Wise Words: Wordful and (Not So) Wordless Wednesday

Wednesdays are Miss Chatterbox's specialty. This week, she gives us a few words of wisdom to ponder about...

Having a hard time understanding?  What can I say, Miss Chatterbox's words are always thought-provoking. LOL.  Here's the translation for us brethrens:

If You Get in Trouble!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bad: You don't lie.
Good:  You tell the truth.


Bad:  If your mommy don't let you watch things on TV, don't watch it.
Good:  So you only watch the ones you're allowed.


Bad:  If you have a nanny, you don't be angry or grumpy.
Good:  Be good.


Bad:  You don't listen to mommy, or.... (hmm... she didn't finish, but I wonder what she was going to write;)
Good:  U always listen to mommy and daddy.


Little Miss Chatterbox

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Be Enough Me: No Regrets

I often asked myself, whether as a daughter, a wife, a mother, and a friend I have done 'enough.'  That if I were to die right this minute, could I genuinely say to myself, that I am 'enough'?

After all, I am human.  There are many mistakes I wish I could undo, many choices I wish I hadn't made, many decisions I wish I could do otherwise.  I also wish there were many more lives I could have changed for the better, many more kindness I could have shown, many more lost souls I could have given my shoulder to cry on to.

It's always easier to focus on the negative: on what I haven't accomplished, or on how I fare when compared to others in a similar role.  I'm aware of daughters who have managed to support their parents so that they could go into early retirements.  Or those who lovingly attended to the needs of their aging parents.  Some of my friends, even after a hard day at work, still made the time to cook their husbands' favorite dish or serve them sliced fruits.  I know of wives who could keep a clean house, be on top of the children's homework and school projects, and still hosted the most amazing dinners for their husbands' friends at home.

There are mothers who despite having three or four kids, are actively involved in every single one of their children's activities, have killer bodies because they were disciplined enough to fit in some exercise time, and do not have raccoon eyes the next day because they manage their time so well that they could still have eight-hour sleep and wake up refreshed at 5:30am every day.  I have friends who would go to lengths (e.g. fly across the ocean to visit me when I was down, for example) and gave it all they could for a friend in need.  

I have not done all of the above.  At least not to that extent.  So does that mean I'm a 'less-than-enough' daughter/wife/mother/friend?  Lets face it.  In the face of all those greatness, how could I not feel small?  Insignificant?  Not to mention guilty for not being able to do what others could.  These are the things you can't tell yourself, "Oh, they're impossible," because the proofs are there for my eyes to see.  I've seen people do all of those great things.  They are not impossible.

And yet they remain impossible to me.

How many times have I, upon seeing what others have accomplished, been inspired and forced myself to do something similar because until I succeed in doing the same things, I felt that I haven't tried or done 'enough.'  I pushed myself harder and harder, to accomplish more, to give more, to do more, to be more.  And when I later ended up unable to reach the goals I've set up for myself, I became frustrated, angry with myself, disappointed, and deemed myself as not good enough.

And it usually led to the conclusion that I am a bad daughter, a bad wife, a bad mother, and a bad friend. 

The past five months, however, had changed the way I see and value myself.. I found that:

I am emotionally stronger than I thought.

I am surprisingly resilient.

I am capable of forgiving others who had wronged me.

I love unconditionally.

I care deeply.

I can find things to be happy about even during sad times.

I am doing the best I can.

I have my strengths as well as my weaknesses, and my weakness doesn't make me a bad person.

I am a good person.

I am enough.

Should I die tomorrow, I have no regrets.  Yes, there are still so many things I wish I could give or do for my mother, but above all, my wish was for my mother to feel that she's loved by her daughter.  I think I've accomplished that.  My marriage is in shambles, and should it end in divorce, God knows that it was never for the lack of love and faithfulness on my side.  When it comes to being a parent, I have nothing to complain about.  My daughter is kind, loving, independent, and wise beyond her years.  I'd like to think that I have some part in that :)  The friends that I have, I wouldn't trade them for anything.  They are the most loyal, caring, supportive group of people I could surround myself with.  And I think they know that the same goes with me.  That I'm here for them whenever they need me.  

I am enough.

This is our very last week to make an impact for Be Enough Me 4 Cancer. Last week we had 45 people link up an enough-themed post in our Be Enough Me for Cancer campaign and I’d love it if you’d help us boost that number again. For every 20 linked up posts, Bellflower Books will provide a memory book to a woman fighting breast cancer through Cricketts Answer for Cancer, and help bring a smile to courageous women giving it their all, every single day.  The link-up remains open for three days. No blog? No worries. You can also comment on the post or on the Just Be Enough Facebook Page page with your own story and be counted.

Is This the End?

"Do you think we would ever be happy together?"

My fingers automatically stopped typing.  I could feel my throat starting to close up on me; my heart jumped and was already racing at twice its normal rate.  I found it hard to breathe.

He sat up from his reclining position and was now sitting with his feet flat on the ground, facing me.  

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, glad to have the desk and my computer screen as a make-shift shield between him and me.  

We hadn't even begun to 'talk,' and there I was already wishing for the conversation to end.  Various emotions fleeted through my mind all at once: fear, sadness, anger, hopelessness.  Panic and a sense of foreboding slowly made their way from the tips of my toes upwards, invading my peace and sense of security.

I remembered asking myself, "Oh God, what is it again this time?  What have I done now?"  I fought the tears that were threatening to escape, afraid he would roll his eyes and see it as another 'flaw' in my personality.  These days, there really was no limit to the amount of 'wrong' things he saw in me.  I didn't even know why I would bother worrying about disappointing him even more.  It seemed to be my specialty lately.

I was never one to articulate my feelings well verbally.  Perhaps that was why all my attempts at communication with him had failed.  Maybe that was why I've given up talking.  It only led to more tears and heartbreak for me.  

If I thought there was no way I could possibly feel any worse than what I was feeling, I was dead wrong.  What could be worse than being told that your husband's having a midlife crisis and the one thing he felt unhappy about was his wife?  And then shortly after, you heard him confessed that he didn't love you anymore, and that to him you were simply a mother to his child? 

Well, this: being told that the last time he felt happy with me was during the first two or three years we were together and then when I was pregnant.  Recap: we've been together for twelve years, and my daughter is almost seven.  It didn't take long for me to do the math, really.  Basically what he's telling me was that he had not been happy for the last nine years.  Nine f*cking years out of the twelve years we've been together, people.

Oh, wait.  There's more.  He felt that he needed to make one more clarification.  About not loving me anymore.  It didn't just happen, you see.  He's stopped loving me waaaaaay back.  At least a few f*cking years back.  Try five to six years back. 

Well that was just great, wasn't it?  Just kept on shooting more bullets at me, would ya?  Stab me, turned the knife left and right, and might as well pour some salt while you're at it.  

At the end, I asked him, "What do you want me to say?"   

What were you hoping to accomplish by saying this?  Did you want me to make the divorce decision for you?  Was this meant to be cathartic for you, even if it was at my expense?  Didn't you care?  Oh wait, that's right.  You didn't.

I Used To Love You, But Now I Hate You

Jeans. They can evoke so much emotion in us: the hot jeans we wear on a date, the skinny jeans we can finally fit into, mom jeans we vow never to wear, the comfy jeans we’ll never throw out.  The assignment this week is to write a piece – fiction or creative non-fiction – in which jeans play a prominent role.  You can even write an ode if you’re so inclined.  Word limit is 600.

I remembered the days when jeans used to be the one thing I couldn't live without. I could wear jeans morning, afternoon, and night.  I felt that I always looked good in jeans.  Needless to say, I hearted jeans.

Fast forward twelve short years later, if there is one thing in my wardrobe that I hate the most, it is jeans. Nowadays, I cringe whenever I open up my closet and see the section where I put all my jeans.  My hatred increases exponentially in regards to my weight.  Whenever I feel skinny, the hatred waters down into a mere dislike.  The opposite and my hatred would quickly grow into loathing.

It doesn't matter what kind of jeans it is--skinny, bootleg, flare, straight-leg, low-waist, high-waist--trying to close the only gawddang button on that thing is already enough to inspire a panic attack.  I swear, it used to be a smooth, simply slip-on kind of thing! 

Okay, I admit, maybe a bit of wiggle-wiggle.  No biggie.

Now?  No amount of jumping up and down, lying-down while buttoning, sucking my breath until my lungs were on fire, would make the whole process any easier.  My biceps got muscle aches just from trying to pull the two bloody ends together.  Not to mention the raw blisters on my thumbs.

And on the few times that I managed to actually button it up, surprise-surprise, the job's not done yet!  I had to manually tuck in a few inches worth of "love handles" (aka "fat" in my dictionary) into whatever invisible space left between the jeans and my bunched up skin.  Which by then would have started to show ugly crease lines from having been forced into something that's way too tight.

Huffin' and puffin', I would then look at the general result, shudder at the possibility of my jeans bursting at the seams, and then went on to worry about choosing a top that's loose enough to camouflage whatever blop left on the top of my waistline and yet still shapey enough to give the illusion that yes, I have a waist.

No belts were necessary.  There's no way the jeans would ever slide down, what with all those skin I've tucked in underneath the waistline.

Whoever said that the longer you wore your jeans, the less snug it would feel... YEAH, RIGHT!  If you keep wearing it for the next six months without washing it, maybe.  But I'm a mommy, so I don't have the luxury of not washing my jeans for the next six months.  My daughter likes to hug me and she's only come up to my waist.  I don't want her to catch any unwanted critters that might reside on my unwashed-for-six-months pair of jeans. 

So let me tell you what happens during the times I've managed to button up my jeans.  I would've thought the thing couldn't feel any tighter, right?  As soon as I sat down, I felt like I had just been punched in the guts.  Slowly but surely I could feel all those extra loose skin I had so painstakingly tucked in started to unravel and escape from the confines of my jeans.  I could even feel the spilling skin folding over and touch the metal coldness of my jean's button.  I would look down and see the slowly expanding and multiplying folds of skin underneath my loose top.  At which point I would then take a handful of Tums because I would be getting a serious case of heartburn from all that pressure on my tummy.

Multiply the whole experience above three folds once you drink a glass full of water, and five folds once you're through with appetizer.  By dessert, I would have to unbutton that damn button, which feels better than orgasm at that point, and breathe a long sigh of relief.  That feeling is short-lived, however, once I realize I've got to button the whole thing (the extra skin, the f*cking love handles, plus the appetizer, main course, and dessert) up again before getting up from my seat.  I tried walking around with my jeans unbuttoned once, but I ended up looking like I had grown a d*ck, which was not exactly the look I was going for--ever.

Despite owning a complete collection of jeans that encompasses three four different sizes, the whole thing that I described above?  Happened the last time I tried on the largest size I got.

Thoughtful Thursday and Other Thursday Hops

Link Up With Us Every Thursday on 

 THOUGHTFUL THURSDAY Blog Hop!

It's So Easy:  

1. Follow the hosts: Look who Found the Marbles, Do Sweat the Small Stuff and Rock and Drool.  
2. Link up your favorite post from the past week and check out some of the other great sites in the linky.
3. That’s all there is to it!

Hosted by Look Who Found the Marbles , Do Sweat the Small Stuff and Rock and Drool

<a href="http://dosweatthesmallstuffblog.blogspot.com/search/label/Thoughtful%20Thursday" _mce_href="http://dosweatthesmallstuffblog.blogspot.com/search/label/Thoughtful%20Thursday"><img src="http://i1097.photobucket.com/albums/g345/dosweatthesmallstuff/ThoughtfulThursdayBlogHop.png" http://i1097.photobucket.com/albums/g345/dosweatthesmallstuff/ThoughtfulThursdayBlogHop.png?action=view&current=ThoughtfulThursdayLinky.jpg" alt="Found the Marbles" width=”125″ height=”125″border=0 /></a>

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Hosted by Obviously MARvelous and SmookieStyle

Hosted by hosted by Rondi from WAHM Resource Site and Crystal from My Life as Mom and Wife.  This weeks guest host for the #3 spot is  Good Girl Gone Green

Just Because I Like Being Alone Doesn't Mean I Don't Feel Lonely

Hosted by Things I Can't Say

You see, I like to be alone.  In fact, being the introvert that I am, I prefer to be alone most of the time, because I find comfort in being alone.

But that doesn't mean that I don't feel lonely.  Or that I like feeling lonely.  Because I don't. 

So it might be surprising for some to hear me say this.

That I'm lonely.

One of the hardest things I have to cope with during this marital crisis is the feeling of loneliness.  Funny I should say this, because it wasn't as if Mr. LA and I were together all the time or even that talkative to begin with.  Even when we were still dating, I was quiet and reserved.  I was never one to communicate well verbally (which later on did become a problem), and my way of bonding with him was mostly through hugging, holding hands, cuddling, or even sleeping next to each other with our legs entangled.  Those simple things made me feel connected to him; they made me feel safe and taken care of.

For the last three months though, I've been stripped bare of those things.  If there was already little physical contact before, now it's non-existent.  We each go through our days, treating each other civilly, sometimes talking more than usual, but without any physical contact.

And I missed that.  I missed that so much.  I missed having someone held my hand when we walked side by side.  I missed curling up and resting my head on the crook of his neck.  I missed sitting side by side, bodies touching, while we watch TV at home.  I miss the caring gestures, the pat in the back, the occasional shoulder rubs, the affectionate kiss on the cheek, the arm across the shoulder...

I have never felt as lonely as in the past three months.  Wherever I was, wherever I went, no matter what I was doing at the time, loneliness lingers.  It's become a part of everything that I experience nowadays.  I could be happy, sad, excited, tired, angry, or just plain bored, the one constant thing was that I always felt lonely.

I guess I just wanted to get this off my chest...

A Song A Baut Brds: Wordful and (Not So) Wordless Wednesday

Miss Chatterbox:  Mommy, I want to write a song.

Sweaty:  Really?? (OMG, my daughter's gonna write a song! She's gonna be the next Mozart! She's a genius!!) That's great, sweetheart! Go ahead!

CONTENT WARNING: The following graphic content contains extremely high number of spelling, grammatical, and punctuation errors. Viewer discretion is advised (it should NOT be viewed by those with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder tendencies).

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