Nothing Sweet About It

When I watched SYTYCD this week the Mandy Moore number really hit me. No, it wasn't because I was reminded of the other Mandy Moore (who stole my heart in A Walk to Remember--scary, I know). And no, it wasn't because I was watching one of my favorite two shows (Glee is the top favorite these days). It was the cane, the cane.

You see, I have been hobbling around on a cane for the past two weeks. I reinjured the soccer ankle in a game AGAIN. And when I went to the doctor they said that I needed crutches. But, you see, crutches and I are deep enemies. In high school there was a long walk down Coleman Avenue on a rainy afternoon with crutches and since then, I can't bear the thought. My arms literally start protesting (and who I am kidding, I would need my arms in a fight). So, I asked her if there was anything else I could do. A cane was her only other suggestion.

So, with thoughts of Hugh Laurie from House and Fred Astaire's dancing cane, I reconciled myself to the cane I now own. And when I saw two people dance with a cane, it hurt inside because I don't make my cane look fabulous. In fact, I have started to leave it behind, much to Chase's chagrin.

Opposed to me, Chase loves the cane. James loves the cane. They even loved the medical supply store where we bought it. Picture Chase driving the motorized scooter around the parking lot and James in his wheelchair. When James sat down in the chair he honestly said, "I could live in this thing," and then begged me to buy him one the rest of the time. Who knew?

Now to the point of this tangent: I hate not being able to walk. It is tragic and reminds me with every step how good I had it. I love legs and the ability to move. I love ankles that twist and a body that can run. And I am determined to be more thankful...because I really do have it good!

The Status Report

People ask me all the time if I am divorced. I'm not, yet. It has been the longest, stinkiest process you could imagine. It is hard to believe that it has been two years since I flew to NY and discovered the truth. But I am hoping in a few months it will be over. As over as it can be.

People also ask me all the time if they can set me up. I can't even begin to say how scary that thought is...I feel like, I've already tried that once, why would I do it again. I honestly gave everything I could think of...and the thought of a second time is frightening.

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There is an old movie called, The Gay Divorcee. Fred Astaire dances around in his lighter-than-air style and makes it seem so easy, so freeing. I am sad to say it isn't easy or freeing. It just gets more and more complicated. I think perhaps the hardest part is that the person that I knew best in this world, ultimately didn't think I was good enough. It is hard deep inside to face that type of harsh reality and convince myself that I am good enough. (And I am, I've decided).

For some reason, at thirty two, I have to sometimes fight the feeling of being used goods. My youth and bloom are gone (who am I kidding, they were gone at 16), but there is something new in its place. A richness of empathy and sorrow and a conviction that I can do the hardest of things. My well is deeper than me...it is the people around me, the strength I genuinely find in prayer and belief, the knowledge that I have something valuable to offer. And that is what I now fill most of my thoughts with; not with what I am lacking, but with what I can contribute.

I sometimes, theoretically, wish that life didn't have so many road bumps. But somehow, I can't really wish away the very things that make me strongest.

The Sage Advice a Cavity Once Gave Me

I went to the dentist recently and found out that James had five cavities and one of them needed a root canal...but get this, you can't get a root canal if your teeth aren't all the way developed. So, we have to see an Endodontist every couple of months until it grows completely. Oh, did I mention the hole is on his permanent tooth?!

This is all I could think about as I drove home: I am now, officially, doing permanent damage to my children. Up to this point everything that I did as a mother will be forgotten. Sure, they may at some deep level feel more secure or loved because of all the time and energy I have put in as a mother. But they won't remember half of it, ok they won't remember a tenth of it. And if I rarely helped them brush their little teeth, it was alright because I knew those little teeth would be falling out and I would have a second chance. There was no pressure. But now, James is in second grade. And all I know is that I have clear memories of second grade. I remember people and conversations, and moments of my life.

I don't know why, but I lost it. I cried for two days straight over this little tooth. And more than that, when a few days time started to give me some perspective and I started to laugh about it, I knew that I couldn't blog about it. I couldn't actually be honest with most of the people in my life who I am certain would laugh along with me over the tears, the tooth, and the bit of honest reflection. I have been writing on the periphery of my own life. I have been genuinely afraid that if I showed weakness, somehow my children's father would use it against me in a court of law. And it was at last facing this sobering reality that has led me to change the way I weild my words.

I want to be honest, and open, and not be afraid of consequences. At one point, a friend told me that my blog was a hollow reminder of what I once was -- ouch...but true. I have been holding back, my friends. But here I am: reclaiming another piece of myself. Raw. Poorly written. But real.

And thanks for the pieces of you that I get over time. My relationships throughout my life are my greatest treasure. S0, truly, thank you.