Thursday, June 30, 2005
The man from my dreams... (the fantasy)
He deserves to be here, to be remembered as the truly awesome person he was when I knew him.
When I met him, I was awe struck. He was gorgeous; that tanned, blue eyed, toned, sleek good looking so often accommodating surfers and singers. Alas, he was neither. But he was there, in front of me and smiling and not seeing me. It would be three more years before he would say my name. But, he stood there with me, with others and came to a business arrangement and then came to work in my yard, in my view, for the next few weeks.
Who was I then? I was that girl without hope. I was still tied into that first tumultuous relationship with AZ, I was still trapped, still fettered to him. I was so lost, so unsure of who I was, so positive that my worth was so little.
He didn't see me, as I said before. Sure, he looked at me, smiled at me, said 'hello' and 'how are you', but he didn't see me. But he and I were different people then, just as we are different people now.
Every day he was there, in my yard, working. I've said he was gorgeous and every day he was there with his shirt off and his skin gleaming, I was drawn to the window, prone to looking out at him and allowing my mind to wander in between chores around the house.
You know how you can just tell someone is looking at you? You can feel that burning on your skin, the hair on your neck crawls, that whisper in the back of your mind? I must have been so quiet even in those ways because he never saw my longing glances nor the moving of the curtains, he never once turned and looked in my direction. He just worked. In my imagination, the writer's nook of my mind, I was wondering what he was thinking, where his mind was all those hours he worked. To be alone with your thoughts for so long, surely his mind was wandering, I wanted to know where.
AZ was angry, bitter with jealousy, positive that I would invite him in and betray AZ. The thought was so ludicrous, he couldn't see me. And then he left and then he vanished from my sight and my reality and entered my dreams. Being that I have an overactive imagination, when I go to sleep at night, I often allow my mind to play with ideas of things that will probably never happen. In that hour, while I drifted to sleep, I thought of him. It is so easy to fantasize about the unattainable, to replay those same moments over and over in your head changing the script, changing the movements, changing the looks. And he became the man of my dreams, the man I invested my fantasies into, who smiled at me and brushed the hair from my forehead before he brushed it with his lips.
AZ left, the musician moved to Chicago, NY came and went, and all the while I dreamt of someone else. He held me while I slept, he smiled at me, he took my hand and pulled me to him, his blue eyes bore into me when he spoke while I was sleeping. But when I awoke, I went back to reality, where he didn't know my name.
Then I moved back. I left NY (the person, not the city) and moved back. And circumstances threw me back into his world. His altered world. In the three years that had past since I had last seen him, he had been through a relationship and had a child. When I moved back, I learned through his mother of how he had been, what he had been doing. It was part of my reconditioning to moving back to the place I had lived before.
His mother hired me to work with her which saved me in so many ways. She has saved me in so many ways over the years and I am so lucky to know her and count her as a friend. So, she gave me a job which is like gold when you are broke and have a newborn baby. While we worked, we talked and when she talked she sometimes mentioned him and I would listen hungrily for anything about him. A few weeks later, she brought his son with us, he had needed a babysitter and she had offered. And then she asked me if I would be interested in watching his son because he was in dire need of someone to do it. There were two reasons I jumped on this offer. The first was the fact that I needed the money so desperately and the second was that I was still holding out to see him again. But it would be weeks before he would come to pick him up. I remember the day, I remember that I was nervous. My children were there, Triniti in her swing on the porch near my mother and his mother who were smoking cigarettes and talking. Amanda and Emilee and his son ran around the yard playing and I was cleaning up the mess from dinner. I had the door open and I was watching the kids. My hair, several inches longer than it is now, was in a braid down my back. I finished in the kitchen a few minutes before he got there. I walked out onto the porch and sat on a stair halfway down and lit a cigarette. It was a nice day, mid-Summer and cool, and I was watching the kids play their game when I heard his truck door shut. My stomach muscles tightened with that unfamiliar nervousness, but I stayed where I was and waited to see him appear again in my reality.
Labels: History Lesson
The man from my dreams... (the reality)
He was the same. I mean of course that in the years that had past very little about the way he looked had changed. His face no longer had that youth like innocence, but it never does once you become a parent. But he was still so nice to look at and still so ready to have fun, carefree. And that was what he did and what I was so pleased to see. He ran across the yard and scooped his son up from behind spinning him and spinning him as the little boy laughed hysterically. Then he set him on the ground and went right down to his level to speak to him. The words I couldn't hear, but the way he looked at his son was with such love, such joy. Then, as it is with children, my daughters begged to be swung and spun and he obliged them all several times, leaving them in a fit of giggles as he walked across the yard to the porch. And then he saw me. He held my eye as he crossed the yard and he smiled. My stomach was mad with butterflies and it took all I had to remain calm and simply smile back rather than avert my eyes.
He stopped in front of me and from where I was sitting, he wasn't much taller. He said something, idle conversation about how his son had behaved and how grateful he was and I returned the words but I wasn't there, I was so shocked and so stunned and so happy to be talking to him. Sure, it sounds crazy, but this was the guy I dreamt about, the guy who saved me in my sleep and who loved me in my fantasies and here he was smiling at me and seeing me for the first time since we had met three years earlier. Not long after that he left me there, floating.
I called him first. We both had each other's numbers since I was taking care of his son, but I called him first. I remember that I had to think of a reason but I can't remember what it was... probably something silly like his son leaving something at my house and I just wanted him to know. I was afraid that he had just been being nice when he stopped by to drop off or pick up his son, but that phone call solidified that he was genuinely interested in being, if nothing else, my friend. We talked for a couple of hours about a hundred different things that I couldn't remember now to save my life. But, when I went to bed that night, I was the girl with the stars in her eyes. The next time he came over, he stayed for dinner. He was so polite and so sweet and such a good father. Needless to say, I was enamored.
I continued to baby-sit his son and he continued to pick him up, each time staying a little longer, his presence being a little less intimidating each time. It almost became ritualistic. He would get there in the evenings and have dinner with us, sometimes leaving soon after and sometimes staying for some conversation and cigarettes on the porch. Once we got past the awkwardness and had settled nicely into our friendship, he started coming over without a reason and we became rivals in gin rummy. Almost every night of the week, we would play cards after the kids went to sleep. And when we didn't feel like playing cards (which was hardly ever the case) we'd watch a movie. A few months passed this way and I had put the idea of him wanting anything more than friendship from me out of my mind. In fact, I was so happy for the company of another adult who I enjoyed so much that I wouldn't even have jeopardized it.
It was September so fast and every year his mother held her weekend long birthday party during the week of the full moon. We both went and I really realized over that weekend that nothing was ever going to happen between us. People flocked to him, to his presence, his goodness. Everyone liked him and wanted to be around him and I felt so little, so separate. He still smiled at me and still came over and stood with his hand on my shoulder and made casual chit chat but I felt out of place, out of his league - even as his friend. But I accepted what it was and expected nothing more than our card games and conversations on my porch. Let them have him for the weekend, I just want to see him again the next week.
And I did. He came over the next week with a big bottle of wine and we resumed our ongoing game joking about how he had only brought the wine so he could win the game. Hours passed and we talked and listened and played and laughed and then went out to the porch to smoke. I sat on the stairs, in the same place I had been when he had first seen me. I looked at the stars and the waning moon and listened to him talk to me in that voice - low and smooth and that laugh that was just a little raspy. He sat on the step above mine and I almost leaned back, almost rested on his legs... we were that comfortable together. But I caught myself, remembered that we weren't that comfortable. But that thought had no sooner entered my mind then his hands were on my shoulders and he was working some of the tension from them.
I was confused and exhilarated. I was wondering what to say, what to do, how to react, how to respond and hadn't figured any of it out when he really did brush the hair from my face, when he really did trail those fingers down my cheek to my lips, when he really did kiss me. Nothing I had dreamt was even close to that kiss, to the feel of his real hands running up my back to my neck, to the way his skin smelled.
When it ended and he sat there with his hands still on me and I opened my eyes and looked into his, it all seemed so surreal, so impossible. He touched my face again and smiled at me and I laughed. It wasn't a nervous laugh, but a happy laugh. Most guys would have looked at me strangely upon receiving such a response to their kiss, but I think he knew, I think he had studied me so much during all those days and hours and minutes that he may have even been expecting it. Rather than question it just yet, I just leaned back, like I had wanted to and enjoyed the way his arms felt around me.
the visuals are here, here and here
found one more here
Labels: History Lesson
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Saw this on The Educated Liberal and felt it was worthy of sharing! In case you are keeping score:Canada - 1USA - 0
the day off
Normally, when I have the day off, I will work on something brilliant... ok, well long at least ;) to post on here. I will hammer out a couple pages of history lessons or work on another project like one of my fiction projects. Yesterday, though, I had the day off and did neither. In fact, I made it a point to stay away from the computer as much as possible. I instead spent the day pretending like I was a housewife (per se). I took my daughters to the library (instead of overhauling my kitchen), then down to the river to take some pictures (instead of vacuuming the house). They, of course, accidentally fell in and rather than get pissed off or get them into the car, I let them swim for about an hour (instead of cleaning my living room).How awesome the day was. To just hang out with my girls and play. To sit on the floor in the library and put puzzles together with Triniti or help Amanda pick out a couple of R. L. Stine books to read or show Emilee how to look up books on the computer. To sit on the riverbank and watch my daughters laugh and splash and swim in their clothes. To ignore housework and bills and being a grown up for one day and enjoy being a mom.The icing on the cake was watching Triniti do so excellently during her first gymnastics class. She has so much energy and has such a hard time sitting still unless her mind is occupied and I was so proud of her that she was able to cooperate as well as she did with her instructor.It was a good day.~Kate
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
good morning sunshine
Since acquiring my flickr account (THANKS EL), I have begun browsing photographers. And in doing so have been lucky to find many very talented people as well as jump into the realm of voyeur. I recently ran across this fine man and his work (which is awesome). Because, seriously, who wouldn't love to see this in the morning? Or this?
Probably doesn't help that the man is gorgeous and half naked (or completely naked) and I haven't been laid in...
Well... who's counting?
Wow, ok, I now have tons of respect for ppl who sell things on ebay! Geez. Pictures, cropping, renaming, folders, listing (on DIALUP!)...Takes HOURS!But, I have started :) Wanna see?Here's what I have listed so far... only like 20 something charms, but I have about 200 more ready to go.Have to sleep first though :P~Kate
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Sunday morning breakfast
On Sunday mornings, as per my Mommy Contract, I make a breakfast that involves some kind of cooking. Cooking isn't really my thing and I prefer to do it as little as possible (which is why I am so happy we have things like cereal and Jimmy Dean microwavable sandwiches). I also insist that my children eat healthy (like 88% of the time), so they will eat fruit through out the day as well as string cheese or applesauce. But on Sundays, I break out the cast iron skillet and heat up the oven and create a breakfast that makes us all want to go back to bed after eating it. This morning, I did just that. I made eggs (sunny side up), sausage patties, biscuits, hashbrowns, and toast (which is mainly used to soak up the yolk of the eggs). I never complain about this even though I would much rather be laying in bed while the girls munch down cereal. So, this morning, when Emilee got all pissed off at me, I was surprised.
She said that she was tired of always having breakfast on Sundays. That we always have the same things on Sundays. Always eggs (accompanied by their entourage) or french toast (when I am feeling lazy) or pancakes (when I am feeling really lazy... or hungover). The reason for this argument was that I wouldn't let her have cereal. If I have to cook, then they are going to eat. So she slithered off to the living room to pout and I continued with my culinary escapades. About ten minutes later, Amanda is making toast and I am setting the table. Emilee comes back out of the bedroom and stands by the fridge trying to look pissy. But I can see her eyes wandering to the hashbrowns. She is trying to figure out a way to get some without withdrawing her previous complaint and looking silly. How like her mother she is. Rather starve than apologize, lol. I catch her eye and ask her if the hashbrowns look good and she smiles. I ask her if she would like some and she says ok and heads over to the table and sits down. She also took some eggs, a sausage, some bread (she doesn't like hers toasted), and a nectarine. I knew she would.
Sunday morning breakfast is one of my favorite times of the week. The girls and I get to make plans for the upcoming week and talk about whatever has been going on in our minds over the last few days. We barter allowance pay and I finagle chores out of them. It's very lackadaisical. We aren't in any hurry because we aren't going any where. We can just sit and eat and talk. And they always clean up afterwards, which is nice.
Since I have become a parent, there have been many traditions that I implemented that were never a part of my childhood. Every year for Thanksgiving, we go to Aunt Tempest's house on the coast, every Christmas we stay home, every Sunday we have breakfast as a family and it seems like our newest one is every July Fourth we go to The Cake Lady's for a BBQ and fireworks. I wonder how many of these traditions will be carried on by my children... Will they sit with their families and eat breakfast on Sundays or will Amanda take her children to her best friend's houses for various holidays... Am I helping them form healthy relationships by feeding them breakfast on Sundays? Or by loading them up in the car to head for the coast to have turkey every year? I hope so.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
It's almost like Amanda knew that I spent a few hours dreading her growing up. When I got home tonight, she asked me to paint her nails. I get all the nail polish and we sit down to pick out some colors. Now, I have a lot of nail polish... like thirty bottles - maybe more. So, she picks out the sparkly red and I do her toenails. Then Emilee comes in and I paint her toenails neon orange with pink sparkles on top. Then Amanda asks if I will paint her finger nails and I say sure. She hands me a bottle of dark blue. DARK. I kind of look at her weird but don't say anything. (This isn't my nail polish by the way, I think it is some of Ruthie's old polish. I do have blues and greens and purples, but nothing that dark.) As I am painting her nails, she says to me, "I wish this was black."Black.My daughter wants to paint her nails black.*grimace*~Kate
Friday, June 24, 2005
art and an announcement
With much thanks to my sister and The Educated Liberal, here is Amanda's painting.I had to scan it multiple times to get it all, Ruthie pieced it together and EL resized it for me. That whole thing about a village...And.. shit. Hang on. I am trying to find the drum roll button...Here it is. **DRUM ROLL PLEASE!!!**I have converted yet another non-blogger. This time, though, it is my own little sister! Please, click here and come see her blog. Bookmark her, add her to your sidebar, and check back often :)~Kate
My daughter, Amanda (one)
I wrote about Emilee the other day and had been trying to figure out what I would write about Amanda… They are so different in so many ways… Then, Auburn Pisces.
With Amanda being my first, I often go back to the beginning in my mind. She was born on November 19, 1996 at 8:20 in the morning. She changed me. The second that little girl was born, everything child-like from me was gone, everything selfish of me vanished, every want I had was lessened, and every love I had was muted. She deafened me. She made everything else seem small and ridiculous. Amazing how a tiny baby is capable of making everything different.
The first time I held her you could probably hear the change, you could hear my heart change shape and form (much like the Grinch, lol). I stared at her in disbelief. I can honestly tell you that before Amanda was born, my experience with babies was nil. In fact the closest thing to a baby I had seen in so many years was a toddler. I thought I was getting a puppy, in human form, for god sakes. Someone I would have to feed and play with. No one, no one, can explain to you the way you feel. No one can even begin to take the intricacies of being a parent and break them down for you. You do not know until it happens and then you are forever changed, forever unable to return to that place you were before and never would you want to.
I grew up with Amanda. She taught me how to be a mother, how to be her mother. I learned through my experiences with her what kind of mom I wanted to be and how to do it. I was morphing as she grew and probably still am with every day.
This year, Amanda will be nine years old. Nine. That probably sounds like nothing, you are probably thinking ‘so what?’… But that's because you don't understand. You see, nine is half way to eighteen. Eighteen is legally an adult and college and the freedom to move wherever in the world her heart desires. Eighteen is freedom, period. It is a time for mistakes and lessons and heartbreak and failure. We’ve all been eighteen (some of us sooner than others) and I am scared for her. I want to protect her and in a matter of years, I’ll have to step back.
You are probably thinking that I still have nine more years and that I shouldn’t be freaking out just yet. But, you don’t realize that Amanda was just born last month and just started school last week and just yesterday she was seven. Where did it go? When did she turn eight?? How did we get here so quickly?? And if the first eight years were over in a blink of an eye, am I going to blink again and she’ll be gone? Married or traveling or living and loving in a city so far away that she doesn't even think of me except on Sundays when she calls home to say hello.
But I am talking about me, not her.
My daughter, Amanda (two)
She is so mature, so sophisticated. She has always loved using large words and would work them into a sentence so nonchalantly. When she was four, Emilee was pestering her and she looked straight at her and said "Emilee, is that really necessary?" Necessary is four syllables! lol She has always been so grown up, always taken that oldest sister role and went with it. She thinks for herself and comes to conclusions for herself and she stands firm in what she knows. She is friendly and opinionated. You can correct her and she blushes but registers that information for a later date. She always asks questions, she wants to know everything she can know. She is brutally honest and will tell me "Mommy, you shouldn't wear that, it makes you look fat." She loves her sisters and told me a few weeks ago, "Mommy, I am so glad that you gave me sisters. I don't know what I would do with out them."
She wants to be a veterinarian. She has wanted that for as long as she can remember. She loves animals, all animals. When she was five, a dog that my mom had caught a baby bunny and she marched right up to that dog and took the bunny out of his mouth and tried to make it all right. When the bunny died, she cried for him. She still cries. In a time when many kids are hiding their tears and just dealing, Amanda still cries. If you hurt her feelings, she will cry.
She is helpful and organized. When she puts the dishes away, she puts them where they belong. She doesn't half ass things. She pays attention to what's going on around her and she knows when I am sad. She loves to read and write and make up poems and that is so me. She looks like me. God, she is me. She is my little clone in looks, in personality, in interests, in temper.
She is a good friend. She won't betray her friendships and she genuinely loves her friends. If they are mean to her or mad at her she just doesn't understand it. She writes notes in school and tells secrets.
She has a mad crush on Jesse McCartney and if it is with in my powers, she will meet him at a concert one day. I don't care how much the tickets cost.
But she has changed. Oh, god, she has changed. She doesn't need me the way she did once. She doesn't run to me with everything and ask for help, for answers. In fact, most crisis' pass by without my ever having known about them. After the fact, I get a recap and she explains how she handled everything and I am left in awe watching her walk away. I know that she will leave me shocked so many times becuse I know that so many of my firsts will come with her.
Like today, it's just she and I driving to gymnastics and she tells me she can't wait to be ten. I asked her why and she told me that she thought when she was ten, she would have boobs. I laughed and told her that she probably wouldn't have boobs when she was ten. But she has noticed, just as I have, that her body is changing. That she is growing. She and I are having conversations now that are more grown up than kid stuff.
I could list accolades for days and those of you who know me in real life know that I do. That I will call you, out of the blue, to brag about my kids. Amanda won a spot on student council (via election) at the end of this past school year. Next year is the first year she is eligible and she will be on student council. She won first place in the art competition for her school and third place for an out of school art competition. She is A honor roll every year.
I could go on for days, but the fact that I am trying to get across is that she is so exceedingly cool. She does things, every day, that reassure me that I am doing a good job as her mother. Which is nice since she has reallyguineahe guinnea pig, what with being first and all.
She still kisses me goodbye and public and runs over to hug me if I come to school. She still wants me to go on field trips and hang out with her and her friends. I am still cool today, still her friend, still her confidant. She may argue with me and get angry, but she doesn't say she hates me or she wishes she had another mother. In fact, to her, I am still 'the best mommy in the world'. And I am relishing every second of it because if it weren't for her, I wouldn't be me.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
So, Mr. I just called me. He said he had racked himself. We chatted for like ten minutes and then he says, "Ok, well, I have to go. I just called because my nuts hurt and it reminded me of you."
Labels: Mr. I
a new toy
Not the kind of toy that Jiffinner and The Girl recommended I buy after my post the other day, but just as exciting!
My dad bought me a digital camera yesterday! It should be here in the next week or so and I am jazzed :) I hadn't really needed one for the last few years because Ruthie always had one that I could use whenever I needed it. With her off gallivanting in Hawaii though, I don't have one. Mentioned it to my dad and viola!
It is a Fujiflm FinePix S3000. I was looking around online and decided that if he was going to get me one, I didn't want to break his bank nor have him spend a huge chunk of money on something I may break or lose. (I just don't trust myself after having dropped my cell phone in the bath tub.)
So, after some browsing, I decided I like the S3000 and he went ahead and bought it for me! :)
Here's a pic of the camera I will use to take pics with:
I'm all jazzed!
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
from long ago and far away
I have many email accounts. I signed up on hotmail the very first time I got an email account and have since opened several more. I was lucky to have acquired them all before MSN stopped allowing you to download your mail onto Outlook (which I use, religiously). That said, when I open Outlook, I have about ten accounts that load. I have one for Amanda and Emilee that they share, another for my computer illiterate mother and I also keep track of Veronique's two accounts. I primarily use about four of them. One that I use to receive all of your (my fantastic readers) emails and comments, another for family and friends and so on...
The very first email account that I ever opened gets about twenty email messages a day - all junk. They go to my junk folder and I usually scan them very quickly and then click delete. I did that this morning after seeing mostly advertisements for viagra and Christian dating sites and other various spam. About an hour later, though, I accidentally erased something that I had meant to keep and when I went to retrieve it from my deleted items folder, I saw something very odd.
Directly under the accidentally erased email was an email from AZ, Amanda and Emilee's father. I just stared at it. It said, very simply: "Hello [Kate] I miss Talking to my beuatiful darling daughters and you also call sometime xxx-xxx-xxxx"
Yeah, grammar and spelling aside... omg. An email from the man I haven't spoken to in over two years and seen in over five. Always catches me off guard.
I have given AZ an abundance of chances. Every time he has contacted me, I have given him the benefit of the doubt. I even allowed the girls to speak with him a few times. Usually we hear from him the most after he has been released from jail and is clean and sober. I have no idea why I am hearing from him now since he hasn't been incarcerated for over two years. Maybe he got bored while screwing around online and decided to look me up? Maybe this will be like the last time and he won't ever respond to my return email? I have no idea...
He has been on drugs for so long now that I really don't even know who was, let alone who he is now. I do know that he hasn't been a father to my girls in all of the time that their memory encompasses. I know that he hasn't made any effort in so long to be near them or provide for them in any way. I know, in my heart, that if he truly loved them, truly missed them, that he would actually do something, anything to be near them... to love them... And yet, nothing.
This will probably be the same as every other time I have heard from him. He will simply fade back into the darkness from which he has momentarily emerged and it will be several more years before he utters a sound.
Well this explains so much...
There must be a typo on my birth certificate, because I must really be thirty and not the twenty five I had previously assumed...This is for all girls 30 years and over.... and for those who are turning 30, and for those who are scared of moving into their 30's... AND for guys who are scared of girls over 30!!!! This was written by Andy Rooney from CBS 60 Minutes.
Andy Rooney says: As I grow in age, I value women who are over 30 most of all. Here are just a few reasons why:
A woman over 30 will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, "What are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you think.
If a woman over 30 doesn't want to watch the game, she doesn't sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do. And, it's usually something more interesting.
A woman over 30 knows herself well enough to be assured in who she is, what she is, what she wants and from whom. Few women past the age of 30 give a damn what you might think about her or what she's doing.
Women over 30 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you, if they think they can get away with it.
Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it's like to be unappreciated.
A woman over 30 has the self-assurance to introduce you to her women friends. A younger woman with a man will often ignore even her best friend because she doesn't trust the guy with other women. Women over 30 couldn't care less if you're attracted to her friends because she knows her friends won't betray her.
Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a woman over 30. They always know. A woman over 30 looks good wearing bright red lipstick. This is not true of younger women.
Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman over 30 is far sexier than her younger counterpart.
Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off if you are a jerk if you are acting like one! You don't ever have to wonder where you stand with her.
Yes, we praise women over 30 for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it's not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed hot woman of 30+, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22-year-old waitress.
Ladies, I apologize. For all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free". Here's an update for you. Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage ...Why? Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire Pig, just to get a little sausage.Thanks to TG for this :)
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
In regards to sex...
Check this out. Seems a crab pulled out of the water near Gwynns Island is both male and female.
How long can one go without having sex before bitching is permitted? Is 37 days long enough? Theoretically... of course...
Monday, June 20, 2005
What naughty my little pony are you?
You Are Subversion!You are systematic and secretive. Sometimes even very calculating. Most everyone trusts you but they have no idea what really goes on in your head. You are capable of being nice or mean, whatever a situation calls for. You look out for #1.
What Naughty My Little Pony Are You?
Borrowed from here.
The worst has past...
So, a bottle of Nyquil, several dozen episodes of Law & Order, a few cats naps, a lot of tea, some nasal spray, two boxes of tissues, about forty ice pops (mostly green, blue, and yellow), half a dozen aleve sinus headaches, and a ton of time on my couch - and I am alive, lol.
To be honest, I know I have never spent that much time in my living room since I moved in. During the weekend, I am almost always cleaning the house and only sit down to watch tv for an hour or two. This weekend, my ass was stuck to the fucking couch. Saturday, Emilee forced me to watch pieces of cartoons all day. But on Sunday, Emilee went to her friends house for a sleepover and Amanda was on barbie.com all day, so the tv was mine :) And TNT plays Law & Order back to back all day :)
After Law & Order, there was that mini-series Into The West. Each episode of this is two hours long and they showed the first and second installments, so now, I can't wait for this weekend so I can see the third. This was a truly awesome show. I am all into historical fiction. One of my favorite authors is Lucia St. Clair Robson. She has written many books about many different types of Indians and how their lives changed with the coming of white men to their land. All of her stuff is absolutely worth reading and owning and reading again.
Anyway, that pretty much covers me. I ate popsicles and laid on my couch all weekend trying to battle the evilness in my head that was producing snot and fevers. I feel slightly better today but wish I were still home because my head isn't completely straight yet :) Thanks you guys for your emails and for your comments on here :)
Hope your weekend was awesome :)
Saturday, June 18, 2005
If I had the energy, I would jump up and down and say not fair, not fair, not fair! Over and over again. This fucking blows. I feel like stepped on shit. My head is a bowling ball full of evil and my nose feels like someone has poured rubber cement into my sinuses when I was sleeping so when I wake up there is no way in hell I can breath. The throbbing... My head is throbbing. My entire skull hurts and my shoulders and neck hurt. And I can't taste anything... except for Nyquil. I am pretty sure you could taste Nyquil if you were dead and your tongue was lit on fire and then cut out. Nyquil is the shit.
I know I sound all whiny and if you ask Jiffinner she will tell you how whiny I was Friday, but I can't help it. I have to whine to you, my fellow bloggers, because there is no one here to whine to. There is also no one here to help me so I have to still cook and clean and give baths. My girls are probably miserable. I'll get up and make breakfast and then back to the couch, lunch and then couch, dinner and then couch. I have no energy. They are good kids though and have been pampering me :)
My head is all fuckered up from the medicine, I feel like I am all floaty when I walk, very light headed and my skin spontaneously breaks out in chill bumps. My brain is functioning at about 12% which means I can barely remember my name, nevermind what someone asked me thirty minutes ago. About every forty five minutes, the medicine conquers the evil fever demons and I get all cold and have one of those light sweats and then thirty minutes later, fever again.
I need a massage and a good long sleep, like twelve hours. Then I need another massage, some more Nyquil and another twelve hour sleep. At some point in time during all this, I need the use of my nose back. It's my fucking nose, damn it, and I want it back.
Friday, June 17, 2005
...Educated Liberal!I just received this pic in my email from EL...Yum. That's just about how he looked too...Thought you guys would enjoy the visual as much as I do :)*sigh*~Kate
God, I hate to type that because Fridays are for fun and ease. The week has ended (for us Monday – Friday workers) and there is the promise of the up and coming break from life for two days.
My Friday started so good to. I was having the most awesome of dreams. Brad Pitt was there and he was totally digging me. We were hanging out, he kept touching my leg and brushing my hair back from my face. Then we were at his place and he was showing me around and he gave me a computer (?? I don’t know why, it’s a fucking dream). It wasn’t weird, I wasn’t nervous. I mean, I was aware that it was Brad Pitt and I was aware that he was hitting on me… But he wasn’t doing it in this sleazy ‘I wanna fuck you way’ but rather like he actually was digging me… *sigh* Anyway, then he and I go for coffee and I am suddenly making these horrid noises with my nose. I keep apologizing and he keeps asking if I am all right. He is putting his hand on mine, genuinely concerned. And what am I doing?? Snorting or something, these awful noises… then I wake up and those awful noises were either me trying to breath or snoring because my sinuses were clogged beyond belief.
I woke up with the pain of a thousand tiny people shoved into my head simultaneously banging with tiny hammers and picks trying to get out. O.M.F.G. I was in hell. My head felt heavy and my sinuses were so clogged and full and evil. I laid in bed for like twenty more minutes and then got up and went to get the girls ready. Amanda so totally fucking rocks. She asked what was wrong and I told her that my head hurt. She was like “Gosh, Mommy, you have had a headache for like three days.” Yeah, I know. Anyway, she told Emilee after I left the room “don’t bother Mommy, her head really hurts.” I got their clothes out and went to get in the shower and when I got out, Amanda had gotten Triniti dressed and put her shoes on. I love her, she is so getting ice cream tonight.I stopped at Wal-Mart on my way here and got some Aleve Sinus and Headache. It seems to be dulling the ever present pain.
So, I stepped on the scale to see if my three day diet worked and guess what! Eight pounds lighter. Hey now! Of course, I was all anticipating being able to eat whatever I wanted today and my nose is so fucked up I can’t eat anything. That’s always the best diet anyway. Either the Sick Diet or the Flu Diet. Either one guarantees some weight loss.
I saw The Cake Lady yesterday and she said something about me and the girls coming by this weekend for some pool and sun time. If I start feeling better, that will be awesome. I feel bad that I keep the girls locked up at home all day when the weather is awesome.
If you read my most recent posts regarding Mr. I and were one of the ones who commented or emailed me about how proud you were of me, lol, then you will now be doubly proud. Mr. I called me night before last and after we had talked for a little while basically said he wanted to come over. Instead of having him over to scratch that itch that is becoming more and more bothersome, I declined. I told him no. I told him that if we had any shot at being friends that the sex had to stop. He didn’t sound thrilled with my decision but wasn’t rude about it, just said ok. Then he called me yesterday and said ‘thank you’. That he was glad one of us had the will power to say ‘no’. Now I just need to find someone I don’t feel obligated to say ‘no’ to so I can get laid. Damn.
My ring arrived from my dad yesterday and is so much prettier than the pic of it was. Also included were a pair of opal earrings and another pair that were abalone. Have to wear them next week though, since today is Blue Jean day.
Hope ya’ll have a nice weekend :)
Yet another quiz...
Borrowed from Sandra. You guys make sure and post your results under comments! I want to know what everyone tastes like... for future reference :P
I tashte like Alcohol.
Heh. Heh. I taste like beer. I like beer. Buy me a beer. I'm not drunk, I can drink plenty without... What was I saying? Beer. What Flavour Are You?
Thursday, June 16, 2005
"I wish that everything in the world was made of ice cream, except the things we like."
A direct quote from my daughter, Emilee.
I was telling the girls about the possibility of my meeting Matthew McConaughey on the way home. The VERY 'G' version, of course. Nothing about me wanting to do interesting and nasty things to his body.
Anyway, Amanda says "Is he married?"
I said "No.... Why?"
Emilee says "Maybe you could invite him to dinner?"
I raised an eye brow...
Amanda says "Yeah, you could invite him to dinner."
I said "Now, why would I do that?"
Emilee says "Well, if you want to, maybe you could date him."
If only she knew the extent at which I would like to 'date' him, lol.
Amanda says "Yeah! And then if you date him for a couple of years and see if he is good enough then maybe you could marry him."
Me "Marry him, huh?"
Emilee says "Yeah, you could marry him and then he would be our dad."
I'm tore between thinking that they are adorable in wanting to hook me up with a husband (and tag teaming me, no less) and that they want a dad. Plus, he has to be "good enough", lol... How sweet they are. I am also considering how much of my overactive imagination they have inherited...
I say "well, that's sweet ya'll. I have had a crush on him for a long time."
Amanda says "yeah, that would be cool because maybe he is best friends with Jesse McCartney and then Jesse McCartney could come over and have dinner too... and then maybe he could move in with us too."
Yeah, they've got it.
Emilee says "That would be sooooo cool. He could come over and we could play his songs on the cd player..."
Amanda says "Or he could come over and sing his songs for us!"
Emilee "Oh yeah, that would be much cooler!"
These are my daughters, dear readers. Like mother, like daughters... Only they could spring so quickly and willingly into my fantasy land with out provocation. God, I love them.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
The last tidbit (and by FAR the most important)
It has been confirmed. "What?" You ask... Well, read this before and you will see what I am talking about.So, I am out on the porch with Boss and NewSalesGuy when Boss very smoothly mentions that he heard that NewSalesGuy went to college with Matthew McConaughey to which NewSalesGuy responds that it is true and that they are indeed friends! OMFGBreathe, Kate, Breathe...I am all playing it cool, telling him that I have had mad lust for that man for many years. All very cool. So what college did you go to? Small talk so that I didn't scream. He said he was there the night Matthew was arrested but left before it happened. Says he has been out partying with him many times.Breathe, Kate, Breathe...Then he says that Matthew will probably be around here when football season starts. I told him that if he didn't bring him by to see me when he was that I would never give him another lead as long as he worked here. He laughed and said and I quote "oh yeah, definitely".Breathe...Definitely. He said that he will definitely bring him over to meet me. Meet me. Matthew McConaughey and I will meet. OMFG.I may faint. OMG.How fucking absolutely awesome is that???I then went back inside and did the craziest and quietest happy dance that I have ever done in Jiffinner's office.~Kate
SisterI was on the phone last night and I said that I missed my sister. And I do. I miss her being there when I get home so I can talk to her about my day or not, I miss her being there to watch TV with (she lets me rewind the funny parts w/out complaining), I miss her being there to chat with while I am making dinner, I miss her being there to listen to the new music I downloaded. I just flat out miss her. This I unloaded on the phone and when I hung up, my cell rang and it was her.She and I are talking about her cell (which apparently -according to the Sprint people- works on O'ahu) and she is all tickled pink that she can use her phone and then she tells me something that just made my day or night or week... She said she misses me. She says she misses being able to talk to me! She quickly followed up (so as not to offend anyone that was in earshot) with how Noah's roommates are great and how Noah is great, but she misses being able to talk to me! She told me she was going to call me today and we were going to talk for at least an hour :)Hang on, I need a tissue.Oh, and she was all jazzed because the lead singer of The Burden Brothers (previously the lead singer for The Toadies) called her!! Lola, I know you know who I am talking about. He. Called. Her. She was so totally freaking out! lolWe saw them, with Seven Mary Three at a bar in San Antonio... gosh, like last year. I love Seven Mary Three.Anyway, I think I have one more tidbit before I call it a day :)~Kate
Random Tidbit Day! (more to come)
I could so never be on Fear Factor. You know how they eat all that disgusting nasty gross stuff and you think, I could so eat that tube of pig eyes if I were going to win X amount of dollars! Then you call the girl who is throwing it all up a 'puss' and change the channel? Yeah, well I would so be that girl. I could not eat tubes of pig's eyes or live bugs or road kill.
How do I know this?
Well, despite Eeks warning to me about that diet I mentioned to ya'll, I decided to give it a shot. So, yesterday, loaded up with groceries to take to work, I began. My breakfast was toast with peanut butter (yum) and half a grapefruit (yuck). I'd forgotten just how much I loathe grapefruit. It is vile and messy. I am positive there is no not messy way to consume it.
I was ok though, pulled it off without getting it on my shirt or wincing too much.
Then it was time for lunch. One slice of bread and one cup of tuna fish. OMFG, do you know how much a cup of tuna fish is??? Just a little less than two cans! Have you ever eaten two fucking cans of tuna fish? It's a lot. A whole lot. And it kind of tastes funny with out the things you would usually add to it, you know? Like mayo or relish or whatever. And there is entirely too much to put onto your bread and make a sandwich so you are just forking tuna fish into your mouth. Lots of it. And I swear it tastes like a can. Bleh.
Dinner (if you can call it that) was not that bad. However, I was so totally wanting one of the tacos I had made for the girls! But there were leftovers and I will have one day after tomorrow when I am done with this.
More Random Tidbits through out the day! I have a list ;)
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
What does it mean?
I think... I am actually pretty sure... I believe I have solidified my stance as a grown up.
I have bought a table cloth.
Yeah, no big deal right?
Except, this time I didn't buy it to cover up a fucked up looking table. Oh no, this time, I bought it because I wanted to protect my table, keep it from getting fucked up.
It gets worse.
I didn't only buy a table cloth. I also bought... furniture polish. Yeah, that stuff that smells like lemons that you spray on wooden stuff? Yeah, that.
Now, you see, dear reader, I had promised myself when I was ten that I would never, ever, ever, ever buy furniture polish. It was due to a vendetta I had with my grandmother who made me polish all the furniture in the house as my
slave duties 'chore' . I hated it. I hated picking all the fucking nick-nacks up off the furniture and then rubbing it down with lemon scented oil. I hated it even more the second time I had to do it because she lifted something up and saw that I hadn't actually moved anything.
Up until now, I have managed to not own any furniture that I couldn't wipe down with a damp rag. Until my table. My dining room table to be exact. The dining room table that Veronique's parents gave me and that I L-O-V-E. I have been in love with this table since the first time Veronique took me to her house. I told her as much and she gave me that weird look that you give people when you don't quite comprehend yet the love you can have for a piece of furniture. When her mother asked me if I wanted it, I almost fainted. I may have fainted. But, now it is here. Now it is sitting in my kitchen area in it's gorgeous splendor. And until today, no one was allowed to eat on it because I hadn't yet bought a table cloth that would protect it's wooden beauty.
But now I have. I bought two actually. One of those flannel bottomed, vinyl topped table cloths that the girls could actually spill on and then a pretty, dark blue table cloth for dress up :)
And furniture polish to run into it's skin and make it pretty.
Yup, I think it is official. You know you are a grown up when you have intimate feelings for a piece of furniture.
Monday, June 13, 2005
History Lesson #3 (first)
Now it is time for History Lesson #3 which could be referred to as The Time In Between. When AZ left that day, I didn't hear from him for two weeks. I had a combination of feelings about this. I was happy he was gone, I had wished it so many times but at the same time I was scared shitless about my future. I was also sad, which I think is inevitable. You are going to miss the person that you love regardless of how much your relationship had disintegrated. I have to admit that while I dreamed he would leave, I never really thought it would happen. But then, there I was, alone. Amanda took it very hard. She glorified his existence in her mind and still does, to this day. She blocked out everything bad that had happened and just remembered her 'daddy'. Maybe that was the best thing she could have done. She was three when he left and she became withdrawn. She was sad for many months and I couldn't reach her. She blamed me, said I had made him leave. I did the only things I could do, I loved her and I waited for her to get over it. She did a few months later.
I also got my ass in gear. I was already working one job. It was only part time, two days a week (Sunday and Monday). So, I got out there and filled out applications. I got another job Tuesday through Thursday at a law office, it was mostly computer stuff. The lawyer and his assistant were extremely computer illiterate and needed me to do things like set up and manage their email accounts, answer phones, set appointments, etc. The legal aspects of it were very difficult. I had never learned anything about the legal system and here I was typing up Divorce Decrees and... I don't even remember what else. The lawyer was narcoleptic. I would be reading him whatever he had asked me to type and I would look up and he would be asleep.
Anyway, while working there, I got to explore a lot of the Internet. It was something I hadn't really been exposed to yet and I was sucking it up as hungrily as I could. I met many people through various sites and chats but a few stand out and are worth mentioning here.
There was my beloved Brit, James. He was quite literally the first online friend I made. I met him in a chat room in Lycos. The first time I had ever been into a chat room. I was just sitting in front of the monitor watching everyone chat. I was probably there for ten minutes and then this private message pops up and it is James saying it was his first time as well. I wish, more than anything, that I could remember what was said but it was... wow, over five years ago. I don't know what we said, but I know we clicked. Immediately. I know I checked online many times to see if he was there. Finally he was and we were able to exchange e-mail addresses. We have been writing each other ever since and as soon as there is some kind of reasonable international long distance plan, I will be able to call him regularly as well. You can all thank him since, without his friendship, I probably would have never delved quite this deep into the Internet Ocean.
Anyway, while I was waiting to chat with my Brit on MSN, I got pretty cozy in a chat room in Lycos called Divorced Moms and Dads. I met a great many people on there that I still shoot the shit with occasionally. One of which was Triniti's father, NY. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Labels: History Lesson
History Lesson #3 (second)
I lost a tremendous amount of weight during this time. This wasn't really anything bad since I was overweight at the time. Actually, I weighed more then than I ever have in my life. I also had horrible insomnia. I could only sleep a few hours a night. I would be up until three or four in the morning and I would sleep until six and then get up and get ready for work. I lost eighty pounds in two months. That's like one Kate Moss. My insomnia was probably due to the fact that I was in hell. I was living once again with my mother. She had agreed to watch the girls for me so I could work. This agreement of ours fizzled a mere two and a half months later. Seemed I was cutting into her drinking time. Never mind that I had taken over all of our bills and responsibilities. Not only was I paying for everything, but I was also making sure that everything got paid. I was miserable. I was stuck in this rut and I didn't think I was ever going to get out. My mom was dependent on my being there and since I was paying all of the bills, I couldn't save anything to get out anyway. Any doctor on the planet would have diagnosed me with depression, severe depression. The only thing that kept me sane were my girls. There was no way in hell I was going to fail them, no way I was going to screw everything up, and no fucking way in hell I was going to turn into my mother. Ahhhh, my mother. She lost it right about then. I got off work one night and went to pick her up from the bar (my brother and sister had the girls). She asked me to go to another bar with her "just for a few minutes". I called the house, brother and sister both said it was fine. So, we get to this bar and there is a very good friend of mine. A man I will refer to as my computer guru. Guru was hardly ever in town and I was so happy to be running into him, so happy that I would have someone to talk to while my mother floated around the bar speaking to one friend and then another. Inevitably, I would be there for a few hours so seeing Guru made my night. He and I sit down on a couple of stools and, after the pleasantries, are talking shop. This man is a genius. He may deny it, but there is no denying it and I looked to him for help with my computer world so often back then.
Well, I don't know what it was. I don't know why or how it happened, but somehow my mother ended up sitting with us. Guru probably asked me how the girls were, how I was... And I probably gave him some highlights from my life. Probably bragged about the girls. Well, my mom, the queen of drunken negativity, didn't like this at all. In fact she decided that right then, while I was happy, while I was chatting with a friend, that right then, she would eviscerate me. And she did. She humiliated me. She drudged up every negative thing she could think of, everything that I had ever done wrong in my life, all the little things my kids did that made them less than perfect, everything she didn't like about me and the decisions I had made in my life. She took it all and hammered me with it. In front of Guru, in front of a packed bar. I was mortified. This is her, dear reader, this is my mother. This is the woman who gave me life and to who I will never be good enough. Guru sat quietly at first and then asked her to please stop berating me. After I started crying (no, I hadn't had anything but water all night, I didn't drink back then. I was just emotionally unstable) he offered to take me home. That drive home was one of the worst things I can remember. Sitting next to this man who I thought so highly of and watching him feel pity for me. Oh I hate being pitied. I loathe and despise it. He offered me many things during that short drive. He offered me a place to stay, a car, and a job. He offered me an out and I turned him down.
It's amazing to feel so lost. To feel as though you have no options or that the options you do have aren't real, to feel as though there is no escape and that you just have to stay put.
As I had become so accustomed to doing, I made an excuse for another alcoholic. "She is just drunk, Guru," I told him, "she'll apologize tomorrow." I couldn't leave. I couldn't take all that he was offering because in my mind, you don't get free rides. You don't get a house, car, and job handed to you on a silver platter. You earn it. I couldn't have been that girl who didn't acquire all of those things herself. He made it clear that the offer was there; just call him if I changed my mind.
Labels: History Lesson
History Lesson #3 (third)
Inside my house, inside my room, inside my sanctuary, I kissed my daughters heads as they slept peacefully. I went into the bathroom and locked the door and I cried. I sat on the floor of the bathroom and cried for what seemed like forever. You know when you cry for so long that you just run out? Out of tears, out of energy - you are just drained. That was what I did. When I was done, I got up and changed my clothes and went and sat by my window. I couldn't sleep back then. So I just sat there and looked outside and wondered where my life was headed. I wondered how I would survive this chapter and what the next would hold. I sat there and contemplated my future, my daughter's futures. I couldn't leave; I had to make sure that they had futures.
Let me be very clear with you, dear readers, had I not had children I wouldn't be alive today and if I were it would be because I had run far far away from this life. I had tried suicide as a teenager and failed. I wouldn't have failed again. But you don't get that out when you are a mother. You don't get to choose that door and if you do, if you give up, then you are not a person I respect. You do what you have to do, you make things work somehow, but you never abandon your children. You just don't.
I don't know how long I sat there, I don't know how many things ran around my mind. I don't even know if I was awake still when the pounding on my door started. I remember it scared me, like when someone sneaks up on you in the dark and you feel your heart almost stop. I jolted and then went to the door of my room and opened it. There she was, the same as when I had left her. Still angry, still mean and still drunk. I told her I was sleeping and I would speak with her in the morning and closed the door and relocked it. She then started pounding on it again. I opened it and told her to stop, she would wake the girls. She gave me that look, that I-don't give-a-flying-fuck look and I knew I had to get out of that room or she would wake the girls. So I walked into the living room and closed the door to my room. Then it started, the same way it always started. She screamed at me and belittled me and told me basically how much I sucked, how horrid my children were. That was my hot button back then, maybe it still is, and it made me cry. Which I think is what she wanted. When you tell me that my kids are anything that they are not, I get angry. The older I get, the better hold I have on my temper, but back then... well, again, I wasn't very stable. I just sat there on the couch and took it all and waited for her to finish. For the inevitable finale.
When I tuned back in, she was bitching about the dishes. The dishes weren't done. This, in her eyes, meant the kitchen was a mess. So at 3:30 am, I went to do the dishes hoping she would pass out and I could go to bed. Because, I was tired. Tired physically, emotionally, of my life, every kind of tired you can imagine. But it didn't stop, she got louder. Soon Noah and Ruthie were awake and involved and I was just glazed over, top to bottom. Imagine me thinking this isn't my life, this isn't my life, this isn't my life over and over again while washing the plates from a dinner I wasn't even home for. But she started on Ruthie. And Ruthie had school the next day and it was late and I was all tapped out on patience.
I lashed out, I yelled enough or something equally ineffective and then she turned on me. I am nineteen and she grabs my hair, I am an adult and she grabs my hair, I have two children sleeping in the other room and she grabs my hair. There were some other physical actions there. She hit me a few times and slammed me into the wall where I just slid down to the floor, but I couldn't get over the fact that she had grabbed my hair. My hair. It was long then, nearly to my butt. It was long for only a few moments longer because when she got off of me, when I got up and walked out, I went into the other room and grabbed the scissors and cut it all off, to my ears. I can hear that sound that it made. The scissors trying to cut through all of my hair as I opened and closed them, opened and closed them on my hair. I can hear it blurred together with the screaming and crying, my sister yelling stop, please stop at my mother and my brother yelling threats. Over all the noise and I could hear so clearly the sound the scissors made sawing through my hair.
When it separated from my head, I threw it at her. I was so lost. I was just numb standing there. It flurried off into different piles, some here, some stuck to my hand, some stuck to her shirt, some stuck to the bed. My hair was everywhere. Then that was it. She couldn't pull it anymore.
I could go to bed. She was done, I was done. And I left my hair laying on the floor and walked away, my back to her apologies. My mind thinking they always apologize.
Labels: History Lesson
History lesson #3 (fourth)
I didn't date anyone. I buried myself into my virtual friendships. They were my escape, my out. I could talk to them and I was me again. No baggage, no pain. I could tell them about the me that I had inside and they liked me. If only I could let that inner me out to the real world. But no, no one in my real life wanted to see the real me. They liked the passive me, the me with no spine, the me that did dishes at nearly four in the morning because she was told to. The me that tolerated abuse and alcohol, the me you could kick, the me who didn't feel comfortable enough in her own skin to say what she thought. Who would want to date her anyway?
The musician, that's who.
I met the musician when I was almost twenty. God fucking damn he was gorgeous. I don't remember where my self esteem was at that time but I was friendly and it is easier to be friendly with someone you don't think you have a chance in hell of dating. I met him in a bar with my mom one night when I was playing designated driver. He was talking to me and I needed to be talked to. He was gorgeous and I needed the ego boost. He took me home that night and he kissed me. God damn he kissed me. That kiss that your read about where shit explodes in your head and you forget your name. That kiss, those kisses that make you want to kiss. It was doubly awesome because he was kissing me. And who the fuck was I?
The musician could sing. OMG he could sing and he wrote his own music. It was so good. He was good. He was good at writing, singing, talking, touching, kissing... the boy was good. I say boy, the man was ten years my senior. He was a temporary island for me, I used him. I used him for an escape from my reality. I would drive to his house unannounced and I would use his mind and his body and then I would drive home. He gave me that twinge of happiness and I was so grateful to have something to help me make it through the days.
I should clarify here that never, in all of my crap have I ever not gotten just enough motivation from my girls to make it through life. They are IT for me, they are my eternal love and happiness. But sometimes you need something else to help make your road a little less bumpy and he did that for me. He helped steer me back onto the road of want. He helped pull me from the ditch and brush me off and I am so grateful to him for that.
Our fling was shortlived, a few months maybe before he moved to Chicago. We would have never been more than we were and neither of us said anything more than thank you and good bye.
Back on track, near sanity and rationalism. That wall that was blocking the view of my future was finally knocked down. My goals, my life, my girls. I was ready to begin again. I was ready for my life to start new. I was ready but I wasn't sure how. Enter the man from New York.
Labels: History Lesson
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Ooooooh! A present!
I love presents :) Especially when they are something I have been wanting for a VERY long time. I have wanted a Mother's ring for SO long! I have looked at many different styles, but never saw one I just had to have. But then, I ran across a ring design a few months back that I liked and with some tweaking it could be the perfect Mother's ring for me.
Well, lucky me, my father is a Silversmith. He has been making jewelry since before I was born. So I emailed him with the idea and he immediately ordered the emeralds needed. You see, I wanted three emeralds. One for me, one for Emilee, and one for Triniti. Then, a topaz for Amanda. All of our birth stones.
Well, he said he finished it and just emailed me the pictures!
Check out my new ring :)
He wanted to put the topaz in the middle so that it would look more balanced so to speak, but I wanted the emerald in the middle to signify me.I love it. I can't wait until it gets here and I can wear it :)You can buy my dad's stuff on ebay under the name knosesilver or on his website silverknose.com. Make sure and tell him that his daughter sent you :)~Kate
Saturday, June 11, 2005
So, I had high hopes for this weekend. It is my first weekend alone in a long ass time and I wanted so badly to CLEAN MY FUCKING HOUSE. But, I bit off more than I could chew. I decided, since the acquiring off all this new furniture, that I would move some stuff around. Well, in the process of that, one of my entertainment centers (the peice of SHIT one that I hate and wish I could sue Wal-Mart about) broke. So, I managed to keep the top part which works fine in my room, but Trin stepped on one of the nails before I got it out of the house and she was miserable and I felt like the worst mommy in the world. So, my entire afternoon went to shit because I was
easing my guilt trying to make her feel better. She is so sweet. Her little foot hurt so bad (the nail went clear through her foot) and she is half crying and half singing along with the TV. I still feel awful. So, I got her all propped up on her bed watching her new favorite show and then I got online to download some kid songs for her, primarily from The Doodlebops.
She fucking loves The Doodlebops. LOVES THEM! Have you guys seen this show? What a brilliant concept. These people are going to be so many different kinds of rich. Anyway, you can't find shit from them because they are still so new. So instead, I am downloading Dora songs and some other playhouse Disney stuff. I can probably fit like 40 kid's songs on a cd as they are like one minute long.
Anyway, she fell asleep about ten minutes ago and I have so much work to do still. I am going to go throw in a load of laundry and start working on my room. Cross your fingers for me that I can finish everything this weekend.
And check in on Monday for my third history lesson :)
My Theme Song
(for now anyway)Rob Thomas Problem Girl Don't let 'em get where they're going to
You know they're only what they think of you
You heard of this emotional trickery
And you felt like you were learning the ropes
But where you're going now you don't know
And when the kids on the street say
What's your problem girl
And the weight of their smile gets
Too much for you to bear
When they all make you feel
Like you're a problem girl
You're no problem at all
You're no problem at allPride like promises can let you down
You thought that you'd be feeling
Better by now
You worry all the things they could do to you and
You worry about the things they could say
Maybe you're seeing things the wrong wayAnd when the kids on the street sayWhat's your problem girlAnd the weight of their smile getsToo much for you to bearWhen they all make you feelLike you're a problem girlRememberYou're no problem at allYou're no problem at all
If you stand or you fall
You're no problem at allAnd I shouldn't have to continuously tell you guys to get this album. ...Something To Be is awesome. Afraid you are going to spend money on an album with only one good song? Not the case here folks. Get it. Now. Why are you still here?
Friday, June 10, 2005
oh, yeah, and....
Today is one of my oldest friends 25th birthday. The other day when he was reading my blog, he emailed me and asked me where the parts about him were, lol. Well, here is one, my dear friend. Happy twenty fifth birthday! And don't worry, you don't look anywhere near thirty five even if I do pick on you about your hair sometimes. I love you and I am so lucky to have our friendship!
My daughter, Emilee (one)
I read a post on The Educated Liberal in reference to his daughter, Sophia. I have to admit that I have wanted to write about Emilee for some time now, but his post really prompted me to finally do so.
What can I say about my daughter? It’s so hard to incorporate the feelings she stirs in me into words. The word ‘unique’ truly describes her to a T.
Now, I want to clarify that I do not have a favorite child. I love all of my children with everything I have and if you are a parent, then you know that you cannot love one more than another. However, they are all different so you like/dislike different things about them all.
Emilee is 7, her birthday was last month. She has always been advanced in her ability to learn. She was so quiet the first few years, not speaking until she was two. At that time, I thought it was because she may be slow or have a learning issue (or just be hard of hearing which is so often the case in children who speak late). However, upon watching her grow in the coming years, I was proven so incredibly wrong. She excelled at everything she did and still does.
In Texas, we have a pre-kindergarten grade. Aptly named Pre-K. Children who are four go to Pre-K the year before Kindergarten. In some towns this is a half-day grade, but where we live, it is a full day. It isn’t a mandatory year of school, rather optional. Emilee and Amanda started school the same year, Emilee in Pre-K and Amanda in Kindergarten. Emilee always did very well. She loves to learn and she learns quickly. I remember the exact day that I realized she was exceptionally bright. It was the day she came home with flashcards. She had been the winner at lunch for her grade to get a little prize that they were handing out. The prize was a set of addition and subtraction flash cards. She brought them home and asked me what they were. I explained it to her and she was enthralled. She loved those cards. She played with them for hours. I was stunned to say the least and immediately went out and bought her some math books, which she also loved.
A few months later, after mastering addition and subtraction, she wanted to learn to read. Now, she was stubborn, she had to learn. I could see Amanda kind of eyeing her warily as reading was really the only thing she had left that Emilee couldn’t do. Less than a month later, Emilee was reading. In fact, she was helping Amanda with all facets of her homework from then on. When Emilee entered Kindergarten the following year, she was already doing multiplication. I wanted to bump her up a grade so badly. I hate that her mind is a sponge and in the grade she is in, she isn’t getting anything to absorb. Sadly, though, she is in the right grade for her maturity level and our school system is so small that they don’t really have programs for her. Instead, I tried to get her involved in other things. Sports. She did soccer and basketball and now gymnastics. You see, my darling daughter is prone to getting herself into trouble if she is bored. We also do French at home and I have computer games starting from grade one through four. She plays all of them.