I Dreamt Of Him Last Night

I have learned through the years to value my dreams for they speak loudly to me when I listen. Often times its trying to figure out what is being said that makes it fun. Well... last night I dreamt of him. I hadn't dreamt of my exhusband once since before we seperated so I wondered why I would dream of 'him'. 'Him' being my dad.

This week was full... and I have learned that abuse for me is long lived, my whole life. But I have the opition to stop it at anytime now that I'm older. I can walk away. I often wonder why I rationalize staying for as long as I do...

This time was different. I had already decided to leave my dad's house, where I was staying at, when he first called my son a 'shithead'. That Aaron is not. He has his issues of learning disablities, but the child is extremely intelligent. The way he goes about life is different then what I or someone else who fits the norm would do. Does that make him a 'shithead'? I think not. He's perfect, growing and maturing as a normal boy with his issues can. And I love my son.

It was the second time when my dad called him an 'asshole' was when I finally said enough was enough. How can a ten year old be an asshole? Aaron is a very compassionate person, very loving and smart. I had told my dad the first time to never call my kids names. The second time, this time, I said it again, more firmer, more angier hoping to get my point across.

"Don't tell me what to do!" He snapped back at me...

"Then stop calling them names." I would not back down from this. I don't call my kids names... NO ONE ELSE WILL EITHER!!!!

This is when he started in on me. He attacked me verbally, tearing me apart. Letting me know I'm a dilusional person living in a fantasy world. I'm not a parent but a friend to my kids. I'm lazy and fat. I need to look in the mirror and see what's wrong with me because no one wants to be around me.... and so on and so on.

"I'll be up on Saturday morning to gather my stuff." I told him later that night as I collected a few things so I didn't have to stay there anymore, nor my kids.

"I want you out now."

Now what kind of man would throw out his daughter and grandchildren? What hideous thing could I have done wrong to deserve such treatment? Stopping him from calling my kids names? Shame on me...

So why would I dream of him?

I remember in the dream fighting with him telling him I didn't want the name calling to continue and he told me that he would do as he please. I thought silently to myself of how I only had to endure a little while longer...

These were my thoughts prior to the arguement I actually had with my dad...

I concluded that my dream was my guilt for trying to think it would workout, for making my children suffer through the negative feelings, the contention, the abuse. I know this about abuse... It doesn't stop, even verbal abuse will continue. I should have never stayed the first time it happen. I should have left the first time and never looked back.

So what does one do to help relieve the guilty feelings? Buy ice cream and share it with kids... making sure that their portions are bigger than mine!

Carrot, Egg and Coffee

CARROT, EGG OR COFFEE......?

A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how
things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it
and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed
as one problem was solved, a new one arose.

Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water
and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to boil. In the first she
placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed
ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil, without saying a word.
In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the
carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed
them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.

Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what you see."

"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.

Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She
did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to
take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard
boiled egg. Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The
daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma.

The daughter then asked, "What does it mean, mother?"

Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same
adversity - boiling water. Each reacted differently.

The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after
being sub! jected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak.

The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its
liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside
became hardened.

The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the
boiling water, they had changed the water.

"Which are you?" she asked her daughter. "When adversity knocks on
your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?"

Think of this: Which am I? Am I the carrot that seems strong, but
with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?

Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the
heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial
hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my
shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff
spirit and hardened hear! t?

Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot
water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot,
it releases the fragrance and flavor. If you are like the bean, when things
are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you.

When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest, do you
elevate yourself to another level? How do you handle adversity? Are you a
carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?

May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to
make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you
happy.

The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything;
they just make the most of everything that comes along their way. The
brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; you can't go
forward in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.

When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was
smiling.
Live your life so at the end, you're the one who is smiling and
everyone around you is crying.

You might want to send this message to those people who mean
something to you ; to those who have touched your life in one
way or another; to those who make you smile when you really need it; to
those who make you see the brighter side of things when you are really down;
to those whose friendship you appreciate; to those who are so meaningful in
your life. If you don't send it, you will just miss out on the opportunity
to brighten someone's day with this message!

It's easier to build a child than repair an adult .

This is so true - may we all be COFFEE

My Life And Thoughts

I haven't seen my family since before the 4th of July. I was suppose to visit them on the holiday but choose not too. My family is... Stressful. And with my blood pressure out of control I feared what I would do to them... Or what they would do to me. So I opted to stay with my dad and take the day easy.

In a way I feel bad... But I feel more relieved that I didn't go.

I feel bad for my uncle David, whose wish was to be surrounded by his family during his struggle for liver cancer. I see him all the time but I don't see his twin brother or my cousins. Even my older brother was there. But I was not.

In a way, I don't feel the need to see my Uncle David struggle with his cancer. I actually feel the need to stay away. I love the man very much. And I can hear people tell me that if you love him then visit him, show him that you love him. But I don't want to remember such a vibrant man in such a manner.

I also can't help but feel that my feelings are some what tainted by what he did to my mother during her last days. When my mom was diagnosed with cancer... Then diagnosed terminal. David never visited her. He didn't even go to the funeral. I don't hold hard feelings against him for that. I'm actually finding common ground with him. I don't want to see him die... Slowly. I want to see him alive and well. I want to remember him that way.

Yet, this has nothing to do with my undesire to visit him on the 4th. That actually had to do with my other Uncle, Fred who brought his wife, a woman who hates my mother. As I mentioned above my brother was there too, as sour as he could be. Then there were my cousins, Pete and his wife and kids and also Judy, with her oldest daughter.

Uncle Fred and Joyce are a class act. I don't love nor do I hate my uncle. I stand on neutral ground with him. I feel that I have many harsh feelings concerning him but because he is my uncle I feel a connection to him that involves love. But I can take or leave the man. He loves a woman, and to this is his downfall with me, that hates my mother and was always stirring up contention with my family. I remember once after my mother had passed away, I was walking with her talking to her about David. She told me that David had approached Fred telling "now that Dorothy is dead we should get together for breakfast." Looking at the comment now I can see my uncle saying this, trying to keep close ties with his brother. But when Joyce told me this she made it sound as if David was glad that my mother was dead. She added comments to confirm that feeling I first had when I was told. It hurt so badly that David would say such a thing, I choose to stay away from the man for sometime. This is what Joyce wanted. Now, much wiser I see that...

I stay clear of the two and am thankful that they don't even live on the same coast as I do. :)

Then there was Howard, my older brother. The first thing he said to me when I saw him on July 2nd was "Don't you know how to answer your phone?"

Well hello, good to see you too! Asshole.

I explained to him that I don't get service up in the mountains and that was the end of our conversation. I never talked to him again. I didn't want to.

Last time I spoke to Pete and Ericka (his wife) they were very angry with me and no matter how I explained the issue it never relieved his anger for what happen. I had to step back from that realizing that the situation wouldn't get any better.

So my family is filled with hate and spite. My uncle David and his family aren't. And I should have gone to see him on his birthday but I couldn't bring myself to face the rest of the family. I need the rest... The lack of tension... I need to take care of myself first. No one is going to help me but me. And if I'm not around then my kids have no one.

That bothers me greatly.

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.