Happy birthday to me

It's my birthday today and normally I don't make such a big deal of it but I'm feeling a little hurt right now. My kids all made me breakfast in bed and sang to me, my mom and her boyfriend bought me flowers and a card but I barely even got a glance from my boyfriend. I suppose I was expecting him to at least get me a card, or something. Is that too much to ask? To be noticed at all?
It was the same for Valentine's Day, the same for Mother's Day and I guess he's just being consistent.

He's a good guy, but sometimes a little bit of romance would be nice. Am I being too sensitive about this?  I go all out trying to make sure he feels special, especially on his birthday. I guess I was just hoping for the same treatment. I want to feel special too.

Sunday Confession #Rejection

(Hosted by More Than Cheese and Beer)
Sometimes I think it would be so easy to just turn everything off. I've always been an overemotional person and I think it has only gotten worse as I age.

I've felt so much hurt and so much guilt and so much rejection from just one person. But I've felt so much love too. It's the kind of love that consumes you which, thinking about it now, is probably not healthy for you.

I have to confess. My first love was not with the boys' dads. I thought I loved them but now I know it wasn't real. I found my first love at the age of 28. I never planned on loving him. I spent a great deal of my time gaming on World of Warcraft. I was so unhappy in my life, so depressed and smothered, that I found solitude in the game and the friends that I had made. He was one of them. And I remember, before ever knowing his real name or where he lived or what he looked like, that there was something special about him. I liked being in chat and watching the funny things he would come up with. He was a flirt with all of us in the group. (I grew close to probably about 10 people who made up the core of the guild) And we just laughed and chatted and it was always just that.

2 years after "knowing each other" we started chatting more and then more and eventually it lead to phone calls and emails (the first time I heard his voice, my whole body literally started to shake) and I still had no idea what he looked like. But it was that moment I knew I felt something more than friendship for him. Maybe if I had stayed away, or stopped playing the game, it never would have progressed. And I often wonder if he regrets letting it get that far too. It would have saved us tremendous amounts of pain.

But we were like moths drawn to the flame. We couldn't stay away. I craved to hear his voice, to talk to him. Eventually we decided to send pictures. And I saw him. His eyes were beautiful. Even typing this now causes a stir in my heart that I try so hard to push down. I feel my eyes moisten and I have to fight the urge to let the tears out.

And after I was too far gone did it really sink in that he lived on the other side of the world. I'm west coast, he's east coast. And if that wasn't enough, we also lived in different countries. Me in Canada and him in America. We should have stopped there. We should have known better. But the love we felt for each other wouldn't let us see reality. Everything was viewed in rose colored glasses. Mine were so pink you couldn't see anything else in them and his were just lightly frosted. I was all in. I thought we could conquer it all. He wasn't sure we could.

We made plans to meet. I would fly to him. We would see each other face to face and find out if these feelings existed when we were in the same room together. He chickened out. He cancelled on me. He ran. And I had my heart completely and utterly shattered. The man I was head over heels in love with, rejected that love and me. And that should have been it. I should have picked up the broken pieces of me and moved on. But I was at a standstill. I couldn't. I should have hated him. I should have regretted ever getting to know him. I should have let go. So many I should haves. But I didn't. And we found our way back to each other. Again. And again he ran and again I should have moved on. And again... And again. I let him break me way too many times. But I couldn't stop loving him. Which is so stupid. And so weak. How many times could I be rejected before I finally gave up? Before I could finally heal?

3 years of this "dance" (4 times he ran from me) and we finally met face to face. I spent a week in Michigan. A week of my life loving this man and being near him. A week where the very nearness of him would send my body into complete shivers even though it was summer and hot. And when that week was done, I was in tears the whole flight home. And days and days after that. I never knew how hard it would be. And it made me realize why he ran. Why he rejected these feelings. Why he compartmentalized it all. And made me wish on some level that I had let sleeping dogs lie. We couldn't be together. He has his daughter there and I have my boys here. Neither of us can move. And so we thought it best that we both move on. And so I did. And he didn't. And I feel guilty and sad and, I don't know. Now, I'm the one causing pain. I'm with someone who is really great, but I don't love him. He is kind, and thoughtful and attentive and I hate that I can't open myself up to him like he has to me.

And the guy in Michigan.. well... I need to forget. I need to bury those feelings deep down. He's hurting. I hate that he's hurting. He wants us to try. He says he is finally ready and now I'm the one rejecting him. Love isn't enough. A lesson I had to learn the hard way. It's a very tangled web I have weaved inside my heart and I don't know how to fix it. And I wish I did.

Sunday Confession #InMyCloset

I think it would be easier to tell you what's not in my closet. My closet hides everything. I'm not a super neat person, never have been. Most of the clothes in my closet are not even ones that I wear. All my clean clothes are usually still in the laundry basket and dwindles down as the days go by. I hold onto things because I think, maybe one day I'll fit into that again. I also have a box full of drawings that The Monkey and Little One have made for me. I just don't have the heart to throw some of these things out. I have keepsakes, from 20 years ago on the top shelf. It's also the place I put things that I take away from the kids.
I've always envied those closets that are so organized and put together so nicely. I try to do that but then my old patterns keep coming back. Can't teach an old dog new tricks I suppose.

I'd like to think that would change if I ever had tow hate a closet but then I'd probably just end up overtaking it all anyways.

Oh well.

Sunday Confession #Insecurities

Oh boy. What can I write about insecurities that doesn't take up all day?

As a little girl growing up in an emotionally abusive household, I have enough insecurities about myself that could fill my house.

My weight is an issue, even when I was at my smallest, I still felt huge.
Now, I'm bigger than I would like and it affects every aspect of my life.

I feel ugly. I hate my hair, my skin, my everything. Who wants an ugly, fat, single mom of 4?
That's what goes through my head on a daily basis.
And that's the demon I have to fight on a daily basis.

I care way too much about what other people think of me. Sometimes I won't even speak because I worry about what they will say or think. I know not everyone is going to like who I am and I can tell myself that over and over until I choke on those words but that sense of dread is always present.

I remember being pregnant with Little One and throwing myself at my ex because I just wanted him to touch me. He would spend the night watching porn and talking to whatever girl he had on the side and I would be in my room silently crying myself to sleep. It took a very long time to find my sterner and kick him out. That was probably the strongest thing I did in my whole life.

I don't want to hate myself. I don't want to be that girl I was, crying in the dark, hoping noone will hear me.
 I've come a long way from her, but I know I still have a long road ahead of me.

My little one

Today my little one turns 5. He is now a whole hand. My tiny little boy, who still fits size 3 clothing, is growing so fast. Too fast it seems.
Giving birth to him seems like it wasn't that long ago, but in truth it has been exactly 5 years. How did that happen?
Perhaps this is more bittersweet for me because he is my last. My body will no longer grow a child. I will no longer get those newborn snuggles, steal those first kisses or hear mommy for the first time ever.
Not that I'm hoping it would have happened again, I'm quite content with my 4 boys.

But my baby is no longer a baby. He will be starting school.
I can already see the changes in him.
How did he grow so big? How did he get so smart?
Why does it feel as though in just a blink, my boy changed so much?
5 years ago, my doctor placed a tiny, blonde haired, wrinkly little boy on my chest. I wrapped my arms around him for the first time. I kissed his nose, his cheeks, his fingers and toes. I explored every inch of his round little body, feasting my eyes upon my son. MY son. I brought him up to my heart and he curled right in as though he knew that's exactly where he belonged. And he hasn't left.
If my whole life could be defined in moments, just little moments, where I knew without a doubt that what I did mattered, this would be one of them. The day he came into this world.
Happy birthday to an incredibly gentle and loving and beautiful soul. My heart will always be yours.

Sunday Confession #ThingsIdointheshower

I love the shower. I tend to have mine at night more than anything. I could and usually do spend a lot of time in there. There's something about the hot water running over my head and body that is very relaxing to me. The hotter, the better.
Besides the usual hair and body washing and shaving of bits, I like to just lean against the wall (I have a very tiny shower stall--only big enough to fit 2 people) and let the water run over me.
I sometimes have music on because I love to sing and somehow the water drowns out the horrible screeching of my voice to others.
Other times I like it quiet, because in a house of 4 boys, it's never quiet.

But mostly, I love staying in the shower because it's an escape for me. I can lock the door, step into the heat, and wash away all troubles and stresses and dirt that has leeched onto me. For 30 mins (that's usually how long the hot water lasts) I can drown it all out and come out refreshed.

Sometimes, I like to share that experience with another.
How do you think I know that my shower stall can fit 2 people? ;)

Sunday Confession #Regrets

Regret.
I have been chewing on that word for a very long time.
 It's bittersweet in my mouth because for some of my big regrets there also came something wonderful.

On the surface I can say so easily, I regret that decision but then when I really dig deep down, right to the bloody core of it, I can see slivers of beauty intertwined all throughout.
Regret of being with my ex is laced with every smile, every tear, every hug, every moment with my little one.

But there are things I do truly wish that I could go back and do over.
I regret not standing up for myself and for others.
I regret not speaking up because I was too afraid that I would be unliked.
I regret not showing those closest to me how much I was really hurting.

I regret not fighting when I should have.
That's a big one. I'm not a fighter. I hate conflict.
I would rather hide my head in the sand instead of face something head on.

My regrets are my armor and I think it's about time I take it all off.