Motherhood

Right after the adoption failed with Flint and soon after my mom got sick and died I was thankful I was thankful I didn't have the stress of taking care of a baby during that. I was depressed and angry. It was an ugly time. My kids struggled, I struggled, it was extreme emotional suffering. Two major blows just did me in. 

Fast forward 2 yrs later and I would like to adopt again. I'm not ready to give up motherhood just yet. I like it. I know that is not "in" right now, but it's a calling I love. Plus, I'm having a terrible time imagining what I'm going to do with myself being so young and childless when in only 7 years my "baby"  will be 18. I will be only 45. My family thinks you are too old at 40 for living. My mom use to say it was all down hill after 40. She was all about being old, feeling old, and looking old. My dad is the same about people being too old. In the homeschool group we belong to there are several families that have children my children's ages and they are the age of my folks. 

My husband was raised in a family that children are a burden. My mother in law blatantly stated a few weeks ago, "I did my time." Like it was a prison sentence. In all her pictures of that time period she looks miserable. The new generation looks the same. Having children in that family is something you have to do not enjoy. 

I enjoy it. Little kids keep me young. You go places, you see things, you stay active. My mother in law goes no where, plays boring old board games every night, and she's been doing this for 20 freaking years. Yikes! I'm not ready for boring solitude. 

Problem? My husband has moved on in the notion of having more. He has grand ideas we will travel around in an RV. Uh, I can foresee the future and I look bored. Especially with someone that doesn't talk and falls asleep at the wheel unless he is listening to a book. 

Now I sit and pine for something I'm not going to get and try to move on from my dreams of motherhood and look into what else I can do.

Reading and thinking

The other night I went to a kirtan. Most kirtans include a reading from the Gita. I've heard so many stories from the Gita I want to cry when they start in again about it. For those of you that don't know what I'm talking about here is a crash course. Kirtan is a call and response chanting of the holy names.  The Gita is a abbreviation for Bhagavad Gita, the Vedic religious text. The entire book is actually a chapter out of a much larger book called the Mahabharata. When I go to Kirtans I feel so happy ( be forewarned not all kirtan groups are great) I can bliss out because I don't know Sanskrit and therefore I can let the sounds not stick. It's a verbal meditation with a pleasant rhythmic beat. I love it. I crave it. It is my favorite pastime. My only dislike is the Gita class that usually tags along. It's like a Bible class if you are Christian. I tend to zone out and sometimes get up and leave for an extended bathroom break. 

The other night I went to a kirtan from a traveling kirtan band. A husband and wife duo called Prema Hara. During the kirtan they stopped for a break and broke out a book. My husband squirmed because he hates the reading more than I do. I noticed the book was not the Gita and relaxed a bit because now I was curious. She read from a book that described a meeting between Mother Theresa and a Jewish American young man in Calcutta, India. As I listened I said to My husband, " I want that book." 

To my amazement the couple had a little store available that included that book. To help support their travels I bought the book from them. I've been reading it ever since; The Journey Home, Autobiography of an American Swami by Radhanath Swami. 

I'm reading the book now and I'm struck with how angry, cynical, and belligerent I've been since my mom has passed 2 yrs ago this week. I was angry at doctors, I was angry with her, angry with my family, and angry I felt so alone. On top of it all I quit believing in the God I was raised with and my mom believed in. I still do not have that belief. I don't think I will ever get it back. 

I'm noticing, though, while reading this book that I'm now open minded enough to let him have his idea about God and read his stories and not feel the need to be angry and cynical. Ok, I'm still a bit cynical, but I'm better. Trust me. 

I had no idea, could not fathom, how deep my anger went. I felt completely sucked into a vortex of heart aching hate. My complete being was saturated with the ick. 

I'm really enjoying this story. The twists and turns this young man took to find his spiritual practice. I can relate to the struggle he writes about. The depth of pain and unknowing and feeling lost with a world full of people. So it is to be human....

...read the book. 

Family secrets

If you know me you know me to be shockingly white. Meaning; my Latino friends laugh about how my skin glows like a beacon light in a dark starry night and that is with a tan. I don't notice my whiteness until I'm with darker friends. With that aside, I always felt out of place growing up. My lips were fuller, my hips and bum were fuller, and my thick wavy/curly hair had very kinky black hairs weaved throughout my head and still do to this day. I was raised with red heads, blondes, very thin lipped, and no butt people. I use to question my folks if I was adopted. My mom would laugh and say no and ask why I thought that when I was born red headed like my dad. Yes, my dad once was red headed and not snow covered. He was also the only white man I knew that could fluff his hair into an Afro and his hair never looked wet after showering or swimming. I just always wondered....

Then a few days ago my cousin, which I've never met, posted a picture on Facebook that one of my grandfather's brothers took. My grandfather is in the front row between the dark kid and the two girls wearing overalls. I knew that was grandpa before asking my aunt because it looked like my dad. 

What's the big deal about this photo? Well, that dark kid is not a neighbor kid. That is my grandpa's baby brother. In fact, most in the photo are blood relations, except for the two blonde and light brown young ladies behind my grandpa. Those are wives of his brothers, Bob and Basil. Basil's wife is holding a mason jar while Basil tAkes the picture of his family. Great grandma holds a young squirming child in her arms and great grandpa holds a rifle. 

When I saw the dark kid and the not so white looking features on the rest of the clan I wondered if someone wasn't telling me something important about my heritage. I texted my aunt and she told me what she knew, which was not much because my own grandpa did not know a damn thing about his own mother. It seems she is a mystery woman. I was told she was very dark with thick coarse hair and piercing blue eyes. Each one of their children were a surprise. One was red head, dark skin, and green eyes. Blondes, brunettes, brown eyes, blue eyes,pale skin, dark skin, etc... But that one in the front took them all by surprise. He was black eyed, dark dark skin, and tight curly hair. I always heard stories about the "dark ones" that looked "Mexican" but I never actually saw a picture. That, my friend, is no Mexican. Speculation from my aunt was it might be Jewish heritage because great grandma had a big nose. Lots of ethnic groups have large noses. It seems more plausible that grandma was "passing white" and DNA had a little surprise up its sleeve. 

My aunt summed up what everybody else seems to skirt around when you bring up the fact we might be mixed is, " I don't know if I want to know."

I do want to know. I think it's wrong to ignore our heritage, even if we find unpleasantness. I would like to honor my great grandmother. I now know I was not adopted and I'm not the only one with the kinky black hairs interwoven on my scalp. I'm not a pure blood. I'm a mutt. I'm the melting pot. 

**Picture circa depression era...grandpa was old enough to be in the Battle of the Bulge during WWII and he looks to be around 10 to 12 here.

Captains log

Day 3:

I think the native is getting suspicious. I think he has realized I'm planning on eating him for the grand feast. He has implemented a program, within his own clan, to get his people to woo me in hopes I will weaken and pardon him. I will play along for the moment.

2 yrs

This month marks 2 yrs since my mother died. I'm not here to honor my mother so much as to point out the changes and lack thereof. 

My father stills has her voice on the answering machine and her pills and scooter in the basement of his home. He hasn't attempt to date nor suggested he would like to. He is just existing. 

My youngest is starting to come around, finally. It seemed to hit him the hardest. He needed lots of time to process it all. The other two children have bounced pretty well. My oldest has mentioned a few times the discomfort of grandma dying in the living room. My middle child seemed to get over it the fastest. He had me hold him and comfort him over the several weeks after it happened. I think breaking his collar bone helped shift his focus away from grief to healing himself. 

My extended family has suffered the most. We are not invited to ANY family functions. No birthdays, not Christmas, Easter, nothing. My aunt, my moms only sibling, in two years has not accepted my friends request on FB. I have left messages for them and received none back. The ones that friended me no longer acknowledge me. Only my grandmas sister does from time to time but she did tell me she is hiding me because she doesn't like how I sometimes curse or post memes with curse words. 

This is on the heels of the fact my cousin, on my dad's side, de-friended me because she didn't like my non-Christian posts. She even kicked off my kids, as well, because they post non-Christian memes and ideas. She left my husband only because she doesn't know what he likes or believes because he doesn't post anything. I didn't like what she posted either but I just hid her. 

My friends have pretty much disbanded. One was callous about my mothers death and said when my dad was ready to call her. Since then those friends attached to her have disappeared. My other network of friends fell apart when one divorced her husband and half of the women would not talk to her anymore. They have since made peace but we never do anything together anymore. 

My mother in law was my support for years but since my mom died she is rarely around. I use to speak with her once a day but now I might speak with her once a week and it is now through text and over within 2 or 3 texts. She even admitted she felt bad she wasn't there for me when my mom died. 

I've had zero lean on support within my typical group(s). I've had one person, D.A., to talk to a few through  FB about all this. His mother died several yrs ago and we had a common bond in pain and loss. I've had to do most of this completely on my own. I've navigated these hellish waters with a dim flashlight and a torn faded map. Somehow, I've made it to the shore safely. 

In all this I realized that people can't handle uncomfortable situations. No one wanted to hear about how I lost Flint. No one wanted to see me suffer because my mom died. No one asked if I needed help. No one can handle the truth and in doing so they are not good friends to have. 

I'm not bitter. I'm saddened that my family disowned me, in a flash, with my mother out of the way and my friends couldn't even be there for me. 

I'm looking for deeper connections these days. Sadly, my deepest connection is in California. It's hard to have a night out with your friends when they are so far away. 

My other change has been spiritual. I should say lack of spirituality. I've noticed I'm extremely cynical these days. I'm not an atheist but I don't believe in "god." This is what got me in trouble with a few family members. Being a gay supporter was another (I'll get to that later.) I have a hard time thinking one being that is unseen has so much control and so little compassion. I do believe in a more quantum physics belief that we all have control. Our thoughts and desires manifest, knowingly or unknowingly. I believe we are more god like than most people realize. This belief I've formed has made me change my ideas about religion, dogma, etc. I think all religion should be thrown out and discarded. This has made me very unpopular with my Baptist family. Not to mention when I do hang out with religious folks they are Hindu. Did I mention that most of my family is extremely racist? 

It's not that I miss them. It's the fact they are so cold and unloving. Not that I should be surprised. They were only nice to me, sort of, because my mom was alive. With both grandmothers and my mother gone I'm just a nuisance. A spider in the shoe. 

On a good note, in these two yrs I've started going to yoga school and now also learning herbs. Looking for an herb school as well. I started Buddhist college and quit. I was pissed off too much and decided it was not a path I wanted to travel. I got my Buddhist name, which sucks, and have since quit. 

 I even started painting in acrylics. I have had so much fun with them over the past two years. 

Life is getting better. It was rough going it alone but I'm stronger for it. It is sad to lose friends and family but now I can concentrate on finding new ones. 

I'm extremely thankful to my husband. He was there when I burst into tears because I couldn't find a sock, aka "I'm so depressed this lost sock was the last straw." He would lie there holding me as I gushed floods of tears and snot. He was and is pure love expressed in human form called Sam. 

It was a terrible ordeal and I know someday I will have to deal with the death of my father. I just hope he waits a long long long time. I need a break from misery!

Mom, I miss you. I miss our talks. The kids miss you and dad misses you. Thank you for helping me become a strong woman. I love you, forever. 

PS....you made it this long? You deserve an award. Thank you. 

Good morning

Every morning, when its warm enough, I come outside to sit on my porch in the "silence." It is anything but silent but I don't hear tv, radios, chitter chatter from my family. Dogs don't bark and phones don't ring. What I do hear are birds, lots and lots of birds. Wood peckers Peking, singing, bitching, doves cooing, and every chirp and tweet imaginable. 

I also see things other may not. A wandering coyote slipping off to sleep for the day. A snake climbing a tree. A cat eating honeysuckle blossoms. You never know what weird and wonderful sights you will see and hear. 

It's these moments that bring the awareness to the fact I'm not that important. We are all important. 

Oh, thank you for the compliment. Do we fuck now or later?

My husband and I talked about what it would be like to be swingers or poly or whatever different lifestyle you can think of, we've talked about it. We've never said yes and never said never. We are pretty indifferent and in no rush to experiment. We are not actively looking. That being said I shared my conversation, in depth, with my friend. The other day she told me I should hook up with someone we both know because him and I have great chemistry. I laughed. Go tell this cute 21 yr old to come be in a poly lifestyle with a couple of almost 40somethings. Oh, right. I'll get right on that, not. 

This made me think about how people think we should fuck any and all people we have "chemistry" with or people that compliment us. We've gotten so use to people being mean that when they are nice we say, "fuck him, he's a keeper." 

Don't worry. I'm not going to go hunt down the guy for pleasure just because he is nice to his elders. Ha! 

Hurt feelings

I don't know why I expect my husband to have a different opinion. I don't know why I even bother to show him my work. I rarely see his body language say, " I love it."  It usually says, " oh god, not again." 

He compares my art with his very realistic hallmark card looking sister's art. I will never ever be her. I don't want to be her. I like her art. She is talented. She is realistic. I'm not that person. I'm not ever going to be that person. I don't like being compared with her. She has her style and I have mine. It is obvious to me my husband does not like my style. 

I'm hurt because I had an expectation he would enjoy in my enthusiasm. Instead I got the opposite. I got the awkward silence. Then nod. The backing away. The changing of the conversation. I then cornered him. I told him I could tell he didn't like it and he then lied. Like I can't read his body language of repulsion. 

I have people that love my work. It hurts that the person I chose to be with doesn't like it and doesn't expend energy in loving encouragement and cheer. 

A part of me does not want to paint when he acts like that. It's like nothing I do impresses him, ever. Well, blow jobs, but I'd rather mean more to him than THAT.  

Expectations....what a bitch. A buzz kill. A wet blanket. 

Hubby

Tonight hubby got home before I got home. He was at a leadership training and I did not want to sit at home and wait so I took my dad to a flea market. My favorite find was a 1932 medical terminology desk reference book. I will get to that another time. My hubby got home before me. 

I walk in the door and he pulls me into a tight embrace kissing passionately and said, " I love you!" 

This heated passion of his was flaming all evening. We talked about his weekend and without divulging individual information he said he could not believe how many men had terrible sex lives. He then said, " I feel so blessed I have someone I love making love to and that you love making love to me and it is always AWESOME!" Then back to kissing me, which by this time was difficult because we were n the road to get dinner. 

I don't know he heard or what was discussed but he is on fire. My hot and sexy juicy Aries is a flaming fireball of passion and appreciation. 

I the words of the great Zen teacher Hyde from That 70's Show, "That's cool.....whatever."