Howdy (cont’d)

But here’s the thing.  I’m so afraid right now.  I don’t like it, hate it, in fact.  Being afraid sucks.  But I am, I’m afraid of any mistakes she will make that bring her pain and upset.  Especially while she’s living here, because of course, then we all go through it.  For the longest time I’ve felt that I couldn’t handle anymore. Not one more thing.  I’m starting to feel stronger now. Marginally. But I still feel that way, just not as fiercly. 

These are pretty big issues and it’s odd that I haven’t been writing about them as writing has always helped me. Maybe that’s part of the resisting it, or maybe it’s so huge I just haven’t been able to yet.  Or both. I do know that as soon as I start to write, it’ll come out.  I don’t even plan it, my fingers start and I’m off. 

Steve (hubs) gets so pissed at me, and with just cause, for getting too involved with Brie’s life.  Then I get to where I feel what she feels, making it impossible to be any kind of help or give any guidance at all.  But how does a mother, especially one that’s been so involved, step back? I don’t know. But I’m going to try. 

What makes it so hard is that her relationship with Carl is so very much like my relationship was with Brie’s sperm doner. Ok, father.  (He’s just been no kind of father so it’s hard to say that!) We’re talking damn near identical. So I think I can help her not make the same mistakes. Ha. NO one can do that for anyone. I know this, but do I stop? No.  I want so desperately to steer her from the pain I felt, you see.  And I can’t seem to get it through my head that I cannot.  And I should not. It’s her life and her road to travel, not mine.  The things she goes through will shape her as it’s shaped me and if I protect, or try to, I’m just messing with that. 

These things, this time in my life, is really a struggle.  I’m not even living my own life, how could I be? Resisting on one hand as hard as I can, and desperately trying to help Brie on the other, plus being the best wife and mom I can be to Steve and Chels.  And I can be pretty damn strong in the resisting and desperation department.  Headstrong is the word that’s been used all of my life, in describing me.  I’d have to agree.  It’s not a benefit.  More like my achilles heel. 

So as you see, I’ve been much too busy with other peoples lives to write about my own.

But you know what? Here’s the kicker. I don’t really want to live my own right now anyway.  My own really hurts.  *Logan is crying right now. Downstairs. It is KILLING me not to go down and fix whatever the hell is wrong.*  I want to make it better for everyone. For anyone.  But my kids, oh especially my girls, I want them to be happy, to love life, to be happy with themselves.  Sounds good I guess, like a nice quality,  but it’s not. I go overboard.   Ok. So now I just have to stop that. No problemo. *snort*

As I reread the part up there, about my girls and how I want them to be happy, I had to laugh.  How the hell can they live life to the fullest if I don’t let them? That means taking the good with the bad, learning to understand there’s a time for everything and accepting it.  Oh yeah, they’ll do that, because their mom is SO good at it right now. 

Well, hell.

Screw up #9,687.  That’s probably a low estimate there but I’m trying to make myself feel better here!  I realized all this stuff a few days ago, so I’ve had some time to throw it around inside of my head.  I know what I have to do, I’ll figure out how to do it.  I’m on it.  I have help. I’m thankful I’ve never had this, but so many have said they can hear their mother’s voice in their head telling them how to do this or how they’ve messed up, etc.  And I’m thankful I do have my dad’s voice in mine. Because his voice is helping me be strong and follow the right path. That I can do it, I can do anything I set my mind to and I already know how.  Thank you papa.

I’m so glad and feel so blessed we had that time to tell Dad all that. That we all had time to thank him for being such a great dad and for all the things he taught us and how much we loved him.  At the time, it hurt so bad, just the knowing hurt so bad, that none of us could bear to think of it as a blessing for what it was doing to Dad.  But looking back now, I can see it was. And I’m thankful. And feel pretty fortunate.  Thank you God.  So much.

Time is a great healer. In this case, the only one.  That I can accept.  The rest will come in time.  I will watch for eagles-we all do now, they’ve become our signal for Dad.  I will remember what he taught me and I will try my damndest to live it.  Instead of fighting the tears I’ll try and let them come and look at them as healing, letting some of this pain out.  No more living thru’ others to avoid my own life.  That’s just cowardly and oh I hate that. 

Alright. Now. Do I have room for my Logan story? I think so.  What is my little punkin doing now you ask? Oh…everything he can possibly get his little hands on. The latest of course, is the Christmas tree and my Santa I have next to it. I’ve had him for years and he’s about Logan’s size with the red suit and holds a candle that lights up. It’s the candle Log’s really wants.  He loves Santa too, but that candle fascinates him.  Santa will be lucky to have that arm come the end of the season.  Oy. I block off the tree with chairs-that Logan does his best to move out of the way, grunting and pulling and pushing.  Boy they make him mad! Damn chairs.  I laugh just thinking about that little face all screwed up with concentration -“I will move these huge things, I will!” Justa grunting.  So then we run, and get him interested in something else. Or just give up and keep him in the room with us, wherever that might be, with the gate up. 

 …Cont’d (sigh, ran out of room.)