My Blatant Prejudices on the Road

I've received some negative feedback lately surrounding my gym routine. "Chass, you work out too hard." "Chass, you aren't a spring chicken. You're going to pull something. " "Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. You've had two kids. Some things just won't ever look right again..." For the record, I do not do squats and flip tires and pull sleds because I want to look awesome on the beach. I do it so my heart won't convulse and explode when some assholette (it's a word because I just used it in a sentence) whips her itty bitty car in front of me, causing me to slam on my breaks, spill my effing venti dark roast with cream all over my vehicle, while simultaneously shooting me the bird.

Every once in a blue moon (maybe weekly...), one of my lovely children will let some naughty words fly. I used to say, "Ohhhh my... Well, their dad is a welder and he works nights so you know how that goes..." The excuse is becoming lame and transparent, since they haven't seen Ren since last April and he's been in jail since July. (If that's news to you, please go to the verrrrry earliest blog post and read until you run out of tissues. I do that from time to time... shhhhhh...) My children know dirty words because traffic and people in it completely make me lose my shit. I try to say, "Awwww, darn," or "My goodness, you silly son of a gun..." but it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, and pretty much impossible to clean up my language in traffic. I'm not giving up hope. Maybe some day "You silly goose!" will subconsciously fly out of my mouth just as readily as, "You sorry sack of shit" does now. Maybe. Until then, here's a list of my blatant prejudices on the road, and some of the reasons I judge and curse people I don't even know almost daily. Okay, for sure daily. You already know I've taught my kids bad words... Why lie now?

#1) If you have work boots upside down between the bed and cab of your truck, I will let you merge every.single.time. You may even get away with slowing down a few miles per hour (only a few) after you get in front of me. I love you work boot guys. I always thought my husband was his sexiest when he was in his work boots, jeans and t-shirt ready for work. Maybe the thought of a man actually working for a living is just crazy attractive to me. I don't know. I don't make the rules. Work boots in the back will get you places, bro. Just a little behind the scenes hint from this girl. Use it at will.

#2) If you have a tiny little car and an enormous ichthys on your vehicle, do not cut me off and shoot me the bird simultaneously. You'll get a dose of stink eye that will melt your back tires. Now, ten years ago I would have pulled over and whipped your ass. Thirty-three year old me will curse you and judge you and give you dirty, dirty looks. Now, that isn't what Jesus would do. I know that, but sometimes my temper forgets. At least I won't whip your ass or flip you off back. Progress. Its a process, friends, not an event. I am a believer and love Jesus with my whole heart, but we all have our immaturities, and "Traffic Chass" probably isn't the best example of Christianity or God's love. It goes without saying that I will never have a Jesus Loves You bumper sticker or the likes of it. Not a good witness, people. I know it. If you're speeding around, spilling people's coffee and flipping them off, peel that shit off of your vehicle and have an extra beer after you put the kids to bed. There's less shame in that than showing the whole world your ass. It helps, believe me. 

#3) If you have an itty, bitty, teeny, weeny vehicle, drive like it. Know your place in the food chain of vehicles. I almost killed a family of four yesterday because they whipped out in front of me in a tiny Honda. If I'm bigger than you, it takes longer for me to slow down. Seriously, I'm not just being an assholette. Physics is not on your side. Again, I don't make the rules. Also, bigger vehicle equals bigger blind spots. If I can't see you whipping around in traffic causing chaos, I cannot slow down, back off and let you continue your dickery (shhhh... I used it in a sentence...) undisturbed. Most of the time, I am transporting my two and three year old. Unlike the ten-years-ago me, I will let you prove to the entire world that you are stupid and inconsiderate in peace. I don't want trouble, conflict, collisions or high blood pressure. If I can't see you, I can't effectively avoid you. Slow down, use your blinker and merge when the lines say you can, Tiny Tim. The road is no place for "little man syndrome" or "attention whore syndrome." I see you, and I will validate you with my severe stink eye. We are all stressed and in a hurry to get somewhere. I do realize all of this is common sense, but that's an almost extinct commodity these days. I'm not counting on it to pull us through. 

#4) Do not drive it like you stole it... especially if no one ever anywhere would ever want to steal it. Do not dress it up. Just like you can't turn a whore into a housewife, you also cannot put custom rims and a system in a rusted out 1971 Plymouth Cricket and call it awesome. Remember that Adam Sandler song, "Piece of Shit Car..." (Here's a link if you weren't a teen in the 1990s...) I had a friend who will remain nameless that fit the bill. However, he had no idea and was under the impression that his vehicle was the hottest, most coveted car on the road. He himself was not one bit hot, so he banked hard on that horrible atrocity of a car to land him chicks. He had it reupholstered in blue and black zebra print to match the custom paint job... Sad. No one could save him from himself. We were at the lake one summer and I literally heard him tell a girl, "Don't get so excited, baby... Its just a car." She was not excited. She was laughing hysterically AT the car. He mistook her fascination and uncontrollable giggling as genuine interest... again, sad... but true. Please learn from him. Call it what it is and have realistic expectations. Four bangers need exhaust systems just as badly as my lawn mower. Don't embarrass yourself. Remember, we are laughing at you, not with you...

#5) I do not want to play "name that tune" with you at every stoplight, stop sign, railroad crossing, etc. Neither does anyone else. I promise. I have a fabulous Bose system in my vehicle, and I use it at will. I blast NWA, Aretha, Hank Williams, Jr. and Bleu Edmondson whenever I feel like it. If you don't feel like it, that's okay, because you'll never know. I know how to work my volume knob and I do often. I don't want to know what music you have playing, or if you have any playing at all. Further, I don't care to have my rims rattled off by your unintelligible bass. If my son says, "Mama, what's that noise??" and its your stereo... I may roll down my window and request that you turn it down... Your music shouldn't teach my kids naughty words or sexual positions. When Kannon fathers a child at 15 because Ludacris suggested "tappin' that ass in the public bathroom or in the back of a classroom," we are showing up on your doorstep. Have some moral integrity and give your "nice" speakers a break. 

#6) Newer doesn't mean better. If your 2014 Cadillac with custom plates cuts me off, then slows down to 55 in front of me, we have problems. Automatically, Outkast's "Roses" starts playing in my head. Guess what, I genuinely prefer my vehicle over yours. It may be two body styles behind, but it has some balls under it and gets the job done nicely. I'll be driving mine long after you've gone upside down on yours twice... because you are silly and have bought into the mentality that newer is better. Don't act like your poop smells like roses out there on the road. You need just as much smell-good spray, as my grandma used to say, as the rest of us, even though you probably fail to use it. And, if your attitude on the road says anything about you in general, you probably don't know the value of a polite courtesy flush, either. In short, we won't ever be friends, and I'd prefer that you didn't even buy me a beer. Harsh, but I feel quite strongly about this. Driving a fancy schmancy vehicle does not make you exempt from using your blinker or stopping for a school bus or any other general rule of the road. Be nice. Oh, and good luck paying that thing off.

#7) Tailgating is not allowed. Ever. If you crawl up my ass on the road, I will brake check you. Immature, absolutely. Some things can't be helped. And really, you deserve it. I've done this to my own mother on several occasions. Cause and effect, people. If I have a car full of people or am in an exceptionally lovely mood (won't happen), I may simply slow down to 20 or 30 miles per hour below the posted speed limit. I can have a Sunday drive any day. Sun roof open, windows down, excessively big sunglasses on singing at the top of my lungs while the radio blasts (... but not excessively loud...) old school Alabama... all while going 30 in a 65 miles per hour zone... with you on my ass getting progressively more and more angry by the moment... oh, and there's a mobile home on wheels next to us so you can't get over... Okay, so you get the picture. Stay back. You should be able to see my back tires. If you can't and you push the issue, they may wind up in your lap. No one wins if things go that route.

#8) Last but definitely not least, do not "holler" at me at a stop light... or really, anywhere. Thank goodness my windows are tinted almost illegally and the howling children in the backseat usually make even the hoodiest of hood rats think twice... but sometimes I still am the lucky recipient of compliments such as, "Hey, Fine Ass... You comin' to my place?" (last Monday) or, "Hey, me and my buddies are going to XYZ. Follow us there." Okay... just no. Who do these people pick up like that? Who are these people? How can we keep them from breeding? I'm someone's mom, and if I'm out past 9:00pm, its because the kids had to pee four or five times while we were grocery shopping and it took us two and a half hours to get nine items. And seriously, maybe you can tell I'm female, but that's about it. Hit up the 86-year-old grandma sitting on a phone book in the Lincoln Towncar behind me. She looks lonely.

Eight is my favorite number so I'm stopping there. The moral of this blog post: Get your head out of your behind and follow the rules of common courtesy and social interaction on the road. Cause and effect. You're nice, I'm nice. You're an asshole... well, I speak asshole, too. Save us all some irritation and mind your manners.

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." 1 Corinthians 13:13

It's important to believe in happily ever after. It helps. I don't know if I'll ever find that one person to spend happily ever after with, but just the hope it offers is really nice. The general consensus of the masses is that we should say "I love you" more... and there are endless examples of this everywhere we look... "Love makes the world go 'round." "All you need is love." False and false. That mentality is bullshit. We should mean it more and say it less. Love has become an excuse and a loose interpretation for any number of things, at the very best.

Love is a get-out-of-jail-free card in our society. "But I love you..." And that is supposed to mean what? The definition of love varies so drastically from person to person. We give it so much power... to make or break days, months and decades, if we allow it. I sit in Starbucks and work on my computer... or read while I'm eating lunch... or write while I'm soaking up some vitamin D in the park... and I hear a socially predominate idea of love resonating so much more than any other... "... if he loved me, he would have put the clothes in the dryer," "... if she loved me like she says, she would let me go out with my boys," "... if he loved me, he wouldn't have slept with her," "... if she loved me, she would remember that I don't like crunchy peanut butter." I actually have heard every one of these and then some in the last few weeks, and every time, I cringe. So self-serving. Me, me, me. I'll tell you what it means to love me. This is the definition we are told to conform to... Its easy, comfy and sexy.

I have been married and divorced twice in the last ten years. I am far from an expert, but I have chosen the wrong path more than once in my life and I do know a few things for sure. Love is not self-serving. Love is not romance novel material. It isn't sexy or gentle or smooth. It is serious, intense and uncomfortable... and requires an individual to sacrifice and plow through virgin snow with vengeance and disregard. And you have to do these things and expect nothing. Shakespeare once said, "Expectation is the root of all heartache." Part of love is not expecting and letting go when your brain and pride tell you the complete opposite. Sure, you don't want to hurt, but loving means you definitely will at some point. Lovers, kids, grandmas... No kind of love is immune. Heartache is part of love, and ultimately makes it stronger and more stable. We are taught to avoid heartache and despair at all costs. If you love, these things will find you. But, trust me, its not as awful as you've been lead to believe and not all bad, either. Alice Walker once said, "Nobody is as powerful as we make them out to be," and that is real talk, my friends. But you are never more powerful and confident than after you've conquered a huge storm in your life, even if you crawled all the way through it while sobbing hysterically. You made it through, and it makes you more powerful and better armed to fight another day. And how much more do you have to offer those you love after fighting hard and coming out on top and stronger than ever? So heartache and despair really aren't the enemy in love. In fact, we need them to chisel us into a more complete person.

Love is hard and intense and really very exhausting sometimes. Please remember, though, that hard and intense and exhausting aren't necessarily negative. I have been told I love very hard, and I do. I take that as a compliment. If I love you, I will walk through hell for you. I really will, and I will have a smile and a hug for you when we both make it out. I do not expect that from anyone else. Most people aren't capable of it, and that's very important to accept. I can take a lot of hits in many different ways, and I don't mind doing it if it helps the ones I love. Everyone has their strengths. 

Loving hard means I don't say "I love you" lightly. It's awkward when someone says it and you don't say it back... and that's been me a lot over the years. However, I've never said it and wanted to take it back. Relationships fail as time persists, whether they be friendships, family or romantic in nature, but fault seldom has anything to do with love. We are all human, and that tends to get in the way. Obviously, none of my romantic endeavors have withstood the test of time, but I don't regret a single one of them. Regret is a waste. I've learned from each of them and chosen differently according to what I've learned. I'm discovering more about myself, others and the world around me daily. My wise friend, Yvonne, periodically reminds me that it is a process, not an event. I appreciate that more than I can ever express. I forget that, and I push... rush things... try to conclude an event when the process continues to rock along, whether or not I prefer it that way. Take potty-training a two-year-old boy with a very strong personality and a very charming smile, for example... Process, not an event, Chass. Take a breath. We are all human.

But, being human is okay and beautiful. Every single member of my family is very human, has unmistakable, obvious faults and every single one of them is immeasurably beautiful. I learned what love means from my family. It sounds cliche, but its true. I was and continue to be taught to love hard and completely and every chance I get. My cousin, Katy, remembers every birthday, anniversary and holiday. She makes every single one of us feel special with her kindness and consideration, and she does it without expecting anything. She's a busy mom of two and a devoted wife, but she takes time out of her world to bless ours, and that is lovely and beautiful. I remember birthdays days in advance, then I forget, then I remember again in the shower the day of... I'm just not that good. My grandmother used to peel the strings out of my celery. Seriously, she would peel every single string out of the celery because my whiny ass didn't like chewing it. And occasionally I would get mad for some crazy, unsustainable nine-year-old reason and scream at her and tell her I hated her and she would grab me, hug me tight and tell me it would really hurt her feelings if she thought I meant that but she knew I didn't. Then she'd ask me what I wanted for dinner. Love. No expectations. Hard. Thankless. Life-saving. Life-giving. So beautiful.

That's how my kids love and that's how God loves. It isn't a coincidence. We try other ways and explain it in language and deeds that are easily digested and fit best in our busy, frivolous lives and into this brutal world... but the truth remains. The greatest of these is still love... we just have to suck it up and love like we are made for it, because really, we are.

.My grandmother had a huge pot of potato soup waiting for me the day after I had my wisdom teeth removed. On the way to her house, I told Carlo, "Damn, the only thing I can imagine eating is my grandma's potato soup." And, poof, there it was. 

New Year's card from January 2000... She wasn't impressed with my choice in men or lifestyle in general at the time. This one has a little zing on it but its important.

... from Hannah, February 1995

Happy 2014... We are READY for a new chapter...

Our little family is SO ready for 2014. This past year has been the absolute hardest, saddest, most gut-wrenching, heart-breaking year of my 32 and I'm looking forward to a new chapter. I'm tired of fumbling around with broken pieces...

Our new contact info

Just wanted to update our friends and family with our new and permanent contact info. Our mailing address is:

Chassati, Anaiah and Kannon Thiele

P. O. Box 7495

Waco, TX 76714

We will keep this mailing address indefinitely, regardless of where our physical address is in the future. Our little family wishes yours a very happy holiday season!!

But alas... I'm not marriagable...

One of my friends from college, now a doctor, posted a link on Facebook the other day that really made me chuckle... and made me want to slap this woman (the author) with a huge, hairy phallus...

Why women still need husbands...

SO... apparently I've been doing it all wrong. I'm not very marriageable. I should be concentrating on having babies and cooking banana pudding or whatever men find innately appealing. Silly me... I've been the bread winner in every relationship I've ever had and am now solely responsible for my two children. And, because of the nature of the argument, I must add that I excitedly and naively birthed both children into a seemingly stable, loving marriage. Seemingly... but, damn, looks and feelings can be so starkly deceiving.

Why in the world would this relatively intelligent woman make such sweeping generalizations regarding all women and all men? The divorce rate and the amount of single, working mothers in our country is overwhelmingly high. I promise almost 100% of marriages begin with love and hopes and dreams. I never intended to be 32 and divorced twice with two kids. That's really not something anyone in their right mind would strive for, and honestly, its embarrassing to even say out loud. So go ahead, crucify me further, audacious, self-righteous Suzanne Venker. Tell me that love eludes the "modern woman" as long as she chooses to wear the pants and work outside of the home. Chooses? What in the world do you suggest?? Its not even realistic, in most circumstances, for only one parent to work outside of the home in two-parent families. Where does that leave the those of us who are single with kids and will be in this chapter of life for quite some time?

Those of us with absolutely no choice can either embrace the concept of the "modern woman" or our kids can starve. That's about it. The fact that I am single has nothing to do with me being "marriageable" or not. It has to do with my husband being so high on drugs he couldn't even remember his own name, etc. You get the point. While it takes two to succeed and fail in a marriage, Rene and I agree that he single-handedly destroyed our marriage without much help at all from me.

And as far as working toward being "marriageable"... What ideas would this ridiculous woman throw my way? Maybe if I hang out at the local grocery store next to the cucumbers with a bottle of wine, a lovely man will cruise by and give me his number. Oh, or maybe I could fake a flat tire on the side of the road and see who stops to rescue me. Or, hey, what if I keep changing my own damn tires and worry about feeding my kids. There's an idea. What if we weren't so obsessed with relationships and chasing romance? What if we concentrated on people as individuals? What if we seriously examined what we could offer introspectively instead of judging people for what they can or can't do for us? I have been from one serious, long-term relationship to the next pretty much since I was 15 years old. I have been defined by someone else, or rather my relationship with someone else, for more than half of my life. Raymond/Chass -> Carlo/Chass -> Raymond/Chass (again) -> Doug/Chass -> Rene/Chass... I think its time to stop the serial relationship madness and breathe. I like who I am becoming outside of the box.

Hi. My name is Chassati Beth Thiele. I have purple hair and am heavily tattooed. I love Jesus, good beer and really strong coffee. You are welcome to have an opinion on any of that, but I suggest you keep it to yourself unless you are paying my bills or sorting through the past two years with me. And do not generalize me. You will find that to be quite frustrating and discouraging. For every one thing you criticize about someone else, you can find three things to personally improve. If I don't share my opinions on politics, religion or world peace, its not because I don't have them. Its because I wish to avoid irritating, fruitless conversations. Odds are you aren't going to change my mind and I won't change yours either. I don't need someone to pat me on the head and tell me I'm pretty or smart or sexy or funny. I'm not perfect, but parts of me are awesome and I'm getting better every day. How's that for unmarriageable ...

"There are years that ask questions and years that answer." - Zora Neale Hurston

October 24th was pretty much normal for the most part. Except it wasn't. It was actually the biggest day in our family's life since Kannon's birth. At 1:15 pm, I met my attorney outside the 414th district court. I walked in Chassati Thiele Bauman and walked out Chassati Beth Thiele. I was so unexpectedly nervous. The termination of parental rights had already been filed, but the judge had to sign off on it. I kept thinking of all of the possible road blocks that hadn't crossed my mind over the past year. How in the world hadn't I thought of this and how hadn't I considered that? My lawyer had to go over the entire final divorce decree and the termination and asked me simple question after simple question. After two nightmarish years, I just wanted to sit there and sign something. It wasn't that easy. "If you die, can you ensure, under oath, that the children will be cared for financially and emotionally? How solid is your family? Support system? Will their best interests be upheld and made a priority?"... God, I hope so... Anything dealing with the kids makes my mama's heart more sensitive than normal and my blood boil several degrees hotter regardless what the situation... but this was HUGE and, again, shoved the fact that I have to be enough for them right in my seasoned poker face.

I walked out of the courthouse exactly an hour after I walked in. It's amazing how years can be legally dissolved in less than an hour. I sat in my car and stared at the certified, filed copy of the termination of rights and divorce decree for a healthy half hour. I cried a little, because, since I was 17, voluntary crying, while healthy, is only done in my car by myself. Damn the idiosyncrasies of a self-proclaimed hard-ass...  The tears were charged with relief, anger, sadness, empathy and disappointment.

I felt myself relax a little with relief that the legal part of this cluster was finally over. The ridiculous knots in my back actually felt a little better for the first time longer than I could remember. Because of Rene's involvement with and connections to the wrong kind of people, it's been absolutely imperative that the kids and I are legally disconnected from him. The mere fact that I was legally bound to him by marriage resulted in countless phone calls from Waco PD Narcotics task force, the McLennan County Sheriff's Department and, most recently and unpleasantly, the ATF. I'm expecting Hollywood to call any moment and ask for movie rights. It would be a damn good one.

I was angry, too. You know when that fiery pit of lava starts burning in  your stomach and spreads to the rest of you, leaving your cheeks and ears hot, your hands shaking and your heart visibly beating fast and hard in your chest? I was that kind of angry. My make up looked damn good and I was ruining it. Okay, just kidding... kind of... I was angry because I wanted so much more for my kids than these papers in my lap. I wanted the beautiful, loving, Godly man I married to be their father, instead of the self-loathing stranger he had become. I wanted Anaiah and Kannon to have a strong traditional family unit. Yes, I know nothing about me is really traditional or ever has been, but I wanted the mom-and-dad, white-picket-fence, American dream family for my kids. I don't come from that and it is probably romanticized to an allowable extent in my heart and mind, even at 32 years old. Life in this world is hard enough. The deck is stacked against every one of us as soon as the doctor smacks our ass and we belt out that first cry. Parents should be the strongest fortress and safe haven for their children, second only to God. One side of my kids' fortress is completely obliterated and now God and I have to work overtime to reconstruct and keep out the bad. That made me angry.

The sadness was fueled by an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Rene's demise sent us all down a very unfriendly and hurtful path, and the kids are inevitably going to revisit that path from time to time during their lives, long after I have dealt with my hurt and trust issues. Every kid wants a daddy they are proud of. It can't be helped. I cannot explain this away. I cannot love or pray this away. Prayer will, of course, give me the strength and direction to best explain and love as my relationship with my children evolves and grows into new seasons. However, we are where we are and part of now will always be a part of every tomorrow.

A quick and simple definition of empathy is "identification with and understanding of another's situation, feelings and motives." It is important for me to interject that this is different than sympathy. I've received some very fiery and pointed criticism for continuing to have contact with Rene. Most of the judgmental, snarky comments and monologues come from those very close to us and these people are hurting, too. Rene let a lot of people down, including my family and close friends. They had confidence that he would honor, protect, love and respect us and he failed them. I can't be too harsh with my comebacks to these all-knowing voices telling me he is a worthless son-of-a-bitch and that I am a weak, emotional, wounded, needy, scorned woman seeking validation that I was and am worth more that a boatload of methamphetamines and a handful of whores. This is not the case. I empathize with the Rene who sits, sober, in a jail cell and realizes that he has lost a great career, four beautiful, amazing kids and a damn good wife. That has to be an enormous blow to the human psyche. I empathize with the man who wakes up on Christmas morning and has the echoes of his kids' excited giggles and the smell of coffee and breakfast only in his mind. I empathize with the 14 year old boy who counts on his mom to nurse him through his first heartbreak and to teach him how to throw a nasty right hook. I empathize with the young woman who has to decide who will walk her down the aisle, if she decides to marry. That really shouldn't be a decision at all. Pity is sometimes a synonym of empathy, but not in this case.

Sitting there staring at the legal repercussions of addiction and human weakness in my lap, I was so beyond disappointed. Every single step taken over the last two years that led up to these drastic measures disappointed me. My marriage was over when the Rene I married ceased to exist, so that disappointment had already taken its course. We can't have the life together that I saw in my future on May 9th, 2009. I know that and am sure of it and have made peace with it. Onward and upward. However, the potential disappointment my kids will have to dodge throughout the course of their lives is much more than mine. Parents fall off of their pedestal at some point during every child's life, and it always hurts. It is disappointing that, at some point, my kids will know the truth of what has happened in our lives and that will inevitably be sooner than I want. I don't want to lie to my kids at all about anything, especially something as huge as how we got to where we are. I plan on choosing my words wisely, but at some point I'll have to lay it all out on the table and watch their faces as they hear things about their dad they shouldn't have to. Disappointment can tear the strongest people down faster than almost anything. I hope I can instill enough strength, self-respect and faith in my kids to carry them through what is waiting for them in the future.

That afternoon, I picked up Anaiah Marjorie Thiele and Kannon Samuel Thiele from daycare. I had snacks and sippy cups waiting in the car, and we were off to the gym for boot camp, just like any other Thursday. The kids didn't know the difference or significance of that particular Thursday, and its my mission to perpetuate that innocent ignorance for as long as I possibly can. But when I can't any longer, God and this mama will hopefully be enough to cushion the blow and keep us moving forward.

Don't Touch My Soul with Dirty Hands

Support is an interesting thing. While wading through the present cesspool of problems the kids and I are faced with daily, I've come to the stark-naked realization that ultimately its just the three of us. I know that there are people who love us and do care, but those people have their own lives and agendas and that's that. There have been people who have pleasantly surprised me with caring and concern, but more who have been a disappointment. I know that no one else is responsible for the three of us but me. That is really not a problem, and I prefer it that way. Rene voluntarily relinquished all parental rights two weeks ago, and I was very happy to hear it. I've always thought of my family and myself as more than enough to provide an environment for the kids to grow and flourish.

The long and short of it is that I've got to be more than enough, period. The kids aren't a priority to anyone else, unless of course the stars align exactly right or they fit into an already tight schedule of more important things. I don't mean to sound bitchy or ungrateful. Like I said, many people have really been fantastic to us and have gone above and beyond. Its just interesting to me that the people who have really shown us kindness and have been helpful are really not the ones I would have expected it from, generally. And, the ones I would have assumed would bend over backwards for us have been generally irritated, reluctant and have been very creative with excuses when I've needed help. I'm still pondering this and wondering what it says about people as a whole. I think I should spend more time on it, because my take-away at this juncture is not positive.

I've always preached that you can't expect more out of people than they are capable of giving. I guess now I've got to really internalize that. I've found myself withdrawing from people and situations that I've embraced in the past. Right now, I just think that's for the best. I think I may have been silly to trust so freely and expect people to do what they say they will and be who they appear outwardly to be. There's a Kurt Vonnegut quote that says, "We are what we pretend to be. So we must be careful about what we pretend to be." Its safe to say that the majority of what we know about any given person, no matter how close we are to them, is pretend, because people only put on the table what they want others to see. At what point are we sure of another person's motives or character? You will not see a person's heart and soul unless they are willing and honest.

A common mistake of mine is always *knowing* there's more to a person than what meets the eye. They are better and more loving, caring, beautiful, intelligent, etc. than they appear to be... The macabre reality is that they are what they are and I am more intelligent, beautiful, loving, caring, etc. than I know. My gut is always right, and I need to stop apologizing for truths that others have birthed and quit explaining myself away. I'm not the mom I want to be right now. My patience isn't what it should be and I could be a better example for my kids. I'm not the friend I want to be. I hope time and prayer and conscious diligence on my part can make these things and many others better as the moments and days and weeks pass. One foot in front of the other...