The Year Without a Leprechaun

It started out as a fairly calm evening.  Pick up boys from school, take Lyra to soccer practice, make dinner, fight with boys about homework, make sure Tali didn't need a ride home from Minithon and that Josie had a ride to cheer.  Pick up Lyra from soccer, eat, feed Lyra and boys and race to CCD.  We are late...as usual.

After catechism, I pull up in front of the house and get a text from Josie. "I'll be home soon, xxx had to stop at the store on our way home."  It hit me like a line drive to the left cheekbone- TOMORROW IS ST. PATRICK'S DAY!  I mean, I knew it was, the looney lady down the street had all but spray painted her house green.  Her yard was like the aftermath of a riot at Party City when everything goes 90% off.  I mean, it always is, but the current menagery of decorations were of the Lucky Charm persuasion.

So here I am, 8:30 pm, it's been a long day and I have not bought the chocolate coins wrapped in gold that the Leprechaun brings every year.  I call Josie and beg her to ask the girl driving to take her to CVS.  I must say that having this option of kids running errands is completely new to me and how cool that I didn't have to drive to Walmart at 9 pm!

Getting cocky was probably the first mistake.  It started to go downhill as soon as I thought things were under control.  I went in the house and grabbed the dog and took him for "a walk."  A walk around the back of the house so I could get into the basement that must be entered from large barn like doors by the small square of blacktop formally, and foolishly, known as the driveway.

Now would be a good time to tell you that I hate this house.  I have lived in houses that I wasn't thrilled about during my 18 year stint as an Army wife, but this takes the cake.  Just trust me when I say, as wonderful as it is to live on this post, and there is plenty to love, this drafty cardboard shoebox does not deserve the title of house.  Not with 5 kids and a Mom living here...oh, let's not forget the psychotic dog with, of course, no fenced in yard.

I will tell the story of this house another day, but for reasons including, but not limited to, a poor pack out from Kansas, an impending divorce, a house that's too small and the chaos of being a single mom to 5 busy kids- the house never got fully unpacked when we moved in over a year and a half ago.  

Back to the basement.  It is really is more of a dungeon. I used to complain about our basement in Leavenworth, but that was Cinderella's ballroom compared to this.  Not only are the walls crumbling, but what must have once been insulation, is now hanging from the beams in shreds of brown paper and fiberglass padding circa 1973. To top if off, pun intended, my beautiful and organized Rubbermaid bins are veiled in what I have deduced to be either mouse or bat poop.  Most likely a mix of both.  Everything not in a bin, is in a box.  Many of these have been wet during one heavy rain or another and in order to get them out of standing water they have been half emptied and piled on top of each other much like you would see in a Dr. Suess book.  It is horrific and only a select few have been allowed to view the insanity that is the cellar!

But I digress. The dog and I walk into the dungeon and I tie his leash up.  I climb over and under and around two rooms of boxes, bins, bikes, and beach toys to get to the back room where at least most of the boxes are still taped shut and there is some semblance of...okay, there's no real order, but I can usually find stuff.

Much like the $%#¥ Elf on the Shelf on November 31, the Leprechaun who usually appears on St. Patrick's Day with gold coins and chocolates and turns the toilet water green, is not where he is supposed to be.  The February and March holiday bin is clearly marked and when I open it, I find the bubble wrap which usually cushions the ceramic elfin figurine (which was once a whiskey bottle found in Nanas basement and somehow became our go-to for the big day each year), but no Leprechaun.

For those of you who follow my pathetic life, you may recall that at some point on that frustrating November night, I realized I had not put the EOTS back in his box, but in my nightstand drawer so I wouldn't have to spend 5 hours looking for it this year.  I was too brilliant for my own mind.  I decided that perhaps I had done something similar with the magical sprite!  

I grabbed a handful of green crap out of the bin.  Again, due to my mental, emotional, and physically exhausted state - I have put a large damper on all occasions in this house.  Large. Damper.  Decorations for holidays are minimal at best, non existent at worst.  Except for the required few items at Christmas, holiday bedecking has been avoided for almost two years.  I have promised the kids that the magic will return once we have a "real" house of our own!  The dog and I walk around the house and up the steep hill to get to the front porch.  I deposit the shamrock confetti and little green hat and a few other items on a chair to grab once the kids are asleep.

Now to find that darn Leprechaun.  I start looking in cabinets and closets, in baskets and behind booze.  He is about as large as the mid-size bottle of Jim Beam, so it's not like I could really hide it. But I knew it wouldn't be in plain view.  Either Sawyer still believes in Santa and such characters, or he feels sorry the rest are so stupid and he doesn't want to spill the beans.  It's kinda hard to tell.  Last year, the Leprechan appeared on top of the kitchen cabinets among some hand painted Italian dishes that are on display.  Each luncheon plate or bowl has a single tulip on it.  They are bright and cheery and wayyyyy to expensive to eat off of.  And truly, pretty plates require pretty food.  In my house, your pizza is served on a paper plate, and if we have soup you get a hard core Pfaltzgraff bowl that you really need to throw in order to damage.   Anything fancier than that means we are hittin' Panera for our midday meal.

I though the drunken brownie looked so at home among the flowers and garden decor last year that I forgot about him.  Half way through the summer Sawyer sighed and grumped, "Isn't that Leprechaun EVER going home?"  Amazingly, he disappeared shortly after. The Leprechaun that is, not Sawyer. I continued to walk around the first floor, which took about 9.3 seconds and deducted that I had put him in a box with other miscellaneous junk, to bring downstairs because there was no place to put it in the house.

Josie arrived home at some point and had hidden the chocolate coins in my room. I asked if she remembered seeing what was quickly becoming my nemesis and she said no.  I told her I was going back to the basement to find it.

What happened next was more predictable than a Nicholas Sparks novel.  I open the door and turn on the light to the front room.  I am lifting and rearranging boxes and looking in bins and getting increasingly annoyed at my inability to be perfect.  Maybe I hid it in the armoire in the back room. The boys would never bother to open that and it would be easy to hide and grab again.  Maybe I really was as smart as I thought I might could be!  I walked into the middle room and felt for the light switch that turns on the light for that and the back room.

What the....did that light just blink? Wait...again...Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod, it's a shadow!  It's a shadow of something which is a bat which is flying at me! Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod! 

***Let's pause for a moment shall we? This whole fight or flight instinct they talk about in Psychology 101 is BS in my book.  For me anyway...there is no cerebral decision making going on...it's FLIGHT MOTHER F-er!  (Excuse the language but desperate times require desperate language in my book)

Picking back up:   Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod, I think I have to get out of here.  I am running through the basement like a West Point Cadet on the Indoor Obstacle Course Test!  It occurs to me that I am also screaming.  Additionally, I realize that the rat with wings is following me.  Swooping, yes swooping at me!  Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod!  I finally hurdle a wagon like OJ running through the airport and make it outside.  I have no recollection of closing the door, I only remember the bang as the metal hitch fell and secured it shut.

Once I realized I was no longer under attack, there was a few moments of "Ohmigod" and "breathe, you're alive."  I heard a noise above me and I yelped.  

"Mom?"  

"Josie?"  

"Yeah."

"Uh, did you hear me yelling?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be up in a minute."

"Should I wait outside for you?"

"No, I'm good."  I mean really, who wants an audience when they are trying to figure out if they've peed their pants or not?

My shaking was such that every step I took on the wooden staircase sounded like the damn woodpecker that's been driving me insane lately.  I made it up to the porch behind the kitchen, took a deep breath, and went inside. Josie was sitting at the table trying to look like she was more interested in her dinner then her mother whose teeth were chattering by now.

"Was it a snake?"

"No.  Good guess, but if it was the thing that looks like a stick that is not a stick, I woulda screamed much louder and the MPs would be here by now.  It was a bat."

"Ewwwwwww!"

"I knowwwwwww!"

More discussion ensued but the gist was several "ohmygosh's" as Josie doesn't like the other phrase and me describing the whoosh of air I felt each time the rodent dive bombed me.  She was not too impressed.  As a matter of fact, she had some stories to tell me about cheer practice and now, right now, was the time she needed to tell them.  Josephine has the gift of making a long story longer - I have absolutely no idea where that comes from and neither does my father!  I am back to searching kitchen cabinets because it dawned on me that I still didn't have the stinking gnome wanna be. Crud! (Remember Josie is in the room.) While I am getting the blow by blow by blow by blow of cheer practice, I decide I need a drink.  This is where God's grace appeared.  She did not even make a face as I cracked open the Mike's.  Jesus himself must have hugged her and said, "it's okay Jo, events like this are the reason We've given man alcohol."  

My heartbeat was back to fat burning mode (which is a bit less then cardio mode according to the treadmill), I was catching my breath, and the shaking was calming.  We discussed what I was going to do.

"Maybe he was too sick to come this year?"

"Perfect!  Lyra was home two days this week and BC was home two days last week.  He has a cold."

"Maybe he should have the flu."

"Nah, if it's the flu he can't get out of bed.  With a cold, he could come leave the coins, turn the milk green, pee in the toilet and have to get back to his rainbow or whatever to take some medicine."  Am I seriously debating the ability a non-existent fairytale character to cause chaos in my kitchen depending on his level of illness?  Apparently I am.

All I wanted to do at this point was shower.  Heebe-Jeebe mode had not quite worn off.  I turned to leave the kitchen. 

"Can I tell you one more story?"

Every ounce of remaining strength in my body rose up and defeated my urge to audibly sigh.

"Of course sweetie."

The importance of this particular story was fairly high as it involved some punk girl potentially wanting to beat up Josie.  See?  This would've been my first story if I were her, but I was channeling Dr. Laura who feels, correctly I might add, that all their stories are important and what matters most is that they are talking to you.  Deep breath.

I yell at the boys to go to bed and stop in to see Tali and Lyra who are already half asleep.

"Did Josie tell you?"

"About the girl in the library? Yeah."

"No. I mean yes, keep your eye on your sister, but no."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

"You can't do that."

"Okay.  Do you know the St. Patrick's Day Leprechaun?  Do you know where it is?"

"Yes," says Lyra.

"Ohmigod! Where is it?"

"I know what you're talking about, but I don't know where it is."

"Ugh!"

"What is wrong with you? Tell us what?"

So I tell them the story.  Given the 20 minute passage of time the bat now has the wing span of a teenage owl and I think it grazed my hair.

"Ewww, an animal almost touched you!  Get out of my room!"  (Please tell me I don't have to tell you that was Lyra)

"Mom?" Tali chimed in.  My sweet Tali

"Yes Babe?"

"There's a bat in your pocket."

"Whaaaaaa?"  I jump, they laugh, I call them brats and go to take a shower.

As I am trying to scrub the bat breath out of my hair, I think about the girls asking if it could get in the house.  I had told them no and I don't think it could, but this house....Ohmigod!  When we moved in, there was a hole in the laundry room that was big enough for a softball to fall through.  You could look right into the basement.  I asked them to cover it and they did.  All the way.  I think they covered all the way.  They did.  I hope.

Alfred Hitchcock has psychologically scarred thousands of children.  I am one of them.  During the next few minutes, my imagination played out what could only be described as a mash-up of two of the most terrifying movie scenes of all times.  

Join me in a ride through my brain:

Picture the hole. Perhaps it was not covered completely. Perhaps, there is more than enough space for a bat (even one the size of a large kitten) to squeeze through.  Perhaps this bat has a large extended family.  Perhaps they like to hunt together.  Perhaps, at this very moment they are popping from the cellar into the laundry room faster that one could count them.  Perhaps they will congregate in the kitchen until they form one large black cloud.  Perhaps they will then fly up the stairs, down the hall and start swooping under the bathroom door.  Perhaps they will attack me in the shower like The Birds attack Tippi Hedren in the phone booth. Perhaps there will be blood flying everywhere like when Norman Bates stabs Janet Leigh in the shower scene.  Perhaps.....

"Moooooooooooooom!"

"Sawyer?"

"HURRY UP!"

"Okay buddy,  be right out!"

In conclusion, "Yes, Virginia, I mean Sawyer, there is a Santa Claus.  However, there is no Leprechaun. Or, at least he didn't feel well enough to stay this year."

  

A Walk in the Snow on Saturday January 23rd

Intro note:  This post was coming fast and furious the other day. It was flying out of my fingers faster then I could think, but I didn't have the silence I needed to finish. Since I started, I have been thinking of friends that will read this.  Friends who have lost people they love recently.  Some deaths were expected, others sudden.  Some unexplained medical phenomena, others suicide.  I can't talk on suicide with much authority, and I don't mean for it to sound like I can.  I can only tell you about me.  I can tell you that as someone who has a past of self-harm, as someone who tried to take their life, it never quite goes away as an option.  I can tell you that this is NOT a cry for help.  I am fine.  But as I often tell people, although I have a healthy eating lifestyle now, I will be a recovering anorexic and bulimic for the rest of my life. I feel too, that as someone who contemplated suicide multiple times and who almost succeeded on at least one occasion, I will never be completely rid of those demons.  I have dark thoughts at times.  Never anything I would truly act on and if I felt compelled to do so, rest assured that I have a support system in place that would drop anything and everything to keep me safe.  Also, I love my kids with a ferocity that crushes any demon.  There is no question. I pray that friends who read this don't find it offensive or flippant.  That said, I wrote exactly what was going on in my brain because, well, it's what I do.

The last few days have been hard.  Harder than the norm anyway.  There are several things that have contributed to that, but mostly I'm learning that it's hard to grow.  I have been telling myself and everyone else that I can't wait to get out on my own, then I can start my new life. That right now I'm stuck and there's nothing I can do.  A friend told me yesterday as I was texting her from the side of the road in tears, "Baby Doll, embrace this moment.  Don't rush through it.  Trust me on this. Please get to know you. Show your kids who YOU are." And I texted something back that equates to "I can't do that here and now."  And she responded,  "but you're finding yourself now...you will understand when you look back.  Stop fighting your journey...you hear me?"  I can't stop thinking about that.  I wanted to schedule my growth and my new life for when I was ready...but life doesn't work that way.  

My general mood lately has been low.  Again, nothing in particular, just several things that add up.  So I cried yesterday and I cried last night and I cried in front of my husband which I DID NOT want to do today.  Sometimes it's just too much.  I want what I want right now and I want people to be the people I want them to be (including myself) and they aren't.  That is actually the crux of it right there. I'll say it again so you can see what a brat I am:  I want what I want right now and I want people to be the people I want them to be (including myself) and they aren't.  A friend suggested I go for a walk.  I debated, and when round three of the waterworks started, I bundled up and headed out.  It was actively snowing.  Visibility was low and the wind was showing off.

There was a group of neighbors on my sidewalk as mine is the house next to what is the closest thing to a sledding hill in the neighborhood.  They were chatting, drinking glüwein, watching the little ones sled and I thought maybe I would just hang for a bit, but quickly realized I had to be alone. I said I was going for a walk and went down the street.  They yelled after me to be careful because there was ice under the snow.  They were right. Thankfully I did not slip, though I mentally formulated a scenerio should I break a bone from falling and how I would get back to the house and they'd have to call an ambulance and the kids would freak out. Some with excitement, others with fear.

I wanted to walk down by the creek behind my house, but after following what must have been a plowed road several inches and hours ago, I could not find any trail going that way.  The snow was up to my waist at times when I went off the path, so I doubled back and walked toward the health clinic.  I was trying to avoid people so I steered clear of housing areas, which really wasn't necessary because there was next to noone outside.  As I came upon the clinic parking lot, a plow was heading in my direction.  The sidewalk was nowhere to be found so I stepped away from the road and toward the parking lot.  I was up to my thighs in a patch of snow.  The plow driver was doing some acrobatic manuvers with his rig, so I figured I'd better just stay out of the way.  I didn't know if he was going to go back where he came from or pass me and continue up the road where I had come from.  He didn't seem to know either so I looked at the parking lot and thought "I wonder...."  Frankly, I have no idea what I wondered. Next thing I know I had decided to trudge the length of the parking lot, maybe 40 yards.  It might be less, but I'm sticking with 40.  Sounds somewhat impressive right?

I started heading toward the clinic building.  The snow was up to my waist.  I will walk the length of this parking lot I decided.  I knew I could do it, but it wasn't gonna be easy which was enough of a reason for me to compel me. I was completely alone at this point, the plow was gone in some direction, I wasn't even sure which.  It was me, the snow, and the far end of the parking lot.  As I was pushing my way through I thought, this is wild. One of those bizarre experiences where you feel like you are possibly the only person on Earth. Cue the Dr. Zhivago theme music. 

I knew I was making progress, but the length of the lot seemed longer suddenly. I felt like I was moving my feet and not getting anywhere. Suddenly I was angry for thinking this was a good idea.  Now, it just felt dumb.  About 3/4 of the way, I stopped.  I had to catch my breath.  I was so very frustrated thinking "geez, this is gonna take forever."  And it hit me.  It was a perfect metaphor for my life.  Pushing through snow, or jello, or molasses. Anything that makes it hard to keep moving.   And I thought, my feet and legs aren't even cold.  There is not a soul around.  I could just lay down and go to sleep right here. Calmly. Quietly. Peacefully. But I didn't.  After about 13.8 seconds of cost-benefit analysis, my head was filled with the faces of those 5 little babies I held as newborns all over the States and in Germany and promised that I would never leave them intentionally.  I also promised Baby Gerard that I would take care of his siblings here if he would watch out for us from above.

I started walking again.  Now the tears tried to come, but it's hard to cry when your face is frozen.  The first few tears that dropped froze into tiny little rivers on my cheeks.  The next tears didn't even make it that far. They froze on my eyelashes.  The only thing that wasn't freezing into solid matter was my snot! And yes, you are welcome for the visual.

I stopped a second time.  Partly because I felt like I was in a dream where the hallway elongates and you can never reach the end, but also because I realized that this was a brutal workout!  I have a few freakazoid exercise friends.  I could suddenly picture Stanley, Leigh, or Sheila bringing people over here on a plow then making them trudge through the parking lot repeatedly while they yelled upbeat, chipper, annoying as hell encouragement to their students!  The thought almost made me laugh.  I figured I'd at least burned enough calories to have a Mike's when I got home so I finished going the last several yards and circled back around to the road.

I got on a road that had already seen a plow and only had a few inches of packed down snow on it. I was able to get home reasonably easily.  On the way home I didn't feel much better.  I was still frustrated, and in turn, depressed.  But I was physically tired.  Somehow that helped a little bit.  It was really the only thing that changed so I had to go with it. I pondered again the metaphor of trudging through the snow and how it was so similar to my current situation.  It was eerie I thought.  And then I thought, wait, what if no one else would think that's cool?  Maybe they would think it's weird...maybe they would think I'm weird.

This journey of mine is not only to find Mary again, but also, to love her.  To appreciate her quirks and accept that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.  If someone doesn't like me, I need to learn that that is okay.  I like me...or at least I'm trying to.  Yes, I'm dramatic. Yes, I can get very deep.  Yes, melancholy and depression are familiar faces.  Yes, I laugh so hard that I cry.  Yes, I feel like 80% of song lyrics are somehow directed at or describing me, my life, my situation.  Yes, I take them as my own and quote them in general conversation. Yes, I see metaphors all over the place.  Similes? Not so much.  And Yes, I crack myself up.  Yes, I do.  And yet, I still am unsure that Mary is worth the love that I hope she deserves.  Even from myself.

What if, I wonder, I end up alone?  What if no one else ever understands me the way I am finally learning to understand myself?  Will that be so bad?  Yes and No. Yes, as my first thought that came to mind when my marriage shattered was "Who will I be buried next to?" True story -  my sister, who made me repeat it three times because it was such a bizarre question to ask at that moment of hysteria, will attest to it. No, as these kids will always be here for me.  (I am hoping figuratively, but kinda nervous it may be literally). Additionally, I have friends that amaze me on a daily basis with their love and support.  But what if, I never have a partner that not only understands my metaphors- but likes to hear them?  What if, I never find someone who feels music the way I do? What if, I never find someone that wants to ride with me on the highs and lows? What if?

I was almost back home and not feeling much better.  But you are physically tired I told myself,  physically tired is good.  Physically tired is too tired to cry. Physically tired is too tired to fall apart. Physically tired is too tired to fight or yell. Many years ago I learned that physically tired was too tired to hurt myself. Ie:  Physically tired is safe.

And then I remembered; there was a person who understood me once.  A person who picked up on my metaphors sometimes before I did.  A person who understood my need to connect through music.  A person who could see into my soul.  He was there and gone in the blink of an eye.  I won't bore you with the details, but once upon a time, there was a person. It suddenly occurred to me that I found one person that "got" me.  Just because he wasn't the one, doesn't mean there won't be another. Maybe. That was my thought as I trudged back to the house and was met with wet hats, gloves, and boots, dirty hot cocoa mugs, and hangry kids.

Was I happy? No.  

Did I wonder why I didn't lay down in the parking lot?  Briefly.  

Was I physically exhausted? Yes.  

Did I take a journey? Yes.

Did I grow? Yes

And that, my friends was success.

Epilogue:

Later that night I took the dog for a walk, because, you know, I have no children capable of such activities.  Actually, I volunteered as I enjoy late night snow walks where the moon is out and it is bright in an ass-backwards kinda way.  My walk began on the same road I had started out on a few hours before.  I can't remember how I spent the time between walks, but I was a completely different person than the one who trudged up this street earlier.  Really.  I was at peace.  I was comfortable.  I felt at ease in my own skin.  I smiled.  AND I was happy.  The highs, the lows, this journey- it's time to embrace it.  "Man I love this life."

Thoughts on a New Year

I think my Facebook post on December 31 last year was something to the effect of, "Goodbye 2014, don't let the door hit you on the way out."  I was bitter.

I still am at times, but as they do, circumstances change.  I have changed.  Last year, I was in survival mode.  Only a few close friends knew my marriage was ending.  I was unable to tell my parents because I did not want them worrying about me.  I was unable to tell my kids because I did not want to disrupt their lives prematurely.  I was unable to tell myself that I was going to survive.

So while 2014 was about making decisions and coming to the realization that I could not stay in my marriage, all the while trying to hold it together so my terror was not visable from the outside, 2015 was different.

2015 was about putting it out there.  The good, but mostly the bad and the ugly.  

It was about inviting my Dad to lunch and chugging a Mikes in the Panera parking lot at 11 am to work up the courage to tell him. (Hey, I suggested several establishments that served alcohol, he was stuck on Panera- desperate times and all that)

It was about deciding to wait until school got out for the summer before telling the kids, yet telling every one of their teachers, counselors, coaches, and mentors in case they found something out unexpectedly and needed those adults in their lives to be ready to give them immediate support.

It was about crumbling into a ball at the top of the stairs when Tali looked at me one day and said, "Mom, are you okay?  Do you need to talk?"  And bless her heart, she sat silently with me and when I finally pulled it together gave me a hug saying, "It's gonna be okay" even when she had absolutely no idea why her mother was a mess.

It was about losing it while talking to the cheer coach because something had happened and I didn't have the strength to deal with Josie's anxiety when I was drowning in my own.

It was about dragging myself out of bed at 5 am and going to the gym with Lyra even though I had cried or been awake all night and promising myself that someday, SOMEDAY, she would realize what a sacrifice it was.

It was about trying to ensure Charlie had a good year at school even though he was not thriving.  Trying to have time and energy for a boy who was trying to figure out how to transition from cute little kid to awkward pre-adolescent, while I was trying to figure out how to make the transition from Army wife to single Mom.  

It was about falling apart at IEP meetings because I felt so inadequate when the school personnel told me it would be better to have him arrive early for school instead of 5 minutes late everyday.  (Timeliness  has never been my forte.  Being depressed does not help.)

It was about bursting into tears at the craziest of places because of the stupidest things.

And it was about growing.

It was about realizing that I had love and support from more people than I could imagine.

It was about learning that I am stronger than I realize.  

It was about learning that falling apart doesn't always mean you are weak.  Sometimes, something just has to give.

It was about seeing the compassion in people when I started to say my reality out loud and finding out that the world was still turning regardless of my marital status.

It was about sucking it up and going on vacation "as a family" to show the kids that we can all still get along. (Yes, Rodney King, we can)

It was about spending my first holiday alone and realizing a day on the calendar isn't what makes time with family special.

It was about forgiving myself for not turning in the paperwork on time, for forgetting someone had practice, for being late to yet another meeting, appointment, therapy session.

It was about figuring out that yes, the Mike's dulled the pain in the evening, but it also dulled the ability to function the next day.  (And weighing the cost-benefit analysis of that particular problem)

And it was about loving myself.

It was about accepting that I may be desirable.

It was about learning to take a compliment.

It was about laughing with friends.

It was about getting out of the house!  (Who knew a world of lunches, happy hour, and dancing with the girls still existed?)

It was about allowing the kids to see me as more than just a Mom and understand that I deserve to have a life too. (This second part is still a work in progress)

It was about seeing myself as Mary again, and trying to remember who she was and wanting to find out who she will be.

It was about having the openness to love again.

It was about taking the chance to trust again.

It was about finding out that when someone lets you down, you have a choice to lay there or to pick yourself up and keep going.   

It was about being stubborn enough to push through the pain, not give in to the demons (or mean people), and know that Mary is worthy of good things.

It was about completely forgetting the statement I just typed above and learning it again.  And again. And again.  And yes, again.

It was about still believing in the fairy tale, no matter how many times you see it slip through your hands.

It was about the reality check of reeling it all back in and reevaluating my priorities.

Yes, I am still bitter.  Check back in an hour and you'll be amazed at my hostility regarding marriage, single parenthood, special needs, anxiety, aging parents, the unfairness of the world on any and every level.  BUT, I am trying to find the happy.  Or maybe even just the contentment in this life o' mine.

2016 is going to be a good year!  I'm excited to see what it brings.  

This year will mean a house for the kids and I to make into our home.  A HOME!  Not a rental, not post housing, no white walls- the possibilities are endless!  

This year will mean more independence, more responsibility, more growing up for myself as well as the kids. And we will succeed and fail together.

This year will mean so many things.  

Scary? Yes.

Exciting?  Most definitely!

So 2015, I would be lying if I said I wasn't glad to see you end, but I am thankful for what you gave me.  Insight, growth, strength, love, and hope.  You may not be remembered fondly, but you shall be remembered.