Deepest Thanks and Clarifications

I cannot even begin to express my love and gratitude to all of you who left comments on my post from yesterday.

Each of you wrapped yourselves around me and loved me compassionately, no judgment--without even knowing me.

What a beautiful thing that was to experience.
Tears were flooding my face as I read your words, and peace was filling my heart.
ThankyouThankyouThankyou.

This blogging community that I have found myself in?

Overflowing with gorgeously kind and supportive people.

I give my love to you all.

But I also need to apologize.
 Some of my post was not clear.


My shame does not come from being raped...
Sadly, that time was not the first, just the most heinous.
The one I could not deny as rape.
The first one I spoke aloud.

I am not ashamed of what was done to me. 
No victim should be, but so often we are.

I almost let it kill me, but I made it out.
I am a survivor. 
I am proud of that.

I would be lying though if I tried to say that I got to that place WITHOUT some intensive therapy, and I would also be remiss if I did not admit that sometimes--

There are still trickles of shame.

Even though I KNOW:
It was not my fault.
I could not fight back-drugging takes away choice, funny that...
And 3 grown men against one 5'3 woman with Cerebral Palsy?
Not so much a fair fight.
Or very human, for that matter.

I know that NOW, and I am not ashamed of being a survivor. 

But despite what I "know" there are still moments....
Even while writing this post, I found myself shocked at the familiar wash of shame that came over me.

Our intellectual minds and emotional minds do not always meet where they should.
Sigh.

But those past tinges of shame were not what I was referring to in that last post.

I am ashamed of myself for not reporting the rape.
For not seeking justice.
For sticking my head in the sand.
For letting three grown men violate me and walk away without any consequences.

Worse still?

Knowing that I never will.

I know that there are survivors who fought within an inch of their lives to seek justice.
Exposed themselves.
Faced judgment and further violation, for the sake of taking a stand.

I took no such stand.
I don't think I could have survived it.
I am in awe of you who did, who are.

I am sorry I could not. 
It truly does shame me, but I hope those reading can understand.

You all have my apologies, my love and my gratitude.
With your words have been salve on a very deep and slow-healing wound.

Thank you. So very much.
You've given me such a beautiful gift on my birthday...
Acceptance.

What I Don't Want to Admit.

 This post is in response to a question I asked my friend over at Hasta Claridad.

She asked me to answer in kind.

Here is that answer.

It is not a pretty one--

I was so happy that he was home.

That he was safe and alive.

We had never been “official”

Instead, off and on, almost but not *quite* since we were kids…

We hadn’t seen each other in 3 years, but my heart was still in my stomach.

I was afraid he wouldn’t feel like I did and I would look like an idiot.

                           

I walked through the door and we locked eyes.

That feeling was still there.

Thrilling, but terrifying all the same.

He was only home for a little over a week.

Then he would be stationed somewhere else and out of my life again.

I was determined to keep the week simple.

Why make things messy and break my own heart?

Sigh.

We pretty much stayed glued to one another.

There was closeness and kissing, but no more.

There never had been.

We always stopped short of crossing that line.

Such a messy line it could be…

We made plans to go out with his friends.

Some drinking, some pool, some fun.

I just wanted to have some more time.

We ended up getting into an argument.

I thought he was drinking too much.

He could do that.

Not my fucking wife, he said…

Those words stung. 

So much left undone/unsaid between us.

I went and sat outside smoking, and cursing myself for getting attached.

His friend came out to talk to me…

It’s not that he doesn’t want you, you know.  He loves you, but it’s complicated.

Isn’t it always?

He comes out to apologize.

You’re my family, he says.

I love you, he says.

It’s MY job to protect YOU, he says…

I will fix this, and give you what you deserve, someday,

But I can’t now.

I know it’s true.

I get the feeling it always will be.

I want to go home, but he convinces me to stay.

To go with him and his friends to a house party.

I don’t want to go, but he looks at me with those eyes of his, and I relent.

I remember being bored and angry.

I remember just wanting to go home, but knowing it was not safe to walk alone.

Ironic.

I remember someone offering me a beer.

Then things start to go fuzzy and black out from there.

They said they were going to drop us off.

He was too drunk to drive.

Obviously.

Strangely fuzzy and disconnected as I was feeling, even I knew that.

I remember climbing into the back of the van.

I did not feel right.

It was me and him and two of his buddies.

It did not feel right.

I just wanted to go home.

I remember blackness

I remember mocking laughter

And flashes of pain.

I know that he was there.

And so were his friends.

That is all.

Bits and pieces of out-of-focus horror swallowed by black.

The rest of the story was pieced together via bruises and blood as I screamed in the shower the next morning.

And by blood streaming and a baby leaving several months after.

I should have stood up for myself. 

I should have fought for myself.
I should have sought justice.

But I didn’t.

I retreated instead.

I just didn’t have the strength then. 

Honestly, I don’t now.

So many lines blurred.

So many times abused 

So many pleas disbelieved.

So many words.

So many lies.

So many questions I could not answer.

So many things I don’t remember.

So much I want to still forget.

And for that, I am ashamed.

To all of you who have fought, I apologize for my cowardice.

I wish I could promise you bravery...

But I cannot.

I am more ashamed of myself then anyone could ever be.

That, I can promise.

I hope someday, I can be forgiven.

I can't ever forget.

No Dice. As Per The Usual.

I didn't get the job.

While I knew that was probably going to be the case, I was trying to remain positive.

[And we all know how I feel about optimism....]

They didn't even offer to keep my resume on file or promise to keep me in mind for future openings.

The email basically said:

Thanks, but no thanks.  We hired someone more qualified than you.  Good luck with your job search.

Again, I wasn't surprised, but I was still crushed.

I WANTED that job.
Despite my initial nervousness about working full-time again, I knew that I would be good at it.
Being able to get back into the writing world (even in such a small way) would have been...well, never mind.

More than WANT, this job was a NEED.

We needed this job.
We need a break.
We keep trying to make forward progress and it's always 1 step forward, 3 back...

We are chained to money...or lack thereof...

I feel like that's an all-too-familiar refrain in our lives.

You have my sympathies, if it is for you as well.

Sigh.....

Fuck.

Not eloquent or pretty, but all I can say....

I'm in a Pickle!

I have a problem.

It's kinda outta control.

An addiction I'm ashamed of.

Purses.
I have spent so much on Target purses, it's obscene...
Now, that my MIL has introduced me into the seedy underbelly that is COACH? Ay Dios.

And now?

Baby Bags.

I am always on the hunt.
I don't need any more purses, nor do I need another baby bag....
Still?
I cruise...looking for a possible fix....  

The other day, I was at the mall walking around, and I saw it:

THIS.

Howcuteisthatfrikkenbag???

I had a 10% off coupon to the store it was displayed in, so I skipped into the store....

A Hundred and Twenty bucks?!!

That's a no. 10% off or not!

But I remembered the brand name so that perhaps I could find it on sale somewhere....

Petunia Pickle Bottom  Adorable, right?
 I had never heard of it, but what do I know?
Not much, it seems.
This brand is all kinds of hawtntrendys.

Sale? HA.

This was not a clearance rack-type product....
Damn.

But, because of my struggle....

I found myself looking at it wistfully.
Perusing the entire site.
Checking Amazon.
I know I can't buy.
Yet?
Look, click, Drrooolll.

It gets worse:

This bag has been crooning its wicked siren-song in my head all day....
because as much as I love bags?

I Luuuurrrrrrrrvvvvvve BIG bags.

Have you ever seen The Breakfast Club? Of COURSE you have.
Ally Sheedy's character?
The one who carries her whole life around in her purse?

That's me.

Now that I also have a child whose life I need to carry around as well?

I need a whole lotta bag.

Shut it.
I do so neeeeed it.

Need Need Needy NeedNEED!

Sigh.

I told you it was a problem....











(I wish I'd known about this when I made the LIST.)

First and Lasting Fools

Went to bed last night thinking of my father.

This happens occasionally...
and I get wrapped up in memories I don't actually have.

I do not know my father.
I have never seen his face.
I have never heard his voice.
He exists in the world, but not to me.

My mother married my first stepfather when I was a year old or so...
Before I was four, he was gone.

I remember flashes of him.
I have seen his face
I remember feeling loved.
But I cannot hear his voice anymore.

I thought he was my biological father until I was 18....

My mother met my second stepfather almost immediately after.
They got pregnant with my sister when I was five.
He was to be my new Daddy.

He didn't want to be my Daddy, I could tell.
But as a kid hungry for love, for normalcy?
I dove in.

Hi Daddy!

 A tenuous bond....
A daughter who was not really a daughter and a father who was not really a father...
yet.

When my sister was born (and shortly following, my brother), it was clear that I wasn't needed anymore.
 Not a judgment or a whine, simply a fact...

I found myself fatherless again.
It felt familiar, but watching it play out so differently for other children, ones of my flesh and blood, was hard.

I did not feel jealous or angry...
just less.

I would often wish that my father would come rescue me...

He was MY father, after all.

Except he wasn't.

When I was 18, I needed my Birth Certificate.
My mother claimed that she didn't have mine-- "lost..."
So I went to County Records-- got my own damn copy.

As I looked it over, I noticed that my father's name was not on it.
Someone else's name was listed there...
Ummm, what the fuck?

My mother's version of the story is as follows:

She let me believe that her first husband was my father because it was "easier."
I would never have to know the truth....

Ummm, really? Poor planning on her part, then.

Anyway-
He was much older

They fell in love...or she did at least...

She got pregnant

When confronted with the news, he denied her, and told her he was engaged.
She was nothing to him and he wanted nothing to do with her or her baby...

She called him when I was born...
I was not supposed to live.
She wanted to give him the chance to see me...

He never came.

When I was about 9 months old, my mother ran into his fiancee....

This woman knew who my mother was, and strangely, she knew me...

Apparently, I looked JUST like my father.

The only detail that my mother would ever give me was his name.
First and Last.
I never even carried his name.
I carried hers.

I wanted to find him.
See him.
Hear him.
I did not want to love him, or for him to love me.
There would be no diving in.

No "Hi Daddys"

I just wanted the other half of the picture that was me.

But I couldn't find him.
First and Last was not enough.

Five years ago?
My mother was at a bar with friends.
He was there.
He did not recognize her.
She said nothing.

I know he lives in my state, probably even my county.
I know his name.
First and Last.
 

I gave up searching for him a long time ago.
He is a man on his path, and I am a woman on mine.

There is guilt because my son does not have the whole picture.

I am used to messy.
I am used to not being whole.

But that is not what I want for my son.

So I find myself thinking of my father.
Of the face that is mine, but I wouldn't recognize on the street.

I think of the siblings I will never know or love.

I think of the histories and dynamics that I will never be a part of.

Longing for that half that I will never be able to share with the child that is half of me...

I find myself angry for even thinking of it at all.

It seems foolish.

He is not my father, he is just a man.
Who happens to look like me.

I am not his daughter, I am just me.
Who happens to look like him.

It's foolish, right?

Until I think of my son.
Of the two halves that came together to make him.
To create his name.
First and Last.
I see a face that has pieces of mine, therefore pieces of his.
How beautiful that face is.

And I forgive my foolishness.
But not His.






[This post was written for the Red Dress Club, as part of their RemembeRED prompt...Unfortunately, I won't be linking it because I couldn't come in under the word limit. Always running my mouth for too long! HA!]

Mice and Men and All That Rot...

I had an interview today...my first in a very long time.

A job I really wanted, thought I could do really well in, and that would be all-miraculous for us financially...

Hooray! Silver linings and lights at the end of tunnels! 

I feel like the interview TUH-AAANKED.

I was prepared.  I researched.  I made helpful notes for myself...

First question out of the shoot went bad-
and it was all downhill from there.

I'm fairly disgusted with myself.  
I should have trusted my gut and I didn't.

Maybe it was better than I thought....

Fuck, I hope so.

A legitimate Work-from-Home job?

I spotted a Unicorn, People!
I don't want it disappearing into the mists of impossibility again!

Sigh.


If I drank, I would need one right about now...

Eh.

I need to be a grown up about this and move forward with a positive attitude.







Hey, I think there's Milanos in the pantry!

What?
Emotional eating?
ME?

 Please.
Someone as self-aware and professional as I, would never self-soothe with cookies....

There's also Cheezits.

This Does NOT Have to Involve Matching Corduroy Jumpers, Promise.

Home-schooling.

A term, an, idea, a movement, that inspires either dread and judgment, or excitement and inspiration....
There usually isn't much of a lukewarm sentiment.
Hot or NOT, seems to be the general rule...

I have not fully-formed my stance, but I do think that I will be doing some HS-type stuff with O during his preschool years...

Why?

Education starts at home, people.

We are the ones who are supposed to be our children's greatest teachers, but also?

Preschool is OUTTA-CONTROL expensive.

It literally took.my.breath.away. 
Granted, I live in South County, and everything here is ridiculous--as ridiculous seems to be a way of life, but whoa.

I know that education is important, and that good educators are worth their weight in gold, but I ain't got that kind of scratch!

Which brings me to the point of this post:

A friend of mine is just beginning to HS her PreK-ers and has started a blog to document her descent into madness...I mean, her educational journey, ahem.

She would love to share it with any other moms who want to/are doing the same thing and is hoping for an exchange of ideas, feedback, and obviously, support!

Hop on over to her schoolhouse, and give her some lovin', tips, sage words of homeschooly wisdom, and the like...

I think what she is doing is awesome and brave, and I can't wait to set up some activities for O!

Oh!  Before I forget!

Another Lovely Mama I know has made the decision to HS, and I'm sure would adore some lovin' and feedback  as well!  Stop by Rachel's house too!

Home-schooling may not be for everyone, but we all need to support each other, right?

RIGHT.
I get a little uppity about supporting my fellow mamas, okay?

Okay.  I'm glad we had this talk.

Lured and caught...Again.

I am not good with mornings.

It takes me a while to get adjusted.
To focus.
To calm.
To breathe.
To begin again.

A daily struggle to get out of bed.

For many reasons.

I lure myself out with visions of my son's face. The feeling of my husband's arms wrapped around me.

Last night I went to bed feeling really sad and guilty.
For many reasons.

This morning I woke up happy from dreams of a future I wish to have....

Such a rarity, good dreams...
(I never trust the nice ones)


But I am feeling good today, so rare or not, I'll take it!

Until I see the blood.

 I am kicked in the gut.


I know that we can't have another baby right now.
That's why I take Birth Control....you know, for that whole "controlled" part.


So why am I crying over a run-of-the-mill period?

For Many Reasons.






--Guys, if you didn't check out yesterday's post? Please Do!!!
Send this poor family some love, and donate if you can!
Thanks.

I cannot fathom. I do not want to.

How do you get back up, after losing a child?
How do you re-enter life?

I have lost before, and it was crushing.  It has lingered and stayed with me.

But this?*

{She is gone from this world, now.
Her parents but her to bed last night, singing lullabies and giving kisses they knew would be their last.}


I cannot comprehend.


I am sobbing for that family.   
Heartbroken.
For her parents.
For a life cut so short.
For my own fears and worst nightmares, that came true for someone else.

How will they survive this?

I don't think I could.


Peace and Joy for you, Sweet Girl. I hope that is what you have found.
Love and Comfort and Strength, to all who knew her, loved her.  I hope that is what you have.

My thoughts, my love--with you all.












*I got to know Maddie's story through a good friend of mine.  She is good friends with the parents.  I wish I could hug her AND them today.

Get Out of My Belly and into My Car?

I've talked about my pregnancy at length here....in these pages.

It's why I started this foolishness.

I wanted to document what I hoped would be my third, but FIRST actual full-term pregnancy.

Pregnancy was not easy for me.
I was violently nauseous for the first 4-5 months...
I had UTIs the entire time and had to be on antibiotics.
My Cerebral Palsy'd body was not equipped to handle the stretching of ligaments and realignment that comes along with carrying a baby...

I had to use a wheelchair.
There was so much pain....
and swelling.
And more PAIN.

Then my amniotic sac sprung a leak...
Yeah. THAT was awesome.  By awesome? I mean utterly terrifying.
Would we ever fucking make it?

I was not so sure.

But I wanted this child more than....I didn't think I could have handled another loss....

We finally arrived at the home stretch.


Despite my visions of Doulas, and soft lighting, and music, and natural birth, I was told that a Cesarean was my safest option.

In the beginning?  I was heartbroken.
By week 38?

GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME NOW!
I miss sushi! I miss walking! 
IT IS TIIIIME.

I had been given my epidural...
I was laying on a cold metal table...
The lighting was harsh...
The smell of an operating room, familiar.
They were cutting me open...
My OBGYN had the radio on.
He was singing along to Caribbean Queen.
REALLY?
My husband was seated at my head... 
He looked terrified.
This was not the way I wanted to bring my son into the world!
I wanted intimate. I wanted special. I wanted....
not Billy Ocean, that's for fucking sure.


They told me that they were ready to pull him out.
I felt the surprising and immense pressure...
He's out!!


Breathe. Please Breathe.
Where is he?
I don't hear him!
Oh. My. God.


I hear him.
He is not happy with the current state of affairs.
He's screaming with all his might...
And I am happier than I have ever been.




[This post was written for the Red Dress Club, as part of their Red Writing Hood prompt. I'm trying to get involved....NERVOUS.]

Two-Timing.

Ain't as easy as you might think.

I've been here at Blogger for 2 years now.
We've had some rough spots, but for the most part, we've settled into a lovely routine...

But my eye was starting to wander.

Wordpress was lookin' kinda tempting....

I just wanted to flirt a bit. That's all.


But then I took it a step further.  Like you do....

I registered.
Started a page.
I IMPORTED.


It was getting hot and heavy....

I thought I was going to leave Blogger.  Pack up my wares and head for greener pastures.

WordPress' comment structure was enough to dizzy my head.

What's this? How do I navigate through here?  How do I keep all my subscriptions?  How do I set up all the widgets?  What about GFC????  

I'm am not tech/blog/computer savvy.
I may only have 39 followers, but damn it, I wanted to keep them.
I was in over my head.

So I chickened out.

And I'm back--happily nestled in the arms of blogger, once again.

I still have my blog up a WP too, because I can't  figure out how to take it down....

Sigh. 

I am so not cut out for blogging super-stardom.

Thanks for hanging in with me, you sexy 39!

This 3 Hour Tour is running longer than I thought...

I first met my husband on his 24th ( NOT 25 as previously written. I ALWAYS think we were 25...) birthday, in the Spring of 2005--

Didn't like him very much.

My friend had dragged my to this karaoke bar to because she wanted to say hi to a friend of hers who was celebrating his birthday.

I did not know this friend.
I did not want to go out.
I did not look cute.
I was over bars.

But, she was not the kind of friend who heard the word "no".
So she showed up at my apartment and dragged me out anyway.

I meet this guy.
I am not impressed.
He insults my righteously awesome Cats (as in the Musical) tee shirt.
And? He wear khakis.
Really? Khakis?
I do not DO khakis, folks.


But I keep running into this guy...he's cute, but sorta obnoxious. I can tell it's because he's kinda nervously awkward, and just wants to be funny, which is kinda charming, but there's a lot of bullshit in his presentation and I'm not sold.

Besides, he has no tattoos.
I love tattoos.

And? In addition to khakis?
He wears sweater vests.
Sweater vests? HONESTLY?
Prep-tastic. I don't DO preppy.


By Summer-
We're sorta buddies.  There's a little flirting, like the kind between all men and women in a social setting, but it's not with intent-We are not each other's type and I'm not sure I'm over the guy I had been dating previously.

[I should be, because he's a asshat who keeps flipping between me and this other chick (who he eventually married), but I'm being all wifflewaffle-girly about it....]

But also?
I keep hearing a lot of shit about Kaptain Khakis:
This girl, and that girl, and THAT girl and so on....

I'm not so much for manwhoring, but at the same time?
We're all adults.  If he's sleeping with several women, that's his business.
I'm not his girlfriend, so what's it to me?

But it does kinda bother me.
Casual sex?
I don't DO Casual.

It's now late August-
Hanging out at the Karaoke bar I was once dragged to, but now frequent...
He  and I are sitting at a table, talking. Drinking. Laughing.
All of the sudden, the bar is closing. How did that happen?

My friend, who I came with, wants to go somewhere else.
But I want to go home.
He offers to drive me home.
I don't take rides from men.
But, for whatever reason, I agree...

We sat in front of my apartment talking for a long time.
I like him.  He's funny and sweet.
Best of all? He's intelligent.
All bravado is gone and it's just him.

He asks to come in and use the bathroom.
It's late.
I do not invite men in.
But, for whatever reason, I agree...

(my roommates were home, and they would have killed him if need be)

He's saying goodbye.
Promising repeats of tonight.
Maybe we're actually friends now...
Weird.

All of the sudden, he is kissing me.
I was not prepared.
He is all khaki'd and casual.
I am soooo NOT.

But he ends up staying the night anyway.
 Shit.
[Found out? Has Tattoos.]

I am mortified.

I am NOT that kinda lady.

But there are some things you can't undo....

I convince myself that maybe I SHOULD be all Casual.

I can be casual. Psssht. 

So we agree to start seeing each other.  Casually.
I am all over this, because I am SO over being the devoted girlfriend who gets shat upon.


Easy, breezy! That's me.

Except it's not.
I get attached.  I care. It's hard for me to let people in, so when I do?
It ain't fucking casual.

 By late October, I break it off.
You know, before it gets complicated....ahem.
I tell him that casual doesn't work for me.
He's all hurt/pissy about it, but not enough to get serious.
Fine.
I'm out.
We can still be friends....


We're not. 
He avoids me.
I stay out of his way.
He eventually confronts me.
But nothing changes.
He doesn't want serious.
No problem.
Friends it is!
But not really.

New Year's Eve comes and we end up at the same party. Great.

There is partying and drunkeness and making out.
With his friend.
This was not purposeful. He was my friend too. He made me laugh.
It was New Years Eve.
So we made out.
Happy New Year!!!

[Spoiler Alert! That friend? Was a groomsman at our wedding.  We adore him.  He still makes me laugh, but there is no more making out.  That would be frowned upon.  We rarely see him, and that's a bummer.]

The next day?

When he showed up at my apartment, wanting to know what the HELL was going on between me and  ___________?

I was a tad surprised.  By a tad? I mean quite.

Where's your khaki'd casualness NOW, sir?

There was nothing casual about the ensuing conversation....
Even so, I did not believe him.
I sent him away.  I did not trust his intentions.
But he was persistent.
And we ended up a couple.

We were in love.  Intensely.  It was kinda gross.
We start talking about futures.
Walks of the aisle sort.
We shared a closet and a medicine cabinet and a bed.
We shared everything.
We felt like home.


For almost year, it was perfect.

It was a holiday weekend.
I desperately needed the time to relax.
My family was going through a clusterfuck of out-of-CONTROL problems that I apparently was supposed to fix, my professional life was going up in flames, as I was being denied the rights to my own work, I was broke, oh, right...I was pregnant.

I hadn't told him yet.
I was waiting for the weekend....

There was a fight.
He was picking it on purpose, I could see.
But I didn't want to fight....not on this, of all weekends.
But he kept pushing.

Then there was packing of stuff.
I didn't understand.
He didn't either, I could tell.
Then there was apologies and driving away.
I was devastated.
I never told him about the secret I was carrying...

I'm just not that kinda lady.

I miscarried the next week.
I was heartbroken on all levels.
There were no clear explanations, no resolutions.
Just confusion and hurt.
That turned to anger and resentment on both sides.
We decided to close the door, and never look back.
(as best we could)

For almost year, it was over.

He was dating someone else.
I was moving far away. 
We were moving on.
Starting over.
We were never going to be a permanent Us.

Then the phone rang. 
He wants to talk.
I do not want to listen.
He keeps calling.
I am not willing.
I am afraid of being open.....


He comes over.
He explains.  Explanations that might be too late. 
There is crying.  His tears and mine.
He gets on his knee.
Asks the question.

I send him away.
He doesn't know what he's asking.
This is dangerous and I am terrified.
He is humble. But, adamant.  Resolute.
He will not give up.
For many reasons, I say Yes.

There is a walk...of the aisle sort.
Oaths made. 
Rings exchanged.
Hardships endured. 
Hurts forgiven.
Promises kept.


A lot has happened to us and for us since then.
We are not the same people who met at a bar.
Or walked down the aisle.
We do not have the same love as we did then.


It is even deeper.


Today is our 3-year wedding anniversary.


I feel like it's been 10 years...
(I said that to my husband this morning and he threw something at me...)

 I don't mean that in a a negative-shackles/chainy kinda way, I just mean:


It feels like we've always been together.


 That togetherness has not always been easy.  Or so much together, as you have read.

But looking at the life we are building and the son we are raising? 


I know it's right.
  


I love you, Querido.
Thank you for choosing us over anything else every day.
I hope we make that same choice forever. 

You don't appreciate my APPRECIATING!

Marriage?

It's hard.


[Aren't you so happy that I guide you through these earth-shattering epiphanies?]

It frightens me because I'm constantly struck with how many people just don't realize that.

And that even though I do, I'm still taken aback sometimes...

The Spouse Unit and I have been arguing a lot lately.
Not in the "We're heading for divorce" kinda way, but just a ton of annoyed/irritated bickering.

Which gets real old, real fast and leads to more fully-fleshed angries.

Yesterday morning?
I said something that I thought was helpful.
He snapped.
I snapped back.
Here.We.Go.AGAIN.

Seriously???
I had HAD it.

I didn't talk to him all day.
(We usually text/talk throughout the day)

I needed to calm down and organize my thoughts.

Why are we so freakin' crabby?
What is HIS problem?
What is MY problem?
WHAT IS HIS PROBLEM???

So I fumed all day.

I decided, finally, that I was feeling

Unappreciated. Disrespected.
 And also?
Like The Bad Guy.
All the time.

This really made me sad.

I work really hard at our lives.  At our marriage.  At raising our son.
My main goal in life?
To ensure that my husband and son are well-cared for and happy.
That our family is happy.
That is what makes ME happy.

So the fact that I was feeling like my Husband might be seeing me as the "Harpy Wife?"

HUGE BUMMER.
and I was pissed.

I am a fantastical wife, damn it!
What the HELL does he want from me?
I couldn't be more awesome, and he couldn't be more Lucky!
I am all sorts of appreciative of his hard work, how can he not appreciate me, appreciating that?

[...and Cue Spiral...]


Ahem.

We put O to bed.  I pulled the We Need to Talk card.
Which he hates.  All men hate it.  I'm aware.

But we really did need to talk.

After not getting anywhere for a while, we finally realized that we were both struggling in our roles.

As a Wife/Mother/Adult and Husband/Father/Adult

Specifically--how those roles were reflected to and on one another as a couple.

Make sense?  Hopefully.

We also figured out that while we both thought we we being all appreciative, helpful and respectful to the other?

It wasn't being received that way, a lot of the time.

This sorta scared us.

Ummm, holy shit. 
Communication in our marriage is TERRIBLE. We.ARE.DOOOOMED.


But notsomuch, really.

We just needed to have a couple reality checks and get back on track.
In addition (and probably most importantly), we needed to be frank about some outside factors affecting our attitudes, which would directly affect our "hearing."....

Frankly?

Living on a shoe-stringy budget (and all the stress that goes with it) is hard on your marriage


Living with Chronic pain (and the frustration and helplessness on both sides) is hard on your marriage.

Living without medication (ADD for him, Depression for me) is hard on your marriage.

Living with your in-laws (however awesome they may be and however grateful you ARE) is hard on your marriage.  

Trying to be a new parent in that environment? You guessed it! Haaaard on the marriage.


We will make it out of, and past these obstacles eventually, but it's going to be awhile. 
We are working, we are trying, we are hoping, we are waiting.
Waiting for the tides to turn in our favor.




The wait weighs on us both, heavily.  
The wait and the worry burdens our hearts.
Mostly out of concern for the other. And our son.
But those burdens can chafe once in awhile, and I don't know about you?

But,
chafing makes me cuh-rank-eeee.


I think the same can be said for my Darling Husband.


Yep.