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Open Wounds Never Healed

You cut me.

Over and over again you continue to hurt me.

Do you think I’m silly? Do you think I overreact? Do you think I should simply “get over it?”

“Get over it” is a familiar line. However there is nothing simple about it.

While it’s not your fault my open wounds continue to exist, you remain at fault for adding salt to it.

I have been completely disregarded in your eyes.

Why would that surprise me though?

Hasn’t this been happening for years? Haven’t we always been the best at hurting each other?

Time continues to pass and my wounds haven’t healed. I don’t know how to fix it.

I will seek help, though.

That is one positive thing you have shown me…

I have open wounds that grew deeper with time. I refuse to continue to react in pain, thus, adding wounds to my own children.

Remember When

You picked me up.

Remember when

You dropped me off.

Remember when

You passed time with a crossword.

Remember when

I came back out, full of excitement intertwined with nerves.

Remember when

You paid for my ticket.

Remember when

Our knees touched.

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Welcome

I could write the typical “welcome” post about the new year and all that.

But I can’t. Because that would feel cliche and that just isn’t me.

However, the other side of this word takes me to a darker place. I’m not sure I can describe what this word makes me think in just 5 minutes. If I were to attempt my thoughts and feelings on this idea, well, it would be an ugly, unfinished piece. Very little would be understood, I’m sure.

Strangely, the concept of welcome, of being welcomed, has been on my mind for days. I have thought about writing about it and that’s as far as I have gotten.  Sort of liking working out. I thought about it every day, more and more. And then, last week, I envisioned myself actually sticking the yoga dvd in my player and doing the moves. It didn’t happen. But a few days ago, my alarm went off at 6 saying “WORK OUT!” I don’t know who did that. But I got up.  I worked out. Accomplished.

So digging in to write about the concept of being welcomed in and feeling welcomed is something I will continue to think about.  Until the day I decided to put pen to paper or words to screen.

That’s actually 4 minutes of writing but I feel like ’nuff said for now.

 

See what others are writing about on the prompt: Welcome

Click the picture.

Notice the Fear

I have noticed that I don’t write much about Marie these days. I write about general things.  But I have shied away from my thoughts and feelings about being her parent.  I think that’s a disservice to me and to those who read my blog.  My dealings with her are a large part of my daily life.  For me not to talk about those struggles is as if to omit them.  And for what purpose? To make my life appear as if it were happy and good and shining bright like the sun?  Not that my life isn’t good or happy.  But still, my family is a daily fight for all of us.  Simply being together in the same room can be a struggle.

I believe I have not spoken so intimately about my struggles with Marie out of fear.  In fact, I still get butterflies when I get a comment notification waiting for approval.  But acting out of fear is not the way to live.  If I choose not to write about a particular topic, it should be based off of something tangible.  Not the elusive concept of fear.  The “what ifs.” That is just Satan trying to get into my head.

My struggles with Marie are real. And tense. And I know I am not alone in those moments that are most difficult.

 

I got smart this time and set a timer on my phone so I could officially write for 5 minutes!  It only took me a few years to notice I could do that.

Click the link to join the party.

 

Truth or…

The last time I played Truth or Dare was with my kids.  It was during one of my our many summer camping nights.  The idea of the game sprung from our adult version with our friends weeks before – on another camping trip, of course.  That’s what our summer was all about after all.  Camping.  Memories.  Friends.

It took a bit for the kids to get into the game.  For instance, Michael used the same dare every time.  Finally we told him he should try something new because it was getting boring.  Marie seemed to be completely embarrassed by the game and copied what everyone else was doing.  Denai was in our tent talking to Siri until we confiscated that relationship.  Later we found her half off our blow up mattress snoring soundly.

Playing Truth or Dare with our kids was a different experience from playing with our adult friends.  Something as simple as a kiss on the cheek was an embarrassing dare for Marie.  For Michael, I dared him to do silly things like lick dad’s shoe or climb to the top of pile of branches that were near to us.  When it came to licking things, Michael was freaked out.  But game rules prevailed.  And he had a blast.


And that’s my five minutes on the word dare.

Click the link below to join!

 

Long Wasn’t So Long

It’s not edited.
It’s imperfect.
In fact, I think I accidentally wrote too long by about two minutes. So sorry. I just had to finish the story.

We went into the Sprint store two weeks ago in high spirits.  They  had one iphone 6 plus in and it was going to ours!  Or, mine, to be accurate.  We decided to spend the big bucks and do the big upgrade for me now and do his later when it was time for his upgrade. 

So we get there and yes!  They still have one phone left.  Just. For. Me. 

Then we found out Mr. Sexy could get his upgrade at any time.  Cool… But couldn’t afford that.  It worked well to space it out by four months. 

Then Sprinters worked their magic and – poof – I had the new phone and we ordered Mr. Sexy’s.  For one third of what we were expecting to pay for just one phone. 

Magic, I tell you.  It’s magic. 

Mr. Sexy was prepared to wait at least four long weeks for his new toy while I enjoyed every minute of mine. 


A week and half after visiting Sprint, he got THE phone call.  

His long wait was over.  It wasn’t even that long!  In fact, his phone came in faster than others who ordered before him.  The Sprinters said they didn’t understand.  

For us, it was magic.  

We had spent a long time thinking about the upgrade.  Would the plus be too big?  OMG IT BENDS!!!!   But really? 

Every singe person who has held my phone made a comment about how it was a good choice because the 6 plus is just too big.  Then I tell them they are holding a plus.  Isn’t that funny?  It’s really not as big as people think. 

Also, it does bend.  With enough pressure in the right spaces, anything can bend.  Even the iphone 5 had comments about bending.  But hey, I’m not going to be bending my phone!  I won’t be running it over with my car either.  

There is something so silly about technology.  We all have opinions that are near and dear and there is no other right one.

Caring is to…

Here is 5 minutes of unedited writing on the topic:

Does anyone else struggle with caring for other people? 

What about those closest to us?  I don’t mean the gushy closeness.  I’m talking about proximity. 

The one(s) we see every day – or nearly every day – and just being in the same room can be … difficult. 

For me, there seems to be an absence of love. 

I think that’s the point of all this, though. 

I think I’m supposed to learn what love means. How it’s supposed to look.  How it’s supposed to feel. 

Mr. Sexy has shown me a lot over our four years together. 

But I think that with kids comes more, shall we say, opportunities to learn.  Then with Mr. Sexy and I we already had one kid each.  

We threw ourselves together.  Fingers crossed.  Hopes high.  Gushy love swirling around us. 

The gushyies don’t last forever.  In fact, the gushies didn’t make it past our honeymoon. 

So now, here we are, with another child added to the mix 

I’m still learning and understanding what love is supposed to look like.  And feel like.  And be like. 

And I think, that one day, I will look back the days I’m in now and say, “Ah, she was teaching me to love.”


Caring, for me, about people, about those closest in proximity, has been one of my most difficult struggles.