Apparently, I am in charge of all this. It’s okay to wonder, though.
Everything we had is gone, and now all the words I wrote can only tell you what once was. Everything I was, I am still, or it was only a phase, and everything that existed here, in this place, has been blurred by time or dragged into the trash bin. So….someone really ought to offer some type of explanation, I would think, right?
I have approximately one hour before there will be crying children and cinnamon rolls, though, so let’s get on with it, k?
Can you believe it has been almost 7 years since I networked my way out of waitressing and into real, grown up marketing jobs? Sure, I had already supervised some teenage baristas in a touristy Starbucks, and there was that year I managed the south beach sex toy shop and almost sailed to Australia but somehow instead landed my ass in a short stewardess skirt, barefoot on a yacht in the Bahamas. And let’s not kid ourselves, I have been grown up since thirteen. But at 23, I was finally allowed to wear heels to an office and buy fancy lattes at the French place across the street.
Twenty minutes and the kids are awake already. And the cinnamon rolls are in the oven. No, not from scratch this time. See, I told you we wouldn’t have time for the full story. This is the way parenting works. Wait, the six year old just lost a tooth in her breakfast. Salt rinse, find a ziploc, all of you better wash the — okay lick the icing, fine — off your hands. But then wash them, please. This is the way parenting works. And I have been doing this… this whole being responsible for another person thing… for a decade. Yet most days I am barely able to adult, I am lost af without technology, and most of my life I have been treated like a child if not a lost cause.
When my daughter turned two and I had missed out on most of her milestones, I quit my job and said something like “hey, it’s okay society has no support system for caretakers, it’s cool, I’ll just give up my insurance and paid parking and all the perks of working in a posh office on Miami Beach, and instead I will happily choose to become completely dependent on the man with a domestic violence record who is totally equally responsible for the children we decided to have together” or… something like that.
Then I did what every basic white girl with a baby does, and decided to start a mommy blog about my life as a SAHM. I left out minor details as the page numbers grew, like how I knew immediately after I saw those two pink lines on New Years, that I had made a mistake, and how the weight of raising children in a toxic relationship was burying me alive and I was barely fucking hanging on. Divorce is hard. To be honest, I have been through hell and back. The return trip is harder.
I have not had coffee in seven days, by the way. See above; fear of dependence.
But children keep growing, despite fear, despite chaos, you know. The baby, Charley B, is the age that Leo was when the older three children and I left Florida and moved in with John. Both of them have clocked more time in carseats across the country than I ever had as a child. This summer seems like such a blur. The memories are there and the words will come, but first, October demands attention, and little feet need little boots and little heads need little coats to keep warm in the cold rain. So off to Target we go and so little time we have.
I want to tell you the whole story, you know. Just all at once, I want to spill everything to you. Sigh. We’ll get there.
There are mixed feelings about being back on the blog, even if most of them end in exclamation marks. It was never my intention to disappear, but so much happened, and time can only travel this way. Still, I live and breathe, and believe it or not, I am passionate about this mess we call creativity. It has taken me entirely too long to accept that I just do things differently, and maybe see things differently, and I have this suspicion that I am not alone. I want to share my messy mind, and the chaos it causes, and the beauty it creates. Freedom to be who I am is a gift that I fought for, and I am grateful.
I want to write about real life.
🎧 The Beatles, Anderson East