Somewhere in the house there are other people; people with voices and thoughts and feelings but I can’t be bothered with them. Not now. Not today.

The headache is raging out of control. I wish for relief and find little in a small white pill placed on my tongue and swallowed down with Mountain Dew. Maybe if I could silence the voice, the internal commentary that runs on endlessly. Maybe then I could relax and free myself from hellish pain. No migraine ever hurt as bad as this.

This week it seems that I’ve barely been hanging on or hanging in. Sick kids, The Knight working from home and on almost constant teleconferences (yes, he extended his work from home time and it is a mixed blessing) and my father having surgery. Add the news that my aunt is terminal, my grandmother is worse, and the monthly heating bill was astronomical and one can see why I might be a wee bit stressed.

Only in the middle of the night does it seem I may find relief. The day’s over and the house falls silent. Only the sound of the T passing outside the door can be heard. I snuggle beneath the comforter and lose myself in his arms, content for a moment to be as close as two people can be.

The pain medicine begins to work just as his mouth finds mine. His fingertips stroke my skin, inviting a response. My mouth opens and soon my thighs follow. For a moment I am hopeful, thinking that maybe tonight is the night that it will happen the way I wish it would; without prompting or begging and without a fight.

He moves and positions us both, his hips against my bottom. His cock is hard and I know that once more he is ready while I am only just getting started. I sigh as he enters me, as he barely notices the fact that I’m not wet. I close my eyes and focus on the image in my mind, think of a time and place where sex was good and fulfilling.

He finishes with a low sigh and a squeeze of my buttocks. He presses his lips to the small of my back and whispers his love. With a smile and a “Love you, too” I slide out of bed as he slides back into his boxers.

In the bathroom, in the dark I find what I want and what I need. I empty myself, cleanse myself of his come, and I silently begin to cry. Finally I can breathe; at long last my world- my mind -is quiet.

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I’m very disheartened right now. I’m trying hard not to whine and moan and rant about how unfair life is. I am not going to handle it that way. I’m determined.

I received a call about a half an hour ago from the oncologist. It looks as if  the second phase of the clinical trial has been postponed for at least two weeks. So, here we are, once more in a holding pattern with the treatments. The same thing happened last time, so I shouldn’t be surprised. Still, I can’t help but be somewhat disappointed.

And scared.

What if the time without the medication has afforded the cancer an opportunity to spread? And what about the seizures that have returned? How am I supposed to handle those for two more weeks without anti-seizure meds? We’re handling them for now but there are too many unknowns to be comfortable with it.

:::deep breath:::

This is only a minor bump in the road. A small hiccup. Two weeks isn’t very long and I’m sure that things will be fine. I just need to continue to control my thoughts and my reactions to the change of plans.

And so it goes…

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I want to grab him from his chair, take him by the hand and lead him to bed. I want to throw back the comforter and strip off our clothes in record time, in the still of this cold and snowy winter night. I want to press my body against his and kiss him like he hasn’t been kissed in far too long.

And when I have him naked, just where I want him…

I want to take him in my mouth and bring him to his knees. I want to pleasure him fully and completely, to have his moans and pleas fill our temporary bedroom. I want his hands tangled in my hair, pulling me further onto his cock just as he finishes, flooding my throat with his sticky sweetness.

Then I want to kiss him once more and beg him to join me as we try like hell to put the X in sex.

{Addendum: I was fortunate enough to steal him away last night and did just what I wanted to do- except the sex part. He came while I held his cock deep in my throat and almost immediately upon finishing proceeded to fall asleep. Very little satisfaction for this sex blogger!}

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I have to say that I kind of like this new place that The Other Mother and I have ended up. It’s still a little odd and I know we’re both wading gently into the motion and the waves, but for the most part I think we’re doing okay. Except that I have this small problem and I don’t know how to handle it.

More and more I find myself actually thinking of her as an actual friend. One who won’t snap and yell at me; one who likes me for who I am even though they know all my faults and misdeeds. It’s an odd place to be, for both of us I would assume. I just don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know how to be anymore.

I’ve done some Google searches to see if other people had found some sort of middle ground and I haven’t found a whole lot. I guess usually they have found it too good to be true, so the peace fell away. That both scares me and fascinates me. I mean, why did it happen that way for other people? Did one side feel like they were always kissing the other sides ass or vice versa? I can see where that would get old and make things a little more challenging. Still, why didn’t they try harder?

Part of me knows, obviously, that she hasn’t been my best friend. The other part of me thinks that we should be best friends, simply because of the position we find ourselves in. Do we act on the premise of self-preservation or selves be damned? I’ve never been very good at these kinds of things.

Now that I have rambled aimlessly for far too long I guess I can admit that there is really no point to this post. Other than to get it out. Because this is still my place. Because right now, I have no one else to talk to.

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As we sat at lunch at a local restaurant (courtesy of gift cards from a friend) I looked at the young women waiting on the patrons around us. Not a single one of them was anything less than a size 16/18. Most of them wore their t-shirts snug and their jeans slung low on their wide hips. Someone else may have looked at them and objected to the fact that they displayed their curves so proudly, but not me.

I watched as they wiggled and squirmed their way between crowded tables and too tight walkways with trays heavy with food. None of them tugged or pulled at their clothing once their trays were empty. They smiled and it reached their eyes. They walked with a purpose and with a femininity that left me absolutely in awe.

When had I lost those abilities?

At one point I was brave enough to venture out in a two-piece swimsuit and lunge lazily by a pool in a crowded apartment complex. I tossed my hair and batted my eyelashes. I didn’t hesitate to smile and show the world that I was a chubby girl that had a lot going for her. I wore my work outfit of snug khakis and a v-neck shirt proudly, taking care to adjust my breasts so that they were displayed at the best angle. I celebrated my curves!

Where is it exactly that it all fell by the wayside?

I don’t know the answer. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment or instance. I only know that as I watched the absolutely beautiful young women be beautiful young women, I wanted to tell them to hang on to the moments of self-awareness and comfort in their own skin that youth afforded them.

So, on the way out I told them that they were gorgeous. I then told them to keep on smiling and showing their curves in their cute outfits. With a wink and a smile I said “You wear it well!”

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After speaking to Mama concerning the new middle ground reached with The Other Mother, I expected her to at least try to do as she said she would. I expected her to allow enough time for pick-up and drop-off; I expected that she would at least try to treat both The Other Mother and The Ex with respect even if it was only for the sake of The Girls.

Unfortunately, it didn’t happen that way this weekend. I will say that we had quite an unexpected snow storm here, but I think there was plenty of time to meet the expected drop-off time. I don’t know all the circumstances and I can’t answer for my mother. I also can’t make excuses for her.

All I know is that The Other Mother and I have come to this place of tentative peace and any actions that either of us finds disrespectful or damaging to the greater good won’t be tolerated. I love my mother and I know she loves her grandchildren but this is one of those areas of our lives that I won’t budge on.

I apologize to The Other Mother and The Ex once more for the way things happened tonight. It may take some discussion and some reworking, but we’ll figure it out. For the first time in a very long time, I’m standing firm.

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More than once I have blogged about Mama and her somewhat antiquated beliefs and operations. Since I was a child I never really understood why she couldn’t be more  cool or more “progressive” but my wishing it never made it so. In her family there is a way things are done and there is a way that they’re not; it’s just that simple.

In light of the changes in my own life recently I knew that I would have to sit down and speak with Mama as frankly as possible. Knowing her the way I do, I knew it was going to be difficult, maybe even impossible to get my point across. Still, I knew I had to try.

Last night she and Dad dropped The Girls off for their weekend with us. Everyone was in relatively high spirits and I was thrilled to see my babies. (Though my oldest looks more like a young woman every single time I see her! She is soooo darn beautiful!) My tummy flip-flopped and I wondered if I would have the courage to actually talk to my mother.

We ordered pizza for the kids and spent some time talking about general things. While The Knight entertained the children I decided to take my mother in another room and be done with it. No time like the present, right?

I calmly explained to her that a lot of things had changed lately in many areas of my life. Some of those things I gave details about, other things I didn’t. I explained that while I loved her and appreciated her willingness to help me out and look out for me, the time had come for her to step aside and let me be the parent.

To her credit, she did listen. She wasn’t hurt or angry. She didn’t yell or fling accusations. She simply listened. (Knock me over with a feather!)

I went on to let her know that The Other Mother and I had reached what basically amounted to a peace treaty of sorts. I detailed some (not all) of the events that had led us to this place, this unfamiliar territory. And like I should have done a long time ago, I made sure she understood fully that many of my actions had led to the breakdown of my first marriage and the continued deterioration of any sort of co-parenting possibilities.

She stunned me by telling me that I was right. She went on to let me know that these were the times that parents both loved and hated, a matured and wise state beyond their own years where the child teaches the parent. And then she agreed to be more decent and more respectful of The Other Mother and her role in the girls lives.

While I don’t expect her to change her behaviors overnight, I do believe that she will try. I think that speaking to her as an adult, as a parent who is determined to make life as wonderful as possible for her children, was what needed to happen. For the first time ever, I think my mother respects me and the position I have taken.

My only hope is that The Other Mother and I can begin to take one another at face value. I hope that she can do the same with Mama if she does actually try. I know that none of this is easy and I know too that when things get uncomfortable it will be all too easy to for any of us to revert back to our barbed wire and bombs as a method of self-preservation. I hope that we can avoid it and instead find the way to stay focused on the bigger picture, the greater good of our families.

I’m curious to see how Mama handles this whole thing. After talking to her, I’m hopeful. Still, it can’t be easy living with these new rules for our old fashioned family.

{Mama started when she first walked in about my oldest daughters choice of nail polish, etc. and I had to let her know immediately that as the mother, blue nail polish was the least of my worries. At almost thirteen I know that there are far worse things that she could be doing, so blue nails (no matter how icky I may think the color is!) are not an issue. Surprisingly, she let it drop and that was that. Score one for me!}

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If you’ve read here for any length of time you probably know way too much about my ex-husband and his new wife. No doubt I have exposed you to far too many one-sided and slanted retellings of events, conversations and mishaps. If that is the case, please accept my apologies for being so…childish…petulant…immature.

Somewhere in all of the she said, I said or he said, we said bullshit there was a major breakdown. As a parent I lost sight of the two most precious things in the world, the real reasons for laying differences and petty behaviors aside. I focused on the fact that there was someone else in their life that wasn’t me. I obsessed and stressed; I ranted and raved but not once did I ever stop to think about what it might be like for my little girls.

Being diagnosed with cancer didn’t open my eyes to the reality as far as our whole situation went. It opened my eyes to the importance of love and security on some level I suppose, but not on the level that it made me change my behaviors as a parent. Writing this now is more than difficult, because I never wanted to be that kind of former spouse, that kind of parent. Acknowledging that I ended up that way is hard and humiliating as can be.

Finding out that the chemotherapy used in the clinical trial had worked was like a gift from God. A personal gift and open invitation to start living my life the way it should have been lived all along. No more excuses, no more bullshit, just honest living and loving, the way I should have been doing all along.

At about the same time my daughters step-mother blogged about some of the things that were on her mind. The things were less than flattering and as I read them it was devastating that someone in this world felt that way about me. I thought I was an okay person. Not a person without faults or a person who couldn’t improve but a decent person none the less. After reading what she wrote, I was a breath away from wishing for death.

As I usually do when something is on my mind, I curled into a ball and cried like a baby. Part of me wanted to scream and throw things, exclaim at the top of my lungs that she wasn’t right about me. I wanted to knock on doors and shout that I wasn’t the evil, self-absorbed bitch that she thought I was. But I couldn’t very well do that without admitting that while every story does indeed have two sides, every side does have its facts. Hers was no exception.

So I whined and I cried. I snapped at my husband. I cried and ate cookies. Then I emailed her with facts instead of excuses. I didn’t care what Joe Blow might think of me as much as I cared what SHE thought of me. But why did it matter so much all of a sudden?

The truth be told, it wasn’t all of a sudden. It was always there, the need to find some middle ground, a safe space to share with one another the things that mothers (biological, step or otherwise) need to share. We didn’t have it and I think I can safely say that we both felt the absence keenly.

For me, as a step-mother, I know the position that she is in to an extent. While she lives with my girls day in and day out, I live with The Knights sons day in and day out. While she may have the girls all the time and I have the guys all the time, the fact remains that we’re raising another woman’s biological children. As so many blended families can attest to, this is no easy thing to do, even if the other woman is your closest friend. Can you imagine trying to do it when the other person is fighting you every step of the way?

I didn’t want them to like her more than me. I didn’t want them to want to be with her more than they wanted to be with me. I certainly didn’t want them to love her. I wanted all of them to be only for me! (This has been the same for sharing them with The Knight as well and only recently has it been addressed and an effort made to NOT be that way.)

I realize now that having those desires and that mindset only served to put the girls in the middle of what basically amounted to an emotional and metal war zone. I can’t go back and undo what has been done. They are beyond the age of kissing and cuddling the hurts away so only love and honesty will do. I can’t change what came before, but I can change what happens from here on out.

Through all of this it seems that The Other Mother (I think that will be her name on here…I will have to ask her what she thinks) and I have found our way to a place where the white flag waves. So with each tentative step and each stifled impulse to dive right in, I suddenly find myself breathing a little easier. (And as crazy as it sounds, I find myself wanting to get to know her, like someone I’ve just met for the first time; I find myself wanting to open up and call her friend!) All I know is that it feels really damn good to have muddled through the muck and the mire to find that blessed middle ground.

{Now I have to wonder if it’s more courageous to leave the posts from the past or get rid of them? They fill me with shame and I don’t want the people who read here to think that my words are all that there is to the woman who is The Other Mother to my girls. Opinions welcome!}

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Often times a new year is met (by me) with a sigh of resignation and a wish that it passes quickly. I make resolutions I have no intention of keeping. I throw up my hands in frustration before January first is over and it sets the tone for the entire year.

This year it feels different. I don’t know why and I have absolutely no explanation for it, but I just feel it in my bones that this is the year of great and amazing things for my life.

So, without expecting too much but hoping for a lot, I’m looking forward to the good things that linger just beneath the surface.

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After I wrote this post I emailed her and allowed her access to my blog. It took a lot of doing since I had blocked and blocked and blocked like a fiend to keep this place sacred, but I said I would unblock her, so I did. My expectations were minimal and not at all positive, but I figured it was a step in the right direction.

A scathing post was written in response and I guess I knew it was coming. How could it not? She’s never made it a secret, the way she feels about me. The email she wrote in November gave me hope but I knew we’d have a long way to go, if it were going anywhere. Now I know that it’s not.

I’m slow but eventually I get the message.

There are two sides to every story but it doesn’t matter. Not to her or to anyone else it seems, but it matters to me. When I am presented with one side, I want to the other side. Give me facts and things to work with.

A lot of what she wrote I am most definitely guilty of. The awful way I treated my ex-husband? Guilty. The terrible things I said about him AND about her? Also guilty. The way I used him to further my own plans that left him financially crippled? Ashamedly, I am guilty of that also.

I have never been (nor will I ever be!) the worlds best housekeeper. I admit it. While it’s gotten much better, it’s still a struggle because let’s face it, housework sucks. There are a million things I’d rather be doing. However, unlike in the past when I expected others to do it for me, I try to do as much as I possibly can.

This could all so easily be denied, here on my blog, in writing. But why would I? As much as it humiliates me and pains me to admit that I have been so much less than a perfect individual, that I have done unforgivable things, it’s all part of the process. In order to move on, to find closure, to live comfortably in your own skin one has to deal with the things that are the most painful.

One of the hardest things I ever had to do was to confess to The Knight all the things that I was less than proud of. In July of 2007 I touched briefly on an evening when things went awry. That was the night that I came clean, that I confessed everything to him with emails and text messages and voicemails included. I could NOT marry someone again without being as honest as possible, even if I knew there was a very real possibility that he would call it quits.

And he did. For twenty-four brutal and terrifying hours I was on my own. He walked away and I couldn’t blame him. I knew that the things I had done were wrong, no matter the reason.

Obviously we worked it out, talked it out. When the time came to make vows to one another, we made them with a clear conscience. We made them knowing that there was absolutely nothing in the past anymore to keep us from finding out what our true potential as a couple might be.

As for the court orders, child support, etc…

I admit that I am behind on the child support. It’s been hard financially and I have not paid like I am supposed to. I am hoping to not only catch up on it and stay current beginning in February. Why not ask to have it reduced? Because whether they believe it or not, I know how hard it is to take care of children. I know how much they require financially. It’s my responsibility, plain and simple.

Why do I not call every night?

There is no reason or explanation that I can give that would come out the right way. I’m a coward. It’s as complicated and as simple as pure cowardice.

They don’t talk to me when they are there. They say one or two things if I’m lucky. The conversations are stiff and I can hear in their voices how hard all of this is on them. It’s at those times that my heart breaks the most. Say what you will but they are DIFFERENT when they are there, being monitored and told what they can or can’t tell me.

So, sometimes I don’t call. I turn the 7p.m. alarm off and pick up the phone but I put it back down. I fidget and I long to hear their voices but not the discord and awkward silences. It’s in those moments that I am reminded, as they are on a daily basis, that I am nothing good in their lives anymore. (I have you to thank for that because it wasn’t that way before you, no matter what you say.)

I could go on and on indefinitely, but the post is long enough. And I’m learning that sometimes it is in the most complicated of situations and life circumstances that you find the most profound pieces and parts of clarity.

{Side Note: Feel free to not follow or read. I understand that sometimes people have a hard time accepting others flaws and imperfections. It’s not the kind of thing we like to face and that’s okay. I’ll miss your comments, but I’ll understand.}

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