The Other Love of My Life

Coffee.

You are my early morning companion.

The hour or two before my house resembles back stage at a burlesque show as the girls get ready for school.

My two hours of peace and quiet, and you.

I was introduced to you in 2005.  No, that’s not true, I’ve known of you my entire life.  My Dad drank coffee every day my entire life.

I loved your smell, so enticing, drawing me in, wishing you tasted as good as you smelled.  But the first time I tried, it was a cruel cruel joke. You tasted nothing like your enticing smell.

I would be years before you became a constant in my life.

2005.  I was dating Zack, and he was from Jordan (and I have no idea if that has anything to do with anything) but he loved espresso (yes, I know, there is no X in espresso). And so, every night after dinner he would make espresso.  It was an acquired taste, and I tried, really tried to acquire it. It was just too damned strong, and there was such a bite to it.

BUT every morning, Zack made coffee, and on the nights I stayed over, made me a cup while we got ready for work.  I got used to you being there as I did my hair and make up, I missed you when I had to stay at my place, so I bought a coffee maker.  Our morning ritual had begun.

I was a Starbucks Virgin until January 2007, when Brian came to stay the weekend, and I mentioned I’d never had Starbucks.  That had to be rectified immediately, and it was.  You were very good there, but I couldn’t afford you in your fancy dressy clothes.  I liked you comfortable and familiar at home. (Unless Brian offered to buy, then by all means).

Here we are, seven years in my love affair with you.  Every morning I wake up to you, even at Brian’s when I stayed there.  We enjoy a couple of hours of peace and quiet together while I read or write.  You have been my constant companion, you have been there for me every single morning for seven  years.  I love you almost as much as I love tequila.  And that’s saying something.

I Have Never Told This Story Before, The Breakdown to Celebrate my 37th Birthday

Mama’s Losin’ It offers writing prompts every week. And while I don’t usually use them, I have them sent to me on the off chance there is one I would consider using.  One of them was write about what you were doing 10 years ago today.  Ten years ago would have been 2002, and I would have still been married to the girls’ dad.  We would have been married three years, and I was two years away from a divorce.  Muri would have been 5 and starting school, Megan would have been 3.  Their brother, Ian would have been 8.

For as long as I can remember I have kept a journal.  Not a diary, but notebooks that I could ramble in.  And thank god Wal*Mart sells them for less than 20 cents every year when school starts.  I can buy more than enough to last me through that year without going broke.  I have journals from September 16, 1993 up to July 1, 2009.  If ever you want an accurate description of my mood swings read those journals.  If you can stand them.

There are days I ramble on and on and on about nothing important for four pages.  About some guy I was kind of dating, about the girls’ dad  dealing with the first year of our divorce, about me trying to balance money and my manic tendency to spend what I didn’t exactly have on a lot of things I absolutely didn’t need.  There is page after page after page when I write “I just want to crawl into a hole and disappear.  I can’t wait to get home, get the girls settled and just crawl into bed.  Every morning it takes more effort that I am sure I’ll be able to muster, to pull myself out of bed and face each day”.

I have my 37th birthday which is the birthday I celebrated by having my first mental breakdown.  I spent 37 hours in bed crying, not sleeping, and just rambling in my journal. At 1:35 AM of July 4th, I wrote that page up there.

“Yesterday was my 37th birthday and it’s the last one I ever hope to have. I see no reason to stick around to see 38. Even my children would be better off with no mom instead of the emotional grave yard I am now.”

Eight pages of saying goodbye to my family.  At 5:30 AM I wrote “Another sleepless night” and I wonder now how many sleepless nights there had been. I don’t remember them. But I remember fighting so damned hard for weeks to just get through the day.

By 7:00 the morning of July 4th, I had managed to get about two hours of fitful toss and turn sleep which did nothing but make me realize just how far gone I was.  I couldn’t get out of bed. It took too much energy to pull the covers off of me, and the thought of getting up and walking was beyond overwhelming.  I had nothing left to give.

I finally called my mom, and the girls’ dad, they came and took me to the emergency room where there was no psych doctor on call.  I had played the game of ‘put on a good front, hide the horrible garbage that lives in my mind’ for so long that once I was out in public, I appeared fine.  I could smile, I could function, I actually told my mother that I was feeling much better and this trip to the ER was really a waste of everyone’s time. Except that I wasn’t.  I was so exhausted, I was so empty.  It was the manic phase that had hidden beyond the depression of that night. The manic phase that had kept my mind racing in downward spirals, had kept me awake for 37 hours. It was that part of my disorder that took over and hid the depression from the world. I got some medication from the doc on call who really couldn’t give me anything effective, beyond anti-depressants, which… are the worst thing you can give a bipolar in a depression.

By 3:40 PM on July 4th, I was home. I was showered and dressed which was an improvement, but I went straight to the couch and stayed there.  I was exhausted and had no desire to do anything.  I was once again alone with myself.  And even then I was two years from being diagnosed.  The doctors treated the depression because it was easy and obvious. The manic was what I considered normal.

The thing is, even in the midst of it, as I sat there in my bed crying, awake, alone in my own head, willing and ready to give it up, nothing I wrote conveys the depths to which I had sunk.  The darkness I was in, the hopelessness I felt, none of that has a voice in my words.  Even in the midst of my darkest day, I lied to myself, and I lied to everyone around me. Had that been the last thing I left behind, nobody reading it could have known how far down the road of no return I had gone.

I wish I could say that was my one and only breakdown.  I even wish I could tell you it was my worst one.  There have been others.  Reading further into my journal, I spent the month following that night in a manic high, about how my life was perfect, how it was going great for me.  Until August 14th, when I once again wrote

In the darkness where you feel nothing, there is no pain, no rejection, no emptiness. just floating in a void. Can I be there? Can I go there? Where I never have to feel unloved, rejected, forgotten, unworthy, insecure, unsure. In the darkness I don’t have to hear the silence of the phone not ringing.  Am I looking for someone to come save me? You bet, because I can’t save myself, and I’m not sure I’m worth saving. Maybe somebody else does.

Looking back it is so glaringly obvious I needed help.  The mood swings are clear, the depression screams from the pages, barely whispered by my voice.  We missed the signs, most people do at first.  It’s easy to see the depression and treat it, and the manic is just ‘normal’ even when it isn’t.  I have walked a tightrope every day, balancing myself between the two extremes.  Most days I win.

10 Reasons You Should at Least Consider Our School’s Fundraiser

This is not a sponsored post.  This is me blatantly using my blog, and social media to help my daughter with her school fundraiser campaign.  Please do not feel any obligation to participate.

My daughter, Megan had only been in school two days before they sent home this year’s fundraiser.  Most people hear school fundraiser and close their doors, suddenly go deaf, start filing bankruptcy, or just flat out say No Thanks.  Our school does it a bit different.  Enough so that I am writing about it online, where the entire internet can read it.  Why is our fundraiser different?

10 Reasons You Should Consider Buying from Our Fundraiser.

10) We are selling magazine subscriptions and not overpriced ugly wrapping paper.
Our school works with a company that offers over 700 magazines.  Titles such as People, Newsweek, Sports Illustrated, Food & Wine, Real Simple, Seventeen, Highlights, and Nat Geo Kids just to list a few.  They offer something for everyone.

9) They are priced up to 90% below newsstand prices.
In this economy, magazines are  among the first things that have to go in order to save money.  We are offering you those same magazines at a huge discounted price.  People has always been an expensive magazine, through this fundraiser, they offer up to 6 free issues with a subscription and up to 50% discount.  You can subscribe to Time up to 92% less than newsstand prices.  Entertainment Weekly? 93% off.

8) Most magazines offer you a choice of number of issues.
Maybe you don’t want a full year, maybe you want the subscription for your college student and only want six months.  Or maybe you want to lock in this price for two years.  Most magazines will offer you a second year subscription for a minimal price.  Real Simple, one year (12 issues) is $24, but add an additional 6 months (18 issues) for $30.  The first 12 are $2 an issue, the additional 6 are a buck a piece.  Either way, that is still up to 66% off the cover price.  A one year subscription of Golf magazine is $16, but a two year subscription is only $20, a whole second year for only four additional dollars.

7) They offer Combinations of magazines as well.
They also take similar magazines, group them together and offer them for one low price.  Every year I get us the Self/Glamour magazine combo.  This year they are offering that duo, a one year subscription of each, for $20.  That is less than $1.00 an issue.  For the guys out there, they offer a combination of Golf (12 monthly issues) and Sports Illustrated (56 weekly issues) for $39.  The newsstand price for both of those combined for a full year? $339.  (There’s your 90% savings)

6) You can renew any existing subscriptions you have now at these low discounted prices.
Already subscribed to a magazine? No problem, you can order it here through our school and it will start once your current subscription expires.  Order the subscription, mark that it’s a renewal, and they will let your magazine know your subscription has been renewed.

5) They make great gifts for that hard to buy for person in your life.
We all have that person in our life that truly has everything, needs nothing, and refuses to give you any idea of what they would like for a birthday or for Christmas.  Get them a subscription to a magazine of their favorite hobby, their favorite sport, whatever they may be interested.  Just fill out the order, have the magazine mailed to the recipient’s address, and you’re done.

4) Now they offer subscriptions for your tablet. 
Not all subscriptions are offered ad digital subscriptions yet.  There are some very popular titles that are.  Titles such as Car and Driver, Good Housekeeping, Popular Photography, Outdoor life and Redbook just to name a few.  They also offer the one year or two year options.  On top of this, there are print magazines that include access to the tablet edition with your subscription.  Those include magazines such as Better Homes & Garden, Fitness, Martha Stewart Living, Men’s Fitness, Parents and more.

3) The money raised is used to help enrich the students learning experiences.
We are in a small small small school district.  Our graduating class last year was 47 students strong.  Our entire K-12 all go to school under one roof.  So anything extra that our school needs or wants is funded by fundraisers. This year the money will fund educational field trips for the classes. One will be to the St. Charles courthouse, it helps pay for the 8th grade graduation trip to Six Flags, and they are going to use some of the funds to buy things for the middle school science lab so they can blow shit up. (that’s not a direct quote from the school)

2) You can place your order online
There will be no hard sell here.  In fact this will be the hardest sales pitch you’ll ever hear from me.  I hate selling.  I’ve been told I would be great at it.  I hate it.  But I love my daughters and I love the school they are in.  And this fundraiser is something that people won’t mind spending money on because maybe they already do.  It can be done online, it’s very easy and quick to do.  It is secure, and your privacy is respected.  Megan will only know that [insert your name here] bought x number of magazines.  We will not know which ones, (they do not offer Playboy, Hustler, or Playgirl, Or Cosmo for that matter) or how long your subscription is.  She gets credit for subscriptions sold, not dollars raised.

1) If you order online, you can save me from having to clean up cat puke and I will love you forever.
If you would please include Megan’s school number 753939 and her student ID number 22CL3A2 she will get credit for each sale.  Also, that increases her odds of winning some prize that isn’t one of those dorky cheap toys that everyone loses two days after the get home.  Or the cats eat them, and then there’s a huge nasty mess I get stuck cleaning up.

How Do You Order?

Go to www.gaschoolstore.com where you can search by title, or just browse the titles offered.  Be sure to check out any two for one offers they may have as well.

Megan’s School ID is 753939 which will get you to our school store and will guarantee all orders will be credited to our school.

Megan’s Student ID is 22CL3A2 be sure to enter this so that she gets credit for any subscriptions you may order. Again the more subscriptions the better the prize she can choose and less likely I will have to cleaning up cat puke.

I don’t pimp out products, or services, or companies, or anything really, unless I use it, believe in it, and think it would be beneficial or useful to my readers.  I don’t sell out just to make a buck, even for my girls and their school.  I can honestly say I am not embarrassed to offer this fundraiser to people, because it is something that a lot of people, it’s not overpriced and there isn’t a hard in-your-face sell. Again, if you buy a subscription (or three) online, the school is notified only of your name and the number of subscriptions bought, the total amount of the sale, and the student who gets credit.  The school will never see your address, nor will I or Megan.  All of your information is confidential.

Day Six

I’ve sat down to write more times than I can count the past few days.  The words, they just don’t come.  I’ve used every word I have, to no avail.  He still… refuses.

Adam and I are talking again, and good lord but I love him.  We have a friendship (when I’m not actively destroying it) that is like no other friendship I’ve had.  It’s wildly in appropriate and one no sane person should ever try to understand.

But Brian….

I’m trying over here to be patient, but the longer this goes on, the deeper it hurts, the harder it is to breathe.  I have lost 7 pounds this week. Seven.  I cry all the time, That’s not the bipolar, that’s the bruised and scared heart.  That’s the fear that he won’t love me enough, that all the I’m sorrys won’t be enough.  That six years won’t be enough, and that maybe I won’t be enough.

I have no more words, no new ones anyway.  I can only say I’m sorry and I love you so many times until it just rings false, and I wonder if it’s falling on deaf ears.

I have no answers, but a million questions, all of them he refuses to answer.  I just want some reassurance every day that today he is still here.  With that, I can hang on one more day, no matter how hard it is.

I don’t even get that any more.

I refuse to give up, as long as he hasn’t said goodbye there has to be the tiniest thread of hope.  I refuse to be the one to give up and walk away.  He means to much to me to give up, WE mean to much to me to give up, this Brady Bunch-esqe family we have created means too god damn much to me to give up, turn my back, and walk away.

I just want answers, even if they aren’t the answers I want. But if they are those answers, I don’t want them now.  This not knowing day to day, hour to hour, it’s worse than if he left.  I have to believe there is still hope, that I still have a one in eleventy billion chance.  For as much as I love him, I have to believe that.

Even if he doesn’t.

My Apology

Dear Brian, And Adam,

This is the only place I have to write to you.  Social media just isn’t an option, text messages go ignored.  I’m not even sure this will be read.  In fact it may be ironic that I come here, online, to say what I want to say to you, since it was online where I caused the damage.

There is no excuse for what I said on Twitter last week.  I should have never gone online to vent my hurt, my anger, my fear. You two don’t play on the social media playground as often as I do.  In my manic mind, it was a safe place to blow up, to vent, to put voice to all my fears and anger, and have somebody hear me.

Unfortunately, the wrong ears heard, or actually the wrong eyes saw.

I can only imagine the hurt and the anger and the rage, and the distrust you two are feeling towards me.  They are much the same feelings I was trapped in when I went online.   At the time, there was no truth behind what I said, but I felt those things, I thought those things, I feared those things.

I had reached out before, but I didn’t find the words to express what I was feeling, what I was afraid of, what I thought was going on, and what I needed to ease it all.  I tried to convince myself none of this was true.  I tried to hold on to what I was being told, even though there was so much doubt.  I tried to hold it all in, I tried to keep it together, but I failed.

I have been disconnected on some social media sites, which I totally expected.  There are other sites online we are still connected, and those sites give me hope that neither of you have given up on me completely.  Although I am never sure of this hour to hour, day to day.  I know that it all hangs in a perilous balance, and it could all fall like a house of cards with the merest of whispers.

A part of me says I should just bow out gracefully give up hope, and walk away.  Goodbye is right on the tip of my tongue.  And yet, both of you were there waiting when I got out of jail, both of you have given so much more than I ever expected from either of you.  And so I stay, and hope, and sit day in and day out with the guilt, and the fear that any minute the other shoe will fall, and it all will be over.  For good.

I have no other words, beyond I’m sorry, to express, well, how truly sorry and remorseful I am. Ironic coming from a writer, who has always been good with words.  There is nothing out there that I can capture with my camera to convey what I feel or the words it would take to heal you two.

I’m sorry.  I don’t deserve an eleventy billionth chance, and yet, I sit here, (crying in a public library no less) hoping beyond hope that maybe, just maybe there is one more left for me.

Bipolar is Not a Conviction, but Sometimes it Sure as Hell Feels Like it

Or How being on Twitter may have ruined my relationship.  Forever.

This was my Twitter stream on Friday.

The girls were at their dad’s this weekend, and because of a manic episode that exploded all over Twitter, I was sitting at home alone instead of at Brian’s house with him this weekend, reading blog posts drinking coffee. I was catching up on some posts I hadn’t read in a while, when I came across a sentence written by Pamela at 2 Much Testosterone.

Mental illness is a life long conviction.

Maybe it’s just me, and my recent County Jail Tour of 2012, but “conviction” sounds so, well, final.

There are those out there who see mental illness as a death sentence. Not just those who have been diagnosed with a mental illness, but also their family, their ‘friends’, their loved ones.  Mental illness is as hard for us (the mentally ill) to understand and live with as it is for those who love and live with us.  Maybe harder.

I was diagnosed with bipolar II, rapid cycling, mixed episodes in May 2007.  (basically I’m the Lindsay Lohan of bipolar disorder) For a while, I used it as an excuse for bad behavior, poor choices, bad decisions.  I refused to take any kind of responsibility for my life because I was bipolar I couldn’t help it.

Mental illness isn’t a conviction.  Conviction implies guilt of wrong doing, which implies choice.  There is no guilt or wrong doing in having a mental illness. It implies I’ve done something wrong, and now I will pay for it the rest of my life with this mental illness.

Except that mental illness isn’t a choice, and isn’t a result of bad choices or bad behavior. Mental Illness, bipolar specifically, is a disorder.

Disorder: to disturb the order of, to disturb the regular or normal function of.

To disturb the regular or normal function of.  Our brains, the chemicals, the neurons, are disordered. They don’t function properly.  Our illness in not our fault.

What we do about it, how we chose to live with it, that is.

I have been told by several of my doctors along my path of treatment, that I am a hyper aware bipolar.  I am fairly aware of my mood swings, and know when to get help.  I am also aware of triggers.  I am usually really proactive in my treatment.  But there’s that part of my diagnosis, that rapid cycling part, that says every once in a while things get away from me and I swing really far off the goofy crap-o-meter too fast for me to be aware and take steps to prevent it, control it, or minimize the fall out from it.

That happened this week.

I had back to back court dates on the 9th and 14th. While I was pretty sure I knew what to expect, court dates are still very stressful.  I had asked Brian for some things that I didn’t think were a very big deal, but I put a lot of expectations on them.  I apparently didn’t convey my wants to him clearly and the day didn’t go they way I had wanted or envisioned. That disappointment was huge to me, even though to him, or probably anyone else, it would have been minor.  Meredith has had two a day cheer practices this past week, and one a day cheer practices the week before, so that meant getting up early (and getting her up earlier than her summer routine) and driving her to cheer practice every morning, cutting into my daily routine,which throws me off too.  The girls are going to back to school, so there was the whole school supplies, schedules, decorate lockers, meet the teachers, get physicals, run around that also cut into my routine. There was also the bills.  The catching up on rent that I couldn’t pay while I was in jail, the usual water, electricity, the court fines, the limited income that just isn’t stretching as far as it should. And to add insult to injury, I had expectations of Brian this week that just weren’t getting met, or at least I didn’t think they were, and I was feeling shut out of his life.

A whole lot of stress, a whole lot of upheaval of my routine, a whole lot of demands being made of me, and a whole lot of expectations being made by me that I felt were going largely ignored.  Sounds like a whole hell of a lot of triggers to me.  And oh my god were they.  Every day it grew, every demand, every expectation, every need, every want, every outstretched hand needing, wanting, demanding, expecting something.  Innocent things said or done took on a look of guilt, and proof.  Everything said to me by anyone, or by me to anyone was wrong, oh so very wrong.  I felt like I was yelling into a vacuum when I asked for what I needed from everyone.  I was disappointing everyone around me, I wasn’t doing enough, I wasn’t being enough, I was asking too much. I felt shut out, pushed away, I felt so god damned all alone when I needed someone the most.  I wasn’t being heard, and I was spiraling. Both into a mass depression, and clear out of control on a manic rocket that I could no longer control.

I tried, oh dear god I fucking tried to control it all, and keep it all normal on the surface.  I fought hard to ignore all the dangerous comforts I could have reached for to quiet the war raging in my head.  I ignored the alcohol hidden deep behind everything under my kitchen sink.  I ignored the pain pills the doctor gave me for the tendons in my hand.  I ignored and walked away from every other coping mechanism I had ever turned to before.  I fought so very hard.

And it wasn’t hard enough.

I saw something on line, something that I’m sure was innocent, but added to other things from the past two weeks, didn’t look innocent to me.  And I went to Twitter to vent and rage and say all the things I was feeling, and thinking, and doubting.  I didn’t really believe half of what I tweeted, but god I was so mad, and so scared, and hurt, and frustrated from asking, begging, yelling, for what I needed from everyone around me and not being heard.  The manic/depression that I was fighting so hard to keep from everyone around me got away from me.

And they found out.

And it hurt them. And they don’t understand.  And they’re pissed.  Mainly Brian. Even though he wasn’t the source of all this anger and hurt and frustration, he ended up being the target. I said some awful things, no matter that I was only putting voice to my own hurt and frustration, it hurt him.  And I can’t go to him and say I didn’t mean it, it was my disorder.  It sounds like a cop out.  It sounds like I’m refusing to take responsibility for my own actions.  “I just needed a place to vent”  “I just needed to blow off steam”  “I just wanted to be heard”

It hurt him.

And I may have lost him.

Because lets face it, I’ve put him through a lot this year. And this was just one more thing on an already too long list of things this stupid fucking disorder has put him through and I’ve expected him to live with.

No, I can not wholly blame my bipolar disorder for the fucked up mess my life is, but I can’t discount it, or discredit it altogether either.

Maybe when he has time to cool off, maybe when the mad and hurt ease a little, maybe in a few days he’ll hear the repeated I’m sorry and I love you’s.  But probably not.  And that’s the price I have to pay.  I can’t blame him for walking away, hell I would run away from this disorder if I could.  He has the choice, he has that freedom.  I don’t.  You can expect a person to love you through hurt and pain and storms for so long, and I think this time, he’s reached his limit.

“I’m sorry” won’t be enough.  Maybe “I’m leaving” will be.

Frankly by This Point, I'm Offended by the Easily Offended Who Want to Run the World

Can I ask a question? Maybe you know the answer, because I haven’t been able to find it.  When exactly did it become OK for us (and by us, I mean people in general, but more specific those uptight got their panties in a wad behind their white picket fence in their double gated community) to tell complete strangers that they have offended us by their words, their actions, their clothes, their music, their choices and expect them to change in order to not offended us any more?

And oh my holy fuck how very presumptuous of us to expect the world to revolve around our collective asses.

If you are transgender, we’re offended, and we’ll write to the network that is airing the show you are appearing on thinking they will see error of their ways and tell the transgender man he has to go back in hiding and there is just no way any moral human being should be forced to watch him on television.

If you poke fun at being a girl, we’re offended, and we will raise such a stink all over the internet and boycott your stores and tell you that you are teaching our children the wrong message even though it’s our job as parents to teach them.

If you voice your beliefs, and we don’t agree with them, we’re offended. And we’ll boycott your entire chain of stores thinking that losing a few hundred dollars will clearly make you see the light and change you’re ways.

If you happen to be a winning quarterback, you are a hero, unless of course you kneel and say a prayer on the sidelines, then we’re offended because while we know in interviews you are going to give Jesus credit for helping you win the game, we don’t want it in our face during the game.

If you chose to pimp your three year old daughter out at pageants, and dress her up with extensions and wigs, and fake teeth and spray tans and fake boobs, we’re offended. BUT we won’t turn the channel and stop watching the train wreck that is your life, we’ll just sit at home and Tweet about how offended we are and what a horrible mother you are to that poor poor mistreated baby.

If you have more than one wife and you all live in the same house and that’s the life you so choose to live, we’ll be offended, but mainly because you’re ugly and their stupid.

If you’re a Kardashian, we’re offended. Period.

These are obviously very public examples, but they happen in our day to day lives just as often.  A woman in a restaurant I went to recently, told a guy at a nearby table that his language offended her and there was no need to use that kind of language in a public place.   I will admit he had dropped a few f-bombs, but freedom of speech and all.  His response to her? Well, ma’am sorry you’re offended, but really you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on a conversation that doesn’t include you in the first place.

We have a choice.  We ALWAYS have a choice.  We can chose to ignore it, or we change choose to be offended by it. But unless someone is being harmed, we can’t expect someone else to stop offending us.  There are a lot of things and people out there who will do/say/wear/choose/think blah blah blah something that will offend us.  Thank god not all of us are offended.

click for original

That picture, found here, is what started this whole post.  A lady pulled up beside this jeep and told the driver that the wheel cover was offensive and that is scared her 3 year old daughter.  Ok, Lady, then don’t follow the jeep. Pull over, pull into a parking lot, change lanes, distract your three year old. I had three of them, they are easily distracted in a car.

Unless someone is being hurt in some way, or in danger, real not imagined, then shut the fuck up you’re offended.

Oh Twitter, My Twitter

The other night, Adam and I were texting and I was telling him about my Twitter stream.  See, he’s new to Twitter, and well, he only follows a few people that he knows in real life, and his favorite motocross guys, and a few companies that sponsor him.  So, his Twitter experience is really limited and oh so very sheltered.

I decided to fix that.

I started sending him (via text) some of my favorite Tweets, and some that I was seeing in my stream that night.  Tweets like

And then there were the Tweets about the Closing Ceremonies for the Olympics yesterday.

And probably the best one I saw all night (and I saw it several different times)

After sharing these with Adam, he is either going to branch out and find new people to follow, or his dad is not going to let me teach him any more social media.

Is there anyone on Twitter you follow that just busts your gut, tell me who they are so I can follow them too.  Also? If I’m not following you, let me know that too.

Famous Footware Offers 15% off Shoes for Back to School

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Famous Footwear. All opinions are 100% mine.

School starts for us in two weeks.  That means the stores are full of students and parents buying notebooks, and pens.  Along with all the rulers and color pencils, there are new jeans and shirts going out the doors of the stores as well  .  Let’s not forget the shoes..

Oh good lord, the shoes.

If you’re a shoe addict like I am,  you know, you can never have too many shoes.  If you are raising daughters, like I am, you know that applies to them as well.  Now that school is starting, the list of shoes ‘required’ by them is never ending.  Tennis shoes for gym, sandals for the beginning of school, loafers, dress shoes for dances, boots for winter.  And in my house cheer shoes for football and cheer shoes for basketball.  That can add up.

As a single mom, who happens to be unemployed, I am always looking for a way to meet my daughters ‘needs’ (read demands) and keep it well within my budget and leaves a little for me. You know, because every now and then, mama needs a new pair of shoes.

When I'm looking to save some money on shoes for the three of us, I go to Famous Footware. They offer a large variety of shoes, which works for the three of us since we all have different styles.  But still, three pair of shoes can hit a budget hard,

To celebrate Going back to school Famous Footware is offering a 15% discount along with BOGO (buy one get one half off).  You can increase that to 20% if you are a Rewards Member or opt to sign up for the Rewards program. 

What can you get with a Rewards Program Membership? You can
• Earn 1 point for every $1 you spend in-store or online
• Accumulate points to earn certificates up to $100 a year
• Discount offer just for signing up
• Other special inside discounts and perk.

What happens if you can't find the shoe you want, in your size, in your color, in the store? Easy, Go online at WWW.Famous.com http://www.famous.com/ and buy them, or have them shipped to your favorite Famous Footware store for in-store pick-up. 

You can print the coupon at the bottom of this page to save 15% between August 2 and August 18.  If you are a Rewards Member, (or sign up to become a member) you can save an additional 5%. 

Famous Footware makes it easy to get all the shoes you need to send your kids back to school in style.

BOGO + 15% off Famous Footwear Coupon

6 Years

That breaks down to 72 months, 312 weeks, 2192 days.

It all started with two letters; Hi.

We met online and I still have the first IM conversation we had. He teases me about that still.

It’s been six years of ups and downs, laughter and tears.  There have been break ups and makes ups all along the way.

But from the very beginning I felt we were meant to be.

A part of him believes that too.

Why else would we be here now?

And  yet, here we are.

Six years.

We most likely will never share a last name, we might at some point share an address, but for today we share a life.

And a family.

We have blended our families together in a way that works.

Six years.

There has always been an undercurrent that we knew this was different.

It hasn’t been easy.  It’s hasn’t always worked. We’ve walked away from each other time and time again, only to come back together.  There are those in my camp who could tell you he’s not right for me, he’s no good for me.  There are those in his camp who could return the favor. We are both aware of those people, but at the end of the day we decide who’s good for us.

And for this day, we choose each other.

He was there for me, wanting to see me, bring me home, when I got out of jail.  When I was oh so sure he would walk away and wash his hands, he stayed.  He waited.  And he was there. And told me “I love you” before he even saw me.

I doubt that he’s ever questioned my love for him.

Six years ago today.  I sat in front of my computer at work, when he popped up on my messenger and said “Hi”.  Six years ago I met someone who was different than anyone else I’d ever been with before.  Six years ago, I met the man I would gladly give up every other man for.  I knew it then, as certain as I know it today, I will never love anyone as much as I love him.

Happy Anniversary Brian.  Six years ago today you touched my heart, and changed my future as I saw it.  It hasn’t always been easy, and at times it’s been painful and ugly and awful. But as I sit here today, I know that in the end it’s been worth it.  You’re worth it.  We are worth it.  I love you B, forever plus 1, times infinity.