I need my own place

As I sat on my bed crying the other day, my mind drifted into some imaginary place. Damn you Mister Rogers. Thanks to you I ride the trolley to world of make-believe all too often. This time I was pretending I had a place of my own to escape to.

Sometimes I wish I had my very own apartment. There wouldn’t be much in it. My real life is cluttered with knick knacks that preserve all my precious memories. But this fantasy apartment would just have the essentials. The lamps would be there for lighting, instead of because they had been handed down for 40 years. The linens would be perfectly coordinated high thread count delights. There would be one photo album, with only the best snapshots of the moments I most long to go back to instead of 47 scrapbooks falling off the shelf. Continue reading


Shattered Glass

My weekend started off on a pretty good note. Friday I took the kids down to the carnival and we had a good time, and then on Saturday for the first time in ages, I had a babysitter! In the two decades I’ve been raising kids, I’ve had a babysitter maybe 5 times, and I’m not kidding. The truth of the matter is that my childhood was less than copacetic, in fact there are portions of it that were down right scary. I’m not dwelling on it by any means, or using it as a crutch, but there were some trickle down effects we just can’t ignore.

One of which was the overwhelming need to micromanage my children from every angle. I didn’t trust anyone else to take care of them, ever. The oldest two didn’t go to daycare or anywhere I wasn’t going to be for the majority of their young lives. But I’ve learned to recognize some of that over-protectiveness is based on irrational fears, and I’ve learned to let a few people in. I’m still very guarded when it comes to my kids, but I’m working on it, because I know I have got to carve out a space to be me again. Continue reading

Bacardi Bliss

Last night I got away without the kids. Let me rephrase. Last night I got away without the little kids. Thank goodness my oldest 2 sometimes need to do things that require mom to go along and consent! My daughter was singing in a contest, she had to have a parent sign for her, and that was my excuse to fly the coop.

I was a terrible wife. I left my husband to fend for himself for dinner. He wasn’t too thrilled about that. It’s not something I’ve ever really done to him, so he was pretty confused. It’s been a confusing week. See, I have been a perfect wife, for 17 years. And I’m exhausted. I’m sick of feeling like my only purpose in life is folding socks. So this week, I’ve been on strike! I just haven’t done it all…

I love my family, I wouldn’t trade the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom for anything. (Actually I do work part-time, but that’s not the point.) The point is, my husband just can’t seem to do the one thing that would keep me going, and that is be thankful. I need him to recognize the work I do. I don’t get raises or vacation days or health insurance, but I should get a thank you, pure and simple. Continue reading



You know I know we both have promises,
That I know you know we’re both gonna keep.
But that doesn’t mean that every now and then
My heart doesn’t miss a beat.
When I close my eyes and yesterday
is right there in my hands…
It’s a bittersweet reminder,
Of the way things might have been… Continue reading

Woah, he came home

So after a weekend of my husband being out-of-town, he came home to a disaster area. I know he was pissed, but dang, he left me home alone with all the kids again. And two of them were throwing up in the middle of the night. I can handle broken bones, bloody foreheads, stinky dirty boys, but I just don’t do vomit. I changed 99.6% of the diapers, I have done every single parent-teacher conference, and I have handled every single “I don’t wanna do my homework” tantrum, so don’t look down on me when I need reinforcements every time somebody throws up.

You know, I get it that it’s not always easy living in a house full of kids. I’m probably not always sexy when I’m folding socks for the umpteenth time. But I miss the way he used to rush home to me. I miss the way he used to leave me little notes, yeah, those days before cell phones, when car phones were still those big crazy things in a leather bag that we could never afford.

I remember once he was on the night shift and I was on the day shift and “Jerry McGuire” came out on video, and before he went to bed for the day, he rushed to the video store to be the first one to rent it, and when he left for work, he left me a note that he had been thinking of me. This boy had me at hello, so things like that were always a bonus.

But like I always say, our life has always been a roller coaster. We fell in love at first sight, moved in together within a week, and then a few months later I found out he wasn’t quite divorced. Of course, his marriage was truly over, the divorce was filed for, but I thought he was divorced, so imagine my surprise when one morning he didn’t leave for work because he had court that day. That’s the moment that I realized why people kept calling me a rebound.  Of course, I was right, I wasn’t a rebound, but he could have prepared me a little bit with a simple “hey, I’m not really divorced just yet…”

So the boyfriend asked me “how did you end up with that guy?” and on one hand I’m shaking my head saying “I don’t have a clue” and on the other hand I’m surrounded by the Jerry McGuire moments that made me love this man. Our home is full of the trinkets that built our life. The hurricane glass from the dinner we had at the spinning restaurant for our honey moon on the River Walk, the bear he bought when I was in the hospital, struggling to have our first son, the red vase I had to have at an over-priced garage sale, the antique coke machine he snuck in one Christmas to surprise me, these are the reminders of the moments when I knew his heart was beating for me.

They distract me from the other memories, the time I caught him in  a bar with his hands buried in some girl’s hair, telling her how beautiful she was. Or the time he decided to test his love for me. I could go on, but what’s the point?

There’s this wonderful man who hides inside of him, who loves me intensely, who takes care of our family, who helps everyone in need, but I just wish I saw him more instead of this Jackass who dared to walk into a house, after a carefree weekend, and say “what’d you do all day?” As if I’ve accomplished nothing, when I’ve spent all my accomplishments right here making his house the best home I can offer, and again, I find myself missing the man who says “if I were there, I’d roll up my sleeves and give you a hand!”

What’s a girl to do? I’m tired of scrubbing vomit alone, and not even a thank you when he comes home!


The Game

***The only good thing about having a heart in anguish is that you can write and write and write and never run out of things to say!***

I was merely a girl when I gave you my hand,
It was nearly twenty years ago and yet
I’ve managed to be faithful, every single day.
But I know how the game is played.
Hell, I’ve seen you play it.
Sneaking outside to talk on your cell phone,
Saying it was just this guy about a car.
Funny, I never interrupted your transmission talk before.
Suddenly it’s so hard to hear when I’m near you.
But I play along, hell, maybe I’ll play my own game.
Maybe I will play with fire,
and let you lay on top of me sweating, wondering
If you’re even the one who ignited my desire. Continue reading

I miss him

Have you ever heard that song “goodbye my almost lover, goodbye my hopeless dream. I’m trying not to think about you, can’t you just let me be. So long my luckless romance my back is turned on you, should’ve known you’d bring me heartache, almost lovers always do!”

It’s been playing in my head all day because I miss him so much. I don’t know why I miss him, he’s not gone. He’s still right there, exactly where he’s been, and he still plays the role of my best friend, but we made this conscious decision not to cross that line, and to tell you the truth, it sucks.

I don’t wanna be this good girl anymore- this devoted wife who puts herself on the back burner time after time. I am sick of folding socks and never having a conversation that isn’t about kids, house, bills, and the mundane monotony making me crazy. I wanna feel more. I close my eyes, and his arms are around me and this is the dream that brings me the most joy and at the same time complete anguish because I can’t make it happen, and because I should NOT want to make it happen so badly! Continue reading

Days Like This

The first text I sent this morning said “Remind me that I have this great life that looks so good in pictures, because today, I’m just not feelin’ it.” I guess there are days like this, but I sure wish they were on DVR and I could fast forward through them.

My day started off rotten because my husband wanted a blow job. He’s asked about 20 times this week. UGH. For some reason when he starts asking like a desperate 7th grade boy, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around it. It just gets on my nerves that he won’t take 5 minutes to rub my shoulders or scratch my back, he just wants me to be ready to go, whenever. If he wants a blow job that damn bad, he should invest in the 5 minutes, that’s all it would take to get my mind in a different place. To me, his lack of effort is to blame for his lack of results, but he had the nerve to tell me to “do my job”.

Oh. Hell. No.

That’s not MY JOB. It used to be my pleasure, but once again, I spoiled him. I used to perform that task for him several times a day. On the way to work, on the way home from work (we commuted together for a period of time in the early years), in the shower, at the movies, whatever, whenever, I was always up for keeping my oral skills in check. But it was totally one-sided. I can count on one hand the number of times he has reciprocated, and frankly, this mid-life mama is tired of doing all the work. If he wants my mouth to make magic, he better learn how to make some with his! Continue reading