Should we still celebrate? It’s certainly a bittersweet day. The day of your birth. You just can’t be here to take part. It should still be recognized, I feel. Even if it is in my own way.

I talk to you a lot. I don’t know if you know. I’d like to think you do. I wonder often, “What would Mom do now? What would she say? Would she have done the same thing?” I haven’t dreamed about you in a long time. I think I’ve really only had one or two dreams about you. But I have daily reminders here. Constant reminders. Your wedding set, your urn, your face staring back from the mirror. Good reminders, save for the urn.

I really miss you. I wish you could have stayed a little while longer. We really could do with some Mom advice. The Mom filter and guide are truly missed on the home front. Just having you around to talk with every once in awhile would be nice. Seeing K graduate from Princeton and go on to become a doctor. You’d be so very proud of her. I am. I think I’ve finally found my own niche. It’s not music, which I’m sure is a disappointment, but it is creative and it is in food and beverage and I love it. And Munchkin is growing up. He’s smart, but lazy academically. I know you would have some words of wisdom there.

God, there are so many things to tell you. I wonder if you know? I don’t know how to put words to them. I don’t even know why I’m writing this post. But I wanted to remember you on your day. So here I sit, in front of the monitor, near midnight at the end of your day. After manically cleaning the house, thinking of you, talking with K, a brief talk with Da and an email with The Aunt.

I relax here now with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. Now the tears come. Now I quietly celebrate you.

***Update***

As some people are attached to their balls/boobs, and may not be quite so attached to their asses, I was asked to please come up with a third option. Below, you will now see a less risque “Comment your ass/butt off”. Enjoy!

***/Update***

Over at Dad Gone Mad Danny Evans has come up with a brilliant, low cost Christmas gift to give every blogger on your list. He is the brains behind Operation: Comment Your Balls/Boobs Off! (Depending on your gender.) It is a most fantastic idea. The concept is quite simple. Visit all of your favorite blogs, the up and coming blogs, the unknown blogs, any blogs you can find, and spread the comment love. Dad Gone Mad proposes that all bloggers appreciate comments, and comments are a time, not money, investment. A win/win for everyone.

So take part in Operation: Comment Your Balls/Boobs Off! (Depending on your gender.) this holiday season. And, if you so wish to advertise your role in  Operation: Comment Your Balls/Boobs Off! (Depending on your gender.) here are a couple of badges you may use:

I simply ask that you not link directly to these pictures. Feel free to copy and use at will.

Happy commenting!

Just had to get that off my chest. I’ve noticed I have been pretty angry of late, and I’m not entirely sure why. I like the holidays. I miss hubby, but not to the point of anger. And constant frustration. Ugh. I hate feeling like this.

I wonder how much of it is due to things happening in the world of late that are just finally getting to me. Between the economical situation the country, or should I say the world, is going through. The political landscape is changing. I’m hoping for the better. I was hoping for the better. I didn’t count on hatred and bigotry being so wide spread.

Yes, I live in the south, so yes, I know it is there. Daily. In our faces. There. The kid down the street with parents teaching him hate. He tries to rebel, but it’s so ingrained as he says he isn’t, he is. The people in the grocery store who stare and change directions to avoid. The snide comments. The demeaning attitudes.

Damn, even my friend. How do you deal with that? I mean, I’ve told her not to forward me certain emails. I have Snoped most of the crazy emails she has sent. I have made my opinion clear. Especially as regards the most recent presidential election. I am thrilled with our President-Elect. I am hoping, though he is bringing in some old names, he will still bring the needed and necessary change for our country.

But because she didn’t vote for the President-Elect, because she was raised in the south and was not taught to be a tolerant person, does not mean she can or should forward such an offending piece of crap. That was beyond the mere political prattle normally forwarded. That was flat out racist, demeaning, embarrassing, and frankly completely and totally inappropriate.

I was so upset, I was actually speechless. For  quite some time I’ve been speechless.  I couldn’t even bring myself to bring it up to anyone as to how to address this. I mean, we’ve had enough differences and have been fine with them. But I think this time she really crossed the line.

It is too late for me to actually say something about this. I’ll have to just let this particular one go. But from now on, I will be deleting those emails and asking not to receive them. Because, yes, I could just delete them. But one could take the responsibility to not blanket forward every “joke” or other piece of crap received.

It’s the decent thing to do. Take others’ feelings into consideration.

I think I mentioned before… I did, didn’t I? That our heat has been out. Since last Wednesday. The day before Thanksgiving. And it’s been colder than a witch’s tit the past 8 days.

(Well, not really that cold, but for Georgia, it’s been freaking cold.)

Munchkin, the two stinky dogs and the stinky bunny have all been living in the living room (appropriately named, eh?) for 8 days. It is the only place with a heat source, the fireplace. So I have been tending the hearth every night, waking up at odd hours to stoke the fire and add another log. Adjusting blankets. Sliding stinky dogs around. Trying to get comfortable snuggled with an 11 year old on a double chair with an ottoman and the two stinky dogs.

Oh, and did I mention? The dogs are stinky!

With the exception of Monday night, when we didn’t get home until after 8, and it was a frigid night out, I was able to keep the temperature in the house around 64. With the fire going, I could get it up to around 75. So all in all, not too shabby. But you have to make sure of a couple of things to keep the temperature stabilized.

1. Have a space heater in the guest bathroom
2. Close the wood blinds AND the drapes in the living room
3. Have a space heater in the living room
4. KEEP ALL THE BEDROOM DOORS CLOSED
5. Have plenty of firewood available
6. Sleep very lightly
7. KEEP ALL THE BEDROOM DOORS CLOSED

Yep, that Monday night mentioned up there? The temperature when we got home wast around 52. Not easy to heat the sleeping  quarters up from such a temperature. It took a lot of work. And an oath to never leave the bedroom doors open again, no matter how pathetically the stinky doggies look at you.
It’s been an adventure. <PAH!>

But it is over. Today, my savior, Fred the Heating Tech, finally had the part needed to fix my heater. And after 2 hours, lots of cleaning and banging, a ton of dust spewing into the house, and a magical check for $1000, heat came forth from the registers.

When I took my shower, I stepped out to a warm bathroom for the first time in a week. Ahhhhh, bliss.

So take my foibles to heart and learn well from my mistakes. Before your husband leaves for 9 weeks, make sure you know where the heater filter is. Clean it or replace it as recommended. Don’t use a SUPER microbial washable filter unless you commit to cleaning it every couple of weeks. Pay the low yearly fee to have a tech come clean your heating and air system so the motor, the fan and everything else don’t get so gunked up with shit they don’t work anymore.

If you do these things, you will not be stranded in the ass end of fall with snow flurries outside and no heat inside being miserable, getting little sleep.

And blogging about what an adventure it’s been.

GAH!

I have been trying to get healthier over the past year and have been failing miserably. As much as I would love to lose weight, I really just want to get healthier. To not be on medication. To not worry.

And even knowing I need to make changes, I am having a bitch of a time doing it. I start and stop all the time. But I need to buck up and put together a schedule and, like Nike says, just do it.  Two weeks ago I started and made it a whole week. <GASP!!!> ThenThanksgiving week happened. My morning schedule got all discombobulated and I didn’t do any exercise. Then with the actual holiday, the foods I ate weren’t exactly good for me. Blech.

Well, this week I have started out okay. Monday and Tuesday I exercised. Monday’s diet got blown out of the water, but Tuesday I stuck to it. Today I stuck to the diet, even with the company holiday party, but I didn’t get my exercise on. We’ll have to see what the rest of the week holds.

Regardless, starting on Friday, I am taking the DC Urban Dad Challenge. I am hopeful that the challenge, the forced accountability, and the camaraderie of a group of people will be enough to push me forward. I will update here weekly. I will not give you my actual weight, but will tell you of the weight loss, if there is any and the points I earn or lose.

Wish me luck and come back to see how I do.

I took part in National Blog Posting Month in November. The premise behind NaBloPoMo is to post at least once a day every day for an entire month.

It was hard, and unfortunately I was not able to have a “meaningful” post every day, but I had a post every day.

November held my 100th post, which I will not yet link to as I want to clean it up some. It also held my Thanksgiving post, Hubby’s birthday post, and a post about a loved one who left us.

There was a lot of angst this month as well. And let me tell you, actually letting some of it out  was rather cathartic. There will certainly be more of that.

One thing I had hoped blogging every day would do was to help me decide in what direction I want to take this. But no such luck. So I will keep writing whatever pops into my mind. I’m sure at some point a pattern will make itself clear.

So, I’m proud of myself for making it through. The frantic search for a WiFi signal in Charlotte, the late night posts, the tossing ideas together, the forgetting of ideas I really wanted to write about. Despite those things, I did it.

The rest I’ll figure out. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll sign up to do it again.

December… the last calendar page for this year.

I’m trying to decide if I’m going to make pages for the calendars again this year. We don’t have much money because of the economy, so I decided to cut way back on our gift giving. And with the cost of ink for my printer, this ended up being a more expensive venture than I thought it would be. I don’t know. There’s still a LITTLE more time to think about it.

This is one of the ornaments on our tree. I liked how the light was shining off Santa’s beard and how he was nestled into a little hollow of the needles.

I will give you the last day of the month.

The month you chose to leave us. Not when your body gave out, when you gave out.

Leaving your family to wonder, “What the fuck?” Was it really that bad? Were you really that alone? Did it always have to be about you? Did our lives have to constantly swirl around the nucleus of you?

I was an outsider. Always an outsider. Even when I married your youngest. Especially when I married your youngest. Though I was the one who brought him back to you. Begged him to make amends. Opened the lines of communication you had closed down years before.

While I was carrying your grandson, I still was the enemy. The phone calls and messages. The verbal abuse. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I eventually cut you off. No more. I took control of my happiness and took you out of the equation.

On the birth of your grandson, your son gave in. He called you. He invited you to the hospital to see your “only” grandchild. And I grudgingly let you back in.

We forgave you all of the drunken paranoia. The neediness. The abuse. We came back again. And again. But I don’t forgive you passing it on. That’s just bullshit.

We wanted you to be a part of your grandson’s life. That was more important than anything else. Giving him family. Letting him know where he came from, even if it wasn’t ideal. I mean, whose life is truly ideal? Everyone is screwed up to some extent.

But you kept pushing. And pushing. You never stopped. You even pushed your true love right out the door. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He was sick, and worried about being so. But that wasn’t important to you. Just how it negatively impacted what you wanted to do. So you pushed more.

He set you up in a small apartment, near us, near shopping, near public transportation. He loved you but couldn’t live with you, so he left.

We tried to fill the void. We visited when we could. We talked to you all the time. But it wasn’t enough.

It was still about you. More than ever. The paranoia got worse. You just knew we were in contact with him. Knew where he was. But he kept his secret well.

You warned us. One night you called, drunk, angry, accusing. You scared all of us. The ones who stayed, cared, or at least tried to. I offered to come see you. To calm you down. I was warned by your own children not to. You had been someplace like this before in the past and you fight back with real weapons, knives, fists, teeth. And these people were more afraid for me than they were for you.

What does that say? An “outsider” was more important to your own offspring than you were?

We called your doctor. He told us to call the police. They took you to professionals who could help you. But you can certainly be charming when you want to be. Or when you feel you need to be.

You were out the next morning. Back on the meds you threatened to take. The threat that caused us to call the police in the first place.

The meds we told the doctor you shouldn’t be taking. Why he didn’t listen, I’ll never know.

We had a nice family day. Your youngest, your grandson and me. We went to Busch Gardens with his work. The company holiday outing. We called before we left to tell you we would be by when we got home to visit for a little bit. But when we got home, the shit hit the fan.

We stopped to freshen up. We didn’t want to visit you all messy from a day at the park. You were such a stickler for everything being neat and clean. So we stopped. And the phone rang.

Where the hell have you been all day? There was a company outing. We’ve been trying to call all day. Why, what’s wrong? It’s about her. What’s wrong? Are you sitting down. I don’t want to sit down, what’s wrong?

She’s dead. She killed herself. There was a note. The police want to talk to him.

I knew it. I knew she was going to do this. I told the doctor. I told the police. Why the hell didn’t they listen?

So you left. No way to turn back. A letter on the door, “Don’t come in. Call the police.” A letter on the kitchen table outlining why you felt you had to go. Telling your youngest how much you love him. Next to a birthday present. One for him and one for your grandson.

They wore the shirts. I want you to know that. They did wear them.

But you still aren’t forgiven.

Your other grandson. The one no one cared about or asked about. The one who had JUST come back into our lives. He was 13. He didn’t get it. He asked once, “Why did she do it? Did she not want to at least meet me? To get to know me?”

My heart broke.

He came home to bury you. I got to help him. I picked your clothes. And your casket. I hope you like them. Everyone else seemed to. We put your angel with you. To watch over you and take care of you.

Most of your family came. People I had never heard of. It seems your family never stayed close. I never heard from any of them again. Nope, not close.

I played at your funeral. Greensleeves. Even your oldest cried. He told me if I ever did that again, he would hit me. I took it as a compliment as he pulled me into a big bear hug and asked me to play it when he goes.

We’ve never been to visit your grave. I don’t know that we ever will. The shady little spot near your sister. It holds nothing for us. At least not right now.

Your grandson, my son, asks about you every once in a while. We only tell him the good things right now. He doesn’t know you chose to not be here. Maybe one day we’ll tell him the rest, but he’s too young to know. When are you old enough to know?

Even though you are still unforgiven, we do think about you. We wish there had been a different outcome. We try to look past the hurt and anger. But it is so hard. So for now, thinking about you will have to be enough.

Monday, Munchkin goes back to school. As much as I love being home with him and having extra time with him in the mornings before I go to work, it really put a wrench in my new morning routine.

Since Hubby went off to boot camp, I’ve been walking on the treadmill every morning in the hour between getting Munchkin to school and getting ready for work. But this past week has been lazy week. So to make up for it, I will not only get back to my morning routine, but I have also mapped a route at work to give me an extra workout during the day. I have made a commitment to get healthier, and I must stick to it. I am frighteningly out of shape. To the point of truly scaring me.

So I will be doing more physical moving. I have to. And hopefully it will be enough.

Thirty-eight years ago you came into this world. Born to a Coastie, you traveled the US. Life wasn’t always easy for you, and you found trouble wherever you could. Eventually you ended up in Kissimmee, where we met. A down and out musician and a self-destructive chef. Not much in common other than our need for each other.

You saved me from a bastard of an ex and going home in shame. I like to think I saved you from yourself.

We lived together for a while, got pregnant, then married, and the rest, I’m looking forward to learning.

A month ago, one month before your 38th birthday, you bravely decided to take your destiny in your own hands. You joined the Navy Reserves. The oldest new recruit anyone we’ve met to date has known. You are kicking ass. You are doing better than you thought you would. And you sound truly proud of yourself, for once.

And I am more proud of you than I ever have been before. And you have had many proud moments already (though you may not think so). This has been difficult. I thought it would be easier. But not being able to talk to you has been hard. Three weeks without hearing your voice was almost more than I could bear. And Thanksgiving with no word was nerve-wracking.

But today, on your birthday you got an hour. One whole hour to talk on the phone. It was bliss. I missed you so so much. And when we got to the end of our time, all I wanted was more. Now I must go back to snail mail. Hand written letters, with the four day delay in receiving them. <sigh>

I can’t wait to see you. 3 weeks. Exactly 21 days and I can see you. Hold you. Kiss you. Then you are taken from me again. Hopefully just for a little while. I hope.

But in the meantime, I will take what I can get. What the Navy will give me. I will take an hour on your birthday. A very happy birthday indeed.