30 Days of Truth, Day 4

30 Days of Truth-Day 04 – Something you have to forgive someone for.

Yikes… this may be more than anyone wants to read. WTF was I thinking in agreeing to all this self introspection for the world to see? At any rate. I promised. I’m painfully honest… and I believe that any time you share your own story, you have the opportunity to help someone else share theirs.

I’m a rape survivor. I was 15, and he was a friend of the family. Close friend actually. I didn’t tell my mom for a while because I knew how devastated she’d be on so many different levels. She’d sent me to New York for a week to stay with Jeff. Thinking he was going to show me the big city. I know she didn’t know what she was sending me into- I know she still feels horrible.

When I got back from New York, I fought and fought with her about every single thing, and ended up getting really sick. When I finally told her I think she probably thought I was losing my mind. I may have been. It was so much to tell and so much easier if I didn’t. Telling made it real…and it opened cans of worms I didn’t want to open.

I had to be interviewed by a detective… and had to be absolutely precise in every detail, down to the color of my panties. It was awful. I kept trying to skip over things, and my mom was sitting in the room, sobbing. They finally had her leave, which made it a lot easier. I refused the physical exam. Thank God- the day had been bad enough at that point.

I wanted to put it behind me, not talk about it. My mom put me in counseling. Which was more boring than anything I can even describe. Putting it behind me worked a lot better- and I think part of growing up in a family with open communication meant I never thought it was my fault. I always knew it was his failing- even if I was the one who ultimately was affected by it.

I moved on… with a few scars… for sure. I can’t stand facial hair… because he had it. The sensation of facial hair on my neck or my face or my thighs… makes me want to throw up. Which sucks. Damn it. I don’t like having a life long scar from him. It frustrates me….not to mention the men in my life who are slaves to the razor.

Certain Beatles songs too… I can’t hear them…so I just avoid the Beatles entirely.

I’m incredibly forgiving and have never been one to hold a grudge. With the exception of Jeff. He stole my childhood in a lot of ways. I wrote him one ranting angry letter, once, on the urging of my counselor. I don’t know if she mailed it- I never heard from him after he was arrested.

Part of growing up is learning how things can affect you but they don’t have to change you. I can forgive him for almost everything. I’m pretty happy- pretty successful- and love clean shaven men better anyway.I forgive him for violating my trust and the trust of my mother.

But damn him for ruining the Beatles.


30 Days of Truth, Day 3

30 Days of Truth, Day 3- Something you have to forgive yourself for.

This is some sort of blog torture… I have plenty to forgive myself for… and seeing as I’m feeling penitent… I figure a list works better than anything, right?

  • I have to forgive myself for buying my kids those stupid Nintendo DS things. I read constantly as a kid and every time I see my daughter playing on it I realize she would be reading if I hadn’t bought it. Big over-achiever mom thing- and I should forgive myself- she loves it- and we have fun playing with it together too.
  • I have to forgive myself for wasting 7 years on a dirty hippie. I’m a die-hard optimist… and am too accepting. I had picket fences in mind and he was more focused on a guerrilla grow. It was doomed from the beginning- but I should forgive myself for being responsible for those lost years. We are both responsible. Actually no, it’s his fault.
  • I have to forgive myself, yet again, for not planting more carrots & beets. I’m only one person- I can only plant so much… but I kick myself every year for not planting more.
  • I have to forgive myself my complete and total lack of judgment this weekend… because I’ve been put to extreme levels of sexual frustration in the last few months- and hate me for saying it- but it was damn good sex and I feel a million times better. So there. Hate me. Does it really matter at this point?
  • I have to forgive myself for planting more than I could take care of. It’s given me back my body though- and I’m completely addicted to exercise as a result… so if you think about it… the garden has extended my life expectancy and improved my sex life. Three cheers for the gym!

So I have more than a few things… in fact I could keep going but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t go out and pick the tomatoes that ripened today, because they’d be gone after tonight.

and then I’d have to make a whole new list… 🙂


Sad Mommy Soup

I woke up this morning hoping it would rain… please… please, please. I’m heartsick and sad and don’t want to stare at the stupid sun. I want to clean the house until you can eat off the floor… pick vegetables… and snuggle with my little princess in front of a movie. To hell with a dress… I’m in my ultra loud strawberry pajama pants and my favorite ugly sweatshirt… hell even my socks don’t match.

But I’m soft- warm and so sad… so I’m enjoying the hell out of the Sad Mommy uniform. Which is just one more reason I don’t want a boyfriend… I love days like these every once in a while. I can’t even tell you how many times the dirty hippie tried to steal my favorite sweatshirt. Fucker- there are rules about favorite clothes… and I’m thankful I managed to keep it. Yes… I know it’s a horrible shade of pink… and it’s at least 3 sizes too big… but I liken it to a hug from my Dad… it’s big, perfectly broken-in, and I can paint the house or weed the garden in it.

Being in a relationship should never mean sacrificing your favorite clothes. Ever.

I’m surrounded by vegetables. Buckets and buckets of potatoes, garlic EVERYWHERE… not to mention hundreds of shallots. Tomatoes on the counter, laundry baskets full of basil, bowls of baby zucchini & carrots, and beets ready to be pickled. I’m drowning in veg… and in my own sadness. I really blew it this weekend- and I’m gloomy sad.

Soup to the rescue (because it works every time.)

This is my very favorite easy soup recipe… and a more heart felt apology, of sorts… because I don’t share it and once you try it… you’ll know why 🙂

Husband Soup, named by my girlfriend who swears I can’t give this to men recklessly or I’m liable to end up in captivity again.

8 cups chicken broth, preferably homemade, but the store bought variety works almost as well.

8 cups peeled & cubed potatoes

3-4 shallots, peeled & diced

1-2 cloves of garlic, diced

1 tsp salt (I salt to taste, but start here)

1 tsp pepper (you can use white pepper if you’re uptight about seeing the pepper in your soup)

2 8 oz. packages of cream cheese (and buy Philadelphia, it tastes better, I swear.)

2 cups of each of the following: mushrooms, carrots, broccoli, celery, etc, anything you want really.

  1. Combine broth, potatoes and spices.
  2. Saute your other veggies separately.
  3. Boil on medium heat until potatoes are tender.
  4. Smash a few of the potatoes to release their starch for thickening.
  5. Reduce to low heat.
  6. Add your sauteed veggies.
  7. Add cream cheese.
  8. Heat, stirring frequently, until cheese melts.

It really is amazing- and easy enough you can make it in minutes, even if you’re not feeling like cooking and you’d rather order pizza. There’s something amazingly soothing about peeling potatoes… and dicing them into tiny cubes. The entire act of cooking something you grew… is pretty obscenely fabulous. More than that? You can’t feel sorry for yourself when your babies eat themselves sick on soup & homemade bread.

You can embrace your gorgeous domestic self…and smile yourself right back to happy.


30 Days of Truth, Day 2

30 Days of Truth, Day 2- Something about yourself that you love.

Sigh…

Again… this is about the worst idea I’ve had in blog-land… or perhaps the very worst timing, if nothing else.

At any rate… I agreed… and I’ll cooperate… though reluctantly.

I love that I’m not afraid of anything. If I had a nickel for every time someone told me I was crazy for having planted an acre veggie garden… I’d quit gardening. I suppose that ruins the point… but it’s true. Preconceived notions and ideals don’t intimidate me. Being alone doesn’t scare me any more than being unhappy.

I’m not afraid.

I’m cautious… but I never let fear dictate the decisions I make. Which is half the battle, if you ask me. I’ve been there. I know how bad it can be. I’ll never be there again. Which completely takes any fear out of the equation. I’m half way there without trying. Surely that has to count for something.

I value the end result so much more, because I’ve learned to not be afraid. It’s really that simple…and so very difficult at the same time.

Worth working towards- because after all… you know what they say?

The only thing to fear, is fear itself. – FDR


30 Days of Truth, Day 1

A fellow blogger sent me an email asking me if I wanted to join her in this “30 Days of Truth” thing. I wasn’t entirely thrilled, given the current situations in my life… but hell… I’m a glutton for punishment- why not. I hadn’t seen the list of prompts, and she just sent them to me. Of all days… the first one is…..

30 Days of Truth, Day 1: Something you hate about yourself.

Oh Goody. I agreed to this? Damn. Today is soooo not the day for that question. However, I’m Catholic and it’s Sunday, so my first reaction is to be penitent… feeling it must be God’s way of saying I need to own up a little. Can’t hurt… that’s for sure. I had to fight back tears in Mass today, so the guilt is definitely working, if nothing else.

I hate that I only want men that don’t want me. Hate it. I can’t rid of the nice ones that can’t get enough of me- but my goodness they drive me insane. If I get one more text message from my drunk tent partner I’m going to have to be mean. Why can everyone else have a one night stand and I end up with wedding proposals and questions about having babies??? WTF? The available men of the world are everywhere, but ugh… so what. They’re about as interesting as the cowboys at the rodeo. Sometimes cute to look at- but odd… boring… and hmmm… uncomfortably attentive.

A mean one that doesn’t return my phone calls? Be still my heart. I’m done for. Totally and completely tragic. But true. I have no idea why it works out this way, but I know I’m not alone. A friend and I were talking about it the other day and she agreed. The assholes of the world are irresistible to some of us. Talk about a great group to cancel your membership to…

So when the source of my suffering called me today… I couldn’t resist… I answered it. Even though I was terrified of what he was going to say to me. The original glutton for punishment. He wasn’t mean… and he wasn’t nice. I feel horrible for ruining things with him… and I’m also just sad. Happy that it’s raining to match my mood.

and promising myself that I won’t ever compromise myself to make someone jealous, ever again. It didn’t work, and I only ended up compromised. Not good- and not worth it.