Eviction Notice

He has until September 15th, then I’m journeying to the place inside of me where I still let him reside, and tossing him and all of his luggage (turns out a lot of it was empty) out onto the street. I’ve probably given him shelter far too long; I know this; it’s just that I have a hard time letting go of things that once meant so much to me.

Letting him stay is just too hard anymore—he’s zapping my resources and energy and when I think that I might have met someone worthy of my time, his ghost curls up beside me and whispers fairytales into my head,
“But I might come back, give me time, I think of you everyday”.

Why September 15th? I don’t think I have it in me to go that much longer; my mind is growing weary from the creaks that he makes crossing the floorboards, and my heart is heavy from holding the door open for so long.

I’ve let him stay for many reasons, but the only ones that are valid anymore are bright blue. They pierce me to the core of my being when I wonder how I will come up with the strength to look into them one day and tell her that her dad knows she exists, but that he doesn’t want her. The look that I’m sure will be in her eyes is the image that I’ll keep in my mind when I’m wondering if I really have it in me to let him go. I know that I’ll have a lifetime of cleaning to do after I toss him out, but I’m ready for that: it’s far better than leaving a room filled with broken promises scattered about and dashed hopes collecting dust on the shelves, wasting space in my heart.

I’m going to redecorate the room and paint it bright colors; I’m going to hang beautiful pictures of a happy family of us three girls on the walls; I’m going to let Ella draw whatever she wants on the floor, and give her a comfy chair that she can sit in if she’d like to visit there for a while; I’m going to have big windows that the breeze can roll through and a polished wood floor that the girls can slide around on as they chase rainbows from the prisms hanging from the ceiling, and a big chest where cherished memories can be stored away and visited time and again when the urge strikes. Then maybe someday when the sun is going down and I enter it, I won’t think of my former tenant and how sad and lonely the room used to be, but rather about what a beautiful place it turned out to be.

The Shape of Things to Come

Big A and I went shopping at Marshall's to find her some shirts for school. We had a blast, and found tons of great buys that she genuinely loved. I just didn't know how much...

On the way home, she told me again that she loved her shirts, especially the ones that fit "kind of tight, you know, not too tight, but that show off my shape." After I resumed breathing, I asked her what she meant. She informed me that she liked clothes that made her look skinny, and that she is skinny on her stomach, so sort of tight shirts were her favorite. Now hear me out: the child did not buy anything tight, tummy baring, or that I would deem inappropriate. I'm not one of the moms that thinks it's cute if her daughter wears adult fashions that you might see in a bar on Saturday night.

HELP ME OUT HERE!! How old were you when you noticed that a certain pair of pants made your booty look better, or a particular shirt made your waist look smaller? I don't remember much about my wardrobe when I was eight, but I'm pretty sure that I wasn't focusing on "my shape", but rather that my pants were zipped....

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.