Badass Bandaids.. 

I have written about this before, a few times. I think bandaids are fucking amazing. The little cartoon ones are pretty badass, and the designs on them nowadays are beyond fun. What is the point of a bandaid? To cover a wound and help you heal by keeping the shit out. Pretty straightforward, right? 

But, I think that some people can be bandaids, too. I have a handful of them in my life. You know who my strongest bandaid is? My husband. He came in to my life when I was a fucking pile of rubble on the floor, and slowly, together, we have put me back together. I’m different now – I put myself back together how I always should have been. And he has been the glue, tape and bandaids that’s held all the pieces together and kept the shit out. He’s fucking amazing and I don’t know what I would do without him. 

I also have some friends who are my like my doc mcstuffins bandaids. Sure, they were there through the demise and rebirth of me, but they weren’t the architects behind the restructure – they were the ones who kept me smiling and made sure my head stayed above water and screwed on straight. Plus, they’re fucking cute.. just like doc mcstuffins haha. They held my hand, lent me their shoulders, gave me their ears for hours upon hours, heard more of the nitty gritty than anyone should be privy to, and they’re still there, holding certain pieces together. Serious angels on earth and I wild be lost without them. 

I was just listening to this song, and something clicked (another topic that I frequently write about).

“I will be right by your side. 

If I can’t find the cure, 

I’ll fix you with my love

No matter what you know, 

I’ll fix you with my love

And if you say you’re okay

I’m gonna heal you anyway

Promise I’ll always be there

Promise I’ll be the cure”

Sounds like a cheesy love song, and maybe it is (Lady Gaga, by the way) but to me, it’s more than that. At its core, it’s about being there for someone and sticking by them for the long haul. And that’s what my bandaids are. I may not need them as much as I used to, for the reasons I used to, anyway… but where are they? Still stuck right to me. None of them could fix me, but they stood by me while I put the pieces back together, they helped where they could, and now, no matter where I go, they’re there. They helped me rebuild, and they’re written in all of what I am now. 

I’m not all better. I don’t think I ever will be. Once rocked that hard, I think it’s always natural to be forever shaky. But I’m doing ok. 

I have some more healing to do, but I know that I have them all behind me. And I think I’m ok with how far I still have to go. They know me and they love me, regardless of the cracks and bandaids and disheveled imperfect perfection. 

How does it go? I’m stuck on bandaids cuz bandaids stuck on me. And I’ll take these crazy ass people with me everywhere I go, with a big fucking smile on my face and a shit-ton of peace in my heart. 

Because of them. My badass bandaids. 

The lasts of the firsts..

Tonight is just the same as any other night. It is Sunday in November. But while today is just like any other day, it is completely different – we are about to experience yet another last of the firsts.

My youngest turns 5 tomorrow. Five. I can barely wrap my head around this. And while he has already started school (another last of the firsts, as it was the last time we had a first day of school) this birthday is hitting me harder than most have in the past. Five feels big. It feels like he is no longer my baby, but this little tiny human who has this whole life that I am no longer a part of.

He is my last baby. I am not having any more. He completed our family. He was the last time I would be on the maternity floor at a hospital. He was the last bottle made for a 2am feeding. He was the last first time rolling over. He was the last time learning to crawl. He was the last first steps. He was the last first tooth. He was the last first giggle. He was the last first night in a big bed. He was the last first time riding a bike. He was the last first lost tooth. He was the last first day of school.

He is the last of the firsts.

And I know we have a lot of firsts to go through; not only with him, but with our other 2 boys (and there are firsts coming with them, as they are 11 and 13!! those are new firsts that I am not quite prepared for!!!) it is really sad to be closing the chapter on the first firsts. The baby firsts. The tiny heads and sweet noises, and the immense pride that you can only feel when you watch your tiny human do something for the first time; something you take for granted, like smiling, laughing, talking, walking, not shitting your pants…

He is turning 5. I remember where I was at this time 5 years ago. I had just dropped my older two off for the week, as I knew I was having a C-section on Tuesday morning. My husband (then boyfriend, because we like to do things out of order, and don’t conform to what society says is right and proper, and also because I swore I would never get married again..) and I had our entire day planned, for our last day without our baby. He came home from work, we watched SportsCenter (as we always did in the mornings), I went downstairs to get some cereal and wanted sugar, but the only sugar we had was that stupid paper bag of Rogers sugar, and it was on the top shelf of the pantry. I grabbed it and it fell on me, and exploded all over the kitchen. I remember laughing hysterically as I called Trevor to come rescue me from my current sticky predicament. We laughed, I ate, and then showered. And while he was getting out of the shower, he smashed his baby toe on the edge of the tub, and busted it wide open. This maybe isn’t something normal to remember, but it comes out again in the story. Then his mother showed up, as she was planning on coming to the hospital the next day, as she had never been in the room for a grandchild being born (she wouldn’t again, as I was being cut open in surgery, but she would see him when he was only hours old, which was a first for her) and I had a sip of hot chocolate, but it didn’t taste right, so I dumped the rest out. We then piled into her car to go do my pre-reg at the hospital, as I would be there too early the next day to register. They hooked me up to the little baby heartrate ticker thing (three kids, no idea what it is actually called) and the nurse looked at me and  said “wow. you’re having quite a few contractions!” and I just laughed and told her they had been happening all weekend, but I had been getting them since August. She then told me that she wanted to do an internal to see if I was actually in labor. Trevor and his mom stepped out, only to be called back in by my shouting “as if!” as the nurse told me I was more than 4cm dilated, and would be having my son that day. This came as a shock to us all, as we didn’t have a bag packed, didn’t have anything ready, didn’t even have our truck!! We had planned on going to see Harold and Kumar, and for dinner, then planned on packing our bag that night. Beauty of having a planned C-section; there really is very little guess work. Or so we thought.

Trevor left in a mad rush, as I was taken upstairs and prepped for surgery. I stood in the hallway, pacing while waiting for my nurse, and made a bunch of phonecalls to tell my family and closest friends that our son was coming a day early. It ended up being kind of awesome, though, as my older 2 were both born on the 7th, and now, so would my third. We lived 20 minutes away from the hospital, and he had to pack all of our stuff, and rush back. He got there just as I was being wheeled out of the room ( he would have been there sooner, to you know, support and calm me down, but he stopped for pepsi… ahem) and within a half an hour, our baby was there, in our arms, and smack dab in the middle of our hearts. The 3 days we spent in the hospital was filled with its own drama and bs, none of which needs to be recalled or revisited.. except Trevor’s aforementioned toe, which reaked havoc the whole time we were there, as the nurses weren’t able to give him a bandaid, because HE wasn’t a patient. His toe bled for the whole week. Note to self: beware toe damage – that shit bleeds forever!

And now, here I sit, remembering his tiny perfect head, his beautiful little baby lips, his tiny little noises, and how much my heart exploded when I got to hold him the first time.

The last time I held my baby for the first time. The last time I brought a new baby home from the hospital. The last time I spent hours trying to figure out how to make his formula, work the bottle warmer and the bottle sterilizer (so much was supposed to be done that last night! haha) The last time we would have a brand new baby at home for the first time. The last time we got to show off our new baby.

The last of the firsts. I know there are lots of other firsts, but this chapter is officially closed. He is going to be 5. To some, that may not seem like a big deal, but to me, it is.

My last baby.

 

I am back, bitches!

I have taken some time to chill, organize my life, and see how things feel. And what I can say right now is… things feel great! We are happy in our new house – it fits us very well and everyone is loving our new space.

Don’t get me wrong, the move itself was a slice of flaming hell. We had help. We arranged ahead of time for people to come help with the heavy cumbersome shit. I pack the house and clean after it is emptied, so the husband moves the shit. Seems fair. Except this time, help didn’t come. Bunch of hosers just didn’t show up. So who did the brunt of the heavy lifting? That would be us. At one point, my head was pinned between the wall and the couch, and I was not pleased. I know there are other people we could have called, but I have a very good reason for not doing so, which is why I am not bitching too heavily about moving our shit ourselves. Am I selfless? Did I want to give people their time with their families? Did I want to avoid being an inconvenience? NO! I don’t want those people calling us to move their shit. HAHA! Totally selfish, hence only being slightly annoyed.

Moving on…. We are settled and everyone is enjoying their respective spots in school.

Biggest little is thriving in grade 8 and just starting another year of volleyball. He is so good at that game, it is crazy. And it doesn’t hurt that he is very close to being 6 feet tall. Loser. I make him sit down when I give him shit, now. Nobody will take a 5’3″ person seriously when they hover 5-6 inches above them. He is a giant. He has a big heart. But at times I still question every choice I have ever made with him, due to the moron-adolescent big-ass attitude. Just have to remember it happens to the best of us and hope tomorrow is better. But as I remind myself all the time – it could be worse! He truly is a great kid and watching him become this beanpole with a vision for his life is kind of flooring me!

Middle-little (also known as the diabetic) is kicking ass this year. November 9th will be his 1 year diaversary, and he has got such a good grasp of it, our last appointment was mostly just sitting around and bullshitting with his nurses.. they didn’t even want to see his food log. He has grown (physically and emotionally) with this disease and we are blown away every day with how well he has adapted. He is in grade 6 and doing amazeballs with school and with his stupid busted ass pancreas. But he is so much more than just a diabetic kid. He is so funny and silly, and is going to earn a living with his amazing drawing and attention to detail. Just you wait and see….

Little-little!! Aww, here is where the changes are undeniable. My baby started kindergarten this year. Not only is it weird that he isn’t home two days a week, but he comes home and talks about this life that we aren’t a part of, and that has never happened before. It is tearing my heart apart a bit, but he is doing really well, so that helps. He attended his first bday party without us today, which is another change. Sigh… My baby. Seriously freaked out by this new development!

My husband!! Seriously… gush gush gush. I love the ever loving shit out of that man! Him appearing in my life was random, and a total miracle. My heart was obliterated before him, and now it is put back together in the most perfect way. He did a course at work this week, and walked away with a 98% which is amazing for someone who despises school, tests, speaking in front of people, has adhd, etc. And now this man, this amazing human that I get to share my life with, is a certified heavy equipment operator, and is certified to train people to not only run the equipment, but to also train other people to train people. In summation, he is a heavy equipment badass, and I am stupid proud of him! Plus, he is total sex on a stick, so there’s that, too.

Me…. I don’t really have a lot to report (at the moment) but shit is changing. My horizon is beginning to look a lot more pink, and the dark clouds are way behind me now. I have a few tricks up my sleeve… lets just say, what is coming next will be revolutionary in my life.

Like I said…. I’m back, bitches. But the me that is back isn’t the me you knew from before… I put myself back together differently this time.

*mic drop*

You and I..

I am currently sitting on my couch, screwing around on Apple Music, listening to all sorts of music I maybe wouldn’t have had I had to actually pay for it. Chances are good that if I had to pay $1.29 for it, it never would have made it onto my phone. But considering I am sitting in the first month of my 3 month free trial, I figured why not! Let my freak-music flag fly! So here we are, deafening bass and treble flowing through my blue beats, and cramming itself straight into my brain. Then it hits me – literally and figuratively. “I got all I need when I got you and I, cuz I look around me and see a sweet life.. stuck in the dark but you’re my flashlight, you’re getting me through the night” and shivers ran up and down my spine, and my husband flashed into my head. A breath caught in my throat and I had to blink back tears. Sure, it may be a cheeseball song from a cheeseball movie, but that line struck a chord with me (pardon the pun.. haha)

For anyone who doesn’t know me or my husbands story, let me just say, it has been a sorted one. It was love at first sight, but also nothing near love at first sight. After a miserable month of school in this catholic high school in grade 10, my mom transferred me to the high school I should have been at all along. A month and a half into the school year, I was, once again, considered the “new girl”. But all of my friends from junior high were there, so I wasn’t all alone. I did a few days in this school, and felt okay. Then one day, rain. My gym class ends up in the drama room, in the dark, siting on the floor, watching a mind-numbingly boring video about tennis. And all of a sudden, there was a head in my lap and a hand holding mine under my knee. I looked at the boy beside me and whispered “who is this?!” and he snickered and said “oh, that’s just Trevor”. And that, people, is how I met my husband. We sat through that entire video, and I can’t tell you a single thing that happened on it, but I can tell you that my heart was racing! I was only a few days at this new school, and I didn’t really know anyone in my gym class. When the video ended, he looked up at me with those gorgeous brown eyes that I now get to gaze into every single day, and he smiled and said “me and Jennie’s like peas and carrots” and then stood up, grabbed my hand, walked me to my locker, kissed me on the cheek and walked away. Other than a few pleasantries for the next 3 years, that was the only real contact I had with Trevor in high school. How much easier life could have been if I had just kept him from walking away that day. We talk about it all the time. Our “what if” moment. We had another “what if” moment at our safe grad 3 years later.. but he was drunk (as all kids are at their safe grads, plus, he was 18, so it was totally legal) and he doesn’t remember telling me he liked me, calling me cutie, saying how sad he was that we weren’t closer, or hugging me like he never wanted to let me go. Funny to look back at moments in your life where everything could have shifted, just if only……

There was zero contact between us over the next 12 years. We became facebook friends in 2007, when facebook was taking the world by storm, but still no contact. Trevor and I lived very different lives, but at the same time, they were scary similar. It’s like life knew better, and just continued grooming us to end up together. I was with someone, and he was with someone. We both had 2 sons, and deep down inside, without showing anyone, we were both miserable, but always had smiles on our faces. We endured a lot, most of which doesn’t require any airing or attention. Lets just say, it was a very sad and empty decade of years.

Then, one night, after he endured the hardest year of his life, closely followed by me doing the same, us separated by 4 hours and what felt like a million years, I made a facebook post expressing how deeply I missed my grandma. And a couple hours later, at midnight, my phone buzzed on my nightstand. I remember my mouth hanging open, and saying out loud in my empty room “Trevor J… where the hell did you come from!?” Of course, I am saying this to myself, cuz I am crazy like that. So, I typed out that very sentence, and thanked him for the nice message. And just like that, a friendship was born. We chatted a few times, nothing too exciting. Talked about our kids, our losses, our lives, etc. I grew to look forward to our talks, because he made me feel like there was a rainbow just over the horizon for me, and that eventually all of my dark clouds would go away. I was, at that point, a year into my divorce and was more lonely than I ever really let on, but he somehow saw through it and made me feel like it was all going to be okay.

There is a lot of stuff that happened in those few months, most of which I do not feel like it needs to be aired, either. All I can say is, we were friends. He helped me through my divorce, helped me smile again, and when the time came for him needing someone to lean on, I helped him see that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. We were friends. Period. I was closed off, jaded, angry, hurt and broken, and he made me feel hope. Then, when some time had passed, we decided to give this love thing a shot. Let me tell you this, two broken people with that much baggage trying to make a long distance relationship work? That, right there, is a recipe for broken fucking hearts. And that is exactly what happened to us. Fizzle fizzle, crack, and we were done before we ever even got going. And it broke me even more. We had a couple of months where we held eachother together with hopes and tears, but it wasn’t enough. Sometimes, love just isn’t enough. I called him my bandaid, but it just proved that when bandaids are soaked enough, they just don’t stick. And our bandaid was drenched in buckets of tears. It just let go.

Months passed after the most devastating breakup either of us had ever endured, and we all but stopped talking. I couldn’t bear the pain, and he, too, just blocks out pain. So we went from being friends, to best friends, to in love, to nothing, in a mere few months time. It would sound like it was no big deal to most, but that was one of the worst pains I had ever felt. It felt like I was losing oxygen and could not breathe. And deep down inside, as much as I told myself I hated him, I still felt like we were supposed to be together. Who breaks up, tears running down their face, and says “I love you more than anything, and I WILL marry you one day”? I’ll tell you who, my husband. We both just knew we were too broken to be a part of anything at that point, so we broke it off, at 2am laying on my hotel room bed, heads on our tear soaked pilows, and fell asleep holding eachother. Almost 6 years later, and it still hurts my chest.

One day, during our “off” phase, I was at my weekend job, and this song came on the radio. I remember listening to a bit of the words, and falling to the floor in a puddle of tears. “I wish Trevor thought this way about me” I thought…then picked myself up, swore I would stop thinking about him right then and there, and carried on with my life. Fast forward a few months, and I went to Calgary to spend the weekend with my best friend. I finally felt free of the pain, and like I was going to be okay, after all. We had a great weekend, and I felt happy for the first time in months. After leaving her house, I texted Trevor and told him I would be swinging by to “get my shit from you, cuz there’s no need for you to have it anymore” So we planned for me to stop and grab my book, blackberry and PVR. I had several people texting and calling me while I was there, to check up on me, and make sure I didn’t get sucked back in.

I got out of my truck, felt really good about myself (helped that my thyroid meds kicked in while we were apart and I lost 35 pounds.. haha) and grabbed my stuff, threw it in the truck (making sure to flash my tiny ass at him) and said goodbye and started to leave. But he wanted to talk… 2 hours later, we were still standing in that parking lot, talking. And before I knew it, he grabbed me and kissed me. It was all over after that. I tried to keep him at bay, I tried to keep my heart locked up… but he is supposed to be in there… he was always meant to be in my heart. Always. He texted me at work later that week and said “look up the lyrics to this song. Every time I hear it, I think of you and miss you” What song do you think it was? Yeah, the exact same one I thought “I wish Trevor thought this way about me” a few months earlier. When people are meant to be together, it always finds a way.

It wasn’t easy. It still sometimes hurts. I still have moments when I let this all in and I cry. But it is part of our story, as sorted as it may be. Had all of that not happened, we wouldn’t be where we are right now. That’s not to say I don’t wish we could have ended up together without all of the hurt and pain. I am so insanely jealous of people who do it right on their first try. I will never know what that feels like. I have an ex. He has an ex. And no matter what we do or where we go, they will always be in the background. I have kids from a previous marriage. He has kids from a previous relationship. I have a failed marriage. He has a failed long term relationship. I have trust issues. He has trust issues. We still fight fights with our exes, with eachother. There is still baggage at every single turn. And I wish on a daily basis that we had a do-over. But that just isn’t real, nor is it ever possible. This is our life. This is what we have built. We have a beautiful son together. He is an amazing dad to my older two boys. We have a sturdy as hell marriage that isn’t going anywhere.

Trevor is my person. He is my oxygen. I have a lot of issues from my past, but instead of wishing them away, he holds my hand and helps me see in the darkness. I would give anything to go back to grade 10, and never let his hand go… but that’s not my life. Nor is it his. We have overcome some insane stuff in our relationship. We have stood together and let life try to knock us down. But with him by my side, I have no doubt in my mind that I am in the middle of my forever, and nothing is ever going to rip us apart. He still gives me butterflies and tingles, I still get giddy when I hear my phone tell me that he texted me, I still miss him every single time he goes to work, we still text eachother any time we are apart, I still get nervous when he kisses me, I still crave his hugs….

I know if we had been together sooner, it would have been amazing and magical and everything that dreams are made of… but it also may not have worked. Because at our core, we are the same people, but we have both changed a lot over the last 2 decades. And in some ways, I think that Trevor and I had to break before we got together, so that we could help each other put ourselves back together the way we were always meant to be.

Diabetic monster..

I read a very sad story tonight about a young and promising college athlete with type 1 diabetes who, like so many other people before him, quietly passed away in his sleep due to a low blood sugar. . It sneaks up, often without warning, those unpredictable nighttime lows. And without warning, if you’re not careful, they can sneak up and steal the most precious things on earth.. it doesn’t take long, and it comes without any noise or alarm. Just poof…….

My heart shattered into so many pieces while reading that story, the pieces could not ever possibly be counted… Because that is my main fear with my son. The highs and lows during the day we can handle; they are completely manageable.. While they are entirely infuriating and sometimes frustrating beyond belief, it is something that we can easily deal with. It’s the lows that sneak up at night.. that is where the terror lies.

After he’s given us his hundred hugs and said his million “I love you’s” and tucked himself into bed, that’s the scary part. Because when so many other children go to bed and peacefully slumber, only afraid of the monsters under their beds and in their dreams, diabetics are constantly in a battle with their own kind of nighttime monsters. And it is the parents of these humans that fight their own variation of these monsters. My son is still too young to fully manage himself; one day, it will be in his hands (I will always remain in the background… whether he likes it or not!) So, for the time being, it is on my shoulders to keep him on this earth, and as healthy as possible, and for as long as possible.

I haven’t slept through the night in months. I get my son to check himself when he goes to bed, then I check him when I go to bed a couple hours later, then I get up every single night at 3 am and check him again. I should be exhausted, I should feel drained beyond measure. But when it comes right down to it, that is my baby’s life there, and I am not willing to sacrifice it for 15 extra minutes of sleep. I jump out of bed and happily/groggily check his tiny little finger, only lit by the hall light, and he sleeps right through it. He sleeps through a sharp object blowing a hole into his delicate finger skin, me squeezing a drop of blood out, wiping it off, and squeezing another, and the incessant beeping of his glucose monitor. Then, once I have his reading, I either tuck him in and slunk back to bed, or rip to the fridge to grab his emergency juice (also known as his big brothers regular juice boxes… ah, the simple life) He even sleeps through me ramming straws into his mouth and forcing him to drink enough juice to bring him out of his lows (of which require me to recheck his finger every 15 minutes until he is back to an acceptable reading.. which means, I have to keep blowing holes and squeezing blood until he is back to a good level)

I’ve read stories of mothers who haven’t slept through the night in 20 years because of their Type 1 children. And that is absolutely going to be me. If there was ever a question before that I was going to be an overbearing mother and one of the ones who are still a constant in their children’s lives when they’re older, I have no doubt in my mind that I’m going to be now. Sorry future girlfriends, after everything I’ve been through with him, you’re just going to have to put up with me!

He is 10. He has a lot of years left ahead of him. And if it means I lose sleep for the foreseeable future, so be it; it means he wakes up every morning. If it means my cell phone bill is more every month, just so he can text me his levels, so be it; it means I know he is safe, and I always get a ton of “i love you” texts, and there’s nothing wrong with that. If my grocery bill goes up so he can have the best possible foods for him, and always be prepared, so be it; it means he has the best shot at being completely healthy and happy.

My son  is a Type 1 Diabetic. But he is so much more than that. He is my son, and I intend on helping him figure out exactly what else he is going to be.
  

A bad example? Or a cautionary tale?

Have you ever sat back and thought “holy shit, my life has been insane!” No? Just me? LIAR! Everyone has at least something that they look back on and reminisce and wonder how the hell they made it out alive. It can’t just be me. I mean, I have had a bit of a whirlwind life thus far, but I know for a fact that I am not the only person who has ever made a mistake or had shit thrown at them and lived to tell the tale.

This was all brought to my mind today, while telling a friend the “cliffs-notes” version of my life. I mean, I didn’t go back very far (only 8 years or so.. as the brunt of my “are you effing kidding me?!” started happening around my 28th year of life.. there was a shitstorm of epic proportions prior to that, but that’s a story for another day) I was spewing forth some of the happenings in my life, and a familiar catch in my throat appeared. Hello old friend, I haven’t had to swallow you in a while. Then it hit me. That shit is all behind me. Very behind me. I survived. Like Eminem said “that’s what happens when a tornado meets a volcano..” that is exactly how I feel like my life was for the longest time. A tornado and a volcano. But, I have been on solid ground for a while, and am so thankful for the ability to say that!

While telling my friend about all of my highs and my many many devastating lows, I wondered something – am I more of a bad example? A “what not to do”? Or am I a cautionary tale? Leading others on a path that may not land them in the shit that I dug myself out of? Interesting.

To some, I may seem like the worst example. Divorce. Single mother. All the other shit that was swirling at that time. To some, what I did and what I went through is considered heinous and abhorrent. Well, I am here to tell you, it wasn’t that bad. I am not a bad person. I just do not believe that people are required to stay unhappy forever. And once someone has done everything in their power to fix a perpetually broken and shitty situation, and it just isn’t fixing, then it is time to pack it up and move the hell on. Which is what I did! Was it easy? Hell no. Was it scary? Fuck yes! But I did it, and I survived (as did my kids!)

How about considering myself a cautionary tale? A “this is what happened to me due to these choices, and should you want to avoid this, perhaps don’t make these choices!” kind of situation. I am not sure I really want to be portrayed that way, either. But maybe it’s not so horrible. I maybe didn’t make “horrible” choices, per say. I made the same choices that millions of other people have, I just made them with the wrong people and at the wrong time. So, look to me for answers about what not to do, fine. But also know that if you happen down the same path that I did, and find yourself in the same crap-stew that I festered in for a very long time, know that one day, you will fight your way out of it, and you will find yourself even stronger and more resilient than you were before.

Cuz if I can survive everything I have, and still have a smile on my face, hope in my soul and love in my heart, than anything is effing possible. Well, maybe not anything.. I mean, I am still not a millionaire. HAHAHA!!

 

All that sparkles is gone…

We moved into our house on November 25th, and I decided to put up our tree and decorations right off the bat. It made more sense to me than unpacking the whole house, and then moving a ton of stuff to get the Christmas rubbish up. Yes, I am very wise! But save your applause til the end.

So, we have been in here for just over a month (and may I say how lovely it is to move in the winter! Everyone needs to try that just once in their lives.. you know what they say, misery loves company!) But anyway.. our house has been all shiny and silver and dripping sparkly shit since we moved in. While I admit that I love the lights, I despise the mess. I am not much of a light-turner-oner, so Christmas is wonderful, cuz all of the lights are on and I don’t need to use any lamps or the god awful ceiling lights. HOWEVER! When the garland explodes and little slivers of silver are attached to everything, I have minor panic attacks. And for a Type A, this is rather dangerous.

But I do it for my kids! They love it. Their eyes still fill with magic and wonder, and get all giddy when the tree is set up. I had my apprehensions about having it up with our little furball this year, but the little feline a-hole did surprisingly well for this being his first Christmas. My older two are pretty much out of the “santa” lie, but my 4 year old is still deep in it. So we all do our best to make it special and magical.. this will be our last little one, and once the jig is up, that will be it for us and the magic of Christmas.

Most years, by noon on December 26th my house is de-sparkly-shited and life is back to normal. However, due to divorce papers, my older two boys weren’t with us this year, so we had to postpone our big family shin-dig until January 1st. (sidenote: shin-dig? Why is this phrase related to things that should be enjoyable? One would think that digging your shin would be unpleasant.. but that’s just my opinion) So I had an extra week of the festive mess so that our family Christmas could be decorated accordingly. It was nice, it was busy, it was hot but it was fun.

Our family has grown exponentially over the last few years. For the longest time, it was just the parents and us 4 kids. Then I had a kid, then another, then the siblings started pairing off, then I had another kid, then in one year, 2 more kids were brought into the family, and then another last year. So now we are up to 2 parents, 4 kids with partners, and 6 grandchildren. It’s a lot of people! But, it is my people, so it is cool. I mean, it was stifling hot in here, but it was still cool.

But we did it, it was a few hours of insanity, and once everyone was back to their cozy abodes, we put our kids to bed, cleaned up the kitchen, got into our comfy pants and I told my husband I wanted to take down the Christmas crap. He snorted, threw himself on the couch and turned on the hockey game. Fine. I plopped myself down on the couch and apparently succumbed to how exhausted I must have been, because I woke up later to my husband talking about Lethal Weapon 4. Nothing says the end of Christmas much better than Riggs and Murtaugh blathering on about being “too old for this shit”.

But for now, my house is back to being just a normal amount of mess. Maybe I should look at this differently and appreciate the sparkly shit – I suppose it is just a really pretty mess.
  

Before… 

  
After…. *sigh of relief*  

Almost a new year..

  

Well, it happened. Another year has come and gone. 2015 started out like a lamb and bombarded through us like a starving lion on the hunt for bloody carcass. It was pleasant in some points, but for the most part, it was trying in every way, shape and form. But I have this to announce: WE MADE IT! I am quite proud of my little family and everything we were able to accomplish this year! It wasn’t easy, but we all landed on our feet and I think we are better and stronger because of it.

A few curveballs were thrown at us. But like I always say, when life throws your curve balls, get a bigger bat. And if that doesn’t work, use it to hit the pitcher! And that’s exactly what we did. We beat the shit out of the pitcher, and we are all doing just fine with our new rolls as bat-swinging-bad-asses.

You know how they say that you never know how strong you are until that is the only option you have? I believe that to be true, to an extent. I always knew I was strong (I have lived through my fair share of shitstorms and difficulties, and came out on top every time.. bruised and battered maybe, but still on top) Well, this year, my family was tested, and hot-damn, are we ever a bunch of strong people! SO PROUD!

We had a very exciting, and sometimes stressful, 12 months. But we handled it like champs. The most challenging thing that we had thrown at us was our 10 year old was slammed with diabetes. It was not expected, came out of left field and took us all by surprise. BUT! My little unit has pulled together, became stronger, and are now a bunch of carb counting, needle giving, blood sugar measuring, snack organizing, 3am alarm setting, crazy people!!! And I am so proud of how we all pulled together, and so proud of how we are all supporting not just our middle-little, but eachother. I have watched my 3 boys get closer than ever this year, watched my husband become even more of an amazing father, and figured out how bad-ass and strong-as-hell I can be. It is humbling and awesome!

I am excited to see what we can do next year. I do know that whatever is thrown at us, we are gonna rock it!

Bring it on, 2016!!!!!!

Shine over the breaks… 

My friend said something to me that struck a chord – and not in the way that brings upon backlash.. Nay nay.. This is me.. Instead, I sat and let it fester and thought about it for hours. 

She told me that I seemed sad, but she was worried my sadness was so great, it would turn into anger and it would seep into all areas of my life. To which I replied “I am angry!” And typing that sentence is a whole new ball game. It makes it true and brings it to life. That’s entirely different than just feeling angry. Admittance is the first step, after all 😉 

Sure, I know I’ve felt mad and angry and betrayed. But I keep trying to focus on the good, and let the other shit be water under the bridge. Like shit creek – just stinking it up and floating about. But I guess I wasn’t really aware of how stinky I have been allowing myself to feel. 

I tell my husband all the time how happy I am, how much I love our life, how happy he makes me, how happy the boys make me, how much I love my job (and his job, for that matter) and how excited I am for our future. But I guess I let the bad outweigh the good, and it’s starting to overshadow the shiny stuff. THAT IS NOT GOOD! Shiny stuff is the tits and should be celebrated for how awesome it is, not overshadowed by some stinky creek water. 

So I decided that this weekend is gonna be all about healing my owies and working on fixing what I feel is broken. People say “don’t fix it if it ain’t broke”… Well, if my shiny shit is being seen as dull, then I guess that means something is broke. 

I have to really learn to let things go and move on.. I carry way too much hostility and grudges. I need to learn to exhale and release. I’ve never been good at that. I am someone who will hold a grudge until the end of time. That’s not healthy! So I’ll do my personal development, maybe some journaling.. Write down what hurts and sucks, and see how much tarnish I can get off.

I know I’ll never be brand new and shiny again – once you break this many times, you’re always going to show signs of wear and tear. But, I will work on gluing those breaks back together, and maybe shining over them. 

There is so much good in my life. Thinking back to where I’ve come from and what I’ve dealt with, I shouldn’t complain. Life is only going up and getting easier for me. I’ve come so far… That’s what I have to keep in mind – onward and upward. 

I just hope I haven’t damaged myself beyond repair. My husband is the king of silver linings, and I know he will never let me only see the bad.. And he believes I am not irreparably damaged – so, let’s go with that.  

 

Grateful + turmoiled = some sort of weird ass emotion…

I am feeling pensive, grateful and turmoiled all at the same time. This post is the product of that mish-mash of emotions.

My kids. What to say… I think they are amazing. And I know, I am biased because I cooked them and birthed them and raised them… but, I still think they are amazing. All three of them – they are individually these awesome little tiny humans. They are smart and funny, so creative and come up with the most awesome stuff. Sure, they can be annoying little craps, but they’re kids! That’s their job. But, I am noticing that there are people who choose not to incorporate them into their lives.. people who know them and have the opportunity to be around them, watch them grow, and be part of who they become. And they are choosing not to. They are choosing to not just watch from the sidelines, but to not participate at all. What do I have to say to these people? Your loss! My kids are great! And it makes me sad to watch these bystanders see them, and comment on how they are growing/learning/talking/sleeping/etc when they had the opportunity to know them and participate in their lives, and decided they didn’t want to. Who missed their football games; sure, they weren’t edge-of-your-seat exciting, but they are trying! Who missed their swimming and parkour and school events. Who weren’t around during their short obsession with rainbow loom, and missed out on getting one of their cute little bears or flowers. Who missed out on them learning to walk and talk. Who missed out on how cute they can be with one another. Who missed out on all of the big moments. Who miss out on their crazy stories, or hearing about their crushes at school. Who will never know what it is like to walk past a lingerie store with my toddler and hear him yell “look mommy! Boobs!” They aren’t perfect, but they are still amazing.

My husband. What to say… He is my heart, the protector of my soul, my second chance at a happy ending, the man who picks me up and holds me up, dries my tears, makes me laugh, keeps me safe and is everything I never knew I always wanted. He may not be the biological father of all of my children, but he is their dad, through and through. He wasn’t something I had planned.. I had given up on that part of my life, and I was fine with that. In fact, I didn’t want a relationship again. He was the one who pursued me, was persistent, sat by waiting patiently while I allowed him into my heart, and still, to this day, patiently and lovingly handles my freak-outs, my moments of pure panic, my moments of total and complete untrust, and all of my insane commitment crap. Yes, I am the commitment-phobe in our world. And he is okay with that. Would he prefer if I was mellow and totally trusting and calm? Oh, I am sure he would! But that is just not what he signed up for 😉 He is my absolute everything, and it pains me to know that there are people who aren’t accepting of our relationship because of our past lives. He is my happiness and my forever.. so, accept that or piss off.. cuz no amount of judging or criticism or rumor spreading is going to change what we have, or the fact that this is our life now.

My current house situation. What to say.. it sucks.. HAHAHA! But it could be worse! It could be MUCH worse! Sure, the carpet is old (read: original, and should have been replaced 7 years ago) and has been lit on fire in some spots, the paint is horrid (it is that really awful pinkish taupe color that was popular in the late 90’s early 2000’s), the old tenants had a dog that literally destroyed the basement (read: let them go to the bathroom on the concrete.. imagine the smell… I am down there once every few weeks pouring Mr Clean on it..), the deck was lit on fire by a past tenant and is not safe for my son to play on (thus rendering the yard pretty unuseable for us), the appliances are old and rubbish (the food freezes in the back of the fridge, so you have to keep things pulled forward, cuz if you changed the temp, the stuff in the door goes rotten.. it is quite the dance to keep food fresh!), the garage wasn’t properly insulated and is literally a sauna and is affecting the food in our deep freeze in there, the neighbors told us the house has been forcibly entered by the police due to the previous tenant and the landlord never fixed it (you could hipcheck my garage man door and come into my house, even if it was locked), the dryer has ruined my sheets and a pile of our clothes… I could go on. But when I lay down at night, I am home. This is where my kids and husband are.. this is where we are making memories for the time being. This is not a forever home.. this is merely a landing pad on the way to our next adventure. And, like I said, it could be worse 😉 Still, I wish the carpets didn’t still smell like dog… ick.

My job. What to say..  I love it! I get to hang out with some of the nicest, funnest and most interesting people every day. It is a gym, and everyone is always in a good mood. I get to talk and learn all day. How is that a bad thing? I have gone to college twice. I have two college diplomas. Do I use either of them? No. Could I? Yes. Would I make a very comfortable living if I did? Sure. But I don’t want to. Because I know if I did, I would be miserable. And life is just too short. My husband makes a verrrrry good living, and I don’t “have” to work. But I do, because a few extra bucks never hurts.. plus, it gets me out of the house and around other people, which is never a bad thing 😉 Still, I have people judging me on my position.. You know what that is gonna get you? Very detailed directions on where to go and how to get there. Trust me, I am a travel agent by trade, so I am qualified to give out such directions! Ha ha….

My past.. What to say.. Fuck off. We all have them. And if you are judging me based on my past, then you don’t deserve to be in my future! Moving on.

My ex. What to say… Oh.. I am not sure we have time to get into this. So, let me just say this. He is manipulative and two-faced. He is a pathological liar, and he is screwing with my kids so bad, they are frequently in tears and have to see a counsellor. It is a constant battle to have him uphold his end of our divorce, and I am frequently on the phone with my lawyer to see what my rights are in different situations (after 6 years, you would think it would have mellowed by now) So when I have people tell me he is a nice guy, or he’s not that bad, or he’s trying… bla bla bla… just stop! Stop. I do not make shit up. I do not want this kind of attention. Trust me, life would be simpler if he wasn’t a flaming douche. But alas, those were not the cards I was dealt. I am here to keep my kids safe and raise them to be wonderful GOOD and HONEST men. And if you have anyone’s back but mine after learning this? Well, then I guess he is going to “get you” in the divorce.

My health. What to say.. it’s brutal, but it could be so much worse. I am beyond grateful that all that is wrong with me is hypothyroidism, hashimotos (an autoimmune disease), some stressed adrenals and the occasional cold. Would I prefer to be normal and healthy? Sure!!!! But, this is my journey. And I am grateful mine isn’t a much harder one.

My friends. What to say.. Though my list of friends has drastically changed over the last few years, I still maintain the closest ones, and that is just fine with me. It is a constant ebb and flow, and the dynamics with lots of them have changed. But I know that if I need anything, I have a handful of people who would drop their shit to come help me with mine. And at the end of the day, that is all that matters to me.

It is my life. As dysfunctional and messy, seemingly broken (to others) and chaotic, maybe sad and pathetic to some… but it is mine… 100% unapologetically and unabashedly MINE. And while there are points I would like to change, that may never be possible. So I am happy of what I have been given, accepting of what has been dealt, and excited to see what comes next.

Grateful + turmoiled = some sort of weird ass emotion….