childcare changes and time crunches. By the time I get off work at 6, I have to have the kids picked up from daycare by 6:30, dinner on the table by 7, so Lou can take a bath by 7:30 and in bed by 8. Following Lou is Lillie in bed by 9 and Lo in bed by 10... although I feel I will be eating my promises of later bed times in the mornings. Specifically with Lillie as she doesn't do mornings. EVER. I can hear past arguments like little voices in the back of my head. Screams from her about how we don't love her and she wishes she never had me for a mother and screeching through grit teeth. My one saving grace may be that all 3 will be on different buses and maybe, JUST MAYBE, there will be no bus stop meltdowns. A mom can dream, right?

So pray for us. There's only one of me and three of them. Let the countdown to first day begin.

Running away from it all.

There's an inner gypsy that longs to run, longs to see the rest of our world. She wants to run her fingers through the sands of every coast. She wants to stand under waterfalls and let the water beat her brains through her skull to wash away all the stress and manic thoughts. She wants to soar through tree tops in the morning and allow good drinks to loosen her limbs and her inhibitions. She wants to let her hair down free and let it get crazy with sea breezes lightly combing through her waves.

Slowly, slowly... coming up to reality. Opening my eyes. Stuffing the gypsy back into my jeans pocket. It's not real. It's not happening. There's no break from reality. There's no releasing of the anchors that keep me here. But there's comfort in the weight of them.

No amount of running will keep me from where my heart belongs. It's here. It belongs here where we have support through family, friends, schools, amazing doctors, therapists, and award winning children's hospitals. Which is important when your children don't break bones but aim for the head instead. No amount of running will keep me from seeking the solace of familiarity.

So the gypsy sits on my shoulder... she whispers sweet nothings of early morning calls to prayer in Bahrain... she paints rich scenery across my mind of lush, green rice fields in the Japanese countryside... she brings me the scent of dew dusted plumeria branches framing the back door of a beach cottage in Hawaii... she breaks crisp, hard rolls baked in the early morning hours from the European bakeries I frequented. She longs of being set free again.

Until then, my adventure will be in stolen moments in the dazzling brilliance in my babies eyes and quick weekend getaways with my mister.

Eating my own words.

The kids start school in 2 1/2 weeks and the only weekend I have to do any sort of uninterrupted school shopping is this weekend. Their father won't be taking them for his next weekend as what I assumed or misread was him taking them a few days early was in all actuality HIM needing a weekend off. Have at it, buddy. All I asked was that he help with childcare costs since that was the whole reason he had them every other weekend was to give me a break on childcare costs to begin with.

Yesterday I bit the bullet and called the daycare that they go to during the school year to find out the damage I'd turned I financial blind eye to for the past 2 months. I just could NOT afford to pay them and the sitter and rent AND utilities (you get the picture.) Plus my truck has been in and out of the shop and while the beast hasn't cost me the average of a car payment each month, I'd almost be happier to HAVE a car payment for a vehicle with air conditioner. ONE. FINE. DAY. It'll happen. I just gotta keep pushing that positivity out there into the universe. So, where was I.... child care costs! $900 from a rolling balance (more like a snowball effect type balance). I feel like I can't afford to live. Just me. If I stopped needing things like food, shelter and provisions I could TOTALLY afford childcare AND housing. But it's more like a choice I have to make daily, "one or the other, which do you want?"

I feel like I'm eating my words today. Like the minor "threat" of weather is causing my brain to shut down, meaning I'm exceptionally thankful that the words want to flow from my fingertips as I'd be useless with a journal. Which brings me to this... ever since my health scare earlier this year (another blog another day) I've tried to go easier on myself and abide to the limitations I've had to set. The tension in my hands/fingers have been so bad I haven't been ABLE to write in my journal for what feels like a year. I don't think my kids or the boyfriend are fully appreciative when I write them something heartfelt as they have no clue just how uncomfortable gripping a pencil/pen can be anymore. It's almost a relief knowing nobody reads this or even blogs anymore so I don't have to respond to comments or explain more than what's written here.

Everything that gets written here is my version of the truth. It's from my view point, from my heart. I try not to name names or pin point places as I want to keep everything as "blanketed" as possible for the safety and protection of my children. One day, they too will read what I've written should they ever look for me or my writings. Just as I wouldn't withhold the truth from them if they asked, there's nothing to deny that I've written here. If I have ever written anything in error, I'll either apologize for it or correct the writing itself unless it takes away from the passion that spurred me to write it. As custody and visitation are sticky situations no matter what side of them you are on, I will rectify any writing that I have recognized as false understanding such as the misread of the ex's text regarding what I thought was a trip with the kids and turned out to be without the kids. That's just one little blurb that I knew in my heart after he corrected me was here in black and white and needed to be corrected. It does NOT change the fact that while he and I both have day jobs, I am still the one at the end of the day that handles more than the brunt of childcare costs and it's frustrating and heartbreaking that it's not seen as uneven responsibilities. The kids are OURS, meaning him and I are the responsible parties both physically and financially. It makes zero logical sense that I am paying out of pocket 100% for a sitter and daycare year round. If I decide/decided to go out while they are in my care, then yes, the responsibility should be fully on myself and I should not be chastised for making that decision to take care of my own mental health to get a way for a few hours. It just is what it is.

It seems as though at this point the only route left to take is to modify child support to update marriage information (him not me), update employment (again, him not me) and have it enforced so he doesn't have to worry about the choice of providing for her kids or our kids as that's how it feels at the end of the day... which household is more deserving and worthy of his support. Maybe then we'll also be able to hash out mandatory visitation and childcare responsibilities while we're at it seeing as how every opportunity I've given him to assist me in co-parenting has been met with enormous backlash. As I've heard in therapy and on other forums, it is NOT my responsibility to inform him of every teacher meeting, doctor's appointment, school event. The Board of Education provides calendars for each school they go to, he has one child in his home that goes to the same school as HIS son who should be able to give him an idea to check with his child or the teacher to know when to be present. I am no longer his whipping boy or secretary. I am not responsible for his unhappiness or dissatisfaction in how often he sees his children. He has a choice to see them, he chooses not to more than the 36 hours he utilizes. /end rant on that one.

I did stand up for myself today though. Him and his spouse can dislike who I am, how I live my life, who I worship, who I'm with, but I've done nothing to upset the balance of the kids environment or put them in harms way in any way. Being randomly text and accused of necessitating drama in the middle of my work day REALLY threw me off. I am not a gossip, I'm not a liar, and I have nothing to apologize to them for. Anything I've written or said out loud is public property. Nothing that you put on the internet or say in a text/email/handwritten letter is private. Anything you say OR do will and can be used against you. If you live your life in such a way that you're proud of your progress and who you are? You shouldn't have to defend your actions. So yes, being harassed and accused of giving out her phone number because my name was in someone else's mouth? Let them talk. Don't hurt my feelings none, and those who matter know the truth. The one thing I do mind is people using information they deem to be true against me or in a way that jeopardizes my children's quality of living.

So that's all I need to say or feel necessary to put back out into the universe and out of my brains/off my heart.

Pandora's Box.

Shortly after my daughter was born, her father and I joked lovingly about her mood swings. As she grew older, we attributed her quirks to being simply who she is. Yesterday, I had to make the hard decision to possibly medicate these quirks away.

The princess has always had an overly colorful imagination. She's creative, smart, loving... But. My baby's brain broke about a month ago. Coming from a long line of broken brains, we knew at least one of the three would more than likely also suffer from mental illness of some sort. On my side of the family tree alone I can list off ADD, autism, depression, generalized anxiety disorder, panic disorder, schizophrenia... the list goes on. When Lou (the BABY baby) was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder we heaved a huge sigh of relief because, "this has to be it, right?" No. The princess cycled mentally alongside my "lady cycle" from birth, becoming increasingly intolerable to anything and everything and/or manic to the point of everyone she came in contact with for the week leading up to the beginning of my period. Having not experienced raising a baby girl, I figured this was normal. I've been so wrong. So very wrong.

Princess had a bit of a sticky finger issue at the school library almost 2 years ago. With one brother receiving news that his aortic valve had formed an aneurysm and the other being diagnosed as autistic, and then her father and I beginning the process of separation we thought SURELY it was a cry for attention. It was handled through the proper school officials and discipline enforced at home, and then a month ago I decided to sift through and organize our massive book collection and I found ONE book that she'd misplaced out of the many she'd returned and everything came back crashing down in her brain. For nearly a week she cycled between remorse, grief, panic and then elation, relief, and being OVERLY proactive. Every 15-20 minutes she would be high and then low. While she was low she would pace around the house sobbing uncontrollably, repeating over and over again that she needed a new life, a do over... she's nine. At 9 years old she was certain that her life would be so much better if she just hadn't lived this one at all. Problem solved! Just need to start over! When she started down this path of attempting to find logic in an illogical choice, I began the hunt for a psychiatrist. I was going to be damned to lose my daughter to an illness that robbed ME of my adolescence.

Each appointment she was a different person. Quiet, chatty, sugary sweet and talking in a baby voice, defiant, remorseful... Between the questions from the doctors, nurses and therapists, our family history, and everything that lead up to the point of me bringing her in. I decided today to sign an agreement to try medication. They hadn't yet put a finger on just WHAT is going on in my sweet girl's noggin, but all signs are pointing to bipolar disorder and/or high functioning autism. And no matter what diagnosis she receives in the end, it has been a roller coaster ride I never wanted on in the first place and I sure as shit bet that my daughter didn't sign up for this either. Prepubescence has taken a toll on her brain and I'm hesitant to get excited at the thought she just might sleep for the first night in a week instead of finding her doing push ups and jumping jacks at 11:45 at night in the middle of the living room.

Mental health has become such a HUGE concern these past few years, especially with the loss of my uncle, one of my parent's decisions to check themselves into a mental health facility while on the edge of a major mental breakdown, the metamorphosis I've gone through in the past 6 years from barely functional to strong independent woman... We can't ignore the signs or brush them off as quirks for as long as we do when it comes to our loved ones. I am glad I got my sweet girl into see and talk to someone unbiased with resources and productive coping mechanisms before she truly broke down. I'm working to make our bond stronger and allow her trust in me to grow as she's always default to her father of whom she gets the majority of her "quirks" from. I want to be able to cultivate all that is beautiful inside of her and encourage her to also be proactive about her mental health.

So ya'll, wish us luck as we start this journey together. It's not a journey I wanted for her or for any of us.

Righteous Anger

To the man I fathered children with,

You have 4 beautiful, intelligent, quirky, amazing children, one of which isn't even mine but I'd snatch her up in a heartbeat. You even come from a family with these same qualities. So what happened? Why do you think it's perfectly normal to not speak to your children? Our children were born into a family with a mother and father who were husband and wife far longer than they were even a whisper in our minds. They saw you and spoke to you every day up until you left them behind.

Do you think they don't know you live less than two miles away? Do you think they should come to you? That they should be the ones proactive in their communication? Do you think that they are unaware of your living situation? That they don't know that there are two children in your current household who speak to and get to physically see and hear your voice each and every day? Do you truly believe that your silence doesn't effect them in a harmful way? You were the first face they saw each day after school. You were their ally when mom was too strict or "unfair." You were their play while I was their work. You were their adventure when I was their cozy safe nest. You were so adamant in their early years to enforce in them that we would work to be a team, and you even swore to them as you left them behind that we would continue to be a team.

I wasn't completely ignorant to the fact that the important stuff (all of it) in regards to their well being and structure fell completely on me before the divorce. But now, it's even more obvious that your absence is felt at doctor's appointments, teacher's meetings, or during meltdowns involving two or more of the kids. And it's not your presence that is missed so much in this regard, but knowing that I am 100% alone. I am working daily to flip the switch on my brain. I'm not 100% alone, I'm 100% independent of YOU. I'm 100% free of your judgement and contempt in how I raise and discipline our children. I'm 100% (more like 1000%) happier knowing I don't have to walk on eggshells nor do I feel the need to seek assurance or permission from you so that YOU can sleep at night feeling as if you're in charge. It was never your name that signed the important documents. Never your signature on permission slips or disciplinary forms. Never your voice speaking up on these kids behalves.

So now, over a year and a half since you walked away, you have left behind three children who doubt themselves, self harm, blame themselves, have hate in their hearts, and are conflicted about what the definition of love really means in conjunction with their own lives. You see, they SEE you. They KNOW you better than you possibly realize. And they are worthy of having TWO parents who bend over backwards to see them succeed. That can't just be me. I've played the part of both parents since they arrived on the scene, no more. You need to be held accountable for all FOUR lives you brought into the world. You can't leave a family behind that the only support you offered in the end was barely your mental and physical presence to become the family man to a woman and her two children and then COMPLAIN to your own children that you can't afford to do this or that for THEM. You can't do that, and then you do it anyways. You shouldn't bring more children into the world when you don't take responsibility for the ones you already have. And responsibility is more than just child support (we're not even there yet.) Responsibility is finding childcare or helping to fund childcare because you can't CARE for your CHILD due to work, illness or otherwise. Myself, the mother of OUR children, pays and provides 100% of childcare both during the school year and when she needs a mental break. Because you see, unlike you, I didn't jump into the arms of the first person that felt pity. I didn't lock myself away in my bedroom and pawn my duties off on one of the older children. I am present 110% of the time because even when they are with you, they're calling/texting/FaceTiming me at least 3x a day per kid. I don't get a break, not even when they're with you. So, what's that like? To be able to tell the children in your home, and I quote, "Go ask your biological parent, I'm not your parent." What's that like to just feel like taking a day off? Go ahead, I can wait, I've been waiting over 11 years to know what it's like to decide when to be a parent. When they're in your care and have something important to their education, I'm told that "your" house is for relaxing and play... which I'm sure makes you feel like the best "parent" ever. But you'll learn soon enough as you apparently didn't learn it from your own relationship with your OWN father. Being a parent means you're not their buddy. You can't pick and choose. Something you griped about a lot in the years you worked to build something between you and your own dad. Now you want to take them on a trip a few days early before your last weekend with them before school starts and you believe that it doesn't matter whether or not they have "meet the teacher" or need to do tours of their school. Your oldest child starts his first year of middle school this year. He suffered through an entire school year in the same class as his now step-brother, who's mother is THE woman you left HIS mother for. You don't think last year was the least bit uncomfortable for him in a time when his hormones are starting to rage and his emotions are already at an all time high? Or how about your daughter who's going through some emotional and psychological changes now that HER hormones and brain chemicals are changing. She's already been made to feel as if she doesn't matter to you, her words being, "How long do you think daddy will leave the new baby now that he's left my sister with his first wife, me with you, and now he has a new daughter on the way?" What do you tell your child when they vomit that sort of truth out on you like that? You don't think life was heartbreaking for her as well?? You weren't the only one who lost a baby, your children lost a sibling. Something they had never experienced before in their little lifetimes. Your daughter is traumatized and heartbroken that her daddy, HER Prince Charming, walked away from her. What did you teach BOTH your living daughters about parental roles? About the role a father should play in their lives? Or what about your youngest. Our sweet (not quite a) baby... While I was slaying dragons and fighting the good fight for him, appealing for more speech therapy and communication studies before he started public school. During all of this you were taking him to secret meetings between you and the woman you dropped everything for. To him, he was your everything. You were the one who got him through his day. Barely. Removing you from the majority of his life will be the best thing I have ever done for him. No longer do I have to worry about passive aggressive threats or receiving videos of our child inconsolable because you didn't feel "well enough" to care for him. No longer do I have to worry about how you are harming him, a little man who can't speak up for himself verbally and relies on his caretakers to speak FOR him. No longer do I have to worry about the damage you're causing him by denying his abilities and disabilities, therapies and schedule.

So now, I am holding you accountable. Finally! FINALLY you will either be tossed under the jail so you can't keep procreating and leaving innocent life in your wake or you will for once become responsible enough to take care and care for the children you've already fathered. Even my own significant other has been in your shoes, exclaiming to the judge that you can't squeeze blood from a stone. And I'm here to tell you that judges don't care. You felt adult enough to pretend to be an adult long enough to bring these kids into the world, you are now going to be held responsible for your actions. Maybe you'll have to work two or three jobs, or maybe, just maybe you will realize that your kids are worth more than anything you could ever do for them. Because I promise you this, even if you WANTED to deny your children the burden of having you as their father just as you did your oldest daughter... I will die fighting for them and for your ability to cast your responsibility to them aside.

Modem Static.

It's the summer of 1996. 14 year old me sits on the edge of my friend's bed (we'll call her Ellie for anonymity's sake). It's sweltering hot outside and we are soaking up the breeze from her ceiling fan waiting for her mother to allow us onto the computer. Ellie asks me if I want to go for a walk to our friend Jennifer's house one street over, I oblige as I slide my feet into my sandals longing for one more minute in the air conditioning. We make our way down the driveway and Ellie catches me off guard, "We're not reeeeeally going to Jennifer's house." I stop dead in my tracks. She's known to think up some crazy schemes and I'm typically the voice of reason even though I begrudgingly love the thrill; the night before we'd performed a seance in her driveway in an attempt to channel my recently deceased Great Grandmother. Plot twist, aside from mosquitoes, no one reached out from the "other side."

I stand there playing with the tassel on my purse begging to die between the heat and anxiety of not knowing what she's going to come up with next. Ellie drags me by the hand a few driveways towards the entrance of her neighborhood. She starts giggling uncontrollably and exclaims that she'd been talking to a guy in one of the AOL chat rooms. This wasn't abnormal for either of us as I'd just "broke it off" with a kid from California. The difference between my safety net of talking to people across the country and abroad would be that Ellie liked to talk to people who were local to us and went to the High School we were scheduled to start at as Freshmen the following month. Today we were actually going to MEET someone she'd been talking to for a while. Within minutes, a rusty green Nissan Sentra came around the corner and I looked her dead in the eye, hissing through gritted teeth, "I AM ONLY GOING SO I CAN TELL YOUR MOTHER WHAT AN IDIOT YOU WERE AT YOUR FUNERAL BECAUSE YOU ARE GOING TO GET US MURDERED." I could not believe we were meeting someone off the internet and I couldn't even remember if I'd told my mother I loved her. I can still remember the smell of the car as we slid across the back seat, shoving debris into the floorboards.

"When I see you sticky as lips, as licky as trips, I can't lick that far..."

We are riding in the backseat. Helpless to our destination at this point. I'm nervous and skeptical as to their intentions and my anxiety has me watching everything unfold like I'm floating and seeing it all from the rear window. Anthony is driving and talking to Ellie about things he and Brandon like to do on the weekends and what High School life is REALLY like. I can tell they'd been talking off and on, planning this for a while. He keeps looking at me through the rear view mirror. The voice in the back of my head tells me we're about to be murdered by two artsy film students and we'll be their final project for senior year. The AV teacher will gush about how realistic the blood is, how she can hear the fear in our screams... I make the realization that Ellie set us up as a double date of sorts and I actually WANT to die. She has the advantage of at least having talked to Anthony before any of this and I'm supposed to be talking to Brandon apparently. We idle in a parking lot and talk for a while in the air conditioning; as 15 year old girls we're completely beside ourselves that we are riding. IN A CAR. With older boys. Anthony is silly and jokes a lot. His thick black hair is falling into his face and he tucks it behind his ears Jordan Catalano style. But he's the very opposite of Jordan Catalano. He's Asian, softer, more talkative, and probably a murderer. Brandon's hair is also long, but his face is more chiseled with soft brown eyes and my heart skips a beat wishing he'd talk to me like Anthony is talking to Ellie.

"But when you pout, the way you shout out loud, it makes me want to start."

Brandon works for Michael's art supply and we wander around the store for a while as he talks to coworkers obviously disinterested in these still wet behind the ears girls. I breathe a sigh of relief but I'm honestly hurt for a second. I realize that maybe I wanted him to like me or at least want to like me. My cheeks flush and I play it off as the heat getting to me. Anthony tells us how several scenes from Fried Green Tomatoes were filmed in the same parking lot back when the building housed a grocery store where Michael's now occupies. I slide back into the car and lock eyes with Anthony joking that my mother often gets mistaken for Kathy Bates ever since it was filmed. Ellie is getting irritated that I'm talking to him at all and jabs me in the thigh. Glaring out the window, I hear him ask Ellie what kind of music she's into as he inserts The Cure's Wish into his cassette player.

"And when I see you happy as a girl, that swims in a world of a magic show. It makes me bite my fingers through to think I could've let you go."

I'm bored, hot, ready to get back to the safety of Ellie's bedroom. Deep in my gut I muster up the courage to clear my throat and tell her that maybe we should get back before her mom realizes we're not with Jennifer. Anthony wants to see us again. Ellie wants to see him again, but not with me. I can hear it in her voice that she's trying to plan something and she disappointingly suggests another "double date" when he's not having it. My cheeks flush again, this time in complete disgusted embarrassment. It's obvious that Brandon wants nothing to do with me. He's been staring a million miles out the front window as if his only intention in being with us is out of duty to Anthony, which to be honest, was supposed to be my intention as well. I wouldn't mind going out again with Anthony and Ellie, but I also didn't want to insert myself into any chances they might have so I keep my mouth shut as they fumble over words and plans made out of halfhearted promises.

"And when I see you happy as a girl that lives in a world of make believe, it makes me pull my hair all out to think I could've let you leave."

We creep back down past Ellie's house in the case that her mother were to question who we were riding with. Anthony searches in his glove box for something to write on and he passes me a business card with his phone number on the back as I scoot across the back after Ellie. I slip it into my back pocket before Ellie could see and create more insult to her injury. I still remember that phone number 22 years later although the business card is long gone. I can almost taste the bittersweet relief of knowing we both didn't get murdered but also didn't get caught out on our excursion.

The sun dips below the horizon and Ellie and I are both eager to get back onto AOL once her mom heads to bed. The dial tone static begins to buzz from somewhere beneath our legs at her family computer desk. Ellie looks at me and tells me she thinks Anthony was more interested in me than her. I soothe her doubts and tell her I'm not interested in him and barely know him OR Brandon. The modem clicks and whirs, electronic dial tone comes abruptly after the modem quits the first attempt and begins the connection dance a second time.

I can't recall the majority of the events that happened later that summer, but I know we spent a great deal of time in chat rooms and preying on Anthony and Brandon at their respective workplaces. Where Ellie and I were thick as thieves before High School began, we slowly drifted apart and the death of her father further severed our relationship due to some harsh things I'd said to her in regards to her own relationship with her father during a time period that my own father had verbally threatened to disown me. Anthony and I remained friends, and he even encouraged my employment with Blockbuster. I hate to say that I didn't see him as anything more than a friend, but a failed attempt of a first date squashed that fairly early in my Freshman year. It's a joke that we now bring up pretty often and I'm sure I'll rehash again just as I am recalling this event today. It's funny though that we remained friends even though we our excuse to not date was deathly embarrassing. He was always there in my memories, whether it was at a house party, sitting back to back or side by side in neighboring booths at Waffle House after school, our ride to Atlanta when skipping school, or even holding the door open for me and a friend at a coffee or ice cream shop. He was always there.

To the stepmother of my children...

I want to warn you. I also want to allow Karma to take care of you. But I want to warn you. I want to tell you what to expect. But the angry woman in me wants you to be just as blindsided by what he will do. I know you'll tell yourself "that'll never happen to me..." or maybe even "but he's changed since you...." I told myself that too. I was pregnant with our oldest when I found his first wife. After growing up knowing that my own father had a sister that he barely knew, I wanted to make sure that line of communication was open between our children and his daughter from the first marriage.

I want to tell you that it wasn't all bad. That we did love each other, or so I thought. That the person I thought I'd fallen in love with was someone who was tender, someone children flocked to like he was the Pied Piper... I thought he was silly and charming. When we lived in Newnan, I can still remember getting out of my car and being puzzled as to why he would be home so early. It was the first of many jobs that he left or they let him go because he didn't "mesh" well. It wasn't just jobs. Anything that was important to me or the kids? Was a burden to him if he didn't directly benefit. Religious activities, cultural events, family trips, vacations... yes, even vacations. We were isolated from family and friends more and more so each year; we were made to feel guilty if we decided to go anywhere he didn't want to go.

Doesn't sound appealing, does it? Because that's not who I married. That's not the person I fell in love with. That's not the person who told me I was beautiful in one breath and that I wasn't worthy of love by anyone in the next. That's not the person that would rub my back till I fell asleep after a 9 hour flight and then break his phone when I would confront him about waking me up in the middle of the night to him taking pictures of different exposed parts of my body. That he exposed. And he only did this while I was asleep, and I KNEW THIS because if I moved or made noise he would get very still until he thought I was asleep again.

And let's not even get into the children we have together. How the ONE time I lost my cool with him when he would not back down off of our oldest I whacked him in the thigh with the back of my hand and snapped at him to "STOP IT." He got out of the car and threatened to just walk away. Because I asked him to stop. Because the boy was THREE and he wasn't acting any older himself. How he shattered our wedding topper and slammed the door when I was 7 months pregnant with our daughter, telling me how I could raise MY children by myself. All because I needed his help with something. There were so many more moments when I should have said "enough, the kids and I don't deserve this."

So no, please don't ever tell me that you love my children like you do your own. That is THE most impossible feat. If you loved my children like you do your own, you wouldn't be married to that man. You wouldn't have bothered going through modifications for child support for your own children if you saw the way he will act when he gets that notification that I've filed for modifications and enforcement. You would encourage him to take more time with his children aside from the 36 hours he barely utilizes during his mandatory weekends. It is his lack of participation in their life and the sorry "support" he sends their way that has encouraged ME to take action. He threw his rights away for his first daughter over child support that was MORE than the bare minimum he's paying for our three.

Remember, you wanted him. All of him. Our children are a part of the package. So you may think you love them like your own, but if you really and truly did, you wouldn't even be in the picture. You too, would be disgusted by the "family man" that was so good with his kids. That same man that walked away from his children to be the "man he's always silenced." That man? Is not a family man. Ask yourself, how many times have you flinched when he's laid a hand on your/his dogs? You can ALWAYS judge a person's true character by the way they treat animals and you don't have to leave bruises to be an abuser.