The sweetest boy!

I know that I usual focus on my Maddie because she is a girl...and I am a girl, but I feel compelled to open my heart up with my little boy. I loved the first time someone couldn't remember my name and said "You are Eli's mom!". It set off little butterflies in my heart. I am Eli's mom! I was scared to death..seriously, when I was told I would be having a boy. What do I do with a boy? I read as many books as I could find and I was opened up to a world of love and a bond that could never be duplicated...being the mother of a little boy like Eli. It has not been your "normal" child raising with Eli. He has a speech delay and that has made numerous things more difficult than they would be otherwise. I am often around children his age and I get a deep ache in my heart. Other 3 year olds are talking about baby Jesus, and their friends, and telling their mother's that they love them. Eli can't or doesn't do those things. I felt like a heathen when I realized that Evan and I had not told Eli about baby Jesus. We realized that there are a lot of things we haven't taught Eli because we are unsure of how much he understands. I get very little feedback when I talk to him or read to him. He doesn't show a mental delay. We are beginning the process to get him into speech therapy. It breaks my heart into pieces to think he might have a struggle like this when he begins school. I search back over his life to find what I did wrong...did I cause this huge problem in his development?

Sometimes I sit back and just watch him. Trying not to let my mind be crowded in what he can't do. He has the most excitable and expressive face. His eyes brighten when he smiles. He laughs more than he cries...most days! I have been most blessed when I watch him with his sister. When she first came he wanted to hold her all the time. He would take the bottle from my hand and go and feed her. I would often here or see him walk over to where she was laying and he would say, "Hey girl"...that is her nickname now, because of the "name" he gave her. he loves babies and loves to kiss them on the head just like he had done with Madeline. When she could move around and touch his toys he became less affectionate...as to be expected. Every now and then I will catch him giving her her pacifier or getting a tissue to wipe her nose...even giving her a bite of his snack. I see a heart in my boy...a heart that I had prayed so hard. I pray that he is just like his daddy. I pray that he is more generous than the world would expect. I often feel a little hand around my arm and he will be looking up at me and all he'll want is a kiss. Perhaps my favorite task is the boo-boo kisser. He doesn't get hurt a lot...not for lack of falling, he has a hard head, but sometimes he will come up to me crying and I'll ask where his owie is, he will point, and I will lay a gentle kiss...and the tears dry up immediately. What a powerful message to my heart...I am his mommy.

I have often been intimidated when I hear or read of people thanking their mother's for their sacrifices and their hard work in raising them...just general deep love of mothers. I have even read books where people suffer a huge gap in their lives and in their personalities because they didn't have a mother. How can I ever live up to such expectations? How can I mean so much to these two people? I couldn't possibly ever mean that much to someone. What if I mess up? What if I am not the best? What if I can not teach them to be kind, loving, and fair? I am none of those things...how can I teach them? We went into Wal-mart on Saturday and passed the veterans collecting for Toys for Tots. Evan said that he would look for toys to donate. I agreed but was chastising myself because if it had been me alone with the children...I probably wouldn't have donated. I am not giving. I know I am living by the horrid example I was given but that is no longer an excuse...a fact...but the time has come to overcome. We found some toys and gave them to Eli to drop in the box. He wasn't sure what to do and wasn't too sure he wanted to give the box of cars away. I was hoping that that was the beginning of my son learning to be a giving man. To be so thankful for what he has that he would want others to "have" as well. I have learned that giving from feeling guilty is not selfless...it is selfish in a way. Wanting to give so that you don't have to feel bad just doesn't sit well in me. I want to teach myself and my children to give because of the joy we have in receiving. Giving so someone else can feel the joy of receiving is what I want to be their motivator. That is selfless. Isn't that why we buy and wrap up gifts for our kids or family? Not because it is expected but because we searched for something that we knew would excite them. The look on their faces is thanks enough...you have communicated your love this time in a gift.

Been a while

It has been like a month and a half since my last post...but you knew that already. I certainly get caught up in this season of holidays. My agenda reads like a road map! Needless to say that these 2 months have not been without incident. Both of my children have had birthdays!!! Eli turned 3 and Madeline turned one! I simply can't believe it!!

The holidays bring a small amount of bitterness or maybe a better word would be "longing". We always make plans to go here and there...but always with Evan's family. I long for things to be different. I wish my mother was the opposite of who she is now. I wish that my children had a safe "Quinn" family place to go to for holidays. I wish I could give them a bigger legacy instead of a one sided one. It simply isn't possible but the holidays still bring with them a certain, small loneliness. I am excited and grateful to have my children and my husband. We have our own special plans for Christmas and will celebrate as a little family. I guess it would just be nice to finally have my own family gatherings to look forward to. We have been blessed this month and our children have been and will be spoiled with love and even a few gifts. I hate that it always sounds like I am complaining or wanting more. Well, the truth is that I do want more. My in-laws were here recently. They stayed with Evan's sister an hour away. She had had a baby and Diane came to help. We made the trip several times to see them but they only made the trip to us once...for Madeline's birthday party. Diane did get sick but had only planned to come to be with us for less than a day and ended up canceling. When they were here, both of them were literally by the door ready to leave and go back to be with Evan's sister. It was bizarre, to say the least. I understand that it is different when your own daughter has a baby. I understand that your relationship with your daughter is just closer than your daughter-in-law...but that is what I am talking about. My mother will never look on my with "awe" at being pregnant. My children will never have the same kind of relationship with their grandma as I had with mine. Their grandmother is not affectionate and does not pursue them. She lives 16,000 miles away and does not pursue her grandchildren when she is 16 inches away. That breaks my heart. I wish she were different too. Evan's parents are my kids' only shot at grandparents and they are failing miserably. I am soooo tired of my kids missing out. They are most definatley loved but I want those bonds for them as well.

In the last 6 months my role in Evan's family has changed. Diane and I decided...well I suggested and never heard a reply, that we have a shift in the relationship. She was getting frustrated that my progress to healing was not...faster. I was frustrated and hurt by her seemingly cold feelings towards my pain. I told her that I would no longer be expressing my pain or my fear, or anything of the like. I would allow her to be our mother and our grandmother. Long story short, I started this blog and found a freedom I hadn't ever experienced. Those who read this are fellow survivors. People who understand deep loss and pain. I am not sure the new role I gave myself is a good one or a bad. I keep my real self away from all of them. Meaning the relationships are civil but they are surface. They are all about the kids and nothing more. It sounds bad but seems to keep everyone happy. Evan's sister even said to me that (since she and I had a small falling out in May) the families seem to be closer after "what happened". I had to laugh out loud when she wrote that to me in an email. She and I never spoke to each other about "what happened". I know that Diane filled her in on what happened between us...another reason to cut the heart stings I had attached to Diane. I simply stopped hoping or wanting someone to understand. I expect nothing from them. I give them nothing to gossip about. If they still decide to talk about me...may they realize how destructive that is before it is too late. I have wondered if everyone has to put on this sort of "face" or "mask" inside a family. It doesn't feel right but still seems to work. I got tired of that family making me feel like who I was was not good enough or wrong. Was I looking to receive something from Evan's family that they could not give? Was I being unfair? Was that as good as it would get? I don't feel like I am who I am with them but again...everyone is happy with the "new" me. It is a shame but life is a little more peaceful. I wish they loved me for what I have overcome but they will never know....that has to be enough for me.

I was even suggested that someone in the family did not like my choice for Madeline's birthday theme...Disney Princess. I have heard a common distaste for the color "pink" and all that it stereotypically means to a female. That is dangerous ground with me. Pink is a color....just like yellow, purple, or blue for crying out loud! Some would let themselves believe that a "girly-girl" with her ruffles and necklaces in pink is a sign of weakness. DANGER, DANGER, DANGER!!! Why would you ever tell your daughter that something she might like now or in the future is weak...or shameful? Women wear ruffles...women wear jewelry...women can wear pink!!! I will teach my daughter that she can be whatever kind of girl/woman that she wants. Why not? She is a girl, right? Is it not in her to be maternal? Is it not in her to pick up a doll and hug it instead of throw it to the ground and begin to wrestle with it like a boy? Boys and girls are different...plain and simple! She has plenty of time to decide what she will like and dislike. It is my job, and my pleasure to lay a foundation that she can be...whatever! My mother hated her own womanhood. She strives to be strong and independent. Femininity was a total loss on her and that was passed on to me. My Maddie will never struggle with knowing what a real woman looks like. It should be said that Maddie was dressed in a tutu and pink sneakers for her birthday party! A little of both worlds! A complete picture of the beauty that makes up my daughter. It has also been said that mothers should not let their daughters' live in a fairy tale. Letting them think that people fall in love at first sight and live happily ever after is destructive when they face reality. I think you all know how I feel about this one! People do fall in love at first sight...well, I loved my children before I ever laid eyes on them...but that is basically the same thing. My daughter will never believe that life is perfect with me for a mother. I mean that in a good way. I don't pretend. Evan and I have words and I am a load person. Why thrust my daughter into the "hard knocks" of life when she can still enjoy her childhood. Kids don't leave the house thinking life is like living inside of "Cinderella" unless you make them think that! I don't have all this figured out right now...I guess I don't really have to. My Maddie is a princess. She has a better life because her mother lets her be a child...a little girl dressed in pink frilly dresses until she tells me otherwise! Let it be!

"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love." -Washington Irving ---This quote makes me think back to 3 and 1 year ago when my babies first drew breath. I have cried many tears in my life...until I could cry no more. My grief was, in fact, overwhelming. My pain no longer controls my life. The love I feel now can often not be measured in words. To be the mother of Eli and Madeline is my greatest...deepest joy.

It all ends in Heaven

I am having a hard time getting my feelings out into words. The burden I have felt this week is suffocating my creative output. When you realize that you weren't the only one...when the body you passed in the hallways of that house was burdened just like you...it cuts deep and you just want to bleed out. I thought I had done better. I thought I was a shield but it turns out...I never saved anyone. All I tried to do and I couldn't save them.

My brother, C, told me this past week...that he was gay.

A flood of other painful and stinging truth followed. In addition to my mother's beatings he was molested by my oldest brother. GOD, WHERE WERE YOU?!?!?! Where was I? God put me there to save him... Where is the hope you promise? I never saved anyone! All that time I thought I was keeping them safe from my mother and all the while the predator was my own blood. I have to wonder and I have to ask...is that why he is gay now? Is his desire now for men after a male first stirred "feelings" in him? A helpless boy...helpless with no where to go. What a mockery of love that is...when someone steals your innocence. Innocence being the freedom from adult thoughts and adult "desires". God you PROMISE never to give us more than we can handle...you promised. That seems like you are expecting too much of a young child. Most adults can't handle their hormones...how can such a thing be expected of a child who isn't ready? God where were you? I know choices were made and a victim emerged...but why? Where are all those lightening bolts people always talk about? Where is God our defender??? This is why I want to slap anyone who tells me I need to forgive that witch!! It isn't over! She was meant to protect us all! Her life is almost over and we are left with a life time of pain to overcome. Till the day we die we will be fighting for our very lives.

I have tasted the bitterness of life. I have been hated to the point my own mother was inches from taking my life. I have been so overcome by pain that I have held a knife to my own flesh...ready to press hard and watch life drain out of me. I have screamed out to God "WHY!?". Why me? Why are so many others carried through childhood so that they have every ability to walk through life in freedom? Why, why, why us? Why those six kids on Allentown Road? Why were we so unlovable? Why couldn't my own mother embrace me? Why couldn't my own father stay with me?

Can I say that I have never been more aware of the deep love I have for my brother, C, than I have this past week. His dignity as a human being and the respect he deserves as such was never wavered. I mourned for his past and the torment he feels now. I mourn for his choice though I don't see there was another way. I have to believe God is guiding him to an amazing healing. May it take my breath away when I see the man my brother was always meant to be. Some will tell me that God could not possibly "be" with a man caught in homosexuality. Liar! God was with me and guiding me long before I came to Him October 18, 2005! In God's eyes we are all equal to the murderer, the thief, the homosexual, the rapist, the liar. As hard as it is to understand how God can love us all the same when our sins are not the same...He does. My brother is wounded.

This is not how it should have been. This is not how it was meant to be. How can I ever believe that God was always in control? When will I finally see why this all happened? Will my pain...will there pain be given reason? Was there a purpose? Will I just have to wait? I recently read a book written by Miep Gies. She was one of the 6 people who helped hide Anne Frank and 7 other Jews during the Holocaust. She is now 100 years old. All her friends and even her husband have long since passed away. She spoke of her pain at not being able to keep her friends, those 8 Jews, safe. She spoke of the moment when she will finally pass on and be reunited with those she misses so dearly. She spoke specifically of walking back into the hiding place and everyone would be there safe and sound. Her husband would even be sitting in his typical position awaiting her arrival. This stuck with me. I wondered what my heaven would look like. For that matter, would heaven be the same for us all? God created us with free will so that we would CHOOSE to love Him. Forcing us to worship and love Him is empty. Is that in itself a clue to what awaits us after we have traveled through this life? So then, what will my heaven look like? I imagine it covered in snow...the good kind. Not too soft but not too hard! I turn around to six smiling faces. My two brothers and my two sisters sit amongst my children on a sled. They ask me to pull them faster and faster. We'll come to a hill, what good is snow without hills? I'll sit behind and somehow wrap my arms around all six of them and off we'll go down the hill...my ears will flood with laughter...and joy! Everyone is safe...thank you God, everyone is safe. God smiles and His heart leaps at our laughter and our love. All of us will know what it is like to be carefree. We will be loved till it hurts...a good hurt. All of us will understand what it is like to be full of a Father's love...to be his only child among billions of His children. I will know what it is like to be the bride given away by her Father. I will know what it is like to hold my Father's hand. I will know what it is like to be taken care of. My siblings will be restored in front on me..all of this life will be forgotten. No more bruises and no more tears. This is my Heaven. I am sure there is more to heaven than this but for now this is where I want to be. I was a mother long before I gave birth to Eli. Every mother wants to protect her babies. This is my Heaven...where every abused child runs and laughs and plays...for eternity.

taking a breather..

I am working on a post now...but I had to stop and take a break. I guess some things can be a little too raw...or something. I found comfort in the words of Mary Beth Chapman who lost her youngest daughter a year and a half ago. I so love someone else in pain telling me they are not always cheering on God when they just don't understand. The lines of abuse seem to go on forever and my heart is breaking. I am mourning and I am angry at the wide wake my mother has left in my life and the life of my brothers and sisters. We are left to clean up the mess and make a life from the ashes...

http://chapmanchannel.typepad.com/marybeth/2009/09/no-matter-whatits-just-plain-hard.html

Home

I think for those who have been abused...it is hard to find a place where you are comfortable...a place where you belong. Well, at least it has been for me. When I left home I found myself in an unfamiliar world. Granted, I had moved 800 miles away from home to go to college, but this new world offered acceptance and even love at times. It was as if I had landed in some dark corner in Africa and the people who surrounded me spoke a different language and practiced a different culture. I had never been free. I had never been asked what I "wanted". I had never not been responsible for only myself. It was not easy for me to settle down. In fact, I realized that I had never learned how to study. I was never given the time in my mother's house to sit down and do homework. Yet, she still found it odd that I made poor grades. That was often the her reason for beating me. I was stupid and lazy and I would spend my life flipping burgers. No one would marry me because I was a stupid b***h! Now I found myself without that ever present dictator and I had no idea what to do. I failed two classes in my first year of college. Not so ironically, they were both Bible classes. I went back the next year. My new life was better than the one I had left behind. My mother constantly whispered promises of failure and defeat in my ear...but I stayed. Somehow I had come to love freedom even if it ended in failure. I could come and go as I pleased. I had never been allowed to do that...I liked it.

After I was married, those feelings changed. I once again found myself in unfamiliar territory. I knew Evan was in love with me before we were married (obviously). But he always had to go home at the end of the night. He still had his own life and I had my own life both in our own dorm rooms. I don't know for sure but I wonder if I took our having to be apart as a small version of abandonment. Evan never left me and would have been outside my window if I had ever needed him. But every night I had to watch him drive away. It was heart wrenching. I am sure I behaved angrily so that his leaving wouldn't feel so bad. (I still don't have much of a clue as to why he married me!) After we were married and the literal honeymoon was over...I went into an odd depression. I was sad and angry most of the time. I had a very strong desire to go home...back home to Pennsylvania to be with my mother (choke!). I'd even cry myself to sleep most nights and I actually slept with a stuffed pig my mother had given me. I didn't understand what was wrong with me. I couldn't really make sense of anything. Evan was good to me but I was still unhappy. I loved him but I didn't know how to show it. I'd hold his hand as we fell asleep together. It was all that I could think of to show him I loved him and didn't want him to leave. We almost moved back to my hometown the next summer. I wanted to be rid of that college town but I could never feel settled or peaceful about moving back home. We never did.

I know now what was going on. After we were married, I was privy to 24/7 unconditional love and I COULD NOT handle it. Nothing I did would chase this man away. I couldn't put Evan in a box like I had with every other man/boy in my life. Every man or boyfriend in my past had hurt me or left me in some way. Every one of them had betrayed me. Here was this man standing before me who wouldn't move! I felt the need to run. Run where I didn't know, but I had to run. If I went back home...things would have made sense. My mother no longer hit me but her words still cut like a knife. That pain felt good next to the uncertainty I now found myself. I needed familiarity...I needed to live back inside my survival mode because my new life...in my new life I needed none of the old tricks. No one hit me and no one called me names. It almost felt like standing in front of a crowded room completely naked. All my defenses were completely useless. I was in a panic mode scrambling for something to make sense. I think I spent the next three years keeping my head above the water. So close to drowning in a world I couldn't understand. Our marriage was not bullet proof and was suffering. Evan went 75% of the way but I could not and would not meet him the rest of the way. I searched everywhere else for peace but couldn't find it anywhere. The rest was the long road that lead me to where I am sitting right now.

Still I feel a little restless. I don't like the town where we live now. I don't like the house we bought although it was a convenient and practical purchase. This is not my home. I don't feel like I belong here. With every change of the seasons something will remind my of my hometown in Pennsylvania. The smells of spring...that fresh gust of wind that somehow fills me with energy. The smells and sounds of Fall...my favorite time of year...makes my heart beat faster. I can recall Friday nights under the lights of the football field in my color guard uniform. Performing on Alumni Field...I had the time of my life. I remember the comfort that town brought me. I had my own special places to go and hide. My mother hated the place but I ALWAYS loved it. The cold winter days when my nose would freeze the moment I stepped outside. the snow...I loved the snow. Sledding down the steepest hill we could find and then regretting the climb back up. I never learned to ski. I have told Evan that is something I REALLY want to do. I want my children to grow up with snow. I want to be able to pass on the only happy pieces of my childhood onto them. I want to go home. Fall is here again. My heart it tugging to be brought back to the place that always made me happy. I miss is so so so so desperately. I have never been able to express this desperation in Evan's family. It has always been met with "Your family is here and that should make you happy" and things like that. I usually end up feeling guilty for wanting something so much. I feel like pieces are missing. The past is crushed and I want to put some pieces back together. I still have family there. People that have been through a hellish ordeal...couldn't we heal together? I won't sacrifice my children but we could certainly build a life. Who is to say living around Evan's family is so healthy? The people I have to hide this blog from in order to continue to write with freedom. I want to scream to them that it is my turn! I want back what was taken from me. I live in exile down here from a woman who no longer scares me. I am kept from the siblings I love simply because that woman still breathes? Are you kidding me? God knows I don't want to go away from where He will have me. Why then do I have such a longing? Sometimes it hurts to be so far away. I want to go home. God, I don't know.

Addiction

I started really digging through some of the first journals I ever wrote. Jeez, talk about darkness. There is an abundance of pages. Page after page of anger and sorrow...pleading for release from whatever was wrong with me. I decided to go back to the beginning in case there was one soul out there who would see this blog. One person who still thinks no one could ever feel as bad as they do.

I actually have forgotten a lot of what I went through. Dirty diapers and 3 am feedings will do that to a woman! I tried to remember what brought me through childhood, especially, my teen years, without some kind of addiction. I mean, people with daily horror need some kind of outlet or they will explode. I couldn't remember what mine was. I know in adulthood I was addicted to being a victim and to being angry all the time. Those addictions ruin you from the inside out. Had I never had a more physical way of rebelling against my situation?

"The abused man or woman often handles the confusion of the soul by drowning his or her wounds in addictive activities. Addictive behavior is the use of any object or repetitive mode of functioning to handle stress, struggle, or sorrow that both impairs personal functioning and relationships and cannot be stopped without extensive outside intervention" (The Wounded Heart Workbook, page 27). Underneath, the author asks if I had any addictions or compulsions. Among the ones mentioned above, I wrote that I wanted to hurt myself. It all came flooding back. Taking the blade of a knife and pulling it across my skin and tearing my flesh. I remember the flood of release as the blood ran down my arm. Control! I had control of who hurt my body! I had control...for that instant...I had control. It was almost like having a good cry. My stress would evaporate and I could usually sleep soundly. My body was my own for a little while. It gave me proof. A reason to be sad or upset...I had a physical and visual wound to mourn over. It never hurt. I could feel it but it never hurt. I liked pain. I liked cuts and bruises...if I gave them to myself. They made me feel strong and in control. Maybe like I had beat my mother to the "punch". If I was already bruised than she couldn't make her mark. I hid them well. In the summer, I cut my legs and feet...no one looked there. In the winter, my wrists and my arms. I even used to bite the skin off my lips until they bled. I can actually recall a few times when I would pull my own hair. Do it to myself and it won't hurt so much when she did it to me. I fought back...unfortunately, I only hurt myself. I'd fight against this deep into my marriage. About seven months into my first group I had the second of two miscarriages. I think that was the absolute lowest I had ever been with God. I let go of all restraints when I found out we were finally having a baby. We'd lost one seven months before but I had been only 3 weeks along. This was different. Being a mother was so...warm. I gave up feeling my body was my own. I stopped punishing my body for what other people had done to me. I was a mother. I even felt different. I could feel the glow everyone else could see. Right before the ens of the first trimester we found out I had never been pregnant with an actual baby. The sac developed and the baby didn't. The world fell from under me. God had slapped me in the face. There was no one else to blame for that than Him. How could he? I hated myself for believing! I felt like such a fool. I had felt things and embraced life only to find out it was all a joke. I went back to punishing my body for the pain inside of me. I starved myself for months. Why nourish a barren body? The only thing I wouldn't do was devour the pain of miscarriage. The doctor told me I could wait to let things "end" naturally or I could have a short surgery and then it would be over. I wanted the pain. I wanted the labor. I couldn't do it. I had perverted everything else in my life but I could not let motherhood be tainted that way. I opted for the surgery. I was in love with a baby that never was...I just couldn't ruin it. That was the closest I ever got to becoming dependant on pain killers. The days that followed are a haze of percocet and sleep. I was in complete sorrow and I had to dull the pain in my heart. My husband watched over me and we cried together. He seemed the only one who could even get close to knowing how I felt. My mother-in-law responded to my decision to have the surgery in a numb way. She had had that same type of procedure before and said, "It isn't that bad". That added to my feeling defeated...like a fool.

I would lose 30 pounds in the next 8 months. I struggles with food...food would keep me alive and keep my heart beating. It all felt so hopeless. Slowly, the wound healed. I got pregnant again in less than 10 months. I was never again able to embrace pregnancy. I never trusted my body to do what it was meant to do. My body and I have never been on good terms. I often sit and realize that I am walking around in the same skin that my mother abused. I am in the same body that my father left behind. I am living inside the same body that other men have touched and I sometimes feel like their finger prints are all over me.

The pain and the memories don't have their hold on me so much anymore. But that is my reality. I will always be the Ashley who was abused by myself and others. The scars are still here and will be proof FOREVER. I can't change them. But how many years are ahead of me? I have a lifetime to make more, BIGGER memories with my kids, my husband, and my grandchildren. How many scars are from good things? Kind of like the wrinkles we get from smiling so much. Like my c-section scars...proof my babies are part of me. I still long for my body in heaven though. What a relief that will be. Nothing will sag or be disproportionate...scars are gone.

Dreams

The other day I was reminded of the expanding wake my mother has left in the lives of the children that lived under her. I wonder if this is why forgiveness still eludes me. The effects are still fresh, maybe not for me, for those other little ones I left behind. It makes me angry and I feel helpless.

My brother told me a few days ago that he has nightmares where she is still hurting him. He hasn't lived with her for years. He hasn't spoken to her for months and still she can sneak into his dreams. The place where we should feel the safest. I used to be a protector of my siblings. When I lived at home they were "mine". A distraction, if you will. I would never be able to say it was a selfless thing for me to "take the blows" for them. I imagine it is a lot like the men and women who serve in the army. No one wants to run out on the battle field without knowing what they are fighting for. It was what needed to be done. I couldn't stand watching her beat my baby brother and sister...the oldest being only 9 when I left for college. I did it so that I never had to feel helpless over them. I couldn't do anything to save myself and it gave me some kind of peace to protect someone else. When I left for college they all took me to the airport. We sat and waited for the call to board the plane. As it grew near, my little brother's grip got tighter and tighter around my arm. We'd had a special bond. He was 8 years old then. He had always been a child that you really couldn't "read". A bit unemotional if you will. I don't know if that was personality or his environment. He smiled for me though. I have a picture of him now, my favorite of him, sitting on the counter stirring a jug of homemade tea...with the biggest smile. At the airport...it was time to go and he just broke down in sobs!!! I knew something was wrong and I knew he'd miss me. I knew I had to go but I wanted to stay at the same time. He cried and cried. We hugged and I had to walk away. I cried much of the 2 hour plane ride. His instincts were right. He knew he was walking back into his own personal hell and there was no one left to save him. Now he is haunted. I can remember having those same kind of dreams. They began when I started my first group "counseling". When I stopped speaking to my mother they came on with a vengeance. I'd wake up screaming or crying. Evan would have to soothe me back to sleep. I could actually feel the fists hitting me. When I woke up I would have to sort reality from what had happened in my dream. They were so real. When I was pregnant with Eli, my dreams were horrendous. I would dream that she had kidnapped me and tied me to a pole in the cellar. She kept me there until I went into labor and then would steal my son. I can remember, in real life, people accidentally bumping my stomach and I would immediately become defensive and grab my stomach with both hands. The fear was that real!!! But slowly the dreams changed. I was working, in real life, at overcoming a lot of my fear. I was beginning to realize how powerless she was. In my dreams she still kidnapped me, or beat me...but someone would come and rescue me. Sometimes it was Evan and other times it was his mother. They would come and find me. Being locked in my mother's basement did not mean I disappeared from the thoughts of everyone that loved me. She couldn't steal me away because they could not forget me. I had a place in life...in there lives. I had a place where I belonged and it was not in her basement!! In fact a few months would pass ans soon my dreams were changing again. I was the one beating her! When she hit me I would hit back!! I could actually feel the victorious feeling I might have had if I had ever been able to fight back as a child. In my dreams, I was even able to rescue my brothers and sisters. I got them out of the house and they came home with me...they were safe. I could stand up to her in my dreams and IT FELT GOOD!!! I know now if I were ever to come face to face with her she would wither. I am not afraid of the monster who used to haunt me. It is probably best that we don't see each other though...all I want to do is punch her in the face. I can also promise you that I would go "mother bear" on her if she ever ever EVER laid half a finger on one of my babies!!!

To my brother I say I am here, sweet little boy!

Then my youngest sister had a question for me. She is 12 and will be 13 in April. She will never be sent back home and is young enough to be considered for adoption. I know that the people who take care of her have told her that this is coming. She has asked me twice to adopt her. Believe me, I couldn't make this up! There is no precedent for something like that. It makes me so angry to be put in a situation like this! I can't adopt her. There are the monetary reasons and the fact that all the rooms in our home are occupied. The main reason is that I have never raised a teenager. I don't know what to do with the emotional needs of a teenager especially one with her damaging past. I am not what is best for her. I think she is scared and I would be too. I hate having to tell her that she can't come live with me. It weighs heavy on me. I feel like I am abandoning her...throwing her to the wolves. The worst part is my final reason for saying no to her. I don't know the details but the caseworkers who are in charge of the case against my mother have eluded to my youngest sister being a victim of sexual abuse. I believe that they have gotten her some help after finding this out but how can I bring her into my home? How could I put my own children at risk? Even if it is a small risk it is a risk just the same. I am not willing to sacrifice my children. What happened in that home is not my fault and therefore, not my responsibility. Now, if only I could really be at peace with that bit of truth.

Sober

I know some of you may not hear or enjoy Kelly Clarkson's music, but I have one particular song of her's in my top 30 favorites. It is clearly a song about an alcohlic going through the process of becoming "sober". I couldn't find a reliable meaning from Clarkson herself, so we are left to our own interpretation. I know that some of the groups I have gone through have used a curriculum adapted from the AA (Alcoholics Anonymous®) curriculum. That has always amazed me. Alcoholics are that for life...always fighting the demon, the addiction. They fight a battle everyday not to take a sip...not even one sip. Alcohol was the best, not because it tasted good but because it rushed into their bodies and washed away all the pain and all the memories. No matter how much you try...the very thing you were trying to escape is back the next morning...with a vengeance. Don't we feel like that most days? Fighting to keep to the right side of the "journey". If we give in...we fall hard. Survivors are some of the bravest people you will ever know. People who fight an unseen foe who would likely kill them from the inside out. People who face the pain from the past...who fight for the best they can be...who fight for those they love...those are brave people. That is courage that no one speaks about. You never get a medal or a commendation. You just get to wake up the next day and fight all over again. Surviving isn't all fight. You start to see with clear eyes. You see things that you might never have seen before. Me, I sit in the moment when I watch my husband play with our children. I wonder if I would have ever know before to take census of all the love that surrounded me. Would I have ever felt peace? No!

This song always reminds me of how I felt in my body at going to my first group "therapy". I really thought, "This could break my heart or save me." I was weighed down by pure terror. Some days I...I wondered if I could ever breathe again, the pain threatened to choke me. It all seemed so hopeless and I wanted it to be over. I wanted to skip all the stuff in the middle...I just wanted to be better. If I had done that I wouldn't have been able to "get it right". I had to come to terms with the truth that it is never really over. This road I will walk till I die. Sometimes that is a blessing and a curse. My journey gives me good perspective but exhausts me somedays when my mind can't get past the memories.

SOBER

And I don’t know

This could break my heart or save me

Nothing’s real

Until you let go completely

So here I go with all my thoughts I’ve been saving

So here I go with all my fears weighing on me

Three months and I’m still sober

Picked all my weeds but kept the flowers

And I don’t know

I could crash and burn but maybe

At the end of this road I might catch a glimpse of me

Three months and I’m still breathing

Been a long road since those hands I left my tears in but

I know It’s never really over, no

Wake up

Three months and I’m still standing here

Three months and I’m getting better yeah

Three months and I still am

Three months and it’s still harder now

Three months I’ve been living here without you now

Three months yeah, three months

Three months and I’m still breathing

Three months and I still remember it

Three months and I wake up

Three months and I’m still sober

Picked all my weeds but kept the flowers

I have to tell you what I did the other day. I am really excited! I bought Maddie and I some pink shoes! That is right, I bought myself some pink shoes...and it is going to be awesome and freeing. One more chunk of my childhood is mine again!!!

If you need help: http://www.aa.org/

Beautiful Life

I had something a little...revealing happen to me early (early!!!) this morning. Something similar has happened twice before. It is not something that I am proud to admit has gone through my brain. I makes me ashamed and very aware of what evil I could be capable. I believe that God gives me little glances into the roads (or choices) that separate my mother and I. Those pivotal points where she chose one road while I choose the other...the better.

When I get stress out, I mean so stressed that I can't fall asleep even though I am exhausted, I can't see past myself. Stress is a part of life, always there...that is why I appreciate these "episodes"...after they are over.

The first time it happened, I wasn't even a mother yet, well in a way. I had just found out I was pregnant and we had had an ultrasound done to make sure I wouldn't miscarry again. There he was, my baby boy. I didn't know he was a boy yet. I was at home alone and all the sudden I had a thought, "What if Evan loves this baby more than he loves me?". All the sudden I felt insecure about my place. It literally lasted 45 seconds because I was able to remind myself of the man I had married <3!!>

This brings me to the second "episode". Much worse than the first. It came in the early morning of Father's Day 2009. Maddie had yet to sleep through the night. She slept next to me in the pack n' play. I was again exhausted. I knew what the day held. Praising Evan as a father which would lead me to face my own pain of abandonment (see, can't see past myself!). I laid in bed and looked down at my sleeping daughter. (Here comes the bad part.) I thought to myself...I could ruin her life. I could poison her mind with all the bad things about her father. Why should she have a daddy and I never did? Why should she be a daddy's girl and I never was? I could be so mean. It isn't fair. Why should their lives be so easy? Why should they be given everything I would kill for? I imagined Maddie being better than me, being the person I want to be and I was jealous...and it went on like that. It still brings me shame. How could I? It showed me a glimpse of what I could be. It showed me how consumed with selfishness my mother really was. She was a single mother and that is not something I could ever be and survive!! But I have to wonder...did she choose that role? With my brother and I, yes she did! You chose to have sex and get pregnant. If you don't want children don't have sex...or protect yourself! She chose the man she would have these relationships with. Why do women chose men who treat them badly? Why chose a man you can't trust? Teenagers too, why have sex with a boy if you have even one doubt. I don't want to get into all that right now. Anyway, she chose single parenthood. When my stepfather left she had 4 kids. I don't think she chose this...she must have thought it was forever. They adopted two children together. But if that wasn't stressful enough...SHE ADOPTED TWO MORE!! There is debate as to why...I believe it was for the money. They all had special needs and she got paid 4 times per month according to the severity of their disabilities. Whenever CYS got into our business she would immediately begin to tells us we would all be living on the streets if they took the kids away! If I let anger and bitterness consume me I would be just like her. I kind of got off track here. That episode showed me who my mother really was. She made choices to benefit herself. She did not live out of love. She was motivated by anger and bitterness. She treated her children with anger. Ever throw or hit something in anger? She took all that out on us. I can remember coming home from school...that was like walking into a dark alley not knowing who was behind the shadows. We never knew if she was raging or not. I always kept my school bag on as long as I could. For some reason I thought if I kept it on she wouldn't hit me. That just left my face and hair exposed for hitting and pulling. It was the ambivalence that was so unbearable. We never knew her mood so we had to prepare for them all. I had to prepare for a battle every day coming home from school. The weekends were the worst...no break! I slept with my body wedged between the wall and the side of my mattress. I figured if she came in to get me in the night she wouldn't be able to find me in the dark. she would hit the mattress the first time and that would wake me up and I would be ready for the second blow. I fell asleep most nights with that thought...preparing myself for a surprise attack. I took me most of college to be able to sleep on top of my mattress. I still get afraid of being beaten in my bed whenever I hear a sound at night. Having a glimpse of my mother's mind was a scary...very scary thing. I felt tense and angry. Can you imagine what that does to your body? Imagine being on your death bed and looking back at those wasted years. All those precious moments you ruined. I look at what my mother has lost. She has lost me but she has lost my son and my daughter. They don't even know she exists. She is not a part of them...a complete stranger. Everyday that goes by she misses. What an incredible loss. She can never get it back because of her own choices.

The next morning...it was all gone. All those evil thoughts were forgotten and they had no bearing on how I treated my children or their father that day...weird.

Last night was just the same. We haven't had hot water for a week and a half, I can't clean anything, etc. All the past weeks business got to me and I lay in between wake and sleep. I basically had the same thoughts I had had on the eve of Father's Day...but even now the details escape me. The feelings and the thoughts go as fast as they come. I never face an actual decision to ruin my children. The actual choice never comes to face. This is why I believe these are just glimpses into how far I have come...what I would be like had I not begun this journey. How miserable I would be. How beautiful...just beautiful my life is now!

To spank or not to spank...

I feel the need to unload but it has been an unreal week! For more info read my family blog http://evashwarden.blogspot.com/ (Lol, so I don't have to repeat myself).



To add to that unimaginable situation, Eli decided that this week was a good time to rip off his diaper and poop on his bed! I kid you not...he really did that! And in the midst of not having any hot water. I was so mad at him!! A small victory came out of that though. Well it was a rather large victory in the shadow of stress that literally felt heavy on my body! When I had walked into his bedroom and saw the pile of poop...I was shocked. He has never done anything like that before. We are getting ready to potty train here in a few weeks so I know that this is very precious time in preparing him to let go of diapers. (He violently refuses underwear!) I had a dialog in my head when I was staring at that pile of poo! I was so angry at him. I knew I had to let him know that what he did was wrong. If I spanked him I knew I would hurt him...I was that angry! He knows better! I was afraid that if I spanked him he would be that much more opposed to potty training. I think I wanted to spank him to relieve my own stress...NOT a good reason or a good idea! That leads to abuse. I decided to make him take a cold bath! A quiet punishment...and I had no choice! Turns out he loved the cold bath...little twirp! I made him go take his nap early. Mommy needed to be alone. I was proud of myself. During that whole episode I was focused on my son and not on what he had done to me! Accidents happen and children disobey...life! I had a choice to make. I could have spanked him but I would have been remorseful afterward. I was so completely shocked that I had actually taken a "timeout" to weigh the options. To spank or not to spank...what would be the outcome of what I chose? I felt a huge break-away from my mother. She beat us out of anger and often for no reason. I have a very vivid memory or one of the times she beat me. It was night time and everyone must have been in bed. I don't remember what set her off. We were at the food of the stairway. Somehow she pinned me down with my body laying "up" the stairs. She punched me over and over and over. I was laying on my stomach and staring at the wall. I remember everything going...white. Did I pass out? I don't think so, but I was close. I thought she was killing me. I was in 6th or 7th grade and probably close to 12 years old so my concept of death was very immature. In my mind I was going to die. I remember letting go...just letting go, ready to die. I was a child coming to the reality that my mother had control of every breath I breathed and she had the power to kill me or let me live. A very defeating realization!! I don't think my mother ever took the time to control herself and put her child's emotions before her own. She couldn't see past herself. I have many opportunities to blame my mother for all the things she has done. She made choices and they were bad choices. I'd go as far as to say irreparable choices. I know now, being a mother and staring those choices in the face, that my mother was not equipped to "mother" us. She wasn't mothered as a child and therefore cannot know how to do it. I was not "mothered" and I didn't know how to do it. The difference is that I CHOSE to seek out the knowledge. I chose love...I chose to forget the fear of discovering what "ailed me" and dove into the cesspool of my heart and my actions. When I found out I was having a boy I panicked. I had already been in counseling for 2 years. I knew I had a long road ahead of me. I knew I was starting from scratch when it came to taking care of another human being...being aware of their needs before my own. I don't mean the diapers or feedings. I mean the heart. I had no idea how to care for the emotions of another person. Sculpting a character! I mean, no parent is 100% prepared! I just felt like a had nothing..I was empty when it came to "mother knowledge". Anyone who knows me will tell you that I HATE being caught unprepared. I get interest in a new topic and I research it to death! I had a deep desire to know how boys "worked". I mean the emotional side. What really makes us different? How could I cater to a boy if I had no idea how we were different. I read every book I could! I wanted the best for my kids. I never felt like I was what was best for them but I had to try. I couldn't make the same mistakes! I chose love. I researched, I worried, I asked questions,...I tore myself apart to be ready for my baby...my sweet baby Eli! I chose love. What a gift I got in return...unmeasurable. I watch his life unfold in front of me. I fell in love...I mean IN LOVE when I heard his first cry of life. I have loved him long before he took his first breath...but, love at first sight takes your heart forever! My gift was that love. I tore away all those chains (well there were still some left...but you know what I mean!) and I was able to experience love. I mean the kind of love where you offer up your heart...it is out in the open, exposed, vulnerable. Why else would so many mothers obsess and worry about SIDS, germs, and diseases...they are in love with their kids! Any harm done to them leaves a small crack in that mother's heart. I held all my heart when I held my son.

I never knew how big my heart could get...until my Maddie came. I look at her...that light in her eyes. She sparkles and there is my heart. What joy I have! I often remind myself that if I were to die today...I have lived a whole life. I have "done" all I could have wanted. What a legacy I leave behind. A legacy of love and sacrifice...I reaped the most from it too...

The "D" word!

It has come to my attention that I need to get back to a healthy body weight. Since my pregnancy with Eli I have gained a little more than 40 lbs.!!! YIKES!! I am not interested in looking like a skeleton! I miss the energy I had 40 lbs. ago! I was talking with my husband the other night telling him how sluggish I felt! He said that maybe "WE" needed to go on a diet! I hate that word. It makes me feel...kind of tight and nervous inside. Whenever I have that sort of reaction to something I know there is some deep routed reason...usually having to do with the past.

I remember my mother struggling with her weight. She tried it all...the pills, the slim fast, the exercise tapes. She even tried this 3 day diet where you follow this strict 3 meal a day menu and you are supposed to lose 10 pounds by the end! I think her mistake came when she had me do these things with her! Whatever her reasoning, it is not wise to have your teenage daughter stressing over the scale. We did not have an open relationship and I had already developed an eating disorder. When my step father left her she would spend whole weekends and most other evenings locked in her room (where she stashed food). My 2 brothers and sister and I were left top fend for ourselves. We were not allowed to go into the fridge or the cupboards without permission. One Saturday I finally got up the nerve to go up to her bedroom door and ask her what we should eat. She yelled back at me, "I don't give a s**t what you eat! All you think about if feeding your face!". Not only did she give a definite answer as to what we were allowed to eat or if we were allowed to eat at all...wow, all I can remember is feeling like she has punched me in the gut. Something went out of me right then. I was 12 years old, closer to 13...right at the beginning of puberty and the self consciousness that proceeds and my mother tells me that all I can think about is feeding my face. What do you think of when you hear that sentence. I picture a human, pig-like think with a greasy face eating and eating and eating. In fact that is the sort of image I saw myself whenever I ate...so I just didn't eat. Unless she was there watching me...I didn't eat. This went on for years. I was not a fat child at all. In fact I have shown a picture from my junior prom to my husband and he curls up his nose and says you look sick! I remind him that my date was a huge football player that literally towered over me, but he still can't stand to see me like that. I would go through these spurts when I would be fine and I would eat when I should but when a stressful event came along...I stopped eating. Starving myself made me feel strong, like a fighter. I couldn't stand up for myself so anorexia was my sword and shield. I struggled with this up until I found out I was pregnant with my son.

When my mother was having me do the 3 day diet with her I remember laughing to myself while thinking that I ate more during those three days that I ever did on my own. We found out that I was allergic to beets during that diet too. I have to confess that on a few occasions I would eat beets just to throw up. I even made myself some salt water once in order to make myself throw up...I couldn't swallow it though, nasty. I stuck with using the handle of my toothbrush to force myself to throw up if I felt I had eaten too much. In high school, I had a boyfriend whom I thought I loved. When we started having problems...my eating disorders were in full force. I even found my mother's diet pills and would have one or two of those for lunch everyday at school. Boyfriend problems (in the perspective of a teenager) coupled with my terror at home weighed heavy on me. So, so, so very heavy. It was in high school that I started mutilating my body for some kind of release. I can remember one night I took a steak knife and cut across my knuckle. I look down at the scar now and I can still remember seeing the blood and feeling exhilarated and like I had just won a battle. I never remember feeling any pain when I cut myself. I always thought it meant that I was strong...stronger than most. I know now I had lost any sense of pain. I think back to the night my mother told me I was only interested in stuffing my face...and when I felt I had lost something...was it then that I lost a sense of pain. Did I lose my sense of pain because of the danger of expressing emotions? Those things get so jumbled in my head now.

Here I am, 29 years old and a mother. I always feel like I am recovering from something. My life is uneasy sometimes because the past is so...broken. I know that I have done some terrible things to my body. I never cared about my own body until I found out I was sharing it with someone else. I had to push my body until I could push no more. For me, it was easy to release all that "anger" when I felt my boy kick me for the first time. The love I felt was enough to endure stretch marks and weight gain. It wasn't always fun but it was worth it! Now that I had my daughter I am aware of how my treatment of my body will be mirrored by her. She will never hear the "D" word from me. I guess I think of weight for children like I think of Maddie in a tutu. Let her be...let her enjoy herself and be carefree. Keep her out of danger but she shouldn't have to worry about adult things until she is an adult. I am a strong believer that my kids will get their habits from watching my husband and I! If we put into practice healthy eating habits our children will know nothing else. If I am healthy I will feel healthy and I will feel confident...and so will my baby girl. Feeling self conscious is inevitable for girls, I know! But how can my daughter believe me when I tell her she is beautiful if I can't believe that about myself? I don't think I am beautiful because I know what goes on inside of me...in my heart and it is not always a very "warm" place. I am overwhelmed thinking of how much "cleaning" I have to do in myself before the day comes when Maddie needs her first "You are Beautiful"!!! Will I ever be what she deserves? Will I ever be able to teach her what Beauty is?

A little...,no a lot, ticked!

I occasionally google myself of people I know. We all do it so I feel no shame. Anyway, one person whom I google is my father. Let me give a little background. My parents dated for 7 years, apparently broke up 1 month before I was born, and my father has only laid eyes on me once when I was 10 days old. Never have I seen his his face, even in a picture. The reasons why are enough for a whole other post so I will leave that for another day. I have tried so many times to find him and contact him. Letters, phone calls, etc. He never responded...my father-in-law has even tried to contact him!!! Nothing....just silence. he could be my next door neighbor and I wouldn't even know it! Well, I know his name and that brings me back to my reason for being angry and, well, even hurt! I googled him today and I found out he is probably married... It hurts me that he can put effort into falling in love, or whatever, with a stranger but he can't put anything into me...I get nothing, nothing at all. I realized I had pictured him all these years or at least recently as emotionally handicap or something equivalent to broken hearted over me...how self centered, I know. I feel ridiculous. I just couldn't see how a man could make his choices and not be sorry for them. My life was railroaded because he left...why is his life not railroaded too. Why can't he choose to come back? Why can't he make it right? You know, I feel like those stork stories must be true. I had to have just been dropped from the sky one day...I don't feel like I have a father. I never have... It reminds me of a toy that is missing a piece...incomplete and nonfunctional. You can still use parts of it but the overall concept is...missing because of that one crucial part. Put me in the Good Will pile...I am a reject! I kind of feel like I have been cheated on...like I want to hurt all women with the name "Sandra".

A lesson from my boy!

My son is known to our family and friends as a pretty rowdy little boy. To put it simply, my Eli loves life! he loves being alive and is the epitome of "childlike" when he approaches something new. He runs in without hesitation. My husband and I are generally accommodating...unless he can find a way to hurt himself or he is hurting someone else, we let him "run". I had trouble with this at first. Letting him climb on things and explore at certain heights...scared me to death! All I could think about was the bad things that could happen. It is a maternal thing for sure. I was never more thankful for my husband when he continually told me that "all boys do it". In a way, I might be cutting into his personality if I keep him from having fun and discovering! Isn't that what we regret most as adults...our being hesitant and holding back in fear...fear that isn't always founded? "Live and Learn"...learn from mistakes. I'd rather him try and fail than never try at all. He does that with all things from food to playing!

We recently took a vacation to Myrtle Beach. It would be Eli's first time seeing the ocean. I knew my brave son would have no trouble enjoying himself in the water. The first day we were there we took the kids down to the beach. Maddie was a little scared, probably of the noise. I knew then she would be so much more...calm than her brother. Eli literally ran ahead of us into the ocean water. Never in his life had he seen or heard the ocean. At first sight he ran, unhindered, into the ocean. It made my heart ache a little. I watched him dance and squeal as the waves came at him. I watched my son...part of me having the time of his life. Unaware of people watching him and laughing. He was totally living in the moment! I wondered if I was ever allowed to just be a kid. Did my mother ever take joy and rest in watching me dance in the waves? Was I ever that carefree? Probably not. I cannot imagine me ever thinking only of myself to enjoy myself! My son is a child and I know that by name they act as such...but I think there is a lesson there. If you were to line up my life and Eli's life up side-by-side...what would you see? I picture Eli's life glowing somehow...overflowing with experiences and laughs. My life...or my childhood would be dark and even empty. I imagine one would hear an echo. I can picture a few memories hoarded in the corner...yet even those are dark. I was to afraid to share my loves...what excited me. I was afraid to share what I wanted because it would be a tool my mother could use against me, something she could hurt me with. In turn I never learned who I was, I never knew what I liked or disliked. I was enmeshed with my mother. A cruel example of a mother. I have this picture of my mother picking me up and breaking me into pieces and shoving those pieces into her pocket. Like she deliberately kept me separated from myself. In pieces I could never think for myself or grow up. I had to do what she wanted to get any piece of myself. She was lord and master...she was queen and all like revolved around her.

Even on vacation, I had a terrible time trying to enjoy myself without feeling guilty. I felt guilty that my life was good and that hers was bad...almost to the point of shame. I wished that things would have been different. I didn't wish for the woman my mother is now but who she might have been...for whom I might have been.

Eight years together <3

Evan and I have been married eight years today. I think everyone says that if you had told them on the day of their wedding where they would be in x amount of years they would never believe you. We are no different. I think that my disbelief would have been a little different. My wedding day was not the joyous occasion it should have been. My mother did not want us to get married. There is debate about her motives but in the end, I spent the day trying to prevent her outbursts instead of enjoying my new husband and "the best day of my life". I wish someone could have told me in eight years I would be happy, secure, and (best of all) a mother. Evan and I have been through our share of heartaches, fights, and trials. We have had it rough at times but I think that makes us luckier than some others. I have always thought if things come easy to you you can never learn to appreciate it. I have never wanted the script of my life written out and predictable. Evan and I have had to love each other when the other was easily unlovable...yet we are still here together. When you fight for something like we have...you fight to keep it no matter what! I think I found one of the greatest men on earth for my husband. I secretly believe that if there were like 5,000 clones of my husband (personality included) that the world would be a place of love and peace! I can only pray that Eli becomes a man like his father. My Maddie will be the epitome of a "daddy's little girl". My babies will never know a world without someone who loves them. What a relief!!!

Content

(Another post from our family blog)

I feel like I have been through a transition in the last few months. I have let go of someone very precious and put my eyes onto opening up to other people who I can sympathize with, people of similar background. It has been so freeing. I feel lighter almost. I know that 99% of women are obsessed with the scale...if not now, you were at one point, or you are in denial. I think I am just happy the numbers aren't going up! I spent years of my youth violently obsessed with my weight and my body. Amazingly I was a thin child and teenager...weird. It was other circumstances in my life that could not allow me to look at my body in truth...plus I was an adolescent!! I often have bouts of that same obsession and run the risk of falling into old habits. I finally realized that my body, the way it is now, has served a beautiful purpose. It has been stretched and cut in order to grow, nurture, and welcome my two babies into this world. God certainly gives us the miracle of pregnancy and real human beings in the end...but he gave women the GIFT of being the ones to grow these little ones. If not for my body my children would not exist. I am here now, stretched and scared but with something beautiful to show for it. They are part of me emotionally and certainly physically. That must be why my husband still chases me around the room...he can see that beauty I had forgotten about! I am more beautiful than my body would suggest.

My family

(I posted this on our family blog a few weeks ago..thought it had more relevance here!)

Most people know that I love taking pictures...I love having pictures of people that I love, no matter who takes them. To me, a picture captures my emotions. It speaks emotions and feelings that I can't always vioce with words. Taking pictures is a way for me to love. That must be why my favorite things to photograph are my children. We recently had some family pictures taken. I am no pro and I thought it might be time for mommy to be in some pictures with the ones she loves the most! A sweet, talented lady in our church took them for us. She had no idea how much it meant for me to have these done. Eli was a pill, as usual. He wouldn't be my Eli if he wasn't. He was himself, not hiding his distain for having to sit still and produce a smile. What an unbreakable, free spirit. A truly beautiful thing.
It was the pictures of my Maddie that touch a deep, deep place in my heart. I just happened upon a little pink tutu when out shopping one day. The ladies who have sat and listened to me cry and scream out for the losses of my childhood don't need me to explain what a little pink tutu really means to me. My baby is free... She is free from any chance of the pain I have gone through. She is my princess...and she is daddy's princess. Every twirl, every beaded necklace, every sparkly bracelet is freedom...for me too. Now it isn't the "decorations" that I give her. It is the chance to be a little girl. It is the childhood free from worry...free from adult things. It is safety, a mommy to run to...a daddy to dance with her. She can be girly if she wants or she can roll in the mud...doesn't matter to me, as long as she is carefree! As long as she learns to love and treat others in love. She passes love onto the next generation, and they pass it on to the next. I can see God's eyes fill with a little sorrow and a little happiness. This is what he wanted for me...but his Madeline has it all! If my unhappy childhood is what it took for my children to have a happy one...I'd relive it a thousand times...and I have.
Ev, what a lucky couple we are...

For my daughter...my love <3

I have been told that I have a gift for writing. I have never really embraced this gift probably because I have always had it and never realized that others might not possess the same ability to feel something in their heart and be able to write it out into words. I have always wished to be able to speak the way I write. I wish that I could speak and bring people to tears with how I express my love for them...alas, that doesn't happen. I think being able to write might be more fun. Writing something down lasts a lot longer! I do not, however, posses a grammatical ability. I write how I think...and like most people, I don't think in terms of "grammar". Frankly, grammar annoys me!

I have been on a "journey to healing" for about 5 years now. It has been the longest, most frustratingly painful...and most beautiful thing I have ever done. A cliche, I know, but I have always found that there has to be some truth in cliches for them to become cliches, no? I can remember reading and listening to other women as the were sorting through the trash heaps of their own past and finding how similar their experiences were to mine. In fact, that "familiarity" in itself was healing. If the woman sitting across from me was saying that her mother spitting at her was abusive...then when my mother did that to me...it had to be abusive to. In fact I had never put the term "abuse" to my childhood until I had something to compare it to. I think that is why I write this blog. I enjoy writing and I enjoy helping other people sort out their "issues" when they hear or see me write out my thoughts. I know how freeing that can be! I begin this blog with the hope of guiding someone into a clearer understanding of their jumbled thoughts.

I also do this for a very special person. I have two children, a little boy (Eli) and a more recent addition, a daughter (Madeline). I certainly love my children equally, there is no doubt. In my own life and my continued journey, I have found that raising my daughter forces me to face my own losses and my own pains in the face. It was different with my son. He was always directed to the dirt and the dinosaurs, as most little boys are. My daughter is so beautifully different. She is still under a year...but she is so sweet and...ah, just so different. I named this blog after her...in a way. In July, we had our first family pictures taken since Maddie was born. I had happened upon a little pink tutu. I remember seeing it and feeling as if a wave had just hit me in the face. I had a rush of pain and joy and excitement all at the same time. I wake up everyday and have to mentally prepare myself to be a good mother. To do things differently than they were done to me. I always look for opportunities that I can do for or give my children that I was not given...things that make up a carefree childhood. Sometimes I wonder if a little girls happiness isn't wrapped up in a tutu! Isn't a frilly pink tutu the expression of carefree, happy, princess, daddy's girl, beauty, and contentment? Well, maybe a tutu with some mud and grass stains, lol! I held that tutu to my face and I stared at it for a little while. I tried to imagine a (much) younger me twirling around in it...and I could not hold the image in my mind. No one ever put me in a tutu...no one EVER let me live inside the "expressions" of a tutu!! Ashley (me) inside a tutu doesn't make sense and feels absurd.

My Madeline in a tutu makes all the sense in the world. My baby girl will be able to rest in my arms and I hope she "wears" her tutu until the day she rushes into the arms of her Father in Heaven! It is my deepest prayer and wish to give both my children the foundation to be loving, whole human beings. That foundation is not built on toys or material things...it is built by hugs and kisses and "I love you's"...and even in "No's". I fail so much...more than I ever want to admit. In all those failures I never choose not to face the past...not to face the pain. I face those things for my children. I face those things in the desperate hope that someday I will feel like a whole person. I am desperate to react the right way first instead of chastising myself for always over reacting! Love leads me on though...I love my children. I love my husband. I often feel like he has been jipped though. I use to think I stole him before the better woman came along. He puts up with a lot but never lets me know as much!