I'm trying hard to muster up Thankfulness without bitterness this year. For every thing I should be thankful for I find myself enveloping it in sarcastic bitterness.
I'm thankful I have 3 healthy children... even if my oldest lives 3000 miles away and my youngest are being kept from me.
I'm thankful I could talk to my children this morning and share some thanksgiving memories with them... even as they go to another woman's house to help prepare a feast to share with her, not me.
I'm thankful my children are having a full thanksgiving meal today... even though their excitement and joy about it wounds my heart with jealousy, loss, regrets, and irrational anger.
I'm thankful my daughter gets to make cookies today... even if she makes them with another woman, and eats them at someone elses thanksgiving day table.
I'm thankful for the 18 years of memorable thanksgivings I have in my heart... even if each one reminds me of everything that's been taken from me.
I'm thankful my family is safe, happy, warm, and loved... even though I can't provide that or share that with them.
I'm thankful that even if the whole world forgets about it, I know that I am still the mom. I am... even if I'm the only one who remembers...
Mia
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Thursday, November 25
Thursday, November 11
Picking Peices
I drive 70 miles, one way, to see my children. It's about an hour and 20 minutes most of which is a straight shot of interstate.
On a "long" visit, I drive the hour plus long/70 miles, pick them up and drive an hour plus long/70 miles back to my house where we all try to reconnect for the day before we pile into the car for the hour plus long/70 mile ride back to drop them off... and I turn around and drive that long trip all by myself back to my house. On a "regular" visit, it's 280 miles, and over 5 hours of travel time all on ONE DAY just so I can be with my children for 3 hours. "He" won't do half of it - and hasn't been ordered to by the court so I have no choice but to do it on my own. It's been a complete solid year of that now. You do the math.
There have been times when I had to pick between gas money for the trip or gas money to get to and from work for the week.
There have been times when I have packed up every bit of food I could rummage from the cabinets and fridge into a cooler to bring with me so I could feed my children dinner and use cash on hand for tolls and gas.
There have been times I could not go see my children because there wasn't gas in the car or money to buy any.
It's all about picking the right option, and about picking out time and picking over funds on a day to day basis. It's about picking up extra hours at work, picking ramen over rice, picking staying home over driving to the library, picking up scrap paper and lost pennies, picking up discarded soda cans to return, picking the shorter time route or the less distance drive, picking the dollar menu items over the meal deals, and picking quantity over quality which they hate or quality over quantity which I hate: no matter what the experts spout.
It's about picking which lie to buy, which shade of rose to paint on my glasses, which child to please, which way to pose the truth, and which fucking breath to breathe, and which peices of our lives to pick up and hold tight and which ones to let die away forevermore.
It's always about picking. I used to pick up the laundry, pick up the legos, pick up the piles of mail and homework and discarded dishes. I used to pick up children, prescriptions, friends, and birthday cakes. I picked up socks, dog poop, used kleenex, and the newspaper. Now I just pick up peices of memories, peices of life.
I keep this little red pic from my son to remind me that no matter what guitar (or what life force) is being used, and no matter what song (or what note) is being
played, the difference between just grabbing on with your hands or finely picking with a pick is noticeable. It can create a sound that is worth stopping to listen to instead of a sound to ignore.
Picking matters. Picking on a guitar, or picking this over that in life.
And so I pick.
And I hold onto this red plastic pick that my son has created music with so I can remind myself of that one fact.
Picking matters.
Even when the difference is unnoticeable to the untrained, it matters.
On a "long" visit, I drive the hour plus long/70 miles, pick them up and drive an hour plus long/70 miles back to my house where we all try to reconnect for the day before we pile into the car for the hour plus long/70 mile ride back to drop them off... and I turn around and drive that long trip all by myself back to my house. On a "regular" visit, it's 280 miles, and over 5 hours of travel time all on ONE DAY just so I can be with my children for 3 hours. "He" won't do half of it - and hasn't been ordered to by the court so I have no choice but to do it on my own. It's been a complete solid year of that now. You do the math.
On a "regular" visit, the trip is just me driving all the way out there, spending a few hours with the kids for dinner, and then driving back home alone. 114 miles and almost 3 hours of driving all by myself with my thoughts and regrets and grief.
There have been times when I had to pick between gas money for the trip or gas money to get to and from work for the week.
There have been times when I have packed up every bit of food I could rummage from the cabinets and fridge into a cooler to bring with me so I could feed my children dinner and use cash on hand for tolls and gas.
There have been times I could not go see my children because there wasn't gas in the car or money to buy any.
It's all about picking the right option, and about picking out time and picking over funds on a day to day basis. It's about picking up extra hours at work, picking ramen over rice, picking staying home over driving to the library, picking up scrap paper and lost pennies, picking up discarded soda cans to return, picking the shorter time route or the less distance drive, picking the dollar menu items over the meal deals, and picking quantity over quality which they hate or quality over quantity which I hate: no matter what the experts spout.
It's about picking which lie to buy, which shade of rose to paint on my glasses, which child to please, which way to pose the truth, and which fucking breath to breathe, and which peices of our lives to pick up and hold tight and which ones to let die away forevermore.
It's always about picking. I used to pick up the laundry, pick up the legos, pick up the piles of mail and homework and discarded dishes. I used to pick up children, prescriptions, friends, and birthday cakes. I picked up socks, dog poop, used kleenex, and the newspaper. Now I just pick up peices of memories, peices of life.
I keep this little red pic from my son to remind me that no matter what guitar (or what life force) is being used, and no matter what song (or what note) is being
played, the difference between just grabbing on with your hands or finely picking with a pick is noticeable. It can create a sound that is worth stopping to listen to instead of a sound to ignore. Picking matters. Picking on a guitar, or picking this over that in life.
And so I pick.
And I hold onto this red plastic pick that my son has created music with so I can remind myself of that one fact.
Picking matters.
Even when the difference is unnoticeable to the untrained, it matters.
Monday, August 16
Little wisps of love
I finally talked to my kids. What a relief. Frankly, "relief" is such an understatement. There really is no identifiable emotion for what it felt like to hear the sweet cheery voice of my daughter after so many days. I could breathe again. That's what it was like.
Ever had to hold your breath for waaaaay too long? And then when you finally can let it out and inhale again you have that gasping choppy rapid breathing your body forces you to do so you can get all the air you NEED? It was like that - only with out the actual gasping choppy breathing but just the emotion of it.
I saw them for a date night - I'd promised a trip to the mall for some school clothes. It was a successful trip with each kid getting something exactly that they wanted. Now, let me clarify here that I am not a "disneyland parent" - that parent that doesn't have full time priveledges and so buys every trinket or big ticket item the kids desire to make up for it. I'm not that... I wouldn't be even if I could afford it but the truth is that I can't afford it at all. I can't afford anything for my kids in general other than food and it bothers me tremendously that my finances are that tight. Most of the time I actually have to plan out and ration money so carefully just so I'll have enough gas to drive out and see them or to drive them back and forth from their house to mine. It's a tight tight existence walking on a fine line with such a load of debt in one hand and the desire to be with my kids in the other. However, I have been pinching and stretching and saving for months now so that I could do this thing: I bought most of their school supplies (not all, but most) and decided that each kiddo could pick that one special thing they HAD to have for school this year: an $80 hoodie would be worth it because it would likely be worn daily for the first 6 month beginning in the Fall and extending through Spring.
I had the luck to hit a fabulous sale weekend and spent less than anticipated and each beloved kiddo was thrilled. It matters. Not that they have this greedy want list, but that I could provide this one thing that was important to their hearts and spirits. They aren't little kids wanting the newest toy - they are teens wanting to be accepted, socially appropriate, to be understood and supported. I know that feeling, remember it all too well, and every midnite shift I worked was worth being able to give them some kind of gift that lets them know I hear them. It's a wisp of love - just like when I sat and watched youtube videos with my son or when I play yahtzee with my daughter or when we play word games on our hour long drive - little wisps of love that I breath on them. This particular wisp will be tangible which is important also. Some actual "THING" that I could give them.
I dream of the day I will tuck them into bed at night and wake up to cook them breakfast in the morning - day after day after day. I dream of packing lunches, sighing over forgotten homework, and griping about unmade beds. I dream of it as vividly as if it were happening and by doing so I hope the universe gets the message and breathes a little wisp of love my way.
Love
Mia
Ever had to hold your breath for waaaaay too long? And then when you finally can let it out and inhale again you have that gasping choppy rapid breathing your body forces you to do so you can get all the air you NEED? It was like that - only with out the actual gasping choppy breathing but just the emotion of it.
I saw them for a date night - I'd promised a trip to the mall for some school clothes. It was a successful trip with each kid getting something exactly that they wanted. Now, let me clarify here that I am not a "disneyland parent" - that parent that doesn't have full time priveledges and so buys every trinket or big ticket item the kids desire to make up for it. I'm not that... I wouldn't be even if I could afford it but the truth is that I can't afford it at all. I can't afford anything for my kids in general other than food and it bothers me tremendously that my finances are that tight. Most of the time I actually have to plan out and ration money so carefully just so I'll have enough gas to drive out and see them or to drive them back and forth from their house to mine. It's a tight tight existence walking on a fine line with such a load of debt in one hand and the desire to be with my kids in the other. However, I have been pinching and stretching and saving for months now so that I could do this thing: I bought most of their school supplies (not all, but most) and decided that each kiddo could pick that one special thing they HAD to have for school this year: an $80 hoodie would be worth it because it would likely be worn daily for the first 6 month beginning in the Fall and extending through Spring.
I had the luck to hit a fabulous sale weekend and spent less than anticipated and each beloved kiddo was thrilled. It matters. Not that they have this greedy want list, but that I could provide this one thing that was important to their hearts and spirits. They aren't little kids wanting the newest toy - they are teens wanting to be accepted, socially appropriate, to be understood and supported. I know that feeling, remember it all too well, and every midnite shift I worked was worth being able to give them some kind of gift that lets them know I hear them. It's a wisp of love - just like when I sat and watched youtube videos with my son or when I play yahtzee with my daughter or when we play word games on our hour long drive - little wisps of love that I breath on them. This particular wisp will be tangible which is important also. Some actual "THING" that I could give them.
I dream of the day I will tuck them into bed at night and wake up to cook them breakfast in the morning - day after day after day. I dream of packing lunches, sighing over forgotten homework, and griping about unmade beds. I dream of it as vividly as if it were happening and by doing so I hope the universe gets the message and breathes a little wisp of love my way.
Love
Mia
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