a heavy heart and sigh of relief

I've been good at moving forward.  It's easy really - there is no choice.  The divorce will be final in less then two weeks.  September 11th to be exact.

The mountain that was selling our house, the last obstacle and final severance of our material ties, is now in the rearview mirror.  The roller coaster is parked on the platform and it's time to get off the ride.  

Hence the sigh of relief.  Hence the heavy heart.

I'll be moving this weekend.   Into my own house.  Into my own space.  It will be, as the saying goes, the first day of the rest of my life.

I set some goals back in January about how this year would be the year of growth.  I reviewed the list and still feel they are true to my heart.  I'll keep that post handy as a reminder and a tool to focus.  I am eager to start a new routine - a much healthier routine.  I am eager to see what this next chapter will hold for me.  But it would be a lie if I were not to say I'm scared as hell.

i've been waiting

I've been a bit quiet around here quite intentionally.  Lots of stuff going on and I didn't want to jinx anything.   Well, keeping quiet hasn't helped anything so let me fill you in.

I got into a terrible legal mess at the beginning of June.  I will not go into details but let's just say I'm retaining a lawyer and it is what it is, but it is not good.  Boo!

We listed our house at the end of June and immediately got an offer.  Yay!

We countered; they countered; we countered; they inspected; we were surprised (in a bad way); they countered; we countered.  Finally we agreed to terms.  Yay!

And then I realized I had no place to go and only four weeks to figure it out.  Boo!

But then I found a place - the perfect place (well, as perfect as buying a house can be when you're low budget).  Yay!

And then I started thinking about decorating and realized I have no skills in that department.  Boo!

And then my boy's cat went missing.  Boo!

And then we got word our buyer may not be able to perform.  Boo!

And then our neighbor found our cat, dead.  Double boo....

And we had to bury him on my oldest son's birthday which pretty much removed any desire to celebrate.  Triple boo....

And then my realtor called and said that our buyer definitely could not perform and we need to go back on the market.  Quadruple boo....

But through all of this, I feel okay.  Actually I think I feel better than okay.  Does all this all this blow like the sands of the Sahara?  You bet.  Will I get through it?  You bet.  Every trial I've been through just reaffirms my faith in myself and my ability to overcome adversity.  More to the point, isn't this life? Everyone has ups and downs.   Doom and gloom, worry, blame, negativity - none of those things are going to help or, more significantly, change anything.  When I didn't fall to pieces this morning after I read the email from my realtor, I realized I'm making great progress.  Yay!

And now, a picture of our lovely Tucker.

One Cool Cat 

a little respite

It's been almost three weeks since I last posted. Eh, what do you want? Summer is for little routine and lazy days although I think I've been anything but lazy.

I took two of the three boys off to Hawaii - Oahu actually. The firstborn was unable to attend due to a prior commitment (read summer school). It was my first trip anywhere in that great state and it did not disappoint.

The kids all slept late and the peaceful quiet were all mine to savor. I got to wake up to this view every single day.   This picture was snapped at about sunrise (also known as the latest I could sleep!)

Boys played in the sand and worked on their tans.

We visited the land of "Lost" (supposedly though I don't know for sure).

They jumped off Waimea Rock.

And played in the surf.

We visited a piece of history.

And Danny was asked to drive the boat!

We capped it off with a luau.  The boys (and me too!) enjoyed themselves - can you tell?

Best of all, I can home with a lot of these:

I hope everyone is enjoying a nice summer.  More news later....just waiting for things to settle down.

fragile

It's a seesaw - up then down, up and down again.  And again.  And again.   There are times when I am up so high only to come slamming down, jarred into rude reality.

A common theme for me around here is perspective.  I've written about it time and time again.  In fact, I write about it so much, I'm slightly amused when I look back on all the posts I've written and cited on multiple occasions.  If you've been around awhile - you know.  If you're new, take a peek.

The past few months (years perhaps) have been a bit foggy for me.  It's crazy to think how long I've had turmoil in my life.  But maybe that's just life.  Some people have it easier then others - apparently I'm not one of them.  I saw a quote recently that sums things up well:

“I know God will not give me anything I can’t handle.  I just wish that He didn’t trust me so much.”  — Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

I am experiencing major upheaval in my life.  Divorce, buying and selling houses, and moving are huge.  Pile on top some major teenager drama and hurt little boys and it's amazing I even get out of bed every day.  However, even with all this, I thought I was beginning to see the light.  I thought I had hit rock bottom and was climbing out.  No, I knew I was climbing out and it felt good better.

And then - BAM! - something major happened to me a few weeks ago and it made me realize that what I thought was rock bottom was merely a ledge on a cliff and I silently slipped off.  It'll be awhile before this free-fall is over and all I can do is compartmentalize and hope for the best.

It made me realize how truly fragile I am; how uncertain and lengthy this recovery will be.  I can only keep my perspective.  I have my boys and we have our health.  I have a great job that motivates me to get out of bed every day.  There are many people far worse off then I.

And hey - at least I'm falling and haven't gone splat (yet).  Can someone throw me a parachute, please?

the great paradox

Every once in awhile I stumble across a great piece of writing that speaks to me, causes me to think and reflect.   Tonight I was watching an episode of the show Touch and it had such a piece.

  The universe, from atom to galaxy, is in a perpetual state of flux - but we humans don't like change.  We fight it.  It scares us...so we create the illusion of stasis.  We want to believe in a world at rest - the world right now.  Yet our great paradox remains the same.  The moment we grasp the now - that now is gone.  We cling to snapshots, but life is moving pictures.  Each nanosecond different then the last.  Time forces us to grow, to adapt, because every time we blink our eye, the world shifts beneath our feet.

 The timing of hearing this piece is uncanny.  Things are moving forward here.  Last week we finalized our marital settlement agreement and signed the listing agreement with the real estate agent to sell the house.  Everything is very real - for everyone.  And it's hard.

The teenager is acting out.  The attitude is distasteful yet rationally understandable.  The behavior suspect and, in some circumstances, quite obvious.  In all cases, not good.  The venom spewing is hurtful.  It hits me at my core.  And yet somehow I am supposed to remain unemotional and understanding.  Teen years are tough - nothing compared to the "terrible twos" - add to that a divorce and a move and all the uncertainty to which that translates - of course it's a volatile situation.

And last night, as I'm tucking in my youngest who is now aware, the tears start flowing.  He doesn't want to move.  He doesn't want to leave our house.  Of course, you know it's not just the house.  And I hold him and he sobs.  And I do what I should - what I know I should do.  I reassure my love for him and that everything will be okay.  I explain how he's too young to remember that we've moved many times before.  I recount all the moves his brothers have been through.  I hold him and tell him that it'll be a new adventure - he'll have a new house and a new room.

And still he sobs.  And all he can say is "I just want it to be the same."

Yeah baby, I do too.  But nothing will ever be the same - and as the above passage states so rightly - it never could be even if you carry the illusion that it will be.  But that's a lesson difficult for even an adult to grasp.

i can't do that

I'm not sure if there is anything I can't do.  That is such a strong statement and one I don't think I want to utter.  Something I've heard repeatedly throughout the years is that if you say you can't do something, then you won't be able, and so I try to avoid that line of thinking.

There are things I find hard to do:

• keep my cool when I'm hungry
• leave the kitchen messy
• drive the speed limit (aka slow!)
• lower my expectations
• relax and just live in the moment

There are things I won't do:

• jump out of an airplane (have you seen the statistics on that?!)
• settle for less then I'm worth
• take unnecessary financial risks
• stop worrying about my kids

"Can't" makes it seem like the subject is out of your control, as if you are a victim.  I'm struggling now to think of something, anything that is truly out of my control.  There are plenty of things that I choose NOT to control and may even convince myself that I have no control.  But if I am honest to myself, deep down I know that these things are in my control.  It is a function of my action or inaction whether or not I can or cannot do something.  Right now, I will choose to believe that there is nothing I can't do.

Arms Crossed

This piece of memoir comes via The Red Dress Club’s challenge this week to begin a narrative with the idea of “crossed arms.”

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I walk in and drop onto the brown leather sofa, arms crossed, knees touching and my feet turned in. 

"Hi Cathy.  How are you?" she asks as she always does.  Her opening line superficial compared with the looking, studying me for the non-verbal answers.

"Oh I'm fine.  And how are you?" I pleasantly reply.  I've got a smile on my face but I know she doesn't believe me, and this session isn't about her.

"I'm good," she replies with a quick, all-knowing chuckle.  It's the beginning of the dance.  Her eyes are probing and I drop my gaze.  With the pleasantries behind us, the standard inquiry is presented. 

"So, really, how are you?  What's going on with you?" she asks.  Such a loaded question this week.

I sit quietly, arms still crossed, head bent down looking at the crisscross pattern, an elongated letter X my arms make being folded into one another.   And still I remain quiet.  Moments pass without a word but there's no pressure to speak.   She will wait for me.  It's too difficult to speak and she knows.

The tears fall silently and finally I must unfold my arms to reach for the tissues.    I grab a few and dry my eyes.  I stall by continuing to dab at them repeatedly.

"It's been a really hard week." I manage to say, my voice hard to hold steady so it comes out barely more than a whisper.

And still she sits in silence waiting for more.  She knows it will come and it does.   I sink in to the sofa and begin to relax and release a flood of emotionally full words.