I wish I had something really smart to say about all this.  I got nothin’.  It’s been around 6 months since I’ve written anything on this blog, mostly because I forgot about it.  Today I remembered, wishing I had someone to talk at, that would just listen and nod in agreement.  Here we are, you and I, go ahead and nod away.

Many endings and changes since December: my relationship ending, kids moving out,  sanity gone.  Not much would ever surprise me , or so I thought.  Then I found a cyst and my right ovary, had it removed in April.   Doctors determined it was ovarian cancer, stage 1.  I’ll be going back in two weeks from today to have all the rest taken out, including my appendix.  Then chemo for a bit. I’ll be in menopause and require HRT.

It’s an odd thing, having cancer.  It’s exactly what you think it would be like – full of denial, resistance, disbelief and all that, and I don’t have anything major, really.  Just need to do a clean sweep and I should be okay…fingers crossed.  It makes you ask a lot of existential questions; tease the unimportant from the truly valuable, and examine what control you do or don’t have.  It’s exhausting.  And enlightening.  I’ve decided I really want to be happy.  I REALLY WANT TO BE HAPPY!  Did you hear me?  And I’m not.  I don’t think I ever have been.  Most of what I do, most of the time, is not making me happy.  I know all the bull shit about choices, and focus and gratitude – I’m a fucking therapist for Christ’s sake.  But really, it takes doing something different, not just changing your self talk.  That’s where I am now, anyway.  I’m sure it will change.  My intent is to write about it for a while and see where I go.

Two weeks and counting…

What I Do Not Do Well:

  • Shut up
  • Hide my true feelings
  • Keep it down
  • Consistency
  • Improve
  • Change
  • Love my kids
  • Warm, comfy feelings toward others
  • Not retaliate
  • Share
  • Lie
  • Bull shit because I should
  • Passivity
  • Work hard at something I believe to be a waste
  • Stay up late
  • Baby people
  • Show love
  • Accept what I cannot understand
  • Living for someone else
  • Grow rosemary

Still there, again.

During my session with my therapist last night, it was pointed out to me that I had mentioned “being in the woods” at least three times, and that perhaps I should go to the woods sometime.  When he said that I almost started crying immediately.  I remembered that when I was a kid, just a random aged kid, I would have episodes of being depressed, numb, depressed and overwhelmed and alone much like I have recently.  My solution was to go way out in the woods to one of two spots with a moss covered tree or hill under a tree, and sit and cry for a couple hours until I couldn’t do either anymore.  Then I gave up the drama and went home, acting like nothing happened.  I’m assuming this was helpful, though here I am again, feeling the same way and apparently needing the same thing.  I can’t figure out what it is about walking into the safe thickness of a covered woods, heavy with leaves, earthy and damp, draped with bright green moss that cures me, at least momentarily.



I think I’ll go today when I get home.  I’ll find a large, cool rock resting on the edge of a creek and sit.  Quietly.  Alone. I’ll probably cry, though I’m not entirely sure why.  With a lot of luck I’ll find some mushrooms for dinner.

Things I’ve Noticed Today…

  • Thick lotion is almost impossible to get out of a bottle.
  • I’ve gained a few pounds.
  • I will lose hair everyday, all day, forever, but it will mostly be found on the bathroom floor when my feet are wet.
  • I hate my clothes.
  • My boyfriend takes up most the bed and for some reason that doesn’t bother me in the least.
  • My neck hurts.
  • I don’t like most HR people, they’re bubbly.
  • I don’t like most people, they’re bubbly.
  • My mom pisses me off.
  • My mom will likely never be able to critically think about anything, least of all me.
  • Other people agree with me, unless of course they’re lying.
  • My neck hurts.
  • Little food has many calories.
  • I’m not like most people I know.
  • I don’t like my job right now.
  • Calluses make you stronger.
  • Chewing gum loses its flavour in about 20 minutes.

Liebster Blog Award!


I am so surprised and honored that I was nominated for a Liebster award today from a like-minded mamma – extrememom.net – how exciting!  The rules for this one state that you answer the 11 questions asked of you by the Blogger who gave you this award. Then you pick blogs you want to nominate (under 200 followers) and ask them your own 11 questions.  These would be Extrememom’s ’ questions for me.

I really appreciate your nomination – Thank you very much!!!

The questions for me were: 

1. If you had to be an Old Maid card, which one would it be? (make something up, like…  Valerie Vodka or Shopaholic Shannon)

Macabre Mommy – ha – just the first thing that came to mind.

2. What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done? Just ONE please.

Wow, just one?  I suppose overall, just not trusted my intuition. 

3. If you could live anywhere on earth, where would it be?

I can’t say one place because I haven’t been to enough.  I suppose it would be somewhere north-west with mountains and ocean.  Mmmmmm…

4. What was your favorite childhood toy?

I had about 20 matchbox cars that I played with – they were actually people – named and all, not cars with people in them.  I played with them for hours, creating my own soap opera of sorts.  

5. Are you a dog or cat person? DOG!!!

6. If you could spend the day with any celebrity, who would it be? Why?

Audrey Hepburn – mostly because she’s dead and I’m really curious about that experience.  Plus she’s cool.  

7. What three words best describe your blog?

Honest. Raw. Authentic. 

8. Name something currently on your ‘bucket list’.

I don’t have a bucket list, but I want to be able to learn acceptance and letting go well enough to actually be able to do it.  

9. Who’s your favorite author?

Right now, Gillian Flynn

10. Describe your strangest dream.

Repeatedly being killed by my aunt’s ex husband – and the dream was in red. 

11.  An interesting fact about you…

I love goats?  I’m really not interesting at all.  

And I nominate the following 5 (because I don’t have time to find more that I love, these are the 5 under 200 that I love) – please note if you have more than 200 followers this is not meant as an insult, only my mistake.

1) The Diary of Dave Cameron http://thediaryofdavidcameron.wordpress.com/

2) Wine and Cheese  http://wineandcheesedoodles.wordpress.com/

3) Why is She so Stroppy  http://whyishersostroppy.wordpress.com/

4) Cold  http://victoriadougherty.wordpress.com/

5) Mother Outlaw  http://motheroutlaw.wordpress.com/

6) Vultures and Butterflies  http://vulturesandbutterflies.wordpress.com/

7)  Candid Coma  http://candidcoma.wordpress.com/

8) Finding Amy http://findingamymarsden.wordpress.com/

AND Your Questions Are (answer long or short, one word or fifty, I don’t care)…

1)What was the last thing you said?

2) What are you doing after 5pm today?

3) What would you do for a profession (anything)  if you knew you would succeed?

4) Favorite quote?

5) Do you search forever to find a close parking spot or just park and walk?

6) What’s you’re remedy for cleaning your stove top?

6) How do you deal with anger?

7) Have you ever had shark?

8) Organic or who cares?

9) What is your primary responsibility?

10) What’s one thing you want to know about me (not that I’ll answer)?

11) If you believe in a “higher power”, how do you define it and/or what do you call it?


It’s Definitely Not Sunday Again

Monday morning starts off with my alarm working perfectly.  Apparently I am not.  Never heard a sound from 5:45 am when the alarm began it’s attempts to arouse me, until I actually woke up (primarily because it was so damn bright in my bedroom) at 8:30 am.

As I rush around to make coffee and gather my wits, my non-working or going to school 17 year old, (who will be working by Tuesday, AND enrolled in an online program or she’ll be lacking a house and food) strolls out of her room in a perky mood, looking beautiful and well refreshed, asking if she may have some coffee while humming a tune.  Why does this make me hate her more than I already do?  One can infer, I have my own reasons.

Now it’s 11:45 am and I’m still attempting to ingest enough coffee to lose the puffy eyes and co-workers are microwaving their lunch, making the whole place smell like food – yuck!  Half my day is missing and I’m trying to catch the hell up.  And write about it.  Because writing about it helps.  And takes up more time.  And I work better under pressure.

Crooked Starts


Its mid October, 1995 and we are driving to the hospital at 7 in the morning for the scheduled induced delivery of our twins.  I’m 16 and my boyfriend is 18. Orange and red leaves pepper the view as we drive on a single lane highway toward the hospital, thinking we should really reschedule.  I wasn’t exactly in the mood to be a mother today.  Tomorrow or next week would be better, just not today.  The reality began to hit.  I couldn’t figure it out; why it had taken this long (37 weeks to be exact) to realize what was about to happen could not be undone.   How leaves could fall and look just like they had every other year when everything in my whole world was unfamiliar? I say none of this to my boyfriend, as we sit in silence, each trying to swallow our own pill and somewhat forgetting about the other, something that would continue for years to come.

This whole debacle had started a little less than 9 months ago, though which time exactly I cannot be sure.  Was it in the living room floor at my dad’s house that night we stayed up late and dad was snoring heavily from his bedroom upstairs?  Or maybe it was in his brothers truck parked in the driveway after I finished babysitting for my friends’ kids.  Had I been drunk or sober? There were really too many possibilities to narrow down the moment of conception and really what did it matter.  I was pregnant, of that there was no mistaking.

As we drove I kept having flashbacks to key moments that I wished I could change.  First was the day I realized I had missed two days of birth control pills while standing in the grocery store parking lot talking to my boyfriend while he was on a break from work. Strike one.  Second was the morning I was sitting on the toilet at my dads house remembering a dream I’d just had that I was pregnant with a boy. That was the first time I actually knew, less because of the dream and more because I felt it in my bones.  Third was later that same day with my best friend, Kim.  We had been driving on back gravel roads after school smoking a joint and blaring the radio for a couple hours before I got the courage up to mention that I wanted to buy a pregnancy test.  She almost wrecked.  I explained I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t, you know, to ease my mind.  We decided to drive to the next town over to get the test, as we knew to many people in the  tiny town and someone would almost certainly recognize us and spread the word that one or both of us was a slutty whore.  CVS had a special on Clear-blue that day; buy one get one free.  Ironic.  We drove back to our small town teenage arcade/pizza place hangout and I took the tests in the bathroom, holding up everyone’s peeing very discreetly.  Both were positive.  We sat in her Chevy Blazer in the parking lot staring out the window for a while.  Some random faceless friend came up to the passenger side and asked me for a smoke.  I gave him my whole pack of Winston Lights, stating I wouldn’t be smoking anymore.  I suppose that said a lot, but I missed it at the time.

Weeks escaped as I came to numerous temporary conclusions.  First was the abortion I was going to have with Kim’s money in a nearby state whose laws allowed such a procedure without parental consent.  After scheduling it I no-showed; instincts kicking in telling me it was a waste of gas and time because I would never go through with it.  Then adoption.  I had a close friend who enthusiastically explained her parents knew a couple that were looking to adopt and would be thrilled.  I suddenly felt like the human equivalent of a puppy mill, wondering briefly if I could make some money out of the deal before pooh-poohing that because I knew I couldn’t live in the same town as my kid without it being my kid; even I had a line.   At this point the lovely assortment of choices were dwindling.

To say it was difficult telling my parents would be the equivalent of saying it was challenging to chew off my own leg.  My parents were divorced so I started with the non custodial version, my mom.  She was depressed after their recent divorce and our long and tumultuous falling out, and so was eager to have a revised reason for living.  “You’re going to keep it and we’ll raise it and it will be wonderful” she said.  Or some such bullshit.  She might as well have said “I am so lonely and uninteresting I’d rather sacrifice you and raise my grandchild than continue on in my meager existence”.  My dad was the scarily quiet version of angry.  He calmly mentioned that technically what “we had done” was statutory rape and he was considering pressing charges against my boyfriend.  Ultimately he had no control, which I’m fairly sure he knew at the time but was enjoying the look on our faces while considering what the requirements of “grandpa” meant for him.

Forward one month and I’m laying on a hospital bed with my now tightly fitting jeans pulled down mid thigh having an ultrasound to determine approximate gestation.  Shortly after placing the device on my lubed stomach, the tech inhaled in surprise.  I asked what was wrong, imagining an alien or two headed monkey I would have to parade in public.  She immediately left the room asking in passing if I minded that she brought in interns to view the procedure.  I hadn’t even responded by the time she returned with 5 curious lab coats ogling at the monitor.  “And this…”, she said while I held my breath, “is what fraternal twins look like in an ultrasound”.

My reaction now would be different.  Then I was excited, thinking how unique and original this was.  I called all the usual important people and explained what a miraculous thing my body had done.  I remember being concerned that everyone’s reaction was somewhat confused.  Did this mean I too should be confused?  Yes, it did, but I was not; I was entertained.  The next several months involved morning sickness, trying to retain my adolescent friendships, worry, and arguments with my lying drunk boyfriend and fear.  I was more alone with child (ren) than I could have ever imagined possible.  I never considered the future beyond buying enough diapers.  My brain did not have the capacity.  Apparently neither did anyone else’s.

Eight months and some days later I was laying in a hospital bed, gowned and ready to go.  After the doctor pierced my water sack labor started.  Shortly before I received an epidural to numb me from the waist down, my dream come true.  I had heard that after a certain level of dilation the procedure would not be possible. The only hitch was that by the time I needed to push for delivery it had worn off.  The nurses assured me it would be fine and that by the way there was nothing they could do as the babies were coming.  Somewhere in the middle of the 8 hours of pushing, my boyfriend suggested I should just push harder, as it obviously wasn’t working and he was hungry and tired.  This should have been clue number 4011 that he less than ideal.   It was, but I was more or less tied down and couldn’t appropriately respond.

Everything came out alright.  More or less.  Both babies were healthy and fairly happy.  I was exhausted and scared and felt like I was in a parallel universe in which there was no escape button.  Becoming a parent for the first time is not adequately described in words.  The love is crazy and makes no sense.  All of the sudden you feel willing to do anything to alleviate pain for a stranger, or in my case two.  Anything.  Every known “normal” in your world becomes new viewed through the filter of parenthood.  It all changes permanently and completely.  You now live in a different place.  One where you are not the most important person in your life anymore.  I both resented it and succumbed to it helplessly.

The drive home from the hospital was eternally different than the drive there.  I rode in the back sitting between two tiny car seats to ensure both 5lb babies heads didn’t wobble too much, potentially causing permanent damage and embarrassment.  The awareness of what could happen and my responsibility of keeping it from happening to them was like an albatross chained around my neck, its weight sitting heavily on my chest making it hard to get a full breath.  Somehow I didn’t notice the trees or leaves on that drive.  All I could see was what was in front of me inside the maroon Grand Am.

Yarn Balls

yarn balls

It’s a new freaking year, now what.  There’s a lot of theoretical pressure surrounding a New Year.  Resolutions and such.  I usually say I won’t make a bullshit resolution and secretly do, though not saying it out loud means it’s not bound by any real expectations or hopes.  If I were to resolve myself to do something, anything, this year it would be to become good at something…other than failing.  Like knitting.  I tried to start last night but after winding the yarn ball too tight I realized it was doomed.  My first three attempts at casting on were too tight and I gave up by throwing the needles.  Of course my completely talented and handsome boyfriend was better at it than me.  Ironically, I’m trying to knit a scarf for him.  Today I will try again.  Alone.  Tight ass yarn balls and all.  New Year’s day with the dog, yarn balls in a tea cup (so they don’t roll around and tempt said dog), no kids or family and warm feet.  Nice.  If only I could enjoy it.  I’m anxious and untalented.  I suppose there are worse things.  I’ll keep plugging along, if for no other reason than to just see what happens.  My poor boyfriend.