From Ashes

As a child I absolutely adored my Mother.  I looked so much like her that people in our small town called me "Little Paulette."  I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I was shy, but she could talk to anyone in any situation.  I wanted to be just like her.  We often went on trips to Oahu and even to California, just the two of us. We were best friends, two peas in our own pod.  I always thought we would be that close.


I was 10 when my parents got divorced.  It ripped everything I thought I knew about family apart.  A few months after their divorce was final I went to temporarily live with my Grandparents.  Not long after my Mom met someone new and remarried and I stayed with my Grandparents.

I don't want to go into too much detail about that time period, because we both have our own sides of the story (which are equally valid and extremely painful).  But by the time I graduated from high school our relationship was strained at best.  I had lived with my Grandparents for seven years at that point and I felt like they were my parents.  The closeness I once shared with my Mom was a long lost memory. (I did see her very often, but we barely spoke.)

I moved away to college with a lot of resentment in my heart.  We not only saw each other less (because I now lived 500 miles away) but our interactions were painful.  They often included angry emails sent back and forth as well as few and far between forced phone calls.  At this point I considered my Grama to be my Mother and was all but "done" with my non-existent relationship with the woman who had given me life.

I called my Grama every single day when I lived on Oahu.  She was my person.  She constantly tried to find ways for my Mom and I to get along.  She would often cry to me about how we needed to get over it and try to have a real relationship.  Every night when she said her prayers she would pray for us.

We had this kind of relationship for over a decade.  By the time I moved to Washington I didn't even want to try anymore.  There was so much pain contained in those years. I couldn't let go and I couldn't forgive her.  My stubborn heart & pride did not allow me to believe we could have anything better.  What could we possibly have left to offer one another?

Then Ayden was born. After I had him the uneasy feeling of not having a real relationship with my own Mom was unbelievably difficult to overcome.  I just wanted to move on- with or without her.

We didn't have any semblance of a normal mother daughter relationship at this point.  But it wasn't because she wasn't willing to try, it was because my heart wasn't ready.  So she waited... patiently, with an open heart until I came to her.  We had some very honest conversations about the things that happened, the ways we felt shunned by each other and the anger and hurt we held onto for all those years in between.  My Mom acknowledged my pain and apologized.  But the genuine, heart felt apology I thought I  was waiting for all those years didn't come the way I had anticipated.

I needed to forgive not only her but myself. And I needed her forgiveness as well.

We didn't immediately become  friends.  But for the first time in so many years I could imagine a place beyond the hurt and see a future where maybe we wouldn't feel like enemies.

I cannot pin point the exact turning spot (it most certainly did not happen overnight).  We worked at it.  We made phone calls, we sent emails and pictures.  We opened our hearts to what we had both wanted all along but were too hurt to pursue.

It's been almost ten years since we started to repair what I thought was lost forever.  I am beyond proud to say that today I couldn't imagine not having her as my ally, my sounding board and one of my very best friends.

I know it may seem impossible that we could have what we have  now.  But let me tell you, forgiveness is the best gift I ever gave myself.  Not only did I lighten my hearts' load, but I was given the priceless gift of my Mom back.

So you see, not everything that dies is dead.

At the end of 2014 when my Grama took her last breath, it was no coincidence that the people she chose to share that last most precious moment with were my Mom and I.  There was no one else in the room, just 3 generations of women who my Grama fought hard to keep together.

In the time since her death my Mom has stepped up, not to fill my Grama's shoes, but to continue her legacy.

Mom,
Grama would be so proud of the woman you have become.  Generous with the most precious gifts of all: your love and time. Any time something happens in my life, whether good or bad, I know I can count on you.  I had amazing Grandparents.  Now, my kids are lucky enough to have that with you too.  I couldn't wish for anything more and I am so happy that Grama kept faithful in her prayers for us all those hard years. I love you.

If it doesn't exist...

For months I have been thinking about this... hoping somehow the platform I felt like I needed would just appear out of thin air.

A few weeks ago I finally told my F.H. that I wished I had some place to talk about the issues that are important and of interest to me: parenting, grief, the mind-body connection, writing, marriage and my love for all things beauty.  While I was talking to him I realized what he would say before I was even done (and if you know my husband you know how hard working he is and how if something doesn't exist he will create it).  If you think that what you want will magically fall into your lap, you are wrong.

I don't know why I always seem to think that it will, but I definitely believe that something will just "happen" at the right moment.  But as much as I believe in that I know for a fact that that shit is few and far between.  So instead of sitting here silently wishing this existed I told myself:  "If it doesn't exist: make it!"

A personal downfall of mine is my ability to come up with many excuses of why I can't do things.  (seriously if I spent half as much time actually doing shit instead of thinking about all the reasons I can't I would be super productive)  I am a HUGE procrastinator.  I can work really hard once I get the ball in motion, but finding the motivation to get off my ass and do something is the hardest part.  I'm lazy.  I like naps.

I am time rich, but am not really doing anything to propel my life further.  I am that way though, when I have too much of something I generally take it for granted.  I have always, for as long as I can remember, wanted to be a writer.  If blogs and shit existed when I was a tween/teenager I would have thousands and thousands of posts by now.  Now it seems like since all this is so easily accessible I fight with myself to write the "right" things... the things that people will want to read.  But there are so many stories in my heart that my fingers can barely keep up these days.

So, duh, Tari, the platform you need to talk about all the issues you love is HERE.  And let's be extra cliche and say "If you write it, they will read."  LOL.  Well, hopefully.  But if I don't write it than no one will read it, right?

So... here I am creating my own informal platform to talk about all the shit that runs through my head on the daily, the things I struggle with, the people that are most important to me and how to get through life in spite of all the voices in my head that tell me I can't.  (and to be clear I don't hear ACTUAL voices, but you know what I mean.)

I'm tired of excuses and I'm tired of waiting for these good things to happen to me.  I constantly say that I wish I had half the work ethic F.H. does.  He has so much ambition and doesn't waste time.  I really admire that about him. I always wished I could be like him, but since that doesn't come naturally I haven't ever really been inclined to you know, just do the work.

So... here I am, actually jumping into this writing adventure.  No more excuses and no more stopping myself from doing what I love.  Stay tuned, my friends.

Hold On and Let Go

4 SHORT years ago.

My oldest is halfway done with elementary school today.  When did that happen?  He is also very close to the halfway point to being an "adult" and in just as many years as he has spent with me he can go off and start his own life... without me.

I know this all sound selfish but you cannot show me a mother that is 100% happy about her child growing up.  I never thought I would be that mother, nor did I think I would be a mother at all (but that is a story for another time.)  The intensity of my love for my children surprises me still.  My heart swells with pride and aches at the same time as I watch them grow up and away.

This is what parenting is about: nurturing, loving and teaching your children to survive and thrive in the world.  It is bittersweet. 

Come Fall I will be dropping two kids off at school. While I am proud of the people they are becoming, I am also mourning the loss of their little kid years.  I understand that these transitions are a part of life and that I will get used to it, but bare with me as I type through teary eyes.  Be patient with me as I simultaneously learn how to hold on and let go.

When Love Transforms

We buried my Grampa on Friday, December 5, 2014.  The next morning before the sun came up my Mom and I held my Grama's hands as she took her last breath.  It was the hardest day of my life.

People don't like talking about grief.  It's almost taboo.  Sympathy ends long before grief and it seems many of us are left alone going on a journey that even we don't understand. 

What does grief look like?

Sometimes it is sitting on the floor of your kitchen crying your eyes out.  Sometimes it is happily remembering a moment long ago, a dream that they are still alive and sometimes it is not wanting to get out of bed in the morning.  The burden of life after their deaths sometimes feels heavy, other time it feels like maybe it didn't happen.  Like a life before you understood a loss so painful that even months later you cannot possibly wrap your brain around it.

We have ideas of what grief is supposed to look like, how it is supposed to act and the time frame it is supposed to be over.  "They" say not to wallow but at the same time not to avoid your feelings.  "They" say to keep yourself busy, but not too busy because you might be pushing away your pain.  "They" say time heals all wounds.  But how can you ever recover?

All I do know is that "they" are never clear and "they" never understand.  Grief is chaotic and exhausting.  It is complicated and unyielding.  It comes unexpectedly, in the middle just when you started to feel like you had it together.  When I think about how I initially gave myself 30 days to "get over it" it makes me laugh... we are going on 90 now and I have no idea how this process will go.

 I wish people would stop telling me how to get over it.  But what I wish the most is that people would stop pretending like it didn't happen.  We often discount each others feelings.  We don't want to hear about loss, like it is contagious or something.  Maybe because we know that sooner or later we will suffer some kind of loss too and we cannot go there. 

Grief is the price of love.  What my heart feels now is proportionate to the 32 years we shared.  The pain is the price of all those years of love.  For all they gave me, for all they sacrificed for me, for raising and loving me... there are no words and no price too great to pay for the two people who loved me just like they were my parents. 

My life is by no means terrible.  I have a very beautiful and blessed life.  It is a bittersweet walk of happiness and sorrow now... loving people who are no longer here with us.  It is loves greatest transformation... love that outlasts death. 

Rediscovering myself

It's amazing how a seemingly small thing to someone else can be a giant thing to the next person.  It's hard to see ourselves through someone's eyes.  We make assumptions and we think we know how they will react because we "know them so well."  But we don't ever truly know someone, do we?  We are all ever evolving creatures... never quite the same one minute to the next.

In the thirty something years I have been alive I have come to know (and generally disdain) that things are constantly in movement.  The only constant thing in life is change.  As a Cancer I crave predictability and stability.  I want things to stay the same.  I have a hard time dealing with the reality of life and that things change every single day.  It makes me anxious.  It has also made me become the "responsible one."  I don't want to change too much because there are people who I think need me to be the same.  Yes, I have made my fair share of mistakes.  But I am less likely to take uncalculated chances because I don't want to disappoint the people who depend on me.

As a teenager I was a good kid.  I followed 99% of the rules, came home on time, didn't sneak out, did well in school, didn't partake in questionable activities because I was "raised better than that."  I "knew better" because my biggest fear was disappointing my Parents and Grandparents.  As the oldest child I have always felt the weight of being a role model for my brothers and sisters.  My Parents/Grandparents counted on me for this and I played the part mostly perfectly.

I grew up feeling responsible for everyone and everything.  Even though I know that my siblings are their own people I still feel responsible for the things they do or don't do.  I think "if only" I could have told them or taught them better then none of these bad things would have ever happened.

Not only has this mindset given me a heavier burden to bear it has also led me to become very narcisitic.  Why should everything the people I love do reflect upon me?  Why does everything come back to being about me?  That's a hard question to ask yourself.  It's even harder to look in the mirror and wonder who you really are.

I am a grown up.... with kids, a husband, a mortgage, two dogs, etc. (you know... all the markers that mean you have grown up responsibilities)  And at 31 I only have a small idea of who I really am. 

There are so many things that I am liberal about: my religious views, my parenting views, body modification, so on and so forth.  But there are things that I am so close minded about without even knowing quite sure if that's how I really feel about those issues. 

I think most of my searches for "truth" ended when I came to a conclusion about an issue and then never revisited it.  I thought "truth" was a one time journey and that once you got to your truth it would be forever.  So much for the ever evolving mind.  It's so absurd to me that I thought I was the knew it all.  How crazy to think that the world should revolve around my thought processes?  What the heck is wrong with me?  And how did I get here?

The last 2 weeks have been full of soul searching, trying to re-evaulate my thought processes, trying to pull away the emotions tied to certain topics and to really feel how I feel without thinking that what everyone else does has to do with me!  I often hear "Why do you take it so personally?"  It's in my nature, I wear my heart on my sleeve.  My Cancerian ways simply  can't help themselves.

When the people you know and love give you constructive criticism about yourself it is unnerving.  It really makes you question your relationship (especially the one with yourself!) and how you are going to move forward with them.  It's hard to separate myself from my opinions.... even harder to acknowledge that I am forever a work in process and none of my "truths" are ever final. 

So here I am trying every day to be more open to change, to be more accepting of other people's choices and to realize that it's not all about me.  It's a small step in the right direction and hopefully one that will bring me to a place where I no longer feel like I'm being pressured to be who other people want me to be.  And maybe, just maybe, I'll figure out who I am along the way.

Channeling My Favorite Woman

My writing and my thoughts have been centered on Home and my Grama.  She is, after all, my very favorite woman.  I find so much of her in myself that it's startling sometimes. 

My Grandmother, for the most part, raised me. When I talk about going Home, it's their house my mind sees.  So many of my favorite memories are about her:  her generosity, her kindness, her patience and her ability to be in her 60s raising a teenager.  It was no small feat and I am eternally grateful to my Grandparents for it all.

As a child my world revolved around my Grama.  She was my favorite, the only one I felt who understood me and I cried every time I couldn't be with her.  I remember having a hard time adjusting to kindergarten because all I wanted to do was spend my days with her.

(My Grandma, on the far right with her sister & nephew in the early 1980s)

I channel a little bit of her everyday... when I cook dinner, while I crochet, when I laugh with my kids and while I think about having canned peaches and vanilla ice cream for breakfast.  (Seriously... she spoiled me rotten!)

She used to write me letters... more than once a week when I was in college.  It was the first time we had lived farther than 5 minutes apart.  She would send me stamps, ten dollar bills and notes that told me to be careful and to make sure I  knew my worth.  Although she tried to bribe me with a brand new car if I stayed in Hilo, in the end it was she who convinced my Grandpa that letting me go away for college would be best.  I can only imagine how painful it was for her to see my leave, but she was always my number one advocate. 

"The days are long but the years are short" is a quote we most often hear referring to parenting.  I think of this everyday while I watch my kids grow and wonder where the time has gone.  It seems like they were just babies.  In this way I also think about my Grama and how much younger she was when I was younger.  She was always gardening, crafting, cooking, cleaning and taking care of us, her family.  Each time I go home I am reminded of my mortality, but mostly of hers.  It's frightening, truly heart breaking to think of a life without her.  I know death is inevitable, but even as a small child I would worry about what would happen if I lost her.

Thus far I have had 31 amazing years with her.  The last 13 have been from a distance, but she has never left my heart.  She's still my favorite woman and when I make everyday life choices I base them on the love she has shown me.  At the end of the day if I can love unconditionally, just like she loves me, then I'll have made her proud.

In Abundance

A few weeks ago Favorite Husband was off to have drinks with some friends. And I felt jealous.  Not that he was leaving, but mostly because I didn't have the same kind of opportunity.  My lack of friends nearby has often made me sad.  Besides FH (favorite husband of course!) my bestest (yes, I know that's not a "real" word) friends live thousands of miles away.  I do know a lot of people here and have my fair share of acquaintances but it seems everyone is in this parenting/marriage stage of life and we all don't have much time to pursue friendships.

After focusing on it for a long time I came to the realization that finding new friends is like dating.  It involves trust, patience and hoping you have the right chemistry.  It also requires being vulnerable and letting your guard down.  Was I ready for all that? 

Instead of lamenting about my lack of friend outings, I started to focus on myself. I started to do things that made me happy (reading, writing, crocheting! -More on that later!).  Sure, I thought, it might be a lonely time, but I do have my husband & the kids.  I have a very supportive family back home and the few friends that I do have (even though some are very far away) are of the highest quality. I decided that was enough.  And just like that my focus shifted from what I wanted to being grateful for the awesome people I already had.

And then abundance appeared.  It appeared in the form of a Bountiful Basket gifted & delivered to my doorstep by my dear friends at themoreonesows.blogspot.com.  (Thank you for all your kindness Sari & Erick), a lunch date with a friend I hadn't seen in awhile, a play date with one of Ayden's friends and his family and then SURPRISE! a new friend appeared.

Driving today to meet said new friend I thought about how really blessed I am.  It's a good time in my life.  I have everything I need and most of what I want.  I am living in abundance and I couldn't be more grateful. 

I have a friend...

She has two beautiful children, runs a successful salon & photography business and is an amazing example for living off the land.  Her family lives in this beautifully decorated cottage (which she of course decorated herself and by beautiful I mean looks like it should be pictured in a magazine.  It's that perfect!) where they can, dehydrate and grow their own food. Not only does she have all these awesome skills but she is an amazing Mother, Wife and Friend.

Now, I cannot imagine where she gets all her energy from (But for that I blame my sensitivity to caffeine and my inability to imbibe in delicious caffeinated coffee without wanting to jump out of my skin) but I do aspire to be more like her.  It seems like she has it "together" and I'm all over here like "I washed the dishes today!"  LOL.  But for real.

Aspiring to be like her and the amazing qualities I believe she possesses would have, in my life before my thirties, made me feel inadequate.  I would look at all the things she had succeeded at and then at my own life and feel like I came up short.  Today I look at her as an inspiration to help me to be a better version of myself.  It is so easy to measure your life to other people's standards.  To see their successes where you have failed and the things that have become good habits for them that you are still struggling with yourself.  In this comparison we fail to see them in their completeness.  We don't see the things that they struggle with, the failures of their heart or the sacrifices they have made to get them to where they are today.


The older I get I realize my circle of friends gets smaller.  I think in your thirties you really begin to understand your mortality (something that in my twenties didn't really seem to exist), that the time is short and you should spend it with those you bring out the best in you.  I hope you all have a friend who inspires good changes in you, who helps you reach for your dreams and is happy for your successes.   I hope you have at least one friend who sees the beauty in your struggle and understands your story.  I hope you surround yourself with people who want the best for you, who make you want to be a better version of yourself and who appreciates you, flaws and all.

I have a friend who inspires me to see life from a different perspective, who allows me to see the possibilities of my focused energy, who makes me better.   Thank you, Sari.



*If you would like to follow her and her family's adventures please check them out here: themoreonesows.blogspot.com

Living

Sometimes I have a lot to say.  I'll write draft after draft and continue to revise them until they are "perfect."  I can think of 3 that are waiting for perfection right now.  Other times I have little to say, but a lot of living to do.  It's been one of those weeks.  Here are a few snap shots of my favorite moments.

*Why buy your kids toys when all they really need is their imaginations and a big box?   Seriously.  They played with this thing more than any of their toys.*

On that note, hope y'all have a fabulous week.  I'll be back with more words soon.

Keeping Up Appearances

I'm guilty of putting up an image of what I want other people to think my life is like.  Most of us are, but are we willing to admit it?  Do we even see it?

When I was in the process of divorcing my first husband I thought "keeping it real" with myself and others meant complete honesty.  While honesty generally in the best policy, being too honest was a problem for me.  It wasn't just about telling the truth for me, it was about telling too much of the truth.  Not everyone needed to know why my marriage fell apart.  I didn't need to justify myself or tell them every detail about why it didn't work.  Being honest was a good first step, but learning to guard the details of my life was an important lesson as well.

I really struggle with the things I post and if they are appropriate.  Do I want people to know this about me?  Am I being too vulnerable?  What kind of message am I putting out there?  A lot of posts become drafts that never get published.  I don't want you to take me the wrong way.

Like you I am human and 100% flawed.  I judge people and people judge me.  I take things the wrong way and I get offended.  It's part of life.  I don't think everyone should think like I do (I also don't force my beliefs, religious or otherwise, on people) because then the world would be a boring place with only one train of thought.

Is there more to life than what I post on my blog and social media?  Absolutely.  There are struggles I don't write about, because not everyone needs to know everything. 

However,  I believe in putting my best food forward.  I believe in keeping up my own personal appearance because people will treat me only as well as I treat myself.  But how much of that is for my own self preservation?  How much of that is putting on airs?

Keeping up appearances... is it worth it?  Is it a projection of who you want to be or is it a refusal to let go of who you used to be?  At the end of the day are we more of who we want to be or stuck in the same patterns of putting on a lie of who we want others to think that we are?

Sometimes when I look at other people's lives it makes mine feel inadequate.  I haven't quite gotten it "together" like they have.  It's ironic when I first started writing this post I had no idea where I was going, but now I get it...  It's easy to see with eyes from the outside looking in because I only see what you portray.  I only see who you appear to be.  Just like you see me.  It may look sparkly and golden from the outside, but we all know everything that glitters isn't gold. 

The End of an Era

 9 years ago, this month, a chance meeting at a bar changed my life forever.

Even though said bar moved locations and another bar took its place, I have always felt a special connection to the place that housed some of my favorite, magical, first memories with Wes.

I am sad to report that the International Market Place is being torn down.  (don't even get me started about how having a Saks Fifth Avenue put up in its place makes me really feel, but  THIS article really sums that up for me)

I know that memories live in our hearts, but the reality that such a life changing place in my life is being destroyed breaks my heart.  I kept staring that that article over and over again, thinking of all the adventures at the Dawg House (popularly known as the Dizzle to the people we partied with), Bobby G's next door, the infamous koi pond and times we spent gallivanting through the Market Place during the years we lived in Honolulu.  I am sad.  So sad that tears form every time I think of not being able to go back there.

My kids are sitting next to me on the couch as I type this.  I can't help but think that they wouldn't exist if not for that night in the International Market Place when I met their Dad almost a decade ago. 

I am known for being very sentimental and for my attachments to things, people and places.  It's hard for me to let go.  I just always assumed we would go back, but it's been almost 8 years since we moved away and we have yet to have that opportunity.  I wish I had that chance to smile and laugh while we remember our beginnings and show the kids where we first met and fell in love only to have them roll their eyes at us and our sentimentality.

I also wish other people had the chance to meet and fall in love and create the kinds of memories we were lucky enough to experience.  Ever since I was a little girl Waikiki always felt like a magical place full of promise and possibility.  I feel sad for the people who will never know that Waikiki and especially for those who will never experience the International Market Place in all its real glory.  So here's to you International Market Place.  Thank you for the memories, they will forever live in my heart.

Do you want to be right or do you want to be happy?

We have spent a mere 9 days in 2014 and already the winds of change are blowing.  It's amazing to me how much people take for granted and are willing to sever ties to be "right."

I used to be a huge fan of Dr. Phil (about 10 years ago) and I will always remember him saying "Do you want to be right or do you want to be happy?"

Life is short.  I want to be happy.  It is that simple.

It's been a not so pleasant week, so last night at around 10pm when a friend posted about going to Portland to get doughnuts it seemed like just the kind of adventure I needed.

At 11:30pm we left Kitsap on our way to Portland's famous Voodoo Doughnuts.  It's a mere 3 hours and some change away.  And yes all we did was drive there, eat some delicious doughnuts (as well as brought a box- or 4 home with us) and drive back.   We got home a little before 7am.  Although today proved to me that a) I can no longer stay up all night without feeling hungover the entire next day - even after a 4 hour "nap" and b) I will always appreciate an adventure.

As a wife and a mother I don't get to do too many spontaneous things.  My  life is structured and planned, so it was a nice reminder of the girl I used to be.  Life is in these small moments of gratitude: in not just finding a friend who is willing to drive 350 miles with you for some doughnuts, but finding someone who is willing to share their time (and love for food) to make silly memories and in the reality that at the end of the day I am blessed with warmth to come home to.

Life as I know it is changing around me, I can resist it or I can embrace it.  I can be right or I can be happy.  I choose happiness.  (and doughnuts... lots and lots of doughnuts)

What I want to be when I grow up...

This year marks 10 years from my college graduation.  I don't feel like I have done much with my life.  I don't quite remember the exact plans I had for myself.  (although I don't think they went beyond the summer after graduation)  But I definitely didn't think life would happen this quickly.

I was newly married (to my first husband) and reveling in the fact that after 18 years I didn't have to go to school anymore.  I thought I would take a break, get a job in an office and then go back to get my Master's degree when the time was "right."  That time still hasn't come.
  
I tend to look at other people's lives and measure mine at their standards.  It's not fair - to me or them.  I haven't walked in their shoes, made their sacrifices or saw their choices.  I see with eyes from the outside looking in.  I need to stop looking out and look inside.  I know every new year I think about how I can make my life better, how I can stop making excuses, how I can make my  own dreams real.  But it seems overwhelming... just trying to take inventory of myself and figure out just what my dreams really are.

At different times in my life they have been different things.  When I was in college I saw my end goal as being a Religion Professor.  I didn't have a plan of how to get there, I kind of just thought things would fall into place (20 something me was kind of a dreamer... with no concrete plans).  I married for the first time in the middle of my senior year, my husband at the time put my dreams of being anything but his wife on hold.  I can't blame him, staying home and being able to do whatever I wanted at my leisure seemed like a good deal.  (It ended up not being such a great deal, one of my very first "Everything that glitters isn't gold" realizations)


After I left him I held a few random jobs to make ends meet.  It wasn't until a few years later that I became really passionate about makeup.  I have worked off and on in the industry for the last handful of years.  While immersed in makeup at M.A.C. my dreams included one day being a Trainer, working in a fabulous city and doing celebrity makeup.

I still love makeup, but I don't feel like it's my "calling."  I don't dream of the things I did back then.  I'm not even really sure what I want to do and time is ticking away.  I'll be 32 this year and I have no idea what I want to do with my life.  It's frightening.

I thought I would have it together by now, that I would be who I would be.  But, it seems that in my measurement of my own life I just come up short handed...

I am overly cautious and afraid to take the necessary leap of faith and terrified of failing.  I don't want to be wrong.  But in protecting myself from these things, I am also holding myself back from amazing opportunities that I won't even allow myself to imagine.

Disclaimer: I would like to clarify here that I don't think my life is "empty."  The last 7 years have been full of some of the most amazing things I have experienced: the births of my children, marriage to my favorite husband, a handful of businesses, travel and the experience of life in its extremes.  I am grateful for the hard learned lessons as well as the blessings. 

disBelief

I was feeling a little down this afternoon because I had to move some money around to satisfy some financial obligations.  In other words, I was dealing with the expensiveness of life.  I was trying to stay optimistic and kept reminding myself to be thankful that I had enough money to pay the bills.  I am grateful because I have been given more than enough.  I kept saying it over and over again to calm my anxiety.

I had forgotten to check the mail yesterday and so I stepped out my front door to find 2 things awaiting in my box.  One of them was a flyer from a local gym and the other was addressed to me with an unfamiliar return address.  My inner dialogue went something like this "Great, probably another bill!" *sigh* I stepped back inside cautiously opening the envelope only to be surprised to find not a bill but a completely unexpected check!

I am in awe.  Honestly.  And grateful.  And speechless.

I called my Mom and in her happiness she said "See, God always provides."

I am not religious.  (Although I do have a degree in Religious Studies) I wouldn't really call myself spiritual either. (Because for me that denotes something different than what I feel for "God" or my universe) 
 But I do believe in my own version of God.  I believe in the energies of the Universe and about treating people the way you want to be treated.  I believe in karma.  I believe you get what you put in and that sometimes when you least expect it the Universe will provide for you.

Part of me...

"I felt like she loved me enough for the both of them..." As soon as the words came out of my mouth my heart sank. It was true. It had been true all those years. Because part of me still hated him. Part of me still hates him.

I remember she used to say "At least he doesn't hit me." As if somehow that would have been worse. I often thought it would have been better. Then she wouldn't have stayed and he would have been punished for his sins.

Instead she suffered. We all suffered. We are all wounded. Some more than others.   From the outside looking in it seemed normal. Just your everyday family. She made excuses for him.  He was that way because of how he grew up, he didn't mean what he said and so on and so forth.

Misery, they say, loves company. I often wondered why he couldn't see past his own misfortunes, why he couldn't forgive himself, why he couldn't just let go. I mostly wondered why he had chosen to be so angry. He seemed to despise our happiness, like we should feel the way he felt even though we never really knew.

He sacrificed for me, took care of me and paid my way. I know he loved me. I know he loves me. But part of me can't let go. Part of me hated him. Part of me still hates him.

This time

I have had an off & on presence in the blogsphere for almost 4 years.  It's been so sporadic that I can't even really call it a presence.  I've just dabbled here and there.  Apparently (as you have already guessed) I lack the discipline required to be a regular blog poster.  I'd rather this not be another failed attempt.  I don't know much about HTML or graphic design, but I know about words... so here we go... AGAIN!

I started my very first blog while I was living in Chicago in 2010.  I then attempted my next blog in late 2011/early 2012.  The third blog was created in 2012 to document my love of makeup & motherhood.  All of these have several posts, but nothing that I could run with.  "Everything that Glitterz" has been in my head and heart for a long time and on this second to the last day of 2013 I thought, why not?

There's nothing worse than regret.  Life is too short.  So here it is... my latest attempt to be a blogger.  I am a Mom, a Wife, a Daughter, Granddaughter, Sister, Aunty, Cousin and Friend.  I am a Stay at Home Mom to my two crazy kids.  My husband & I own a business.  I drive an electric car.  I live in the Pacific Northwest.  I grew up in Hilo.  I have worked as a Makeup Artist.  Reading was my first passion.  Writing my second.

I have a million siblings (okay, maybe just 6) and am the oldest.  One of my brothers is in prison and it has been life changing for all of us.  I'd like to be more organized and I wish I knew about interior design.  I feel an instant connection to people who own dachshunds and fellow electric car drivers.  I'm a 30 something year old taking each day as it comes.  I like sparkly things, but as we all know: Everything that glitters.. isn't gold.

I wrote him a letter

Revisiting something I wrote in the beginning of September...

I wrote him a letter... about the heat and the Blackberry Festival I took the kids to.  I asked them if they wanted to say hi.  Ayden, as usual said no.  I write that his nephew says hi anyway.  Rayne is finally beginning to really talk.  "What doing?" she says as her big doll eyes look at me intently.  "Writing to Uncle Julien." I respond.  "Uncle Julien." She repeats.  But she will never know what this really means.

"What's this?" she asks while looking at my sparkly blue handwritten print.  "Words!" she says before I can answer.  I call her baby even though she is three now and most definitely not a baby.  "Yes, baby.  Words."

She was 15 months old the morning I got the phone call. 

She was 20 months old the afternoon he was charged with negligent homicide.

She was 24 months old the last time she saw him.

She was 27 months old when he accepted the plea bargain.

She was 32 months old when he went to prison.

  "Why crying, Mommy?' she says in her high pitched little voice.  But I don't respond because she is 42 months old now and she will never understand.  Off she runs with Ayden to cause chaos and mischief and I am reminded of the days long gone that Julien and I would play and laugh.  In the days before he grew up and became less interested in his family and more interested in his "friends" and getting high.  When drugs  became his best friend and our laughter in the gray house was all but a memory.

I wrote him a letter about the heat and the Blackberry Festival.  And I hoped it was enough.

Enough to know that we love him.

Enough to keep him sober.

Enough to remind him of the love and the laughter in that gray house.

Enough to be more than just a memory.