My ego was hurt....

He buys him a TV and DVD player. I bought him a ten dollar toy. I am his mother. I am supposed to be the one that provides for him and gives him things that he wants. Not him. And yet, I was so glad to see the delight dancing in my son's eyes. But my pride ached. I felt like tearing into Randy. I yelled at him, because my heart ached when I saw that my son was much more happier with his gifts than with what "Santa" brought him. I couldn't explain the desdain I felt when I saw Gabe tear up the paper, and the lit up smile that touched his lips. He was screaming, "YAY!" and he was so excited to have his own TV and DVD player in his room. But I felt bad that I wasn't the originator of that happiness. And it hurt my pride to be the one that couldn't do that. Because I wanted this Christmas season more than ever to be the best that my son could remember. And I wanted to say proudly that I was the one that did it. Alone. I understand why he did it. But it still hurts. I was sorry for yelling at him. And I think he understood why I was more than a little pissed, but I just couldn't get that bee out of my bonnet. And I really haven't, yet. I just wish my damn pride would give it a rest and just take it for what it is worth, be thankful to have such a wonderful companion, that would go out of his way to make sure Gabe got something nice for Christmas. I love them both, dearly. I just wish my pride wasn't wounded. Yes, my pride was injured and I only hope that with time and a good dose of love with make it go away....or at least scar over.

"We are all failures - at least, the best of us are." - J.M. Barrie

I dreamt of her last night, without recognizing the significance....

You must be wondering who....Ha ha......Well, sorry but it's not for me to say...but I can describe it. For it felt so real. I saw myself back there once again, as a child. In that magnificent room. The sun splashed the walls with golden light, infuriating the walls with it's sunrises and sunsets. This room full of all the dolls I could dream of. Various sizes and colors. But never allowed to touch any of them. Their plastered smiles and painted cheeks beckoned my touch. They soft, springy hair yearned to be brushed. Their satin and silk dresses demanded to be changed. Their empty unblinking eyes, just stared. Bore holes into me. All I wanted was to play with the dolls in that illumnating room, inside the house that smelled of fried dough and rising bread. I would stand in the middle of the room. And barely breathe, as though my breath would touch these precious mannequins. I wanted to run over and grab each one by their tiny hands and cradle them in my arms. But I was forbidden from that. I can understand why now, but as a child I didn't. I thought it a cruel and unfair thing to do. Have a room full of dolls, yet not allow the children to play with them. I still remember her smell. Like soap and clean linens. And like the country that I always wanted to live in. The fresh air, the ripe sun, the blossoming fields of freedom. I loved her smell. Her wrinkled, pited face. The leathery, silky texture to it. Her raspy hands. Her onyx hair, much like a beautiful mane....thinning and wisping lightly in the breeze, the gray streaks that shimmered in the sun. Her eyes. Those eyes, hazel and so kind, seeming to know so much yet so little. Those wonderfully wise eyes. And her voice. Like chimes in the winter breeze. Cool and light, yet warmed the heart, in a startling way. She had this quality; that magnetism or charisma. I don't know how else to describe it. I was drawn in to her. I absorbed her every movement emulating her, never knowing how annoyed she was by my presence. But she never wanted me. And now I understand. I didn't know then, but now I see things through an adult's eyes. Not those eyes of a young child. I dreamt of the room. Always prohibited to me. Never was I allowed to touch one doll in there. She kept them from me, like she kept her affections. And I understood why I always felt like I was never good enough. I think it started with her. And that goldenrod room filled with the beautiful dolls and the astounding sunlight. I have never seen the sun crash through my windows as it did in that room. I have never seen a room full of dolls like that. And now, I hate dolls. They frighten me. All because my curiousity was unsatisfied. I couldn't help who I was. I didn't make the choice, yet I was also punished and banned from them. I have not dreamt of that room in years, and she never was present in the dreams. But she was last night. And she actually let play with the dolls. And I now understand what it all means. I shall bask in the fiery glimmering radiant splendor of the room. The room that I dreamt of last night, and she shall play alonside of me.

I miss the stars that glow at night....

I looked up to the empty skies above me. How I took for granted sleeping under those magnificient steady glowing lights every night. How I shall miss being kissed every morning with the first dew of the day. Those tears of a mighty God that fall on the earth each morning. How I will miss seeing the clouds roll past, strolling accross that clear night sky. How I will miss the view of the infected moon at harvest. The way the orange rusty ring hangs on it for dear life. How that glowing ember of matter seems to be impregnated and melancholy in itself. How the glow seems sinister, yet quite innocently standing by. Waiting for another night to pass by. To be kissed with those light flutters of tears from the skies. To hear the rustling music of the trees as they dance in the midnight hours. To feel a breeze so quietly placed on my skin, it feels like shuddering feathers upon me. I miss those days that I slept on mother earth. Smelled the fresh grass beaneath me. Being crowned by dandelions and having the crickets skittishly dance above me. To see the fireflies kiss each other with soft glowing light. To not be able to hear the life of the city, but only the earth's sounds. The hoot of a distant owl, questioning the breeze. I miss these things, as I lay in my empty bed. I yearn for the warmth of the earth rising through me, baking my skin, and feeling the cool grass wick the heat away. I miss that smell. Just before nightfall, this sandalwood-y smell, the smell of the Texas land beneath me. That smell of life, of birth, of death, of new beginnings that start at those untimely endings. How I miss those Texas stars. The stars of my youth, and my childhood. Where I would try as much as I could to count each star, to put a definite number on the infinite. I dream of star gazing in the night. How I would turn my young face towards the heavens and try to breathe in the star dust, to get a little of the magnitude I sensed in the skies. To be looked up to, like so many turn to the skies for answers. I miss the stars that glow at night....

Because I forgot who I was...

So here I am. Sitting here trying to recall who I was 5 years ago. I forgot how it was to be new to the world. To expect things to be beautiful and grand. I forgot what it was like to have big dreams and big ideas. I forgot what it was like to believe in real love. The one that infects your belly and your heart. I sat here and contemplated who I wanted to be. Those magnetic aspirations so quickly forgotten and tossed to the side for some other dumb kid to pick them up. I can never be those things. And I think I have come to terms with the fact that when you grow up, you forget to dream, love uncoditionally, and to expect great things. I know I may not be old in years, but this heart beats an old dusty song. One of years gone pass. Of happier, simpler times. When you could place happiness on another. When you could truly rely on someone. Not anymore. This world's full of selfish people. And that is what I have learned. I am unhappy for stupid reasons. It makes me angry, and makes me feel guilty. For wanting such superficial things that can not grant me the erhereal happiness I long have searched for. I forget that my son is only 2. He is here to annoy me, to frustrate me. Because he doesn't know any better, yet. I forget that I am not the only one in Randy's life. And that I am not his sole purpose for existence. So why do I get angry when he doesn't want to spend time with me? Have I gotten so immature in my idealistic view of love that I have turned into this selfish monster that I so despised in my marriage? It's crazy that you can spend some time alone and feel so stupid. But I do. And I need to apologize to my son. And spend actual time with him. It's not his fault that I hate his father, or his father's family. It's not Randy's fault that I'm insecure with myself and feel he needs to spend every living, breathing moment with me. So, here goes: I am sorry everyone. I shall make a concious effort to not be so demanding. And to accept what I get from you. Without judgement or without harsh words. I am going to meet myself once again. The five years ago me. The one who laughed with an open mouth, the one who believed in God. The one who thought people were mostly good. The one who believed in random acts of grace and in miracles. The one who wanted to go to college and become a veterinarian. The one who never doubted herself. The one who believed that I could accomplish anything. The one who was proud of what she was, no matter the situation. That's who I yearn to meet again. Only for a moment. So I can remember all of it. I sure do hope you still love me as I am, Randy. And I sure do hope you still love me as your mother, Gabriel.

He loves me......REALLY!!

I know that he really must love me. After all, he does put up with my crap. And he washed my dishes last night. Maybe not such a big deal to some, but to me it is. Let me set the scene up for you. Dirty dishes overflowing the sink and nearby counters. Dishes that have been there for over a week. With food, in an apartment that has had the heater on this past week. My son's dirty dishes. Milk leftover in cups, left to spoil. And he beared it all. Washed a sinkful of dishes while I made "dinner" for us. I laughed as he made silly faces. The smell emanating from my sink was horrifying. I was gagging and I wasn't even washing the dishes. I know, I know. Ya'll must think "Wow, she's really nasty!". But believe me, I'm not. It's just I would much rather clean the bathroom (i.e. the toilet) with a toothbrush than wash dishes. So they tend to get a little out of hand. Out of all the housework that I love to do, folding laundry and washing dishes are the worst for me. It's like torture to me. That's why my clothes is always a mess, since I never fold them, and my dishes are always disgusting...because I never wash them. So, yes. I know he really does love me. If he could do that, with a sickly grin on his face and not complain about it...well, then...that's good. Now, if he can only make me clean up all my dishes everynight so they don't get out of control! We'll see. I know he really loves me, by the things he endures for me.

He talks to me. I love that! We can actually talk about anything and everything. Honestly, bluntly. I love it. I have never had so much freedom with words as I have with him. He listens to me. Non-judmental listening. It's very endearing, and if I may say....addicting. I love that he talks to me. Talks to me about anything he can. I like that I can make him feel free to tell me whatever he wants to, without me overreacting (even though I do get jealous!). When I ask, "What are you thinking?" he answers me truthfully. He is everything I could have hoped for and more. He laughs with me, and puts up with all my weird ideas and random musings about everything. He doesn't make me feel pressured to be something that I am not. For the first time in my life, I can actually be me. Completely. Just as I am, and he accepts it. I know he really loves me, by the way he listens to me.

He looks into me. Not at me. There's a difference, you see! He looks into my eyes. And I can see him trying to memorize every crease, blemish, mole and pore on my face. He loves my smile (goofy looking as it is!), and loves me. He makes me feel beautiful, even when I am in a dirty t-shirt, sweatpants, and got "raccoon-eyes". He doesn't point out my flaws and makes me feel insecure. He touches my face as if it were silk. He caresses my skin when we kiss. He looks into my eyes when we talk. His eyes dance with mine, when we sit there and don't say anything. He knows exactly how to make my knees buckle and my heart race. All this with a simple look from him. I know that he loves me, just by the way he looks at me.

Isn't he a doll?

Yes, I know...Isn't he just the most adorable person ever? I mean aside from Gabe of course! But yeah..I just wanted to show him off....

I love you, Randy!

My First....

I made my first snow angel this morning, and threw my first snowball.

I almost ate my dirt walking on the frozen ground.

My son saw snow for the first time in his life yesterday. It was absolutely beautiful to see that wonderful expression on his face.

Just thought ya'll would like to know.

There's no rest for the dead....

And she rests her head on weak shoulders to cry out the solitude that had long forsaken her from the grace once promised. She was never to return again, the child with closed eyes had now become the adult with open eyes, eyes that would never kiss sleep, and dance filled with dreams and nightmares. They would never foresee the unhappiness and ruin about her, much nearly ignore it. For she was deserted. Only the murky emptiness of heart remained in her. Breaths were not taken for they were too costly. She had to let go of all the beautiful melancholy things she had once possessed. She was to give away her anguished pit of a heart again. For what? For whom? Run to those cancerous arms, kiss those infected lips. Embrace the rotted remains of whom you loved. For he is no longer here for you. He left. Like them. It is only you that is sleepless in your grave, that you yourself have excavated. For you will not rest, you will have no remnants of your former self. I let go of you, to betray you with my new life. Cherish what I have sacrificed for you. No one will carry this scar with them, no one shall bear your pain. I am swarming with your tasteless poetry. I am here lingering for your delightfully sinful murderous kiss. The stroke that shall forever cease my untimely everlasting desolation, like the snow that melts on my lips.

Fantasies do come true

Today was my hot date with Randy. Let me just say that it was absolutely amazing! I can't believe he pulled it all off by himself. He cooked me lasagna (it was good, at least so far!), tried making chocolate covered strawberries, and had candles everywhere in his house...just for me! And that's not the end! He then set up some rose petals on his bed for me in the shape of a heart. It was rather romantic. He even had some "booty" music in the background. It was the most wonderful thing I have ever had anyone do for me, and I am very grateful that he would take the time out to actually listen to me and try to do stuff that I think is romantic. Too bad he wont marry for another 32 years. Oh well, who knows maybe I can coax him into marryine me sooner. SUCKER! Just kidding. I totally do not deserve this guy. He is way too good to me. Spoiling me....Ugh! His theory is that if I ever decide to leave him (not gonna happen, I ain't that stupid!), that he should set high standards that no one else can live up to. I am in awe that he would take the time, effort and just the determination to try to make this as special as he could. The thought is what gets me, because I have never had anyone that actually cared enough to actually go through something like this just for me. I just don't think he understands how grateful I am that he would even consider doing this for me. So yeah, fantasies do come true. Well, at least for me. This hooker better marry me, or I will stalk him and stab him in the back 17 times, dammit! Seriously...Ya'll think I'm playing? I am mexican, we some crazy bitches when it comes to that stuff. And I do carry a knife with me. So this is the end of my post, I hope all ya'll ladies out there have a guy that can truly appreciate the art of romance and know how to do it with style and with love. God, I love this man!

I'm thirsty anyway, So bring on the rain........

I made a big mistake today during our training session. See, there's a retention NCO (someone who tries to keep dumbasses like me in the military, for the betterment of the military!) that has been sort of hounding me to reenlist since I am open for reenlistment. The time I have spent in the Army as of yet has been, well, interesting and a learning experience. I associate my personal happenings in my life with the military. The military is not a good place to start relationships, to have families, to be free of all the restrictions that society sets for women. You're never a lady when you wear green. I have learned this. I know the Army has given me the opportunity of a lifetime, to experience new things, places, faces, people...that college alone would have never taught me.

I have learned what it is to be a total soldier. Religion, intelligence, physical activity, and family are all parts of the total soldier concept. It's odd how us women can talk ourselves to death, and it's not like I was out there offering the information. She asked a question and since I am not a liar, I answered truthfully. I had found a way to move here without the alloted time for this assignment. This is a special duty assignment that requires a 3 year (or 36 months, same thing but military talk) time frame to fulfill the slot I took. I only have 2 years left. Do you see where I fucked up? Yes, it's true.

So now, I can either voluntarily extend, or I can be "volentold" and do an involuntary extension to fulfill the Army needs for this special duty assignment. So my plans, or conceivement of plans of what to do when I get out have been foiled. I guess now I should work on getting promoted. Because if I am going to be in this shithole for another 3 years instead of just 2, then I might as well make it the best I can and get some cash. I told Randy about it, but I didn't get too much of a reaction from him. I wonder what he is thinking. He is getting out next year, and I will be here for another 2 after he leaves. I wonder if it'll work with him being in Ohio, and me here. Yes, it's only 8 hours and I know that two consenting adults can make anything work.

But we all are emotional beings with a highly developed rational possibility. I learned that yesterday, at a parenting class that I had to take. Why did I take it? Because I want to be a better parent. No scratch that, a great parent. I want another alternative than what I have been doing with my son. I am a firm believer in spanking, but I was not spanked. I was abused. And there is a thin, thin line between spanking and abusing. I have always been afraid that I will convert into my mother and actually abuse my child in a fit of anger. It's hard to erase things that have been ingrained into your head. I am 22, much taller and stronger than my mother, yet I still cower in her prescence. It's just that, I don't want my child, who unconditionally loves me to ever be afraid of me or my anger. After all I am an emotional being. Not rational. Even though I know how to act rationally, I understand that my emotions are my nature and I will always react emotionally instead of rationally.

So what to do? Shall I voluntarily set myself for another 12 months of "vacation" courtesy of the Army, and possibly diminish the grandness of love in all actuality, or should I try and make it work and see if I can be an adult and have a "long-distance" relationship with Randy? I don't know what will happen tomorrow, 6 months from now, or much less 2 years from now. I don't want to make him feel obligated to stay in the area because of me, and I don't want to keep him away from his heart with legs (his son). I feel like I am tugging his heart in a different direction that what it has wanted to go, and that makes me feel like the worse adversary possible. Why? Well, parents are supposed to be infallable, imperfect. That's what makes us great. But to feel like I am keeping him away from that, well that makes me feel like a jezebel. The woman who has and might lead him into temptation, while keeping him away from his son. So how does one parent, tell another parent that they must choose? I couldn't conceivably do that. It's not right. I am not here to step in between a father and his child. I have already done that to one person: my ex-husband. I am doubtless that I can live with myself if I did that once again. Someone help me! So yeah, that's been my morning. I hope everyone is doing well. Thank you for reading my random musings.

"Another day has almost come and gone. I can't imagine what else could go wrong. Sometimes I'd like to hideaway somewhere and lock the door. Another battle lost, but not the war. Cus tomorrow's another day, and I'm thirsty anyway. So bring on the rain."

Clarity

Okay.
I get it.
Hmm.....rather interesting, I have to say.
So, is this the part where I give up?
Maybe it was like this to begin with.
And here I was blind as a bat.
Oh, well!
I'll get over it.
So......
Yeah...
Thank goodness for Clarity.