Blue Painters Tape

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Keep busy.  Jam pack your schedule.  Don’t think.

Errands. Clean your house. Don’t think.

Shovel the snow. Clean out the storage room. Don’t think.

Vacuum out your Jeep. Clean out your closet.  Don’t think.

Shop. Read a new book. Don’t think.

Start a new business. Throw yourself into it.  Don’t think.

Do laundry.  Get new puppies.  Don’t think.

Think to do a simple thing, paint a room.  Shit.  The color.  The memories of painting with you. Shit.  The memories flood me.

I was standing in the fucking hardware store yesterday.  Paint was in the cart, I was still doing good.  Walked down the aisle to the painters tape.  Still good.   Got there and grabbed for the blue tape and it hit me.  Don’t think.  Don’t think.  Don’t fucking think.  Shit.

Going back.

Blue tape.  Laying on your banister.   You liked my ‘painting clothes’.  Sweats and an old yankees t-shirt.  You were so overwhelmed at how much you had to do before moving into your new house.  She wouldn’t help you.  You worked two jobs so she could stay home. You made time to paint this house.  You had one car and she couldn’t get to you with four kids when you were painting late at night.  I loved helping you.  The music playing from the little wireless speaker and stretching tape out along each of the baseboards.  Paint flooding the walls, taking over the old color the same way my feelings for you grew.  Hearing you sing from the hallway as I tapped a bedroom.  Remembering how much I loved helping you but how fucked up it was to be there in your house with her not there.   There are parts of our story that I don’t understand my judgement.  You made me not think at times.  I was so clouded by my feelings and emotions.

You came around the corner with tape taping through the door jam and into the bedroom where I was finishing the baseboard in the closet.   Moving out to you meeting your mouth with mine.  Blue tape being pushed aside.  I remember your hands on my face.  I remember the smell of the new carpet and fresh paint.  I remember thinking I’d do anything if one day we had a house that we could do these things together.  The next hour somehow perfect relevant songs played.  Somehow no painting got done.  Somehow the moon was the only light shinning through that bedroom window.  Somehow neither of our phones rang.   I remember not having to be quiet.  I remember the jokes of what the tape could be used for.  I remember our laughter filling the furniture free house.  I remember the stairs.  Can’t say I’d ever done anything on stairs in my life.  I remember the long night of painting following the long moment we had.  I remember covering up old paint thinking I was slowly covering up the walls from seeing what had occurred.

What the hell was I thinking.   Clearly I wasn’t.  Now you’ve moved, and are going through the hardest part of you life and I’m standing in the hardware store holding fucking blue tape with tears filling my eyes.  Five minutes have passed and I’m standing in this aisle with people moving throughout the store and I’m standing there looking at tape.   Now a new homeowner is standing in the very room/house we painted having no idea the stories the walls hold.

All I wanted to do was paint my son’s bedroom.   Fuck.

Just when you think you’re okay…

There are so many hard sides of this nightmare and not many who live it in a deeper way than just a fling. Occasionally, you find someone who brings the best out in you and fills your mind with every single detail of them.   Down to details about them that your senses were able to learn.  Textures. Sights. Tastes.  Smells.  Sounds. And the next time you touch, taste, smell, hear or see those memories or something that makes you recall them,  you’re fucked. All over again. The healing you’ve done is gone.  Your wounds re-slashed open. The five steps forward to move on is taken back by a fall of great magnitude. 

Marriage is hard.

And hurtful. For those of you who have known me, followed me, emailed me or just read, know how long I’ve tried. I think I’ve reached the end. I am so hurt by Wednesday night. I don’t even know where to start or how to process.

As far as the other. No contact for a month now. It is what it is. Still stings.

Regardless of their age, they are still children

rear view of a boy sitting on grassland

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My poor child.  I’ve blogged about this before.  It’s always a subject on my heart.  I am a mother of seven.  A big blended family.  I had three children with my ex-husband, and three with my current husband, and my current husband had a daughter from his previous relationship.  My oldest and my youngest are 20 years apart.  Talk about a spread I know.  Well all my kids went through kid things. Sports, broken arms, dating, getting off of the pacifier, learning to share, their first fight at school, learning to drive, etc.  But my middle daughter has dealt with so much more.

Being a kid is not always easy but it shouldn’t be heartbreakingly hard.  From about the age of 3, she was very independent in her thoughts, opinions and behavior.  She wanted her hair short.  She refused to wear skirts or dresses, and didn’t want to play dolls, she wanted to climb trees and ride dirt bikes.   By five she was playing sports.  By 11 she was a MAJOR lacrosse player.  By 12 she was playing competitive softball, and was the team pitcher.  She isn’t petite, but isn’t overweight.  She has a healthy ‘athletic’ build.  I have blogged about the term tomboy and how it makes me crazy.  I don’t think gender should matter when it comes to hair, clothes, sports, music, extra curricular activities, or school. School has been a nightmare.  She is called lesbo, gay, gender confused, lost, penis lacker, penis wanter…… I could go on.   She brushes it off well and has the best attitude about it, but she is 13, I know it hurts her.   I know she thinks about it.  I have lost my shit on the school, and the parents of these kids more than once.  The last time threatening to file charges.  My daughter (thank God) has a really good friend, that like her wears her hair short, plays softball, (as a catcher no less) doesn’t ‘hang’ with girls but doesn’t hang with boys either.  I watch them hang out and laugh and pitch and catch to each other and wonder what they talk about with each other.   I’m so thankful for their friendship.  I have always since she was little showed her articles and pictures and told her stories about women snowboarders and women athletes, and amazing women who didn’t ‘fit in’ when they were younger.  I showed them where they are now.  That each day as she gets older will get easier.  It just breaks my heart for the childhood she SHOULD have been having all this time.  I had a parent that asked me when I asked her to talk to her son about the words he chooses to use when speaking to my daughter tell me, “that this wouldn’t be so hard on her and you if YOU (meaning me) hadn’t pushed her “in this direction”…..”   OMG I almost went to jail that day.  How the fuck do you push your child to do or be anything but their absolute best?  My response was, “Oh I am understanding now.  I see how your son knows to say such unkind and hateful abusive comments, he had you PUSH him to that!”  I walked away.  It took everything in me to just walk away.  I wanted to scream and jump on her and just let my rage of the last 8 years explode from my fist to her stuck up, yuppy ass, judging, pristine red lipstick mouth.

I took her after school that day out to eat, loving the time with her but fearing the conversation I knew we needed (yet-fucking-again), and the waitress walks up and asks if she can get me a drink, I reply I’ll have an ice tea.   My daughter is looking at the choices on the menu and this waitress says, “And for you little guy?”

OMG.

First of all she isn’t little she’s 11.

Second It wasn’t the day.

My daughter didn’t skip a beat, she just replied, “I would like a strawberry lemonade”.   The waitress walked away and I said, “I’ll be right back I need to use the restroom.

Around the corner I saw the waitress standing at the computer putting in our order and a waive over came me.   I was flooded with 8 years of emotion and the fucking mom at the school.

I walked up to her and said, “Can I ask you a favor?”

She replied, “Sure, what can I get or change for you?”

I just lost it.  I started crying.   Her manager walked up and I just said, “I need to ask you to just ask kids, children, adults whatever, what they would like to eat or drink….. I said you just asked my DAUGHTER what she wanted to drink and called her a little guy.  She is a girl, and we came her after a kid at her school called her a lesbo today.  I just want you to know as a heartbroken mom, that there are people like you that can innocently break a child.  Please don’t assume the gender of a child based on their hair length or if they are wearing a baseball cap.”   I dried my eyes and walked to the bathroom.  It was so hard to get my shit together so my daughter didn’t see me with tears.

The only saving grace lately is her softball team.  By 16, (she plays with older girls because she’s that good, she’s only 13) girls are serious about softball and most softball players (and kids by 16) are more into themselves or their sport and wanting to win that they don’t care about others hair or whatever….   She’s a great pitcher so her team loves her.  The girls are a great GROUP of friends.  And her best friend is on the team this year too, (the catcher I told you about).  I have prayed for 8 years for this. These relationships.

Well last night my daughters phone rings and its one of the girls on the team said her mom said this weekend her mom said she could have a ‘team sleepover’ and wanted to know if she would come.  She quickly said YES! My daughter then asked how many other girls are coming?  The girl replied I don’t know yet, because I asked you first, I want you to be there for sure.  You guys.  I saw it.  Maybe for  the first time since she was five, but I saw her when talking to another child, (well teen) smile.

 

 

 

Had an email bright and early.

He was laid off.

Shit.

He’s probably so worried/stressed. He’s the only income. She doesn’t work even though all their kids are older and in school. It just puts so much weight on him. I know the weight of doing it alone so well. I’d be worried sick if I didn’t have an income in my situation. It was a quick email. I have a million questions but I’m sooooooooo relieved to hear from him. His daughter had an overnight event so he was able to email.

Thanks everyone for listening to my worry last night. Xo

Worried Sick

rear view of woman standing on beach

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Worried.  Scared.  Sick.

We talk every single day.   Some days might be so crazy and busy and work and family just consume us both but we always say work and families first, but even on those days we say good morning or hello.   We were having a normal conversation last Tuesday and like any other day we have gaps between talking.  Those gaps are where our jobs pick up or life takes place.  Gaps of a couple hours or overnight.  But every single morning is hello and how are you, (at least).  Well Tuesday we had our normal conversation and then some.  Sent some pictures, one of my daughter starting preschool, one of his dog at the dog park…. and then our days picked up.  It dawned on me later that night (ugh) my day was so crazy I hadn’t even looked at my phone to say to him to have a good night or anything.  I was bummed but it was okay.  We both have crazy days sometimes and don’t always say goodnight or goodbye… we just kind of pick up the next day.  Well in looking at my phone I was slightly relieved he didn’t get a chance to say goodbye either… we both had a busy day apparently.  It’s just so laid back and easy going that we just know the other got busy and we will talk tomorrow.  Thats what I love…. no stress.  Just this great friendship.  No expectations.  No hurt feelings.  Just easy.  Well Tuesday morning I sent my normal good morning text, something in the lines of, “Good morning, sorry to have missed you last night.  You know I love telling you goodbye… it was just a crazy day, hope your night was good.”  Well by 10 am nothing.  No reply.  Nothing by noon.  Still wasn’t worried.  Work and families first we have always just understood.  Next day nothing.  Next day nothing.  A week later and NOTHING.  I am freaking out.   I have known this man since 2010 and he NEVER misses work.  He will go to work when he isn’t feeling well.  He is his families only income.  He just doesn’t miss work.  So mind starts driving me crazy…  Is he sick, (I MEAN SICK?),  Is his family okay? Did he get in a car accident?  Did he lose his job?  He can’t quite talk to me on ‘our’ cell phone if he is at home.  I’ve emailed him.  No reply.  I can’t think of what else to do.  Since 2010 we have talked constantly except when I started this blog when his wife found out about us.  We had that gap in time that we didn’t talk.  Since then when he contacted me again, we have talked every single day.   I thought if someone found and stole his (our) phone at his work, he would have emailed me.   I just can’t shake the feeling it has to be something VERY bad for him to have missed a week of work.  I have never known him to miss ANY work.  I feel so sick to my stomach.  I cry in the shower, and behind close doors.  We obviously aren’t friends on facebook, but when looking at his page nothing is posted.  It’s like he just vanished.   So I have a question for all of you who follow me.  What would you do?  I have the contact information for the company he works for…. I was debating calling and just asking for him?

I pray he didn’t lose his job.  He is his families only income.   To not hear from him in a week and three days, something major has had to have happened.

 

I didn’t proof read this and don’t know if I’m rambling.  I’m on cold medicine, and antibiotics and feel so lost right now.  Please God, just let him be okay.  I just think he’d find a way to message me or something.  Its like if someone you talked to everyday just was gone.  And when you are the other woman you can’t just start calling around and checking on him.  I love him.  If someone you loved was gone for 10 days you’d be calling the police, hospitals and making facebook posts and calling anyone you could think to call.  My heart aches and my stomach is in knots.

Life

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Life.

The cycle of repeating things.

Things we want to repeat, like time with the ones we love.

Things we pray not to have to repeat. Like loving someone through addiction.

Questioning the day you are going to have based on the mood someone else has when they wake up.

Questioning someone’s pain, if it’s real or if they want meds.

Not having sympathy when this said loved one is hurting because their so called pain has fucked you over so many times.

When they are doing good, they are doing so, so good. You smile again. You laugh again. You see who you married again.

When they fall, struggle and addiction wins, they are alone and you are angry.

You cry. You ignore. You lack sympathy. You master the silent treatment. And you suddenly are filled with thoughts of the other.

I become disappointed in myself. How can I jump to those thoughts of HIM so quickly?

The answer is simple. Because this is life. The cycle of repeating things.

Things we want to repeat……..

Omg I feel so bad…..

Someone commented on my blog post about pancakes. 😦 “He said I deserved someone to make me pancakes… so I avoid pancakes because they make me think of him.” I dropped my phone and accidentally deleted your comment. I’m sooooo sorry. I loved that comment. I so get it.