I am fall through the seasons. I take childish joy tromping through the soaked leaves.
I wander upon the uncounted evergreens and pine. I cast upon otherworldy spirits and jovial pumpkins.
 I muse through the trees, sunshine eavesdrop through the naked branches. For the last time, I am present. I am youth epitomized.

I am fall through the seasons.
He implies through whisper that he loves me as best as any adolescent boy can. I find solace behind velvet curtains as plywood and stage lights highten the senses. I will vivaciously run through dried leaves and musky sagebrush. Crisp firewood air reminds me of kinder times. Monster drinks and sofas, laughter and lines preoccupies my troubled mind.

I am fall through the seasons. Nostalgia softens me when I blink and the trees catch fire. Love anew and children have seasoned my future and I have manifested into spring. Autumn delights once again. With lively pumpkins and crunchy leaves,
I will always fall.

epiphanies and cod

  I wrote this a couple weeks ago. I honestly wasn't sure if this was something I should throw it out in the public. blogging is like one is asking for criticisms. So I kept the tab open on my phone, just in case.
  Everyone has a story. And maybe mine is not that unique. But it's not like I'm looking to become the next Van Gogh of blogging. But if but one person can relate-to not feel so damn alone, then maybe that's all I was looking for. Motherhood is full of "aha" moments. I had one not too long ago.

 Tonight was nothing new. As I'm sure most nights are when people receive an epiphany (Lol?).
 I was dishing up my plate of some boring baked fish with some annoying kale (I do this so I can eat a cheese steak at the end of the week), and I look up across from me.
  My beautiful 16 month old daughter who sits in her high chair, with rice remnants in her hair and one hand fisting a balled up chunk of cod, looked at me. With almond blue eyes like her daddy, my cheeks and nose, and the biggest smile she could muster. It felt oddly warm, coming from a toddler-to-be. And in that moment, I had to put my dish down, and smile back at her.

  I suddenly realized, that this little girl is going to melt some hearts. This girl who wears her food as hair accessories and cradles her baby dolls and shadows her big brother around the house, is one day going to grow up. As humans all hopefully do.

 My heart starts to feel heavy. I worry with exasperation that she will not receive the love that she truly deserves. That she will fill her expanding mind with self doubt,
  ...or worse-self loathing.
  I worry that she will think like me in earlier times. Once upon a time I thought a guy could solve my problems and fix me in my troubling self doubt. Which ironically (but maybe not so), usually resulted in making me feel worse. I'm terrified that she will experience the mental illness thick within the maternal genepool that has affected me and previous generations and blatantly destroyed my mother. How could this beautiful, fiercely independent future woman ever possibly think that way about herself? That she would owe the world an apology for simply existing. For being beautifully flawed. For letting people who she cares about destroy her confidence.
  I spent a little time crying later because that made me morose  suddenly realized that it's not entirely in my control. Worrying is only borrowing trouble....
  Because there is a pretty damn good chance that she will not have to battle those demons that had anchored me for so long. She can hold herself with strength and respect. She doesn't have to let men put her down, not second guess their love, not fight with her in lue of the meaning of love. Or let any man define her in her self worth.
  My existence for much of my life, though many times full of vigor and light, was devoured by a nagging darkness that whispered poisonous hymns that I took to heart and let it become a symphony that only grew uglier with time. Strip a girl from everything that is safe and her own, yo-yo her into a place of manipulations and stupors possessed by methamphetamine from the people who were supposed to be her safety net, then continue this cycle until she's nineteen years old will conjure the perfect recipe for a very terrified young woman, who can be quick to find anything to call home.
  I stand firm that I will not let their mistakes become me. I stand firm that Emilia's father is truly the kindest and most loving man I could ever hope for. And not only to her, but to yours truly and to her brother as well. I stand firm that I will not abandon my children.  My darkness will not become theirs.
  For they are my light.
Gawl. That was so super corny!
I hope I didn't bore you to tears, if you even made it this far. This wasn't an elated blog to write. But this is all attached to me, and if writing isn't just the most theuraputic form I ever did experience.

The things we do for our kids, amIright??

Another first blog?!

I know, I know.

The last thing we need is another twenty-something gal with a blog.

Not that there is anything wrong with possessing a blog.

Seriously, I would be lying if I said I never flipped through blog after blog on an afternoon, thoughtfully reading the writers bio after analyzing a beautify-ing tip, or a parently rant.

I guess I have always felt like a sheep, like a super-mega follower, because blogs are cool. I always thought they were!

So, before I become dedicated past two written entries of mine- (I usually only go that far)

I will write this blog for me. No one in particular, though if you care to read, I can promise you that I will aspire to make it kind. I will do my best to make it relate-able for those twenty-somethings, (particularly for those out of college going “now-what?”, who maybe enjoy being involved in theatrics and staying home with a glass of wine and PJ's (seriously, who doesn't enjoy that? Well, I mean just. All. The. Time. And who waste time pinteresting) and to mothers. Or both! Because I'm right there with you.

Let me tell you a little about me...

I am a homebody extrovert. I'm incredibly excitably social, but I really like to just eat pizza on my couch.

I am, a mother. In case you missed that last little bit. I have a three and a half year old son, and a nine month old daughter. They are my WORLD (doi)! They make my universe a little brighter, so much sweeter, and my hair grayer. And really, that's tough to do- since I'm only twenty four.

Yep, you read that correctly.

Twenty four!

I have received my fair share of bug-eyed stares for that one, believe it or not!

My son was a product of a shotgun wedding from when I was twenty years old.

His father, is a homosexual.

Of course, I wasn't aware of this until after I had our son.

Until he was approximately year old.

In which, I stayed home with him (my son) a good 80% of the time.

Therefore, I had to start all over again. Education-wise and so forth.

But I was okay with this, because our marriage had been stagnant for a very long time.

Because he was gay.

So this re-inventing myself included getting back on stage at a local community theater.

I was cathartic.

And I loved it all!

I met a man who wore a Star Wars t-shirt, glasses and dark hair who reminded me of a thirty-year-old Bambi. (in the best of ways, really!)

He swept me off my feet.

Bonus! He got to play my fiancée in the play we were performing together.

(and we got to kiss.) Seriously, I hadn't been that giddy since my early teen years. I was like a cartoon, awkward girl with heart bubbles popping around my head with this fella (I typed pooping heart bubbles the first go around on accident- I thought it was hilarious and I almost kept it-but then decided against it).

So here I am, raising my darling son, going back to school, working on the weekends, and squeezing time between all this to be in complete adoration of this man.

Fast forward a year.

Weeks prior to us moving in together as a family unit- I found myself with sore boobs and feeling flushed and dizzy. I had a sneaky suspicion I was molding a pre-human in my uterus.

And naturally, I was.

I freaked.

This was not planned. I knew I wanted to have another kiddo one day, and I knew I wanted one with Simon.

But, this was not the right time. We hadn't even moved in yet, I wasn't finished with school, he could barely make enough as a humble school teacher to support himself, let alone a wee one of his own.

I felt alone. Unspeakably alone. No family of mine to bring this in a positive light, for a week straight the two of us tossed and turned in an exhausted fit, wondering “what's next?”

I'll never forget the conversation.

“Why do you think we should keep it?”

I let this question sink in.

“Because he's half me. And half you. And I couldn't imagine anything less perfect.”

(not that I think I'm perfect, but naturally you just know your kid is perfect when they're attached to your uterus. I mean, well-maybe that's just me.)

It was this moment that this man held me tight as he could, and made the executive decision to make it.

Regardless of us going to be extremely broke in the process.

Regardless of us only going out for a year, and me having another child with another man.

Regardless of a few select people whom I told believed that it would be best if I simply “took care of it.” Regardless of the VERY select people after that who called me, well-choice words after the fact. "How SLUTTY of you to have two kids with two men!!"
 toot toot! Next stop: judgement train! Hip, Hip, Hooray!

So here we are.

In our own cute but modest condo.

Me finishing up school.

Simon is about halfway through with the Speech Pathologist program. What a smarty pants!

And here we are, with a beautiful, happy, healthy daughter.

I am. SO. blessed.

Truly, I love this man more and more every day.

I am working one of those 9-5 office jobs a street down from our place.

I have a desk with a view.

And I do enjoy my job. I find it hard sometimes, because I work three days a week and I have about five different job titles around the joint. So that's a little tough. But really, if that's one of the biggest things I'm complaining about...

So here I am, spilling my entire being out to those who still care enough to read, I am here to tell YOU.

I know what it's like to deal with the trials of being a stay-at-home-mom. The trials of being a working mom. Of being a single mom. To divorce. To have a son. To have a daughter. To finish college only to start something up all over again. To struggle. To thrive. To learn and love. I know the struggles of not having anyone around for support-mainly family (anyone with a family history of drug, domestic, and emotional abuse, talk to me- I got your back) To be in a toxic relationship (not currently, I promise), to wonder where the hell it is that you are in place with this world, to question your faith only to make it stronger with God, dealing with assholes who think they know you better than you do-who judge you and define you, I am here. You most certainly are not alone. Talk to someone. You are amazing, and regardless whether or not you don't know who you are in this world, the world needs YOU. This is really just starting to sound like I'm a damn life coach, but I don't have the credentials for that title... so this blog can be an eclectic mesh of ALL the positive things!

Ta for now.