Why She Stays

A “friend” posted this article from the Billings Gazette on her Facebook page:

A man was accused Friday of kidnapping a woman and holding her in her home — including making her stay in a crawl space — for several days while repeatedly and severely beating her.

Matthew Ryan Bertagnolli, 31, appeared from the county jail in Yellowstone County Justice Court on felony charges of aggravated assault, three of partner or family member assault and one each of aggravated kidnapping and intimidation.

According to the affidavit a woman, identified in the documents only as Jane Doe, came into an apartment on the 3500 block of Granger Avenue saying she needed to call for help. When officers arrived, they noticed she had two black eyes, a severely swollen face and bruises and burns on her body.

She told officers that she and Bertagnolli had been dating since March and that on July 11 he accused her of cheating on him. He allegedly hit her numerous times until she left, the documents say. The woman returned to her home two days later and found Bertagnolli waiting there. He ordered her inside and assaulted her until she passed out from the pain, the affidavit states.

Through that day and into July 14, Bertagnolli "began a systematic torture of her with repeated beatings in different parts of the house," according to the charging documents. The woman told investigators that at different points, he beat her, urinated on her, threatened to kill her, possibly burned her with a cigarette, told her to give him money and said "you're going to suffer through this pain ... go lay down" when she tried to take Ibuprofen, according to the court documents.

The affidavit goes on to say that Bertagnolli forced the woman to hide in a crawl space several times when her mother came.

The woman told investigators that she ran to a neighbor's house on Thursday when Bertagnolli let her out of the crawl space and decided to take a shower. Court documents say her injuries include a broken nose, fractured orbital bone, burns and bruising and swelling.

Officers arrested Bertagnolli at the home on Granger on Thursday evening. He remains in custody at the Yellowstone County Detention Facility and is scheduled to appear in District Court on Thursday.

Perhaps more heinous than the atrocities this woman suffered were some of the comments posted by Billings, MT readers.

One individual named ‘small town football’ made this comment online: “Well how stupid was this woman? There had to be red flags before this all happened. Unless she was constantly chained or tied up she could have tried to get away sooner."

My immediate response to this person is not publishable in the paper until I remind myself that ignorance must be bliss and you just can’t argue with stupid!

After all I would only imagine that ‘small town football’ is more concerned with pigskins and touchdowns than volunteering to work with the local domestic violence shelter.

I would have to guess that if this individual spent any time with domestic violence victims, he or she would understand that women who stay in abusive relationships do not do so out of stupidity. The real stupidity is in thinking that the reason a victim might stay in a relationship wrought with domestic violence is simply black and white.

Perhaps ‘small town football’ has never considered that maybe she stays because she has children and he has threatened to take those children away from her; as horrible as it might be to stay, she can at least protect her children from his abuse – sacrificing herself to his rage.

Maybe over the months and years of his manipulative isolation she no longer feels like she has support from her family and friends. No one to call. No safety net into which she can fall.
Maybe all of the degrading, belittling and emotional abusive whacks at her self-esteem have completed chipped away at what flimsy self efficacy ever existed until she believes that she cannot ‘make it’ without him.

Maybe she beats herself up for being stupid, worthless, unlovable – the negative self talk making her depressed – sadness leads to guilt – more emotional turmoil – a vicious and toxic cycle so closely mimicking the relationship that has been fodder fueling the fire of herself degradation.

Maybe her only option, if she leaves, is to find a job that doesn’t pay above minimum wage. She might not have any education beyond high-school. If she works full-time, she will make enough money to afford daycare for her children because if she works full-time hovers at the poverty line, she will have too much income to qualify for ABC vouchers or social service programs.

Maybe she grew up in an abusive home – and however twisted or warped it might seem from an outsider’s prospective – abuse is a normal part of everyday life. It is what it is.

There are so many reasons why she stays, but I doubt small town football would have the complex and critical thinking abilities to understand those reasons. It must be incredibly convenient to walk through life heaping blame on everyone else and never accepting responsibility for the part one plays in creating a society where we blame victims instead of offering them the unconditional help and support they need to make better life choices.

My FB friend who posted that article was in a relationship with the accused Bertagnolli. She has a daughter. Thankfully she made it out of that relationship alive. And there are many reasons she stayed as long as she did, but stupidity isn’t one of them.

Inner Peace

Call it hokum. Call it wishful thinking. Call it happenstance. Call it crazy: I have never believed in coincidence.

As of late my belief in fate, destiny, non-coincidence is stronger than ever before. In a nut-shell, we all have free-will and the opportunity to exercise it. Choice A might lead us in a completely different direction than choice B. However, within that freedom of choice, there is a larger design for life (as I know it)  – for the universe – and I, we, are small details in this amazing blueprint.

Over the last few months I’ve been determined to improve my spiritual health and relationship with God. Growing up I had an incredibly strong faith. I was in church every time the doors were open. As I got older and life happened, I fell out of the habit of going to church and nourishing my spiritual self. I need a relationship with God to feel mentally and emotionally healthy.

In my quest, I have created time – carved out time at the very least – to spend quietly and earnestly in prayer. I had forgotten how comforting it is to converse with God – to just open the flood gates in my head and heart and let it all pour out.

Because I love to read, I’ve also incorporated specifically spiritual books into my stack of must reads. I happened upon The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho a few weeks ago. It is a work of non-religious fiction, however, it is deeply spiritual in nature and, perhaps, one of the most uplifting reads I’ve encountered since I devoured Eat. Pray. Love last summer.

 Without spoiling the novel for anyone out there who might read it, I can sum up the essence of the story with one quote from the book: “God has prepared a path for everyone to follow. You just have to read the omens that he left for you.” The novel focuses on one character’s search for his personal legend or destiny – according to God – and how he finds the meaning of his life by following God’s signs along the way.

Three weeks ago, about the same time I found myself immersed in The Alchemist, my Mom told me she found a lump in her right breast accompanied by surface area dimpling of the skin – one key characteristic of a malignant mass. Cancer.

Biopsy confirmed her self-diagnosis. This Friday, she will have the 2.7cm mass removed via lumpectomy.

As is my nature, I’ve spent many hours analyzing my mom’s cancer hoping to derive meaning from this unexpected card we’ve been dealt in life’s most recent hand. The thoughts of not having as much time with my mom as I’d planned are devastating.

I cling to faith in my belief that everything – no matter how oppressively heartbreaking it might feel – happens for a reason.

At age 34, I had not planned on having a mammogram myself until I was 40. Now, however, I have a family history of breast cancer and am having my first mammogram this week.

Life can change in an instant, and over the last few weeks, life as I’ve known it has been turned upside down and inside out. Yet in spite of it all, I am at peace – a rarity for me. Each day is a brand new opportunity to enjoy the time I have with my Mom – to show her and tell her how much I love her – to create memories my children can spend a lifetime imagining and recounting.

Every moment is a gift and I have learned to embrace them and treasure them as such. I’ve learned to separate what matters in life from what is no big deal. I am less in a hurry and I find I have more patience with my children and myself. I am learning to let go of those things over which I have no control and to pray for serenity when I need it.

Cancer is a diagnosis no one ever wants to have.  Ironic how the introduction of this disease into my life - my mom’s life – has made me stronger – more faithful – more hopeful – more grateful than I have ever been.

“Usually the threat of death makes people a lot more aware of their lives.” The Alchemist

Indeed it does.

Two Dads

“I have two Daddies,” Emerson would announce in her children have a way of saying anything that might be potentially embarrassing, loud enough that even the hard of hearing can decipher voice. Without fail, eyes would widen and jaws would drop as people looked down at her adorable little face and then up at me, Brian and Allen, pausing a moment before the awkward smile and the obligatorily whispered, “Bless her heart.”

In the conservative climate of Southern decency, I would imagine onlookers trying to mentally put the puzzle – with one too many pieces – together: two fathers and one woman? What does this mean? I always took some perverse pleasure in the less liberal minded praying for this poor child being raised by this homosexual couple and their surrogate partner in crime.

My daughters do have two fathers, but neither my husband nor my ex-husband are gay and I am a full-time, multiple hat wearing, wanna be super-woman kind of Mom. As unorthodox as our family tree might be to some, and as far from the perfectly picturesque picketed fence family of my childhood imagination, what we have works.

Beyond simple functionality, our family form offers our girls an over abundance of love, and with so many children caught in the cogs of DSS, I don’t see how love and concerned parenting can come in quantities of “too much of a good thing.”

I have no time for regrets. While my first attempt at marriage did not turn out as I planned, I would not trade that experience for the world because I have Emerson – and Allen. He and I, it turns out, are much better friends and parents than we were husband and wife. Who knew?

Because of all his eccentricities, my ex-husband is one of my closest friends. He quotes lines from my favorite movies and makes me laugh until my stomach hurts. We wax nostalgic about the good ole days of grad school and weep for the future of English as a course of study and a professional aspiration.

Things could have been horribly ugly between Allen and I, but to his credit (and mine I suppose), we handled our separation and divorce like adults knowing that a petty finger-pointing tug-of-war between us would only hurt Emerson. When I remarried and had Ella, Allen treated her like his own daughter and has ever since. Likewise, Brian has loved and cared for Emerson since she was only a year old. 

Allen and Brian are not BFFs. They don’t participate in social male bonding and there is no budding “bromance” – though I have encouraged them to see Green Lantern together because Allen loves comic book heroes, Brian enjoys movies about comic book heroes, and, frankly, I have no interest in either.

But we will be celebrating Father’s Day together along with other friends and family members who can testify to the fact that however unique our family might be, Em and Ella are happy and well-adjusted children.

As an adult, I have only two memories of spending Father’s Day with my Dad (there might have been others, but none that I can recall). Geography seemed a treacherous barrier to the development of the Daddy’s girl kind of relationship I have always dreamt of sharing with my Dad. Thankfully, Em and Ella do not have to contend with the same obstacle. Brian lives with us (when he isn’t traveling for business), so the girls spend time with him every day, and Allen spends time with them 3-4 times a week. Growing up without a father-figure is never going to be a concern for them.

In recent years I have made peace with the relationship I have with my father. There are many things I wish were different: I wish I saw my Dad more often; I wish my Dad and I talked more about everyday things; I wish I knew more stories about his life and family growing up. My Dad and I are different people, and the ways we express love and emotions differ. This fact, however, does not change the love I feel for my father. He is the only father I am ever going to have and I love him immensely.

Fathers play a vital role in their children’s emotional, mental and spiritual well-being. As a daughter, I can tell you the presence or absence of a father figure has a tremendous impact on a girls sense of self and the choices she makes throughout her life.

Emerson and Ella have been blessed with “two dads” who love them without condition, who champion their interests, who encourage their dreams, who emphasize the importance of education and experience, who kiss scraped knees and tickle tummies, who tell stories and listen to knock-knock jokes. They have dads who teach them about gardening, cars, bugs, books, super heroes, camping, fishing, swimming, kindness, courage, generosity, honesty and integrity.

Whether the mere mention elicits eye-brow raises, head scratches or general confusion, Em and Ella having two daddies is an odd and unexpected gift that I value beyond measure.

Life is What You Make It

When I picked Emerson and Ella up from their first day at Y camp yesterday, my first question, of course, was how’d you like it? Ella was the more excited of the two, which was unexpected considering our tearful morning good-bye. She announced that she had three new friends named Madison and another friend whose name she never quite figured out.

Em, who already had friends in her age group, and whom I assumed would be most excited, said it was hot and she had to walk. A lot. All in the whiney, yet terribly bored tone of a seven-going-on-thirteen-year-old girl.

Based on her response, you’d of thought we enrolled Emerson in some outward bound wilderness program for oppositionally defiant teens that are given some flint, fishing line and a sleeping bag and told to rough it out in the wilderness and decide which is worse: home life or trying to fend off grizzly bears in the darkness of night.

As an elementary aged child, I spent my summers at Muss Park – one of the many in Miami Beach’s parks and recreation division. The only air-condition at Muss park was a wall unit in the coaches’’ office where our lunches were kept in refrigerators and we campers were prohibited from lingering for any length of time unless there was some life-threatening circumstance requiring adult supervision.

I loved Muss Park and the friends I would reconnect with only during the dog-days of summer. Of course I was hot. We played outside in the heat of Miami’s summers all day long. We had one shelter in the center of camp equipped with multi-colored picnic tables and water fountains, but there weren’t fans or air conditioning.

Our camp counselors provided us with organized games like kick ball, dodge ball and jumping rope contests. We created all sorts of arts and crafts with way too much Elmer’s glue, beads, feathers and paint. Mostly, we invented our own games to play. We would sneak water from the drinking fountains so we could make mud pies or construct dirt villages for neighboring lizards and tickle bugs.

When my mom picked me up from camp in the afternoons, she always had a towel to protect her car seat from my filth. Pig Pen from Peanuts had nothing on this girl! My dirt and metallic smelling sweat were badges of honor I wore with the pride of all I had accomplished that day. After all, when you’re a little kid, playing is your job in the summertime.

I left Emerson in tears this morning. As a mother, this always makes me feel about two feet tall. I never want my children to be unhappy – especially when there is something I can do to prevent it.

At the same time, however, I want Em and Ella to experience what it should be like to be children – to play out of doors without having to fear some stranger swooping down and scooping them out of their own front years.

To laugh and giggle without having to worry about being disruptive.

To learn about life through controlled experiences like making new friends, going on field trips, following rules, team work, playing well with others, coming to the realization that the world does not revolve around them completely and totally, and that even when situations are not ideal, it is how we choose to see them and respond to them that ultimately define our successes or failures in life.

Helping Em get ready for her second day of camp this morning, I was struck with the realization that I am more like my mom than I ever imagined. That epiphany made me smile. As I sat on the corner of her bed, I asked Em if she had ever heard the saying that when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. Her response, of course, was I don’t like lemonade.

I took a God-grant-me-the-serenity kind of breath I needed and continued: Em, Grandma taught me this a long time ago. Sometimes she still has to remind me. You have complete control over whether or not camp is fun this summer. If you decide it isn’t going to be fun, then guess what? It isn’t going to be fun. If, however, you decide that you are going to have the most fun possible at camp, then guess what? This is going to be the best summer camp experience ever!

Life is what we choose to make of it. Yes. Sometimes when we least expect it we are pummeled with a crop of lemons when what we really wanted was an ice-cold pitcher of sweet peach tea. It is what we decide to do with the lemons that matters. 

It's the End of the World as We Know It .... And I feel fine!

I opted not to make my mortgage payment this month. I called in to work and told my boss I had better things to do. Forget that there are only two plus weeks left of school and that my children would have earned perfect attendance – I let them stay home and eat ice-cream all day long without once brushing their teeth.

I am only writing my column this week because of the self-centered sense of local celebrity I feel knowing that – like me or hate me – some people in Pickens County read what I write. According to Harold Camping, this is the last column I will ever write for the Courier, not to mention in my lifetime. On Saturday, May21st, the world and life as I know it, will be coming to an end.

Camping, credited with spending tens of thousands of hours analyzing the Bible, has figured out God’s great mathematical equations which pinpoint the exact date of the end. Instead of wasting precious time on Facebook or Twitter, Camping has elected to spend his time wisely. When his 1994 doomsday prediction wasn’t realized, I’m certain he didn’t want to make any erroneous miscalculations the second time around. 

In all fairness, however, it wasn’t completely Camping’s fault. Apparently “important subsequent biblical information was not yet known” in 1994. I must be so self-absorbed that I missed the news. Did God add some appendix or epilogue to the Good Book when I wasn’t looking? Maybe someone discovered a long lost letter from Matthew, Mark, Luke or John hidden in a secret pocket of Bin Laden’s robe?

Fear not friends, in the nineteen years since Camping’s 1994 prediction, “written biblical evidence has greatly solidified” leaving no question that May 21, 2011 is the day in which Jesus Christ will return. Rest assured that this date is not the product of the mind of one nut job or a group of them. It is the culmination of study of the entire Bible, both the Old and New Testaments, by a modern day prophet like Marshall Applewhite or Jim Jones.

Reading and studying anatomy textbooks in college qualified me to perform neurosurgery, didn’t it?

Many believers are jumping onto the doomsday RV caravan. Literally. There are End of the World RV caravans going cross country to warn people of impending doom. These folks have a lot of mileage to cover in a short period of time. Fortunately, the end of the world exempts them from pre-doomsday traffic rules.

 One older gentleman in New York spent $140,000 – his entire retirement savings – on signs advertising the end of the world. Apparently the former NYC subway worker hasn’t been following the needs of the Pickens County School District. Every little bit of revenue helps, right?

Pet adoption programs, run by certified atheists who know they will be left behind during the May 21^st Rapture, are springing up to help out those people who, while they love their family pets, will be too awe inspired ascending toward Jesus on a cloud, to worry about what happens to Spot or Fido. This is certainly a better alternative to going ahead and having their pets euthanized – a practice that some May 21 subscribers are already implementing.

As for me, my biggest point of contention is that I am not going to see who wins Celebrity Apprentice. Why did the finale have to be a two-parter? That Donald Trump is such a tease! And the Real Housewives of New Jersey started with such an explosive opener last night that it seems downright tragic to be unable to watch the senseless drama unfold over what I can imagine would be the most delicious Italian food I’ve ever eaten.

On the flip side, I will finally be able to find out answers to questions I’ve always wanted to know – like why is it that I can put 4 pairs of matching socks in the washer, but only 7 socks come out of the dryer? Who killed Jon Benet Ramsey? What are the secrets of the Masons?  Why does someone believe you when you say there are four billion stars, yet feel compelled to check when you say the paint is wet? If human beings evolved from apes, why are there still apes? Is that why Olivia’s squirrel committed suicide?

I hope you have enjoyed this column. It is the last one I will be writing, unless, of course, Harold Camping’s prediction turns out to be incorrect once again. In that case, anyone out there at Bank of America who’s reading this, my mortgage check is in the mail.

While you are sitting comfortably, reading this week’s edition of the Courier, I will be somewhere in the midst of a nine or ten hour car ride home from Walt Disney World listening to my children asking, for the hundredth time, “are we there yet?”

Whether or not Disney is the happiest place on earth certainly depends on who you’re asking. I have amazing childhood memories of traveling to Disney with my family and friends. Living in Miami, Disney was a regular vacation destination (Florida residents do get a discount after all). I also went many times as a young teen – mostly with my church youth group.

As a high school senior, I visited Disney as part of Grad Night. All Florida high school seniors had the opportunity to stay up all night and roam around the park with their classmates and with limited chaperoning.  Could there be anything more exciting for a 17 year old?

My last visit to Disney was in celebration of my honey moon with my now ex-husband. We came in October (there must not have been a Clemson game), and, seasonally speaking, it was probably one of the best times to visit.

When Brian and I decided we were going to travel to Disney for Em and Ella’s spring break, elated cannot being to describe how I felt about the adventure. Memories from my childhood rushed into my head – the exhilaration of Space Mountain, the magic of It’s a Small World, the thrill of Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, the wonder of visiting countries from all over the globe, Figment and that gianormous golf-ball looking object parked right in the epicenter of Epcot.

I’m not quite sure if it is my perfectionism, or if it is a simple case of “things change,” but Disney did not quite live up to my childhood memories or expectations. Don’t get me wrong – being on vacation with my family is fantastic. Having the opportunity to bring the girls to Disney feels amazing. But after only three days here, I am ready for a vacation from my vacation!

The older I become, the less I appreciate crowds. While I love the cultural diversity by which I find myself surrounded, I could make due with a few thousand less people. Trying to snake through the throngs of people, everyone with his or her own destination agenda in mind, holding on to sweaty hands attached to children whining about how hot it is or asking how much longer they are going to have to wait – well, it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Most of the rides I love were terrifying to my children. More than once we stood in a 40 minute line only to exit at the 11^th hour when we should have hopped into the next available amusement vehicle or bypassed amusements altogether.

This trip has made me wonder what the Disney experience was like for my parents. Were they as exhausted at the end of each day as I have been? Or were they able to relax and go with the flow? As a parent, Disney has been a completely different experience for me – one quite different from my childhood.

From the maddening crowds of people, to the patience testing wait times, I wonder how much of the discrepancy between my memories and my current experience exists completely in my mind? I’m certain there are thousands of Disney goers who would say that I am a curmudgeon. Maybe they’re right.     

Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down

I am so tired of the dark, dreary cold. Seriously. The grey seems to drain every ounce of energy from my body and spirit no matter what attempts I make to counter these feelings. I could easily curl up in fetal position and sob without ceasing.

Of course, I berate myself for feeling this way. Beat myself up and feel guilty. What on earth do I have to complain about?? I can list so many blessings in my life - endless things about which I should be happy. It isn't that I don't appreciate or love my girls, my family, my life ... that they don't bring me happiness. Ever. There are just days when the sadness is so oppressive and over-whelming. All I want it to feel good. To feel normal. Carefree. Yet these feelings seem so elusive to me - like they will forever be outside of my grasp. I hope this isn't true.

Budget Discussions Leave Me Perplexed

I have not posted in forever it seems, but I vow to explain why tomorrow. In the meantime, I cover the School District of Pickens County Board Meetings. I've found that I rather enjoy attending (especially when the debates get heated). Some of you might not apprecaite this post. For others, like my dear friends and educators Kim and Jason, this might hit home! In any event, here is my op-ed for the Courier this week.

Peter Parker (aka Spiderman) understands all too well the profundity of this statement: With great power comes great responsibility. I doubt that even Spiderman himself would want to have to weave his way through the budget nightmare in which the School District of Pickens County finds itself – yet again.

Past votes and decisions are just that – gone, done, yesterday - when all our troubles seemed so far away… The truth is we have big troubles right here and right now. I am not a numbers kind of girl, which is why I am a writer and not an accountant. Numbers to me are as elusive as the fountain of youth appears to be to Joan Rivers.

Still, I am intelligent enough to comprehend that a $5 million budget deficit is tantamount to being up the old proverbial creek without a paddle.

The logical answer seems to be to save money and generate revenue however humanly and legally possible. Mr. Saitta has said on several occasions that every dime adds up. Again, I’m not a numbers kinda guy but I can understand that when I have one dime I have 10 cents and when I have ten dimes I have a dollar. Fairly easy to understand, right?

This, however, is where I get confused. Dan Troutman, a regular speaker at board meetings, suggested that because our state does not mandate that board members receive a salary, and that 31 other districts throughout the state don’t pay their board members, it might be appropriate for the board to give their combined earnings of $18,000 per year back to our classrooms and children.

If we are to believe that every dime adds up, it would seem that 180,000 dimes could certainly be utilized in some manner beneficial to even a few children in Pickens County. No?

At last night’s board meeting, there was an all too lengthy debate over what to do with the four year old teacher laptops that are being replaced. Initially the idea to sell them to interested teachers was floated out there – perhaps prematurely. The more research that went into data wiping costs (which is a legal requirement), the organizational nightmare of keeping track of payments and possible complaints, it became abundantly clear to Mr. Newman (AIT Director) that selling the laptops for parts would bring money back into the district – approximately $130,000 (or 1,300,000 dimes if anyone’s counting).

Both Mr. Trotter and Mr. Saitta argued that it wasn’t fair to make the offer to sell the laptops, only to rescind it once all the facts were in and the district could make more money selling parts than the laptops. Guess what? The students in Pickens County are missing out on educational opportunities in the fields of foreign language, music, art and reading.  That isn’t fair either.

And while I would not presume to speak for the collective teachers in our district, I feel certain that any individual would rather have a job – complete with a salary and insurance benefits – than a four year old lap top that is going to be replaced with a brand spankin’ new one anyway!

I mean no disrespect to the School Board Members. I do not envy the decisions they have to make, but here’s the thing – they do not have to make those decisions in a vacuum. As board chair, Alex Saitta has implemented committees systems so that the skill sets of the individual board members are matched with similar committee – i.e. it makes sense to have a teacher, not a financial genius, head up a curriculum committee. This is a fantastic idea founded on the logic of building on people’s strengths and talents. However, after last night’s meeting, I am, once again, perplexed.

Board members sat before a packed house of SDPC Principals – the men and women on the front line in our schools. These men and women spend countless hours talking with their support staff, teachers, parents and students. Their combined skill set is the knowledge of what goes on in their schools day in and day out. Yet one after another, school board members candidly stated that they would vote against budget balancing solutions offered up by the principals in our district.

Alex Saitta has said that “Voters elect their board members to represent them, and that means they (the board members) have to listen to their constituents.” Principals and teachers in the district are also voting constituents. Last night their voices rang loud and clear, but it did not seem like many board members were willing to listen.   

  

My Mug of Love Runneth Over

Menopausal Symptoms.
My doctor said I should keep a log.
Insomnia?
Insomnia.
Check. Moving on .....

Yesterday morning, my wonderfully thoughtful mother brought me a cup of coffee in bed. Post-op and Brian out in Portland, I am bunking with her. Sometimes, no matter how grown up a person might be - I still want and need my Mommy. And I thank God I have her!


I love coffee. I love my mother. I love sharing coffee in the morning with my mother. No one else in my house shares the same joyous experience produced by simply holding a warm cup of love in one's hands. Coffee has been a part of my morning routine since I was 15 or 16. Like cigarettes, coffee was "cool" and "adult." In my the-world-is-the-size-of-a-pea teenage logic, in some sense it was non-conformist and Kerouacian. My mom and I are the only ones in our house who drink coffee. Frankly, I don't understand people who are non-coffee drinkers. I am starting to wonder if they are really aliens from some sad coffee-less plant inhabiting the earth so they can figure out how to perfect some other-worldly super coffee bean. To just not like coffee - well that is just plain bizarre.


My love affair with coffee has grown ever more torrid over the years. In the beginning I tolerated coffee and hoped that it was merely an acquired taste. For years I would only drink it if each cup was wantonly sweet. After Brian's cousin, Karen [one of the most amazing, mother-earth, deeply soulful spirits of a woman I know] came to help take care of me and Ella (and our whole family, now that I think about it), I cannot drink anything less than industrial strength, high octane, it puts hair on your chest and curls the hairs you already have coffee. I prefer mine with approximately two teaspoons of creamer. MMmmmm....creamy warm mug of love!


So, yesterday I woke up to the gift of coffee in bed and listening to my Mom trying to rouse the dynamic duo and get them dressed for school. Once I can get upright and catch my breath (Yes. It still hurts like hell to get out of bed), I wander in there to help out as much as I can. Dressed and ready to go, Em and Gma head downstairs for breakfast, and I am upstairs with wardrobe crisis Ella. After several attempts, she pulls on the perfect shirt for a February, but it is going to be warm later, Tuesday in Kindergarten.


Much to her dismay, I can't carry her downstairs. I remind her that Mommy just had surgery on and in her tummy. Doctor says I can't carry anything for a while - not even my favorite little monkey girl Ella. With her blanket over one shoulder and my mug of love in hand, we head down the stairs. Ever the inquisitive child, Ella wants to understand why I can carry some things and not others. I think it is so cool to watch the wheels turning in there as she categorizes things by weight and mass - heaviness and lightness - all that super neat science stuff that my husband reminds me I could have paid attention to while I was in school.


Ella points out that I have a cup of coffee in my hand. Smart ass that I am, I playfully tell her that Mommy's doctors know how much I love coffee and that I have to drink it in the morning, so I have special permission to carry it around as long as I don't pick a too heavy cup. I don't know that she totally gets my humor, but Ella certainly understands - to borrow a term of endearment from Junie B. Jones - that her Mommy is a nutball.


Fast Forward to 6pm yesterday evening .....


Emerson wanted to make her own cup of chocolate milk. Sometime in the process of making the chocolate milk and hugging Daddy Allen, the cat coffee cup (thankfully not one of my favorites) crashed onto the tile floor cascading chocolate, milk and cermaic cats everywhere. Tears dried (there is no sense crying over spilt milk after all) and mess cleaned, life as I know it goes on. About five minutes later, Ella starts dragging a chair across the kitchen floor so she can reach something in the cabinet.


"Can I help you?" I ask. "What do you need?"
"A cup," she answers.
"Are you thirsty?" I ask. "Do you want Mommy to get you something to drink before you climb up the cabinet like a monkey and fall and crack your head open?"
"I need a cup," she implores. "I need to make something."
"How about one of these cups?" You can't see me, but I am pointing to a disposable, plastic Solo cup on the counter.
"No. I need a mug kind of cup." I can feel her impatience with my questions.
Gma enters stage left and assesses the situation. Ella whispers something in my Mom's ear that makes her say "We've got it under control."
I walk back over to the kitchen table where I had been looking over the girls' daily school work and filling out forms for them to order some books - autographed by the local author - at school. Ella and Gma depart the kitchen, hang a left into the craft room - where I can hear them scratching around like little mice - and then they head back into the family room. Those two are up to something. Again. 


My suspicions are confirmed when I walk into the family room and Ella dives on top of the covert operation she has set up on the rug by the coffee table. I assure her that I am not looking and prove my point by sitting down at the computer and looking up the SDPC website. Em and Ella have racked up considerable milk balances at the cafeteria and we are starting to get those recorded messages that threaten broken knee caps if the $2.50 balance is not satisfied.


Finally, Ella announces that I can close my eyes because she has a surprise for me. I follow her directions and sit, eyes closed, eager with anticipation.
"Open your eyes Mommy," says Ella, beaming with a huge smile and those big brown eyes of hers. "I made you a special mug since your cat one got broken."


And she had.

Gma had helped her find one of the plastic mugs she and Em use to drink their morning milk. Using glue dots out of the craft room, she adorned the bottom with a band of irridescent pink ribbon and multi-colored buttons (Ella loves buttons and will glue them on practically anything that stands still). On one side of the cup she glue a paper heart cut of pink cardstock all by herself and decorated with red heart stickers left over from the valentines she and Em took into their classmates. On the other side of the cup, Ella glued on individual flower petals from a white rose that had been in an arrangement Nyda brought me while I was in the hospital. "This rose was looking kind of woggily," Ella explained. "So I recycled it Mommy."

"Ella.....it's beautiful!" I said. "I love it! Thank you, Ella B. You are such a sweet pea girl."

"It's a love mug Mommy," she said. "Because you love coffee and I love you and your cat cup got broken."

"I love you too, Ella B." And I pursed my lips and she squated down and gave me a kiss. "I will drink my coffee in it tomorrow."

As I sit here this morning, writing, I am enjoying a delightfully creamy, warm cup of coffee love, in my mug of love, crafted, by Ella, with love, for her Mommy who loves her and her sister so very, very much! I am thankful that in my life, as I know it, my mug of love runneth over. 

 

A Letter for My Daughters

Last Friday I underwent my 7^th, and, I pray, last abdominal surgery since Emerson Marie was delivered via emergency cesarean section in 2003. Every surgery has increased the possibility for complications, and in anticipation of the looming procedure, I couldn’t help but consider my own mortality. It’s not that I was afraid of surgery or dying. The scary part for me – should something terrible have happened – is missing the opportunity to watch my two little girls grow and blossom into adulthood.

I do a lot of writing in my head, so in between prayers, I composed chunks of letters I would want my daughters to have as they continue to grow – things I would want them to remember – to teach them – words of wisdom and encouragement from their Mom (in the event they didn’t have me there in person to deliver them). 

Obviously I am thankful to have made it – mostly unscathed – through the surgery, but we never really know what is going to happen one day to the next. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to go ahead and put pen to paper. Now that most of the anesthetic haze has worn off, I’ve tried to piece together my musings into a letter for my daughters.

Dear Em and Ella,

As your mom, all I have ever wanted for you both is an abundance of health, happiness and prosperity. The journey through life can be difficult to navigate, but each day is a new adventure and that – in and of itself – is a mighty reward. I know you will make mistakes along the way. There will be times when you feel sad and lonely – when you get down in the dumps and feel like everything is impossible. This happens to everyone. Mistakes are opportunities to learn from experience. The key is that you apply what you have learned so that you aren’t doomed to repeat the same mistakes time and time again.

The key to a happy, healthy life is faith in God first and foremost. I faced many challenges in my life, and I believe that without the grace of God, I would have never made it through. Putting your trust in God does not mean your life will always be easy, or that things will always work out the way you plan. However, faith makes those difficult times easier to endure when you remember that God will never give you any more than you are capable of handling. And if you can remember that God has a grand design and plan, He will lead you where you need to be. You have to be willing to take direction and follow His spiritual guidance.

You are perfect and special just because you are you. All I expect of you is to always try your best – to put forth 100% effort in everything you do – and be the best Emerson and Eleanor you know how to be. No one is perfect, and that is OK. Being imperfect is what makes you human. I think you are both extraordinary little girls. I am so very proud of who you are and who you are becoming. Continue to be who you are and you will be just fine.

What I admire so much about each of you is your strength. You come from a long line of strong women. It is in your nature. You are also strong willed and stubborn. These qualities will serve you well, but you have to balance them with willingness to compromise. Things cannot go your way all the time. Sometimes you have to give a little, and that is OK. The one thing I never want you to give up, however, is your sense of self. Don’t ever abandon your beliefs to gain acceptance of others. True friends will love you for who you are, and they will not ask you to compromise those ideals you hold dear.

Both of your Dads and I have always placed a tremendous amount of value in education. Don’t ever give up on school. And when it comes time to go to college, find a school that is going to offer you everything you want and need to be the best at whatever you choose to do. Study hard. Read voraciously. Take any and every class that interests you. Follow your passion. You are going to spend at least eight hours a day at work, so pick a career path that you love – that excites you – that has meaning and makes you feel like you are contributing to the world around you. Time spent on learning is never wasted, and when you finish school, your education does not have to end. Life offers tons of opportunities to learn something new. Take advantage of these opportunities when they present themselves.

Success is something you will have to define for yourselves. Some people think being successful is tied into making a lot of money, living in a huge house, driving an expensive car or tacking a prestigious title to the end of their names. None of those things ever mattered to me. Earning enough money to pay my bills and to be able to indulge in a few luxuries from time to time made me happy. Having a job that enabled me to help other people made me feel successful. 

Grandma always used to tell me that it is nice to be important, but it is more important to be nice. I couldn’t agree more! I always loved people. Every one of us has a unique story, and I enjoyed hearing people’s stories. It is so important to treat people with kindness and respect. You never know where someone is in their life journey, and you don’t always know what their prior experiences have been. You cannot judge people because you haven’t lived their lives and it just isn’t nice. Show compassion to others – help others who may not have had the blessings or fortunes you have been gifted. Cheer for the under-dog. Advocate for those who don’t seem to have a voice. Stand up for the little guy. Treat other people the way you want to be treated. I firmly believe that what goes around comes around.

Give with no expectation of getting in return. It is possible to be kind and compassionate without being a door mat. Be wary of people who take advantage of your kindness because those people do exist. But don’t be so wary that you are closed off. Remember that you cannot change anyone and trying to do so will result in heartache and madness. People are people. People have to want to change themselves. You can always help people who want to make changes in their lives, but they are going to have to do the “hard work” if the change is going to be lasting and meaningful.

Sometimes change stinks, but it is inevitable. Daddy used to tell me to relax and be the river. I’m afraid I was never very good at either. I over think things, but I don’t believe there is anything wrong with thinking things through and then knowing when it is time to put the issue to bed. It is easier to go with the flow than it is to always swim against the current. Don’t choose the easy path down the river just because it is easy. When you believe in something or someone and you think that person or ideal is worth fighting for – those are the times when you give it all your might and paddle as hard as you can against the current. There are times when you are going to have to do this, but life shouldn’t be like this all the time.

I was an only child growing up, and I have always had a small family. Always remember how blessed you are to have one another as sisters. Don’t allow anything to become a barrier to your relationship with one another. Watching you two together is one of the greatest joys of my life – the way you defend one another – wrestle – dance – laugh – sing – you put the biggest smiles on my faces. Even when you fight or don’t get along – I can tell how deeply you love one another sheerly from the amount of passion you invest in your arguments. No family is perfect, but family is important.

Friends are the family we choose for ourselves. Your Dad and I have been very lucky in the friend department. We do not have a huge group of friends, but we have a handful of amazing, irreplaceable friends – people who have been there through thick and thin – people for whom we’ve returned the favor – but between the lot of us, I don’t think we have ever kept score. That, my sweet peas, is what true friendship is all about.

 When you are older, and you meet that special someone, never be afraid to love with all your heart. I’ve never had a very easy time with romantic relationships for too many reasons to get into. Love doesn’t happen in real life like it does in movies, but real love is amazing and awesome and something we all deserve to experience. You know you’ve met the one when you have the flu and he still thinks your beautiful because he sees all your inner (as well as outer) beauty; he will be your best friend, your cheerleader, your encourager, your supporter, and, most importantly, he will tell you the truth when you need to hear it. He will be gentle and faithful; compassionate and caring; self-less and a great listener; and you will be happy when you are with him. Hold out for Mr. Right. Don’t settle for Mr. Right Now.

I want you girls to travel and see the world. Read tons of books. Listen to music. Dance. Indulge your passions. Give to those people who might not have been as fortunate as you. Pray. Listen. Go to the theater. Drugs and alcohol can and will ruin your life – and anyone who tells you otherwise isn’t a good friend. If a man ever hits you, leave immediately. This behavior does not warrant a second chance and will not get better.

Life is a precious gift, so make the most of it every day. Time is the most valuable gift you can ever give anyone. You have to love yourselves before you can love other people. Make time to put your toes in the ocean, sit by a camp-fire under the stars and splash in the puddles on a rainy day. Even if you don’t heed any of the advice I’ve offered in this note, always remember this every day that I got to be your Mommy was priceless. You girls are the most amazing blessings in my life. You are beautiful, inside and out, talented, smart, funny and you two can do anything you put your minds to; don’t let anyone ever tell you anything different. I am so proud of the young ladies you are becoming, and I have no doubt that I will be proud of the young women you become. Em, you will always be my snuggle bug and Ella B., you will always be my little bit. I will love you forever and ever and always, to the moon and back again, and nothing in this world will ever change that.

Big hugs and kisses and lots and lots of love,

Mommy

How do I Love Thee? Let Me Quote the Ways....

With Valentine's Day on the horizon, I complied a list of some of my favorite quotes about love and relationships. Hopefully one [or more] will sing to your soul as they have sung to mine. I have always had a very unrealistic-Hollywood-Big-Screen-esq ideal about love or the way love should be. While I think that my notions have been unrealistic, I am still a hopeless romantic and I still believe that love - in its many forms - is truly awesome and amazing. Love is powerful. Love is the catalyst for miracles. My perception of love remains idealistic to some - I'm sure - however, I think love is so amazing that it is worthy of idealizing. That said, read on and enjoy ..... 

“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.” - Aristotle

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
- Lao Tzu

“My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.” - William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

“Young love is a flame; very pretty, often very hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. The love of the older and disciplined heart is as coals, deep-burning, unquenchable.” - Henry Ward Beecher

“Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.” - Anais Nin

“Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward in the same direction.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

“Love has no desire but to fulfill itself. But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires; To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness. To be wounded by your own understanding of love; And to bleed willingly and joyfully.” - Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.” -Helen Keller

“Love does not dominate; it cultivates.” - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.” - Zora Neale Hurston

“Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love.” - Leo Tolstoy

“I have learned not to worry about love; but to honor its coming with all my heart.” - Alice Walker

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.”
- Pablo Neruda, "Love Sonnet XVII"

"In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities." -Janos Arnay

"I love you, not only for what you are, But for what I am when I am with you." -Roy Croft

"The only true gift is a portion of yourself." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

"It's so easy, To think about Love, To Talk about Love, To wish for Love, But it's not always easy, To recognize Love, Even when we hold it.... in our hands." -Jaka

"Two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one." -John Keats

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart." -Helen Keller

"There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved." -George Sand

"My heart is ever at your service." -William Shakespeare

"I am my beloved, and my beloved is me." -Song of Solomon

"To love is to receive a glimpse of heaven." -Karen Sunde

"Love is friendship set on fire." -Jeremy Taylor

Ella's Vagina Monologue

Let me preface this post by saying that I have taught Em and Ella the words "vagina" and "penis." These are parts of their anatomy like arms, legs, fingers and toes. Why not know the proper name for their genitalia? I've never dummed down anything else for them. Em and Ella are very intelligent little girls.

They are also little girls, so of course they find the word vagina hilarious. It is it's own joke ... punch-line and all. My best friend Ashley uses the word va-jay-jay, which I also happen to love and used in front of my girls one day. I think they love va-jay-jay even better than vagina. It is a fun word, after all....

The vagina is not a constant topic of conversation in our home, of course. But for effective communication, it just makes sense that Em or Ella is able to say "my vagina hurts" when they need to tell me something does not feel right. If one of them had an ear ache, they wouldn't say my "who-ha" hurts, right? 

This afternoon Ella was eating a bowl of cereal. She spilled the bowl full of milk and Lucky Charms all over the couch and her lap. I went upstairs to get her clean, dry panties and pants so she could change out of the wet ones. When I got back down stairs, Ella was sitting on the bench at the kitchen table. She had stripped out of her wet clothes, and she was perched, half naked, checking out her vagina.

I walked over with her clothes and helped her get on clean, dry panties and a pair of jeans. She was dressed and ready to move on to the next adventure. As I gathered up her wet clothing to put in the hamper, she says "Mommy, vaginas are kind of funny looking." I joined her on the bench and said, "yep. They are kind of funny looking aren't they." The conversation continued.

Ella: I think my vagina looks like a little mouth.
Me: I never thought about it, Ella, but I suppose it does look like a little mouth.
Ella: I think my vagina looks like it is smiling.
Me: If it is smiling, that must mean it's happy.
Ella: I love my little funny looking vagina.
Me: I'm glad you like your little funny looking vagina.

With that, Ella hopped off the bench and went running off to play with Em. I laughed to myself and thought Eve Ensler would be proud!

I think it’s a safe bet that most women, when confronted with a rain-drenched ex-husband crawling through their bedroom window, would march immediately to the nearest police station and begin the process of obtaining an Order of Protection. In my case, having my ex-husband climb through my bedroom window last Tuesday’s afternoon is, well, life as I know it.

To call my ex-husband, Allen, quirky is an understatement. Oddly enough, his quirkiness is, perhaps, one of his most endearing qualities. Allen and I met as grad students in the English program at Clemson. We were instant friends. The problem with our relationship, however, is that we were never more than friends no matter how much we might have tried to make the relationship romantic. It just didn’t quite work out.

In hindsight it is easy to say that we probably shouldn’t have gotten married, but I do not regret it because had we never been married, we would not have Emerson. Still, after only three years of marriage, I knew it was never going to work. I was unhappy, and I had the foresight to know that my unhappiness would negatively affect my daughter. Divorce seemed the healthiest course of action for all of us.

Our divorce was amicable and uncontested. There was no fighting over Emerson or money or property (there are some advantages to being a poor grad student when you get married). We kept the lines of communication open, and decided that whatever might happen, Emerson was always going to be priority numero uno.

Since our divorce, I have gotten remarried and had another daughter, Ella. Allen, in some ways, is still as much a part of my new life as he was when we were married. He did enter my house through my bedroom window without any criminal or legal repercussions after all. To most people, I’m sure this entire scenario seems bizarre, but in my life, this unorthodox relationship is par for the course.

Allen picks both Em and Ella up from school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Last Tuesday he happened to forget his key, which is why he came in through the window. He also picks them up on Sundays and takes them to the house he shares with his parents in Williamston. Papa, Gram and Allen have treated Ella like she was theirs from day one. They have never made any emotional or biological distinction between them. The same is true in our home. My husband and I met just as Em turned one. He has helped raise her from infancy, and she has always called him Daddy.   

Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day – we celebrate these holidays together as one big, albeit unusual, family: Em, Ella, Daddy, Daddy Allen, Grandma (my mother) Papa and Gram and me. Today it seems that families come in all shapes and sizes, so perhaps we are less the exception than we are the norm. However one might choose to describe or define us, we are a family nonetheless.

In my mind, Em and Ella are truly the ones who benefit from the blending of our family. How can it be a bad thing to have more than two parents to love and care for them? Doesn’t the saying go “it takes a village to raise a child?” Despite being a child of divorce, Em has never been pulled in a tug-of-war between two angry parents, and Ella has never been treated like an “other” because her DNA is not the same as Allen’s or his parents.

Too often it is innocent children who are forced to cope with difficult issues because the adults in their lives cannot muster the maturity it takes to put aside their own hurts and petty differences. Children become paws in a tortuous chess game designed by adults “get back” at one another. Insult heaped upon injury.

While my family tree might have some oddly entwined braches, its roots are deeply planted in a foundation of love, respect and understanding. Of course there are times when we disagree, moments when we get on one another’s last good nerve, but when all is said and done, Em and Ella always come first – on this we agree 100%. We want them to be happy, healthy, well-developed children. Thus far, I think we are doing a great job!  

The fact that people raise their eyebrows every time my children announce that they have two daddies – that is just an endlessly amusing dollop of icing on the cake of life.

One of the requirements to earn my MA in Literature from Clemson was the successful completion of an oral examination that spanned thousands of years in literary history and covered over 100 novels, stories, plays and poems. I spent several months preparing for what I anticipated would be the greatest challenge of my academic career. The duration of the exam lasted a little over an hour. I passed.

I remember bits and pieces from the exam. The most notable question posed by Dr. Paul was, simply, was Gatsby great? On the surface it would seem that The Great Gatsby’s title character is great merely because the novel’s title implies as much. That said, there are certainly many literary scholars who would argue the point. I am not one of them.

The Great Gatsby became one of my favorite novels the first time I read it during my junior year of high school. I couldn’t count the number of times I have reread it since then, but each of the copies I own has hand-written notes in the margins, highlighted passages and discussion points that interest me. Among the myriad reasons this novel is one of my favorites, there is one quote that stands out above the rest.

The narrator of the novel describes Gatsby in the first chapter saying “if personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life.… [Gatsby had] an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again.”

While things end poorly for Gatsby in the end, it is his “extraordinary gift for hope” that has always made his character attractive – great – for me. Hope is a powerful and amazing thing. Hope is the light at the end of the tunnel when the beginning of it is desperately dark and discouraging. Hope provides sustenance to the soul in the same way food nourishes the body. Hope inspires faith and dreams and makes possibilities limitless. Hope encourages people to strive for those things that others have discounted as impossibilities.

I want to have hope – hope for the present and hope for the future. Despite obstacles and adversities, I yearn to maintain an unfailing hope in the promise of what might be or what could be or what is to come. Imagine where we would be without hope? Without hope, scientists would not strive to discover cures for life-threatening illnesses. Without hope, would man have walked on the moon? Would Obama be president? Would children survive abusive upbringings and grow into adulthood?

Gatsby never wavered in his hope, and this is what makes him amazing. Holding onto hope can be extremely difficult at times – especially when it feels like the deck of life is stacked against you. The other option, of course, is to be hopeless. Hopelessness greatly diminishes possibility, potential and drains the spirit. Even when our hopes do not come to fruition in the ways we have anticipated, having hope to carry us forward beats the alternative. In the words of Winston Churchill – “never, never, never give up!”