Parenting is arduous, more painful than the pleasure cruise we are lead to believe we must believe it to be. I wouldn't give it up for the world, but it is full of pain and anxiety.

Anyone tells you differently I'd venture to say they have a nanny, a house keeper and ample income and insurance.

I love my children. I am frustrated by my children every day. I am frustrated by the false ideas of perfection - the life we are supposed to live, as opposed to the realities of my everyday.

I am a good mother.
I have regrets.

I wish I had given my children more freedom to roam instead of keeping them so close to home.
I wish I had forced them to continue participation in a sport and in music lessons.
I wish I had cared less about their feelings and more about the discipline they need to succeed.
I wish for more patience to help with homework.

I wish I were less emotional, more matter of fact.
I wish I had indulged more in my own needs and desires instead of living my life so narrowly focused on the kids.

Even with all the wishing, I hope they will be OK despite the debacles.

fingers crossed

It's a crazy cool day today, the sun is shining, a nice breeze, the windows open and I'm locked into fog brain bog down.
My body is being pissy & I"m not fighting it. I've keep straining some string of tissue where my leg fits into my ass bone, I think I'm on the tail end of some summer cold that had me sneezing and freezing in the heat, and today my bladder wants to play along which just adds to the "girls" tender state of pre-aunt Erma funkety funk. This bit of fun is topped off by the lack of effort that a new anti-blemish antibiotic is putting out. As it turns out while menocycline left me with clear skin, it was turning my ears blue. True blue, not just a little hint, but big bad smurf in the buff blue.

Bad word.


The beau is out of town. He told me he misses me. This is a big thing for him, as he's held back from much sweet talk. He's wise to hold back, I"m still learning how to run my own life. His tendency is to want to fix it, but he knows it's outta his hands and it's up to me to take it back. He's not easy on me, he tells it like it is. Denial is easier in the short run, but it's weighty in the long .

I've distanced myself from people with mixed motives. Sometimes I miss the flattery of feigned friendships. but I don't miss the falsehoods and the manipulation.

my own included.

sometimes I take such pleasure in being snarky. I catch myself in moments of mean that are extraordinarily satisfying, and while I feigns regret, I privately gloat.

It's the quick sharp comment that cuts so fast and deep and from the such a "sweet" source.

On the way out of the door of the coffee shop to the ass who thought he had a rapt audience while he bombasted on his cell phone, I walk up, lean down, and whisper in his ear as if I might kiss him, "you are too loud."

I am not proud of this,

well,

I shouldn't be...

Trust and confidence are not bottled.

pretty is as pretty does...truth isn't so pretty

never fear, I've not learned to follow the prescription.

My children love me, but they don't want anything to do with my happiness,

I'm falling into some oddly satisfying relationship with a man who is a polar opposite, yet nothing like the old guard.
it's tricky and dangerously easy to give up self to other when self seems so much failure
but I'm hanging onto me.

We argue big about one thing that is a huge signal flair, yet I'm beginning to believe it may be truth.

What do you think about men and women as friends?

My experience is playing out to be closer to his belief than mine.

He believes it is rarely possible.

He believes that men usually want to fuck the women they befriend.

Unfortunately my experience can't negate his assumption.

damn it.
,
Most men who have tried to befriend me since my divorce have also made clear his desire to take me there.

Oh hell, I've desired as much a time or two, so I'm proof on the female end...

When that occurs or the option is nixed the friendship wanes.


I shrug it off any more. I don't even feel sorry, only cynical and wry, a defensive guard.

The boy's resolve to destroy, is dissolving with distance need and knowing; knowing his mother loves him, but won't be beaten with his father's belt. Acrimony, anger, bitterness and guilt have eaten through these relationships one layer at a time. I understand, yet still fall prey to the truth that manipulation only works with a willing participant.

Tough lessons
Tougher still to keep from tripping over all of the above

I'm strong today.

I'm not in love, but my companion is strong enough not to let me lean on him. We argue over eggs, hashbrowns and toast, make up in the cool of the covers, pull weeds in our gardens. We are oil and water, potato pototo, tomato - tomoto.

Funny how even in the darkest of days there are moments to shock the system back to knowing that tomorrow will come, the next moment will come and odds are even that it might flip fancy and turn the tide.

high tide,
low tide
tide pools
and big ass storms...

guaranteed until the end of all time.

vague ambiguity that reveals absolutely nothing about anything

He's oil in my water and I'm a fly in his soup.
His black washes out grey when the shudder let's loose a sigh,
but it's spit and stammer in the up and down when we duck and dodge
in and out taking turns running and walking
yelling then whispering
biding time till the day turns night
and the peace into war
and the war into peace
and the cold heats hot
until it melts
and leaves a stain
in the grain
a white ring
on the good table

I don't have any new insights for myself.

I'm more cynical and less trusting than ever.

I'm more angry and defensive than healthy.

I dislike more than I like.

I've pushed and still get knocked back.

I'm not giving up, giving in or giving out

but I'm keeping it to myself.

Love,
Lu

I"m doing a decent job of living in the moment, as good as I can muster.

I have enjoyed many great moments, although to often the next likes to keep me more honest than I think necessary.

Nothing about living seems natural or easy in this moment or any moment.

I want to run, but I'm tired. I do it anyway.

I'm worn down by workouts at the gym more than I remember, but I do it.

Like Pig Pen's cloud of dust, I walk around with a cloud of guilt. It hovers and sullies every decision.

Every decision. Still I make them...

that spoon of peanut butter ...

That solo trip to the coffee shop.

The bargain bin shirt I purchased at the Gap.

The trip to Kansas City I arranged with the beau who is frustrated by the cloud.

Ease isn't the point.

It's just doing.