This is where I draw the line.

It’s been 10 days since I saw Brian and his entire family for who they really are and walked away.   Yes, I know,  I can see the eye rolls out there, the “here we go again” deep sighs, the “When will she ever learn?” questioning looks.

This time?  I walked away.  This time it was my choice.  This time I get it.  I saw what I had been ignoring for years.  I saw him, them, for who they really are and I can’t accept that.  No, that’s not true.  I can accept they are who/what they are.  I can’t accept that into my life.    And so this time, I shut the door.  This time I walked away.  This time I said “I’m done.  I want no part of this any more.”

And that?  Makes all the difference, apparently.

Because there is no nagging doubt, no lingering hope, no strings  left dangling hoping to tie me to him yet again.  This time, it was a clean and final break. Cutting all ties.  Walking away, saying good bye.  Knowing, *knowing* really knowing this time, I’m done.

I am letting go of the past.  I no longer think about ‘what’s he doing today?’  I no longer worry about if he’s at work, or off, of what is happening in his life.  In fact,  have had zero contact with him.

And that, my friends, is peace.

There have been no tears.  None.  He is no longer worth them.  He is not worthy of me.  I am so much better than him, better without him.

Now, that something better.   Right now I believe that something better is just the peace of mind knowing this time, I’m finally done, and this time it’s over, forever, and this is really the best thing I could do.  The letting go, the saying good-bye, the lifted weight,  the freedom to be me without worry.

I live my life now for me.  Without having to answer to anyone but me.

So much so, that last Friday, when I picked up the girls, I drove an extra half hour to have a birthday dinner with one of my girlfriends because she asked, and I had nobody I had to get home to.  Then?  I drove another hour to The Lake, to see a friend I hadn’t seen in years, because I could.

And I had a blast.  I laughed, I relaxed, I played, I enjoyed… all because I could. Because I didn’t have to answer to him, or anyone.  Because I was on my time schedule, not someone else.

It was heaven.

And for a while, all those years ago,  I thought that Brian was The One.  And maybe he was.  Maybe he was The One to teach me Here is the line in the sand.  He is where you stand, this is what you believe, and this, *this* is not negotiable.

That is important stuff to know.

Like the feeling of being wanted, the feeling of being important to someone, the feeling of being special.  And just maybe that friend you haven’t seen in years will be just the person to remind you of that.

In Defense of Cheerleaders

*steps up on soapbox.  Taps mic.  *ahem* clears throat*  Hello? Yeah, Hi!  Remember me?  I blog here.  You know, when I’m not writing here, or even here (please, go read them.  Wait!  AFTER you read this.  Thanks).

So, I was enjoying my usual Saturday morning ritual of reading blogs and drinking coffee.. alone… when it’s quiet, before my day explodes with responsibilities and plans.  Today? Just me and the kitchen mouse.  Asshole is a sneaky one… avoids traps like nobody’s business.

Anydoodle, now that I’ve set a lovely picture (aside from that pesky mouse.. who is MUTHAFUCKIN loud!) let’s get down to the reason I’m here so damned early on a Saturday morning.  Ok, well, it probably won’t be damned early on a Saturday morning when you read this, but trust me when I say it’s early on a Saturday morning when I’m writing it.  Ok, maybe not early, it’s 7:30.  I’ve already been up for over an hour.  Yes, even when I didn’t have to get up.

Damned but I’m easily distracted and lead astray today.  There is a point to this.  Honest.  Shall we just get to it?

*ahem* Coffee.  Quiet house.  Reading blogs. Yes, that’s where I was… reading blogs.  When I came across this blog post by Amy Grew over at Spread A Little Thin.  Amy is talking about what she would like her children to be when they grow up.  Now, Amy’s children? Still really young, like single digit young.  I’m a mother, I know what it’s like to dream big dreams for our kids.  When I named my girls I picked names that would look good listed as a partner at a law firm, names that flowed nicely when followed by Attorney at Law, or preceded by Doctor of Internal Medicine, or could easily be pronounced by most foreign leaders in negotiations.  Although I have to admit, that? Might have been reaching.  My girls? Don’t negotiate at all.  They take hostages.

But I was aware I was projecting my hopes for a comfortable retirement being taken care of by my ever loving, doting, financially secure children, who would understand and facilitate their mother’s intense desire to be someplace warm and sunny and sandy and filled with umbrella drinks, onto my newborn children. I also knew, that there was a long road between that newborn baby with a law degree worthy name, and the lawyer or doctor or whatever they would be in adulthood.

This? Is so not what I set out to write about.  Maybe I should try and get back on track.

Back to Amy and her dreams for her kids. Nothing wrong with Amy’s dreams. To be clear? I am not in any way attacking Amy or her dreams for her kids.  What I am trying to say is… well, let’s just get to what I’m trying to say….

Amy wrote the following:

I started off by asking each of them what they wanted to be when they grew up.
Grace said she wants to be a cheerleader.
Now, that will not happen… ever (sorry to all you cheerleaders out there). I will not have a kid that is a cheerleader. Its just not going to happen. That’s just how it will be. I am a hard ass, so there will be no deviation from this.
Unless its something that I can’t easily distract her from I guess. IF she REALLY wants to do it, I guess I will relent.

And that just struck me.  (I have voiced my opinion about mothers who voice their set-in-stone plans for their children before) What does she have against cheerleaders?  Why is she already so adamant against her daughter being a cheerleader?  Granted, she’s got several years before that becomes a serious issue in her house, and things can change, but what does she have against cheerleaders? I mean, she is dead on serious (or at least she sounds dead on serious) that her daughter will not become a cheerleader, under any circumstances.

As a mother of a current cheerleader and a future cheerleader, I don’t get it.  Maybe I’m taking it a little too personally, because I sort of feel like.. what does Amy have against…my daughters, who is/will be a cheerleader?

This past week, I took Tate to school to enroll her for her freshman classes.  High school starts in the fall for her.  She was a cheerleader in Jr. High, and loved it, and has decided she wants to try out for high school cheerleading. It is something she enjoys, she has made great friends through cheering, she gets plenty of exercise, she’s in great shape, and her self esteem? Is through the roof.  For her, it was an all positive experience. Once we both hope will continue to be positive all the way through high school.

For high school cheerleading, she has to try out.  She has to attend three days of practice and try out.  Once she makes the squad, then this summer there will be a 3 day camp she has to attend.  High school cheerleading cost significantly more than Jr. High cheerleading does.  When I found this out, I posted a status update on Facebook that said “High School Cheerleading: $150.  Donations now being accepted.”  I put it out there as an off-handed comment, sort of as a joke.  What I got was a heartwarming surprise.

I got several messages from several friends who were cheerleaders or pom-pom girls, or on dance line, or flags, or drill team, or whatever their schools called it, when they were in high school  The friendships, the memories, the bonds that were created from that experience sticks with these women still today as some of the best times in high school.  They offered to make donations (and if you made the offer, please know that until Tate actually tries out and MAKES the team, I’m not going to accept anything.  Once we know for sure she’s made the team and the money is actually needed… then I’ll send out information.  And? My heartfelt appreciation. And Tate’s too!) to help pay for Tate to go to camp and have the same experiences they did.

It meant something to those girls.

It apparently still does.

It touched them in such a profound way, they are willing to reach out and help make sure my daughter can have the same experience they did.

And if it can have that kind of lasting impact on a woman’s heart and life, how can it be bad?  And why would you not want that same kind of experience for your own daughter?

Amy did go on to make the comment about the uniforms the cheerleaders wear.  She thinks they are revealing.  I will admit, that some of the uniforms I’ve seen at some of the bigger schools, (especially on the college level) can be very revealing.  But I also have to admit, that honestly? Swimsuits at the public pool are way more revealing than any high school cheerleading uniform I’ve ever seen.  Our cheer uniforms?  Not revealing in the least.  But, we are a small rural school. (K-12 plus administration? All under 1 roof. The entire district, contained in 1 building. Yeah, we’re pretty small, but we’ve got big dreams! Our boys basketball team made it to the Final Four in State play-offs this year!!) But even when I was in high school our cheerleader’s uniforms weren’t revealing at all. BUT I understand that some schools are.  I get that.

I will admit that I probably took a very innocent exchange in a blog post and made it personal, and therefore I am being very careful to be sure I am not in any way attacking Amy or her point of view. I’m sure, if I asked, Amy would have her reasons for feeling the way she does about cheerleaders and her daughter becoming one or not several years into the future.  I haven’t asked.  Maybe I should.

Cheerleading, at least for my daughter, has been nothing but a positive experience that has opened doors and possibilities for Tate.  Apparently it was a very positive and uplifting and meaningful experience for several of my readers/friends who have offered to help make sure Tate can continue to cheer next year.

Comfort Zones: Who needs em?

This weekend?  Full of all kinds of lessons.

Britt wrote on her blog Friday about being ready and able to say “Yes” when opportunities arise.  Being able to grab the opportunity, being open to accepting it.  While she’s talking about herself being able and ready and open to accepting the invitation to go to Paris for a month, or travel the country for a year, I’m taking much smaller baby steps. But to me? Are just as profound.

For the past four years my life has been the same.  Live at my house Sunday night through Thursday night.  Go to work, send girls to school, dinner, homework, laundry, whatever during the week.  Friday night through Sunday evening?  Stay at Brian’s house. I never accepting invitations to plans with any of my friends from work on the weekends, because my weekends were spent at Brian’s house.  I never accepted invitations to anywhere with anyone because Brian is such a homebody that when he gets home from work, he doesn’t want to go out anywhere.  And going without him? Just wasn’t something I would have done. He would have gone with me if I had insisted, or he would have said I could go without him, but, well, I just never did.  That’s just the way our life was.  Homebodies.

Now, though, I don’t have anyone to answer to.  On the weekends the girls are at their dad’s, I have nobody else to consider but myself. I can go out with my friends if I want, I don’t have to turn down opportunities, or invitations.  I am free to go and do as I please.  And learning to step outside my comfort zone, (and my house) is taking some getting used to.

Take for example, last week.  I get a text from my friend Hateful Bitch, whom I haven’t seen since I moved to The Lou, and haven’t talked to nearly as much or as often as I should.  I will admit to neglecting our friendship.  So, her reaching out to me, makes her a way better friend than I am. Anyway, she texts she’s going to be down here in The Lou Friday night, maybe we could get together, hang out?  Turns out I’m taking the girls to their dad’s that night, and won’t be back until 9:00.  Ok, breakfast or lunch the next day?

Sure.

Come Friday, plans start to change.  And here’s where I have to step outside of my comfort zone.  Instead of meeting Saturday for breakfast, she asks if she can just come crash at my place.

Sure.

My house? Very simple. No cable/satellite TV, no internet, (and as of this past week.. no DVD player. We’re down to VHS here people. OLD VHS.  Like my television is almost never on now.) I live in a little hole in the wall town, and? I need to go grocery shopping.  I have almost no food in the house.  Coffee? Yes.  Food? Not so much.  Seriously.

All kinds of inviting and house guest ready I am.

Instead, she asks “If I get a hotel room downtown would you drive downtown and hang out with me there?”  Uh, let’s see… hotel, cable, internet, a bar…

HELL YES!

And that’s stepping outside my comfort zone.  Instead of going home after dropping the girls off, I plugged the address of the hotel into the GPS and drove downtown.  Something you should know about me?  I HATE driving downtown, but I will. During. The. Day. when I can see.  I HATE with a passion driving downtown at night.  Especially when I have no idea where I am going.  Add to that the fact that the hotel was three blocks away from the hockey game that just ended when I got downtown, and traffic was a clusterfuck.  I was way the hell outside my comfort zone. (I was wishing I had Brian because he always drove downtown at night. But if there was Brian, I wouldn’t have been at the Union Station Marriott, I’d be at his house sleeping in his bed instead of hanging out with my girlfriend)

And I did it all for Hateful Bitch.

Also? Other lesson learned? No matter how young and hot the guy offering to buy you a shot of Petron is… the shot? Won’t be worth it.  Petron will kick your ass. Hard. Especially when the bartender has a heavy hand and the shot? Is like three fingers.  Never shooting tequila again. Never.  (and nothing happened with young hot Petron shot buying dude. Nothing.)

One more lesson learned?  The Marriott at Union Station?  Charges you a fuckton of money for their rooms and valet parking and being right there at Union Station.  AND? Apparently internet.  It’s a fucking NICE hotel. And they can’t give you free WiFi.  WTF?