Friday, this one is kinda raw and honest.

 Warning, you all might want to pass go on this one!

A little fiery rant…..

Hey. How’s it going? Is it cold where you are? It’s been in the low80’s but real fall is hitting this week and I’m stoked. Changed my closet out from spring/ summer to fall/ winter and I always pick up a few things throughout the year which I am always happily surprised to see as I just put it out of my mind. Then I donate some things to make up for the new things. I have pieces that I LOVE and they just hang around. Shoes switch out too and I must say, I freaking love shoes. I need meetings or something! But I do donate shoes too. Sometime I get a pair that I love and realistically I have nothing to wear them with, which is a pretty good trick. Being poor made me appreciate clothing. Buying clothing that lasts. We joke that I go shopping in my closet now but I appreciate every single thing, which is why I donate rather than throw away.  I’ve donated for decades now, always to a women and children’s facility. I used to tell my kids to NEVER tell a child they might see wearing their clothes that they were their clothes. I feel like I at least instilled charity and kindness towards others…..

Not one of them sent even a text over the 19 days I was hospitalized. Not after my anaphylactic shock incident. Not while Doctors could not get my pneumonia to get the hell out. Literally not after I had a code blue…. Like… I wish I’d never had children. We both do. Not Joshua, he’s the kindest soul I know… But them. It’s ugly but it’s true. It’s has not been worth it. The late nights, the times they were suck, scared, sad. The homeschooling, the concerts and plays and award ceremonies and the volleyball ( ok, for Josh and especially me, that was worth every second) the traveling for all their sports, the money spent on all the things they wanted rather than “make” them pet sit or babysit for those things. The way I showed up every single fucking day because I wanted them to have what I didn’t. I wanted them to see my face in the crowd, hear my voice in the crowd, feel like they didn’t want or need for anything, the special vacations, being the house on the block where all their sports friends came and I hated that, noise=anxiety, but I’d make the special dinners their friends asked for, chicken Cordon Bleu ! The dump cakes, hundreds of dump cakes! The snacks I’d buy and put in individual treat boxes, the movies rented, the big breakfasts in the morning, hours spent doing their long hair and even picking out lice they got at Disneyland! HOURS, I made my own medicine for them because OM would get tics if I used over the counter, blowing one in at time dry. The hour I had to spend making sure every day that Om practically had a helmet on because not even one baby hair could fly away. The costumes I made by hand EVERY FUCKING YEAR. So they could be unique. The Karate I sat through, getting hit by OM and still letting her live. That doesn’t even begin to touch the iceberg of being forced to be a teen mother and then your support system fucks off having affairs and then they get divorced and forgot about me and their grandson because life was new and shiny and exciting for them. Then having ZERO support system. All of that and a million more things that parents do. And this is what we have to show for it. 

That’s what I’ve been processing . Aren’t ya glad you’re here?

I’ll be happier next time. 

Someone You Love By Lewis Capaldi

See you in the moon

Me

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