I gave in to the hysteria of women everywhere going “zomg! you have to read this book, Fifty Shades of Grey.

I was so completely underwhelmed in the first few chapters. To sum up for you:

“Hi, baby,  my name is Christian Grey, baby. I am hot, rich and like to fuck, baby. I have commitment issues, baby. I have control issues, baby. I have rules, baby. I’m a bad boy, baby.”

“Hi, I’m Anastasia Steele. I am 21 and have never had a sexual thought in my entire life. I have never kissed, I have never wanted to be kissed, I have never touched myself, the extent of my experience is what my friends told me about Judy Blume books ….. Sir. My inner goddess peeks her head out, smiles and says ‘Oh I can TOTALLY change a man as totally fucked up as this. My subconscious is so naive she can’t even begin to understand how much that will never ever happen. You can’t fix someone else’s fucked up.”

The first time they make love, fuck hard, do it, she is instantly lubed up, the condom package opens easily and rolls on without effort, she not nervous at all, and she is banged with about all the finesse of the infamous Brokeback Mountain scene. She comes repeatedly from very little effort on the part of anyone, she never chafes, never wonders if her cervix is going to bruise, never questions, never inadvertently gets a wad of hair in her mouth and has to spit it out. She also has no gag reflex and, even though, she has never thought about anything sexual, she knows to cover her teeth with her lips whilst doing the oral thing.

Right. Riiiiiiight.

So clearly, fiction.

I kept reading. What I am getting out of it is different than what some will get out of it.

These people talk. And talk and talk. They are very clear about what they want . . . well he is, to the point of having a written contract about it. Which, really, how awesome would that be? Here is a list of things that I will not tolerate, you make up your own list and then we know. Hard limits. How nice would it be to know that upfront, if you call him Sir or Darling that he will recoil. How fantastic would it be to feel free enough with someone to say what you are comfortable with, what you would like to try.”

So it is about communication. It’s also about trust. Trusting that person you are naked and vulnerable with. Now, I’m not suggesting that we all need a Red Room of Pain and nipple clamps, but what about pushing a personal boundary? Sex with the lights on? No? Sex in the dark, yet NOT under the covers? What about touching him *there* if you want to know what it feels like? What about saying “SLOWER” when you want slower, instead of letting him assume the pace he has set is right for both of you?

What about letting your inner freak flag fly? Getting over trying to be perfect for someone else and instead just being you?

I’m at the start of something new. All that newness and boundary setting and establishing how things are and how things can be. I’ve never talked so much at the beginning before. I’ve never been so much just ME with a man before. Can I tell you how fantastic that is? To embrace the whole “this is me, like it, hate it, here is a list of the fucks I give about what you think about who I am, because I like me, if you do – great, welcome to it.”

I refuse to live anyone else’s life again. This is my life. It is still scary to be open and vulnerable and take the risk of sharing actual me. Yet, I can not tell you how good it feels, at last to know who I am and have the icing on top of being adored for being that person.

I will do a lot of things as a teacher. Wear a tutu, worry about my kids, laugh when a Kindergartener throws up on the carpet, hold my breath and antibac my face, arms and hands when the “sneeze pocket” fails and I get hosed with … whatever. I will eat school lunches, use the teacher voice, sing songs, read books, do reports, miss my OWN kid’s first day of school and holiday parties.

I draw the line at Teacher Night at the local chain food restaurant.

Today was the first day anyone gave me a hard time about it. It started with a teacher grumbling about “some people haven’t done it at all” over lunch. (Same teacher who has her own axe to grind with me and can’t seem to stop running her mouth about me anyway, so her opinion isn’t high on the “matters to me” list, but it’s one more annoyance for sure.) Then the (sometimes scary) secretary noticed I wasn’t on the list. I’m like “uh yeah, I’m parenting my child.” Then the principal was like “uh yeah, we’re all parents” (said nicely)  and I’m all “uh yeah, and I have a kid who is in bed by 615 some nights.”

There’s so much here. I’m not sure where reason ends and excuse begins.

I’m picking Alex over fake slinging food at a restaurant I actually loathe.

I have an issue with encouraging families to take their kids to a fast food place when we spend the rest of the time encouraging healthy habits. Hoops for Heart anyone? Just got done taking THOSE donations. HELLO?

I don’t see how it encourages students and families to respect teachers if we are out working fast food. I’m not knocking a fast food job, except for where I say I think it’s safe to assume no one is aspiring to sling a burger as a career. “Hey kids, stay off drugs and eat your wheaties and one day you too can leave your kid with a sitter to come make people eat food that will kill them sooner so we can have some petty cash to buy … I don’t even know WHAT with.”

Now it would be fabulous if I could just have an opinion, make a choice and be done with it. But oh no. I’ve had that nasty tight throat all evening. It’s only getting worse. That “oh God, I’m going to get caught, I’ve done something wrong” feeling. The “I chose my kid over my work oh shit” feeling. The “What do I need to be doing to take the heat off myself and get people to forget all about it” feeling. Combined with the “Fuck this, this is bullshit and I don’t want any part of it, for some pretty freaking GOOD reasons” feeling.

Mostly the overwhelming, “Rule Number One: Must… not… rock… boat… must… not… rock… boat” … this rule has been broken, and my anxiety is off the chart and my throat is tight and my fight or flight wants to kick in, my breath is tight and it’s all pretty much crazy making.

Craziest of all is that in the grand scheme – this so! does! not! matter! But in my brain tonight, I’m running in circles trying to figure out WHY this has triggered the crazy to such a degree.

Like I titled – guilt? shame? I can’t even get it named. I made a choice and I’m scared there might be consequences? I actively broke the social rules of my work environment and it might bite me in the butt? Any of that could be it.

I’m livin’ on some weird edge of fear and I’m ready to get off.

(ed: 24 hours later, I do want to say that my principal is one of the best supports I could ever hope for in this whole working parent thing. She’s done it herself and she’s a good mentor for me on finding the balance between worky guilt and mommy guilt. Today there wasn’t any ick factor. This whole issue is just so loaded for me – something I actually don’t at all agree with, combined with my need to be with Alex, but then thrown off because I’m bucking the culture I work in by NOT jumping on board. It’s all very weird to me.)

I’ve concluded that I do not know where I’m going. I’m lost.

I could be all WASPy about it and set a goal.

I could be all Navajo about it and decide that setting a goal could prevent me from going with life’s flow and finding what I’m truly meant for.

I could hide under my covers and not come out. Oooo… there’s a thought…

I could . . . .

What I’m GOING to do is get up in the morning and show up. Show up to my job I love, even though there is someone sharpening a knife to stick in my back. Show up to my job I don’t know the future for (Thanks budget cuts!) I will work a more than 12 hour day and come home to maybe see Alex for a bonus two minutes before he falls asleep. I will repeat this on Tuesday.

I know where I am not meant to go. I trust that wherever I am is the part I’m meant to be at – but it’s crazymaking to not be able to see the big picture.

I’m a mess. Haunted by a strange slip of a dream.

I had a good birthday. (Even if my birthday wishes didn’t come true.) I learned that getting a little bit of love from *so* many people is a wonderful way to start a new year. I’m trying to hang onto that glow of love from that day.

It’s like trying to see ahead in the dark – only it’s lit by an uneven strobe light – there are flashes that make sense individually, but over all it’s a stuttery mess and I’m reaching out trying to figure out the end while I’m in the middle.

I suppose I would be happier if I would just settle into the moment and focus right here. No worry for the future, no thoughts of the past. Perhaps that’s the lesson of now, and why it feels like Groundhog Day up in here – like haven’t I DONE THIS already?

There is something I am supposed to be learning … doing … accomplishing … and this is the core of my problem – WHAT is the “something”? I am seeking a cosmic to-do list . . . something I can get a gold star and an atta girl for . . . some rubric to follow . . .

Gah. Adulthood is confusing. This actually feels . . . like . . . midlife . . . . puberty . . .

Yes. That’s exactly it. And it’s just as bizarre to be in this emotional growth spurt as it was to be in the physical one so long ago.

I dreamed about you last night. It was wartime and we were together and in danger. We narrowly escaped being put in the rooms where the gas was thrown and the yellow-green explosion came up from below.

It was cold but not bitterly so. We were rounded up with others and as we waited for the soldiers to get to us, I looked at you directly, saying, “I love you” for the first time. I cringed, because I had been determined to not be the one to say it first. You looked at me, smiled and chuckled. The smile met your eyes and I knew I was being teased. What? Just because we are facing soldiers and an unknown future, I need to start saying things that might sound like “goodbye” or “this might be my last chance”? I could read it all in your eyes.

We were scared, but we were strong together and that was all we needed.

Today I woke to my safe life, but I have been haunted by the dream. By you. That feeling of being stronger together and able to face impossibility together . . . I miss you so much . . . daresay I love you, but I’ll be damned if I’ll be the one to say it first.

Marty posted a photo of Susan Niebur – age 15. Then she posted a photo of both of them, age high school, on facebook. Early 90s, post 80s hairspray, Cindy Crawford eyebrows, church retreat, a stunningly familiar lack of cool. (note the word “familiar” as in “like me lookin in a mirror”)

I thought I was worrying about Susan because of her awesomeness (which I was). I thought I was emotional because I was overthinking my own mommy heart with a son born months after hers (which was true too). I thought I was holding Marty close to my heart because we’ve shared a handful of moments (I was, and we have).

I saw their teenage faces and knew with certainty that those girls were the kindred spirits of my teen years. I had missed that under the gloss of “adulthood” and labels like “musician” and “honest to gawd rocket scientist y’all”. Seeing that picture – I believed that given the opportunity, we could have rocked the back of an English class – getting As and passing notes.

Marty and Susan are the real life Anne and Diana.

In the two weeks from Susan’s last words to the readers (the last word she typed was HOPE – did you notice?) to Curt’s first words – I waited in that gap for news. Wanting to ask, but knowing to not. Not reading until after that Marty felt it too – knew about the crickets ….

Best friends for 25 years. I saw the bloggity bits of that friendship. While I’ve cried over Susan, I also have some sense of her being okay, and past the cancer and past the unfair fucking pain of the cancer. It’s Marty who twists me to the fetal position. For as honest as Susan was about living with cancer, Marty is honest about living after Susan.

Marty, the Susan shaped placed in your world is enormous, for she was yours – your person – your longest love – your best friend. Please believe that as Kristen said, you aren’t alone.  You’re in the darkness of these first days – but know that just out of your sightline are your people, right here for you. When you are ready.

“I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?” (Last line in Stand By Me)

I have an iTunes playlist that is labelled simply “camp”.

I could name a hundred people who would know exactly what to look for in that list – Indigo Girls, James Taylor, Styx ….

Those same people know the importance of the phrases “Polar Bears”, “The Bell”, “Aunt Jean”, “Three Tiered Dress”, “PnL”, “Hey Jean, What’s the temperature?”, “Wolf Spider”, “Blue Ball”, “Whats the chances”, “So there I was” …. and OF COURSE … the response to the shout out “PENIS!”

Twenty years ago this summer, I stood on that campground for the first time. I met people I loved on sight and others I only came to love these 20 years later.

I gave testimony in front of hundreds of people about how that single week changed my life. It pulled me out of my small town at the critical moment when my school friends all seemed to make decisions that blew their lives apart. That week gave me a different place to go, to focus, different people to love.

We kissed, we prayed, we drank, we got nekkid, we floated, we laughed, we smoked, we smoked, we talked, we loved.We used to write letters . . . then some newfangled thang called “email” – using school computers with green teletext and no graphic abilities.

Now we use cell phones, and texts, and facebook, and hell, this blog on occasion.

We graduated high school and brought new people into our midst. Shared more music, hot toddies, roadhead tapes (different story, different day), skipped classes, told stories, took roadtrips, saw concerts….

They sold our camp land, but we’re still here. A gathering of angels … Still together … Just grayer …. well not ME of course …

Those weeks are those rosy times that I remember as “the best of times” …. campfires, music under the stars, cute boys, good girl talks….

I miss my friends. I miss having the schedule on the calendar when we all knew that whatever was going on, we would be together again. When we were as close as a drive and not a flight plan. I miss you my friends. Tonight I’m flipping on the music and closing my eyes and praying that I meet you in the morning in the dining hall …. or at least in my dreams tonight.

Disclaimer: If you have a weak stomach – do not read. If you would ever like to see me naked – do not read if grossness would change your mind.

Anyway.

I threw up.

Easy as can be. None of that staring into the porcelain God misery waiting for the gagging to start. I spit a bit and realized how much better my stomach felt.

Then I realized I had no idea where the fuck I was. It was dark, cool things pressed my body, and the last sounds of the toilet flushing were behind me.

Huh.

Oh right. I’d woken up at midnight-thirty and decided I needed to go to the bathroom. I’d felt a little green and rocky.

As best I could tell, I had, in a major class act, passed out on the toilet like Elvis, fallen on the floor between the toilet and the tub, and proceeded to yak. On myself. The tub. And the floor.

I sat up, turned on the light, surveyed the damage. Got paper towels and started swiping up the mess.

I wondered for a moment if I was dead. Because in the middle of the night when you’ve opened your eyes after falling on the bathroom floor, hey, anything is possible.

I wondered if I should call someone. Alex had slept through the scufuffle (Is too a word, spellcheck). It was snowing outside, everyone I knew was sleeping. Except one.

I thought about the Dude and man I wanted to pick up the phone and call him. He was awake at work. I measured the level of tragedy in my mind. If I was truly in trouble, I knew he would come to me. Was I in THAT much trouble? I thought about calling and waking my mom to come over in the cold and snowy night. Was I in THAT much trouble? I thought of all the possibilities.

I felt around to see if I was hurt. I think I smacked my forehead when I went down. But I didn’t seem dizzy or stupid or in danger.

I went back to bed. Emailed my mom that I’d gotten sick. Then rested restlessly the rest of the night.

I stayed home from work, considered going to the doctor, passed on that in favor of sleeping the entire day.

It was another one of those times that I realized, MAN I’m on my own. And MAN I’m having to learn when to ask for help and when to suck it up. I was determined to go to work today, until I realized getting out of bed wasn’t so much possible. Which apparently is a prerequisite for actually going to work.

I think I probably should have asked for help in the middle of the night – but there wasn’t anything to be done.

It’s just one more damn surreal lesson in this whole growing up thing.

This list is not all inclusive.

This list is not exclusive.

It is purposefully not in any particular order.

It’s me giving back some love to those who have loved me well this year.

Thank You.

Amanda Magee – The Wink – http://amandamagee.com She inspires me. She supports me. She sends me love. She never, ever stops cheering for me.

Mishelle Lane – Secret Agent Mama - http://secretagentmama.com/ Hot photos of me. Lots of laughs in many hotel rooms in many different states. Shared information regarding the taste of, ahem, something that does NOT improve with age. (aka – Clean out the pipes guys if you expect any swallowing.)

Colleen Vanier – Mommy Always Wins - http://www.mommyalwayswins.com/ Fellow single mommy. She’s hotter than me though. I still like her.

Crystal – Ewokmama - http://ewokmama.com/blog/ Blogged with/near her since the very beginning. Always has my back.

Victoria aka VDog – VDog and Little Man (now with more offspring) – http://vdogblog.com/ The one honest enough to look me in the eye while I cry and tell me, “This ain’t good, I’ve NEVER seen you this way, you gotta cut this shit off, it’s bad for you.” Also. Boobs. And Xanax. And earplugs.

Cindy Wilkinson – PooBou - http://www.poobou.com/ Wine soaked dinner, many other drinks, a pregnancy, two divorces, a breakup, non sleeping children, survived the perks of being a crazy ass with each other.

TexasRed – Texas Red Books http://www.texasredbooks.com/ – We bonded because we were two timed by the same guy. Then she met her future husband at my wedding. Then my dad died the day of her wedding. One of us got the better deal here xoxo

Bridget Ivey – The Ivey League - http://theiveyleague.com/ Those are some awesome shoes

Susan Niebur – WhyMommy - http://toddlerplanet.wordpress.com/ Real live rocket scientist. Taught me the phrase “Just do it afraid”. Love.

Karla Porter Archer – there’s beauty in the chaos - http://karlaarcher.com/ – While finding her own truth, she supports mine. Which is pretty awe inspiring.

Flutter – Flutter - http://byflutter.com/ – my red lipped, ba-bam, spirit twin. Believed in what was right for me when I couldn’t see it myself. Also? Wants to perfect her junk punch.

Loralee Choate – Loralee’s Looney Tunes - http://loraleeslooneytunes.com/ – If I could put a Rick Roll in the middle of your flash mob, I totally would.

Jenny – Mommin’ it Up - momminitup.com – My inner guidance, that little voice telling me I can do it.

Rachel – A Southern Fairy Tale - http://asouthernfairytale.com/ – My first conference crush. She taught me that 4 year olds can pick locks with Barbie hands.

K. C. – Real Housewife of the Bluegrass - http://realhousewifeofthebluegrass.blogspot.com/ Asskicker. Which I need.

Kyla – Life With The Tars - http://khebert.blogspot.com/ Two kids. One husband. Med Student. Still comments on my blog while acing O-Chem. I’m in awe.

Marty – Don’t Take the Repeats - http://canapesun.blogspot.com/ – The sweetest heart. Ev.Er.

Shana – Gorillabuns - http://www.gorillabuns.typepad.com/ – When you build that Grandma’s Home Cooking-Butter n Bacon with Vodka drinks on the side Truck, you better come to my work I mean town. Cuz that’s REAL support.

Angie Lynch – A Whole Lot of Nothing - http://awholelotofnothing.net/ – Made of Awesome. Covered in Butter. Lovely, lovely butter. Holds my hand.

Grandy – Functional Schmunctional - http://functionalshmunctional.blogspot.com/ A comment from her makes me smile all freaking day.

List not complete. Small man insists on Go, Diego, Go Games and I must comply or possibly die.

If I tell you I am scared

Will you tell me it is nothing?

Or will you share with me a time you were scared?

Will you gaslight me?

Or will you hear me?

Will you tell me it’s no big deal?

Or will you tell me you will be here when I am done?

Will you look away, not wanting to see me?

Or will you stand with me?

If I tell you I am growing, becoming better, learning

Will you remind me of my faults and weakness?

Or will you tell me you see the changes too?

***

May those who love us love us.
And those that don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we’ll know them by their limping.

(Irish Toast)

***

My Monday brings me face to face with personal and professional demons. I’m trying hard to be calm and steady as I prepare for it. Things aren’t going my way, but the difference between now and other times is that I am learning to trust myself, I am working on going with the flow, looking for opportunities. I’m not sure what tomorrow will set in motion, but I am trying my best to believe that all will come for good.

In the opening of Harry Potter 5 (Order of the Phoenix) – Harry sees Thestrals for the first time. They are what pull the carriages from the train to the castle of Hogwarts. Neither Ron nor Hermione can see the strange horse-like animals. Luna appears and explains that only those who have been close to a death can see the Thestrals. Which is why Harry and Luna can see them, but Ron and Hermione can not.

After my dad died, I felt like I should have a shirt with a blazing, “I SEE THESTRALS” across it. I felt so different, so altered, so raw from having him ripped from my life. To look at me, I was the same – maybe a blanker look or a redder eye, but a stranger on the street would have no idea how much I had changed in those hours. I felt like there should be some kind of marking so people would know to treat me with gentleness, because I was fragile as a frozen bubble.

Since then, me and mine have greeted several others into our parent-loss fold. We greet them with with open arms and tears and whatever else strikes us when we give the original greeting on twitter, a blog, facebook, or sometimes, even face to face. We hope we don’t insult anyone with our #ddc hashtags (dead dad’s club) It’s just that we understand you laugh at yourself or cry your eyes out. If we cry, we just might not stop.

My friend lost his grandpa last week. His grandpa who was the father of his heart. The man who he identified so closely with, loved so dearly. That man was gone and all he could do was send brief texts and cope the best he could while being the point man to make sure all the details were taken care of – the ashes to ashes practicalities.

I put on my heels and my church dress and made the solo drive to be there. I held my breath and walked into a new building full of people I’d never met. These are the things that terrify me – but if he could do this, so could I. I stood and waited for him to make his way near enough to me to see I was there. I hugged him, I met his grandma. She commented on how cold my hands were – I didn’t explain it was my fear of being around new people that had me so cold, I just enjoyed a grandma holding my hands in hers - I borrowed his grandma for that moment since mine have both gone on.

He showed me photos, he told me a story that only he and I would appreciate for all its flavors and feelings. No one else would have understood why we stood for a moment at the front of that chapel, swallowing hard. Acknowledging our mutual Thestral, if you will.

He looked at me – “I’m doing all right.” I looked back at him. So much I wanted to say. I hadn’t gone because I thought he couldn’t do it on his own, I didn’t care because I thought he needed me to, I had no doubts that this man was going to take care of every detail and every person who had a need he could handle. It wasn’t the time to smirk or joke or throw out a welcome to the club comment.

I looked at him and blinked. I took a breath. Instead of all that, I said, “I know you are. I’ve met you.”

We stepped away and he went back into the crowd. I tried to blend with the wall and assigned myself the job of watching his grandma – regarding her carefully, making sure she wasn’t alone. I thought of my Dad and all the services he watched like this. I thought of the chapel in my grandparents’ funeral home. I felt so useless – there was nothing for me to do but stand by and think about Thestrals and wish like everything he wasn’t seeing them too.