Don't Call Me Again

To continue with my drama in my life I filed my divorce papers Tuesday of this last week. You know, it felt good! I was very happy. I'm getting closer to shutting the door on a tragedy and it feels good. The abyss is having some light (sort of speaking).

Well today was the day my soon to be ex was served. I figured it would take him 30 minutes to read through the papers, comprehend and then call to bitch me out. I wasn't generous enough, he called two hours after the fact.

He started to pick apart what I had done. I had expected this so it didn't bother me. Finally he asked me...

"What do I do now?"

Fucking idiot, as if I'm going to tell him.

"Sit back and do nothing for all I care. You wanted me to file the divorce papers and I did."

"I'm not the one who wanted the divorce."

"Nope your right, I did. Why would I want to be married to man who trashed me every day?"

"I didn't trash you everyday."

"Not what I was told. But that's all regardless of the fact you asked me to file, and I filed. Do you even remember how this all came about?" The man is clueless sometimes...

"No." See, I told you so!

"You believed my daughter when she said I had an affair on you." (Never looked at another man)

"And why would she lie?"



Ah... Ah...

Click

Why would she lie? Why would she lie???

Why believe a 13 year old child who hates her mother? Why not come to me and ask and talk to me? Why not treat me like a human being and see if I did or not? Why do you trust her... and not me... I was your wife who took care of you!!!!

I stewed on this for a bit...

I cried...

It still hurts he doesn't believe me.

I need to let go of this... I'm still struggling...

I sat in the office of one of co workers crying. Finally I said it...

"I need to keep all negative things away from me."

This is how I'm going to be able to move on...

So I called him back and got his voice message service.

"I can not believe after all this time you still believe I was fucking around on you. Why would I fight so strongly that I wasn't if I was? I can't believe that you trust a child over your own wife. You never supported me as your wife or as a person. There is nothing more I want to hear from you about so don't call me again unless it has to do with seeing the boys."

Click.

I feel better now.

Red Marbles

Sometimes I recieve emails that are very heart touching and bring joy to my heart. This was one of them...

Babs Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. Sure look good."

"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"

"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."

"Good. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like to take some home?"

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"

"All I got's my prize marble here."

"Is that right? Let me see it."

"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."

"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"

"Not zackley. but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble."

"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.

When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering.

Several years went by, each more rapid that the previous one.

Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts ... all very professional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.

Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

"Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about colour or size....they came to pay their debt."

"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho "

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.

Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles....A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself. An unexpected phone call from an old friend. Green
stoplights on your way to work. The fastest line at the grocery store. A good sing-along song on the radio. Your keys right where you left them.

Send this to the people you'll never forget.

I'm sending this on to all those who read and comment on my blog... May your day be filled with ordinary miracles.

Family Roots

I often tell my daughter about the redneck stories of my life. She thought I was joking until my family showed up this last week at my dad's house. They pitched up 3 tents and air up the air mattresses (they have become sophisticated over the years, no more sleeping on the ground) and filled their ice chests for an extended camping trip.

Well... none of that seems weird to me. I grew up with them doing it every summer. But my kids hadn't seen this before. I had to work so I left my kids up with their cousins to get to know one another... after a few days my daughter starts to tell me stories... I couldn't help but laugh. And boy did I laugh.

"Mom they were all sitting around trying to figure out who had the worst smelling armpits." She tells me in excitement. She can't believe I'm right about the redneck thing.

"And the hairiest too, right?" I ask her stifling my laughter.

She looked at me wide eyed, "YEAH! And then they had a farting contest."

Now I'm laughing.

"And a burping contest?"

Her eyes grew wider and she nodded in disbelief I knew. "They use 'ya' for everything too. 'Ya better come here!' 'Ya know better' 'Ya know I'm right'."

"In their lives, 'ya' is a real word." I told her...still laughing. It's her shock that's too funny. I don't know why this child doesn't believe me when I tell her about my family.

"I never believed you mom until this week." She admits to me in a low tone. So low she doesn't want to admit that I'm right so I could hear her.

Well... I don't admit to be a recovering redneck for a reason. I can't deny my family roots, but I don't have to be one. I will admit that my childhood was fun. It was loaded full of fond memories of fishing, swimming, horseback riding and family get together that lasted for weeks. It was never dull.

As I look at my life now I would much rather be a sexy librarian then a redneck... *sighs* I love my books. I love to read.

Now to add to all of this... I showed up one evening after work dressed in my business attire... heels, dress pants, tights, and a nice blouse. No one talked to me that night but my dad. Maybe they didn't recognize me.

God I love my family. They are the best.

Work

It does the soul good!

I'm feeling much better today. After a full day's work, talking with people with the same IQ and not being harassed by an idiot I feel like I'm back to my old self. Happy-go-lucky-Ms. Cheerful-in-the-morning-type.

Seriously, I am.

I get in funks every once in awhile and as I look back over why (Mainly because I hate funks. I want to enjoy life and live happy) I see what my issue was this time.

My sister.

Funny it isn't wasn't because of my ex...

Well...

It was.

I haven't seen my sister in 7 years, she lives up in Alaska. She knew of the separation but never asked me any details until I picked her up from the airport this last Thursday. She drilled me over and over making her comments as family does of how stupid he is... why didn't you stand up for yourself and I would have been spanking myself a teenager and so on and so on...

By the time I got her to my dad's house (a 3 hour drive) I was exhausted emotionally and mentally from the chat. I feel asleep for a few minutes at my dad's house and decided to go on home to my own bed. (I was alone guys... what ashame!)

The next day I looked back over the day I knew I was in trouble if I didn't get my thoughts in check. Come Sunday, I exploded on my sister and left my dad's extremely upset, in tears. She had said something about me being imperfect... oh the wrong thing to say to a goddess!... and I lost it.

The thing was she made the comments in front of my daughter. When you dishonor the parent... you dishonor the child. My children may do things wrong but they are perfect.

I should like a proud mother whose children rule her... no... I'm a mother who is building the self esteem of my children. With a divorce the children always feel it's their fault. My daughter more so then normal. I won't let anyone talk about my ex badly in front of the kids... not even my head strong military dad. He respects my wishes by the way.

Okay... so my emotions where riding high and the slight comment wasn't enough to get that upset over. It was what happen next when my sister and I tried to talk about it. It was her screaming at me not letting me talk.

I hate yelling.

I did it once...

It was the day I kicked him out of my life 10 months ago.

So what do I do with my sister???

I walked away.

Okay... now this causes conflict with my dad. He hates to see me upset like I am and so he starts to get after me.

"You need to stop bottling things up and let your family know what's going on." (Oh this is a long story on why I blog and not talk!)

And the wave of emotion really hits...

"I am perfect." I tell him. "As long as my children are around... I'm perfect. My ex tore me down everyday for two years. He told my community that I was whore. He marked me in society as scum and everyone believed him. And why shouldn't they??? He was a good Christian man! And they did all of this behind my back. I had no idea until the damage was done. Good friends turned against me and his family adducted my daughter (another really long story). Why should I talk to anyone? So they can tear me down and treat me like a whore??? AGAIN!!!"

Okay... looking back on this now I did go overboard. I did write my sister a email and apologize. I know sucky ass thing to do when a phone call is better but the emotions are still lingering today. And my dad has over 19 people at his house this week. I so don't want to go there and deal with any of this emotion with them and I'm sure they all have the load down of how I was marked.

Bottom line... I'm embarrassed now.

Well I suck it up?

Probably not.I'm a coward.

I Am Not A Whore

At the end of my 12 year marriage my husband marked me to the our small community with the scarlet letter. He encouraged and supported my children to do the same thing.

After many months of talking about it with neighbors and treating as if I was a criminal I discovered what was the driving force behind his cruelity to me. He thought I was a whore.

I had never looked at another man, especially naked during the time we dated (1 year) and our whole marriage while we were together.

I have given up the idea of trying to figure out why he thought I was a whore and never thought to ask me if I was actually sleeping with someone else. There was nothing that I did to give him this idea. I was always faithful in our marriage.

EXCEPT... I became more sexually active, craving sex more often, in which I was denied. But I never sought it from others. I wrote about it.

Now this came to me as a blow when I discovered the rumors that were being spread about by my own family. I was losing my marriage over a lie. I did the first thing I could think of and I called my husband asking him if he believed this. Of course he did much to my surprise at the time.

I started to cry. And I explained to him that I hadn't done anything wrong. We never recovered from this situation. He doesn't trust me... and I am emotional and mental hurt by the whole situation.

Why do I bring this up?

I have often wondered if men think of women who have the slightest interest in sex as whores.

Now I'm a very sexual person. I enjoy sex immensely. I don't like the idea of me not having it on a regular basis (not that my ex gave it to me regularly). I also don't like the idea of having many men. I like my numbers low. I don't think a good lover needs loads of lovers to get good... but rather loads of practice.

But does that classify someone as a whore? Becaue I enjoy sex and want it does it mean I am a slut?

I do not like this term or thoughts. It seems to me the double standards are still very much alive. Men can play with no recourse but women think about sex more then once a month and they are considered sluts and whores. I have been marked. I have seen and been asked way too many times for sex by men who just want a fuck. Yeah, let me just open my legs right up for you buddy and let you go at it. *gives evil glare*

I will not just let any man touch my body. For many reasons.

So when someone calls or thinks of me as such at first I'm taken back and then I get upset. I don't view myself as a whore.

I am not a whore.

I don't want to be a whore either.

I don't think men realize that some women from here actually want to be respected. Yes, we all want sex... but still... neither side should be made to feel less of a being because of it.

Okay... I'll stop... I'm just venting now with no real rhyme or reason. Sorry.

Positive Attitude...

I recieved this email from a coworker and I thought I would share it with all of you. The author is unknown.

John is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!"


He was a natural motivator.


If an employee was having a bad day, John was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.


Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up and asked him, "I don't get it!


You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?"


He replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or ... you can choose to be in a bad mood.


I choose to be in a good mood."


Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or...I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it.


Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or... I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life.


"Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested.


"Yes, it is," he said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people affect your mood.


You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live your life."


I reflected on what he said. Soon hereafter, I left the Tower Industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.


Several years later, I heard that he was involved in a serious accident, falling some 60 feet from a communications tower.


After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, he was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back.


I saw him about six months after the accident.


When I asked him how he was, he replied, "If I were any better, I'd be twins...Wanna see my scars?"


I declined to see his wounds, but I did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place.


"The first thing that went through my mind was the well-being of my soon-to-be born daughter," he replied. "Then, as I lay on the ground, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or...I could choose to die. I chose to live."


"Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked.


He continued, "..the paramedics were great.


They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read 'he's a dead man'. I knew I needed to take action."


"What did you do?" I asked.


"Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me," said John. "She asked if I was allergic to anything. 'Yes, I replied.' The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, 'Gravity'."


Over their laughter, I told them, "I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead."


He lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude... I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully.


Attitude, after all, is everything .


Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." Matthew 6:34.


After all today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.

I've Been Stressed Lately

I'm sorry to do this to all of you but the woes of my life have made me extremely stressed out lately and I've been very angry. Every little thing has set me off, from bad slow stupid drivers to sitting is this hard chair wondering when I can take a nap (I can't because I have to clean my house).

When I look at my life I just shake my head. No wonder why I'm stressed out.

1) My house closes escrow on Tuesday. It's suppose to on Tuesday. I have a court order saying that it has too on Tuesday by 5pm. Because I sued the previous owner for going back on a contract to sell it to me at a set price. (Hint: Don't mess with a business woman) Well... escrow might not close until Wednesday. But of course I didn't find this out until Friday evening long after my attorney's office is closed. I was suppose to sign papers on Friday... well... it's Sunday and I haven't seen the notary YET! Yes, I've called. The papers were sent to the wrong place and he can't get ahold of them... YET! *sobs*

2) My ex. Do I need to say more?
Well, he had his sister in law interrogate my only real friend the other day. They are 'concern' about my finances and were wondering how I'm going to make the house payment. I knew the bastard wanted me live dirt poor so I would have to crawl back to him. GGGgggggrrrrrrr
I made a phone call. One phone call. It's all it took.
I think what really makes me angry about that whole thing is he left me with the house and all of it's issues and bills. He shut off all the bills and utilities that were in his name not giving me time to switch things over into my name. He lied to my clients and I lost half my business in less than 2 weeks. In February I earned at total of $500. *sobs*
I have made it through all of that and now he wants to know how. I'm convinced that he wants to know how to mess me up again.

3) My house is a mess.
Minor thing, but I'm a clean freak. White glove and everything. Working out of the house has really taken it's toll on my house and yesterday I saw a bug. I hate bugs. So today I cleaned with bleach. I have all hardwood floors so they are now sterile.

4) It's hot here.

5) I have three kids. I will give you their ages because it stresses me out... 14, 9, and 2. Yup that's right a 2 year old. He isn't my stress though... the 14 year old just graduated from 8th grade this last week. I'm so very proud of her. Very proud!!! She graduated with a 3.8 gpa. I'm very proud!!! But at her graduation I had to see evil and her son (my ex). I didn't talk to evil but I had to the ex. and I survived. but it was stressful.

6) Bills

God I owe! Everyone and their grandmother.

7) My mouth hurts.

This is a big one. Several bloggers on IM know that I have broken two teeth because of my stress, I clinch my jaw when I stress. One of the two teeth became absesed so I went to the denist (I had to pay for it... at the time I didn't have health care, I do now. For the last 4 days. )and he said to me (as he rubbed up against me) that I needed to have two root canals. Okay I tell him. "But only one hurts please give me something for it." He poked around and did something to the one that didn't hurt, never has hurt, not even when I broke it did it hurt. It has hurt that day since. I mean serious pain. The other tooth healed and stopped hurting but the other one that never hurt. OMG... we are talking serious pain. I said that once before didn't I? I can't eat without having to take some Tylenol and codiane that the denist gave me... it had no effect at all. I'm talking serious pain!!!!!
Monday I'm calling a denist and getting right in.

8 ) I'm moving.

I hate moving.

Okay... I'm not going on about the car issues or the stupid school that my son attends, nor how my blood pressure is way too high (I'm way too young to have this issue).

This is where I start thinking about drinking. No... I won't drink it's not me.