Okay… the above art is not mine but the canvas is…lol that is my soon to be 19 year old about 5 years ago. The question is do you consider face painting an art? In the same vein as tattoo work?
So my daughter and I were talking. I told her I was happy that she was comfortable enough when the kitchen flooded to cuss at me. To me that feels like she was able to express herself without worrying that I would be angry about it. I am big on self expression, which should surprise no one. She said that her therapist encouraged her to use whatever language she felt the need to express the thoughts in her head. *This is where I should note that we really don’t know any other language except American English. We know a few smattering of words in other languages, but not enough to be a fluency of it’s own…but swearing…well…yeah We swear like sailors around here. She mentioned that my mom had said that swearing shows a lack of intelligence. I so completely disagree. I think that it often is looked down upon, but there are times when a good creative swear (note I said creative) shows more intelligence than not. And not always does the swear have to be dirty. One of my favorites is a foreign (for me) word that means shame on you.
I have tried to make my home a place that my kids can call to express anything. I don’t judge them for speaking their minds. They can literally tell me anything. I am their safe space. For me that is what home should be. It is not what all of us had.
I was going to do the usual poetry update today…but my kitchen sink busted last night…well a piece of it did. We have a hose attachment that allows us directly to use water (my dishwasher is a portable) and the hose busted. It is not going to be an expensive fix. Just was a panic at 2 in the morning because of the flooded kitchen. It got me thinking, much as most incidents like that do.
My daughter was the one who had found the flooded kitchen, and bless her she immediately went to work cleaning up the mess. She sent me messages to wake me up. She was comfortable enough to curse at me for not answering the phone (I was actually in a deep sleep for a change). I wonder if I would have ever been so with my mom.
We had a conversation while we were stuck at Walmart about what our favorite dinosaur was (hers is a Saurolophus, mine has always been a triceratops) and I adore the little things that I can get to share with her. (The dinosaur conversation was initiated due to a figit toy she had in her purse. A club tailed dino filled with sand that can be manipulated various ways.)
I don’t remember ever being comfortable enough talking to my mom about anything. My doctor finds my mom and I to be a funny topic. I told her (doctor) that My mom still is blaming me for a virus I had as a teenager. I had infantigo when I was around 11 or 12. Mom is still convinced that I caused it by picking at it. And even though I am in my late 40’s brought it up as I was going to cause myself to get it again. The doctor thinks it’s funny. It is a bit of the epiphany for me.
I always expect my daughter to be amazing. Even if she has a bad day, she is going to be amazing. Nothing can change my mind on that. My mom expects the worst about me. She always has, always will… and I have to stop letting her voice color my self view I have spent 47 years trying to be good enough for a woman who is never going to see me as adequate. Time to change my aim.
In 1989 I was 14. I had an adorable baby boy. The above picture was me and him on my graduation from high school 5 years later. September 1st my eldest child will be 33. He has two babies of his own. I just wanted to drop a happy birthday to that little boy…and maybe try not to feel old today.
I will never Marry…but I came really close once. He was a handsome lad, who truly acted like I was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had dark hair and pretty blue eyes. We had dated for a while when I was in high school. I had gone to a special camp for occupational therapy. He was there and we hit it off. He was so cute, with a little bit of a problem with authority…yeah I know I have a type where men are concerned. Almost all of the men I have actually been attracted to have had that same issue with authority. I left him and the facility. Then a year or so later he and I met again. We hooked up. He asked me to marry him. You know what…at the time I had an awful amount of stars in my eyes where love was concerned. I wanted that damn white picket fence with six children. I wanted happily ever after like the poets speak of. (Says the poet) He made me think I was worth that love.
I was nearly twenty-one. I was an old lady to my mind. Thirty was an impossible dream. I had one child already. My best friend was engaged to a charismatic stoner. We were a group. At the time I thought that the traditional monogamy route was the only way life was. I also was quite deep in the metaphoric closet. I had girlfriends, but I was hiding them and our relationships because I was convinced that being myself was a bad idea. So, I was convinced that I would marry him. We would be together and there would never be a reason why we would not.
Then I walked in on him and my best friend on my couch. Yeah. He apparently had different dreams than I did. I had a one night stand with her fiance as revenge. That was an incredible memorable night. We are still friends, that one night stand and I. The best friend and the husband to be…well I haven’t seen either of them in 26 years now. I left the area and joined Job Corps. I met my boyfriend. He was unlike any guy I had ever dated. Yesterday is the anniversary of the day we met.
He is my best friend. He makes me laugh. He and I will never marry. We don’t want to. He and I had an open relationship from the first. It worked because we were able to be honest with each other. He closed it off when I found someone I could actually have considered getting close to. He realized that he wasn’t able to find anyone else who was even remotely like what he had in me. I still am able to find a girlfriend because there is things that a girl can provide that he cannot. But I have the only man I will ever have. And I am okay with that. (If he was gay the situation would be open there, but he is not.) I had in my youth figured that I needed to marry. I needed to have the house with the three-car garage and white picket fence to be normal. I was so foolish. At forty-seven I have learned a lot. I have carried to term 3 children. I had to give one up for adoption. I miscarried 2. I have found my home. It was not in a building. It was at the side of a man that loves me. It was being Mom to a neurodivergent Girl who thinks I am some kind of hero…and I still am trying to convince her she is mine. It was allowing myself to be me.
I have some definite opinions about Roe vs Wade. This story has a lot of family intonations in it. If I had grown up without the option for an abortion, it would not have mattered to me. I would have not aborted any of the three. However, I miscarried. Twice. Both were emotion killing moments. I wanted both babies. I barely survived having my beautiful neurodivergent girl. The doctors told me if I got pregnant again I would die. I can never carry another child to term. Roe vs Wade means I have the choice. I hate the idea of getting one. I still want that choice. I was raped after my son was born. If I had ended up pregnant I would have wanted that choice. I didn’t report it. I was terrified of the idea. I had told about the sexual abuse I endured as a child. I was told I had lied. Why would anyone believe me if I said that this had happened?
Ending RvW will not stop abortions. It will stop safe abortions. There was abortions before RvW. There were no safe abortions. Women have been choosing to slip pregnacies since the dawn of time. We are supposed to be an advanced society…so why are we discussing this again? It was solved in 1973…
So aside from the terrible allergies that I suffer every year…the trouble with Spring is the weather is actually nice enough to get the yard cleaned up. That is for me in the form of hiring people who are able to do the work I cannot.
well I have to supervise and direct. So I am staying busy today. Add in the first of the month errands and I am likely to be super busy all week. I will try to post some interesting stuff as permitted by my schedule.
today I am posting from my phone while I am waiting for my kid to come back out of the gas station.
This week I have been sharing some of the stories of my book. A lifetime of stories lived. Some of the stories I have lived will never be shared – for various reasons…some because they are not my story to tell(I am a mother after all) Some because the trauma prevents. So many lives are books stuck on dusty shelves. Never shared for various reasons. I need to share my stories. As a survivor of childhood sex abuse I felt like my voice was taken from me. For me, telling my stories is empowering. For others it is not. I would never try to force the telling of a life.
However, I also want to be clear. I am always willing to hear the story of the lives you have lived. I devour books like the dragon I am…and if you choose to present me with more to read I will revel in it.
Thank you for allowing me to share the stories this week. For me, it is the best form of immortality. I when I am gone will remain due to the book written by my words.
Today my youngest turns 18. The first picture was of her at around 6 months, the second at 16. (She still looks much the same) I was given the gift of a lifetime in her. I am grateful. Happy Birthday Gabrielle, and may you enjoy many more.
Lyrics – [Verse 1] Thought I’d bite my tongue Just this once, maybe twice, but the harder I bite Now it’s drawing blood There’s a trace on my lips, leaves a taste when we kiss Try to cover up All of the lies and all of the lines that I Bottle up To keep you safe and sound
[Pre-Chorus] But echoes of warnings Like whispers of morning, like It creeping through cracks in my memory It’d make me lose my mind
[Chorus] But every time I close my eyes It’s calling in like a siren Threatening to comе alive Unless I pay the pricе, yeah But if my heart is right this time And I can finally bear my secrets Maybe you won’t run and hide But love the monster inside me
[Verse 2] Maybe all the love Is a switch that we flip when we’re losing our grip And it’s close enough Taking good with the pain, go a little insane All we really want Is someone to hold until we grow old And no matter what (No matter) Can’t be scared away
[Pre-Chorus] Echoes of warnings Like whispers of morning, like It creeping through cracks in my memory It’d make me lose my mind
[Chorus] But every time I close my eyes It’s calling in like a siren Threatening to come alive Unless I pay the price, yeah But if my heart is right this time And I can finally bear my secrets Maybe you won’t run and hide But love the monster inside me [Bridge] Beauty in the chaos, all that’s left to save us Now Beauty in the chaos, all that’s left to save us Now Beauty in the chaos, all that’s left to save us Now Echoes of warnings like Beauty in the chaos, all that’s left to save us now Echoes of warnings like Beauty in the chaos, all that’s left to save us now
[Chorus] But every time I close my eyes It’s calling in like a siren Threatening to come alive Unless I pay the price, yeah But every time I close my eyes It’s calling in like a siren Threatening to come alive Unless I pay the price, yeah But if my heart is right this time And I can finally bear my secrets Maybe you won’t run and hide But love the monster inside me
My 2 Cents – I have always fought the stigma of my mental health. I am a survivor. That being said, sometimes the labels are easier to fight than others. Now I am trying to help my teenager fight them. She wants to write horror. She is into the creepy and dark. When she told her therapist that (New therapist) the therapist tried to claim that she was homicidal. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone. She is a gentle soul with a rich imagination. She wants to write dark stories so she is apparently Homicidal. I raised all kinds of hell with the office. The supervisor talked to my daughter and agreed that the therapist was way off base. So I am left with a wonderful beginning writer who is struggling because of labels. Seems to me that the world wants to label madness too easily and the monsters that truly exist are allowed too much leeway. so today at least I think I love the monster inside me and will revel in the beauty in chaos.
Pattimouse 