It's coming again. Father's Day.

Father's Day is coming.

Again.

You're still not here.

I lack the words.

I lack the poetry.

The thoughts.

The movement.

This year I just stumble along.

Pretending that it won't matter.

That Father's Day isn't coming.

Because you're not here.

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Across My Internet: Bits and Pieces

I'm all over the place with the things I've been trying to write. As you'll notice, it's been a while since I've published anything. Unless you count this post over at SITS entitled: 8 Places To Submit Your Writing. That's by me. But otherwise I've been stuck. It happens. It's a weird place to be, though. And sometimes when I'm there I find amazing things to read. But even those get slow now and then.

So I'm all over the place with the reading, too. And the opening of the things I want to read, and all that's out there, leaving tabs scattered open across my screen. And I know that people say don't link your readers out to other sites, they'll leave yours and not come back! Oh no!! But that's never been my style - never been my fear - I know you guys will stick with me when you're in the mood to and if something appeals to you you'll read it, share, come back, whatever works.

So, here's what's happening on my internet this week (and last week - as I'm really slow with the motivation these days).

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Depression is real. You're not alone.

Today is what I believe to be the second annual #DayOfLight.

This event was established to bring depression out of the darkness and into the light.

I wrote last year - with loads of resources and information and the perspective of someone who is an advocate for mental health.

I write this year with similar information, but the reminder that I know of what I speak.

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One year gone by. It still hurts.

Emotions are heightened as the weather cools down.

Fall has arrived in North Carolina and I'm feeling it.

My mood flicks like a switch that I have no control over has been commandeered by someone I can't see.

Coffee is good. It fuels me. Warms me.

Soups, too.

I made chicken soup from scratch.

A task - I know. But I know why.

I needed to. I wanted to. I had to feel. Be on my feet for hours.

Ladling. Skimming. Stirring.

How did he do it? All those years. On his feet.

Day after day. Night after night.

All those years.

I exhale.

At the same time I have no urge to be cooking.

Fast foods call my name.

My motivation is gone.

I'm more than overdue for a walk. A run. A bike ride.

A burst of cold weather smacking me in the face.

I'm overdue.

Music helps. Only a little.

Some days I'm fine. I don't even feel it.

Others? Not so much.

A candle burns now and then. Brightening up the kitchen.

Bringing out a scent that warms the soul. Sometimes.

Other times a candle burns.

I watch it fade.

Twenty-four hours of flickering light.

Time moves on.

It's been over a year.

My father's been gone that long.

I lit a candle.

Not birthday candles.

An I miss you candle.

Judaism permits you to remember with a flickering light.

Brings the memory of the loved ones lost right there - beside you - at every turn.

Held close within your heart.

Held tight within mine.

October has finally ended.

And yet.

My heart does not freely soar.

I thought it might - but it does not.

The pain is still there.

The ache.

The tears.

I still hurt.

And this weather isn't helping.

Not one bit.

* I'm linking up this week with Shell's Pour Your Heart Out. *

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Father's Day.

Father's Day is coming.

I'm not ready for it.

I don't really want it to come.

Can we just pretend it's not a holiday this year?

It's not going to be for me.

My daddy is gone.

I'm not ready.

I can't imagine the day coming and going without at least hearing his voice.

Seeing his face.

Laughing. Smiling. Feeling.

So much feeling.

I know I'll have the feelings. The love. The heart.

It'll all be there. I'm quite sure. And yet ...

He won't be.

What do you do?

How do you celebrate Father's Day when your father is gone?

With a shattered heart and tears in your eyes?

With a plastered smile as you and your daughter celebrate your husband. Her father.

Yes. Of course. Yes.

But my father. MY daddy.

How do I celebrate him when he isn't here?

I have no freaking clue.

Honestly.

No clue.

I feel like I might just want to stay in bed all day, but I know I won't.

But I'll probably want to.

Eyes closed. Shutting out the harsh reminder of my loss.

Because I don't need a reminder.

I know.

Every single day.

I know my dad is gone.

I love you, Daddy. Happy Father's Day. Every day.

I miss you.

* Linking up with Things I Can't Say and Pour Your Heart Out this week. *

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School's (not quite) out for summer.

Summer is so beautiful around here. We get out on the lake a LOT and it's so much fun. Just the fresh air and the water and the sun shining, it's pretty great, honestly. It's a rough life when I think about it - the weekends - anyway. Wanna see?

Gorgeous, right?

I know - I know it is. And how I wish we could be out there all day every day. But summer isn't like that and my husband kind of has to work. I mean - he could skip out - but then we'd have a problem, I'm sure. Or maybe a few ...

But summer is awesome in so many ways. And kind of scary in others.

And so I can't decide if I'm more excited for school to be over than my daughter is ... but I do know that I just might be more terrified.

Here's a little bit about why:

Pro:

NO. MORE. HOMEWORK.

Hallelujah.

Con:

Nothing. I got nothing.

Pro:

Sleeping in!

Con:

Nope. None here, either. Though I probably won't sleep in all that much. We do have two dogs and all. I should probably help my husband with them in the mornings, right?

So, these two things seem pretty awesome, don't they? They totally would mean every and anything to any sane parent and should outweigh any not-so-great things we might have to deal with, sure. I mean - what IS my problem, you might ask. Stay with me. It's coming.

Pro:

No more creating enticing portable lunches!

Con:

EVERY.SINGLE.MEAL. Of the day. At home. And snacks.

Pro:

No more "required" reading.

Con:

Right now I've been asking her for about forty minutes to find a book and read it so she can do her homework assignment. Pick a book - ANY book.

She can't find one. In the possible hundreds of books she has in her room she wants to read Brown Bear, Brown Bear. Yes. I don't know why I have kept all the old books, either. They were sort of helpful when she first started really reading on her own. Gave her an accomplished feeling. And the nostalgia. That's there, too.

And fine. I'm a book addict. I just can't seem to give them away. So there. I said it.

Pro:

More time together. I'm really honestly looking forward to this. I am. I miss her in the not-quite-fall when school starts around here. I do. It's a tug at the heartstrings when she starts her next grade. And so I'm happy to have time together - where we can do whatever and have fun.

Con:

SO much time together. She's bored. She's hungry. She wants me to play tea party with water in little ceramic cups that taste awful and Nerds in a small cup for snack. Nerds from like two Halloweens ago, I'm pretty sure. I'm not always up for tea party, man. I'm just not.

Am I an awful mom for saying so? Nah. Just keepin' it real.

Saying these things doesn't make me a mean mom or a bad one. It doesn't mean I don't love my child. It *might* mean that I enjoy some quiet time where there isn't noise surrounding me or balloons being tossed about. Seriously, who invented balloons, people? Because I need to have a word with him. Yeah - I feel that it's a him. I just know it. Grrrr.

This summer my daughter will be spending some time away from me. I'm honestly terrified of that upcoming experience so I have decided not to talk about it at all right now. I'm sure it will be fine, but hush. Don't ask and let's just pretend I didn't say anything, okay?

She'll also be headed to day camp for a week. Maybe a second week, because I think with all of the time we have "free" I might just want to sign her up so she has more fun. Maybe. Possibly. We'll see.

Some might say I should consider year-round school. Nah. Not feelin' it. I'm a traditional calendar kinda' mom.

Even if it means I may have to talk to my doctor about upping my medication a little.

You probably laughed there. I did, too. And yet there's always some truth in jest, isn't there? Just a little?

I'm linking up with Shell over at Things I Can't Say today. Her Pour Your Heart Out post this week is pretty much the opposite of what I just wrote here, and I think that's interesting. Maybe it is entirely about the ages. Maybe it's because she has three and her kids can entertain one another? Maybe it's because I don't drive and that totally cramps my "entertain my kid" style?

And to wrap up my night, and my post, I've included my latest Instagram share.

Me.

Hours after this post first began.

After dinner - sort of.

After a small break - sort of.

And not quite completely after homework.

It was still going on when I took this selfie. STILL. GOING. ON.

So. Yeah. This is mommy's homework face.

Maybe summer won't be so bad after all ...

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I think of you.

It's been three months now.

Three months since you've been gone.

I'm shocked that that much time has gone by. I feel the loss fresh as if it were yesterday.

I am triggered so frequently by the most random of things.

Walking through the grocery store I stop to pick up cantaloupe. I have no idea how to know if it's good or not. Fresh? Ripe? I want to call you but I can't.

I'm still in the produce section. Last time I was here I picked up parsley and couldn't find the dill. This time I grabbed celery and asked where the dill was. I found the real regular parsley. I wasn't sure what else I was missing. Where are you when I need you? Why can't I just call?

I walked yesterday. Hit the almost two-mile point of my stroll around the neighborhood. It was a gorgeous day. Absolutely beautiful. I checked my phone quickly and there you were. A beautiful shot of the girls and you from the last time they saw you together.

My heart cracked and I started to cry. As I walked.

I cried. I walked. I cried and walked.

I felt the need to push on. To show you I could do it. And so I did. Two miles.

Today I changed into clothes to work out. The sky is crying. It feels my pain. I tossed on my Bite Me tee from Joe's Crab Shack. I wanted to take you there but it's so far away. This summer, I thought maybe, but we didn't get to go.

Cotton Eye Joe. They play it. The servers dance in the aisles of the restaurant.

You needed to see it.

I'm not sure I'll ever be able to go back.

I'm pretty sure I won't want to.

It's a random sense of guilt. The things you'll be missing. I wish I could rewind time and bring you back so you could do them all. Each and every little thing.

But time doesn't work that way.

We're not allowed.

And it sucks. Royally.

The pain doesn't go away. The hurt and the ache.

The heart is broken. It will always be a little bit broken.

Some days I see you. I imagine you. Picture your smile. Hear your laugh. G-d, how much I loved it when you really and truly laughed. It's one thing that can make me smile. Now. Months without you. Without hearing your voice. I hear your laugh ... still.

I love you, Daddy. I miss you. Come visit me in my dreams when you can.

p.s. I finally watched this video. All these years and we never saw it.

Here is is, Pops, just for you. Enjoy.




* I'll be linking this post up with Shell's Pour Your Heart Out over at Things I Can't Say. 

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Chanukah.

The holidays are coming. Chanukah is literally tomorrow.

I mean it. It's tomorrow.

Talk about giving me no space whatsoever, right?

It's going to be so rough this year.

My father has always been the driving force behind the holidays. Whether he knew it or not, he was. Is. But isn't. Isn't here anymore to visibly and audibly be a part of it.

Yes. Audibly.

You might not know that my dad had the most beautiful voice.

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Mornings.

Last week my husband was away at a conference. Our mornings were so different because we had to get up an hour earlier to catch the bus. Well, the child caught the bus, but I had to get her to it.

But somehow, getting up that much earlier made her more cooperative. Maybe it was the understanding of no back-up plan? I don't know, exactly, but I was good with it.

This? This is how my morning went this morning.

Admittedly, I was exhausted and didn't want to wake up when the husband tried to nudge me out of bed with a "Get up. Get uppppp. Get up!" or something like that. Who listens at that time of the day, anyway?

Wake up. Go pee. Brush teeth (I have to people, it just helps me function!).

Go wake the child.

Continue trying to wake the child.

Stick cold hands under child's blanket.

Calm dog. Talk to cat(s). Turn bathroom water on for cat. Break up cat fight.

Talk to other dog.

"CHILD. WAKE UP." Repeat several times.

Make child laugh. Mornings really are kind of beautiful until you realize that holy cannoli! You're going to be way too late to do all of the *downstairs things* if she doesn't get her but out of bed immediately.

Child complains that her eyes do not "adjust" well in the mornings. Yes. She - six year old that she is - used the word adjust at me.

"Keep them closed and I will walk you to the bathroom," and so I do.

Leave her in the dark bathroom with cat drinking from sink faucet. *Shoot. Is that water still on? I hope not. Better go check!

Child takes five years in the bathroom. Do your kids tend to have to poop in the mornings and take forever? No? Just mine?

Put clothes onto bed for child.

"CHILD. Come on! COME ON!"

Back to bedroom. Talk to dogs. Check lunch and breakfast menu on iPad to see if those are options today. Lunch isn't, breakfast could be.

Back to child's room.

"Let's go ..."

Child gets dressed. I go get the dogs. Hear the kiddo say, 'These socks are TOO TIGHT!' ... respond, "You're a big girl. Find yourself a pair of socks." Sigh loudly.

Leash boxer puppy Bella. She's crated because she doesn't like cats. Or likes them too much? We're not quite sure and don't want to test it out.

Bring dogs downstairs. Let them outside. Walk past Keurig and turn it on. Pantry for dog food. Bella starts barking outside. YELL at dogs.

I'm moving as fast as I can, you know?

They don't get it, these dogs.

Scoop dog food into bowls, let dogs in, take muffins out of pantry. The child has decided choices are too difficult these days. Make child hot chocolate (new thing in the mornings).

Start husband's coffee. Grab pack of Pop Tarts for him.

Cut pieces of muffin for daughter's breakfast. Decision made.

Start preparing lunch. Figure it's easier than asking. Choices and all.

Grab snacks for lunch. Fill cup with water for school. Cup stinks. Water bottle instead.

Next K-cup for husband's coffee.

Put toothpaste on child's toothbrush. Yes. I know. I shouldn't. But GOOD LAWD if I don't it's another ten minutes, seriously.

Put knot genie on bathroom counter.

"Go brush hair and brush teeth." Repeat several times.

Ask child if she wants to wear boots or sneakers today. Choice again, decide screw that. Get child's sneakers. PUT SNEAKERS ON CHILD'S FEET.

Don't tell me you've never done it. I won't believe you. Some days it's all I have to not have her stand still and do everything because I do it faster.

Remind child to brush hair and teeth.

Give husband his coffee.

Go start brushing child's hair while she brushes her teeth. (You're not alone, mama whose daughter shouts IT HURTS before you've really even touched her hair. I feel you.)

Get backpack and *jacket*. Offer child a choice again, but know her answer before she gives it. Eenie Meenie Miney Moe. Here you go.

Head outside, help child into vehicle. Hand her hot chocolate (forgot step - put hot chocolate in travel mug safe for child and vehicle and husband's sanity while driving). Kiss child goodbye.

Go around front and kiss husband.

Wave from porch.

Wave again.

Go into house.

Close and lock door.

Collapse.

Morning note: Try not to drink anything stronger than coffee while old man dog Dexter drives me crazy requesting to go outside, come back in, go outside, come back in.

Make myself coffee. Eat piece of muffin. Spend lots and lots of time on the Internet.

Listen to Carrie Underwood and feel powerful. Sip coffee.

Check time. Not even TEN? Whew. I need a nap.

Motherhood's amazing, isn't it? I honestly wouldn't trade a moment of it, but I had to share anyway. It was like a play-by-play this morning and I knew it would make a perfect (to me, anyway, hope you enjoyed) blog post.

Now, where did I leave my coffee ...?

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How do you blog?

So. You know what's been happening with me lately.

It's obvious I'm filled and consumed with grief after unexpectedly losing my father a month ago.

Unexpectedly.

Stupid word, isn't it?

When does one expect to suffer such a loss?

I suppose if someone is sick it is less unexpected, right? I guess. I don't think it's any easier, but different. I'm rambling, I know. But that's part of what's on my mind.

Do you ramble when you blog?

Do you write like me? Do you talk about everything and anything?

I do. Obviously. And yet, sometimes I don't.

It's interesting.

I'm not one to come and complain here. Not about things that supposedly matter.

I get personal, but I don't get deep.

Or is that crap? I do get deep? I talk about what I want to talk about.

I've been thinking about how I've been writing about grief. I've been wondering if it's too much for people. You - the people who read my words.

I know I have a handful of strong supporters. A handful of you who listen to me and send me love no matter how sad I am and no matter what I have to share.

You, those people who have sent me Facebook messages offering love. You, my friends who have mailed me handwritten sympathy cards that I came home to. Phone numbers offered. Ears, shoulders, warm hugs. These come from you - my friends who blog. Blogging friends.

You're real.

But sometimes I say, well, what about the rest of you? Not every reader loves me in a way that my friends do. So maybe the grief is a bit much? Maybe it's a lot to share. And I remind myself I write, not for page views, not for money, but for me.

It's why I still blog (to borrow a phrase used at Type-A Parent). I write for me. And maybe my words help someone else out there? Maybe someone experiencing such grief will pick up their pen, or laptop or something and write, too. Maybe they'll put their pain down on paper and share it, or not share it.

But it's my space and that's why I use it the way I see fit.

And no, nobody has said they have had an issue with my words at all. It's me. It's my mind, ya know? It's my thought process that leads me to thinking what if people think ...?

A very good friend this morning told me, 'Write what you need to write,' and she was, and IS, SO right.

So today I say what's on my mind, and I'm thankful for the reminder from friends that I can be me here in my space and talk about whatever it is that matters to me. And right now, that's finding my way through the clouds of grief and emotion to see the sun shining in. It will take time. It will take small moments to remind me that smiling is allowed, laughing is okay and sometimes even singing is permitted.

I just need to remember to let myself feel that stuff. Let myself do it all.

And remember that you are all here as a sounding board, listening, reading, commenting, or not. But either way it's all okay. I'll be okay.

Miss you, Daddy. But you taught me to stay strong. You taught me to do anything I ever wanted. You taught me to bring home an A when I didn't think I could. You motivated me. You supported me. And most of all, you loved me. I have others who do those things, too, but I must always remember to do them for myself, as well.

You taught me well. I won't forget. Ever.

 

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My heart hurts.

The words, they don't come.

The pictures, I look at them often. Each one more precious than the next.

My heart, it hurts.

My head spins.

My breathing slows.

I need to push through. The rapid heartbeats, the deep breaths. Puffy and swollen eyes.

Each one of my tops stained with salty tears.

Lights flicker. Bulbs pop. A ball rolls into the kitchen.

Solitaire starts itself on my mom's computer.

The stash of cookies dwindles.

Cakes get thrown away.

Stale sprinkles fill my mouth, jelly filling, blueberry pie.

I look to find fullness. My heart has a hole in it that needs to be gone.

Chocolate cake and dried fruit and mints and grilled cheese sandwiches.

The matzo ball soup, the noodle kugel. Things for a Shiva call I can't bring myself to eat.

A Brooklyn bagel, what I longed for each trip home. What they brought me every trip south.

Dozens upon dozens and I couldn't have a single one.

They just aren't quite the same without my daddy smiling from across the kitchen table.

I don't know where to begin but I just need to pour out some words. These might not be the right ones, but they are mine. All mine.

And so, I share them. And then, I cry.

But it's okay. Because he loved me. And I love him.

A whole bunch, forever and always.

Love you, Daddy.

Thank you for always making me smile, laugh, and ensuring that I never felt a lack of love for even a moment.

* I wrote this a few days ago and have been trying to insert a picture since then. My iPad is not cooperating, but much of the technology surrounding my mom and I this week has not been, so I hold off, and promise that pictures will follow soon. Perhaps my iPad knows I am not truly ready? We shall see ...

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Out on the water.

It seems like a week goes by and I suddenly say, oh, wait, I haven't posted in - oh, a week or so. I'm not sure why that is. Fall is coming. The child started school. You'd think I'd be posting up a storm. But I'm not. And today I had a small idea for posting, and suddenly found two link-ups I could share with, and one other I normally do (cause it's Wednesday, and that means I head to Shell's place for Pour Your Heart Out today!).

And so, here's what we did this weekend.

We finally got back out on the water. It was such a beautiful day. Almost fall-like. Almost. But way warmer than I expected. Which my daughter LOVED. Because, well ... look.

It was definitely chilly, but that didn't matter. She swam. By herself. But yes, that's my husband at the edge of the picture. Easily able to reach her if she needed him. She didn't care one way or the other. She loves the water. Which is something I'm so glad we've passed on to her. No fear. I seem to remember being that way when I was a kid. And now, even. Sometimes. My husband is, too. At least when it comes to water. So we're lucky. #nofear

And this picture kind of sums up the sort of bliss she feels out on the water. It also makes me really happy. #nofilter

So while this isn't quite your normal (okay, MY normal) Pour Your Heart out post, it totally represents what I love about family time on the weekends. We did invite some friends out with us, but they weren't able to make it. And that was okay. Sometimes it's okay to be out there, just the three of us. Enjoying each other. And the water. And the fresh air and sunshine.

Sometimes that's what it's all about. A small escape from the mundane or the plugged in. Yes, I know, I used my phone out there to capture a few moments. I often try to be better about NOT doing that, but then, then I look at these shots and smile. I like to have them. When she's in her 20s and looking back at her childhood I like that I'll have these pictures.

You know - our parents captured important moments - never the seemingly insignificant ones of visiting with family on the weekends or taking a walk around the neighborhood. I surely don't have a single picture of myself riding my bike or on roller skates. Which is fine. But is it wrong that now we capture those shots? It would be if that's ALL we did. If we weren't in the midst of the moment, as well. I think that I noticed that at a concert recently. I took a few shots, and tried to record a moment or two (ssssh), and then realized, put the phone away. Enjoy yourself. You paid to hear and see and live and experience. And there's no need to document. But is it any different than when I hit concerts growing up and brought a camera? A 35mm or my digital? Yes and no. I don't know why, it just is.

Well, I guess this turned into a PYHO type of post, after all. Heh.

I'm also linking up with Diana Stone of Diana Wrote for Glimpses and Greta at gfunkified for #iPPP (even though I don't have an iPhone - she said it's okay!).

So, how was your weekend? Are you able to enjoy the weather where you are? Is fall there yet? Have you had your first Pumpkin Spice Latte of the not-quite-season? Are you ready for my birthday? I mean ... Halloween ...? I'm SO not. Seriously. Not. Ready. I still have so much to do. 

Guess I better get started. What to do first ...? Maybe I'll start with a cup of coffee. Sounds easy enough. Catch y'all later. #Cheers

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Today vs. Tomorrow.

You know when you just take in everything around you and find yourself overwhelmed and weighed down by all that you've heard? Seen? Felt?

I'm not going to write this to capitalize on all that's been happening in our world these days. I'm writing it to say, what the eff has been happening in our world these days?

But seriously, sometimes things trigger and roll into one another and so on meets so forth and before you know it you can't fall asleep at night and your head hurts, your heart hurts and you wonder what sort of world you've brought your child(ren) into and what the future holds.

What the hell am I talking about - you wonder?

Well, start off with the Trayvon Martin case. And the verdict. And finding out (thanks social media) that the verdict was coming in, turning on the TV in seconds and hearing, 'Not guilty,' as you sat and stared.

My Facebook update after that?

OMG

Yep. That was all I could say. OMG.

Did I think he'd get off? Sigh. Yes. Sadly, I did. Did I want him to? Nope. No way.

You know back when this all first happened and those news stories floated around? I read them all. Watched them all. LISTENED to them all. I heard that dispatcher tell him, this 28 (now 29) year-old man, to stop following the boy. The 17-year-old boy. I heard those words. And he didn't listen. And now a boy is dead.

Do I know if Trayvon Martin was an angel? No. Do I believe he was the best young man in the world? No. I don't know anything about him to prove he was or he wasn't. I just know he was a 17-yo boy who was shot dead by a 28yo man.

Was race a factor? Sure. Say it wasn't and I say you're probably hiding the truth from yourself. That's okay. We all do it now and then. Yes. ALL of us. Even me. And you. And our friends. Family. Whomever. Whenever. We do it.

So I shook my head at the verdict and I watched as Facebook and Twitter blew up with some serious and important statements. And some huge generalizations. And some negative reactions. And some not-so-negative ones. I agreed with some, disagreed with others, and politely discussed what was on my mind with some.

The over the top people? The ones who didn't speak like real people? Generalized and went off in one direction or another. Spouting their hooey all over the web? I ignored them. Or stopped following them. Whatever I needed. And then I went to bed.

And the next morning I woke up and found out that Cory Monteith had died.

And I was really sad.

Being said about this young man of 31 did NOT mean I was less sad about the verdict from the night before. AT ALL. I was sad because someone who had an issue with drugs and addiction in his lifetime likely had succumbed to the disease and lost his life because of it. Cory Monteith is not someone I knew. He is, however, someone real. Despite being an actor. He's a real person.

And you know what? I cried for him.

Maybe it's because Glee has been a part of my world since it started those few years ago? Maybe it's because I have seen so many celebrities walk in and out of rehab, only to lose the battle anyway? And maybe it's because PEOPLE, people in general lose that battle every single day.

So I wallowed in the music of Glee. I watched videos of Cory singing songs.

I was already sad from the night before. I had no words. I had needs.

I needed to cry.

You know when that happens? When your tears are there but they need that final shove? That ultimate trigger?

That was me.

I needed that catharsis. I needed to cry. For Trayvon and his family. For Cory and his. Two totally different situations, yes, for certain.

I saw a tweet that made fun of those of us reacting to the loss of a celebrity who meant nothing to anyone. And I got it. I did. But I also didn't like it very much.

People grieve in their own way. People react to things that are beyond their control, their scope of living, and their PERSONAL CIRCLES in their own way.

Unless you knew Trayvon Martin, you're going to grieve over this verdict differently than his family will. And you can say it hurts you and makes you ache, and no doubt it does. But you weren't his friend. You weren't his mother. His father.

So I respect your grief. I respect your pain. And I especially respect the fears this brings to life for you. I have so many friends who have discussed this. Mothers of black sons. I will never understand. I can never pretend to. I can try, and I can respect, and I can love. But I won't understand. Not exactly. Not precisely. But I will try. And I will respect. And I will love.

And I have done so. And continue to do so.

And at the same time? I think to myself of a 31-year-old man who sat in his hotel room and lost his life. And I shake my head because why is it that celebrities die this way all the time? What is it that leaves them so sad and lonely that dying alone is what has to happen for them? Can you imagine it? Have you ever lost someone to addiction and said to yourself, why? What happened that made them succumb again?

As a social worker I can try to get into Cory's brain. I can try and imagine what spurred him back to the drugs that soothed him in some way. We all can, I'm sure. But as a social worker I've been asked to before. This was not a field I chose to go into lightly. And when I followed my path to work with children many years ago, I met with many people in many organizations helping men like Cory. And I didn't take those roles. I wasn't sure I was strong enough to. I'm still not. But there are people who are. And I hope that they find the Cory-s out there and help them. Help them before they find themselves alone in a hotel room.

Because it's so damned sad when a life ends too soon.

No matter how it happened. Or why.

And when someone accidentally takes their own life - it sucks.

And when someone intentionally takes their own life - it sucks.

And when someone has their life taken away from them - it sucks.

Death sucks. Period. End of story.

And this, my friends, is why I watch The Daily Show at night. Because laughter really IS good medicine.

And why I cried when I watched this video, because Cheerios rocks and people need to know that THIS? THIS is our future. This is what we need to see. Need to watch and need to feel.

And damn, if I didn't watch it and cry my eyes out.

For good for a change. Because these kids? They see the good. They ARE the good.

And so is mine. And so are yours.

Cheesy final line? *I believe the children are our future.* Truth.

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Why can't I ever come up with a good blog post title?

I still hate it.

It's like the start of the year all over again.

Homework.

She is sitting at the table and writing like she never picked up a pencil before in her life.

I don't sit with her anymore. I learned that early on, but tonight? This time? I had to try to explain it to her, have her write the words and so forth and tell her the assignment. And so I watched her and I started sweating.

For G-dssake, child, don't hold the pencil like that.

Not like that, either.

Why are you doing this?

Why won't you write like a big girl?

She wraps her pencil in paper towel.

What?

Sit down, please.

Stop jumping rope.

It's 80-something degrees in here, we don't have the air on yet, and you're sweating like crazy.

SIT DOWN, PLEASE.

Most of this I did not say. Except the first few sentences. About the pencil.

I finally gave her some instruction and walked away.

It's not easy at this time of the year. I get it. It's hot and she just wants to sit down, snack, watch TV. Me, too. I'm human, I know.

She's been doing incredibly well lately, too. I don't feel broken anymore. 

I've stopped overreacting. 

For the most part, anyway.

It's been a good year, this first year apart.

It was rough going early on. Not for her, necessarily. She loved it. But for me. It wasn't easy.

I did learn not to miss her so much.

I also stopped making her the cutest lunches of all time.  You guys knew I would. It was exhausting. I mean, it was cute and all. And she liked them. But she likes any kind of lunch I give her, so we're good.

For the most part we didn't have too many what I learned in Kindergarten moments.

Although she did apparently teach my husband that the "b-word" is not a nice thing to say. Awesome.

And she told me how a tornado is formed. Yup.

Riiiight.

I'll be the first to admit that science and I do not get along. So I'm glad she's got her daddy's brain when it comes to that sort of thing.

And I'm glad she had such a positive year.

And I'm also glad I have her scheduled for at least one week of camp this summer.

FOR NOW.

Because ... seriously?

I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have to chill some wine. A LOT of wine.

But hey, it's almost always 5 o'clock somewhere, right?

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Needing a kick in the you-know-where.

Everything.

Nothing.

I seem to be blanking on words in my own space lately.

I wrote two heavy and thoughtful posts that were over at other spaces, but here I'm stuck. I have two posts in draft mode. One is titled something about turning 6, which my daughter did a few weekends ago. And the other is about me thinking I'm funny sometimes.

But then I wanted to get deeper into that one and could not figure out when I'd been funny lately. Is that funny in and of itself? I don't know.

I am also trying to get back on track with working out, when in reality I just want to sit on my backside and write and read and watch TV. Yesterday was the first day back after sickness - for me, the kiddo, the household, then weather stopped me and I just didn't get back on track. Didn't go out. Didn't date the Wii. Nothing.

That's bad.

I'm still on Week 4 of C25K. I need to start it. I forget if I have. Maybe. I donno.

I need some new sports bras, too. I have one really good one but can't wear it every.single.time I workout. That wouldn't work.

Is workout one word or two? I write it both ways. That doesn't help me, does it?

How do you write it?

I should just stop writing it and start DOING it ... again. NOW.

I have a new FitBit Zip from Verizon Wireless (via my role as an ambassador) and am loving tracking my steps, etc. so that's awesome to know that I'm moving throughout the day. I remembered to put it on immediately this am and recognized that just about by the time my kiddo leaves for hubs to drop her at school I'm closing in on 1K steps. Which explains why yesterday I was about 1000 steps shy of the day before. I forgot to put it on right away. Can't track your steps if you're not wearing it, right?

More on that in another post. But it's kind of cool.

It'd be cooler if I moved more. I need to get going.

Kick me out of my seat, would you? A nice hearty shove. Go on, it won't hurt either of us. Even if you don't have the strength. My upper arm strength sucks.

And I'm doing the Dirty Girl Mud Run in about a month. WHA!?! Shoot. That might be enough to get me off my arse. Immediately.

Thanks for listening. I might just post this as is and get my sneakers on now.

Peace out.

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Whattaya' know?

It's that time of the week again.

Sometimes I link up and sometimes I don't, but I'm always happy to have the opportunity to do so.

So here I am with a mostly light Pour Your Heart Out ...

You know you got dressed in the dark when you determine that your underwear is on inside out, and it's too late to change because you have to get the kiddo to the bus and you've been proactive and put your sneakers on early and if you decide to strip down and do it all over you're going to exhaust yourself before you even stand up.

Oh, who me? No. No. That didn't happen to me. Of course not. *Cough cough.*

You know you're PMSing when all you can think about is trying to make no-bake cookies that you've never been successful at because you just cannot seem to figure out exactly how long the water or mixture is supposed to boil, or what the heck a rolling boil actually is. And yet you want to try anyway.

That's not me, either, of course. 

You know you got up extra early when you're ready for another meal or snack before noon and have already finished two cups of Magic Stars and almond milk, an apple and a cup of coffee.

And a mini-mini-pumpkin-mini-muffin.

Guilty as charged. 

You also know you got up pretty early when it feels like this has been the longest day ever and not only is it not yet noon - but it's not even 11:30.

Oops. 

And if I start to go into the you know you're totally slacking on holiday gifts because Chanukah starts on DECEMBER NINTH and you have like 3-4 things purchased at this point and time that's probably going to give it away and ensure that you know that YES. I'm talking about ME.

AHHHHHH!

Happy Hump Day, everybody.

p.s. You know that writing this post put you in the mood for a warm beverage and a sweet treat, so you opted for some chai tea and a gluten-free cinnamon doughnut just 'cause.

Yeah, you know it!

Doughnut is missing a bite now. It's a little heavy so it might not get finished, but then I'll - I mean you'll obviously need to find something to replace it to satisfy your sweet tooth. How about those no-bakes? Off to Pinterest you go ...

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It's wine o'clock somewhere.

Well, this post has been brewing in various versions in my mind, and has come to a head this fine Wednesday morning. Thanks to Shell for timing her weekly Pour Your Heart Out link-up to meet my needs. Love that girl.

So, where should I begin?

Should I start with my first week of being gluten-free being done and my putting back 2-1/2 pounds that I happily shed over the past few weeks? Damned if I do, damned if I don't, it seems.

Or should I remind you all that I walked the Heart Walk with a very dear friend (find her here at Trials of my life) and felt inspired, motivated and loved?

Maybe I'll tell you how I'm a stay-at-home-mom who has one child who happens to be IN school. So now I am a stay-at-home-what?

I won't even touch on turning 40 in a few weeks. Because honestly that's not gnawing at me the way one would think. Or maybe it is. Maybe it's the base of all of the emotions surfing around my head and my heart. I suppose it could be. I'm always emotional around my birthday. I share my birthday with my maternal grandparents - who celebrated their anniversary on that same date. They're long gone from my life and my birthday has always been a time for me to miss those I've lost.

Maybe this year I think beyond those loved ones who have passed on, and focus a bit on the friendships that have sailed in and out of my soul. I can reflect on my Sweet 16, and the friends I thought, SWORE, I'd have forever. The ones -- the ONE -- who stayed are (is?) incredible. The ones who are gone? Well, they're gone - right? I'm not talking about the crush. Or the random friend invited because of so-and-so and so-and-so. I'm talking about the ones I laid side-by-side with, talking and feeling dreams of tomorrow and years to come.

Maybe I'm missing my family. New York is always going to be home to me, though I don't foresee us heading back there in any near future. Who knows? Life can surprise us, right?

Is it a mid-life crisis when you're not quite 40? *smh* I don't know. (I almost pictured myself saying "I whip my hair back and forth" but GAWD I hate that song. Or maybe I resent Willow Smith? But mostly it's just the song ...)

I'm home now. I'm an unemployed social worker and mother who sits at home. My house is not perfect. My body is not quite as fit as I'd like and dinner is not coming out of a warm oven or crockpot at 5pm as my husband walks through the door and my daughter finishes her homework.

Mostly because my husband is rarely home before six and homework, while easily done, is quick and semi-painless, whereas writing down the books she has read could take hours.

Another serenade of Chicka-Chicka-Boom-Boom.

She's actually READING it. She's got it memorized, but somehow she's READING it. I didn't do that, though. It took school to get her there. It's a little depressing.

I should probably focus on the way her teacher asked me if she went to preschool at all, and while I braced to hear what would come after I said no the look of pleasant surprise on her face made me quickly exhale. I didn't ruin her by keeping her home with me. She's still smart. Still learning. Thank you, G-d.

Now, let's get that talking under control, shall we?

Wonder where she gets that from ... Are you looking at me? 

Looks like I need a refill ... better run.

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Missing her.

My daughter started school a few weeks ago.

She's off and running every day.

I feel a sense of relief when my husband has pulled away with her, off to school and for him to work.

I shut the door and feel like, whew, I got her out of here and off to another day.

And then I look around the house.

It's so quiet.

I enjoy it. A little bit. I definitely do.

There were parts of me that were waiting, desperately, for these moments.

And there are parts of me that feel that relief and want to roll around in it. Absorb it wholly. Fully. Eat it right up.

It's quiet.

I can write. Read. Watch TV. Pretend I am working. Or try to work on whatever crosses my mind.

I can work out! So important. I've met my bike again, after all these years. I can use the Wii fit without someone asking when it's her turn.

I can have pizza for breakfast. And I did. Today.

I can cry. Bawl my eyes out.

Over whatever it is I want.

September 11th. The tragedy overseas. Loss of life.

Motherhood.

Cancer. Sometimes it doesn't matter if I know the person who has it - it just hits me so hard and scratches me raw and I want to cry and so I do. I can now. Since she is at school.

I cannot say she is gone. She is never gone.

She is in the pile of toys I find shoved into the couch.

She is in the stray socks searching for their mate throughout the house.

She is on my DVR as Octonauts records. And Wipeout. So many episodes of Wipeout.

The soaked sink in my bathroom because she let the water run so long.

The spritzed mirror and a half empty spray bottle.

Scraps of paper and drawings scattered across our dinner table.

The extra space and organization needed to store her lunch supplies. School drawings. Paperwork for moms and dads.

The safety scissors I slipped into the bucket of random on my desk.

The stuffed puppy dog shoe that sits to the right of my laptop.

She's here, but she's there.

She'll be home soon. Before I know it.

And I'll rush. I'll squeeze in a workout because I wasn't ready to do it sooner.

I'll try to figure out dinner.

I'll dig out her Girl Scout tunic.

Where's Pounce? I hear her say. But she isn't really asking.

He's in bed. He doesn't come downstairs every day anymore. This makes finding him at bedtime much, much easier.

No extra butt to wipe.

No open fridge or pantry.

I'm happy she is growing, learning, experiencing.

LIVING.

And yet ... I miss her.

A little bit.

Sometimes.

A lot.

The bus pulls up in the afternoons and I pray for a good ride home.

Good behavior.

She struggles. Can't sit still. Can't stop talking.

The excitement.

Most of the time we don't cover it all until we're under the covers together.

But it's good.

For her.

And for me.

Even if I do miss her sometimes.

This post has been linked up with Pour Your Heart Out over at Things I Can't Say. 

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My little squishy face.

I had so many ideas for this post last night. And then I got tired and I didn't write anything down.

Like I said in my Sunday post, I'm dreaming of a strong future for my daughter. I'm dreaming of an easy transition into Kindergarten, for her and for me. And that she makes friends, learns a lot, and enjoys herself.

So what's weighing heavy on my mind and my heart these days as I wait to figure out when things will truly start for her?

Well, I suppose I could begin with the question of what isn't ... cause it's starting to feel like everything is.

Bedtime.

If you know me, know my daughter, bedtime sucks. It always has. Maybe it's our fault, my husband and mine, because we never pulled off the cry-it-out method. Never "feberized" her, or whatever it's called. I know it works, there were nights she did scream and cry and eventually fall asleep, but for the most part we worked our way towards a better nighttime process. And for the most part she gets there. And even lets me leave the room before she shuts her eyes for the night.

But we just traveled for 2+ weeks. Spent nearly every day together, and slept in the same room each night (or she slept with my mom when in NY w/o me). So falling asleep solo is a bit rough around the edges these days. And that stinks.

Do you question the choices you made during the days of early parenting and wonder if your child(ren) carries them forward and holds on tight enough that they impact the way they function? So many times people said, I've said, your kids will be okay. They're just babies. Take care of them. Show them they are loved. Safe. Protected. This will not hurt them down the line.

And I know that bedtime hasn't hurt my beautiful daughter. I know that and I feel it. Even on the nights my husband and I have screamed up the stairs with exhausted voices. Even on the nights one of us has stomped upstairs and found ourselves yelling. Or the nights I've gone on Twitter and pretty much screamed: FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING THAT IS HOLY GO TO SLEEP!!

Samuel L. Jackson has sounded good to me on those nights. I've wished for an earlier window of closing that bedroom door and I am hopeful that we'll see that window soon. I'll get my late nights back, and not have to be awake until the wee hours so I can get anything done. Reading. Writing. Whatever else.

Although then that gets me thinking how when she goes to bed, I won't need that window of time anymore. I may just catch up on some TV and go to bed myself. Because she'll be gone during the day. And I'm not yet working. Or driving. Or working on driving (yes, a whole other post, I know). So I'll have that time to do whatever it is I squeeze in from 10-12. Maybe.

And then I start thinking about how she'll be gone all day. And I worry again. And I think, oh good lord. And so on. And how much else I need to think about.

And then I just want to go to sleep.

But in the meantime I'll picture this beautiful face. And I know she's going to be just fine!

As for me? I suggest that you get used to seeing my face ... I might be blogging daily until I get used to the change!

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She broke my shoe.

Damnit, serious damnit.

I'm sitting here looking up ONE THING. Seriously. This time it was just one thing. I sent a message to someone and she starts standing over me. It's fine. I don't mind. I'm not ignoring her.

She says, look, I can stand in your flip flops. She's been acting grown-up and wearing them. Standing in them.

And then she says, I didn't mean to do this.

Picks one up and hands it to me. And it's broken.

She broke my shoe.

I know she's only five. She's one of the loves of my life.

But why does she continue to show such disregard to things. My things. Her things. My husband's things. Why?

What am I doing wrong? Am I just not teaching her to respect stuff?

I know we have a cluttered home. A lot of stuff. A lot of crap. But still, we treat things right. We teach her to be careful, to put her stuff away. We try really hard.

And it's so ridiculous to be pissed off about a shoe, is it not?

When what it really is is that why would she just not consider the shoe A SHOE. And not a toy?

I'm sitting here frustrated and decided it's Wednesday. I should pour it all out today and link up. Again, I know it's an overreaction. But I didn't yell. I did not lose it. I just said - WHY? And that I'm very disappointed in her that she didn't take care of my things. She showed me sadness. Remorse. Whatever you want to call it. I know it was an accident, but accidents of this kind happen when you're careless. Right? I mean - yes, I know she's five, but sometimes I just wish that there were certain things she'd consider and know. And I don't know how we're going to teach them to her if the ways we're already trying aren't yet working.

Sigh. Motherhood. Parenting. It's so rough. Sometimes. All the time. A lot of the time.

It's hard being a mom.

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