I’m pretty sure my readership has dwindled to nothing. I’m okay with that. This was never about being popular or famous. I just loved to write.
I tell myself there’s no time to write anymore, but that’s not true. I always wrote my best work when I was angry or hurt. I guess the silence of this blog has become a testimony to how good my life has become. Sure, I’ve sailed off the deep end a time or two, but I’ve learned that airing your dirty laundry on the Internet isn’t exactly a great idea.
I’ve thought about shutting down altogether, but I just can’t bear to do that. This tiny little blog is a huge piece of me, floating around out in cyberspace. It’s part of my personal narrative, and because of it, I met so many amazing people.
Maybe I’ll make another run at it. Maybe it will stay dormant until my children graduate. Maybe some life-changing event will inspire me to write again. There are so many wonderful, weird, crazy stories that happen to me on a daily basis that I would love to share… but lately, living in the moment has become the most important thing.
I hope you are all doing well. I am.
Early Saturday morning, I felt a hand lovingly caress my shoulder as my husband leaned in and whispered in my ear:
“They have a 10:00 am showing of Captain America….”
On weekends that we have H, we always try to keep the family together. But as the girls venture into puberty, so comes the phase where hanging with parents isn’t cool anymore. They also tend to get on each other’s nerves more often, so we also try to give them space to be themselves with their friends as well. Negotiations usually start around Wednesday, when H comes for her weekly visit.
Alex: Can I go to Hope’s on Friday?
Me: It’s a family weekend.
Alex: But H will probably have a friend over, and I won’t have anyone to play with.
Me: We’ll see.
Alex: But if you let me go to Hope’s, and H goes with her friend, then you and Mr. D can stay up all night and play Assassin’s Creed on the Xbox.
How does she know???
Me: Did you see all those tow trucks at the funeral home? That’s weird. I wonder what happened.
D: Car died.
“This line is ridiculous. These teachers need to go to school and stop wasting taxpayer money on their little vacations.”
“Oh, you have children in the public school system?”
“No, I don’t have kids.”
“It’s probably for the best. People like you shouldn’t procreate.”
“Are you a tech person?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You look like a tech person.”
I’ve been struggling with a lot of negativity lately; it seems that everything around me is in some state of conflict. So I’ve been trying to maintain a positive attitude and look on the bright side of things (and there is quite a lot in my life to be happy about, honestly). So I found this app called “Happier” that helps you journal the positive things in your life, and through the magic of social media, everyone can post more positive comments to help motivate you.
Sounds awesome, right?
So I download the app, and it automatically scans your contacts for friends, then suggests other people that you may want to connect with. And there at the top of my list:
Now, I know… DO NOT CLICK there. I KNOW THIS. This makes me no better than what she did to me. Did I honestly care?
Curiosity won. I clicked. At the end of the day, I want to know what, if anything, makes her happy. And it started out awesome; picture after picture of H, looking sleepy or happy or adorable. Then I came across the post about “the stepmother.”
It wasn’t anything super negative, just a comment about “not choking” when she saw me. Honestly, for a moment, I thought it was a typo, because I’m pretty sure she DOES want to choke me. But it made me horribly, inexplicably sad. At this point, I just don’t think we will ever get to a point where we can at least be in the same room without her icy stares and cold shoulder. It’s exhausting. The behavior is just childish and exhausting. I don’t want it to be this way, but I’ve accepted the fact that there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
So I deleted the app. If that’s her “Happy” place, I’m certainly not going to encroach on that territory; she needs it far more than I do.
And this was just a reminder, not to look through the fence at the mental asylum.
“It’s not like you’re *really* fighting. You’re just pretend fighting.”
“Tell that to the bruises on my legs!”
Alex was dancing like a madwoman on the very tile that altered her face a few months ago. I’m STILL paying the medical bills for that little incident, so when she started again, D took no chances.
“Hey! Go sit down until we get an insurance card from your dad!”
That, my friends, is quality parenting.
I hate grocery shopping. I hate it with such a passion that I will figure out a way to eat 2-year old tuna with a side of A-1 sauce before I’ll go shop for food. So thankfully, I married someone who not only will go, but seems to enjoy it. The only task left for me to complete to get out of this chore is to make a grocery list, which is almost as excruciating to me as going, but slightly less, so I suffer through it.
Unfortunately for D, I am always on some weird diet, or see some crazy recipe on Pinterest that I want to try, so there’s always one thing on the list that throws him for a loop. I didn’t realize how often I did it until it became “a thing.”
“What the hell is that?”
“What do you use that for?”
“I’m making bath bombs with the girls. I need it.”
“Where do I find THAT?”
“It should be by the canning stuff.”
“What is this?”
“Coconut water. It’s healthy.”
“Where do I find that?”
“I don’t know… by the healthy stuff, I guess.”
“There’s always ONE WEIRD THING on your list.”
“No it’s not. It’s just DIFFERENT.”
“YES. It should be by the Jell-O. Near the top or the bottom.”
He walked away, shaking his head.
I like to call it “The Education of D.” Without me, he would never be exposed to so many of the world’s amazing products.