Here I Am

When I was a kid, I wanted a life partner I could trust and someone whose love I was secure in....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted a nice house. Classy but liveable. Big but not ridiculous....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted children who enjoyed being at home, but who weren't afraid to be away from me....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted to have a successful career and be confident in my job....

Here I am.

When I was a kid, I never thought I would encounter ugliness and betrayal in my immediate circle....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted to have a story to tell....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I couldn't wait to be confident in who I was becoming....

Here I am.

When I was a kid, I didn't think emotional scars would be permanent....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I never thought my dreams would change....
Here I am.

I'm still waiting on a lot of things, but...
Here I am.

Here I am.

The Bloat

Webster defines it as expanding or swelling with or as with air or water. History knows it as the Burgeoning Layer Of Abdominal Tearing.

Men won't get this. Sure they get the occasional indigestion, remedied by an inner-fisted baby punch to the sternum area, but it's not The Bloat. Only other women understand the pain and discomfort that's associated with bowling ball weight between the naval and the pelvic bone. Hurts to sit, hurts to stand. And holding the stomach muscles tight in that ever slimming, shoulders back pose - not happening. It hurts too much.

And it's not even a week that I should be bloated.

Dajuanna Phillips

I really dislike selling, but it comes naturally. It's easy and I'm good at it - at least that's what I've been told. I'm a pro at reading a situation and slanting the outcome to work in my favor. I should have been a politician, but I'd probably dislike that even more than sales.

I think I acquired this skill in my junior high years out of pure necessity. There was this girl, Dajuanna Phillips. She was white and meaner than a damn snake. A bully if there ever was one. I don't know how many girls and guys she beat the crap out of. And I was on her list on more than one occasion. For what, I never knew. I just knew that I had to do whatever I needed to keep my ass safe.

She would have been a good kid really, but probably didn't have parental support or guidance in any area of her life. Her kid sister Angelique was destined to be just like her, creating a wake of fear throughout her high school years.

Despite being scared to death of Dajuanna, I kind of liked her. Well, respected her anyway. She didn't take any crap - even from the teachers. The first few times I was on her "ass-kicking" list, I avoided her and her groupies at all costs. If that meant walking outside the building to bypass "her" hallway, I'd freeze. If it meant not eating lunch that day so I wouldn't run into her in the cafeteria, I'd starve.

About the fourth round of possible beatings, I decided to approach the situation from a different angle. We were freshmen by this time and I knew that if I didn't eventually face her, my whole high school career would be jeopardized. I had no friends that were as strong as her and nobody that wasn't afraid of her.

I will never forget the moment. I can't tell you if it was winter or spring. I can't tell you the class I had before or after, but I remember where we were and what was said. It was right after gym class and we were standing by the East doors waiting for the dismissal bell. Dajuanna dared a couple of her buddies to leave early (punishable by after school detention). No one bit. Except me.

"I'll do it." I dared.

She looked at me with such disbelief that it fueled my fire. "If you dare to do it with me." I challenged.

Without another word, she grabbed my arm and we walked out of the gym. I could feel her looking at me so I glanced over and said, "that was cool," to which she responded, "yeah".

"Why?" she asked simply.

"Because I had to talk to you in private." I said.

Sarcastically, "So?"

I then began to tell her the whitest of white lies. I told her that there was this older girl (don't even remember her name) that wanted to beat me up and that I needed someone like herself on my side. The reality was that I only sensed that this other girl didn't like me, she never actually threatened me.

It didn't matter. From that day on Dajuanna was my protector, creating the illusion that I was to be feared as much as her. In fact, no one ever bothered me again in school. But I didn't use that to my advantage. I was nice to everyone.

And the selling skills were honed.

Surprise

Possibly thinking about maybe hopefully, potentially posting again.

The Selfish Blogger

It's official - I miss blogging. I miss my blog buddies and I miss the creative outlet. Big things are happening here. Life changing things. Things that might possibly sap even more of my time.
I've considered giving up on blogging altogether, but I'm not willing to do that just yet. The reason that I don't update my blog regularly is that any free time I have to devote to blogging, I feel like I need to visit my old pals and catch up and comment on their blogs. As a result, I just don't get online at all. But, I can't not blog. I'll just have to be selfish for a while and strictly post to my own blog without being a "part" of the blog community. Not that I don't care or that I'm not interested. I simply can't accomplish all I want to do.

Of course, in keeping with the definition of selfish, you can all still comment on my blog if you want. :) If not, I'll understand and hopefully, if certain endeavors come to fruition, I'll be able to return to a closer normal of blog regularity.

Secretary of State Triage

When did the State hire a triage dude for the DMV? Who created this job and for what purpose? Some guy directing one huge line of people to a series of smaller lines - to hand me a slip of paper telling me that I'm number 89 and to sit down while they call me momentarily? Any fool knows that it will be more than momentarily when the lighted sign glares number 63!

Usually, I do my plate renewals online so I don't have to go through this circus of America's most challenged, but for whatever reason, the website wasn't recognizing my PIN number. A window popped up with various reasons why it may not be recognized and it said, "if your name is Michelle, you'll have to go to your nearest branch for renewal".

As I'm waiting, I'm watching the unfriendly clerks at each of their posts. As soon as they finish with a customer, instead of hitting a magical button and calling the next number, they take their time reorganizing their area and then they disappear into the back for a few minutes. To do what exactly?

Maybe, just maybe, this should be the triage person's duty. To help the clerks with whatever it is that they do between customers so you can get in and get the hell out!

That's the Way I Roll

Okay, listen up! I'm gonna wake up at 7:22 every morning regardless of what time I went to bed the night before. Upon arising, I'll demand my first cup of "cogety milk" for the day. We'll forego any breakfast until I decide I'm hungry at which time I'll take an order of "faffles" or else you better be prepared to deal with a cranky toddler. You better make sure my cars are available to play with at all times and, oh yeah, Nemo should be playing on continuous loop throughout the day. Naps will be solely at my discretion. On the rare occassion that I do want to lay down, I better have some fuzz to pull or there will be no sleep for me and subsequently, you either. Bedtime will be when I collapse in sheer exhaustion and not before. I hope you're clear on all this, because that's the way I ROLL!

Midnight Rendevouz

About once every two weeks or so, Drew wakes up in the middle of the night. Either because his allergies have him stuffed up, or because I accidentally wake him up with the click of the light switch turning off his closet night light. Once he's awakened, he thinks he needs to get up.

People have told me to just let him cry it out and he'll learn to stay in bed, but I want him to know that he can come to me anytime, even during the night. After the heartache it took to conceive him and the odds we beat having him with us still, I have no problem bringing him into bed with me on occassion. In fact, I love it.

Laying next to me, his soft hand resting in mine, he has to have his right foot laying on my body somewhere. Around 4:00 am, after being kicked repeatedly in the boobs and elbowed in the nose a few times, I'm ready to take him back to his bed, but in the first hours when he is still and I can feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and smell his clean hair, there's no place I'd rather be.

Number on the Wall

A submission for The Scheherazade Project

Life happens like that. You close your eyes to blink and in that instant, your world changes forever. I wonder if destiny really exists for all of us or are the events of our life orchestrated by the choices of others? I wonder what would have become of me if I hadn’t made that call. So many questions that can’t be answered in this lifetime, but it doesn’t stop a mind from wonderin’.

I remember the day vividly. My clothes clung to my skinny body in an uncomfortable wet hug. We didn’t have a car, so we walked the four blocks to Chums Diner. I should have been at school, but mom wouldn’t wake up that morning - still doped up on whatever she was able to get her hands on the night before. I waited in the cold apartment listening to my stomach growl, praying that she would open her eyes.

Finally, Mom began to stir. I held out the medicine bottle, the one she always asked for when her head hurt, and hoped she wouldn’t throw it at me. I knew she didn’t want to be mad at me, it was just her headaches that made her angry she would say. But now she smiled and told me to get my coat.

Other mornings I had to run to keep up with her, but this morning, Mom held my hand as we jumped over the puddles on the way to Chums. She slumped into a booth when we got there and I sneaked off to the bathroom. I knew Charlie would have a plate of French toast waiting for me when I came out. Charlie always looked at me with sad eyes -- like he knew something I didn’t.

In the bathroom, I saw a poster that I hadn’t seen before. I couldn’t read very well, not even for an eight year old, but I could tell by the pictures that the people wanted to help out mom’s like mine. I memorized the phone number. I didn’t read so good, but I could remember things.

I was tired of missing school and having no clean underwear. I was sick of always having an empty belly and dirty hair. I hated sitting alone on the playground on the days I did make it to school. I imagined a life like Brittney Brenner, always in pretty dresses with matching tights, her mother, thin and beautiful, volunteering at school. I wanted that life for me too and I wanted my mom to give it to me. I planned to call that number from Charlie’s phone when Mom fell asleep in the booth like she always did.

After I ate and Mom smoked a few cigarettes, her eyes started to blink slowly. I went up to the counter and asked Charlie if I could use the phone. He looked at me the way adults look at kids when they’re up to no good, but he handed me his phone anyway. I talked to a nice lady who said she’d help us out and told me to stay at Chums until someone came for me. I was so excited. Finally, my mom could be the mom I always wanted her to be. I knew she loved me, she just didn’t really know how to take care of me like other moms. Probably cause she didn’t have a mom herself.

It seemed like a long time, but finally an older lady came into the restaurant with a couple of cops and looked at Charlie. Charlie nodded toward the table where we were and they walked over to us. One police man put his hand around Mom’s arm and she jerked so hard that her knees hit the table underneath. She looked around nervously and then got real mad. She started yelling and swearing and when the police man tried to put both arms around her, she started hitting him and yelling even louder. Pretty soon, they were putting her in the cop car and the nice lady was holding my hand telling me everything was going to be okay.

But everything wasn’t okay. I went to live in someone else’s home that night. It wasn’t a home like Brittney’s and it wasn’t a home like I’d dreamed about. I didn’t get to see Mom again, she killed herself with a bed sheet they told me and I grew up a stranger in someone else’s house. I hate my mother. I miss her.

Was this my destiny?

This Old Life

I've been meaning to post the final pictures of the Blogarita weekend, but I have like zero time to do anything these days. When I do have time, Blogger doesn't want to cooperate and let me upload photos, so that post will probably sit in my dashboard as a draft forever. Along with numerous other unfinished posts.

I think I have mono. It hasn't been confirmed by a doctor or anything, but I had it once ten years ago and I feel pretty much the same way. There's no mistaking the pain in my throat. It's not like a sore throat that accompanies a cold, but more like my tonsils are being ripped away from the tender lining of my throat each time I sneeze or even swallow.

Fortunately for me, I'm finally almost finished with my massive tile job. I only have to grout the backsplash now and I'm out of there. I still have to go back up north to put windows in and install siding, but I'm not sure how I'm going to work that into the schedule just yet.

Cheerleading is winding down with only one game left and not having to deal with outside maintenance now that it's fall has been a big time relief for me. As life goes though, stress never settles down in one area without it ramping up in another. I'm technically, unemployed now. The mortgage company that I work for is closing up shop so I have 30 days to close whatever I have in my pipeline, which is admittedly very little in comparison with last year.

I don't think I would have sought out a career change otherwise, but now I'm contemplating a new job altogether. I submitted a resume to a local newspaper company with a very good reference from someone on the "inside". It's a full time salary on a part time workload which is right up my ally. Not that I'm lazy or anything, I just need time for my other avenues of income. I've been waiting for a week to hear if I'll have an interview and the call finally came today. Sometime in the next two weeks, I'll be called in for the process.

Who wouldn't want to hire a "Highly motivated sales professional with extensive experience in marketing and operations management. Superior organizational, communication and administrative skills to ensure efficient customer satisfaction."???? You'd hire that person, wouldn't you?

Time will tell.

Blogaritaville - Day 2 (Part of it anyway)

We were up earlier than any soul should be for going to bed at 2:30, but nonetheless, once Drew was awake, we were too. With the exception of Nelly, we all looked like shit. Sorry guys, but it's true. Puffy eyes, pillow case lines etched in our faces and hair askew. It was about this time that I realized the convenience of my earlier labors. I had cooked and frozen our breakfast days before, so all I had to do was pop it in the oven and then hurry myself into the shower.

Clew brought stuff for Mimosas, so we started the day off right. The breakfast of champions!

After breakfast we were on our way to yet another scrapbook store, but this time to work on a Halloween project. Here is a picture of Nelly and Chesney intent on their pages.

I know it doesn't seem like we should be eating again already, but we were hungry when we got back from the store and it really did take longer than it seemed to in this post. Lunch was chicken alfredo with garlic bread sticks. Me bending over the open dishwasher in the background is a nice touch, dontcha think?

You'll remember this post by Clew last week. This is the package she was talking about. She had the company deliver it to my house on Saturday. It was my birthday present -- two Willow Tree figurines. One titled "Sisters By Heart" the other, "Heart and Soul". The idea is that we'll each keep one and whenever we see eachother we swap figurines. Cool huh? Thanks sis. I love em!

Then Martie came over so we took some more pictures.

Then we scrapped again until it was time for dinner. Wet burritos and Mexican rice and a tasty black bean and corn salsa dip from Clew and a kind of chili conqueso dip from Ches. Both very delish.

And beer! CHEERS!!!

And finally, this was the lovely (aka butt crack) cake Nelly made for my birthday. Instead of cutting it we ate it like any group of well mannered ladies would.

Then the drinking and shenanigans began, which are best saved for another post......

The Weekend - Blogarita Style

Day 1 ~

I had lots of surprises planned for the girls but Clew surprised me by arriving early on Thursday night. We spent the evening chatting and catching up and dozed off in the living room around 1 am. Chesneygirl and Nelly arrived the next morning around 10 where squealing and hugging ensued. After some chatting we went to see Martie and drop off Drew and our weekend commenced.

Nelly took this picture from the backseat. Apparently, I must have been excited to get where we were going because she caught me going 60 in a 35 mph zone. This must be where her fear of riding with me began. The rest of the weekend, I heard the following statements from the back seat: "Dude, don't hit those people." "Stop sign coming UP!" "Do you know where you're going?" "We're gonna crash!" Etc. You get the picture.

Finally, we were at our first stop. Atlanta Bread Company where we got soup, salad and sandwiches. I had given gifts to the girls with clues as to where we were going for lunch and when we finished at ABC, I gave them their second package with a new clue. Then we headed to Pages In Time, a mega scrapbooking store in my area so we could get supplies for the weekend and then we stopped at the mall.

The trunk doesn't look too bad for a shopping spree but consider that we only spent an hour at the mall. We decided together to forego the movie and just have dinner so we made the short trip to On The Border for mexican grub and margaritas.

Notice my big ol drink and further notice that Nelly is sipping on two! After we were full and a little tipsy, we started back to my house.....

....where we scrapped....

....and ate some more.

Clew brought some cool M&M's to surprise all of us. Look closely at the wording on the candy.

We crashed in the living room around 2:30 that night and woke somewhat refreshed for the next day. To be continued.....

Blogarita

You may or may not know that Clew, Chesneygirl and Nelly were at my house for three days this past weekend and I intend to write in depth about it. Later. I know Blogger and Monday morning picture uploads are not a good combination. So check back later for a riveting tale of adventure and silliness.

Just Like the Pioneers

We've been preparing for winter like little squirrels over here. Just like the first settlers rendered the fat and salted the pork, harvested and canned their vegetables and fruit and chopped and stock piled wood in preparation for the long, cold winters, we've been equally busy stashing away our winter forages too.

BEER!

We bottled over 30 gallons of beer this past weekend. Wheat, Oktoberfest, Brown Ale, Chai Tea Beer and Red Ale. OH! and we made 20 gallons of hard cider and five gallons of apple wine. We still have to make a couple Christmas beers too. Remember, this isn't all for our consumption. We do give it away as gifts and we have parties. I think we should open our own microbrew pub.

We also spent the weekend canning apples. We got all these apples (for only $20).....

and with the help of my good friend and neighbor.....

We turned them into this - applesauce and dessert apples for pies and such.....

(plus the five gallons of wine)

Paris for the Weekend

During the several weeks when I was gone, I spent a weekend in Paris and the rest of the time jet-setting in Bel Air. Sounds so worldly doesn't it? In reality I spent a weekend canoeing in a backwards little village in Paris, Michigan and rather jet skied in the little knock about town of Bellaire, Michigan where we lived for six weeks. I recorded many things in my journal that I thought I would eventually post about, and maybe I will someday, but not today.

One thing I wanted to do was mention Owen on the anniversary of his death. Somehow not memorializing him on his day was almost as sad as the events of that awful day, but I suppose for healing to occur, you have to let go of some of the pain. So thus, another year has gone and the wound stings a little less. I did find a nice stone and had his name sandblasted on it along with a picture of a lamb to place by the tree we planted in his memory.

Steve is now a senior in high school. The moms out there who have kids graduating or already finished with high school know what I mean when I say how fast the time went, but those with small children look at us and see Steve as an adult and never imagine their own child being that old. I even think that way of Drew while Steve is proof before my eyes that kids grow up so quickly. Steve's a great kid. We've had our share of attitude with him, but the more I observe other teenage boys, I realize how lucky we are. He's a lot of fun to hang out with.

Emily, a freshman now, has received another flattering offer. We were contacted recently by a representative from The People to People Ambassador Program inviting Emily to tour and study in Paris (the real Paris) and Italy for three weeks in 2007. We have a meeting in October, but I'm not certain if I'm going to allow her to go. I would much rather she be a junior or senior for this kind of trip, but I also don't want to rob her of this opportunity. I haven't made up my mind yet.

We received some disappointing information on Drew. The kidney surgery he had last year wasn't as successful as we'd hoped. There's been some improvement, but the stage they are still rating the damage at would require surgery initially in a patient, but he may no longer be a candidate. We're not certain what all this means long term, but more tests are scheduled in November which require sedation. Think of me on November 8. I hate taking him to the hospital.

Work has been crazy. Now that we're pretty much finished with the house up north (we have to go back to install siding) I'm back to ceramic tile. This has been the job that never ends. That's where I'm headed now, so have a grand day.

One Year

When you reach a certain age, it seems unlikely that you'll experience a major change in your self. I know a person never quits learning, but the biggest "coming of age" events usually happen sometime in the twenties.

Today's date marks one year since my very first post. When I first started posting, I was intimidated, nervous and self conscious. I never expected to be blogging a year later. Looking back through my posts, I can see how much I've grown over the last year. I kind of came into my own without really knowing it.

The self discovery at times was very painful and I grieved for certain things I had to leave behind in order to move forward. With encouragment and support from a handful of special bloggers, I've been able to arrive at a time in my life where I am excited about the future. There were a great number of years when I didn't have that excitement.

I'd like to personally thank each and every one of my readers - both the faithful that visit every day and those who no longer comment - for your support and patience, honesty and care. I look ahead with hope, excitement and new energy to another year in blogging.

Clear September Sky

Like every American, I remember the events of 9-11 vividly. The shock when a plane crashed into the first tower of the World Trade Center and stunned horror when the second plane hit and the world knew at once that this was no accident.

I grieved with the nation as we waited to hear of survivors. But I'm ashamed to say that I also felt cheated.

I felt cheated out of my own grief. Only a very short month before (to the date), we lost Owen. At that point in my life, I wasn't capable of hurting any more than I already did. And I was extremely upset that the rest of the world had moved on, seemingly without me.

When the events of that day pushed my heartache to the proverbial back burner, something inside me became numb. It didn't seem fair that just because my baby didn't die in a tragedy as great as 9-11 that his death should be forgotten. I felt almost as if people expected me to stop grieving my son and join in a collective grief for our country.

Looking back, I realize how silly that sounds, but in that state of bereavement when nothing makes sense, the feelings were very strong. Still though, on the eve of the anniversary of that fateful day, I feel the emotions pulling their tug of war. I grieve for all of the families who lost loved ones at the hands of terrorists and I grieve for what I lost as well.

The Ravages of Time

The Scheherazade Project: Theme - The Ravages of Time

Evidence proves that time takes everything new and beautiful and exciting and converts it to old and mishappen and dull.

A New Scheherazade Theme

The following is a submission for The Scheherazade Project. I've been working on it for a long time. In fact, it's not even for the latest theme, but I want to post it anyway because I've been thinking about it for weeks. It's apparent that I wrapped it up quickly, but I'm sick of it not being done. Also, because I haven't had internet access, I haven't been able to research as in depth as I've wanted. Other than that, please leave any criticism. I'm posting from Mad Hatter's as I still have no computer.

PS: I forgot to mention the theme for the project. We had to work the following statement into a story - "I guess he/she was just born that way."

THE GHANAIAN SUMMER

The year was 1964. Beatlemania had just been conceived and the nation was still reeling from the recent assassination of John F. Kennedy. The war was escalating in Vietnam and Martin Luther King won the Nobel Peace Prize, but I wasn’t wrapped up in any of it. Instead, I was weaving baskets in Bolgatanga, Ghana.

Earlier that year, my parents announced that we would be spending our summer in Western Africa on a mission trip. Though my sister and me wanted to raise our voices in unified protest, we were both smart enough to remain silent. That night, however, in the cool darkness of Beth’s room, we whispered our contempt.

Dad tried his best to engage us in the excitement he and mom shared, but we dug in our heels. When he eagerly told us that it wasn’t customary to eat with or offer anything with our left hand in Africa, Beth quietly raised the middle finger of her left hand behind dad’s back. I smiled thinking of the secret giggles we shared, but the memory evaporated instantly with the moaning from the sick girl inside.

We had been in Bolgatanga for almost two months already and were having the time of our lives. While our parents were busy setting up the school, me and Beth spent our days weaving baskets with our group and sharing stories of America with our new friends.

That fateful day seemed hotter than normal and the biting flies seemed determined to leave our bodies peppered with welts. We slapped at them as we walked along the edge of the razor sharp elephant grass. I asked Neeway what had happened to Siatta’s fingers. Every day during basket time, I watched Siatta work. I couldn’t help staring at the knobby bumps where her fingers should have been and the pink skin stretched and shiny around her black hand.

Neeway paused as if remembering, “I dunno. I guess she be born dat way.”

Then the awful scream, reverberating through the heavy air and piercing my ears painfully. It took only seconds to react and I rushed to Neeway who was now laying in a crumpled ball, whimpering. I saw blood dripping from her leg a second before I saw the green snake coiled at the edge of the grass. My mind raced - Should I try to move Neeway or would any sudden movement cause the snake to lash out again? What kind of snake is it? Is it poisonous? How long do I have to get help. Run. Run and get help.

Now, days later, Neeway lay in a straw bed, feverish and unconscious save the occasional groaning. The Tindaana of the village had been engaged in prayer for the past three hours after the doctor told the family that this day would be critical. Members from the Gruhi tribe as well as surrounding tribes came in constant procession to make offerings and pray for the sick girl.

The calmness in my mother’s voice belied the fear in her eyes as she coaxed Neeway’s mother to eat some Waache, “You’ll need your strength Yamah. Your daughter will want you when she awakes. Eat.”

All day this went on. Yamah’s heartbreaking sobs, mom comforting, dad pacing and me praying that my friend would be okay. I dozed off to the hypnotic chanting of the Tindaana and was awakened to a flurry of movement and excited cries. “She’s awake Yamah, come quickly,” the doctor called.

It seemed hours before anyone emerged from the little hut again, but when Yamah and the doctor reappeared in the doorway, it was apparent they were very upset. Neeway had woke only to speak to her mother before closing her eyes permanently.

We stayed in Bolgatanga for another week to attend the Damba, the festival of thanksgiving, dedication and reunion. The entire tribe was there to celebrate the passing of Neeway from this life unto the next. I was sad. I didn’t understand the celebration while I was there, but over the years I grew to appreciate the value of life and to realize that death is just the beginning.

Temporary Hiatus

Due to severe computer problems, I've been very much unable to blog or even return emails appropriately. I've been making the rounds through my neighborhood begging for computer time, but I never feel like I should be on very long.

This temporary outage should last for another week or two and then I'll be back full force to regale you with wonderful stories of my summer. Hope everyone is well.