Alarm Clock

The phone ringing at 2:21 a.m. for the most part isn't usually a sign of good things to come. We've all been there; somehow at our most courageous and honest when bolstered by one too many drinks, rationalizing that making a phone call at that hour really isn't a bad thing, and besides, there are things that you just have to get off your chest. Right now. Sleeping and the humiliation of what you did in the morning, be damned. Only this phone call, the caller wasn't drinking, he was wide-awake, brutally sober.

My 2:21 wake-up didn't just nudge me from a slumber, "Wake-up sleepyhead", it slapped me in the face, and threw water in my face, "Are you awake, because you need to be awake for this."

Because it was Him.

Little A's dad.

My former best friend and the person for whom my heart aches when I look into Little A's bright blue eyes...I've seen blue like that before, but I try not to think of it. When he casually wanders into the paths of my mind, I physically envision pushing him out, shoving him, as hard as I can, back to a place where I can close the door on him and continue on with my life. I knew he was still there: I could hear him knocking sometimes when I put lotion on Little A and looked at her toes...she has his feet.

I would sense his presence when I did something that I had once shared with him, or laughed at something that I knew we both would find hilarious, but I trained myself to ignore it. "Noise, what noise? I don't hear anything. If you think you hear something, that must be you imagining things again....things like him showing up one day, out of the blue, telling you that he's sorry and that he misses you. Things like him saying that he wonders what Little A is like. These are dangerous, dangerous things...and they don't exist. You don't hear them. There is no noise." (Except for the sound of me mentally rocking myself just enough to let the pain pass, but really, that hardly makes any sound at all anymore)

Before the phone call, I have to say, there were days when I woke up, and the first thought that I had wasn't, "Maybe he'll call today". There were days that I woke up and sometimes he didn't cross my mind for a good hour.

I considered that progress.

Then he called, and the things he said broke my heart in places that I didn't know existed.

Nothing horrible and awful, but words that floated so sweetly, softly, then pierced me with each sentence.

Like daggers disguising themselves as flowers.

Words like he misses me. He needs me to know that he thinks of me everyday. He misses my smile and my hair. My easygoing personality. My laughter. And finally, was there room for him in my life? Yes, there's room. It's a room; it lives inside of me. But I keep the lights off and the door bolted shut. My happiest memories and deepest heartbreaks lie within...and he holds the key.

Ransom Note

My favorite cousin, B, needed to find a home for her cat.

So we took Jack in. Jack didn't take us in, per say. He expanded my theory that every other person on the planet has more willpower than me by demonstrating that apparently so does every other MAMMAL when his hunger-strike delved into the 7th day, prompting B to rescue him back from us. She kindly left his things for a devestated Big A, telling her that we could use them to get a new cat.

This being over a month ago, (which in childhood time is tantamount to approximately 3 years) I packed up the items and told B we needed to schedule a pick-up. Big A saw the things, and reminded me that there had been a promise to get a new cat. Before I could list the top 742 reasons why we didn't need a cat, she said, "I'm old enough now to remember when you don't keep your promises."

We have a new addition to our family. Her name is Stella. ("Stella" loosely translated in the motherhood name book: "Desperate attempt to maintain mommy hero status rather than mommy-promise-breaker-and childhood-destroyer status".)

The Art of War

The latest battle left the General shocked at the depths to which she would sink just to win....

LAST NIGHT:

ME: Sweetie, did you take care of your laundry like I asked you to?

BIG A: (Looking up from her book, with a look of contempt) Mom, I am in the gifted and talented program, and I have to read this book.

ME: You're going to be in the beaten and abused program if you don't take care of your laundry right now.

Let's just all be glad looks can't kill.

I'd Take a Hit Out on Her

If I had a friend that treated me the way I treat myself, I'd hate her.

If I had a person in my life that said things like: "Your hair looks awful!" "Oh my God! Is that another wrinkle?" "Nice black smears under your eyes." "Nice ass, bubble-butt" "Wow, I didn't know that stretch marks looked worse over time" I think I would have to re-evaluate why they were in my life. 

If I had a friend in my life that equated my self-worth to the laundry pile, I probably wouldn't have them as a friend very long.

If this person in my life questioned every single decision I made as a parent, I'd hope that after a bit of time I'd be able to tell them thanks, I already make those questions 100 times a day.

If I had a friend that repeatedly told me that I could be thinner, prettier, nicer, a better mom, a better person, a better anything if I just wasn't like I am, I'd throw myself at her, begging her mercy, asking her to please, just love me! 

So here goes:

WOMAN, LOVE THYSELF!!!

Distance

The first weekend of June, I'm running a 5K. "Running" might be pushing it. 

I am going to start at a line, and I am going to cross a finish line, hell or high water....and believe me, it might be both. My cousin and soul sister, "B" invited me to run in this race with her in January. (Isn't it funny how, in January, so many things are possible? How everything you've wanted to be seems so within reach?) 

So, of course, I said, "SIGN ME UP!" And she replied: "You have to sign yourself up." I should have had pause at that point. Instead, I put it on my calendar and committed myself to it. Then I plugged in the treadmill and it's been an uphill journey since, no matter what the incline on the treadmill says.

I'm pretty emotional about doing this. I tell people I'm running it, and they say, "Great", or "How far is 5K"? Saying it's a little over three miles doesn't do it justice, so I'm going to give you my list of how far a 5K is and why every time I think about running it, my voice cracks and my eyes start to tear up. It's really not because I have perma-PMS, it's because this is how far 5K is:

• It's 332 days of caring for Little A, without help from the person that I least expected to not be there.
• So far, it's been 62 days of getting on a treadmill and getting OFF the couch
• It's been 27 days that I haven't laced up my shoes and I've hated myself for it
• It's probably been a hundred times that I've eaten broccoli instead of oreos and probably thirty that I didn't.
• It's been hundreds of middle of the night phone calls that I didn't make, wanting to sob, "I CANNOT DO THIS! I CANNOT BE ALONE ONE MORE MINUTE! I DIDN'T WANT THIS!"
• It's been two that I did
• It's been a million times of thanking God for the gifts that I have....
• ....and a hundred times that asking Him to watch out for us
• It's keeping a promise to myself, finally, allowing myself to know that it's OK to have something for me, just for me, and understand that doesn't make me less of a parent or less of a person
• It's been seeing Little A rescesitated twice, each time thinking, "This isn't happening..this isn't me..this isn't my life..this isn't happening..."
• It's been realizing that it IS happening, and coming out of it not stronger, wiser
• It's thanking God for the friends that said, "I'll run it with you" and the friends that said, "I don't know why you're doing this, but I'll come and watch"
• It's finally realizing that the finish line is an illusion....and there really isn't any training, there's just the daily doing or the not doing....it's been a race all along; I just finally decided to lace up my shoes.