Change

Here is the blog post I never imagined writing...

I moved out.  Out of DH's home.  I took three, and soon four of our children with me.  I moved on.  I found someone else.  I found refuge from the fighting, frustration, and general feeling of ambivalence that had taken over my life.  Mentally, I left a long time ago.  I left the moment that I woke up with my eye swollen shut and my hair matted with blood.  Each day, as I watched the bruising fade and the scar emerge, I left just a little bit more, until finally I wasn't an emotional presence, and at last, not a physical presence in his home any longer.

I lost myself in those last months, I lost a little of my sanity, a lot of my pride.  I lost my ability to focus, make decisions, and really even to function.  I drank to the point of excess.  I took pills to try and recover what I had lost...me.  I avoided my home, DH, and by proxy, my own children.  I snapped.

Then, I met J.  Slowly, I started to wake up from the walking coma I was in.  I could assess what my life had become while I was beyond caring about myself.  It wasn't pretty.  At first he was a solid reassuring presence that helped me feel strong.  Then he became the rock that anchored me when I was missing my children.  Finally, he became my best friend.  For the first time in my life, I knew what love wasn't.  Love wasn't what I thought I had for this last decade and change.  Love wasn't roses, empty words,  broken promises, or flashy declarations. 

One day when Iwoke up, I knew what I had been missing all these years, because he was sleeping peacefully next to me.  Love.  I found it when it was unsought and even an unknown entity.  I realized that it was the strength shared with me, the shoulders helping hold my burdens, the quiet acceptance of me at both my best and my worst.  Love was the feeling that compelled me to watch him sleep, the sadness I felt when we weren't together, the unmitigated joy when we were.  I was in love for the first time in my life.  It was quite the realization for a mother of seven.

Of course nothing can be as simple as just a happy ending.  DH was convinced he wanted to keep the children, and I let him.  I thought it would be the easiest way to prove to him that he wants the joy of having his children close, not the work of raising them.  It was a good plan I thought, but, I couldn't have been more wrong.  He stopped cleaning, doing laundry, taking care of the kids...or rather after I left, he never started.  Then on a Saturday morning I was 'surprised' when DCF ordered my kids out of the house due to the conditions inside.

I blame myself.  I should have fought to get him to let me in before it came to a head, afterall, I knew he didn't know how to be the parent in charge.  Things shifted.  Suddenly instead of just fighting him, I was fighting the state too.  The children went to stay at my Aunt's house for a few days while we I cleaned the house and did the piled up laundry.  The kids were back home, but, now we had the monkey of the State on our backs, still do, to be honest with you.

To this point I had been cherishing each and everyday with J, I mean, who would want a woman with seven children?  I decided I had found the answer to the age old question, "Is it better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?"  I knew it was better to have loved, I wasn't sure how I was going to deal with the inevitable loss, but, I figured time would tell.  Much to my surprise, out of the ashes that had become my life, came something beautiful.  It turned out J wasn't just my true love, he was also going to be my forever love.  He didn't just love me, he loved my kids too.

We moved the baby girls into our home, previously known as J's home, first.  Then came my 10 year old.  Saturday, he saved my dogs' lives.  He rescued them from the 'rescue.'  At least he rescued the two of my dogs that didn't die in there.  He built them a phenomenal shelter out in the vast, but, sadly unfenced backyard.  As soon as the remodel is done in the back bedroom, Baby Z will join us here too.  As you can see, I didn't underestimate true love.

He doesn't just want to be there for my children, he wants to be there for our children.  He may not be their father, but, he is fast becoming Daddy.  At first it was 'J,' then it was 'Daddy J,' and now more often than not, it is just 'Daddy.'  Did I die and go to heaven?  I keep wondering...

My 6 year old adores him too, and while my 12 and 14 year olds resent the hell out of me, they both like and respect J.  The 14, 12, and 6 year olds will stay with DH.  He is better able to handle the older children, and they want to be with him.  The happiest balance that is possible, has been found.  We live less than four miles away from DH, so the visits are nearly daily.

As for me, I have found the man who puts his arms around all of us, because he is just big and strong enough to be able to, and tells me, "It is us against the world baby, through thick and thin."  I believe him.  He is brilliant, handsome, loving, funny, tender.  He was my salvation, and now he and my children, our little family, are my whole world.

From now on this Proud mom is blogging from the happiest point in her life, about our lives, and I think I am going to love it...I hope you all, my bloggy friends, will keep following me, commenting, and supporting me.  Just like 'Footprints,' this is where I need as much help as possible, to be carried through these rough patches, because there is still a long, hard, steep, road ahead. 

Saying good-bye

This has been an incredibly difficult week. Many of my feathered companions have needed to find new homes. My furry companions are leaving tomorrow. I am on an emotional roller coaster and I am a freaking mess.

Just pray for us, so much needs to happen tomorrow...so, so much...

Back to roots long forgotten

When our oldest son was little, his father and I would take frequent trips to Northern Virginia, where my family is (at least the important part of it) and of course our son went with us. We toured the Smithsonian, the Capitol, watched the lighting of the White House Christmas tree, meandered around the Mall, climbed the Washington Monument, went to the zoo, attended mass at the Cathedral. You name it. Then this most important year came, his last year of middle school, and with it, the privilege of going to Washington on a field trip. We were a little surprised that when the field trip opportunity arose, BB pitched it to us as an experience of a lifetime. I feared those memories were to be treasured, but by his father and myself alone.

With thanks to his amazing grandparents, this 'opportunity of a lifetime' came to fruition for my son. I was excited for him to take this trip, convinced that as he experienced these breathtaking things, the memories would come back to him. I was sure that as he laid his hand of the wall, and felt the names etched in stone underneath his finger tips, he would remember. I thought for certain that as he gazed up at the airplanes that so fascinated him in his younger years, he would think about those times...that the memories would come flooding back. I was wrong.

It makes me want to weep with the heartache of it all. The holidays spent throwing snowballs, and watching the most important city in our nation light up with the festive colors, the sheer stubborn determination that he would exhibit when he insisted to feed the machine his own metro card. All those memories made with love, carried and cherished all these years aren't with him. They are only with us. It makes me wonder as each of my children grow older, what will be the important moments, and what will exist only as chicken soup for this mother's soul?

Tiptoe among the tulips

My life right now is inside out, upside down, and sideways. I see precious little of my children. I see precious little of my fur and feather babies. However, I still bask in the love of good friends, a good man, and a wonderful family. In spite of the craziness that surrounds me and defines me at the moment...I still keenly feel, love, joy, and happiness. The question that remains is if there is a way to marry all of those feelings with the different roles I must play as a mother, partner, friend, and companion.

I know that I am being a little cryptic in my post. I ask that you forgive me for that. I will write something more detailed and definitive soon. In the meantime, will you all please tell me how you manage to play all the cards life deals you concurrently? Most of all, will you share how you manage (if indeed you do) from feeling inadequate in one venue while you concentrate on another? My inquiring mind wants to know...

Teen angst

I once had a friend tell me that teenage boys, "get those hormones going, and then they stay f#*ked up in the head until they start to get laid." At the time I thought it was a rather offensive statement, but I didn't entirely write it off since it was coming from a former teen boy. Actually, I still think it's an offensive statement but, would consider flying my teenager to Amsterdam to get high and get laid, if it meant that the child returning would somewhat resemble the one I gave birth to. Yep. I might just be *that* desperate.

My daughter texted me a link last night, it was along the lines of: WorldWideWeb.militaryschoolinformationfortroubledteens.edu

I guess I'm not the only one fed up with him. It can't all be in my head. Not if my daughter is researching potential boarding schools where we might deposit her older sibling. This thing is serious. This kid is killing me, and if that sounds like an exaggeration, he is in fact, torturing me into insanity. I mean, what mother sets her alarm to take her Xanax 45 minutes before her son's alarm is set to go off? Me. Clearly the answer is me, but, why should this be?

I tell people in stores in public places that he has Tourette's. That way they will excuse him and hopefully my clearly inadequate way of dealing with him. What does one say when their son utters a four letter word, or several of them strung together with as much hate as possible? I say nothing. I ignore him. I continue my shopping, placing my eggs carefully into my cart while I give curious onlookers a small sigh and an apologetic smile, "He has Tourette's," I say. What else can I do? I can't scream like a fish wife, or bend my six foot tall son over my knee. So? what do I do?

I take away his Xbox...he punches holes in my walls. I take away his cell phone...he goes after his little brother with a two by four. He controls the house. We tiptoe around him. We pray for him to sleep. We luxuriate in his absences. We have given up. We feel like we've tried everything legal to help him...to help us. So, what do we do? We have another 3 years, 8 months, and 14 days until he turns 18...not that we are counting of course.

Maybe my daughter has the right idea. Maybe military school is a good plan.

It's Friday...random style

I was on Facebook today, extolling the virtues of kitty cats and laziness, when my bloggy pal, Eric's Mommy, suggested I actually post something on my site. So, here goes Eric's Mommy, this post is for you kid!

My teenage son sprained his ankle yesterday. I am so immune to such types of disasters with the number of children I have, all as klutzy as their Proud mother, that I handed him an Ace bandage, crutches, his prescription strength Naproxen, and an ice pack, and decided to forgo the Emergency Room which would have done the exact same thing for him, eleven hours later. Who knew that the OCD mom, who assured he went to the doctor or hospital every time he sniffled as an only child, could evolve into moi?

The baby is officially mobile...and has found out how to scale the baby gate that separates my kitchen from the living room. Worse still, after watching his smooth moves...he has taught this neat trick to my two small dogs. When I wander downstairs at night and I catch the crotch of my...well anyway...my crotch, on this frigging gate, I have to ask myself why it is still there. The only person or thing it is effectively keeping out of the kitchen is me.

Money is still tight. Times are still tough. I could expound on this issue for awhile, but, it has begun to bore even me. Even typing the words, forced a yawn and a desire to see who has been kicking my butt at Words With Friends today. There will be nothing more at the moment about the Proud family economy, or any thoughts on our country's either, as we seem to be running neck and neck.

Cable on demand is a very efficient way to torture parents. Seriously, who needs waterboarding when you can just force someone into watching the same effing episode of Wow Wow Wubzy 40 times in a row? Does anyone in the CIA have small children? If I had anything to hide, I would have given it up, before Widget and Walden even came onto the screen, for the 40th time. I swear.

This subject brings me to my Irish twins. I am now able to begin to imagine how having real twins might feel. They speak a language of their own. Nobody else can understand a word they say, unless they deem it to be so. This loosely translates into the planning of chaos, mayhem, and painting the walls with my mascara...and we are none the wiser, because we never understand the evil plot, until we find ourselves in the midst of the broken guitar, missing Xbox hard drive, or Clinique wall murals. People, listen to me...DO NOT have children less than a year apart by choice. Really. It sounds cool and all...but, it isn't. Parents of multiples and for other parents of Irish twins...our reward is in Heaven. I hope.

I finally had my hair cut and colored. I went a full year (better than, really) without doing anything to it. Now, people tell me that they hardly recognize me. Seriously? I've worn my hair this way for 17 years, with the exception of the last 18 months, and now you don't recognize me? I find this slightly strange.

This concludes Random Friday. You all have a great weekend. Before I go though,
ergonomic keyboards were *not* and I repeat *not* made for hunt and peckers like me. Typing this post has started to make me wonder if I am having flashbacks...

It is wayyyy...past Monday

Blame it on the cable guy who was days late to hook up my service, blame it on the son, who insists to switch my desktop to his tv instead of my monitor.  Blame it on me being lazy...but, as Tanya reminded me...I am late.

Late with the blog post of course, not late late.  Thank goodness!

I have, what feels like a small army of children plotting my downfall.  I have the school board, collaborating with those same children, giving out days off like tic tacs.  It all seems to be leading to my demise.  Really.  Not just a bloggy demise, I mean, I've been there...done that...this is more of a blogging resurrection...slightly off track.

Cell phone blogging is not what it is all cracked up to be, so, when I retire to my humble abode for the evening, I shall get a real post up here, and, fix whatever I did wrong on our taxes.  I promise.