Fall Type Things

My weather is here. My favorite time of year.

I don’t go out much. People bring out the anxiety in me. I have to prepare to be social. And it takes a lot of time to get back to normal after. But it’s not as bad in the fall. I seem to deal with less people in the fall while getting out more.

We went to a local day of the dead thing. It was fun. Fresh lemonade and cherry limeades, robot battles, dancers, crafts, and music. We decided on Taco Bell for price and convenience. There were no Taco survivors.

We did the Apple Festival up the mountain. It was nice. And chilly. And not too peopley. The boy ones got fidget spinners. But specialty ones that we can’t find in the store. And flavored honey sticks. I finally got a henna tattoo. We also got apple butter and homemade apple pie. Which is really nice as they tasted Divine and I didn’t have to do all the work.

The only downfall to this weather is my hands don’t work so well in it. So not having to peal, chop, roll, knead, mash, etc? Much nicer to this goddess. And no tears involved!

The oldest and I went up the mountain again and did a haunted house/trail thing. So fun! They got a scream from me. A ghostly lady was following us on the path, but I was prepared for her. So she walked next to the teen for a bit. He thought it was me and started talking to her. It was funny when he realized it wasn’t.

The aspen trees had these gorgeous green Christmas lights on them in one section. Was beautiful. I’d want that to be my backyard year round. It was like a little part of the fairy world was visible for a bit.

I’ve been wearing myself thin, and so I’m eating a couple of vacation days this week to give myself a break. The key is to not feel guilty for doing so. (Fun fact: I feel guilty buying myself anything, needs or wants doesn’t matter. I also feel guilty doing anything for myself, such as taking time off, calling in sick, soaking in the tub, etc).

For Halloween my work is doing a haunted house thing, so the oldest gets to come get zombified with me and help me make people scream. It’ll be great.

Today I made my first quiche. It came out great. Tomorrow I bake and cook all day to have stuff for the work thing mentioned above. I’m baking my (somewhat) famous rat cake. When you cut it open it bleeds. Fun stuff.

This is my favorite holiday. It will be fun to dress up and play about. The littles picked out their costumes a while back, a ninja and a grim reaper. So in a way we are a theme. We all kill people. The family that slays together…

I’m looking forward to thanksgiving break and Christmas break. I’m hoping I’ll find my writing groove. This year has been insanity and heartbreak, and it seems to have eaten my writing muse. I hope to find time for me in those breaks. As I haven’t had a lot of that.

Next Friday is the last day of my part time/extra job. I’ve learned that I don’t bounce back quite the same as I once did working multiple jobs. So I think this will be the last time for me, finances permitting.

Working full time, homeschooling the oldest, all the things for all of the kids, the house, and other family obligations are more than enough for me right now. If I want to find time for me, for writing, to breathe, I need to start trimming the fat, so to speak.

I can barely believe that the end of the year is coming. It went by so fast. Hopefully I get to enjoy what’s left of it.


Becoming a mom, firsts were so exciting. First words, first steps, first "I love you, Mommy". All the firsts were looked forward to. Watching them stand and fumble, until they suddenly grasped what walking was, and went for it with gusto.

But now I'm aware that the lasts are coming. And there's no real warning for when a last will be.

The last time they snuggle on your lap, before they decide they're too old for that. The last time they ask to sleep in your bed, just because they need the comfort of your proximity. The last time you're called mommy, before it becomes mom.

Parts of parenting are finite.

Time charges ahead, whether you're ready or not. Sometimes, the day to day makes me lose sight of that. I'm not ready for the lasts. Not even a little bit.

Sweet Dreams

It had been at least a year since one of the kids slept in my bed for the night. But last night my youngest did.

I've missed it. I did get woken up by a kick to the back at one point, but otherwise, we slept great. My internal clock is an ass, and I woke up at 730. But that's three hours after I've been getting up the last few weeks. But I'd gone to bed five hours after I normally do.

Yet, I feel rested.

I think it's because I woke up to my little holding my hand. His hands are still small, but so much bigger than they were seven years ago.

It's nice to be needed every now and again. It's even nicer to be thought of as a comforting teddy bear on stormy nights. It makes for sweet dreams and lovely memories.

On this day, a year ago

It's officially been a year since my (ex) husband told me he wanted a divorce. (He'd change his mind, yo-yo my emotions for a few more days, and cause all kindsa drama before I call it quits four days after that).

But his initial leaving, and his behavior towards me after that, were the best things he would ever do for my kids and I.

I don't like giving up. I'm not a quitter. I gave him more chances than I'm comfortable admitting to. I let him get away with treating me like shit more often than not. But then my inner goddess reminded me of who I am, and that I'm worth so much more than I had been allowing.

Granted, I went through a lot when he and I got together. My dad passed. College stuff. Kid stuff. Work stuff. Health scares. Etc.

So even when I knew for a fact I wasn't okay with something, I'd eat it. Because I desperately wanted something in my life to not be stressful. I wanted peace. And if it meant not rocking the boat and taking a crapload of misogynistic comments and demands, I put up with it.

But his leaving reminded me of who I was. I was incredibly sad when he left. But I know now, I was more upset by what I had allowed, and how long I had allowed it, than by losing him. He wasn't there to keep me on eggshells. And in that brief moment of quiet, I looked back on our relationship, and cringed.

I was so disappointed in myself.

And when push came to shove a few days later… for the first time with him, I didn't cave. I didn't acquiesce. I held the line.

He hadn't seen that side of me before. I hadn't seen that side of me in years.

Damn it felt good.

It's been a year now. I cannot begin to explain the lack of stress I've had with him gone. I'm not dreading what mood I'm coming home to. What demands and comments will be directed at me. Not told how I should dress, or who it was "okay" for me to be friends on Facebook with.

I also know that I won't allow myself to be treated like that ever again.

A year ago, today, this Goddess got her groove back. And man, you should see me dance.

Unmade Beds

I freely admit that I'm a bit of a clean freak. Although I'm not as OCD about it like I was when my younger two were toddlers. (How many people do you know that vacuum three times a day, for fun?) I let dust be a thing, I mop every other week, I let the laundry pile up for two loads… I used to not be this way. I used to judge the shit outta myself if my house wasn't consistently perfect.

I own very few knick-knacks, I purge fairly often. I'm not a things girl. Don't get me wrong, bare walls make me twitchy. But shelves are for books and pictures. And some more books.

I'd rather spend money on memories than things. (Although I wouldn't turn down a new turntable, books, or camera lens!)

But the one thing that gets to me the most is an unmade bed.

I am a creature of comfort. The first thing I do when I get home is kick off my shoes and put on "comfy" clothes. Part of my comfort thing is being able to crawl into my bed, and not have to fight the sheets and duvet. It's a strange form of lazy?

I've been working a lot of hours this week, mainly so I don't have to use vacation time for appointments. Getting up at 430, getting home around 5. Makes for a tired goddess.

I was so tired this morning that I left my bed looking like this:

Made me a bit sad. Coming home to an unmade bed.

Share Your World 

I’m trying something new. I felt like writing, but didn’t know what to write about. So here’s a way to get to know a goddess a bit better. 

How do you like to spend a rainy day?

It depends on the kind of rainy. Drizzly, cool rainy days I like to sip hot tea, read, bake. Basically be lazy and do comfort things. Or go on road trips to the mountains and dance in the rain. If it’s that thundery, hardcore kinda rain, I’m a fan of cuddles and candlelight. 

List at least five favorite treats. 

Hmmm. It depends on my mood. Sweet, salty, other? My sweet go-to list includes: almond joy, snickers, kit kats, and Twix. Salty: pickles, pickle juice, salt and vinegar chips, cool ranch Doritos. Other: coffee. All the coffee. 

Where’s your favorite place to take out-of-town guests?

It depends on their likes. There’s a waterfall hidden in the mountains, if the company is down for a walk. White Sands is another favorite. But my favorite is to go up to the college, park in the least busy parking lot, lay out on the hood of the car, watch the sunset, and then awe them with the stars. (We use yellow sodium lights here for the observatory, so you can see stars for forever).

You are trapped in an elevator, who would you want to be trapped with?

I’m not the biggest fan of small spaces. So it has to be someone with a hell of a sense of humor and capable of having a long, deep conversation. I won’t limit the person beyond that. 

Optional bonus question:

What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

Friends. I’m always grateful for my friends. They understand my hermit like ways and never judge me for it. 

And coming up this week? Oy. I have a hellish week in my sights, so let’s go with Friday night. A glass of wine, barefoot, and a comfy bed to hide away in. 

This post inspired by:

 Cee’s Share Your World

Dream Land

I’ve had this recurring dream off and on for the last 4 or 5 years.

It’s fall. Because there are yellow and red leaves littering the yard, street, and walkways. Halloween is near, I know, as the pumpkins on the porch tell me so. The porch is amazing. Wrap around, white, wide, and it holds chairs and a porch swing made to love. The house is a two-story Victorian style, painted a light dove grey. I know the layout the same way I know my name. And I know it’s in Connecticut.

I’ve never been to Connecticut. But I know this house is there.

The dream isn’t long. It isn’t complicated. But the feelings it evokes in me are intense.

I love this house. I am happy in this house. My kids adore this house. We have amazing memories in this house. We’ve baked pies and decorated cookies in its kitchen. The kids have played in the yard with its perfectly white fence surrounding them. The dogs (of which I do not currently have) have laid on the porch by my side, while the kids and I are waving hello to the neighbors. There is a man who I love there, and I know he loves me. There is a room dedicated to art, and writing, and music. And the walls hold the faint sound of a thousand nights of laughter.

I never dream any of that. I just know it’s all there when I have the dream.

In the dream it’s night. The kids, the man I love, and I are rushing down the pathway to the car, as we have big plans to see the small town fall festival. I feel the bite in the breeze. I see the leaves on the ground. I feel the crunch of them under my feet. I think about how we as a family will rake them up the following afternoon, and have leaf fights and laughs, followed by sipping hot cocoa on the porch. I glance back at this house, see the lights on in the living room windows, and cannot believe how beautiful and amazing my life is.

And then I wake up. I never see faces. I don’t know the man’s name. I don’t know the town’s name. I am just filled to the brink with happiness and love. And then I cry. Because I had to wake up. And it’s not that I’m sad with my life as it is. I love my life. I love the memories I’ve made. I’m not sad that I don’t know who the man is.

I just ache that I haven’t found that place yet.

The dream just makes me want to find all of that sooner. It makes me feel like it’s out there. Waiting for me to find it.


I’ve almost made I don’t know how many posts. But then I discard them. 

I have a lot going on in my head. 

I’m not depressed. Far from it. 

Just tired of putting my thoughts out there to have them stomped on. Or ignored. 

I enjoy being single for a myriad of reasons. 

I’m a fan of having my own space. I’m tired of being hurt. I love me. I get along with myself quite well. That chick is awesome. I know who I am and what I want. I know what I’m capable of. I enjoy silence. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. I’m happy. 

But I’m aware of my aloneness. 

I miss having a person to bounce my thoughts off of. To make plans with. Even if those plans are pjs and Netflix for an entire day. I miss sharing my life. I miss making two cups of coffee in the morning. I miss writing random love notes, and writing frivolous cute poems dedicated to the way my partner sleeps. I miss listening. I miss comfortable silences while my partner and I do our own things together. I miss having someone to help me tackle diy projects. I miss hugs. Kisses. Sex. (It’s been a year, and a goddess has needs yo.)

But I fear my kids getting hurt. Again. 

And so I ignore the wants and needs and desires. I focus on the kids. 

But ignoring doesn’t erase the hope. 

Maybe. Someday. 

I’ve earned a someday, right?

Don’t mind me. I’m just thinking. 

On Loyalty

My friends know that my number one thing is loyalty. If you can’t say it to my face, don’t say it behind my back. I will take an ugly truth much better than a pretty lie. Because all lies come to light, the truth eventually comes out, and instead of it just being ugly, it is also now tainted. Trust is the hardest thing to regain. Whereas if it’s something you had enough integrity to tell me to my face, it means you not only respect me, but you trust that I respect you enough to hear what you have to say.

I am selective of my friends. They are aware of this. But I can say without a doubt that my circle will always have my back. That does not mean they always agree, it does not mean they can’t tell me I’m being a dumb ass or that they have to view things the way I do. It means they know they can tell me they disagree and know it’s not going to ruin our friendship. It means that even if I’m being a dumb ass they know they can say it straight to my face and I will take what they say and think about it. It means that even after they tell me, and I have thought about it, they will support me in whatever decision I make in the end.

Loyalty is not blind obedience. Loyalty is trust, honesty, respect, integrity, support. It is having my back whether I witness it or not. It means being real and honest and true, and it’s not hard to do because they have a moral code that meshes with my own. Loyalty is sincere and steadfast. It is a bond that is unbreakable. Which means that if I come to you and you tell me what I don’t want to hear, I will still hear it and we will be okay. It means you aren’t going around behind my back and saying anything, true or not, that you haven’t had the fortitude to tell me straight up. It means a river of trust between us that is ever flowing.

And for those incapable of being loyal… well, I don’t have time for them. Life is too short to suffer fake friends. You don’t deserve me, and I do not deserve you. And that is the awesome part of being a fully grown woman who is capable of making her own decisions… I am fully qualified to decide upon the people I allow in my life. I don’t expect perfection, but I do expect my friends to be real.