Heartbroken Man Hate

I'm feeling a country-star approved level of heartbroken man-hate this week. My line has been crossed. I spent a lot of time wearing nice and understanding. It hasn't gotten me anywhere. I think I'll try on angry for a bit and see how that plays out.

Really, I'm not a long-term anger kind of girl. I'm the melancholy, cry it out and then" put on a good face" sort. But short-term, serious, Scotch-Irish anger, that I've got.

So today feels like a day for a little music. Heartbroken man-hater music. Don't you agree? Here's one of my current favorites. Enjoy

Purgatory

I don’t write much because you don’t want to hear what I have to say. It’s not pretty or sweet. It’s cynical and dark.

You don’t want to hear that I’m still broken and hurt. You don’t want to hear that I can’t seem to move on. That I’m stuck in emotional purgatory. Maybe it’s me that doesn’t want to hear it. It all echoes in my head.

I look in the mirror and see only the deterioration this year has caused. The dark circles under my eyes from too many sleepless, tear-filled nights. (I should just stop looking in the mirror.) When I can’t sleep I rearrange furniture. I’ve lost count of how many time I have rearranged the furniture since I moved. The rooms feel lacking. It’s amazing how much space one person can take up and how irritatingly empty the space feels when that person is gone.

The only pictures I take are of my kids. I think I may have lost my ability to see beauty in the daily. I see beauty and life in them. I want to protect them. I want to keep them in a bubble that no one can pop. I know the impossibility of that.

Don’t tell me to get over it. Don’t tell me that I’ll be fine. I get angry at people who tell me to move on. It may seem dark but this emotional mire is safe. I want to hear sad, heartbreak songs. I want to reread letters. I want to cry. Coming out of it means it’s really over.

It’s really over.

It’s almost been a year. I know that I need to figure out what it means to be without him. I have to find stable ground. I’m sick of the voices in my head telling me that waiting is worth it. That he’s worth it. What am I worth?

I’ve decided purgatory is just an upper level of hell.

Halloween

I only spent $9 on Halloween this year and that was on candy. The kids made, borrowed, or used things they already had to make their costumes this year. I helped a little with pulling things together but for the most part they came up with their own ideas and made it happen. I love the creativity! They all looked really great. They all had a wonderful time trick-or-treating. And, after watching The Great Pumpkin, my hippie, butterfly queen, and Rapunzel all retired candy-full and very happy.

The Halloween Pre-Show

We kicked off the Halloween weekend with a party, a hayride, a bonfire, a chili cook-off, and pumpkin carving. Whew! And there's still trick-or-treating to come. So much fun!

I'm an autumn tree. Cute, simple, and warm.

Girls night out! Chris had his own party to go to. (It just hit me typing this that he's old enough to have his own party to go to. Bittersweet.)

He did join us for some pumpkin carving. I like having him around because he doesn't mind the goop and mess. (He also came to the bonfire and chili cook-off. Two things he wouldn't miss for any other party. He tried every chili there. He takes competition (and chili) very seriously. )

The butterfly queen and her best friend Cleopatra

Who knew Rapunzel's best friend is a Vampire?

Charlie Brown, The Great Pumpkin is sitting out ready to be watched. Candy is in the bowl. Costumes are set out. We're ready for more fun to come.

Happy Halloween everyone!

Pumpkin Patch

We took our annual trip to the pumpkin patch today. The pumpkins are beautiful this year! Orange and slightly green, with lovely shapes and nice twisted stems. It was a great fall day too, crisp air, sun shining. A perfect day for picking perfect pumpkins with some of my very favorite people.

Weekends Are For...

...running a race with your dad in crisp, forty degree, fall air. For finishing strong, as your cheer squad claps and yells your name. And for eating a plate-full of french toast washed down by yummy hot chocolate afterwards.

Soul's Work

She ran in, cheeks flushed from playing outdoors, and curled up beside me. I started running my fingers through her hair and listened as her mind unwound.

She told me of the beauty of the birds as they chirped in trees just outside. Then she counted on her long, delicate fingers the days until Halloween and then the days until Thanksgiving and then the days until Christmas. She asked about why we celebrate Christmas and then why do we celebrate Easter. She buried her face in my chest when I mentioned Christ dying. That part makes her sad. But her eyes peaked out again when I got to the part about Christ living with his Father in heaven now. She innocently said, "like your father." What's that, I asked. "Like your father is in Heaven too." Yes, like my father.

Then she curled up knees and snuggled in deeper. I kept running my fingers through her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of her. Quiet, we sat, mother and child. A moment, my heart was refreshed, as was her's.

She bounded off again as spontaneously as she had appeared. The feel of her lingered. I closed my eyes and thanked God for her, for them all. For the beautiful lot that is my soul's work.