Category Archives: Love

My Lottery Ticket

18 Tuesday Mar 2014

Posted by in Life, Love, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , ,

There’s a stack of unchecked lottery tickets on my desk.  Sometimes they sit there for months. Every now and then I uncover them when rifling through papers and for a few minutes I escape reality.  I’m not driven by money or material things and I’m blessed with work that modestly supports myself and my children.  But when my fingers sift through those tickets, my mind drifts to a place of opportunity, leisure – and dreams.  A place where I wouldn’t have to give a second thought to the cost of my children’s education.  A place where I could ditch my job and open an animal sanctuary.  A place where business writing would be a thing of the past and I could wile away the hours exploring my creative side. It’s a fun place to go, even though I know the odds are stacked against me.

There’s a man in my life who is my lottery ticket. He’s like no one I’ve met in quite some time. Yet my overwhelming attraction has morphed into a playful email distraction. I can’t say I don’t want to know more about him – I do.  But I’m guarded and fearful.  As as long as I don’t ‘check the numbers’ I can maintain the status quo and escape every now and then into a bubble that hasn’t burst.  I can keep my dreams alive. Not necessarily dreams of him. Dreams of what he represents. The possibilities. The unknown. The desire to believe that a kindred soul exists out there. Even though I know the odds are stacked against me.

Most of the time the arrangement works. Then there are other times. You see, I’m a dreamer but I’m a realist. The part of me that wants to feel like a teenager in love is constantly challenged by the woman who has been there – done that.  I’m naturally drawn to ‘check the numbers,’ yet anticipate a negative outcome. So I retreat to protect a fantasy. The possibilities. The dreams. A reality that doesn’t exist.  The winning lottery ticket.

A Child’s Pain

18 Saturday Jan 2014

Posted by in Lessons, Life, Love, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, ,

My son is home with me.  My daughter is at her father’s.  It’s not supposed to be this way, but it is.

Everyone told me not to say anything negative about my children’s father because soon enough, they’d see who he was on their own.  I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. I also thought I’d be happy when they saw him for the narcissist he is. I was wrong. I had no idea how much it would hurt them, and me.

Rewind to the Christmas holiday. JJ and Lara were with their father for five days. On the third night they called me from his basement. My daughter was crying. She missed me. My son wanted to come home because he was lonely. The conversation with my son went like this:

JJ:        I want to come home mamma.

Me:       Why?

JJ:        I’m bored.

Me:       Where’s daddy?

JJ:        Upstairs watching TV.  He does that every night.

Me:       Why don’t you just go upstairs and tell him you want to spend time with him?

JJ:        He’s with Kathy [his wife].

Me:       Why don’t you go watch TV with both of them?

JJ:        They’ll tell me I can’t watch what they’re watching and send me to my room. He says he’s here for me and I want to believe him but I don’t feel like he is. He’s here for Kathy and his TV.  Mamma, he doesn’t even know that Lara is down here crying.

Me:       Bring him the phone I’ll talk to him.

JJ:        No. You’ve done that before and he changes for a little while then goes back to normal and ignores us. It hurts too much. I don’t want to get hurt again.

Me:       But JJ Christmas is in two days!  Didn’t you ask Santa for an Xbox?  You may get it there.

JJ:        And if I do he’ll be like, “Hey kid, nice to see you.  Now go play with your Xbox.”

Me:       JJ, you play your games here all the time. What’s the difference?

JJ:        You ask if I’ve had breakfast.

His insight stopped me in my tracks. But hearing my 11-year-old struggle to strategically protect himself from emotional pain brought tears to my eyes. He shouldn’t have to think like that at his age.

So yesterday when their dad came to my house to pick them up JJ said he was staying with me for the weekend. I knew he was trying to engage his dad to extract any amount of encouragement to go – but he didn’t get any.  As his father left with Lara, I sat next to JJ on the stairs and my heart broke as he asked, “Do you think he left yet?  Can you see if the car pulled away?” And finally, “I knew he wouldn’t come back for me. I have no father.”

JJ and I sat together on the stairs for a few minutes in silence as I searched for words to ease his soul.

“JJ, your father loves you very much. It’s just that different people have different capacities for love and the way they show that love. Sometimes people we love don’t show us love or love us back in the way we want to be loved. That doesn’t mean that they don’t love us – it just means they don’t know how.”

JJ’s head dropped on my shoulder as tears rolled down his face.

“You have a great capacity for love and that’s a beautiful thing,” I continued. “But that also means others will disappoint you when they don’t have that same capacity. So you need to know two things; #1, that doesn’t mean that they don’t love you – it’s just not the love you are capable of giving and want in return.  And #2, never, never stifle the amount of love you can give because someone can’t give it back because when you find someone who can love you back the way you love them, it will be a beautiful thing.”

JJ buried his head in my chest and we both sat there and cried.

(c) 2014 SeptemberMom.com

Dried Purple Roses

13 Monday Jan 2014

Posted by in Lessons, Life, Love, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, ,

 

The dried purple roses on her black bedroom dresser held all her secrets.  Privy to her most private moments, they’d seen and heard it all. The tears, the laughter, the angry words – the love.  

There was the scrolled wrought iron music stand trellised with ivy in the corner and the antique rocking chair that had cradled her many a night. But there was something powerful about the discolored lavender bouquet whose leaves tightly engulfed the heart of each flower.   

It was years before she’d seen the parallel.

“God damn it!  Why are you doing this?!” he hissed, pulling back from her embrace. His fury overriding the yearning his body had for release.    

“What are you talking about?” she responded, confused by his abrupt withdrawal.

“You were there.  I saw it on your face – I felt it in your body. You were there and you just…..disconnected.  Shit! You turned away from me and looked out the fucking window!”

Perched above her, his eyes bore through her. Instinctively she turned from him again.  “You make it sound as if I don’t love having you inside me,” she responded defensively.

“You let me in but you won’t let go!” he demanded.  “Why can’t you just let go?” he said, rolling off her and tossing his legs over the side of the bed.  He sat there with his back to her.    

“Is that what this is about?!  You?  Are you feeling insecure?”

“No.  It’s about you. It’s about you keeping me at arms length,” he spit out grabbing his clothes off the floor.

He was right.  She knew it.  She’d had other lovers.  Yet the vulnerability she allowed herself with them – she would not allow herself with him.  

“Don’t go,” she said softly reaching for his arm.

His response was tinged with disgust. “Why not?”   

“Because I don’t want you to?” Gently she pulled him back to her body and they laid there in silence. 

Stammering, her words broke the stillness.  “I… I can’t….let go.”

“Bullshit.  We both know you have with other men.”

Cursing herself for being honest about her previous encounters she responded slowly, “But they weren’t you. They didn’t matter.”  

“Wait a minute,” he said shaking his head slowly in disbelief. “You’re saying that because you care about me – you’re keeping me at an emotional arms length physically?”  For a moment he paused, then threw his hands up in frustration. “Listen to this – its crazy making! You’d rather let a disposable lover please you – than someone you say you care for?” 

“I never said I wasn’t in need of intense therapy,” she responded, trying to lighten the moment. But his eyes, locked on hers, would allow no escape. “They can’t cut as deep. Or hurt as much. With you, I’ve more to lose.”

She felt his arm pull her close as his finger traced a tear down her cheek.  “Then with me you’ve more to gain,” he said softly lowering her beneath him. “Let me in.”

The dried purple roses on her black bedroom dresser held all her secrets.  They’d seen and heard it all.  And in many ways, they were just like her.   

They weren’t always lifeless….

A Letter Home From School

05 Sunday Jan 2014

Posted by in Lessons, Life, Love, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

A letter from my daughter’s teacher came home from school Friday – with my son.  It’s never a good thing when a sibling is given a note to bring home.  Teachers know that the ‘rival’ sibling will always make sure Mom gets the letter – so the offending sibling gets what’s coming.  

Standing pensively by my side, Lara watched as I opened the envelope and read its contents.  Her eyes were fixed on my face – or maybe on the door behind me.  It seems that Lara forged my signature on a recent test.  At first she denied it – but then she admitted it to her teacher. 

Turning the page, I wondered how bad a failing grade was on the exam attached to the letter.  Lara was visibly upset with tears streaming down her face.     

“I’m sorry Mom, I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t want you to be upset.”

Her words shocked me.

“Upset?! You got an eighty-eight on the test,” I countered.  “Why would you think I’d be upset?  This is a great grade!” 

“You’re always telling us we can do better,” she answered, lowering her head. 

She was right.  I do tell her and her brother that they can do better.  That is, when they bring home 70’s.  And that is because I know they can do better.  Like any other mother, I want the best for them.  But I never intended to cause her such stress. I felt like a monster.  

I thought back to my childhood when I failed a spelling test in the third grade.  I was terrified of what my parents would do when my older sister brought them the test that afternoon.  I remember standing by my teacher’s desk during break.  In what I thought was a brilliant move, I grabbed a tissue off her desk and shuffled my test under her desk blotter.  No surprise, I got caught.  But the fear was paralyzing and now my daughter was experiencing that fear.     

Taking a moment to compose my thoughts I examined ‘my signature’ at the top of the page.   A part of me wanted to lock up my checkbook.  Her forgery was pretty darn good.    

Holding up the test I said, “Lara, I’m proud of this – well, not you forging my signature but your grade.  I’m proud of you and if this is your best – that’s okay with me.  Now you signing my name on the test is another issue.  But I’m glad you did it.”

Lara was confused, yet relieved, by my statement.

Chuckling I continued, “You realize you should have waited till you got a 30 or something before you tried something stupid like forging my name.  Now your teacher is going to be examining these signatures like a hawk.  You blew your shot.” 

I smiled, she smiled.  And I’m hoping we both learned valuable lessons.

I hope Lara will never again feel stressed or fearful over tests grades and that she will always try her best. And what I realize now is that I need to let Lara do her best – and accept what that ‘best’ is.

The Christmas Grinch

22 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in Lessons, Life, Love, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , ,

That’s right, I’m the Christmas Grinch.  At least my son will think so Christmas morning when he doesn’t get the gift he has his heart set upon.  But can you blame me?  It’s Grand Theft Auto V (GTAV).  I don’t like many video games – especially ones with violence and guns – but I must admit I have caved on a few.  However, my feet are firm now. 

For several months my son has been asking for GTAV.  For several months I have been saying no.   His argument for the game is that all his friends have it.  That – in itself – is very disturbing.  My son is eleven.  So are his friends.  What parent allows their 11-year-old to play a game with violence, blood, cursing – and did I mention prostitutes and sex?  

When JJ first asked me for a video game system, I refused.  He was heartbroken.  “But Mom, I have no friends,” he said.   “And you think sitting inside playing videos is going to change that?” I responded.   “Yea,” he answered. “All the kids at school play together online every day.”  Obviously, I was quite out-of-touch.     

When I was a kid, we played outside.  Bands of children running through neighbor’s yards playing hide-and-seek.  We joined with other kids on the block and had punch ball tournaments in the street, or we’d ride bikes till it got dark.  That’s how we played together.  Times have surely changed.

Maybe I’m a little guilty, because I don’t let my children roam the neighborhood like I did years ago.  But it’s not like they’re always sitting home.  Both JJ and Lara have dabbled in many activities  – gymnastics, baseball, guitar, choir, swimming, robotics, chess, afterschool drama club….I could go on and on.   But now they’re limited to two main activities.  They’ve been taking Tae Kwon Do since they were four; JJ is in the Boy Scouts and Lara takes drum lessons.  

Even so, JJ continued tugging at my heart strings until they broke.  Still, I didn’t run out and buy him a system.  I shared the expense with him and his sister for an XBOX 360.  Big mistake.  Big, big mistake.  Now his ‘friends’ are playing GTAV.  

I’ve explained – till I’m blue in the face – that the game is violent and the language they use is inappropriate.  That robbing and killing people for cars is not how you get them – working hard and purchasing them is the only acceptable route.  And furthermore, equally important, I don’t want him treating women with disrespect.  Now, I’m no Pollyanna but that game is off my moral compass.    

His response, “Mamma, don’t you think I know it’s a game? I just want to play with my friends.”   

Now I don’t blame JJ’s friends for enjoying games that are way above their mind’s capacity to process what is actually taking place.  They are, in fact, just children.  But they are children who are becoming dehumanized and desensitized by having the shock factor removed from truly horrible actions while taking part in behaviors that are detrimental to their emotional and psychological growth.  

While I believe I am doing the right thing for my son, my heart is still breaking and it will be crushed on Christmas morning when he realizes that Santa, nor I, got him what he really wanted.  I’m hoping Santa brings him new friends this year.  Friends who have parents who care to raise socially and politically correct adults with a conscience.  To me, that groundwork is a little shaky when 11-year-olds are allowed to pick up hookers and participate in desensitizing violence while ‘playing’ GTAV.   

(c) 2013 September Mom

When All Goes Quiet – Theresa

27 Sunday Oct 2013

Posted by in Life, Love, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , ,

What happens when all goes quiet?
Those left behind find comfort
From thoughts of loved ones
Free from earthly shackles
In an undisturbed existence of tranquility
Bathed in light.
Ethereal images calm fears
And allow us to feel
We’re still loving the silent ones.

But when all goes quiet
Those left behind
Feel no freedom from the abandonment.
Memories scream unexpectedly
Jolting us back to reality.
There’s no harmony in the aftermath
No peace in the darkness
No light at daybreak.
Just unrequited love for the silent ones.

I thought I saw you today
While leaving the gym.
A woman sitting on the stairs
Had thick silver hair like yours.
From the back she looked just like you.
I had to remind myself you were gone
Then told myself you came to say goodbye.

© SeptemberMom 2013

To Hold or Be Held

25 Friday Oct 2013

Posted by in Life, Love, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Sometimes when I sleep, you cry.

It could be two, or three am
But when the night chases you, I’m there
Answering your outburst
Arms pulling you close
Surrounding you with love
And security.
Each time I’m amazed at my ability
To chase the night that chases you.

Sometimes I don’t fall back asleep
And watching your peaceful slumber I wonder
How it would feel to know arms that calm my soul
Allowing me to sleep, in a protected peace.
And I lay there in the dark,
Grateful, but amazed
That I can provide what I don’t have.
So ironic, the twist of events.

Sometimes when you sleep, I cry.

© 2013 SeptemberMom.com

A Coward’s Battle

24 Saturday Aug 2013

Posted by in Life, Love, Poetry, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

You play our children with cruel intent
Using them
As soldiers
In your one-sided war.

Knowing I feel nothing for you
You strategically outfit
Your young warriors
With IEDs
Designed to capture my attention
The only way you can
By deforming those I love
The casualties of your relentless war.

The explosives leave them scared
Cripple their innocence
Crush their dreams
And damage their perceptions.

How selfish of you
To deny them their childhood
As you engage them in combat
Your brutal onslaught of narcissistic maneuvers.

The children are upset that you started smoking again.
I think to myself, have another pack.

(C) Septembermom.com

An Evergreen Silk Shirt

24 Saturday Aug 2013

Posted by in Love, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

There’s an evergreen silk shirt in my closet.
Even if I could still fit beneath its soft flowing cover
It’s missing a button.

There’s an evergreen silk shirt in my closet
The one I wore when we first met.
The green suede shoes and cream suit are long gone.

But there’s an evergreen silk shirt in my closet
The one I wore on our first date.
The jeans no longer fit
And I’m not quite sure what happened to my green leather huaraches.

There’s an evergreen silk shirt in my closet.
The one you tore from my shoulders
While framed by flickering lights of the valley through a wall of windows
As Caruso filled the air.

There’s an evergreen silk shirt in my closet
And a lone silk button in my sewing kit
That I can’t bring myself to reunite.

Because there’s an evergreen silk shirt in my closet
And every now and then when my fingers graze over its soft shoulder
I remember.

© 2013 Septembermom.com