This past year was a year of intense personal growth for me. If I told you that I didn’t spend alot of last year questioning my sanity, my self worth, my everything, I’d be lying. I no longer feel like the same woman I used to be. I’ve learned alot this past year.

The girl friends I’ve made over the years all have one thing in common - a gentle strength and refreshing resiliancy. I couldn’t have gotten through this past year without their inspiration. They’ve taught me to trust my instincts. In turn, I learned I’m smarter than what I give myself credit for. And I’m stronger too. Much stronger emotionally than I every thought.

I’ve learned that sometimes you have to let go. Sometimes, you have hold on. Sometimes, you have to ask for help. Sometimes you have to give it. Sometimes you have to let go of beliefs you’ve held onto for years. Sometimes you have to create new ones. Sometimes you want to give someone a solid kick in the butt. But sometimes its YOU who needs it. But always. You always need to be true to yourself.

There’s anxiety in change. But there’s also opportunity and hope. And if you keep your mind, heart and eyes open? Who knows what will happen.

At first glance she seemed to be an ordinary mom shopping for candy. But something made me give her a second look. When I realized who she was, I shook with anger. I hightailed it out of Target. I had to. (Or else I’d be at the police right now being charged with battery.)

At first, she appears charming, well-spoken, and sweet. But over time, she leaves a swath of emotional destruction in her wake. No one who’s in her life for long remains unaffected. And years ago, after witnessing, and at times being a victim of her manipulating, toxic behavior, Marc and I cut her out of our lives.  

She doesn’t realize I’m privy to a number of stunts she’s pulled over the years. I’ll give you a few in bullet points:

*Three weeks before my wedding, my husband was working on a project out of town. She told him that he should lie to me and tell me he couldn’t come home that weekend because he needed to stay on the project site. She told him if he paid for her plane ticket, she’d go to where he was and “f*ck his brains out all weekend long.” All this while acting as if she was my best friend and offering to help me with my wedding stuff! (And no he didn’t.) I had no idea of her duplicity at this time. And I didn’t find this out until a few years ago. She was always trying to start sh*t up between the hubs and me. She’d do it so smoothly and subtly. 

*When 9/11 took place, I was working for her mom. As my coworkers and I watched the towers collapse, she watched too. And then she bitched about what it would do to her financial portfolio.

*She has a police record for beating a boyfriend with a hockey stick.

*After she got gastric bypass surgery and slimmed down, she started cheating on this same guy — a man who’d stayed with her for years through thick and thin (literally AND figuratively). She moved his stuff out of her place on a Wednesday and moved new boyfriend’s stuff two days later. New boyfriend became husband.  Which brings me to my next story…

*Last I heard, she was cheating on her husband with an ex-boyfriend. In fact she loved to arrange double dates — her and her husband with ex-boyfriend and his wife.

*She has sold purses and clothes on Ebay, advertising them as high-end designer brands like Coach and Juicy Couture. When people got the items, they’d realize they purchased low-quality fakes. When Ebay took away her account due to customer complaints, she went into an Ebay account of one of her mom’s employees and set up shop there doing the same thing. She has ripped off friends and family this way too.

I could go on and on.  And yes, now she has children. 

I used to pity her. But at one point, I got disgusted. We changed e-mails, moved, got a new phone number, got new cell numbers. But seeing her face today, I felt anger for the countless people she’s screwed over the years. I wanted to scream at her on behalf of the people who gave her their trust only to have her stab them in the back. I wanted to let everyone in Target know what kind of person she is.

But I didn’t. I found it prudent to leave the store.

I find it interesting. Out of all of the places to live in St. Louis area, she now lives about three minutes from us. 

The support I received after this post was amazing. (Thankfully, the scary ordeal is no longer “scary” nor an “ordeal”.) But I wanted to thank everyone who took time to read the post and comment. So I’ll be thanking a group of people as a part of each post until I’ve thanked everyone.

So thank you to: (Rose) Its My Life, Senorita Mommy, T with Honey, Marie, Michelle, Desiree, Victoria, Karianna, KGirl, Feral Mom, Jodi, Liz, Days Go By, Mommy Mae, Megan, Stimey, Danielle, Mandee, and Karen Sugarpants.

*Updated update (Thursday) - another cat scan scheduled for today. This time to look into the chest at lymph nodes. Possible surgery for another biopsy depending on cat scan. There is a part of the colon that hasn’t been getting enough blood flow. There is also a mass around that part of the colon. They don’t know if the mass was preventing a certain part of the colon from getting enough blood or vise versa.

A little more than 48 hours ago, an emergency room doctor showed me two cat scans of my colon and told me I had cancer.*** In the same breath, he told me he was admitting me to the oncology ward of the hospital and appointments with an oncologist, gi-specialist, another internal medicine guy (I can’t remember the name of), and surgeon were being set up.

Over that time much as happened. Aside from tears shed, IV’s changed, and multitude of nurse/doctor visits, there have also been tests conducted to find out exactly what we’re up against. 

From the previous cat scans it looked as if a chunk of colon was obstructed by a large mass. But today, the doctor performing the colonoscopy found no such mass. The colon is very, very inflammed, but no mass. The biopsy results are still out, but the doctor thinks the odds of cancer in the colon are very small.

The doctor who conducted that test then spoke with the oncologist afterward. And so far, while the oncologist hasn’t ruled out lymphoma completely, he says my chances of having that are small based on what results are coming in.

I’ll take “small chance.” 

Now they think it might be that at some point my appendix became so inflamed that the gunk inside of it started to ooze out but the body has been building some sort of wall against it. Or they think it might be some weird colon thing I’ve yet to research.  Or some sort of abscess.  They are pumping me up with antibiotics and fluids. I think an exploratory surgery is planned. One more doctor still needs to review the case and test results in greater detail. He still needs to consult with the other ones. But for now, the outlook is much more positive.

Thank you, thank you THANK YOU all a thousand times for your comments of support, love and cheer. I cried as I read them. And for once it wasn’t the “Oh God, what’s going to happen to my little boy. He may grow up without his mom” cry. It was the “All of these people are cheering me on. And that’s so moving.” cry.

Thank you for the e-mails and visits, cards, everything. Am not sure when I’ll get to go home. Hopefully by Friday or Saturday. (5-6 days in the hospital. Hope they send me home with extra morphine. I’ll need it when I open this bill.)

 OK. I need to sign off now. Am all woozy from Ambien. So I guess that means its time to sleep. But just wanted to post an update. More will be written in future…. Thank you so much.

***The ER doctor had consulted with the radiologist so please don’t think he just threw out that diagnosis to scare the hell out of us. The cat scan looks really scarey. 

Some people will notice that many a St. Louisian (but not all mind you) pronounce words like “forty” as “farty.” Highway “forty-four” is “highway farty-far.” A “fork” is a “fark.”

So it came as no surprise today when my Star Wars-obsessed son, who was rubbing balloons on his head then sticking them to the walls, exclaimed, “Look Mom, I used the FARCE on these balloons!”

Farce. Indeed.

Hope your “Farth of July” weekend was a happy, safe one.

Years ago, my sister-in-law Nic was telling me about the “100-word story.” The premise behind the exercise is to tell a story in 100 words or less. There’s even a website devoted to the practice.

Its actually alot of fun to start pulling together your own story when you’re forced to be so economical. (But then again I used to LIKE writing papers years ago so WTF do I know?)

So… What are YOUR stories? If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine! I’ll post a few in the comments section so if you care to see them, you know where to click.

Oh and by the way… check out Kristie’s place today. As a fellow slackin’ mom, I wrote about a subject she’d approve — sex! So come visit. Purty please?

Updated to add: Read Carrie’s story in the comments. “Free Willy”. Its awesome!

Have you ever watched someone and knew that they were caught up in happiness? It is a gift to see someone in that situation and know that they completely in their element. They exude energy — as if every cell in their body is joyful.

A few weeks ago, I got to watch dear friend Rebecca in a moment like this. Years ago, she cared for three children. As the children grew older, she remained a friend of the family and kept in touch. (She even worked as a doula with this mom.) The oldest child in this family had recently graduated from college. The second child graduated from high school. There was a party to celebrate. Rebecca hadn’t seen the guests of honor in quite some time.

Since I’m now neighbors with this family, Rebecca and I met up at my house first then walked to the party. She not only got to catch up with the graduates but met their friends and reconnected with old acquaintances.

She was laughing, exchanging stories and teasing a particular young man about a crush he’d had on her friend. It was such an amazing experience to see this dear friend so happy. It made my heart sing.

Oh and guess what? Rebecca meet Abbeydog. Abbey loved her. (No surprise there!) Within minutes Abbeydog was sitting on the couch next to Rebecca and giving her the “I love you! Now rub my belly!” sign. In fact, when I came home after the party, Abbey was looking for Rebecca. When she didn’t see her, Abbey waited on the porch for at least 15 minutes. Methinks that if Rebecca would have said to Abbey, “Ok.  Jump in,” Abbey would have gotten her happy old butt into Rebecca’s car and barked out, “It’s been real! I’ll send a postcard!”

The other night a group of superfun, scorching-hot chicks (and lame-o me) were out having drinks at a dive bar we’ve frequented quite a bit in the past. A strapping young guy (with all of the cockiness and swagger that only a man in his mid-20’s can get away with) walked up to this Dana and me while we were talking. He explained that he and his team had just finished playing softball. (Gee, a group of men with dirty shirts all sporting the same company’s logo but each with a different number on the back? I would have never guessed!)

“Uh, you guys? (Wow. What a smooth-talker, that one!) That guy over there? Um, he bet me five bucks that I couldn’t get five girls to touch my cup by the end of the night. (He motions to his crotch.) So… Will you touch my cup?”

He quickly adds, “But you know, if you do it, don’t let him know you know about the bet. You’re not supposed to know.  So… Will ya touch my cup?”

Dana and I exchanged bemused looks. She was feeling feisty so she asked, “How do you want us to touch you?” I joined in, “Yeah, do you want us to knock on it or something.” He says, “No just reach on in there and grab it (he grabbed his “package” and gave it a quick pat.)

We looked at him and then each other. We giggled. Then we changed the subject. After talking with him a bit, we found out he thought we were “no more than 30, tops!”

HA!

Later on that night, while getting ready for bed, a thought slapped me upside the head in a big, bad way. Beer goggles and dark lighting – the only way I’ll ever look “no more than 30” again.

Well, that’s sort of depressing. But you know, since I have no money for botox nor time for the gym, I’ll take all the free “help” I can get.  

Hey, there’s a post about how you can now customize your Fruit Roll-Ups on my review site. And there’s a chance to WIN a FREE box of your own! You can enter here by leaving a comment about what you would design if you had your druthers. Or you can enter at Midwestern Mommy Reviews. A winner will be picked at random Friday morning. (Sponsored by PBN.) And now on to professing my love for a few lovely friends as well as our Wii Fit and a burning question I’d love for you to answer!

A few weeks ago, lovely friend Dana hosted a Wii Fit party. Oh it was so fun! It was a treat to catch up with dear friends Kristie, Jaelithe, Raquita, and Melody. (Rebecca, we missed you!) 

At some point the girls and I got to talking about men. And weddings. And the surprises of married life. It was a lively conversation. But it got me thinking about the surprises I encountered throughout the years. (Like how a man’s bedtime ritual is “take off pants. Fall into bed.” We also discussed how some men feel compelled to trim their facial hair/shave the minute after you’ve cleaned the sink.) 

So, I wanna hear from you peeps. What surprised you most about living with your significant other? (Was it their eating, sleeping, or hygeine habbits? Was it their moods or how they’d react, or not react, in certain situations?)

P.S. We preordered a Wii Fit the day after the party. We loves it.

It had come on so slowly that I hadn’t even noticed. It snuck up on me — this thick fog, this black funk, this leaded fatigue.

At first I shrugged it off, thinking it was a series of bad days. Then I thought it was PMS. Then I thought I just needed more sleep. I stopped listening to my body and soul. I just kept making excuses, hoping it would go away.

But it didn’t. It got worse. I was ill-tempered and consistently felt like an exposed nerve. I felt overwhelmed by day-to-day demands. But what made me really start to wonder was when I went to a certain corporate sponsored “baby camp.” At the gathering, I saw a room full of these   amazing,    talented     women  –   women   I   respect,     admire     and     adore. (I’m sure I’m forgetting others here.) But I wanted nothing more than to dissipate, to melt into nothingness. I felt painfully self-conscious. 

I walked up to someone I knew to say “hi.” She said, “Oh. I didn’t know YOU’D be here.” In my mind she was unhappy to see me. This solidified my thoughts of, “I am nothing and have no right to be here. Someone else should be in my place. Someone who can write.”  

I was (and still am) incredibly grateful to warm, wonderful Liz, Jaelithe and Dana. I clung to them like a newly born kitten to its mother. I felt just as blind and vulnerable.

After that, I began to avoid people and social invitations. This anxiety enveloped me even during meetings with family and old friends. My mustered energy was mainly spent on trying not to cry and wishing myself invisible.

I had these heartbreaking thoughts. The “I’m such a shitty wife and mother. My husband and son would be so much better off without me” thought alternated with the “I’m such a fuck-up. I have no value. Me not being on this earth would probably make it a better place” thought. 

That was when I knew I needed help. That this thing was bigger than what I could handle on my own. I’d been through this nine years ago. During that time, I got to a point where the only thought that got me out of bed was, “hey, maybe today will be my lucky day and I’ll get hit by a bus!”.

But now there’s a little boy I need to take care of. And a household. And a marriage. And a yard. And other obligations. And I knew I couldn’t afford to slip further.

So I went to the doctor. I starred at the shiney, white-tiled floor and said as little as possible, holding my breath whenever my eyes would well  with tears. I told him about the anti-anxiety drugs I’ve been on throughout the years that were supposed to ward off the many migraines. We discussed how the side effects had always overshadowed what little improvement they’d bring. I told him if they were my only option, I didn’t want them. But he had a different medication for me to try. 

So its been about a week since I’ve been on “a little something.” I know its still pretty new. But it is keeping me from drowning in depression — my buoy in the sea. I know medicine isn’t the only answer. I need to make some changes. But the horrible thoughts, irritability and heavy numbness is starting to slowly dissipate. 

I can’t adequately discribe how precious it is to see Seth’s sweet little smile and feel a bit of joy. Or to appreciate the vivid colors of spring flowers. Or to think about the future and not feel dread. I had forgotten what it felt like to genuinely experience those emotions. And I missed that. I missed feeling like “me.” 

Thanks to JJ for writing a post a few weeks ago that really stuck with me. Thanks to a few other bloggers who’ve been very frank about their depression as well as the aspects surrounding it.

This afternoon, I have a date with a feisty and funny friend named Dana. (No, not the funny and feisty blogger friend named Dana. Although the two do have lots in common which is probably why I love ‘em both!) It has been decided that we will do a little something called “margarita hair.”

Margarita hair:  Your beloved friend who used to “do hair” (or “hahhhrrr” as some say around these parts) for a living will highligh/color your “hahhhrrr” at her house while you both drink margaritas and your kids run amok and eat junk.

I’m looking foward to the experience, as is “the boy”. (He loves her kids. And her trampoline.)

Being that I’ve been a blondy-girl all my life, the decided color is far different– a warm brunette. Been wanting to do it for awhile now. (Yes!    All     of      you      super     hot      brunettes      have      truly      inspired     me. )

So by 6:30 tonight, I’ll either be laughing, crying, or both. Will I bemoan the color I chose? Is combining alcohol with hair color a bad idea? 

Stay tuned…

Have a little review of The Zula Patrol’s “Explore Space!” dvd on behalf of the Parent Bloggers Network at Midwestern Mommy today. Go ‘head. Have a looky-loo. There’s a virtual margarita in it for you!

Saturday morning began unlike most. I’d gone to bed hazy, tired and emotionally drained the night before. I awoke intensely angry, tired and on edge. I snapped at my son and simmered in anger. My head pounded, so I fetched a fountain soda. (It seems to work sometimes.) When I got back home, my son was upstairs talking to his father. He stood out in the hallway when he heard me open the door.

“Daddy says you’re really selfish for only getting yourself something and nothing for us,” he said.

It was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. At that point, I felt so angry I’m surprise my head didn’t explode. Although that would have been quite messy, it definitely would have spared both men of the house the tirade I unleashed.

I stomped up the stairs. “Do you WANT to talk about SELFISHNESS?” I screamed at my husband. “DO YOU REALLY WANT TO GO THERE?”

Suffice to say, I unleashed a very strongly worded monologue in a very sharp tone about how I felt and why. Ideas were exchanged in a nonconstructive, hurtful way. Our perspectives on a number of instances were vastly different. 

You know what they say. There’s three sides to every story. There’s my side, your side, and the truth.

After a bit of time, we calmed down and really talked. We worked through the hurt and frustration. The bottom line is I need more from him — more support, more kind gestures and for him to be more emotionally involved. He’s a good man. He works hard to provide for our family. We have a comfortable home and life. Seth has some amazing opportunities. This is all because of HIS efforts, brain, ambition and talent. But most women will agree — financial support isn’t the be all and end all. We need more from our partners.

We ended our fight with concessions. We made sure to let Seth know we weren’t upset with him. We still love each other and we worked things out.

I went about the rest of the day cleaning, paying bills, running errands and feeling even more emotionally haggered than I had felt Friday night.

Then Seth’s BFF came over to spend the night. We’d promised them a trip to Seth’s most favorite place in the world - the City Museum.

“I can tell you’re tired and don’t feel good. You’ve had a rough week. Why don’t you stay home and watch chick flicks while I take these boys to the City Museum,” he offered.

I took him up on his offer. “I don’t know if I’ll even be awake long enough to watch anything,” I said. “But thanks. I need some quiet time.”

He hugged me and whispered sweet words – a healing balm for my battered soul.

I watched them leave. Relief washed over me.

We live. We learn. We love. We hurt. When we forgive, we grow. And then we do it all over again, tomorrow.

I know I promised to post the winner of the drawing on Thursday. But this week has been on filled with some intense sinus headaches as well as me “sucking it up” and taking care of business anyway. Last night I was up with a sick little boy. He’s still not back to normal. 

I feel like I’ve just been through some sort of emotional hazing. This past week, in the midst of nasty headaches and getting things done, the boy has seemed even more emotionally needy and restless. By 7 each night, I was feeling as if I was thiseverlovingclose to losing my sanity.

Of course there’s more affecting my mood. I’m tired and saddened by so many things I can’t speak of involving my marriage. You know what I’d really like? Some respect. Some kindness. I’d like my husband to put our family before his work every now and again. I’d like for him to come home from work before 7:30 most nights. And when he’s home, I’d like for him to take more interest in our son than he does in the tv and his computer. I’d like for him to not act as if he’s done me the favor of a lifetime just because he put the boy to bed after I begged him to. He can keep the empty promises and pretty words. A little gesture to show me he values me would be lovely. 

Early, early in the morning, once Seth was finally asleep, I wrote him an e-mail begging him to come home between 4-5 tonight because I’m utterly fried. He said he would. It would be really nice if he’d actually done so. But he arrived home about 6:15 p.m. instead. Of course there are excuses. There always are. 

You know what would also be nice? If he’d have come home by 7 p.m. last night so we could have a family dinner. But of course, he “couldn’t get away” from his meeting so he came home about 9 p.m. instead. I didn’t expect a gift or even a card for Valentine’s Day, although I did do something special for him and our son. But coming home at a decent time would have been nice. Am I asking too much?

Come April, it will be 9 years of this stuff. I’m tired of feeling so alone in our marriage. I’m tired of fighting for it. I’m tired of trying (for years) to explain my perspective only to have him refuse to see any of it. I feel hopeless and heartbroken.

Sorry for the spiel. I just wanted to let you know that I don’t have the heart or energy to post a winner. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.