the weekend before monday

Good moments. Less than moments. Sucky moments.  That is their order right now. 1, 2, 3. Not to beat a dead horse and continue to talk about losses and finding silver linings, but this is my space and I can say what I want here.   

Friday began just fine.  But the pattern is that I get sad later in the morning, after I’m thick into my routine and day.  I can’t say I’m fond of that.  But it’s nice not waking up to it.  Anyway, Friday.  It ended up hitting me hard with a little extra anxiety thrown in for fun right around mid morning.  Somehow I made it to lunch.  My noon class was cancelled, and I went with a friend for a 2 hour lunch.  We made plans for the evening and after a little therapy (and to think… at one point I would have opted for a root canal and a pap smear at the same time rather than go to therapy and actually talk about what was going on in my head) and an ass kicking round at the gym I was feeling better.  We watched a great movie and I ate so much popcorn I’d rather not touch the stuff for at least 6 months.  Sandra Bullock.  Yes, please.

Somehow I ended out dancing later that night and oh how I needed that.  I really do love to dance.  Fries were consumed at 1:00 in the morning and I felt so ill after.  It felt unfair somehow that I was so queasy when I had not had anything to drink!  I guess that is what you get at almost 40 after a night of dancing and filling your gut with popcorn and fries.  Good lord. 

My boys

Saturday consisted of an attempt to sleep in and then tailgating and a football game.  I’ve never done the tailgating thing, and I’ve not been to a football game (that I can recall) since my daughter was 6 months old.  After this I took a nice 5 mile walk with an old friend.  I really wanted to stay home, by myself that evening.  I rented a stupid movie (really… it sucked) and had some yummy soup and bread and my cat and I had a blast

Jack doing what he does best.

Sunday had me waking before dawn to go on a kick ass hike with my bestie.  It was freaking cold.  But oh how beautiful it was.  Can’t beat it.  We ran out of time and didn’t quite make our goal.  We will be heading back out Wednesday.  We saw a moose on the way down.  He stared at us.  I did not wet my pants.  And then when Tara took off down the trail to get a better picture I hollered at her to cut that shit out.  Those suckers can be mean! No moose attack occurred and my jelly legs carried me on down the trail.  

Crazy cold. Crazy ladies.

Can you spot the moose?

 On top of the world!

That afternoon yielded another 5 mile walk with a friend and then dinner with another.  And we saw sheep! As I was dropping her off I checked Moodle again for my genetics grade.  Hallalooya! It’s a B!  Off to Fred Meyer for a reward.  

Sunset sheep herding 

B is for Bliss.  And now here it is Monday… time to study. And take more ibuprofen.  I have sore legs.  

My brain on phenotypes, genotypes, & ratios

It's fried!

Three big tests.  Three down.  Two Bs.  And now I wait for the buggabooger of them all.  

The bonding that occurs in a group of students mutually worried about failing a near impossible exam by a new professor is a beautiful thing.  The expressions on the faces of this group is suprprising.  Only a handful are grimacing.  The majority of us are smiling, laughing, and realizing what is done is done.  No use in cramming extra bits into our brains.  It doesn't stop us from trying though.  Hell, I even gleaned one tiny bit of useful info that did help me out. And the largest point question on the test came from what I learned in the last 20 minutes before I packed it in this morning.  Time will tell if I remembered it correctly!

My eyes though, I think they are permanently damaged.  Books, notes, and computer screens have been mere inches from my face for days and days now.  Reality around me... wow. The government shut down? What the hell? 

I'm off to the gym now...time to put a few miles in between me and dihybrid test cross ratios.  

a love letter

I have more than one journal program.  I write a lot!  One of them puts out daily suggestions.  -Give three words to describe your mood.  What fun did you have today? What do you crave and why? Write a love letter.-  The love letter one had me swearing at first.  Stupid program.  But someone suggested that I write a love letter to myself, so I thought…. why not!  I’ll give it a go.

Dearest Jena,

When you smile, people smile back.  Always smile. Your heart is good.  You have much to give.  You are so very hard on yourself when you should sit back and let your radiant energy shine.  You are creative and thoughtful and kind. 

Your love for your children is clear. While you know you have to study, and do, you also know when to put it aside and watch an episode of “Transformers Prime” with Finn.  Your eyes are widening to the ever growing need that Rian has for you and you guys are having some really good fun lately!  Keep enjoying Jack’s cuddles, he loves them more than you know.  

Your passion for hummus is inspiring.  Your devotion to the concoction is clear.  There are other foods out there, but I understand your need for the chickpea like no one else can.

You dance like no one is watching.  That is so good for you.  You smile, you move, you breathe, you forget about everything else.  Always dance.  

You are growing every day.  Your sun is beaming ever brighter.  Your sadness is ok as long as you remember you are loved as much as you love others.  You have some kick ass people in your life.  Thank them.  Your comfort in your own skin shows.  Keep going.  Keep moving.  Keep dancing.  Keep playing.  Keep learning.  Keep growing.   

:),

J 

ok, maybe this isn’t a love letter.  maybe this is a directive to myself.  it’ll do. 

Flashback: september 27, 2012

*It was just a few days into the new house.  I was still feeling weird in my skin I suppose.   This is certainly one area where I feel good! Solid! Happy! I know who I am. 

I don’t want to be a lesbian.  But guess what! I am.  This is shit you are born with they say. I don’t care what anyone says.  It is the hindsight that shows you everything.  I see it.  I see it all now.  Why the fuck else would I have ended a 17 year marriage and move out on my own?  Not a whim.  Not easy.  Not fun! Gut wrenching.  World upside downing.  Devastating.  Bullshit.  It’s bullshit!  I hate it.  But in the same breath I am relieved. And that seems pretty messed up.  As much as I can wish for something else, as much as I cry and mourn for what was, what should have been-I am faced with what can be. Everyone has a different path to get to where they need to be.  Mine just happens to be a twisty twiney mother fucking mess.  I will get there though.  I’ll get to where I was I was always meant to be.  

2 weeks

Self protection, it can manifest in many ways.  The self protective barrier that insulates me is rather harsh.  I’m a pusher.  I insulate.  I withdraw. I torture myself.  The pain I inflict on myself, mentally, physically, is at my hand, not someone else’s.  That is my control.  

Woven in with my sunny smiles has always been a dark ribbon.  My mind rarely slows.  And as much as I can see the beauty in things, I can also see the pain.  I can push it away, or I can absorb it. That doesn’t make me broken, it makes me different.  Everyone is different.  And everyone manifests grief in a myriad of ways.  My more extreme methods are just that, extreme. And two weeks ago, I was extreme.   

The sound of the immune system of my soul engaging began with breaking glass.  I hurled the photo across the room.  With that, my focus was engaged.  Remove all traces.  Pack it up.  Don’t look.  Don’t think.  Don’t stop moving.  And I did not until I was exhausted and everything was in a pile.  Photos, letters, notes, cards, presents yet to be finished, trinkets from trips, decorations, clothing… all of it, into the pile.  And after I was spent from the physical and emotional exertion someone else packed it all away for me.  And I slept. Finally.  

I have walked and jogged dozens of miles in the last two weeks.  I have talked to people.  I have written pages and pages in my journals. And I feel better.  I am more angry than sad.  More bewildered than hurt.  And more understanding that it isn’t just me.  I’m on the mend.  I’m not 100%.  I’ll always have scars.  The physical ones are obvious.  The emotional ones are there behind my smile.  

Nearly two weeks later when I finally let myself look at a photo, I didn’t feel quite so raw.  My eyes only leaked a little.  I could still breathe.  I let the ebbing and flowing pain wash over me as it comes.  

I keep on moving.  

A flashback and a whine

August 12, 2012

I am a lesbian.  Labels, as much as I try to avoid them are here to stay.  I am a 38 year old mother of three.   I have been a stay at home mom for 12 years.  I have not felt fully free to be myself for a very long time.  And as the mask slowly peels away and the more this awakening settles in my head, the more bat shit crazy I feel.  How in the hell did I not figure this out before? Who am I? 

My mind is zipping along at warp speed.  My therapist cannot get a word in when I see her. All the hurt and confusion that has been permeating every bit of my thinking is beginning to trickle away.  There is no overnight celebration still. Hell, I still can’t say the word lesbian out loud.  I can say, “I am not straight. I am not bi.” And I just hope people can connect the dots themselves.  Only a teeny circle is privy to this anyhow.  I feet pretty safe with “gay”.  But lesbian is still a label I can only poke at with a very long stick.  

Whine: Today I took a chemistry test.  Throughout the duration of the exam there was sniffling and snotting and coughing and sneezing and I reeeeeally wanted to tell them to cut that shit out.  Holy hell it was disgusting.  Blow your noses people.  Be done with it.  Stop sucking that nastiness up into your head.  

levity

Yesterday Jack was sitting across my lap and I patted his belly.  He pulled up his shirt and I looked at his belly button.  It is a perfect one.  I poked it.  He giggled.  I leaned in seriously and whispered, “Your belly button is what once connected you to me.”  He looked into my eyes with a concentration and a seriousness not normally seen in a 5 year old.  And then he started to giggle.  It grew into an uncontrollable belly laugh that had him throwing his head back, tears in his eyes, and lips turning pale from the strenuous fit of laughter.  I cannot begin to imagine what was in his head.  It sure made him happy.  It made me happy.  Good stuff.  

today

Yesterday was a day of celebration. It was good. I felt so good. And I might have been a little hopped up on caffeine. Today, I'm a little blue. It could be the clouds. It could be the post "holiday" let down.  It could just be the waves of sadness ebbing and flowing. Someone told me today that grief is a process. I wanted to say, "fuck the process.  I'm processed out." I've processed my orientation, the ending of my marriage, going back to school, being a single mom, and now this. Good lord I'm full up.

 I appreciate the kind words. Forgive me for being needy, but keep 'em comin'.

anniversaries

September 24th marks the one year anniversary of the first night in my own house.  I had spent a few days getting things moved and cleaned and planned to have a couple nights in the place on my own before the kiddos came with me. I needed to see what that felt like. That night, alone in my new home, I sobbed on the couch like my insides were being ripped out.  I can remember the sound of my cries, as if I were on the outside observing. - The poor girl, no one knows her pain.  No one else can hear her.  And that is the way she wants it.  

That night I slept with the lamp on in the living room.   The darkness was too thick, and I needed to see that I was sleeping alone.  In the light of the morning, I could breathe.  I could see.  I felt ok.  I don’t remember much about the next day.  That is probably the way it should be.  Days meld together and just are what they are.  Routines develop. New paths are worn. Only the anniversaries stick out -only the more memorable times.  Sometimes those memories are bliss.  Sometimes they are pain.  

As this first anniversary in my home passes I feel so so much.  I’ve got some mourning going on and some solid “one step after another” happening.  I have a plan tonight. I will remember it next year.  Maybe I will have a new tradition.  

Flashbacks: August 1, 2012

I'll be pulling from my old journal for a bit. Here I am.

At some point it dawned on me, I am a gay woman wrapped in a heterosexual suburban bubble.  I am married to a fantastic guy I consider to be my best friend in the world.  It is wicked complicated as of late though. 

 I had some amazing experiences with women before I was married.  It was really a WOW thing.  Nothing with the guys had been like that.  First time with a guy? Really, I have nothing good to say about that.  I do remember a distinct “well, that is done now” attitude.  The first time with a woman? Wow. Hallalooya. Wow. 

I had no concept of what lesbians were. No schema for the “homosexual lifestyle”.  (Lifestyle… that is a tainted word.) I only knew one gay man and yet I was really clueless as to what that meant.  I only knew he was gay because that is what everyone said about him.  I heard of the term bisexual in college and figured that was me.  You grow up, get married, and have babies. I just happened to like women.

 Looking back I wonder if some of the things I experienced and felt and thought were the cues I only began to recognize in the last few months.  I went along for a bit feeling sorry for myself that I had “missed the memo” and never had a chance to really experience these key moments in my young adult life.  I found myself envious of those folks that KNEW from early on.  Maybe I dodged a bullet though.  I grew up in a small south Texas town.  Enough eyebrows were raised when I dated a hispanic guy.  Sheesh.  

I have beautiful children. A great friend holding his heartache to help me grow. And the support of family and friends.  It’s like winning the fucking lottery. 

Septembers

Septembers can apparently suck ass, too. Two years ago someone broke my heart. Last September I broke someone's heart. And now I get it back. Someone broke my heart. That is a lot of damn heartbreak. Sometimes I just don't know if the potential harm caused by letting someone in outweighs the possibility that it might be ok. I've been wishing I had just burned my fucking book.

 My weekend was damn shitty.  I'll touch on that some day way down the road. HOWEVER, I'm still moving along.  I have plans tonight, studying tomorrow, and Sunday looks to be pretty good.  I'm going to a brunch and getting something I've waited ages for.  I'm reaching out like I've never done before.  And I am NOT a reacher-outer.  And I've had a couple amazing experiences sharing my orientation with people I never normally would have.  So yay for that.  I have a couple really good people locally that have my best interest at heart and an amazing array of women scattered hither and yon sending me light and love.  Keeping my eye out for all of those silver linings. 

Thank you to those wonderfully patient people that continue to let me cry on their shoulder and remind me that I am a strong and powerful woman.  

Broken

I have been sad before.  Coming out was a process that almost killed me.  But today my heart is broken and right now it feels like it will never ever heal.  It hurts to breathe.  It hurts to think.  It hurts so much and I wish I could just flip a switch.  

I have to get off of FB to avoid the ghosts of the past and of the future that will never be.  Today I wallow.  But tomorrow I have to pick myself up and keep moving. Right now I don't know how that will look or feel.  It is almost terrifying.  I'll admit I feel a little like bottling up and not letting anyone in again.  Everyone says that things will get better over time.  But the level of raw and brokeness seems like it will increase the healing time exponentially.  So I just don't know.  I just feel so very sad.  

I remember

It was just like any other morning staying home mothering my one year old.  

My mom called first to tell me the towers had fallen. When I turned on the news, the feed I was watching was not live and had not yet shown the collapse.  I saw the towers were burning, but they were still standing.  I thought she was being dramatic.  Seconds later I watched them fall.  A minute after that Alan called to check on me.  I was sitting on our bed with one year old Rian.  There was a mixtures of panic and not knowing what to do. Or feel.  But I was sitting there with this happy kid still in her PJs in my lap.  

Mom called back later to tell me to go to the bank and take out as much cash as I could.  (She worked at a bank and they were concerned about all sorts of things).  That was $300. I kept that emergency stash for years.  I filled up the car with gas as well.  It was so eery going out and pulling the money out. Getting gas.  Some people looked like they were carrying on about their day.  Others looked dazed.  It all felt surreal. I then sat on my bed or the couch with Rian the rest of the day glued to the news.  I kept looking at her, so full of innocence and happiness.  I could not imagine the world she was going to grow up in.  This morning she headed off to school nearly an hour after Jack and I left and hopped a bus on her own.  Still surreal.

Woo hoo!

Last Sunday I was full of giddy energy.  I started back to school this week.  I've made it through the first week.  Man! It feels so good to use my brain.  And use it I have... I've hit the ground running.  This semester has the potential to kick my ass.  It's a fantastic challenge.  I can do it.  Lots of "feel good, women rock, and I'm a strong and powerful one" feelings coursing through my veins.  

Another thing that feels good, cheering runners of the Pocatello Marathon on today.  The determination in their faces, the pain, the joy.  I cheered on with a group of women and we all dressed as cows.  It was a pretty awesome thing.  We cheered them on with signs reading "Just Keep Mooooving".  There were also races for half marathoners, 10K, and 5K.  Every single one of them rocks.  My throat is sore from yelling and whooping it up. Some of those people looked pretty damn fresh as they crossed the finish line.  Others looked like they were hanging on by the skin of their teeth.  I admire that determination, passion, and grit.  I hope our cheers gave them a boost in their step.  I know they have certainly done something for me.  I'm running my own marathon right now.  I'm fresh and perky right now.  And as I continue in school and life (yeah, maybe a bit melodramatic) I want to remember those marathoners.  I want to harness their passion and take it with me these next few years as I go through school.  

Sundays

It’s Sunday.  I can’t decide if I like Sundays or not.   I love a good Sunday afternoon nap and an evening walk to the park.  Sundays can feel decadent and lazy.  They are also a time to reflect upon the week that has passed and the week yet to come.  

Today is the Sunday beginning the last week of the summer.  There is some pretty heavy stuff zinging around inside my head.  It is likely my last summer as a stay-at-home-mom.  It is the last summer before my youngest, my Jack, my last baby, begins kindergarten.  It is the last summer before my oldest begins her last year at the best school ever.  It is my last summer in my 30s.  

However, it was my first summer in my own home.  It was my first as a single parent and I’m kicking ass so far.  It was my first at the beginning of a new life, a new world.  It was my first summer to live more in the moment, to stop worrying about so much of the other bullshit and focus on the moment with my kiddos.  

We had some good fun.  We had quiet mornings in the hammock.  We had swimming playdates and family movie nights.  We hiked.  We walked.  We biked.  We had lunch in the park.  We did not use the oven all summer.  We lived. We laughed. And we loved.  Ok, I like this Sunday.  And our summer rocked.  

thinking

I think in full sentences and phrases, as if I were reading from the pages of my life. The stream of consciousness that is my life is punctuated with exclamation points, question marks, and periods. Sometimes the prose in my mind is giddy and joyful.  I’m a school girl filled with glee.  It might be the new roses budding or just that my belly is full of hummus and happiness.  Sometimes the words are dripping with sadness, a grief that permeates to the tips of my toes.  It is the loss of what was known.  The sadness that comes with missing.  Words are hot with anger and those words sink their teeth deeply.  They are filled with hurt, pain.   Someone else’s words sting.  A lack of order in the chaos prickles.  Words that describe the confusion are just strings -A disbelief that comes with waking and continues through the making of beds and washing of dishes.  Some words are calm, gentle.  They illustrate a satiety which comes as close as I can get to stillness in my mind.   The pages of my life are fantasy, history, action/adventure, romance, and comedy.  I add to it daily.  With each new chapter, excitement for the next builds.  It’s a real page turner.  

being myself

There is a line between myself and being cognizant of feelings of other people around me.  There are plenty of people I could give a hooey about, not because I’m an asshole (I don’t think) but because I rate my own feelings of being comfortable in my own skin higher than the level of discomfort that I may cause them.  Now, people I care about, that’s different.  It can be enjoyable to torture the teen in public, but there is a balance of modeling “be yourself” and not “ruining” her life.  I’m not even sure how to describe “being yourself” vs not.  But everyone knows what it feels like to ignore your authentic self.  It can be draining to pretend to be something or someone else.  Being yourself should be effortless.  You only have to THINK when you’re trying to be something other than yourself.  There have been countless changes in my life recently.  That alone compounds the unrest I feel in "being myself".  Sometimes it flows and is just so easy. Other times, my own skin is an itching suit that I can't situate just right.  I've "tried on" a few versions in the past few years.  But comfort is always key in the end.  

I can use writing as an example.  I’d much rather write about what I want, what I enjoy, what moves me. And I do, I just don’t share much.  If you were to compare the college papers I wrote on Texas history or the one on a biological basis for homosexuality, I’m sure you could see which one interested me more.  This blog is this way, too.  I just haven’t put much out there because I worry someone will read something and feel uncomfortable or slighted.  When I make myself write for the sake of just putting something there, it shows.  And I think I have come to the point where I need to just put more out there, for myself, the things I want to write about and share.   If it makes for squeamish or WTF reading or makes you angry, stop reading it. If it makes you smile, laugh, or choke on your coffee… Awesome. 

I am going to write about just about anything that floats my boat.  What better way to be myself!  I will ramble and stutter and commit crimes against grammer. But maybe this written form of therapy will just further my quest in being myself.  

Summer begins...

Today was my first day of summer with the kiddos.  (Jack still has one more week left.) Rian took off for greener pastures with a friend and Finn and I hit the library.  I signed both boys up for the summer reading program.  Finn checked out two books.  And shocker… I checked out one, too!  Finn and I also napped on the couch together (he asked!), we colored, mended clothes, played with Legos, and just generally had a nice time hanging out together. 

 

We have a slew of activities going on this summer.  We will be busy.  There are library activities for all of the kids, gymnastics for my monkey boy, art classes for Finn, and Rian will be helping out a friend.  Oh, there are swimming lessons scattered in there, a trip to Texas, and plenty of days where I hope to be reading a book by the pool while the kids wear themselves out.  I hope to weave in camping trips, bike rides, walks to the park, and plenty of yard work.  May there be movie excursions and naps as well.  There will be beer and barbeques and picnics and fun runs.  Parties and sleepovers and concerts on the Quad. 

The last two summers have been hard ones for me.  I am determined to make this summer a fun and exciting time.  I want to build memories (good ones) to last a lifetime. I am incredibly lucky to be able to spend this summer at home.  My days as a SAHM are numbered.  These will be the ones that count. 

Things to Know, Remember, and Count on With Kids

1) Always always be sure to wipe all of the powdered donut powder from your face.  Kids can see microscopic amounts.

2) If you sneak chocolate, they will smell it and track you down.  Bloodhound like sniffers.

3)  If your phone rings, they will surround you immediately with inane requests.

4)  They can be glued to an activity and the moment you put your head on a pillow for a power nap they will need food. And only you can prepare it just so.

5) If it is time to leave the house, they will never have their shoes on.  The shoes might as well be hidden in another dimension.  You will not find them in time.

6)  The amount of time you spend preparing a meal is inversely proportional to how much they will like it. 

7) They will wake up at the crack of dawn of Saturday and Sunday and will need to be dragged from their beds Monday-Friday. Without fail.

8) They can never hear your raised voice, despite the mere inches that separate you. They can always hear your voice whispering “ice cream” from  three rooms away. 

9)  They have a never ending supply of hugs.  (Some of them are a bit sticky though.)

wow

Head’s gonna s’plode (ala Jack).

Christmas-

Christmas was wonderful.  And weird.  But mostly wonderful.  My house was bedecked in purple and pink and turquoise and green and I loved it.  My tree was fragrant and perfect.  The kids were tickled pink with the gifts I chose for them.  My girlfriend stayed and made the most awesome pancakes for the kids on Christmas Eve morning.  We even went to a Christmas eve service.  Santa made it to Alan’s and I was there to enjoy it all.  Alan made us a fantastic prime rib.  Wonderful and weird.

Vegas-

Yeah, Vegas baby! Trip of a lifetime with my love.  Gobsmacked, wide-eyed, mouth agape… Sights, smells, colors. People! So many people! Fancy drinks.  Fancy shoes in window displays.  Fancy hotels bathed in color.  Smoky casinos with so much noise.  People, slot machines, cards rippling and slipping from elegantly manicured fingers. Old, dry fingers.  Tired, stumbling fingers.  Cards fanning out. Chips picked and plucked meticulously. Winning, losing, smiling, laughing, sighing, highfives, bleary eyed hardcore players, bright eyed newbies. SO.MUCH.

New Years-

Good. Weird. Really weird.  It’s a new year.  I can’t see what’s coming, but I certainly didn’t see it last year either.  School begins.  I keep on trucking.  

Absolute Glee