Monthly Archives: January 2018

Conversations…

Old conversations, new conversations, repetitive conversations, girlie conversations….

I came across an article this week on working out and pooping your pants. I tagged Miss T in it. It reminded me of the “I think I sh%t my pants” post. She was excited to learn this writing thing was back under way.

I’m going to do my best in the future to let my funny girl come across here more often. She’s more representative of everyday Kaykay. Writing the poopy pants blog was fun.

I reflect on conversations I had with Miss T. Many conversations… The one that prompted He’s just not… I reflect on that conversation and what we thought may be a man stringing her along, “playing” her for lack of a nicer word. He was distant, inconsistent in his messaging, seemingly unavailable… I think they are now three years into a very real relationship. She did not give up but she did not try to sell herself either. She did persevere and believe. I think this situation is the exception to what is mostly the rule.

Distance, confusion, it’s not you it’s me, you deserve better. Most of the time those mean exactly what they mean. I’m not into you, I care but I don’t care enough to be the more you need. But you fill the silence with something I need – comfort.

We know this truth and yet sometimes depending on where we are in loving ourselves, we try to find the exception to the truth. We bend it, we invent it and we make wishes. We wish that our situation is the exception to the rule like Miss T and Mr. S. After all, we are worth it. He will wake up soon and realize it. He will find the answers and provide clarity. Sometimes we have to define what the truth is because the other person just doesn’t have the strength to do so.

Then there are rides in a pick up truck to work, a coffee and the texts that keep coming. And we bend the truth again because just maybe there’s something more there…I don’t really have anything to lose right now, in entertaining the though that “just maybe”… I’m not saying I’m in love… After four months of being immersed in someone, regardless of how it began, you can’t help but catch feels of some sort…you care. 120 days of someone that’s a lot of days. 1/3 of a year…

“I care immensely” Rum conversations? I don’t know…

I have conversations with myself where I recognize that I don’t even know what I want. I’m not really asking for things to change that significantly. Just tell me it’s more than what it started as and still to be defined. I think about my past and I question myself. Shake my head at my choices for the millionth time. I know for certain that I will not move in with anyone for many years. When I find them and hopefully they’re close by, it’s separate houses. I don’t see a need for any other situation and I will not do that to my children again. Sleepovers will suffice. No reason you can’t just simply take turns hosting family dinners or whatever. It’s workable. Random thoughts as I heal and try to make sure my head is on straight in this love stuff.

I miss kissing and snuggling. Sometimes I hope for the invitation but it doesn’t come. I’m not offended by it, I actually think it is coming from a respectful place. I think I’ve met a good guy for once… It’s hard. I don’t know what to think. I don’t get much help towards clarity. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do about it.

Text conversations roll in from a girlfriend not unlike me, finding her way through this 40 and single thing. She sends me memes and we giggle about the absurdity of it all.

The heart and the cheese grater is one I received. Here are a few more we’ve giggled about:

What can you do? Sometimes you just have to laugh. You just have to at least pretend you’re an edgy, bad ass who gives zero Fs about it all for a moment, even though the truth is you think too much and care too much. The two things that with all the right people in your life, make you one amazing human being.

Last night I had a conversation with a realtor. It’s time to put the dream home on the market. She is no stranger to my situation. She reassured me that she knows how much it sucks. At one point, she raises her hands up like she’s going to shout and silently yells F#ck. I know that’s how you’re feeling but I promise we are going to make this fun and as stress free as possible. Let’s just hope it’s like tearing off a bandaid. One final step out of this awful mess.

Conversations about poetry continue. Twins, you will never be allowed to help one and not the other. So, I write another metaphor poem, this time about laughter.

Laughter is the soul’s medicine.

It is an epipen for sadness.

Providing some instant relief for what has made us sad.

A good laugh cures stress.

Reminding us not to sweat the small things.

Laughter is a cure for boredom.

Once it starts, it is sometimes hard to stop.

Laughter is a medicine that no one would refuse.

There is no prescription required.

Laughs have no cost.

Laughs are a virus.

Contagious beyond belief.

Laugh until you cry.

Laugh without knowing why.

Laugh and your soul will find relief.

Twin 2, reminds me of the limerick I also came up with, she’s choosing to include it in the compilation she’s handing in to be marked.

There once was a girl named Cricket.

She used to pick her nose and flick it.

One day she met Naulty, he told her snot was salty.

Now she picks it and licks it.

What can I say? I’ve passed grade 8. This is all I’ve got late in the evening.

Texts have quieted for the evening, I wonder what fills the silent gaps… I think too much….

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=RzHK2aMivco

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=NShYb80xnjw

Lessons in poetry

The last two evenings in our house have involved grade 8 poetry homework that has one twin on the verge of tears. English creative writing is torture for her. I do not relate. I am a word nerd. I love writing more than I love reading and I’ll take an essay over algebra any day. As much as she’s my mini me, we are oppposites in the world of writing.

This unit on poetry is her nightmare. We’ve moved from limericks about an old man’s farts (hey, you want help, you get what you get) to a metaphor poem. I don’t know about anyone else moving through this adulting thing but at 7pm metaphors are about has plentiful in my mind as the f#cks I give about tidying my house.

What can you do when your kid is ready to melt down like candles on a cake? You stand in your kitchen and come up with this:

“Okay, Okay, are you ready? Write this down.” I direct her.

Read these lines as they were delivered, in a poor English accent and obnoxiously drawn out with dramatic pauses…

Life is a garden. *giggles

You plant seeds of hope in soil fertilized with dreams. *eye contact with smirks

Watered with love.

Sunshine showers the garden that is life with laughter.

Clouds shade the garden with unexpected moments of sadness.

Tears fall like rain.

The rain does not destroy the garden

But strengthens it.

Causing the roots to grow deeper and stronger.

Roots entangle with the roots of other plants.

This brings solidarity.

The garden is life.

Life sees many seasons

They come and go

So too does the garden.

Pardon moi while I vomit in my mouth. Hope that’s at least a 3+. Oh well, there it is. It brought giggles and staved off unnecessary tears.

Some of my posts may lead a reader to think I’m moving about life in gloom and misery. I’m not. I spend a lot of time making others laugh, encouraging others, supporting others and digging for the positive where I can.

If I existed and wallowed in the sentiments of some of my thoughts as expressed here. I would never get out of bed. That’s not an option. There’s life to be lived and laughter to experience.

Write poetry, giggle, and dance in the kitchen.

Feeling is healing…

August 2017, I was a bitter and empty version of myself. No one else would know that, unless you count the time I tried to karaoke the song Torn with my fellow Golden Girls and couldn’t get past the second line without bawling. Apathy permeated my body in a way I thought impossible. I ‘bumbled’ my way through August entertaining communications that would make feminists around the world riot. I came across a good but lost soul who chases the past, choosing to see a fragile girl lead astray by a six-pack, who needs saving – instead of an arsonist who willfully set his life a blaze with heartache and deception. I see something there. I can’t define it. What I see and what is are not equivalent…

Being ambushed on Friday by my son’s anger, rattled my cage. I have learned my lessons!!! I take time to read The Secret on my long bus ride in to work and reflect on a plethora of non-committal statements made over the last several days. I feel like a sports journalist interviewing hockey players between periods. I’m speaking plain English and the player spews a bunch of words that leave you scratching your head. Thought bubble reading “WTF!?!?”.

All I’m asking is if the next four months will lead to standing in the exact same spot? If the answer is absolutely yes then I choose no. I am not someone who chooses stagnation. I choose healing. I choose an improved version of myself. I’m on a road to healing and no part of my life can be left to consciously stagnate. Why would I choose to park on the side of the road and wait for something that may never pass by? No, I’m merging with traffic and forging ahead. What’s meant to be will be.

I want to heal, it means that I can only accept that which adds to my life. There are only so many hours in the day and my energy supply is limited. I will focus on my goals for 2018, positive thinking, gratitude and a willingness to push outside of my comfort zone. Try new things and socialize. I will find creativity in the silent moments instead of filling the silence with self-defeating overthinking. I will leave the analysis for working hours. Anyone who decides to join me and work for positive change and happy memories is invited to carpool on a positive journey.

I used math today to help a colleague fight fear and audition for a local choir. He came in ready to back out. Why? All you ever want to do is sing? Enter excuses about time. All excuses and indecision are rooted in fear and self-doubt. I used math in real life and it was inspiring. My 15 year old self would never believe it. Math was my enemy and today it was my super power.

We can’t wait for others to make decisions. We can decide what something is even if another person cannot. We move forward, maybe some day they meet us where we’re at and maybe status quo prevails? Who knows? In the meantime, I’m moving forward with my eye on healing and laughter….

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zDo0H8Fm7d0

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=xdYFuCp3m9k

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=7a66clRobKI

Brace for impact…

Last night would serve as substantial evidence that I did not meet this goal. Not that it should really come as a surprise, if one looks at the facts. The fact that as much as my divorce has impacted me, as much as my choices in certain men have hurt and disillusioned me, my divorce and my choices have impacted my children.

My goal as a mother, from the point of conception was to provide my children with a life rich in love, health and memories. This goal has not changed. Choices made have have not afforded my children a childhood with that vision.

I thought that finding a significant other would complete our family. As I have said many times already, because I focussed so much on the happy ending, I ended up making poor choices. Choices have consequences.

As a single mother, when we choose the wrong man and invite them into our home and family, our children are immersed in the negative, the unhealthy and the hurt that the wrong person brings as much as we are.

I have learned my lessons. Unfortunately, it has taken me a few years to do so. In those years, childhood moments have been stolen and tainted. There’s no magic to undo that and I’m not sure I’ll find forgiveness for myself for making the choices. I may not find it from my children either.

Last night became a head on collision for me. I went through my day relatively peacefully. I had coffee with colleagues, laughed and was productive at work. I headed to dinner with a colleague and tried Persian food and enjoyed some laughter. I returned home going about my night. All of my children gathered in the kitchen, it was pleasant. I literally turned to do something and when I turned around the peace turned into catastrophe. Not unlike a car accident, everything changed in a millisecond.

If only the moment had come with a warning to brace for impact. I was hit with my son’s anger like a Mac truck taking out a Honda Fit.

My son and one of the twins had a sibling moment of name calling. I just stood in the kitchen the other day and lectured all three kids on how we will speak to each other in the Home. Last night, my son felt I should have called the twin on her name calling and started taking me to task on it. This was the moment of impact. I didn’t realize how hard the impact was until my son’s anger and judgement sprayed around the room like pieces of a vehicle in a full impact collision.

My son was feeling alone and unsupported and he did not like my answers. He had the perception that I only call him out on bad behaviour and not the girls. This is inaccurate but his perception. Something about my response ignites pent up anger. My son unleashed all that he thinks about my choices in men and the decision to include them in their daily lives. How his childhood has sucked because of it. Nothing I say brings calm. As he goes on, all I can think is he just wants to be angry. I express remorse, I own my choices, I acknowledge his feelings and remind him that I cannot change it. I remind that I experienced it all too. I apologize again. To him the apology has no weight. Disappointment and feeling robbed of happy times prevail.

I cannot argue with how many things have sucked in the last 13 years. I don’t disagree that there have been intense negative moments in the hands of male counterparts. More than should have ever occurred. On one hand, I get the anger and I do not blame my son for his anger. It should not shock me. It’s how it is unleashed that hits me. The debris and shattered glass tears through my soul and it is now embedded with already existing shards of failure, shame, regret and hurt.

What they don’t see from me on a daily basis, since the divorce is that I beat myself up, they don’t see the pain, they don’t see the shame and self-loathing that I battle already for having failed to provide them with the childhood I had dreamed of for them. Their disappointment is my tragedy. I soldier through these times, I hold my head up, I move forward, which may appear to other’s like I’ve forgotten or as if it all was of no consequence. The strength it takes to move forward and face them everyday, they will never know. I know I’ve failed, I know they have missed out and I know I will not likely find forgiveness from myself or from them as they make their way through adolescence. I hope it will come and I will stand in front of the firing squad when necessary.

I tell my son that only time and my actions going forward can prove to him that I have learned. I express to him that if I could go back and change it I truly would.

Last night he stormed out of the house in -40 degree weather. My girls crumbled. I was at a loss. In shock. He ranted the teenage rant of when I can I’m moving out and never looking back. My heart shattered, my reaction anger. As he tied his shoes, I told him “You are my son, I love you. No matter what you feel for me, I will not stop caring for you. I’m sorry you feel this way.” He left. I was mad and then I was scared. Two girls falling to pieces beside me.

I texted him once the world stopped spinning “Let me come get you and take you where you want to go. No talking.” A text comes back “can you just come pick me up.” I do.

I open my eyes this morning to a six foot two, shirtless young man. He stands silently at the side of my bed staring at me. I break the silence with a quiet “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry for last night.” He says wiping a tear from his face.

“Are you?” I respond. Not sure why that was my choice.

“Yes, I am” he says.

I pause and offer “Okay.”

He lingers a moment, wipes another tear “I have to go to work” and walks out. It’s -40, I let him walk.

I choose to move forward in most days positively. I do not forget my failures but I try to grow from them. I have to move forward and find laughter, any other choice would bring about my soul’s death and then what would be the point of it all?

Tomorrow is not promised. I will do my best to make each day count. I will do my part to make the rest of their lives an abundance of happy days.

What a difference a day makes….

Work is a great thing. It provides predictability, familiar faces, and things to occupy and challenge the mind. So glad to get back to work.

My mentor takes me to lunch. Three weeks ago we sat in my driveway talking about the firefighter. I was getting some male perspective. I forget that he’s a romantic, so in assessing the situation I’ve presented, he offers: he may be falling for you but he does know how to handle it. Maybe he is scared? I respond with “Huh? Bien non.”

He buys me lunch. We have a totally different conversation. I describe what transpired and why I pulled out of things. Sorry, wait a minute. HE BUYS ME LUNCH and we’re just friends. I get to the part about window shopping on Match which elicits “Woah! Umm no. Whenever I’ve invested time in someone, I have shut those things down. No, no, no. You are like the Hiroshima bomb. When you detonate, all other women are cast aside.”

I did the hopeless romantic/delusional thing and disclosed that I would entertain a phone call expressing a full and whole hearted change of heart. “Ummm no. When you said you were pulling out was there a reaction?” He asks.

“Yes. Sorry to hear that. Thank you…”

“No, was there a reaction?” he insists. I ask him to clarify “Do you mean action?” “Yes. My English is not translating”

“There was no action. He let me go.”

“You don’t let someone like you walk away. His ex has clearly possessed him. She has reached inside him and has him intoxicated. Addicted. Plus they have a historique and children. He is under her spell. He will have to come out of it. You can’t prevail over that. No my dear, you must walk away. You allowed yourself to feel but don’t beat yourself up. 2018 is your time, your time to find you.”

Okay….It’s good to get male perspective even if he is a bit of a romantic. 😉

Not gonna lie, I had started to hope that maybe I was the antidote to his ex’s poison. But I’m not. Is there a part of me that would hope for a grand entrance on a fire truck that leads to the firefighter offering an apology in rhyme and verse (I hate rhyming sentiment but it’d get my attention and require effort)? Yeah, it’s there. We all want someone to fight for us.

Time will pass and so will this romantic lunacy. Haven’t been this girl in a while…not really a fan. But I’m a romantic. I’m strong, I’m independent but I’m a romantic.

On a brighter note, one of my colleagues asked me to join his ball hockey team with him and his wife. Team sports aren’t really my thing but sure why not? I kinda smell a matchmaking scheme but we’ll see. He knows I sweat profusely when faced with such things. 2018 making guy friends and female friends. First time since middle school due to controlling men. Ball hockey, who would’ve thought.

Back at 9 Rounds, boxing gloves on and energy to burn. Best part of the day besides coming home to a clean kitchen.

Tomorrow, I meet with a single mom friend to go over our everything awesome plan for 2018.

Tomorrow is a fresh start and good things are coming our way. We are going to make them happen.

Day 3…

I’ve re-read previous blog posts and came across this quote. One of my friend’s used to send me these things via Twitter to help inspire a post or add to one based on our conversations. The quote above we thought might apply to goings on of 2015. When I read it again recently, I thought just maybe it applied to how things were just before ringing in 2018.

Day 3, better but not by much. I’m grateful that a horrid sinus congestion I have battled the last three days, seems to be subsiding and I can get my butt to the gym and smash some stuff tonight. I haven’t slept much the last three days or eaten much really. Getting back to work will help me mindfully take care of myself and get things done. Moping around the house with a snot filled head certainly hasn’t been the answer to forward movement.

I’d like to say I woke up this morning and didn’t think about someone but I did and I know it’s pathetic. I know what my friends would be saying. Clearly, I’m not ready to be in situations that could lead to rejection. Truth is I had started repeating past mistakes of taking something as it was and projecting what I wanted it to be on it. I’d receive a picture of a little blonde haired cutie snuggled up in a blanket at her sister’s hockey and think, I could sit in a rink again and celebrate girl power on the ice while sitting beside a strong teddy bear. I’d even started considering the what if this progresses?. Sometimes he could use a helping hand with the girls. They could hang out at my place, I could get them to school if need be. The stupid movies we start to play in our minds when we allow ourselves to feel. I need the clarity of a therapy session because I know I will hear what I need to, if I haven’t already heard it.

I should’ve known better than to think I was the exception to the rule.

Woke up and deleted Match.com, this way I cannot torture myself. Plus, I just find it annoying which is probably not how it is supposed to be. I fired up POF to test it out. It’s likely coming down again tonight because I just don’t want to meet anyone. It’s not what I want. People are so excited to meet and I’m like meh, let me just wallow in missing yet another human and feeling sorry for myself a bit first.

Back to eye rolling and indifference…

At least this crap has stopped rolling in to Facebook messenger

Why is this okay? Do not send girls this stuff. We are friends leave it that way.

New Years tears

Day 2 of 2018 and well, true to myself, I wake up and the hamster spins. While it spins, some tears pour. Just long enough to brew some McDonald’s coffee. I’m actually grateful for the tears. It means I’m allowing myself to feel.

In six months, I think I’ve cried twice. Once in therapy, probably about 2 months post break up. When those flood gates opened, they did not want to go back down. I had to get my shit together at that time so I could get on a public bus to work. That cry happened when I made the statement that I was okay to be alone. I am. Just this is not how I saw life playing out. Here they go again, they pour right now. I’ll keep typing to take advantage of time teenagers are still sleeping. Let them pour, they clearly need to.

The second time I cried in 6 months, was when I checked in with the man who sent me flowers. He told me he was suicidal. That was just too much. Too much. I called the suicide crisis line to get direction. The firefighter helped talk me through that as he sat at my kitchen island. Sigh.

And so, here I sit. Why the tears? There shouldn’t be any I suppose. What’s to be sad about? I have my health, I have my friends, I have my family…I have all of the ingredients for a happy life and I am happy.

I replay conversations with friends, re-read texts. Yeah, I re-read the firefighter’s texts too. It’s no different than reading letters from a loved one who’s passed. It’s part of our process. The firefighter’s texts swing from two dimensions “You deserve more” and “I thought you were okay with it (how things were), but that is not the case.” “I told you where I stood” Four months ago, he stood in my kitchen under the premise of friends with benefits, see what happens. That’s where we stood 4 months ago. The past few weeks I have very clearly expressed my limitations, my values and my desire to know if anything had changed(are we going to go on dates? are we going to explore making memories?). The answers lacked detail. The lack of detail was my answer.

Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? Don’t you just hate when you find yourself living in a cliché!?! At the two month mark, I solidly did not give a f@ck where I stood. At four months when this has all the appearances of a relationship, I need answers. Intuitively, I know the answers. The answers are the lack of details in responses.

I re-read my very wise post on he’s just not… and wonder why the f@ck I can’t just apply this shit by week two of something? “I thought you were okay with it” and “This is on you sunshine” Synonymous. I stated my values, I didn’t get answers and I continued anyway. You can’t cheat your values and you can’t cheat the truth. This is on me. I allowed it. I will take some pride in having called it out though. At least I did that.

“He will miss you.” offers a friend. “You think?” I respond. I’m not convinced knowing there’s a catalogue of women to scroll through and endless supply of photos to swipe about. It’s what makes even the best of us seem dispensable. The notion that something better, something skinnier, something prettier, something more suited to our ego exists. It’s hard on the ego – rejection. Deluding ourselves to think that someone will regret their decision to pass us up. That’s dangerous.

I entertained the “He will miss you” last night. What does that lead to? That leads to checking your phone in the morning to see if they’ve texted seeing the error of their ways. It leads to playing that movie in your head that he’ll show up somewhere unexpected and beg you for another shot. Great how Hollywood has lead us to fantasize about being stalked. Haha!

It causes reflection on how you came to be confused. The daily texts and phone calls. The hours of advice offered. The sex. The little spark of magic that happened Christmas Day when I was told my actions made his daughter a believer. This one as a romantic, had I been feeling as low as he professes,this moment, if it were me, this would make me fall for someone. This would be a moment for me. A moment that tells me this person cares for me and a moment that says, if I let this person in, they will add beauty to mine and my children’s lives. This one has potential.

If I was feeling low this would raise me up. I didn’t expect anything in return. That flooded my heart when he told me his daughter’s statement over the phone. Then the gift waiting on my doorstep. I can see how I should have known where I stood. I can see how my confusion should have been met with indignation. Enter sarcasm here.

Happy New Year” he texts. My heart sank to my stomach. Serious gut punch. And here we are day 2.

What does Day 2 bring? Some tears, yes. The movie plays a little but briefly. Day 2 brings resolve. I’ve made a pact with an already super fit friend to bust my ass at 9 Rounds and with Beachbody products. I am not letting myself down. I want to feel good in my own skin. I don’t want to be the girl who is down on herself when rejected thinking stupid shit like if only I was 15 pounds lighter. It’s not about being superficial. It’s about showing up for myself, reaching goals and being confident in myself. Selfcare is necessary. Self love. I’m not going to work to be a version of a bikini model. I’m going to push myself to see what I can attain.

I’m going to make a vision board. I’m going to practice daily gratitude.

I’m going to laugh, I’m going to soak in my friends and family and one day I’m going to love and be loved.

As an Oprah follower, she once did a program on willing things into your life. If you put it out in the universe, it will come to you. This was applied to writing down every detail of the man you will meet. Right down to the socks they’ll be wearing. I’ll be a little more general.

I want health, I will live a healthy lifestyle, I want financial stability, fitness, laughter and love.

If we talk romantic love. I want him to be authentic, tall, hardworking, selfless, handy, funny, family oriented, good relationship with family, friends, interests outside of me the girlfriend, smart, beautiful smile, self aware, kind, compassionate, and romantic. I want someone who will tell me on the daily they are grateful for me. Tomorrow is not promised and if we care for someone they need to know.

I don’t think an authentic “you’re beautiful” or a daily I love you loses its value ever. I vowed to do this with my children and if and I when I choose to fall in love again, that person will know it on the daily. They may hear it every time I leave them, even if several times in one day because life can change on a dime.

If you’re reading this friend or family. You’re in my life. I’ve let you in, in some capacity I love you. xo

The quote that I lead with. I will make sure to check in with myself at the start of every month “Do you want to save the changes?” I will celebrate what I can apply a yes to and reflect on anything that sparks a no.

Quote bomb:

Song:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=OdzH3Ca_SDk

~ALWAYS ALRIGHT

XOXOXO