January 16, 2010 daddy died. He was recovering well from his bypass and strokes; using his walker to get around a bit. He, his wife, and some of her friends had gone to daddy's favorite steak place for dinner. He was drinking a beer and eating a steak. Swallowing was difficult for him since his strokes. He frequently choked and that's what happened. He choked.

God is good to me and He was good to my daddy. Daddy didn't want to linger and, in spite of his progress, he told me more than once that he was ready to "move on". He was out having a good time and apparently, was dead before he had time to realize it. The stress of choking brought on a heart attack.

I guess in all families there is stress over relationships. The days and weeks since he died, I have been at peace over his death but his wife for 29 years has wielded her sharp tongue and attempted to destroy the evidence of mine and my brothers' relationship with daddy. As much as I say I don't care, I do. Her hatred of me is palpable and while we never have been close, I never realized the depths of her feelings. I never let myself accept that she was capable of such hostility.

It makes perfect sense. I was my daddy's confidante and he never made it a secret to me that he didn't marry his second wife because he loved her. He never stopped loving my mother or the life that he had had with her. He regretted deeply that he didn't try harder to win my mother back after she left. His second wife married him to give herself, what she saw as, position in the community and daddy married her to help him financially and with his 14 year old son still living with him.

I was 20 when they married and married myself the year after they were. I see now that she counted me out from the beginning. I made it fairly easy; we live five hours away. It was easy for her to erase me from my home. But it proved impossible to erase me from my daddy's heart.

The death of my daddy and her behavior had caused me to claim that I'll never go back there. She has, as my daddy had asked me about, a life estate in the property. But never is a long time. It's part of who I am; a country girl who loves home and family. Daddy was one of ten children; the eighth to pass away. My uncle and his wife continue to live there on the road where they all grew up. Next to the house my great-grandfather built and lived in; the house where my daddy and his siblings were raised.

Daddy's wife may have erased me from my home but she hasn't erased home from me. Isn't it the way of life? Aren't we all like blades of grass, here in a moment; forgotten and gone in the next? I remain my daddy's confidante able now to remember for him the love and family that was.

Fighting my way out of the box I made for myself with family and friends.

So I've been quite angry and mad and probably more than a little depressed. All the remaining items in my "pit". My little pity pit.
You ever just get sick of the sound of your own voice in your head?
I haven't decided if I'm still sick of it or not.

Me, me, me.

I had permission to use this photo.

The Friday before Easter hubs, the girls and I went up to NYC to see J perform in his improv group. We got to NY early afternoon, checked into our room and prepared to have J show us around his part of town. My eldest daughter turned to me, as I rummaged through my purse trying to find my camera, and said "Don't bring your camera! I don't want pictures of me plastered all over your blog!" I was a tad taken aback. Okay, my feelings were hurt. I defended myself with "I don't just plaster pictures of you all over my blog." The older and the younger sort of made half-hearted attempts to defend me with comments like "well, it's your blog" and "I don't mind if you plaster pictures of ME up on your blog". The lack of enthusiasm for my picture taking persuaded me to leave the camera in the room. Which, I add with some smugness, they were all sorry I did as we saw some things that they all wanted a picture of.
In the heat of the discussion over my camera, L tossed out that I had no life of my own to write about so I used pictures of my kids and wrote about my kids. And someone, maybe it was my husband, said that "well, when you're a mom the kids ARE your life". This remark shot right to the heart of it for me and has smoldered in me for weeks.
I came home and did a review of my blog-which mostly has pictures of my kids plastered all over it. Even my personal struggles centered around my kids and what they are doing. The one thing I was doing for me, the 365 picture a day, has fallen by the wayside due to circumstances with one of my kids.
What the heck.
I saw the movie Marty the other night on TCM. It's the story of a 34 year old bachelor that lives with his widowed mother. He at long last meets a woman and falls in love. In the meantime, his widowed aunt, who is living with her son and his wife and baby, is tossed out of their home for being difficult. She comes to live with Marty's mother and they have a conversation about what's going to happen if Marty gets married. The aunt says something like: I'm 56 years old. I have a lot of life left to give; strong hands to cook and to clean and all I have left are empty rooms. Nobody wants me. What's a mother without children to love?
When it's put like that, it's easy to see how pathetic it is, really, to view myself only as "a mother". Honestly, I didn't realize I was doing that. I think it must be somewhat easier for women who have held onto some part of themselves by working. Perhaps everyone in the family can see that she brings so much more to the family than just strong hands that cook and clean. Or maybe not. The temptation might always be to put your whole heart into your family neglecting to leave a little piece of it for yourself.
So, I have decided to look a little more at myself and what I'm doing and a little less of looking at my offspring and what they're doing. I have a lot of life left to live with strong hands that are dying to do ANYTHING else but cooking and cleaning.

A Popping Sound

There's only so much a girl can take and then comes the eruption of emotion. Look out everybody; get out of the way.
The wayward son is out and as I turn my attention back to my girls, they let loose with their own issues and problems. I confess, I can't quite cope.
I just want some calm. I'm pretty sure that under ordinary circumstances I could cope with the youngest D's and F's and boyfriend that she's not supposed to have. I think I could cope with L's undercover partying and imminent exit from our home to college. As it is, I just hear a popping sound that signals the arrival of my breaking point.

365, not really

I have fallen behind on a picture a day. But...I feel it is too early in the year to give up completely.


My senior girl and her friends leaving on the senior trip. She had a great time and I missed her.

My husband was so ticked at me about the fact that I don't drive my bug as much as I do the van. He was lecturing away and I got out my camara and captured the moment. HAHA!

We picked up pizza for dinner one Sunday night and I thought "Cr*p! I havent' taken a picture today!" TaDAA

My youngest being goofy. I could probably get a picture of her being goofy every day.

Mothering ceased

We had group counseling yesterday; S, hubs and me. S said lots of things that all came around to: I'm trying to change him and I won't let him do what he wants.
Which is true.
Because he wants to do nothing. Maybe not nothing: He wants to stay up all night and sleep all day and party and graffiti up other people's property and then sleep all day and wake up at night to do it again.
He said he didn't get why we care so much. What's it to you what I do? Why can't you leave me alone? He sounds and acts like he did when he was sixteen.
But he's 20, almost 21.
After he announced to us that his plan is to wait until May 15, the date we gave him to move out, to worry about finding a job or a place I said: Thank you, son. I am free to say to you that you are leaving today. I am not living with you one more day.
My mothering for him, ceased. It was that easy.
And that hard.