I feel pretteh, oh so pretteh

Just going to warn you right now, this post contains a lot of leg, and small amount of underroos (new word of my own creation) and a fair amount of cellulite. 

Today was what we call a loaded day. It's my wedding anniversary, it had the potential to go either very very right, or very very wrong. Fortunately I did something I rarely have the smarts to do....I planned ahead. I decided today that I was going to church come hell or highwater and I was going to stay the whole service. I'd previously made an attempt, but couldn't stop the tears and left the building. Today was a double whammy, being in the building where I was married, where my children were baptized, on the date of my marriage 12 years prior. However I did it! I made it! I felt tears coming a few times, but I stuck it through. Well I did miss the sermon due to fussy baby, but the point is, I didn't leave in tears. I also made a vow to myself in church to strive to move forward and to love myself as I should from this point forward.

With that under my belt, my inlaws (I think I'll always call them my inlaws) took the lil'uns for a hike with the ex and I spent my time getting supplies for the week, doing a bit of tidying up and I even took a soak in the tub, oh yes, in the vein of loving myself, I also went to get some awesome Hakka food (diet be damned) and found an amazing deal on Moroccan Oil!

Fast forward a few hours later, I'm up on a table with my leg on fire. After 17 years of wanting one, I bit the bullet and got a tattoo. I had been thinking of getting one for a few years, but could never think of what to get. However after some thought during these hard months, I thought that a phoenix would be the order of the day. I've had to reinvent myself in so many ways and I needed something to symbolize it. Everything fell into place really perfectly. On my anniversary of my marriage gone down in flames (sorry for the dramatics, I'm going somewhere with this), I'm going to go get a phoenix tattoo.

I went back to my home to have it done, the artist was on the solid recommendation of my downtown family, and believe me, they would know. Since I'm a wuss, someone I love dearly and consider part sister, part aunt held my hands the whole time. Despite the pain (and it fucking hurt, everyone who told me it wouldn't, y'all are nothing but a bunch of lying liars who lie!) I loved every moment. I felt safe, loved and supported in only that way family can. We shared many laughs, stories and winces on my part.

I just now had an emotional moment thinking about it. It's been happening a bit lately, it's a good sign, even if it does have me reaching for the tissues. I'm blessed that I'm overwhelmed with emotion because I'm starting to truly feel safe and loved again.

My safety duck, courtesy of a sweet 18 month old. lol

The pain, while not enjoyable was also symbolic for me, because in order to have this beautiful design on me forever, I am going to have to go through some pain. Likewise with my life, to be this beautiful strong woman I know is in there, I'm going to have to go through some pain...a lot of pain. lol That said, a teenager wise beyond her years remarked that I would feel a sense of peace afterward, and she's right, I do, it's like it belongs here, though I nearly scared the daylights out of me walking past my mirror and seeing this bird staring at me. That's going to take some getting used to.

awesome outline

Many thanks to John Bertrand for the amazing vision, skilled hands, patience and sense of humour to make this happen. I'm so not looking forward to the fill, but no pain, no gain. I think I'm definitely going to be that "one tattoo" type of person. Thank goodness it's so awesome.

Shared history

It's funny how you mourn the loss of that. I'm grieving the loss of the relationship for many things, but this week it seems like shared history, or just intimate knowledge is the topic.

A couple of nights ago, I hit a dog. He was lying on the highway seriously injured, there was no way I could have dodged him without killing me, my passenger and possibly others. I saw his tail wagging right before I killed him. I couldn't believe it for a moment, I had to ask my passenger what was it, and she confirmed it was a dog, to which I promptly wigged out. She was an awesome friend and likely in fear of her life in talking me down and to a place where I could pull over and I really started bawling. It was the type of cry that just comes out of your chest and leaves it sore for a while. My friend rocks, she hugged me, reassured me that there was nothing I could do, and logically I know she's right. I managed to get her and myself home safely, downed a couple of shots of tequila and cried myself to sleep.

Where the shared history comes in is, that I love dogs....I mean I really love them. I still mark the anniversary of my late dog Banzai's death. I used to show dogs, I used to work for the Canadian Kennel Club, I used to live, breathe, sleep dogs, no one knows this more than my ex who was dragged through living, breathing, sleeping dogs...mind you, when we split, we only squabbled over the custody of one item, and that was Banzai's urn. I won. Anyhow, ex did come over knowing how broken up I'd be about this to chat and console me. It was good, because we have been trying to get along, and nice gestures go a long way.

So as I finished this last paragraph it dawned on me that I needed to do the same (I'm quick like that). As most Canadians who pay attention to the news knows, NDP leader Jack Layton is stepping down (temporarily, because we all know Jack will kick cancer's ass!) due to the illness. What you don't know is that Jack has been a good friend of ex's for the past 20 years. He was one of the ex's professors back in university and they hit it off. Since, they've worked on oodles of projects together and Jack would check in twice a year trying to get ex to move to Ottawa. So I knew that this news was going to hit ex hard. Now believe me, there is still a whole mess of hurt feelings, sadness and even crustiness that I'm feeling, but sometimes that has to be put aside and I have to remember that I'm hurt because I do genuinely care about the guy and he's hurting, so I have to suck it up and give him a call, see how he's doing. He remarked...now remember this is mid post, that only I would know exactly how this would impact him. Kinda creepy huh?

Looks like we both had our "shared history" type moment. It's hard because even with the most awesome-est friends in the world (and I have them) you cannot replace that person with whom you've spent the past 17 years of your life. And in a way, we're even lucky that we're still talking to each other and can share a few words of support. I think ultimately our kids are big winners in that department, in that mommy and daddy aren't trying to kill each other. However it's pretty different now. It's not that we cannot support each other, but the scope with what we do is pretty diminished. That said, I guess the challenge in going forward is creating new histories with friends, family (including ex) and my new husband Alexander Skarsgaard (he just doesn't know it yet) and filling that gap.

And on a very important and serious note, I'd like to offer my thoughts and positive prayers to Jack Layton in getting better. You are an amazing and inspiring man. Your energy, tenacity and optimism has seen you motivate millions of Canadians to build a party to speak for the people and values taking care of each other which I also hold dear. I pray that those qualities in you, will see you through this and you'll be back leading the way in no time.

New life part 1.

It's been a long time since I've posted. I wish I could say it was because I'm a flake and nothing more has happened, but a major life change happened on February 27. It was the day that marked my seperation from my husband. The blow was tremendous as the love of my life, the only adult relationship I've ever had didn't want to be with me.


The next few weeks were a haze, a blur. The only thing I can definitively remember, was directly after he told me and I calmly told him to take the kids out. I emailed my best friends, went out to get some chocolate peanut butter ice cream and calmly sat on the couch watching TV and fielding calls. Talk about shock. Shock was good though, it protected me, of course it didn't last and I spent the next few months piecing myself back together again, trying to keep it together for my kids and relying heavily on my friends to help me get through easily the worst period of my life.

Somewhere in April, I realized that I wasn't going to save this marriage and my ego kicked in that I wasn't necessarily worthless, that this might indeed just as much a loss for him as it were for me. In May, I started smiling again, genuine smiles and laughs, it took some effort getting into the right frame of mind to smile, but once there, I started to resemble myself again. I also realized that yes, I was going to make it through, it was going to be Hell for the next three years, but I'll survive and God willing, be a better, stronger person.

Its now nearing the end of July. There have been so many peaks and valleys I've lost count. Its been very difficult to write this post as 1. I feel like a fraud having given so much talk and commentary on relationships and 2. How to discuss a very painful part of your life without lashing out, sharing too much or throwing myself into a valley again. I don't want to use this blog to give all the gory details or run down my ex, I'd like to be honest, but diplomatic and use it as a vehicle for reflection and reaching out to others who might be going through the same thing.

So, that said, I do need to write, and I want to share this part of my life as I get through the next few very tough years ahead. My first reflection came at me from the moment I received the first of many calls from my friends. (Though I didn't know it at the time) I am very lucky. Insanely lucky. So lucky that it hurts when it comes to the friends department. They have held me as I cried, bailed me out as I put my van into a bus (long story, I'll share it some time), they have force fed me food, they have force fed me alcohol. They have given me support, places to sleep, husbands to borrow, babysitting and an amount and the kind of love that you see in the movies.

Truly, I never thought that I'd ever be so lucky as to have friends like this. EVER! I remember I think the second time I met with the mediator, she asked me if I could see a silver lining in this. I couldn't, not for a lack of trying, I just truly wasn't in the head space to think of anything remotely good (maybe except for getting to claim the bathroom all for myself...pink and girly products took over like two days later). That said, once I was capable of smiling, I saw my community who rallied to pick me up. Not just my friends and mother, but my mothers friends, my friends husbands, my inlaws, some of my extended inlaws, nieces and nephews, brothers, sisters, school teachers and principals, therapists, my hairdresser. Every cloud has a silver lining, but my lining was diamonds because when I think back today, I am still overwhelmed by the love and support I have received from everyone. In fact it was a couple of friends who pressed me last night to write about this and to start blogging again. This isn't an easy blog post, it's very hard, very embarassing, very emotional, but I do know that if it weren't because of my friends, I wouldn't be capable of standing on my own two feet from time to time, let alone write a blog post about surviving this heartbreak.

So there you have it in a nutshell. Why I've been MIA and what I've been doing for the past 5 months. I can't promise my writing from now on will all be lollipops and rainbows, or even terribly consistent, but it will be honest and genuine.