Drive-ins, Swimming, and All Things Summer

I'm not an easy person to like. I say that a lot. Most people see that as fishing for a compliment. I say it with the self realized evidence of the past several years. The one thing my Husband has admitted about first meeting me? He didn't really like me. He thought I was a "know-it-all". Most of the friends I have that stuck through the awkward stage? They'll say it took some time to "warm up" to the idea of being my friend. Most people will confess to me that they weren't certain about whether or not they could deal with me when we first met. . . Let that sink in for just a moment. Imagine being told for the better part of your late 20's early 30's that you are not the ideal, personable human being people befriend. Imagine being told regularly that you're "difficult" to enjoy. Now think about how that sits on the psyche. There's a good reason I don't reach out to people. There's a reason I don't go out of my way to go places, or throw parties, or even attend parties. Several reasons actually. The big ones come from what happened to me in my early 20's. The "little" ones come from the fact that I can't even get my own family to enjoy me, let alone strangers; so I just stay home. My children are difficult to like as well. Mostly because we spend so little time with people outside our own home. It's difficult to have play dates when no one wants to sit and talk to you as the adult. I stopped pretending I understand people in the middle of what was going on with me before. I stopped paying attention to whether people mattered when the Major was selling me as a commodity. It makes me difficult to like. I don't understand the purpose of small talk. I don't really care about gossip. I'm not all that interested in fashion, and the latest craze ( which should be evident by my inability to dress myself.), I don't know how to not be awkward. Awkward is kind of my default setting. I am out of place in the world. I don't fit in. I do better when I keep my mouth shut, but I end up dying a little inside because no one really knows who I am. I get an uncouth exuberance when a subject I know about is brought up. I feel personally insulted when people won't let me help them; because it happens so rarely that I can be useful. I feel a great deal of pain at the fact that my children are the wierdos because I can't make enough friends with children their age for them to have playmates. My heart breaks when they desperately want to play with someone, and I have made that impossible. There is a silent amount of guilt killing me because I am difficult to like. Yet if I pretend, and become likable, I also die a little inside. So, Parenting catch 22. Do you die inside because your children are lonely and unlike, or do you die inside because you're faking it? Maybe someday I will know the answer, and my children will forgive me for failing them in this area. Maybe.

Gooey S'mores & Chili Breath

I'm lost. Somewhere between the size 4 jeans, and the stretchy pants are the only thing that fit; I lost myself. Somewhere between newly married, and the confused sleep deprivation of a mother of multiples I lost myself. Somewhere between "I can totally run that 5k!", and "you want me to do something besides nap?!" I lost myself. Somewhere between the punk/ska, and the child friendly language of a kid's sing-a-long CD I lost myself. Somewhere between the red lipstick, and barely having the energy for a shower I lost myself. Now this isn't a pity party, but it is a realization that My identity is no longer the same. Though I long to be the person who had the energy to dance in the kitchen while I was cleaning, I also realize a lot of that is choice. I CHOSE not to dance in the kitchen with the mop while listening to music with language and messages too mature for my children. I CHOSE to spend time on the floor with them reading books while the housework piles up. I'm beginning to recognize that may not always be the best choice. For now it's a delicate balancing act of my OCD for a clean home battling my desire to give my children quality time. People will tell me that cleaning my home IS showing my children love. Well, have you met my children? They cling to me the way we all wish syran-wrap would stick to the dishes we attempt to cover. Their love language is both quality time, and quality touch. I do what I can with the time I've got, but when I'm up several times a night with teething children, and not drinking caffeine during the day? come on! when they take a nap; I take a nap. I feel the desire to bust out some of the old me. The part of me that could care less. The person who wore bright red lipstick because it was Tuesday. I don't think she's dead just yet. And as my youngest gets a little older I find time to do things like put on jeans instead of stretchy pants. Somedays I even remember the deodorant. I love my children, and I spent years believing that life had passed by the point in which I would get to hold them in my arms. I also love the person I was before. The passion that was my life, the fearless resolve with which I stated my opinions and beliefs. I spend a lot more time pleasing others now. Giving snuggles, giving loves, giving spoonfuls of food, giving the blue cup because the red cup is no longer desired. I even bite my tongue to keep civil relations with people I could honestly care less if they liked me, but I need to play nice with because my Husband needs that relationship. I just think that at some point I'm going to find myself, and everyone is going to have their minds blown when I start acting like myself. I may even become much more organized. Who knows! I can barely put together complete thoughts anymore, but don't you worry! I will get back into a pair of stilettos and red lipstick, and probably some clothes too. I suppose that it's part of being a parent to lose a piece of yourself. I wonder whether I'm doing it wrong. Whether my decision to stop being so much full color version of myself, and more of a muted pastel is worth it. Whether the desire for a more child friendly/age appropriate home has been a wise choice. If I've lost enough of myself that my children will think that the woman who wore whatever she darn well felt like, and had the courage to kick someone's arse with a simple tongue lashing ever really was me. I wonder if I've given up a part of who I was that made my husband fall in love with me. I question whether I let myself go so far that I got lost along the way? Perhaps it's time to reclaim some of that person. Perhaps, much as I discovered when trying to be a bank manager, I just don't fit into these shoes. Perhaps I really just need to stand in the shower for 20 minutes, and sing my heart out, and let the kids play in the toilet water while I actually put lotion on myself. Maybe I need to spend a little more time shaving my legs, and a little less time crawling around on the floor. While I justify letting myself get lost because I'm attempting to make sure I don't raise children who are self entitled jerks. . . I may be missing the point, and my mind. Maybe it's all just a crap shoot, and it won't make a difference in the end that I bothered.

Hot Chai and Chocolate Croissants

I've spent a good portion if my life trying to make a name for myself. Which has always really bothered me. I have a name. My mother gave it to me at birth. It's written on a certificate that's got a Washington state seal on it. So why do I care how people use that name? Why do I feel like that name is not name enough? And why, instead of declaring that we want a reputation for ourselves, do we request the option of "making a name for ourselves"? What's the difference in the long term if no one remembers you? Why does the idea of flying through life on someone else's coat tails unacceptable? What makes someone who is a "self-made man" so much better than the man who wisely used a predecessors reputation? I pose this as the argument in favor of the self made man. Do you know your place? I don't. I've never belonged. My family said I was weird. My friends left me and did mean things to me because my brother died. My church peers couldn't stand me because I was "the teachers pet"( actually I just paid attention). My boss thinks I'm expendable and totally replaceable. My teachers found me overly inquisitive and annoyingly curious. My co-workers see me as a know-it-all who is better left alone. My in-laws.... Well, we already know that they find me less than amazing, and we all LOVE being compared to the ex-girlfriend. So where do I belong? Where is my island of misfit toys to call home? What's my place in life? Will I ever find a niché? What is the purpose of me being here on this earth?! See. . . It's hard to not have a name. To not know your place. Some of us have been so long without a place that we'll accept any that is given. I spent 6 years in an emotionally and physically abusive relationship because it was a place. If I was there than my name, my place was his punching bag. It wasn't a nice home, but it was mine. It wasn't the right one, but it was mine. I've seen more than one person walk away from what they COULD have become because they couldn't get anyone to reassign their place. Sometimes we have the fight within us to be great. We don't have the permission to belong. There is such a sense of loss, of chaos, of utter and total despair! You have nothing. No home, no name, no place, no label, no direction, no end, no beginning. There is nothing in your life that will feel like it fits. It's like walking around in someone else's skin; Only you can't give it back, or exchange it, or even grow into it, or ever fit! you change, and it just changes too! NEVER fitting properly.All in all it is one of the most annoying situations to be in. You never stop feeling depressed, or hurt. You always feel lonely. People accuse you of being short, curt, sassy, or withdrawn. They tell you that if you'd just "try and be more friendly. get to know people" it would be better. Problem is that there's nothing about you to get to know. You have nothing to offer because you don't, by social definitions, exist. You are not His ex-girlfriend, and you never will be. You're not the pretty smiling dutifully graceful woman she is. You wouldn't know how to be that passive if you tried. And it's not like you're intentionally trying to confront people, you're simply being honest. You're doing your best to make sure that you are clear, direct, and concise as possible. To avoid the long awkward conversation they don't really want to be having with you anyway. It always backfires. And reality sets in... you will never have a home. So how do you deal with people like that? I'd be grateful for a place. A role in life in which I can be the best at whatever it is I'm supposed to be good at. Sometimes, simply having someone look at me and accept the truth as it leaves my lips is wonderful. Being able to simply give you the best description I happen to have is relieving. It's also nice when people dont take it so personally. So my life is no fairy tale. Accept that my reality is far more harsh than yours, but that I have come from a very dark place to the bright light of day through a LONG arduous journey that, despite almost killing me, has left me with both a very literal view as well as a fantastical one. Not an excuse, just an explanation. I just get really tired of not belonging anywhere. I just want to find my home and not have to leave. Not have to be judged, or explain myself. I just want to be loved, and appreciated for what I have to offer. To have someone acknowledge the value in what I'm doing, or saying. To know that the hard work I do day in and day out means something to the world. That it hasn't all been for naught. But isn't that what we all want?