I Built Her Myself

Some days it feels like a lot of work to pull myself together. Friday was one of those days. After Oz picked up the kids for an overnight visit at his place, I took a look at myself. I had recently gotten back from a 17 hour road trip alone with 3 children.  And what was left of me was a shell of myself. And SHE was just sitting there. Not moving. Like a lump on the couch.

I reminded her that her friends were going out to see a band that she likes and that there would be dancing and that she should get herself together and start getting ready.

But, she had a lot of excuses.  She felt like she was too tired, too old and too drained of life force energy from everything she endured over the last few years. She felt sadness because she thought about the reality that her dad died and is still dead 4 years later. She thinks MS makes her tired. She gained 4 pounds but feels like it's 100. Her ex-husband is getting remarried in 3 weeks. And she feels like she is going to die alone.

She wanted to wallow in despair and pay bills and sweep the crud off the kitchen floor. She wanted to stay home on her couch and eat the fudge brownie ice cream the kids hadn't found yet while she finished binging another season of Shadow Hunters and take off her bra and put on her romper.

That was IT! Enough! I had to intervene! I could not let her her put that damn onesie on and sit around feeding her friggin' face junk food while her friends were dancing somewhere. NO!

So I pulled her off of the couch and forced her into the bathroom.  I blasted her favorite songs from her phone and threw her into the shower and strongly encouraged her to shave every inch of her Italian fur off.  She tried to get away with a quick once over with the razor, but nope! All of it!  How does it grow so freakin' fast?

I almost felt bad for her and let her put the onesie on and go back to the couch after all the effort the shaving took.  Then I remembered the dancing and my Old Self that wasn't a haggard shell and I pushed forward with my mission.

Next I worked on her hair. She protested of course and wanted to just leave it wet and put it in a messy bun like she had been doing all summer so far. But- nope! Not having it.

She complained it was dried out from the chlorine and salt water from vacation, it was in need of coloring. It was out of control.  And she was right.

 So, I took out all of my tools and turned them to the highest heat settings they had. I used the super strength oil and smoothing creme and I used the salon quality hair dryer I had splurged on for situations such as this. I sectioned the ratty hair into sections. And slowly I dried it. One section at a time.

She tried to convince me to not let her out of the house until her hair color appointment later this week. But, nope! I persisted.

Next, I slathered more oil on the hair. Then I used the flat iron. Again sectioning it. She wanted me to just run it over chunks of hair to quickly flatten it a bit.
Ummm....nope.

Section by small freaking section I smoothed and flat ironed that straw back into silk.

Not too bad!

While the curling iron heated up we worked on her face.

Oh Self, what the hell happened here??

I tried not to be angry, but seriously she hadn't used her face soap and exfoliator in so long that she couldn't even find it. WTF?!

Luckily, I dug it out from the dark hole in the closet and gave her face a good scrubbing.
The old, dead, dried out skin went away. But, the underneath layer was sunburned and reddish and had some blemishes.

 I knew she would use these as excuses to put that darn onesie on and watch tv.

SO- I convinced her it was part of looking like summer!

Before she could register that this isn't a thing- I started dabbing foundation on to blend her face a bit.  I had to admit there was no hiding the pimple on her forehead or the sunburned nose.

I decided instead to use a cream blush to highlight her cheeks and lips and leave the blemishes and "naturalness."

Hmmm....ok she was starting to perk up.

Next were the eyes.  I smudged some eyeshadow on with my finger because she couldn't find a brush and was too lazy to dig out q-tips.  SO I made due.

Not bad!
Now for the eyeliner....inside edge of the bottom lid first.

OMG! She started to look alive.  So I kept going.

Outer edge of top lids.
And one slight wing at each edge.

Ohhhhhh my!

And finally my most favorite of all make-up....Mascara!
I had saved the best for last. I knew that lash by lash I could uncover my True Self.
I still had belief she was in there.

And as I swept that black wonder across those lashes, I saw her. Her eyes sparkled. She was awake now.

Before she lost the sparkle I added a touch of brown brow pencil and BAM!!!! She was alive in there!

It was HER- the woman that likes to listen to music and go out with friends and dance!

Oh, but the outfit, her eyes dulled at the thought.

I reminded her about the black dress hanging on the hook in her room.
She protested that it wasn't actually a dress, but a beach cover up.

I had already anticipated this reaction, so I was ready with a necklace and earrings
and WAAAAA-LAAAAA
it's a dress!

She wasn't too sure, but she didn't have time to think as I shoved her fat little feet into her peacock print shoes that she loves.

That distracted her enough to forget she was wearing a beach cover-up as a dress because it was the only thing clean that actually fit her.

Finally dressed ...  I used a giant-barreled curling iron to add some OOOMPH to her hair.
Just a few well placed curls because at this point I'm lucky she even has any patience left at all.

One very important last step- the root spray.  I shook that can up and sprayed that dark brown paint over as much of her gray hairs as I could.  Took practically the whole can but I covered most of it!


And then...she looks in the mirror and seems to approve. Or at least not head back to the couch.

So she goes to the bar and meets up with her friends and they talk and laugh and she is awake and happy and then the band plays and she loves every song and can't sit in her seat because she needs to stand up and dance!

And she knows every word to Jesse's Girl and Livin' on A Prayer so she sings it with her friends and laughs and laughs.

And I know she will be ok...because I built her myself.

The Green Chair

I feel like I have lived a lifetime since I first saw The Green Chair. It is one of the last remnants of The Ex husband, Oz's s bachelor furniture. It was in his apartment through our dating, engagement and early marriage.  Somehow it ended up making the cut of his belongings that we agreed to bring with us when we bought our house. I won't say I loved that chair.  (In fact, I won't say much of what I thought of the chair because I was only given rights to use the photo if I wasn't going to make fun of The Green Chair. )

 However, I feel The Green Chair does symbolize Oz's style.  He is retro, furniture with metal legs, Star Wars, Pink FLoyd, The Who, The Beatles, skinny jeans,  hoodies, Fluevogs, Doc Martins, Rickenbacker guitars, Apple store products.

When he first moved out he took his guitar, computer and some clothes. Over the past 18 months our house became a holding pattern~ a place I tried to survive in, Home Base for the kids and a storage unit for belongings he may want at some point like his pile of jackets and 6 foot plastic Christmas tree that I will not ever miss. After the divorce was final- slowly, but surely those things made it out.

But, The Green Chair was the last to go. This past holiday season when he moved into a new apartment it was time. When The Green Chair went out the front door, it was the end of a chapter. It had gone full circle.

I stood up that day and noticed my reflection in the mirror on my living room wall and thought to myself, "who the fuck are you?" I looked around my living room and tried to find one piece of furniture that truly symbolized who I was. I came up with nothing. Most of our mutual furniture was given to us as gifts or hand me downs or came with me from my single days. From a lifetime ago.

I used to have a pretty unique decorating style. But, after the premature birth of my babies and holding Luccio through 3 brain surgeries in his first year~ paint and patterns didn't seem so important.

But, since 2014 began I realized it is important. My children need to know I am a person with style and  love for life. I don't want them to look back and think "Who was that lady that raised us?"  It is also important that they know a man doesn't make or break me. Neither does a marriage or divorce. I don't want my little girl to grow up afraid that she will be lost if she risks everything to love. And my boys need to know that women roar loud and clear in all they do starting with their style.

So I started to take inventory of what I love as far as style goes. So far I have realized I like gold, but LOVE silver.  I LOVE purple, but sky blue is beautiful too. Ecru is actually a color and I am going to find a way to use it in my living room. I love fairies, butterflies, fairy tales, windchimes, chandeliers, and candles. I took a quiz on the Homegoods website and my style is "sassy," but I actually prefer whimsical. Thankfully after pinning a dream house on Pinterest I had some ideas to get me started with redecorating. I also had an awesome co-worker, my uncle, my nephew and his girlfriend help me with my home improvement endeavors like painting and hanging pictures. It has been fun to see this house transform. I own it, might as well make it my own now. So room by room, day by day, I am making changes and reinventing and reestablishing. Making space to live the next chapter. Hopefully, happily ever after!

Sayonara Mama

Being a single mom during the holidays sucks. Especially when you throw Fun Dad and Santa into the mix. They come along with their Elfin' energy and shiny new toys and boring Mama is up Shit's Creek without a paddle.  It isn't fun being the person that holds together a broken family. The pieces are heavy and never will fit back together like they were and yet you can't drop them because broken is so much better than shattered.

I worked like a madwoman this year trying to hold onto my house so the kids have a stable place to live and helping to start up a new school so they have a safe place to learn and thrive. And then the holidays came and pointed out every, single glaring fault of mine. The truth stared me in the face. You cannot have it all.

You can't be the person that stays and still be exciting. Fun Dad gets that role. He shows up to play a few hours a week and everyone loves him. He has no rules, if you don't want to take a bath don't. If you want popcorn for lunch, fine. Don't worry about cleaning your room because Fun Dad is picking you up and taking you out on exciting adventures. Leave your mess, your worries, your responsibilities, your nagging mother and let's have fun. Who can resist that??  I wouldn't be able to. In fact, I am jealous. I would love to leave me and my laundry piles and my nagging and go off to have fun for awhile.

In all fairness, it isn't entirely his fault. Divorce sets it up that way. It just does. The day to day has to be someone's responsibility. And it was mine when we were married. He was always Fun Dad.  Of course it won't change now. He backs up the rules and enforces them, but we all know who sets them.

Even harder than resisting is competing with it.  There is no competition. It was obvious this holiday season. When they came home on the last day of school before Christmas break, they had little handmade treasures to give as gifts. And they gave them all to their Dad. The gifts were not much, but they were all they had to give and each one had his name on them.

They went off with Fun Dad and I stayed home trying to collect myself. I had worked so much that I realized it was 3 days before Christmas Eve and I had not shopped, wrapped or sent out Christmas cards.

I tried to sop up my puddle of snot and tears long enough to pull myself together. But, to no avail. I spent more than a few hours that Saturday crying and mourning the loss of every dream I had ever had for a family and future. I pretty much gave in to every dark thought that had haunted me for the past 18 months that I had been shoving away to a remote part of my brain. But, that day it was obvious. I failed.

And to make matters lovelier Fun Dad moved into a shiny, new apartment during the holiday season. An apartment that is bigger than my house. And according to my kids it is way better than our house because it has 2 bathrooms, robotic blinds, and stairs.  I pointed out that our house has stairs too, but Luccio reminded me that "Daddy's stairs are better because they go up. Our stairs go down."

And so I had to hear about the luxury living that Fun Dad is doing and all about the new furniture getting set up, etc.  I put on my happy face and tried to listen with a loving heart. I know my babies just want to be part of his shiny, new life and it is very important that they are. I listened over and over as they told stories of the awesomeness to me and to everyone we know.

And then the final blow was dealt when Vincenzo told me that he still plans to be an engineer when he is older and buy me a big house to live in. But, he will live with Fun Dad and just visit me.  Luccio was very quick to remind us all that he is also going to live with Fun Dad like he has been saying for the past year.

Vincenzo also very generously offered that if I would like to live in Japan on the other side of the world that would be ok too, he would visit sometimes.  Thanks Buddy.  Japan?? Maybe Italy!

Thankfully, I have my beautiful baby girl. She said she would live with me. Girls with Mama and boys can go with Daddy.  Oh, Darling!! Thank you!!! The one person left on Earth that is still loyal to Mama! Those boys would leave me for a second bathroom and a set of stairs!

I had all these holiday plans and unrealistic images of us making wonderful memories of the glorious season. In the end, the kids ditched me to go sleepover Fun Dad's a couple days before and spent Christmas Eve with him. I thankfully had fun celebrating with my cousins. And I was able to have the kids home for Christmas morning to open gifts. Although that didn't go as planned either. Luccio's big gift from Santa didn't work, another failure for Mama. Our Christmas tree died and smelled like cat pee and we don't even have a cat, so it had to be moved outdoors. So our Christmas morning pics are of a pink, plastic tree Isabella set up for us. The kids were exhausted and cranky from their days of celebrating with Fun Dad. Isabella had a major meltdown and refused to wear her beautiful dress, opting instead for an orange t-shirt and blue leggings. I had a terrible sinus infection and was beyond exhausted, so let her. I even paid her a few bucks to let me brush her hair so she wouldn't look like the Crazy Cat Lady. I tried to put on a happy face, but ended up crying into my coffee.

One benefit of having Fun Dad around, is that he is fun.  And he loves those kids. So he was there on Christmas morning to make belgium waffles, which we all love! He put together all of the toys and helped everyone get set up for the day.  He kept the mood joyful. And the kids were over the moon to have us all in one place for a little while. It is good for them to know that not all traditions die with Divorce.

Later that day, it took every ounce of my being to get the kids to my parents' house. Thankfully, we went. It finally felt like the Christmas I was hoping for. My parents and brother and cousins made the day feel amazing. My parents' house is our stable place. Through the worst of times and in the best of times, my parents have been there to take care of us. The kids know it, I know it. So it feels like home. It also helped that there was a ton of food, gifts and a megaphone!

So all the cards did not get mailed, some gifts did not get bought or wrapped. My kids made new traditions without me.  But, the world didn't end. I survived it, with help from my family and a few glasses of wine.  And Isabella declared it was "the best Christmas ever!"   So I guess it wasn't a complete failure.