I don’t deserve them…

I don’t deserve them; those kids of mine.  I try very hard not to rub my anguish off on them but, truth, I do.

Saturday they both reached out to me with beautiful writing.  My daughter wrote me a poem and my son wrote me a “love letter.”  I don’t want to breach their privacy, and want to keep the words clomother-children-playground-5207350se to my heart, but get a load of this:

My daughter’s poem starts, “You’ve raised me as faithfully as the night raises the sun.”  Did you ever?!

My son says in his letter, “You are a beautiful person.  I will not write this to you day after day until you feel better, diluting the truth of it in repetition.”

I bawled like a baby when I received them, and both on the same day.  I am truly grateful for them.  They teach me every day to be a better person.


The Healing Stone and Smaller Boobs

Healing StoneI have taken to tucking the healing stone (Remember that and it’s powers?  If not, I talk about it in one of my first posts) into my left side bra cup.  The idea is that it’s as close to my heart as it can be on the outside, and where it does its work.  The problem with this is that through this divorce (can’t wait to stop saying that) (can’t wait to stop using parentheses) I have lost quite a bit of weight.  No surprise, but I have to latch my bra on the smallest circumference, and the boobs don’t fill out the cups like they used to.  If I lift them up and put the cup right under them they look okay for about 5 seconds — then they bag and sag — both the breasts and the cups.

I have “lost” the stone twice, both times in bed.  If you are paying attention, that means yes, I wear my bra to bed.  Always.  You can accept this, I’m sure.  I’m very ritualistic, so if something isn’t in its place, it could be literally anywhere.  The freezer, even.  By the cat box.  In the cup holder.  Turns out the stone was still in the bra cup — it had just migrated to the other side.  (Lots of room).  No parentheses!  Lots of room.  The second time was this morning.  After a thorough check, it was not swimming around in the left bra cup.  Instead of panicking, I thought maybe the universe was telling me I am done with the healing stone.  Maybe it put all its little belongings in a kerchief and tied it to a stick and went looking for another heart to heal.  I was cool with it.  Seemed ok.  I plopped back into bed to read a little at 4:40 am, which is the time I was born, and the time I usually wake up, and I had a Princess and the Pea moment.  I had checked the sheets and blankets before, but nevertheless (nevertheless should never be used by non-lawyers, as well as parentheses) regardless, I was lying on it.  Thank god.  Who was I kidding when I thought I was healed?  The lesson is that I just need to buy smaller bras.  Moving on.

A little levity, please…Let’s rhyme!

Chocolate in Your Pocket


If you shove chocolate in your pocket
From Auntie’s candy dish
And take off nonchalantly
(Just leave the Swedish fish)

Be careful and be watchful
Be still-as-stone in bed
Aunties — just like mommies —
have eyes behind their heads

What if – Oops! – She saw you
– If she has a scheme –
To come reclaim her chocolate
While you’re winding up a dream?

Second star to the right and straight on ’til morning…

Peter Pan

On second thought Neverland, never mind.  Not this time.  Thanks for thinking of me, though.  I have been hanging out in Neverland too long — overstayed my welcome.  You can be a female Peter Pan.  I got married, raised kids, moved a bunch of times, tackled some health challenges, but never fully “grew up.”  I wanted so badly to marry someone different from my father and I did in the sense that he was from a different part of the country, Jewish, brash, outgoing, self-promoting, etc.  I married exactly my dad in the sense that he considers himself the boss, tells you what to do, and makes you feel bad when you can’t quite do it.

I am slowly realizing I am not a victim here, though.  I remember feeling relief when I was first with my husband because he took charge of so many things I didn’t want to deal with.  Ah…I could just be me and settle into railing against authority when I wanted something badly enough that he didn’t want me to have, or he didn’t want to have happen.  Otherwise, it was familiar and comfortable to take marching orders.

I need to be brave enough to face that part of myself.  I need to use this opportunity to be my own guide in my own life.  Thank you Neverland, but I need to skip this trip, stay here, and grow up a little.  I need to face pain and loneliness and fear and know that I can rely on myself to get through.  Can I do it?  Pretty sure I can…


PeaceSomehow I have felt Peace creeping into this shit storm… slowly…like a wary cat.  Could it be for me?  Could I start eating again and looking forward to food?  Could I hang out with my wonderful, neglected friends and be ok that I’m not a twosome?  Could I revel in taking charge of my life now?

Nothing about this divorce is resolved yet, but as they say, my perspective has shifted, and that has meant quite a bit.  I am thinking about things differently.  I’m not as scared.  I would love for Peace to not be scared of me either.  I would like to welcome Peace into my house, have it sit down at my table, and be with me…I would love to get to know Peace…

Yes, you woke me


You are in San Francisco on a business trip.  We were planning for me to go with you on this one.  We both love San Francisco.  Until you left me.  I fall asleep watching TV and you call.

“Hey, babe.  It’s me.”


“Remember Coit Tower?  It looks just the same.  So cool.”

“Who is this?”

“Babe it’s me.  I’m checking in.  So sorry I’m going to miss our daughter’s awards ceremony.  I miss you guys.”


“It had to be done that you stayed at home for that.  Babe?”


“Are you ok?  Did I wake you?”

Yes, you woke me when you left me for her, without a thought of future plans like going to San Francisco together again, missing your daughter’s awards ceremony, not responding to her when she sends a recording of herself singing your favorite song.  But this…this is just a dream of who I thought I loved.



In my life’s novel, I’d already parked
you in Boston, where you were safe until
you emerged from Harvard, having
shown them all.

The poker-hot friend of my
son, you warmed our family
dinner, glowed on that college trip, and
that first summer home, in my garage, I affirmed
your spark was safe.

I appreciated your ability to hear me with
athletic energy.  Had I known, I would have come
to you, tried to hold you here, by your hand in mine.  I would have
been choked with gratitude if you had stayed.

But, despite my insistence, you are not parked at
Harvard.  You are not in the restaurants, or classrooms, or life
stages I check.  You are nowhere I am, and nowhere
I left you.