There is always that question of how much is too much. How much should you really share on your blog, how many layers of skin do you want to peel away and let the world see? I’ve been burned before, but writing has always been my outlet and I feel like others could possibly relate. I could use the support, but not the negativity. But you can’t have one without the other, when you’re putting it all out there.

Life imploded for me about six months ago and I am in a completely different place and mindset than I was. I would like to get back into writing and the community that blogging brings me, but I’m scared. I’m scared of being honest when for so long I living in a world of deceit and half truths; through no fault of my own, but I spent a lot of time covering, making sure that everyone thought that everything was okay when it so much wasn’t.

I’m hoping that I can have the courage to share.

Dancing with his Crush


He sends me a video, entitled “Crushing.” It is my beautiful boy, dancing with a little sprite who has long dark and shining hair cascading down her back. They jump, spin and leap, joy evident in both of their eyes. He twirls her, a patented move I recognize from our own living room dance party. Their smiles shine out from my computer screen, perfect in every way.

When my life seems to be coming apart at the seams, when I feel like I just can’t put one foot in front of the other anymore, I need to remember this. My son, who always takes time for dancing. I need to take time out for dancing, for twirling, for pure joy.

At the very end of the video, the happy couple exits stage left. In the corner of my screen, they come together and wrap their arms around each other. As I watch, tears pricking my eyes, he gives her a perfect, innocent kiss on the cheek.

Always take time for dancing. Always.



One Foot in Front of the Other


I stand, hand outstretched. I am poised on the edge of change, quivering with anticipation. I am full of hope and fear in equal measure. All I have to do is take a step, but my mind stops me. It’s time, I tell myself, it’s time, but the past swirls around me and I can’t seem to let it go. My stomach is in knots and my hands are sweaty, my mind racing. I have to do it. I take the step.


Once upon a time, if I was upset I would spill everything to anyone who would listen. A friend, a co worker, my mom, anyone with ears would do. Through painful experience I have learned that it isn’t always the best thing in the world to share with EVERYONE. Some things are meant to stay in my head and my heart.
I wear my pain in private. I cry in the shower, or driving by myself. I put myself to bed early so I have time to think by myself. I spend a lot of time by myself, lately. I don’t share.
I’m working through it, on my own.



This new job/schedule continues to kick my ass and remind me just how old I am becoming. Yesterday I had a shift at the restaurant and by the end, I really felt like my feet may fall off and leave me balancing on some bloody stumps, still valiantly trying to put together a salad that is EXACTLY 2.5 ounces. I’m sure I’ll get used to it, but my day job is at a desk, so I am really not used to being on my feet for that long of a stretch. Plus, you know, it’s not like those feet are carrying around something SMALL, if you know what I mean.

In other news, can we talk about how my baby is turning SEVEN on Friday and I most certainly did not give my permission for this to happen. The other day we went to the libray and he told me that we no longer need to check out books for him, because now that he is seven he is too old for a bedtime story. Then he asked me why I looked like I was going to cry… I guess my face didn’t hide my emotion that well. But I’ve been reading to him since the day he was born; I used to read him my books when he was too little to understand, and every night since then we have had that quality time. It is our constant, and the only time when he slows down enough for me to stroke his hair, or take in the fine spray of freckles on his nose. Now I just…put him to bed. Oh, growing up is so hard! (on me!)

New Job for the Old One


So I went and got myself a second job. I have mixed feelings about this… on the one hand, we could really use the extra money, but I am also conflicted about spending even more time away from Cole and there are just other issues that I’m struggling with. But whatever, I got the job. It is at a little local place here in my town, and I actually worked at a different branch back when I was in college. It was my first serving job (and will hopefully be my last!)

Last night was my first night of training. Eventually I will be a server but first I have to work at the hostess desk and the kitchen to learn the table numbers and menu items. Said menu items have not changed in the slightest since I worked there fifteen years ago, but whatever. So I dressed in my oh so attractive khaki pants and green collared polo shirt, nametag secure.

My trainers had obviously just come out of the womb. They were both seventeen, a fresh faced boy with braces and a tiny girl with a braid in her hair. Very nice, but so, so young. I felt like I was from the Middle Ages next to them. The boy asked me when I had worked there before, and when I said the year he burst into laughter and said, “I wasn’t even born yet!” Way to make me feel better, little boy. Like I said, sweet kids, but that’s what they were, kids.

I will survive the children, certainly, and hopefully make some good money on the side. I still have my other job as well, and am working as a server on my off days. I’ll serve the pants off those kids!!



You guys, I accidentally adopted a dog.

Here’s what happened…we had gone for a drive and came across a place with a cheerful sign out front, asking us if we wanted to come in and play with the dogs. Of course we wanted to come in and play with the dogs! So we stopped and entered. The smell is the first thing that hit me, a combination of pee and fear and wet dog. It was deafening in there, dogs barking hysterically at different pitches. There were cages slung halfheartedly anywhere on the concrete floor, and some of the dogs were so oversized in their cages that their heads brushed the top.

Crouched in a cage, wearing a red collar and a look of terror on her face, was this dog. Half bulldog, half pug, her tounge slipped out a little, and she had an underbite that would make any dentist cringe. I was immediately drawn to her. A worker approached us and asked if we would like to take “Honey” out to the yard to play. The yard, which consisted of a strip of dirt and a few blades of grass. I held “Honey” in my arms and she very tentatively stuck that tounge out and licked me, softly. I didn’t even have to say words, I just looked at Adam and he knew that I was saying that I couldn’t leave her here, in this place… I had to take “Honey” home.

Of course when we drove off a half hour later “Honey” was in the backseat. I immediately changed her name to Denise, because that’s what she looked like to me. (Cole voted for Rita, but I vetoed him.) Denise laid her head on my lap for the entire ride home, shedding merrily and depositing bits of hair all over our pants. I was hooked.

And then we found out she was much older than we were told, and no one had ever trained her. She pees wherever she feels the need, including our bed (twice). I don’t think she can see that well, because she constantly falls off things or runs into walls. She is scared of everything, cowers when someone besides me tries to pet her. When we first brought her home she wouldn’t interact with Adam or Cole at all, but she’s getting used to them now. When she hears the car her little stub tail wags with all her might. She snuggles up to me on the couch and sleeps with the tip of her tounge sticking out of her mouth.

So my house is rug-less until she gets this housebreaking thing under control, all the doors are closed, and I am eaten up by mosquitos by spending inordinate amounts of time in the yard coaxing her to pee, please just pee! She is a lot more than we bargained for, and believe me when I say that a dog is probably the last thing we need right now, but I just had to take her home. I couldn’t leave her. So Denise is officially the newest member of our family.

Welcome Denise. We love you, pee and all.