If One Drinks From a Bottle Marked Poison

I blog for two reasons, to chronicle K's life and for cathartic purposes. I knew when I wrote my first word I didn't want to be limited. I wanted to express what I felt, regardless of how it affected others. I also knew that was selfish and unrealistic. As much as I wanted to have freedom to say what I wanted, I didn't want it at the expense of those I love.

Before I published my first entry, I asked my husband what was off limits. He mentioned just a few things and I have stuck to my word and never wrote about them. At the time, months ago, he must have given very little thought to his true feelings regarding his privacy. Because here I am, writing this post.

The post informing my faithful few followers that I can no longer continue blogging Life From the Dark Side of Aurora. Or at least I can no longer blog it here, at this address.

As a resut of a battle I did not want to win, I deleted a recent blog entry. It hurt me to do it. But it seemed it was going to hurt my husband more if I kept it published. So I allowed him to censor me yet again.

After a great deal of thought and frustration, I've decided it's time.

"For if one drinks much from a bottle marked 'Poison', it's almost certain to disagree with one sooner or later." - Alice

I made the grave mistake of telling a few people in my life about my blog. At the time, I wanted them to be able to enjoy reading bits about K that ordinarily they wouldn't get to hear. They will no longer get this window into K's world and that makes me sad. Family members reading my personal thoughts didn't bother me. But it sure did bother my husband.

I must do what is necessary for me. I will continue blogging, anonymously this time. I will create a new site, with a new name written under a pseudonym. I will write freely and it will most certainly agree with me.

I thank you for reading and laughing about K's antics. I appreciated all of your comments. And for the compassion I received on a few emotional posts, thank you.

"...it's time to say good-bye. No, no. Don't speak. For some moments in life, there are no words. Run along now. Adieu, adieu, parting is such sweet sorrow."

---Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka

A Funk

I am in a funk. It's confirmed.

I could sit and write a diatribe about my worries. Except, it would not be a good read. I could only disclose bits and pieces, leaving you, my loyal reader confused. And you would likely leave and not look back, because no matter how entertaining my daughter's antics are, no one enjoys being confused.

But still, I can't escape the funk and I will write anyway.

In my house, there's a paticular conversation had more frequently than others. It goes like this...

"What do you want for dinner?" my husband will ask.

"I dunno. I don't want Italian. And I don't want chicken"

"I didn't ask what you don't want, I asked what you do want," he'll retort.

And I get his point, but that's just the way I work. I am often a glass half empty kind of girl. That doesn't mean I don't love life and try to live it to its fullest. It just means I'm more apt to see the bottle of wine and think, damn there's only a third of it left. I better refill my glass now before he drinks it all.

So in honor of a good funk, I will give you the list of half empty thoughts I had in my car, driving the 13 minutes home from Barnes and Noble.

• If you see me in the parking lot, dragging a crying child in one hand and my other is loaded down with bags, you have no right to express your impatience with me that I'm not vacating the spot you covet fast enough. Pick another spot or deal.
• I hate when daffodil blooms die, you can't cut them back or you'll affect the blooms the following season. It's unsightly. When they're done flowering, I just want to get rid of them.
• I don't like speed cameras. But the ones I really hate are the moveable box ones that may or may not be there the day you drive by them. They should all be permanent.
• If your grass is that lush and green this time of year, you use too much water and too many chemicals. You need to cut back on your consumption of both.
• I despise when my child is in the car and I have to play games and sing songs to keep her from falling asleep. Yet, at home she avoids sleep like the plague. It's a very unfair aspect of parenting.
• I don't like the lawn bag displays in some neighborhoods. I have no real valid reason. I just don't. I don't like driving through a neighborhood and seeing brown paper bag after bag neatly lined up next to the side walk waiting to be disposed of. It seems Iike a rediculous contest in which home owners see who can out bag each other.

There you have it. Don't worry, funks only last so long. I'm sure in no time at all, K will be drawing murals on the walls or freaking out about something going down the drain. Ooh, or maybe she will have some super cool, brand new episode I can blog about. Here's to hoping!

I Didn't Want You To Worry Reverb

Every once in awhile, something happens that makes you reevaluate everything you thought you knew only moments before.

My schema was shook up late last night. I can not go into details, it's too personal. But I can say that after a few confusing texts at 1:30am, my view on the world was different.

I'd realized I had been walking through my life, my interactions with family, with blinders on. I'm still not sure if I was the one who put the blinders on or if they were put on me by someone else. Regardless, I had been a naive little girl. I saw what was pleasant.

There is a significant period of my past that, if it were a blog post would have been titled I Didn't Want You To Worry. This recent event feels an awful lot like that, just a smaller scale. Well meaning family members elect to keep information secret in order to spare other people pain and worry. I do not know of any situation where this plan has had the intended result. In my personal experiences, it has always left me hurt.

Now, the morning after my awakening, I'm hurt and worried. My small family is strong, and we have managed far worse than this. Nonetheless, I'm so very worried about the future. How will this current information affect those I love so deeply? It forces me to look at the inevitable nature of life and what lies in the future.

Today, I will try to have fun and enjoy my beautiful and charismatic daughter. Maybe we will get ice cream.

You Look Like You Could Be Pregnant

Let me begin by saying, I'm not pregnant. Not even a little bit.

So you can imagine my surprise when a nurse, which I will refer to as Maleficent, said to my face, "Then you look like you could be pregnant."

Let me tell you the back story to really confuse you.

I was in the waiting room at the doctors office when Maleficent called me back. She took my height and weight. 113lbs. I don't think that number puts me in the "most likely pregnant" category.

Evil Maleficent asked me the standard questions. What brings you in? When was your last tetanus shot? And, when was the start date of your last menstrual period?

I imagine I am like most women, I have a general idea but not the exact date for this answer.

I tell her, "Um...about two week ago."

Not good enough, apparently. She wants me to give her a date.

"Well. I don't know exactly. What's today's date?"

"March 12th," Maleficent tells me.

"Well, then, maybe the 1st."

Her words, and I quote, "Well that's not a good date because, then you look like you could be pregnant."

Hmmm.

I'm not even sure what to say. Was it the information I provided her with or my physical appearance that caused Maleficent to accuse me of looking pregnant?

To shut her up quickly, I grabbed my phone, opened the app, and gave her the exact date. I was 3 days off.

"Well that's much better."

Apparently, 3 days is the exact difference in looking pregnant and not.

Bitch.

Self Taught Meteorologist

I have amazing news to tell you.

I am a meteorologist.

I didn't study meteorology. Apparently, it's not needed. I have a degree in Elementary Education. In my husband's eyes I guess that qualifies me to forecast the weather.

Nearly every freakin day he asks me about the weather.

Usually in the morning as he's dressing for work, I'll hear, "What's it gonna be like today? Is it supposed to rain?"

I'm not sure what he thinks I know, that he doesn't. Maybe he thinks I have charts and graphs in the basement where I plot out the barometric pressure and the current weather conditions. For the record, I don't. I have apps.

On days he forgot to ask me in the morning or when he just wants an updated prediction, I'll get a text.

Him: Not supposed to rain, is it?

Me: Rain? I think yes.

Him: Seriously though, it is supposed to rain?

Me: I'm not sure. I think so.

Me: Yes. Rain tonight. But later. Not sure when it will start.

Over the weekend, I finally asked. "Does Blackberry not have a weather app?"

"Oh, no, they do," he tells me. "I just never liked it very much."

I see. There are countless ways to get your daily weather, but none are as good as your very own personal meteorologist.

I was not surprised when I got a text from him a few hours ago, he must have forgot to ask this morning.

Him: Is it supposed to rain later? Thinking about if I can grill dinner.

Me: No rain. 20% chance of snow today, not tonight.

And an hour later, I received this text.

Him: Snowing here.

Evidently, I'm a very good meteorologist.

 

Heaven

A mother, by definition, is all knowing. She is said to have eyes in the back of her head. A mother's kiss can cure any ailment. Tell her your problems, she will listen and help you find the best solution. A mother is omniscient.

Except when we're not. I'm finding...I'm not.

My mother died in 2006. She wasn't alive the day I was married. She has never properly met my daughter. But, I believe in angels and an afterlife. I know she was there at the Little White Chapel and again in the delivery room. I'm certain she knows K.

K, on the other hand, does not know my mother, her grandmother.

I have been able to handle every aspect of motherhood to date. Sure, I've had my challenges, but I've handled it. I have a solid childhood education background. I know the research.

But this...I'm finding myself tongue-tied.

I have never wanted my mom to be a mystery. I talk with K about my mom. She knows she's in heaven. Nevertheless, K's 3 and this shit is getting harder to explain by the day. Her questions start off simple.

"Did your mom make you eat lima beans?"

Quickly they progress to the point my eyes are welling and I'm fighting back tears.

"I know you miss your mom. One day, will you go with me to visit her? I think she would want you to come too, with me. Because I'm sure she would want to see you."

I don't know how to answer the questions so she will understand, so she will feel satisfied. Because the questions keep going.

"When can we see your mom? I know that you can't come back from heaven, so when can I see her? I don't want to be sick."

It breaks my heart. Truly. I have not the right answer for my sweet, sweet girl. I'm speechless. I have tears and sadness and I can not convey to her, that which I, don't fully understand myself. I do not understand death. I comprehend the science behind it, but that's it.

I try talking to K about seeing my mother in her dreams, and that helps...me anyway. The image of my mom playing with K in her dream, riding horses together, makes me momentarily smile. Still, I know K has little understanding of dreams. They are as abstract to her as heaven.

Try as I may, the best I can do is make it through the conversations. I can't imagine I am saying anything that makes much sense to her. After all, heaven and death aren't very logical concepts. I offer her truth in the simplest fashion. I don't want her to view my mother as a sad topic and I don't want her to fear death.

The conversations are becoming more frequent and her thoughts, regarding my mom and heaven, are becoming more complex. It's proof she's growing up. She no longer just accepts, "my mom is in heaven."

I miss my mother daily. And in some way, without ever meeting her, K misses her too.

Dinner Rolls

You know the moment...you're sitting with friends at a restaurant, sipping cocktails, and the bread bowl arrives at the table. You unwrap the napkin to unveil the mound of piping hot rolls. You silently count the rolls, 6 rolls...4 people.

Seriously? Mother effer! You've got to be kidding me?! In what sick, cruel world is this ever fair? 

This is the dialogue in my head, every single mother lovin time. Pay attention next time you eat out, it's consistent. The number of rolls is always off. It's like the restaurant industry got together, had a little meeting. 

"Aright, alright. Brainstorm, people! There has to be some vindictive trick we can play on the masses. They can't just snap their fingers at us and demand service! We must passively retaliate!"

"Um, well, we could constantly get their orders wrong, that'll show em, right?"

"No, no, no.  We'll lose business for sure with that plan. Keep thinking, people!"

"How about this, we spit in their food?"

"Have you even heard of a little thing called the Health Department? Am I the only one with my head on straight tonight?"

"I got it boss. How about we mess with the rolls? You know, if it's a couple on a date, give em 3 rolls instead of 4. That way they have to fight about who gets the last roll."

"Brilliant! Genius, really. Someone give that kid a star."

Maybe that's how it happened. I dunno. But I do know that somewhere along the line, something got screwed up. If its a table of 2, it's a no-brainer, either 2 or 4 rolls should go into that basket. No odd number is ever acceptable.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who has been observing this strange roll phenomenon for years?? If I've ever eaten out with you, rest assured, I've counted the dinner rolls and cursed in my head.

Peace

My first post. Cool. Neat. You'll find, in the coming posts, I'm the type of girl who has no qualms using the word cool and I have been known to repeat it several times in a row for extra effect. Cool, cool, cool.

So I enjoy reading blogs. I'm not granted much blog reading time. My 3 year old boss, K, can be somewhat of a hard-ass. For being so small, she really is quite demanding. All day, nonstop..."play with me Mama, Mama play with me, please Mama, play with me." Seriously, who can play princesses all day long? I'm a good mom, but I certainly can't. But I digress...right, blogs.

I was reading a post at HomeSlice and for some reason it hit home. She posted an anonymous quote...Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hardwork. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.

My days are full of noise. Full is an understatement. From where I stand, trouble seems to be just a few steps behind me. I really am never sure when it will catch up. And, most definitely motherhood is hardwork. However, I feel at peace. This is what life's supposed to be. It's supposed to be chaotic and uncertain, exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time. I have no clue what lies ahead and I can say, for now, I'm at peace with that. Ask me tomorrow, I may feel differently.

I'm so glad to have this out of the way, my first post. I'm absolutely sure they won't all be so warm and fuzzy. But I felt it necessary, before I rant about the dark side, I let it be known I really am at peace with it. For now anyway.