If I have a flaw, and I'm not saying that I do but it is within the realm of possibility, it is that I am too naive. And by naive, I don't mean that I am oblivious of the fact that evil exists and that people do bad things. I mean that I simply think that it is all happening with people that don't enter my life. Because of course, all the people in my life are evil-free.
Because I persist with this Pollyanna belief, I frequently give people the benefit of the doubt, sometimes even when they haven't earned it. Actually many times when they haven't earned it. I try very hard to not be judgemental and to remember that people have all kinds of experiences that I am not privy to, so maybe there is a good reason that they are doing something asinine and I just don't know. I used to drive Brad crazy when he would be in the middle of some road rage fit and I would wonder out loud if maybe that driver that just cut us off was really speeding to make it to the hospital to say goodbye to her dying grandmother. Or that it was an expectant dad late to meet his pregnant wife after her water broke. Or something equally out there and unlikely, but possible. It never calmed him down, but I like to think I made my point. (As I write this he is probably driving around somewhere screaming obscenities at little old lady drivers for being in the fast lane - but like I said, I am Pollyanna so let me believe my daydream)
I know that this doesn't at first sound like a huge flaw. And it really isn't a flaw that hurts anyone else in any way. It actually is usually pretty helpful to others. It is actually helpful specifically to the owner of a dark blue Vibe that cut me off last Wednesday (you know who you are....Euclid...Fisher...sparkling bright red Jeep? Ring any bells?) It is also typically beneficial to people that mess with me because I am quick to forgive and don't hold grudges. And then I let the same people mess with me in the same way and then - again - forgive and forget. Can you see how this may not be beneficial for me? Flaw.
But here is the thing. I secretly ( or not so secretly, since I am blogging it all away) love this about myself. I know that it gets me into trouble from time to time. I know that it makes me trust the wrong people and have faith in things that maybe most people would not. I know it is the reason it took me five years to get over this failed marriage and that it may have cost me a great relationship. I am aware that some people think it is naive, and silly, and even stupid. Just because I have this perspective doesn't mean that I am unaware of the flip side of the coin or oblivious to the fact that some people will take advantage. They do. And I know when then do, for the most part. But I can't bring myself to be any other way. At the end of the day, I only have to live with the decisions that I make. The way I look at it I have two choices - I could wallow in the negative and cynical all day, every day and maybe avoid getting hurt...OR... I could dwell in the positive and happy all day, every day and maybe get hurt. I choose option two.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Kansas
I have John Black on the brain. Partly due to the holidays, but mainly because I saw him the other night. We went out driving, checking out holiday lights and talking. I haven't seen him (other than a totally random what-the-hey moment in Meijers one time) in well over a year. We do talk on the phone or on the great, big, social network giant of Facebook from time to time - so we pretty much keep up on each other's lives, but we haven't been face to face hanging out in a long, long time.
It was great, but a little weird. Like I just got time warped or something. It was late, dark, and as I climbed into his car (the same one he had when we were together) it was seriously like a mini time machine. It was the exact same scene that we had played out hundreds of times before - just with a big chunk of time missing in the middle. I can't even count the numbers of mini-adventures or drives we took in that car - we were a great road trip couple. With the exception of Kansas.
Kansas is by far the funniest car story I have with John Black. It is also the funniest travel story that I have with anyone. John Black has a brother that lives in Denver. About a year or so after we started dating, we decided to road trip out there so that I could meet them and he could see his niece and nephew. It was a great idea! But it was a loooooonng drive - one that we were determined to make in a straight shot, no stopping at a hotel along the way. Now, I am a fantastic road tripper. I am always the girl that scoops out the fun facts, has the driving guides, knows the best spot to stop for food, and I am an unparalleled navigator, even if cannot instantly tell you which is north at any given moment. (Hello people! That is what signs and maps are for!) However, I am not the best driver. I will say that I have gotten much, much better - but at this time in my life I still hated to drive at night or in crappy weather. I also hated to drive if I couldn't sing to the radio at the same time, which didn't please John Black when he was trying to sleep. So naturally we left at six o'clock at night in the rain.
There are two main routes you can use to get there; one northern that goes through Chicago and heads out towards Nebraska or another southern one that goes down to Indianapolis and heads west from there through Missouri. We decided to stick to the northern route because technically it was supposed to be a tad bit shorter. Here is what I remember from the drive there. Sitting in stand still traffic in Chicago among about fifty six gazillion truckers all trying to get through the city into the heartland and trying to decide over and over again if we were in the truck lane or the car lane. Listening to the Counting Crow's Hard Candy CD so many times that I probably was singing it in my sleep. The utter and complete darkness of middle America at night, where there are literally no major (or semi-major even) cities along our path from Chicago to Denver. Also, and this is important, there was a giant, green dinosaur that John Black wanted to climb on and get his picture taken. I begged to keep going because we were about twenty hours into our trip at this point and all I wanted to do was sleep. So we moved on, made it to our destination, and all without any serious issues. One week later - we climb back in the car to head home.
We decided that I would drive first, having learned our lesson on the way there after we both stayed awake in the beginning and I proved to be a bad second wind driver. So together we found our way to the highway junction in Denver, discovered our particular highway number, and John Black curled up in his bucket seat to sleep. I happily drove along, singing, of course. to Counting Crows as quietly as I could - thoughtfully skipping all the high notes so that John Black wouldn't wake up. (Which is a bigger sacrifice for a soprano than I think he appreciated.) I was faithfully following my highway number which was supposed to stay the same for at least the length of a state or two. All was calm until about just before dawn. The sun was just starting to peek up through the corn fields when John Black woke up, yawned and asked how my night shift went. I gave him the good news first - we were making truly excellent time. Then I gave him the bad news - we're in Kansas, Dorothy.
I will give you a quick moment to consult your mental atlas - or go find a physical one if you haven't had geography in many years. Kansas is not on our northern route. Not even one teeny, tinsy tip of Kansas touched our northern route. John Black was understandably confused and pissy. Not the way to start off a day where you are trapped in a car with each other. When we had left Denver, I had on-ramped my happy little self onto the right highway BUT I took the southern ramp, not the northern one. If you have driven around Denver, you understand this is a completely believable accident. There are highways everywhere! But on this morning, John Black was not in an understanding mood. We stopped at several different backwoods gas stations - you know, the kind with two working pumps and a 'convenience' store full of hunting supplies and camo souvenirs? Have I mentioned John Black is the antithesis of Hunting Man? So the grizzly gas station attendants basically laughed at us, shook their heads at John Black's awful luck to be stuck with a woman that did this to him, and told us we might as well keep on trucking on the southern route because we were already parallel to our old route and it would just add a few hours to our trip if we tried to cut across and rejoin the northern highway.
Now I looked at it like we got the unexpected bonus of seeing the sites in about five new states - to this day I love unplanned exploring jaunts. John Black looked at it like he wanted to wring my neck. It ended up taking us almost six hours longer to get home; mainly because we were so exhausted we ended up stopping many more times that on the way out there - we even got all the way to Flint and literally neither one of us could finish the drive so we slept in a truck stop in Flint. Yup. Flint. Truck stop. And we lived to tell the story. It also took us a while because we were completely stymied by the belt loop of Indianapolis. By the time we figured out that the highway circled the city, our sleep deprived brains already let us go around it twice. (In my defense as a navigator, we had no plans to be in Indianapolis, so I had no fun facts or maps.) We also stopped in Missouri at literally the best Pizza Hut in the United States. I think it was so good that we said if we drove again we would go south simply to have that Pizza Hut again, it was that good. Okay, maybe that is a lie, but it seriously was the best cheesy bread we have ever had to this day.
So what lessons did I learn from this adventure? One. Get cheesy bread in Missouri. Two. Bring more CD's. Three. Always get extra navigational tools for the times when you take a wrong turn and end up in Kansas. And Four. If you don't let John Black stop for the crazy, green dinosaur picture on the way to Denver, promise him you'll get it on the way home, and then subsequently miss that state on the way home.....you will hear about it for the rest of your life.
It was great, but a little weird. Like I just got time warped or something. It was late, dark, and as I climbed into his car (the same one he had when we were together) it was seriously like a mini time machine. It was the exact same scene that we had played out hundreds of times before - just with a big chunk of time missing in the middle. I can't even count the numbers of mini-adventures or drives we took in that car - we were a great road trip couple. With the exception of Kansas.
Kansas is by far the funniest car story I have with John Black. It is also the funniest travel story that I have with anyone. John Black has a brother that lives in Denver. About a year or so after we started dating, we decided to road trip out there so that I could meet them and he could see his niece and nephew. It was a great idea! But it was a loooooonng drive - one that we were determined to make in a straight shot, no stopping at a hotel along the way. Now, I am a fantastic road tripper. I am always the girl that scoops out the fun facts, has the driving guides, knows the best spot to stop for food, and I am an unparalleled navigator, even if cannot instantly tell you which is north at any given moment. (Hello people! That is what signs and maps are for!) However, I am not the best driver. I will say that I have gotten much, much better - but at this time in my life I still hated to drive at night or in crappy weather. I also hated to drive if I couldn't sing to the radio at the same time, which didn't please John Black when he was trying to sleep. So naturally we left at six o'clock at night in the rain.
There are two main routes you can use to get there; one northern that goes through Chicago and heads out towards Nebraska or another southern one that goes down to Indianapolis and heads west from there through Missouri. We decided to stick to the northern route because technically it was supposed to be a tad bit shorter. Here is what I remember from the drive there. Sitting in stand still traffic in Chicago among about fifty six gazillion truckers all trying to get through the city into the heartland and trying to decide over and over again if we were in the truck lane or the car lane. Listening to the Counting Crow's Hard Candy CD so many times that I probably was singing it in my sleep. The utter and complete darkness of middle America at night, where there are literally no major (or semi-major even) cities along our path from Chicago to Denver. Also, and this is important, there was a giant, green dinosaur that John Black wanted to climb on and get his picture taken. I begged to keep going because we were about twenty hours into our trip at this point and all I wanted to do was sleep. So we moved on, made it to our destination, and all without any serious issues. One week later - we climb back in the car to head home.
We decided that I would drive first, having learned our lesson on the way there after we both stayed awake in the beginning and I proved to be a bad second wind driver. So together we found our way to the highway junction in Denver, discovered our particular highway number, and John Black curled up in his bucket seat to sleep. I happily drove along, singing, of course. to Counting Crows as quietly as I could - thoughtfully skipping all the high notes so that John Black wouldn't wake up. (Which is a bigger sacrifice for a soprano than I think he appreciated.) I was faithfully following my highway number which was supposed to stay the same for at least the length of a state or two. All was calm until about just before dawn. The sun was just starting to peek up through the corn fields when John Black woke up, yawned and asked how my night shift went. I gave him the good news first - we were making truly excellent time. Then I gave him the bad news - we're in Kansas, Dorothy.
I will give you a quick moment to consult your mental atlas - or go find a physical one if you haven't had geography in many years. Kansas is not on our northern route. Not even one teeny, tinsy tip of Kansas touched our northern route. John Black was understandably confused and pissy. Not the way to start off a day where you are trapped in a car with each other. When we had left Denver, I had on-ramped my happy little self onto the right highway BUT I took the southern ramp, not the northern one. If you have driven around Denver, you understand this is a completely believable accident. There are highways everywhere! But on this morning, John Black was not in an understanding mood. We stopped at several different backwoods gas stations - you know, the kind with two working pumps and a 'convenience' store full of hunting supplies and camo souvenirs? Have I mentioned John Black is the antithesis of Hunting Man? So the grizzly gas station attendants basically laughed at us, shook their heads at John Black's awful luck to be stuck with a woman that did this to him, and told us we might as well keep on trucking on the southern route because we were already parallel to our old route and it would just add a few hours to our trip if we tried to cut across and rejoin the northern highway.
Now I looked at it like we got the unexpected bonus of seeing the sites in about five new states - to this day I love unplanned exploring jaunts. John Black looked at it like he wanted to wring my neck. It ended up taking us almost six hours longer to get home; mainly because we were so exhausted we ended up stopping many more times that on the way out there - we even got all the way to Flint and literally neither one of us could finish the drive so we slept in a truck stop in Flint. Yup. Flint. Truck stop. And we lived to tell the story. It also took us a while because we were completely stymied by the belt loop of Indianapolis. By the time we figured out that the highway circled the city, our sleep deprived brains already let us go around it twice. (In my defense as a navigator, we had no plans to be in Indianapolis, so I had no fun facts or maps.) We also stopped in Missouri at literally the best Pizza Hut in the United States. I think it was so good that we said if we drove again we would go south simply to have that Pizza Hut again, it was that good. Okay, maybe that is a lie, but it seriously was the best cheesy bread we have ever had to this day.
So what lessons did I learn from this adventure? One. Get cheesy bread in Missouri. Two. Bring more CD's. Three. Always get extra navigational tools for the times when you take a wrong turn and end up in Kansas. And Four. If you don't let John Black stop for the crazy, green dinosaur picture on the way to Denver, promise him you'll get it on the way home, and then subsequently miss that state on the way home.....you will hear about it for the rest of your life.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Inconsistent Blogger...Thy Name is.....Me.
So the holidays are not the best time for my mental clarity. (On a brief side note, the 'C' key on my computer is wacky today, so I apologize in advance for any missing 'C's) Holidays mess with my brain in so many ways that I really should consider taking an extended vacation through the majority of December just for the sake of mental health. Part of this is, of course, divorce related. And some of it is just my personal neurosis being taunted by all the holiday cliches.
The thing about the holidays post divorce that bug me aren't the things that most people would think. I actually sincerely believe that holidays are much, much easier as a single than as a couple. Holidays as a couple, at least in my experience, involve so much compromise that some years I really felt like everyone got what they wanted for Christmas - but Brad and I. We were always on this strict time schedule to make sure that no family members felt neglected that we barely had a minute for ourselves. We, more often than not, exchanged Christmas presents at six in the morning on Christmas Day after our alarm blared us awake so we could make present opening at my mom's for seven, dinner at one, and Busia's house at four. And this was after a Christmas party the night before at his families followed my midnight Mass. No, the things I miss about a married Christmas have nothing to do with actual 'couple time'. Here is what I miss. Being in the middle of a crazy family or work party and looking up to catch his eye over some inside joke. Whether it be a remark that we can't believe someone just said or an accident that almost happened when a young cousin almost undercut an uncle as she ran blindly down the hall in a fit of Christmas glee and sugar. Those moments are the ones that make me feel like I am really divorced. Those moments are sneaky. You don't even see them coming, which makes them dangerous.
My personality also does not lend itself to stable holiday mental health. I am a bit of a control freak - and it seems to be getting worse with age unfortunately. I am sure that a shrink could tell me all about how losing control of my marriage has made me cling for control in the rest of my life - but I will just save myself the three hundred bucks and admit it. I own it. I know it is true. Yet, some days it does still get the better of me. In any situation, I need to be able to know the outcome. I want to have planned out how it is going to work, I want to know all the details of the progression, and I want everyone to unequivocally accept my opinion and direction as all knowing. This does not happen often. During the holidays, this happens even less, if that is possible. There are always five hundred people(maybe a bit of an exaggeration) trying to organize or plan or execute something - and I always just know the very best way to do it if they would just listen! And yes, I know how that sounds, thus why I list it as one of my flaws....I am self aware, but accepting.
I am also a bit over the top. I tend to throw myself into situations head first and then wallow in them. Case in point - Christmas decorations. I have enough decorations to decorate a house twice this size - and last year I dragged them all out, making our home a little snowman shrine. I also brought home a huge, live tree that took up a majority of our living room and shorted out the lights because I insisted on lighting every branch on the tree. The living room became the 'walkway between the front door and the kitchen', not the 'living room' because there was no room for actual living. I follow this same train of thought when it comes to shopping, baking, and Christmas cards. I always want to do the most that I can - which is pretty much impossible and can only lead to guilt fueled ingesting of cut out cookies and fudge. It's an ugly circle. This year I am trying to reduce the stress - I don't even have a tree yet! It remains to be seen how successful I am.
So between the post-divorce psychosis and my control-freak-all-or-nothing personality, I tend to not be at my best for constructing timely, amusing posts. Forgive me, pray for my sanity, and - if I don't make it - eat a tree shaped, bedazzled cut out cookie in my honor.
The thing about the holidays post divorce that bug me aren't the things that most people would think. I actually sincerely believe that holidays are much, much easier as a single than as a couple. Holidays as a couple, at least in my experience, involve so much compromise that some years I really felt like everyone got what they wanted for Christmas - but Brad and I. We were always on this strict time schedule to make sure that no family members felt neglected that we barely had a minute for ourselves. We, more often than not, exchanged Christmas presents at six in the morning on Christmas Day after our alarm blared us awake so we could make present opening at my mom's for seven, dinner at one, and Busia's house at four. And this was after a Christmas party the night before at his families followed my midnight Mass. No, the things I miss about a married Christmas have nothing to do with actual 'couple time'. Here is what I miss. Being in the middle of a crazy family or work party and looking up to catch his eye over some inside joke. Whether it be a remark that we can't believe someone just said or an accident that almost happened when a young cousin almost undercut an uncle as she ran blindly down the hall in a fit of Christmas glee and sugar. Those moments are the ones that make me feel like I am really divorced. Those moments are sneaky. You don't even see them coming, which makes them dangerous.
My personality also does not lend itself to stable holiday mental health. I am a bit of a control freak - and it seems to be getting worse with age unfortunately. I am sure that a shrink could tell me all about how losing control of my marriage has made me cling for control in the rest of my life - but I will just save myself the three hundred bucks and admit it. I own it. I know it is true. Yet, some days it does still get the better of me. In any situation, I need to be able to know the outcome. I want to have planned out how it is going to work, I want to know all the details of the progression, and I want everyone to unequivocally accept my opinion and direction as all knowing. This does not happen often. During the holidays, this happens even less, if that is possible. There are always five hundred people(maybe a bit of an exaggeration) trying to organize or plan or execute something - and I always just know the very best way to do it if they would just listen! And yes, I know how that sounds, thus why I list it as one of my flaws....I am self aware, but accepting.
I am also a bit over the top. I tend to throw myself into situations head first and then wallow in them. Case in point - Christmas decorations. I have enough decorations to decorate a house twice this size - and last year I dragged them all out, making our home a little snowman shrine. I also brought home a huge, live tree that took up a majority of our living room and shorted out the lights because I insisted on lighting every branch on the tree. The living room became the 'walkway between the front door and the kitchen', not the 'living room' because there was no room for actual living. I follow this same train of thought when it comes to shopping, baking, and Christmas cards. I always want to do the most that I can - which is pretty much impossible and can only lead to guilt fueled ingesting of cut out cookies and fudge. It's an ugly circle. This year I am trying to reduce the stress - I don't even have a tree yet! It remains to be seen how successful I am.
So between the post-divorce psychosis and my control-freak-all-or-nothing personality, I tend to not be at my best for constructing timely, amusing posts. Forgive me, pray for my sanity, and - if I don't make it - eat a tree shaped, bedazzled cut out cookie in my honor.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Success Stories (For JAG)
So a comment was made on my last post about how I seem to be dwelling on the failures and mistakes that I have made, when I should be crowing about all my successes. Let me leave you with no doubt - I definitely crow about my successes people. There just seems to be much more humor in the failings - and I am someone that can see the funny, even if it is at my expense. But in the interest of balance, here are my favorite success stories - post Brad.
Buying my Jeep. Now, just to be clear, I am NOT a car girl. I don't like anything to do with it really, and more often than not, I still try to sweet talk my brothers or my dad into changing my oil or my windshield wipers. Also, I have been letting my younger sister Libby 'practice' pumping gas since she was about twelve. Mechanics and I are just not close friends. When Brad and I were together, he always decided on our cars because he was car crazy. The only comment I ever made was that I really like the Jeep Cherokees - but Brad vetoed, and I pretty much forgot about it. Until we split. And he started stealing my brand new Grand Prix from my work and my driveway with the help of these hip, fun (immature, stupid) new friends of his that thought his wife was a real drag. Then I decided why not let him keep it? And the four hundred dollar payment it came with as well. He really didn't think that one through very well. So he ended up with all the car payments on all our vehicles (I admit that I got some joy out of this) and I went out and bought a bright red Jeep Cherokee. Which I still have and love today. I love it so much that when it gets creaky and arthritic, I am just going to buy a new one just like it. Success.
Painting my house. Now even I can admit that taking the house on by myself just so Brad wouldn't move some girl into my old home was mostly error. I have many more fail stories about that than successes. EXCEPT about this. I am a phenomenal painter. Really. My dad is a handy kind of man - and I think that parts of that must be genetic because I really like to paint. Here is the only rule: I need to be painting an actual color. Brad was a huge fan of beige, beige, beige.....we painted our bedroom the softest blue that I think they can make and that was out of his comfort zone. The rest of our house was various colors of tan, paneling, or old lady wallpaper left on from the previous owner - who was, in fact, an old lady. When Brad started fooling around, my sister and I began. We stripped the bathroom wallpaper and rag-rolled lilac on purple everywhere. We replaced the floor and re-finished the countertop. And it didn't stop there. My bedroom went pink with these great billowy, flowery curtain that looked like a rose garden - supremely girly. My kitchen became fire engine red with walnut trim and cupboards. My living room carpet got dragged to the curb so that I could play with the original dark wood floor underneath and then I painted all the walls and old, dark paneling this bright, warm, sunflower yellow. There wasn't a neutral wall left in the entire house and I loved it. It was completely me by the time I was done. Success.
Finding out how to do it all on my own. And here is the secret to this one. I don't really. But I did need to learn how to manage my life when it was only me keeping track of it. Do I still ask for help? Of course! But I don't need a man by my side to make sure that I get it. I have the strongest support system of friends and family that a girl could ask for - and now I am smart enough to ask for help if I am out of my league. Prime example. Yesterday my furnace/boiler (yup I have no idea for sure what is down there - and I'm not ashamed) was acting up and my house was freezing when I woke up. I have no clue why or how to fix it. Before eight in the morning, three people offered up their houses for me to take the babies to for the day. My dad left work to come over and check it out. Another friend called me before lunch to hook me up with a guy who could figure it out for me quickly and with a good deal and offered to call him up for me. My brother got out of work and told me to call him if it didn't work when I got home and he'd come figure it out. On the way home, another friend gave me the name of another good service man who was trustworthy and told me to call him if anything didn't work out and he'd come look at it for me. This is all within the space of about eight hours. I have truly amazing people in my life (Love you all!) and what could have been a huge stressful event became a minor inconvience for the day. A few years ago, this event would have destroyed my whole week - at a minimum. I would have been a basketcase, thinking this was one more example of how my life was broken now without a husband. One more sign that I coudn't do it alone. Looking back, I have such compassion and sympathy for that version of myself - almost like I am looking at just some random person that I wish I could help. It is nice to see how far I am from that place. If I were still with Brad, I would still be that girl. Standing on my own two feet - Success.
Buying my Jeep. Now, just to be clear, I am NOT a car girl. I don't like anything to do with it really, and more often than not, I still try to sweet talk my brothers or my dad into changing my oil or my windshield wipers. Also, I have been letting my younger sister Libby 'practice' pumping gas since she was about twelve. Mechanics and I are just not close friends. When Brad and I were together, he always decided on our cars because he was car crazy. The only comment I ever made was that I really like the Jeep Cherokees - but Brad vetoed, and I pretty much forgot about it. Until we split. And he started stealing my brand new Grand Prix from my work and my driveway with the help of these hip, fun (immature, stupid) new friends of his that thought his wife was a real drag. Then I decided why not let him keep it? And the four hundred dollar payment it came with as well. He really didn't think that one through very well. So he ended up with all the car payments on all our vehicles (I admit that I got some joy out of this) and I went out and bought a bright red Jeep Cherokee. Which I still have and love today. I love it so much that when it gets creaky and arthritic, I am just going to buy a new one just like it. Success.
Painting my house. Now even I can admit that taking the house on by myself just so Brad wouldn't move some girl into my old home was mostly error. I have many more fail stories about that than successes. EXCEPT about this. I am a phenomenal painter. Really. My dad is a handy kind of man - and I think that parts of that must be genetic because I really like to paint. Here is the only rule: I need to be painting an actual color. Brad was a huge fan of beige, beige, beige.....we painted our bedroom the softest blue that I think they can make and that was out of his comfort zone. The rest of our house was various colors of tan, paneling, or old lady wallpaper left on from the previous owner - who was, in fact, an old lady. When Brad started fooling around, my sister and I began. We stripped the bathroom wallpaper and rag-rolled lilac on purple everywhere. We replaced the floor and re-finished the countertop. And it didn't stop there. My bedroom went pink with these great billowy, flowery curtain that looked like a rose garden - supremely girly. My kitchen became fire engine red with walnut trim and cupboards. My living room carpet got dragged to the curb so that I could play with the original dark wood floor underneath and then I painted all the walls and old, dark paneling this bright, warm, sunflower yellow. There wasn't a neutral wall left in the entire house and I loved it. It was completely me by the time I was done. Success.
Finding out how to do it all on my own. And here is the secret to this one. I don't really. But I did need to learn how to manage my life when it was only me keeping track of it. Do I still ask for help? Of course! But I don't need a man by my side to make sure that I get it. I have the strongest support system of friends and family that a girl could ask for - and now I am smart enough to ask for help if I am out of my league. Prime example. Yesterday my furnace/boiler (yup I have no idea for sure what is down there - and I'm not ashamed) was acting up and my house was freezing when I woke up. I have no clue why or how to fix it. Before eight in the morning, three people offered up their houses for me to take the babies to for the day. My dad left work to come over and check it out. Another friend called me before lunch to hook me up with a guy who could figure it out for me quickly and with a good deal and offered to call him up for me. My brother got out of work and told me to call him if it didn't work when I got home and he'd come figure it out. On the way home, another friend gave me the name of another good service man who was trustworthy and told me to call him if anything didn't work out and he'd come look at it for me. This is all within the space of about eight hours. I have truly amazing people in my life (Love you all!) and what could have been a huge stressful event became a minor inconvience for the day. A few years ago, this event would have destroyed my whole week - at a minimum. I would have been a basketcase, thinking this was one more example of how my life was broken now without a husband. One more sign that I coudn't do it alone. Looking back, I have such compassion and sympathy for that version of myself - almost like I am looking at just some random person that I wish I could help. It is nice to see how far I am from that place. If I were still with Brad, I would still be that girl. Standing on my own two feet - Success.
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