veggieburgerwithbacon

After a couple months of dealing with random bullshit, I am finally back to being the rightful owner of my blog. I am now a professional in  the realm of intellectual property. Which means I now am fully aware that my laziness means I will have no rights to my work unless I specify that it is my work via some legal bullshit. I’d love to verbal vomit all over you in addition to saying hello but that will need to wait till later. Thanks to those who have checked in. I don’t even know who is in Italy but its cool to see someone knows who I am.

Till next time.

Ciao!

ps. Thanks to people stealing my shit, I figured I should show you who I am. See above…I’m the tall one.

I have a thousand updates to make, and I have been lacking on writing because of a few little girls, a career, a sweet man, and I guess the rest of shit that makes life worth living. I wanted to write tonight to tell about my new awesome job or about how I’ve been doing this or that… but tonight, what comes to mind is a ghost. A ghost who is now no longer a ghost.
Years ago, I had a friend that knew more about me than anyone in the world. Not in facts, but in thoughts. She knew a side to me that no one did, and being around her made me laugh and know that I could totally do whatever it was that I thought possible. She was not only my best friend but she was Micah’s too, but I don’t think she knew that.
We did everything together, and then she died. Like that. Gone. She was dead. I stopped calling her because the dead do not call back. I dreamed about her and her daughter and how much I wished I could just see them again… but I couldn’t, because they were dead. I didn’t know where they were entombed, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to removed them from it so I went on with my life… always remembering days in January or May, when they would be having birthdays. I’d look to the sky and ask Micah to tell them hello and give them a laugh for me. And I asked him to always keep them safe. Thankfully, he did.
You see, not all deaths are physical. There are some events that attack the heart and soul of who we are. Like losing Micah, his death killed a part of my heart that is still a gaping fucking hole. That part of my heart is an open wound and it will never heal. It is a hole in my soul and I wake up each day knowing it is there. My friend, she was in a situation that killed a part of who she was that she was weakened and was barely living. She was dying, only her soul was dying; her body was still healthy. Abusive relationships do more than make you sad, they murder you, slowly until there is nothing left of you and no one will miss you when you are dead because no one knew who you became anymore.
So this chick walks into a bar, hit her head and says “Ouch”…Ok. Bad joke ( or great one??). Anyway. This chick walks into the bar that my mom and I are at and my mom thinks she looks just like my old-kinda-dead- friend. I go on and on about how I don’t care anymore and she isn’t my friend and I don’t care what’s happening in her life… yada yada yada yada. So my mom, the therapist, asks me what would happen is I saw her again, with the right circumstances. How would I react? “We’d laugh and talk for hours”. That’s what would have happened. It didn’t, because my friend was no longer alive, to me. I buried her. I had moved on. I was in the bathroom stall shortly after, and I asked Micah to please, please keep her and the kids safe and if he could, to maybe bring them back to me. I missed him so much but at least I was able to talk to him and see him in my dreams,. I hadn’t had that luxury with her since she had still been living with her physical body, thankfully.
The next day was an interesting one. I called my friend Mindy and asked her to get in touch with my dead friend. I couldn’t, but it was time that I had someone call her.
The long story short is that we met again… She is alive. We spent the weekend with family in Munds and it was like there had been no time lost. We laughed. We cried. We grieved the loss of 10 years. We talked about our kids, we talked about Micah. We talked about nothing. It was like I hadn’t spent a day without her. I am so thankful to my God and to my brother, for keeping my friend and her family safe. I cannot wait to see Micah again and squeeze his neck for one more thing he made happen. I feel like I am a little more back to the old me now that she is back. Her children… holy fuck…. Talk about true love at first sight. This is amazing. Her strength to walk away from a bad situation and live again is empowering. She is remarkable in the true sense of the word; she should be remarked upon. I love her. I have missed her. I am thankful she is safe.

Welcome back, Little Amy.
Here’s to life.

I’m sitting on my patio in the Arizona heat; that alone shows my dedication to this this particular post. It’s close to 100 degrees and I’m pretty sure it’s after 8pm. But, there is something I have been needing to write about and haven’t because of a whole list of reasons, and the biggest one has been doubt. Well, fuck it. Here goes nothing…

It’s been a few 5 months since my last post. I thank those people who have followed me, bored as shit, as I have not had anything to post about. Or when I did write these things, I forgot to post them. A lot of shit has happened in my life and much of it I hope to never remember. But there have been certain moments that my brain will hold on tight to…Example: I still can paint a picture for you of the day Mikail was brought home from the hospital. I remember my driving test that I flunked on the first try… I remember the first time I saw each of my babies when they were born…I remember when I finished college, both times. What I have never remembered was the exact moment that I knew I was in love. That’s a tricky situation. I have loved another deeply. I have been in love before. I have loved another more than I have loved myself, and I am grateful for that experience. But here now, I am experiencing a new kind of love. And I find it difficult to put words to it.

Anyone close in my circle knows I have had my share of days when no one knew if I was crazy or not… many times I was…really crazy.

What most people don’t know is that for a while here now, I’ve been sick. I’ve had more blood tests and seen more doctors than ever before in my life. That includes all those weekly check-ups when I was pregnant. I barely pulled myself from bed each day to go to work, and many days I didn’t make it through the day. I kindly allowed puzzled doctors to cut into my skin to “explore” or whatever the fuck they were doing and I let them drain me of my blood for fun… None of them could “make me better”. It was kind of like being in hell, only you were alone and couldn’t really tell anyone why you were afraid… and it seemed daily to be getting worse.

Somewhere in this hot mess I ended the relationship I was in with the guy I had been dating, kind of on and off, for a year. There was too much going on for me to burden him with my issues and to be honest, I was actually a little proud to be facing this all alone. Silly girl, I was.

Fast-forward a tad… my body is now riddled with marks. I stopped running. I stopped working out. My body is covered in what look like tiny, itchy boils that are a direct result of my from my lovely condition. I look like a less fit version of the girl from Avatar. After Crash and I stopped talking, it seemed like it went from bad to worse… I spent the weekend in Prescott Valley with my brother, crying on and off all weekend because I was terrified of what was going to happen. When I came home, I finally called Crash again. He didn’t know what he was going to see when he came over that day. We had been broken up (God that sounds to junior high), we didn’t talk at all. What he saw was going to be scary and I told him that when we spoke…I wanted him to know when he came over what to expect/

When my bell rang and he was at my house, my heart raced. I didn’t look the same at all. I was a mess. I didn’t do my hair, I was in my fugly jams, and I was covered now in a rash that looked like a head to toe before pic of a Proactive commercial. He acted like he didn’t see it. He said he would be there for whatever it took for me to get better… and he did. He drove around with me searching for random doctor’s offices. He recorded docs so we could reference back to.. And long story ending….. he took care of me. Why? I don’t know.

So, back to my initial reason for writing this…Crash.. I don’t need to write about feeling shitty, because today I feel pretty good. Recently I finished the 2^nd year of my PhD program and we unexpectedly ended up in Cal for a few days. There was this point, at a really fucking pricey sushi bar in the middle of the day that I knew that I was crazy about him. I can’t explain it, other than I knew. If you know Crash, you pretty much get it. He is always game for anything. Every crazy-ass idea I throw out he is always right there to support. He I don’t think he knows how to be negative. I have never seen him pessimistic in any way. It took me a while to finally see that he was the perfect addition to my life. I don’t know what exactly the future holds, but I know I will be sad if he isn’t a part of it. Being in love this time is so much cooler than anything in my past. In the last year, I learned how to be a whole person alone and I learned how to love myself first, as cliché as that is. Its true though. Crash gets a better version of me because I’m whole mentally and emotionally and I can love him the way that he loves me. And he deserves to be cared for like that because he’s pretty much the kindest man I have ever known. I’m very lucky, that’s for sure.

I love the rain. Today was rainy. I love love love the rainy Arizona weather, minus the shit drivers that come with it. Today was no different. I was at work, which is really fun when you know you’re leaving pretty soon (as soon as my background check comes through, which shouldn’t be an issue as long as they figure out that I got married and ASU thinks Cassie Wisdom never went there). So we’re doing our typical Friday crap, which means we do like, nothing. I’m excited for the weekend. I have a lot planned. Movie, Gingerbread houses, Santa pics, tree trimming, wrapping gifts, and laundry;  it’s an epic weekend for a single mother. I’ve had December 2^nd in my head for about a week, which is when I’m set to start my new gig. I’ve given my notice, I have the worst senoritis in the history of the work world. Something grabs my attention for what the date is, and I look at my white board calendar that sits on my desk. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. The 24^th is Sunday. Kill me know.

Shock is the first thing I feel. How the hell did it get here so fast. Then guilt, why am I so happy? Have I forgotten that this is the weekend I dread all fucking year. I did forget though. I had life happening all around me. I’d been in a bad mood all week, which I took out on the wrong people. Mostly me, seeing as food is a need and I’d neglected it for the lack of desire to eat and my pissy ass mood happening. I stayed really busy with work and homework and the kids and decorating the house for the holiday. It didn’t seem, to the outside world, like I was upset at all. Emotional Ninja, that’s me.

So I see that today is more than just the day that JFK was killed, it’s Andrew’s brother’s 33rd b-day. Which usually meant I knew Micah’s b-day was right around the corner. This year I didn’t have that reminder. They don’t have bdays super close to Thanksgiving, and Ali had her baby, so there were distractions. Shit. Here it is. And I’m not ready. This year, I was so fucked up over the 11^th being the day Amy died that I totally forgot that she died within weeks of his birthday. Maybe that’s a good thing. I have no idea.

So in my crazy get the house holiday ready early mission this year, I took out all the boxes that said “Xmas”. A lot, and I mean a lot, were Amy’s. Her decorations are all over my house. It was so sad to see how many things she had for my kids. Things like their first Xmas ornaments (that she bought for her home to remember the years my kids were born).  I wouldn’t do anything like that if my brothers had babies. I knew she loved them, I just didn’t know she felt like they were her babies too. She really really is a huge loss for them and that sucks.

I get home and yay me, dinner is cooked in the crock pot. We start our ginger bread houses as soon as the kitchen is picked up and we have art space. Doesn’t take the asshole dog too long to eat a roof piece off the table. We need a dog trainer or a shock collar or something for her but right now we’re just hoping she stops being an ass. It’s not a total loss, we decide to rebuild it in the morning with candy canes and we go on to putting more shit on the tree. With all of ours and Amy’s combined, there are at least a thousand to put up on the tree. It’s a lot going on one tree. I love it though.

We did our whole family activity for the night, which we really don’t do much. I’m not one of those moms, so don’t think this is the usual for us. We ate. Well, I ate what I made and they had cereal. I SUCK at cooking. Or baking. Or anything that really requires me to do anything but eat food already made. As I dabble in and out of my homework, I cannot feel anything but shitty, and I know why. Texts make it worse. Phone calls add to it. I work more and let it go, turn my cell to silent. This is a fix all for bad shit in my life- nix that damn phone.

So now the kids are relaxing and watching a movie and I’m alone and all I can think of is that I’m awkwardly ok. I miss my brother. I miss my sister. I miss my family, but I’m more mind fucked over the fact that I let myself become a shitty person to someone who needed me. And I don’t like to name names publicly usually, but I really let Andrew down today.  Turning my phone off has not turned off my brain.

Yes, we are divorced. Yes, our relationship is complicated as hell. But, no one should ever question if I love him. Because I do. He’s my person, and my emergency contact.  When I think of my life, I know he is and will always be the only person who knows it all and will get it all, without judging me. Today,  he needed me and I wasn’t there. At all. I blew him off when he asked me to chat and I shouldn’t have. No matter what anyone thinks about him or I, when it comes to this, I will always be his person. He’s the only person in the world who gets my relationship with Micah. And I would be crushed if he left me hanging, like I did to him today. Realizing that I had kicked him when he was down was a low point in my life. So for that, Andrew, you have my deepest apologies. You deserved a better friend and I was a dick.

Wow.  It’s been so long since I’ve written anything its hard to believe I remembered the damn site name. There’s been so much that’s been happening, I don’t really know where I should begin…or end for that matter.

         I guess the end is always a good place to start. So the divorce finalized in August; which was an odd day to say the least. I spent so much time not knowing what would happen with that relationship that it was just strange to finally be in front of a judge, asking her to divorce us. I guess in a way, I never thought the day would come. He was suppose to be it ya  know? Hard to believe that with as much as we loved each other, we never could figure out to treat each other that way. That will be something I will regret for the rest of my life. It’s a damn shame that people can be so fucked up that they can’t get out of their own way and just be happy. I’ll also always wonder if it would have been possible or if it was a just a fantasy that I dreamed up in my head for a life that was never going to happen. Who knows.

         In other news, as a few of you know, there was a mild meltdown here in the house which lead to a lot of changes happening. There was too much going on, too much not being said, too much being said, and too much time spent on shit that wasn’t healthy. The kids and I have been doing well though and I’m confident that the future will be even better than the past has been. I’m leaving my job soon, changing fields, moving in a happier, healthier direction professionally as well as personally. Life happens and it just seems easiest to stop fighting it and accept it for what it is… a shit show at times. I learned long ass time ago that I really don’t call the shots in my life so I might as well swing away at the pitches that come barreling at my fucking forehead…

         So I’m sitting here tonight, typing because I think I talked my friends in circles about which decisions I was in control of and which ones they thought would be the best for me. Not to talk in code, but I think I’ve made a good one. I’ve sat down to write so many times and then I delete them or don’t finish them and then in the morning, I no longer think they’re relevant. Today, I knew I had to write. It had to happen. I didn’t know why but I knew I needed to. I logged on, and my subscription to my domain name expired, which meant that I would lose it forever. Not a good thing. I don’t have another idea in mind that means nothing and everything at the same time. (I was thinking “Seeyounexttuesday.com). If I’m learning nothing from all that’s been happening, it’s that I need to always follow my gut. It seems to always be fucking right.

         So moving more into the recent shit that happened, which made me want to write, requires that I back peddle into some dark scaries again. I got a lot of responses and texts from my last post… quite a few “You need therapies” and a bunch of “You’re strongs”. I’m neither. I’m human, we are insanely resilient when we have to be to get up everyday to be a parent. Losing my shit completely was never an option… only a little shit was allowed to be lost.

         So anyway, when Amy died, there was a lot of nothing that seemed to be happening that day. When we were pretty sure it was the end, we were waiting on the official news. Very important people had to deliver that news, news we already knew. I knew the moment my phone rang in the morning that it was bad. I’d sat on the patio with my hubs and my neighbors getting wasted off bourbon the night before because the next day was November 11^th… also known as Veterans Day (Who knew it was always the same each year???). My mom called. I bitched at her about not going to the hospital. A little known fact about Amy and I was that we had a deal… I didn’t come to the hospital when she was sick. If she wanted to see me, she had to be healthy enough to not be there. It sounds mean, but it was working to keep her trying to stay alive to be with us.

         So late that night I started crying and asking my neighbors if they thought I needed to go see her. They offered to take me, but first we called the hospital. The nurse told me it was cool, that Amy had gotten up and gone to the bathroom and she was good; no need to worry. Fuck that nurse. So the next morning we can’t find Kail. A million (or 5) calls later we get him and he comes to the death hall. We stand in the hallway, outside of her room with my Mom, talking about how our family was going to recover. We would. We kick ass at people dying. We put the f-u-n in funeral. We’re just that family that can band together and conquer a catastrophe and come out better. We are awesome. Disney should do a fucking cartoon musical about us… or something immortalizing like that needs to happen. I said something about not being good at waiting, and if she was going to die, it needed to happen because at that moment, we weren’t sure if it would be that day or 3 weeks from that day that her body just shut off.  Waiting was awful, maybe not as awful as telling my Mom I wanted her kid to hurry up and die if she were going to, but I was awful. Kail agreed with me and I was relieved. We didn’t know how to do expected death. We only knew kick you in the dick death… which was easier, actually.

         Eventually she did die. It was awful. And for as much as I write on here, I feel like the details of how she died are not something I want to share. It wasn’t her there, it was the body she borrowed turning off. After she was gone, I said a quick goodbye and kissed her, and swiped her necklace off the table, which was sitting close by. I threw it in my pocket and left to go face my children.

         I was wearing jeans and I’ll never forget it, because they where hard to get on that morning and I cussed out God that if he was going to take my only fucking sister, he needed to at least let my fat ass fit into my skinny jeans. He didn’t. I had to wear the fat jeans to her death day. I came home and put on sweats and poured a drink to be with Andrew and my neighbors, who had helped watch the kids. I got drunk, the necklace never came out of the pocket, I lost it forever. Shortly after that, we moved out and I knew I’d never see it again. The washer must have eaten it, since it was just a thin gold chain.

         Lately this last week, I’d felt her everywhere. It didn’t happen with Amy the way it did with Micah. She had company when she got there and guides, so I don’t think she fucked around too much in this realm before she peaced out and hit the road to see the boys. So this week, I go to do laundry and there’s this ceramic pig that Amy gave me years ago that I led onto., just because she bought it for me. I never knew what to do with the damn thing… So I grab it and it’s says “Cassie, I love you SO much and I miss you all the time. Love, Sis” I fucking died. Like I hit my knees sobbing. Why now? Why am I finally feeling this awful loss so strongly. Her death was never like Micah’s. He was a part of my day, not just my life. It might be because Jenny moved home, and now the other part of Amy is here, the closest thing I had to a sister still,  is back in the picture.

         I knew the anniversary of her death was coming up soon, but I’ve been so busy that I’ve been ignoring it. 11/11 will never be the same… I was annoyed that my company has the audacity to be open on Veteran’s day. Do they not know it IS ALWAYS ON THE 11^TH? Fuckers. As I’m sitting at my office, Jenny texts me, asking me to go to Flagstaff that weekend to sit around, let the kids play, and let swap Amy stories.. the ugly cry will be coming… I need it, so it’s good for the soul sometimes.

         So last night, I’m sitting there, peeing (TMI, I know)…and in true me form, I don’t shut the door. Something glimmers and catches my eye… it’s her necklace. I’ve moved twice since I lost it. I’ve lived in this home for 3 years, I’ve swept THAT bathroom a thousand times. I’ve painted it twice, there is no way that I’ve missed this thing, all this time. No way. This magically has appeared. I just stood there, holding it in disbelief. It’s tarnished. It’s traveled a few universes to come back, which is hard for the simpler minds to believe that it was ever really gone… I plan to have it cleaned soon, but first, I’m taking it to Flagstaff.  

Dear Micah,
I want to write you all the time, but I find myself sitting here with nothing to say. The only thing that comes to mind is how much I miss you….
Tonight, I was forced to really think about you though, and the time that you died. I hated doing it. I usually save it for anniversaries or what not. I didn’t get that choice tonight. So fuck. Let us reminisce, shall we? I know you were there, the day you died and I know you know what happened. I wasn’t. No one was. You laid in that same spot for two days until I came to you. I saw you. I felt you. I screamed when that man pulled me away from you. He didn’t know what I knew; if I could just keep one hand on you, one finger, one last grip on your Gap jeans… you wouldn’t really be dead. He carried me away from you. I fought him the entire way. I have to ask though. Why? Why did you allow me to be there? Why did God? Maybe he doesn’t exist? I know you did, and I know you still do, so I have faith that he does too. Whoever he or she or it, really is. There was a reason for that. There was a reason I had to be there. And that is why this story became my life.
I love my story, BTW. I was telling it to your niece tonight. I had no choice. I was siting on the patio when I found out that she knew that the day I saw you for the last time was also her 2nd birthday. I’d vowed to never tell her. I hated tonight. Seeing the pain in her face when tears rolled down mine, telling that story about birthday balloons and fire trucks and a really scary coroner vans with a stretcher and an empty blue bag, meant for your beautiful body. God, I love you. Saying goodbye that day was gross. I’m so glad that there is a God out there who coordinates this shit. Yay you, God-sizzle. Dick.
I told my baby girl about how it was her birthday, and how I was excited for it. But I also told her how happy you were about it. I know more than anything in this world that you loved Teeny more than anyone else in your life. So why her birthday??? I used to wonder. I don’t anymore. I know that there are some things that I will never have the answers to. Chalk it up to a point in the loss column I guess. I guess I accepted that had it not been her birthday that I wouldn’t have felt an urgency to get to you, and you would have spent the whole weekend on that bathroom floor, rotting some more.
The pain that I have lived through since the last time I saw you have been incredible. There have been some days that I will never forget and some that I wish that I could. I remember feeling you everywhere those first few days. I remember not crying when I found out you were dead. I had seen you. I knew there was no way that the condition of your body was capable of holding your huge soul. I knew that piddley person on the floor was not you. But for some reason, I needed the sheriff to say the words. I asked her repeatedly if you were dead. I oddly, not sure why since I had seen your face, asked her if you had shot yourself. I don’t know why. I asked her again and again. She said that you “expired”, like cheese. I still hate cheese. I have to force myself to eat it, which is dumb because cheese is delicious. But I equate it to your corpse. She finally said that you were dead, and I immediately told her to move the fucking fire truck that was parked behind my truck.
I remember when you came to the hospital when Lucah was born. You sat on my bed. The pressure on my legs woke me up, but there was no one there. I looked at my legs and knew I wasn’t dreaming. You sat next to me and looked her over, while she slept in her little plastic bed. Thank you for her. She is a joy to be around and I know that without her, I wouldn’t have made it through those first few months without you. The silence of my life almost killed me. And I had a toddler. You must have been a noisy neighbor. You used to walk into my house life and I’ll always remember how you didn’t knock and how you always seemed to think that my kid was supposed to be awake when you were, since you would wake her up to play with her, even if I had just gotten her down for a nap. I would give anything to have a crabby baby because of you again. Now the kids are just crabby because they went to bed too late. Dammit. I miss you.
I remember the first Christmas after you were dead. I cried. I don’t recall much more, other than standing in the dining room of Dad and Mom’s house, looking at your pictures and sobbing with Kail by my side. Have you seen him lately? Whowza. He’s so handsome. I like to think that the torment you and I put him through made him strong enough to conquer the world. He’s as funny as you were, in his own way. He doesn’t command attention the way that you did, but he’s just as witty and cool as you were. He took over your role as my big brother, in a way. I don’t see him as younger anymore. I don’t know if that’s by choice, but he seems to have it together more than I do, so I go with it. I’ve always needed a guide.
I think the best thing about your death has been the PTSD. I used to have flashbacks of when I saw you last. I didn’t remember all of the details of that day for 2 years. I blacked out your funeral even. It was nice to have so many people re-tell me the story so that I could feel like I was there again. I used to hate my flashbacks, but now that I understand them, I use them to be a better person.
I don’t think many people understand PTSD or what a flashback is like. Initially they were always you. I could handle those ones. It was when they became the kids that I lost my shit. I remember sitting with the kids outside of a tall building in down town Denver and I was looking at a balcony and thinking about what it would be like to live there with the kids and how bad it would suck to have to walk all the way downstairs if the dog had to pee. I saw the man who was standing on the balcony, about 15 stories up, and I saw him pick up Aubrey and throw her over the ledge. She was standing next to me. This was impossible. But I could see her fall to her death. It took my breath away and no one understood why I was suddenly kneeling on the concrete vomiting. Of course I was. I just watched my 4 year old’s skull slam into the curb. That wasn’t the worst one. I have had so many more that I’ve thought I should be in a hospital in a snug strappy jacket. Even still. They’ve become a part of who I am and I allow those dark creepy thoughts to guide me.
In the 8 years sine your death, I’ve learned to cope with my PTSD. I know it will not go away. I know I will live with it forever. I know the world will not understand it. I know that I will always be a freak in my own little world since no one gets what it looks like to be me. Last month we were all going to a festival in Flag. I was excited but then those fucking dark creepies got to me again. I was at work, thinking about the trip, when I saw the truck we were all in fly off the road. I saw bodies everywhere. I saw my boyfriend and Kail’s girlfriend and someone I didn’t know die on the road. I called Kail later that day to say I would stay sober and drive. I can’t control my thoughts, but I could do everything I knew how to make sure I protected them on that trip. I don’t think my flashbacks are always a curse. They make me be more careful because I don’t want them to come true.
I didn’t tell Aubrey all that tonight. She can have some secrets still. I never wanted her to wake up on her birthday and know it was a day that our family changed forever. I told her that the days that hurt were the ones that reminded us that you stopped living. Like when you don’t have a birthday anymore, when we don’t get to call you or buy you gifts. Or when you are missing from weddings when we all know you would have been a blast to be with. Those days suck. Not her birthday. That was the best day ever.
I know why I had to find you. I know that it as because if I didn’t, if I got the news the way everyone else did, I would have looked for you for the rest of my life. I would have wished it weren’t true. I would have looked for you to walk through the door every time. I was given the gift of an end to your life. No one else was. And I think I know why it had to be on her birthday. It was a blessing in disguise. Every year, I’m so busy planning her birthday that it’s hard to take time to think about where I was that day. I was having her, not being thrown over your patio wall by a maintenance man. Not calling Mom to tell her you were dead. Not calling Ali or Mindy or Becca to tell them you were dead. I’ll never forgive the person who told Aubrey my secret. Fucking asshole. They pail in comparison to my daughter, or you.
Re-living your death, again, was atrocious. But I think sometimes I need to let my mind open back up to it to see if I still bleed. I know I will never get over you. I know I will always miss you. I know I will always wonder where you are at any given moment. I know you are always going to be the greatest adventure of my life. You made me take chances. You made a better mother. I don’t take life for granted anymore. I don’t worry about shit I can’t change. I know I don’t have a long time here. I want to spend it living and I want that to be what my little girl learns. I want her to see her birthday as a new year to set goals and have fun. And so far, she’s doing it. Let’s just hope that in the coming years, she doesn’t change that.

Sometimes I get really bored at work. Like, super bored. Like, I think I hit the bottom of the internet bored. That’s usually when I start to stare off into space and let my imagination run wild. It’s also when I do a lot of my online shopping. Today, I had already bought a pair of wedges before it was 9 am (they’re black and adorbs, btw). Yesterday, I bought a cell phone case… it doubles as a charger… for my fucking brother… since I don’t have any use for it. He does. He rides his bike off road. He could get lost. His battery could die. I don’t want the hyenas to eat my brother’s face. He needed it. Totally worth the $60. I saved his life, sorta. Imma good sister.

       Sometimes when I’m at work, I work and stuff, but… I would say that the amount of time that I spend day dreaming could rival that of a child. Instead of daydreaming today, I decided to bust out another rant. So here goes. This morning I was driving to work and I saw my car twin. I love seeing my car twins. It happens less now in the blue truck than it did in the Durango, but it’s still just as exciting. So I see blue truck twin. And again, same as the last time and the time before that, blue truck twin’s driver is an asshole. I know it’s early. I’m trying to give them the benefit of the doubt, but I’m starting to think that most people don’t really like being honked and violently waved at before they’ve had their coffee. I know in my heart that they’re just as excited to see me as I am to see them. We’re car twins. We have a connection.

                I take the little girls to get breakfast, since I bribed them out of bed with the promise of McDonalds. $12 for breakfast because once again, I was too tired after work to stop and buy Cheerios and milk. Today will be my day. I will conquer the store after work tonight. I can say this confidently, because I know I also need to buy beer. And I need to buy stuff to BBQ for dinner. And pool toys,  because I’m not working tomorrow and so I’m taking my babies swimming. Understandabley, that will be much more important than what I am doing at work today…I do very important things at work…*rolls eyes*  

                We had a meeting at today. I didn’t really pay attention. Big shocker, right? It’s really not my fault. It’s Groupon. It’s haunting me. I save no money using Groupon. I bought gifts for Father’s day. I have 3 dads to buy for. My kids need to step it up. I’m sick of picking up the slack for them. I’m sure that my Dad would still be thrilled with a clay plate with my handprints on it, but I bought him some knick knacky shit anyway. He deserves more than that, but you can’t buy the guy anything since he has everything. I almost bought myself something too. Because I kinda play Dad roles too. But not really. My kids’ dadses (there is a reason why you are not supposed to have more than one father to your children!!!) are both great Fathers. My kids are lucky. I had a really good Dad. They will too. That will be good for them. They all know their Dadseses love them. I hope they’re pleased with the gifts I bought them. They better be. I coulda bought them a card. “Thank’s for knocking me up, Bro”.  I guess it’s not that big of a deal that I have 2 baby daddies. I mean, I think it sounds really trashy, but I know how I got here, so it isn’t like it’s a character flaw. Lots of people collect things. I collect baby daddies.

                 So in addition to collecting baby dads. I also apparently collect shoes. Like it’s sad. They’re everywhere in my home. Like Tupperware bins of winter boots and running shoes. I have running shoes. I have court shoes. I have lake shoes. Lake shoes. I have shoes for a location in which I go to swim barefoot. Do you think there’s hope for me? I don’t. I really hope the Birkenstock comes back in style. Those were so comf. I could feel one with my Jesus kicks again. I’d probably be back on the “Imma die alone” train if I tried to bring those back though. So I wait. One day, Jesus kicks. One day we will be together in a world filled with more than just hippie tree huggers and weed. One day, you will be mainstream again. I have faith. And an addiction to shopping. Fuck.

            I’ve always had a thing for water. That’s the understatement of the century. I have a full blown, batshit crazy, cant-keep-your-hands-off-each-other-so-you-bang-in–the-car-on-the-way-home kinda love for all things water. I love the lake. I love the ocean. I love swimming pools. Naturally, Sea World and me are a match made in Heaven, right? No. Fuck that place. I think I hit a personal record for the amount of times I said fuck. I actually thought that I said it a little too much today. And for me, that’s impressive. That’s a word that I feel should be added into errythang, even the Pledge of Allegiance. One Nation, under Motha-Fuckin-God.  

            I take my kids. Alone. Party of 5. This is our reality. This is our life. This is how we do. I didn’t have any reservations in regards to taking them to this big ass fish tank solo. I actually enjoy the overwhelming chaos that comes with raising them as a single mom. I didn’t plan on it being this way, but there wasn’t exactly a way to do it using option A anymore, so this is what our life is. That’s ok. It’s better than ok really. It’s da bomb diggity. No doubt. I like the way we work it.

            So kids and I hit the World of the Sea. It’s a cluster fuck from the get go. Hoards of people. I hadn’t planned on that. My trusty double jogger that I love oh-so-much kicks off the day with a flat tire. Fuck sticks. I have to rent the shitty ones. Damn damn damn. The thing won’t move. The wheels stick. I think about slashing the tires and leaving a note on it when we drop it off. Stroller from hell. But it holds my babies so I don’t have to panic about keeping an eye on 4 kids.

            We hit the Shamu show around 3. It’s fucking awe-summm. I love that fucking beast. I shoulda been a whale trainer. I hear they do well. And they get paid to go swimming. Errrmuhgerd. Best. Job. Evarrrr. We walk the park. Constantly bumping into people who have no idea that I have no problem running into them if they stand in front of my stroller and stop. Rules of engagement. You get in my way, I will run you over. Pray for your ankles, biotch. It happened three times. Once just because I was crabby and hungry and felt like running someone over. Ha ha. I’m 31. I may never fully mature. Oh well. Move it fuckers. I’m on vacation.

            We see all the shows and shit Sea World has to offer. We leave. My wallet is tucked in the pocket of my purse. She’s crying like Jodi Foster in The Accused. I think my debit card is smoking. I get all 4 babies in the car. The day is over. Sea World, check. We have about a 40-minute drive back to Oceanside to my cousin’s place. It’s quiet. My loves are PTFO. I have time to think. Morrison’s “These Are The Days” comes on the iPod. It’s perfect for my mood. I think about all the shit the kids and I have done over the last 3 days. This trip was a great idea. They had so much fun. I took 4 kids to Cal all alone and they’ve all survived. I’m leaving with 4 kids still. It’s a feat in and of itself.

             I think about how my kids were so excited as we left Sea World. I asked them how their vacation was. They all 4 at once began ranting about it. “Best time ever” was said a lot. That makes me happy. Not just happy. But really proud of myself. I knew being a single mom was going to be hard. I knew it was going to be lonely and there would be times that I hated it. But I never wanted the kids to think I thought it was a chore. They’re my life. They are not work. This is my family. I love it. I love them. 

      Anyway. As I was saying. I hit me as I drive up the i-5 (hauling balls, I love CA freeway drivers) that as a single mom, I’ve pulled this shit off. My kids are not only doing well, they know I love them. They play with me. They talk to me. They come up kiss me on the head when I’m doing homework. They say I love you. They say it to each other. They say it often. That’s so cool. Then I think about how when I was freshly single, I was terrified at how this would play out for them. Will they suffer having one income? Can I do it? I have. And I do. That feels so good. To know that I’m in a place where I cannot only afford their vacation, but I can mentally take on the task of manning this ship alone is a great feeling. I never wanted them to feel like they didn’t have as good of a life because they had a single mom. But we’re pulling it off. I love that. I feel like a fucking super hero as I drive them home.

            This trip has been remarkable for my family. We needed to have some time together where they saw that they were part of a family that was a complete unit, even with just one parent.  They needed to know that they were all I needed to be happy. They needed to see that their mom wanted to spend her time off with her family; them.

This will be an annual trip. I’ve decided. It’s tough to be a single parent. It gets a little boring. But that’s ok. Boring isn’t always bad. Being able to look at my family and know that we have  overcome so much and we’re all happy, healthy, and crazy in love with each other is the shit. I grin a little as I drive. I look the car over at each kid, sound asleep. I have done so well. I have created such a beautiful life. I am the happiest person on the planet. No. Universe, as I am their fucking super hero. 

I remember not wanting to make that trip. I was unbearably depressed. It was the start of June. My Dad convinced me to go. I did. I sat at the summer beach house, feeling like I had this tumor inside me that everyone was happy about but me. I was young, I had a lot I was going to do. This baby was fucking it all up. I wasn’t happy about it, but I was trying to live with the decision that I’d made, based on my roommate’s advice that I would always question myself if I didn’t have it, but I would never regret my kid if I had it. I was trying to keep that in mind. Three days into the vacation, I had terrible pains. My friend called my OB., or my “Vagina-cologist” as I called her at the time. All was ok, it was normal, just ligaments pulling because the baby was growing. I was so relieved. That changed everything.
I suddenly realized that this thing I had spent years preventing, I was now fighting like hell to protect. Ready or not (not) I was a mom. I spent that trip sober, while everyone drank on the beach by the bon fire. I went to bed early. I was beyond tired all the time. I was still grieving the life I had. It didn’t seem fair, but I had made a very adult choice so I had start living a very adult life. It was going to be a big fucking change. I missed cigarettes, I missed beer, I missed life without worries. And it had only been a few weeks.
The night before we left the beach house, I stood on the beach, alone. I was crying. My irresponsibility had ruined my vacation and also my future. I was fuggin’ bummed dude. Moms are lame. They’re boring. They’re big fat fatties. They don’t laugh. They don’t play. They suck. I was now the headliner of Suckfest 2002… My life was done-zo.
My brother suddenly ran up behind me. He shoots me in the ass with a Roman candle. It burns. Game on. I’m defenseless. I don’t have ammo. I run to the house and get my stash and light one up, then light him up, as he darts away since he’s now out of a weapon. Poor planning on his part. Roman Candles only hold a few, he’s wasted his fucking with me. I run out too. Never getting my so deserved retaliation on him. We laugh. We climb up to the lifeguard tower. We talk. I’m lost in my thoughts so he does the talking. I let him.
“She’s gonna be like 7 months old next trip” he says. Who? I wonder. Are we getting a puppy? He’s referring to my vagina tumor. It’s never crossed my mind what gender this life ruiner will be. Fuck. A girl? No way. Imma hava boy. A strapping young man. Or not. I haven’t considered life with a girl. It’s obviously a boy. I think? Fucky Fuckerton. I might have a girl. Jesus fuggin Christ. Game Changer. Vagina Tumor might be a sassy ass girl. Rad.
It’s dark. Everyone is smoking out on the deck. I sit alone, listening to the waves. Here I am, staring at the waves, scared shitless to be a mom. I killed a pet rabbit I had once, I forgot to feed it… water…in the summer…in Ari-fuckin-zona. I killed my own fish on purpose by overfeeding them when I was 10, because they had too much upkeep. They were fuckin’ Betas. I cannot raise a human. She’s so fucked with me as a mom. I know it. I cry. I pull myself together. I think about the future. I can do this. I can be a good mom. She won’t have it easy, but I can try like fucking hell to make sure she never doubts how much I love her, I can be sure has fun and especially I can see to it that she’s happy. New life goal. Make baby girl proud. Do-it-to-it, Momma Cass. You Got This.
11 years later, I watch her play in the ocean with her 3 little sisters. She’s a fucking knock out. She’s intelligent beyond anything I could have prayed for. She’s hilarious. She’s silly. She’s so talented. She has her Daddy’s stubbornness. She has my Mom’s nurturing side. She has her Poppa’s Sun Devil gene. She has Mikail’s smile. She has my legs. She is just an amazing person. She runs up from the waves. I kiss her on her head. She’s close to being as tall as I am. She’s wearing my shoes. Dammit. She didn’t ask. She can do whatever she wants. She made me a Mom. I will forever be grateful.

I’ve never been a traditional Mom. Being young when Aubrey was born, I think I did a lot of growing up with her those first few years. My relationship with my kids is unique though. Yes, I am their mother and I have no issue making sure their asses are in check if they cut out of line, but they’re also my close friends. I love talking to them. I actually like sitting and chatting with my kids more than I like chatting with most adults. My kids are just cool. I really like how they’re growing up, but that might be because I’ve decided to raise them in a very non-traditional manner. I made a conscious decision a few years back to raise my children actively, to never lie to them, and to fight like hell to make sure they grew up prepared for what the world had in store for them. I wanted them to have a childhood but I also wanted them to know that it’s not always rainbows and butterflies out there either.
When I decided to take away the television for them, it wasn’t as difficult as you would think. In fact, I just made it a non-issue. The television no longer had a million channels. They didn’t even notice. Then it didn’t have the good stations, and then it didn’t work at all. I kept them so busy; they didn’t even know it happened. Don’t get me wrong, my kids still like to watch TV, but it’s not a habit for them. They play outside, they climb, they dig, they explore, they’re having a childhood that involves adventure and not some crap on a video game. They get bruised. They break bones. They need stitches. They’re growing up outside though and I love it.
I try to be really real with my kids. It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it in the long run I think. My kids don’t have their heads up their asses, thinking that nothing bad happens. They’re seen it happen and because I had sugar coated life for them, they were blindsided. When Amy was sick, I never told them anything. I always treated them with kid gloves and didn’t let them know their aunt was very sick it was very serious. I lied to them when they asked why I was crying the night before she died; I told them it was about a friend of mine because I didn’t want them to worry about her. I will never forget what it felt like having to tell my kids their playmate was dead.
I had left the hospital within 20 minutes of when she took her last breath. I had held her hand as she died. I kissed her on the forehead when she was gone, told her I loved her, and said “Bye Aims”. Just thinking about it makes me scream. I hate having that memory of her, but I’m glad that in the end, she left this world knowing I was there and that I loved her. I left her hospital room, walked into the hospital courtyard, screamed something profane, threw my drink at a wall, and fell apart in my Dad’s arms…My phone was blowing up. My friends were telling me they loved me. I was thankful for them. They were going to make this day bearable. I looked back at my phone and saw a picture of my kids as my screensaver and my heart sunk. I had to tell them. I don’t think I said goodbye to family. We got in the car and left. The drive home was filled with a new feeling of dread different than the one going to the hospital felt like. Going there, I was going to go see my sister die. Going home, I was going to watch a part of my daughter’s innocence die.
We pulled into the driveway and I saw them playing in the yard. I had left before they were awake in the morning so they had no idea where I was. I kept my eyes on them as I walked up to the courtyard of our home. I sat down as they rushed up to hug me. I pulled 4 year old Lucah onto my lap and held onto Aubrey’s little 6 year old hand. Tears came down my face as I tried to keep myself from losing my shit as I calmly told them that Auntie Aim had gotten really sick and she died. She was ok. She was in Heaven and she would be with them forever now, protecting them. They stared at me and didn’t cry right away. Then Lucah did. Then Aubrey got mad. She had a right to be. She wanted to know why I had lied to her. Why she wasn’t told. She was pissed and she deserved to be. I had lied to her. I had treated a child who was living in a very adult world with kid gloves. She should have been more informed. I haven’t lied to them since.
It may not be right, but its working. We were talking the other day and Lucah asked me why people did drugs. I told her because they were fun, they made you feel really good, and if she did them, she would like them, because that’s why they are made. They make you feel great. She looked at me funny. Did her mom really just tell her that drugs are fun? Yes. I did. I also explained to her that they will kill her, which is why she can never ever try them. Weed is ok. That doesn’t count. I told them that too. But anything else, it will kill you. That’s why they’re so dangerous. They feel good, but they kill you. Even just a little. You’re gunna fucking die. Look at your uncle. He wasn’t a junky. He wanted to feel good. He’s now living in a jar.
I want my kids to be prepared for the real world. It’s not a pretty place. People blow people up at races and movies. Babies are dying of cancer. They have to know that when bad things happen, it’s an event that is bad. Not their life. They need to know that when they get their feelings hurt at school, that it’s going to get better. They need to have faith in the idea that although bad things happen, it gets better. Nothing good or bad will last forever. Nothing. They need to have coping skills so that when I am not around, they can take care of themselves. They need to lose softball games and know that they’re not the best at everything so that they know how important it is to try their best all the time. They need to be prepared for the life that awaits them, and I think the best way to do that is to be real with them. They will have so many years of ugly shit to see when they are older, that right now I want them to play as much as possible. As long as they know they have each other to rely on and that no matter what, they can never fail in my mind, I think that they’re going to grow into very amazing women.