Saturday, December 3, 2016

my too-much girl

I am too much. 
I know, just wait.
Wait, and you will see.
I am too much.
I’ve heard. I know.
There is just too much me.

Too much yes, yes, yes.
Too much no, no, no.
Too much wait, please stop.
Too much stay, don’t go.

No, no, sweet girl,
you are not too much for me

Wait, just wait,  
wait and you will see.
I will not hide. I will not pretend.
There is always too much me.

No, no, my funny girl,
you are not too much for me.

I will not hide. I will not pretend.
 I will always just be me.

I wish...I wish... 
but wait, you'll see,
There is always too much me.

I promise you, my heart, my dear,
you are not too much for me.

Nights with too much wakefulness.
Days with too much fog.
Too much now and too much joy.
Too much I don't care.

Wait, wait, my sweet, sad, silly girl,
wait and you will see.
You are never too much,

Never too much for me.

When there is too much noise…
I will be right here.

When the chaos comes crashing down…
I will still be here.
 Still waiting patiently.

Please, love, hear my words,
 hear the words I say.
There is too much,
too much, I know
always too much me.

A promise, my heart, my crazy girl,
A promise to you from me.

When there is too much run away,
I will run with you. 
When there is too much go, wait, stay,
I will be stop and stay.

Please, my dear, my truest true.
Please stop and listen to me.

I am too much.
always too much
always too much me.

And now.


now you see

I know.
 I see. 
 I understand.
It's there for all to see.

You are mine, my heart, 
my too-much girl.

never too much for me.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016


I ended my 36th year with my Littles sleeping upstairs.
with dishes in the sink.
with half-done house projects.
with my cat on my feet and my dog on the floor.

It was a good year.

My 37th year began when I woke up to my Littles, full of love and sleepy eyes, rushing to get ready for school so they would have time to give me my birthday gift.  I saw them out the door and went back to bed.  I relaxed under piles of quilts and pillows enjoying the stillness.  I decided I was going to enjoy the day.  Regardless of what the day brought, I was not going to rush through it.  I'm done rushing.

Right now my life is a series of chunks of time. work. family. friends. home.  Each chunk has to have time carved out of the week.  It's very disjointed and I always feel like I've got to be somewhere, making the most of every moment.

they go so fast, those moments.

I had moments yesterday. Wonderful moments.
It was a good day.
I want more days like yesterday.

I was reminded that I have old friends across the globe that care enough to spend a few minutes catching up. Those moments with old friends mean just as much to me as me as the moments spent sharing a birthday drink with a new friend.

Thank you, my friends.

I ended my day on my couch with a Boston cream cake, a loaf of french bread, and a chunk of brie.  
Not sharing with anyone.
Not talking.
I was alone, just me and my pets.

not gonna lie, alone hurts a bit.

Alone is hard when my feet are cold.
when there's piles of laundry.
when everyone's hungry and dinner is daydream.
at the end of long days, when my house is cold and dark.
when spiders.
 just. spiders.
and noises outside at night.

Yeah, alone is hard.  But it's also one of the best feelings.
Alone is a choice, and I get to make my own choices.
I can do it all alone.

Feet cold?  slippers. socks. heck, both.
Laundry?  one load at a time.
Hungry?  Pizza.  there's always pizza.
Spiders?  Whiskey, vacuums and shoes.
lots of whiskey. damn spiders.
noises?  dog.

So full of pride at what I've accomplished in the last year. I did it.  I'm here.

37 is going to be a year of adventures.
Already things are changing.
Life keeps flying by.

Do I know where I'm going?

I do know that I'm going the right way.

It feels good to be lost in the right direction.

Thursday, November 10, 2016

those moments you don't forget

We were talking about pistols.  
He can do a twirly gun flip thing.  
He is so silly.  He even admitted it. Sheepishly, he had been pulling out a gun and holster to play with when I was busy.

So he could practice.  Grinning, he admitted he didn’t want to drop the gun mid-flip when I was watching.

He showed me his gun trick. 
I was suitably impressed. 

I admitted I couldn’t flip a gun, didn’t even want to try.  Didn't even really like touching the guns.

I told him I used to have an purple butterfly knife.  I could flip and twirl that beautiful knife.  I honestly hadn’t thought about that knife in years…at least a decade. I could feel the cold weight of it in my hand, I could hear the silent sound it made when I flipped and twirled it.  Unconsciously my wrist flicked, as if it still twirled the knife.

Startled, I looked at my hand.  My eyes closed, jaw clenched, I remembered to breathe.
Opening my eyes, I saw the scars. 

The smile that had lit up my face faded. Silently he moved closer, just enough that I could feel his warmth, without touching me. He never touched me without permission.

“I haven’t thought about that knife for years. was taken away from me.  
They said I’d get it back, but I never did.”

Silently he stood as the defeat flooded my body.  Without looking at him, I started pointing out the scars, quietly explaining how they came to be a part of me, my voice devoid of emotion. The burn mark where I let a hot piece of ash from my cigarette sit, burning, for as long as I could stand it. The faint white lines on the softest parts of my forearms where I proved to myself that I was still alive, that I could still feel pain, that I still bled.

I am not ashamed of these scars. 
They are a part of me.
They are a part of my history. 
A history that has shaped me into the woman I am today.

I was surprised that my eyes couldn’t find some of the scars.  My body had healed without my permission. Still I slowly traced the invisible lines, feeling the phantom pain as my finger ran across unblemished skin.  

Slowly, I looked up, dreading the pity, bewilderment, and revulsion that seem so universal when I share this part of my story.

I didn’t see it. What I did see shocked me so hard it hurt.

Sorrow, that I had been there.
Grief, that I had been so alone.
Sadness, that he hadn’t been there.
Tenderness, that I had been so fragile…so…broken…

Joy, that I am still here.
Pride, that I am so strong, bent but not broken.
Awe, that I continue to amaze him with my fierce desire to exist.

I closed my eyes.
I could feel the tension.
I didn't want to give in to the tears.

I could feel him forcibly resisting the need to gather me in his arms and protect me from the past he cannot change.

My eyes still closed, I could feel him, close, conflicted, not moving, not touching me, radiating warmth. Carefully standing outside my bubble.  Afraid to startle me.

“No more, right?” The soft words were so sad. so hurt. 

I didn’t look up.  
I couldn't look up. 

Instead, I smiled sadly at the floor, a slightly wobbly smile.

 “No. No more."

Friday, October 21, 2016

my tommy dog

He waited.
On the floor by my bed, for my alarms to announce sleeping time was done, he waited.

He waited.
By the back door, for me, dripping in my towel, to feed him breakfast and let him out, he waited.

He waited.
Outside the the bedroom door, for the very scary blow dryer to be silenced, he waited.

He waited.
On the couch, in my favorite spot, while I gathered my things and told him about everything that was going to happen today,  and everything I wanted to happen, and everything that would never happen, he waited.

He waited.
When he heard my car, next to the door, knowing he can't stand behind the door while I try to open it, he waited.

He waited.  While I dropped my stuff and opened the back door, tail slowly wagging, he waited.

He waited.  While I told him what happened,  and what didn't happen, and what will never happen, he waited.

He waited.  While I talked to him from my room, changing out of work and into comfy, he waited.

He watched.  Tail wagging again, while I nuked some some food for me, scooped some food for him, and talked some more, he watched.

And then.
Then he was done.
Then he was done waiting.

He rolled on the floor. 
He tossed his toy.
He chased his tail.

Until I was smiling.
Until I gave in.
Until I slid to the floor, back against the wall.
Until nose to nose we sat.
Until sliding down next to me,  he curled as close as can be without squishing me, one big paw across my legs. 
Until I stopped.
Until I stopped reviewing all the stupid little things no one but me remembers.
Until I realized it doesn't matter.
Until I was okay.

Then he moved his paw and let me up.  Then we ate dinner curled on the couch, while watching reruns of Friends.

And once I was settled, cozy and full.
He snuffled, he yawned, he stretched.
He slid off the couch and did doggie rounds, checking on the house. 
Doing doggie things,  chewing doggie toys,  eating doggie dinner. 

Always where he can see.
Always where he can watch.

Soon,  it will be bedtime.
He will wait. 
He will watch.
He will insistantly stare.

Until I finally give up and get ready to sleep.

I will lock the doors
and check the doors
and check the doors again. 

I will turn off the lights
and check the lights
and check the lights again.

He will wait.
He will watch. 
Until I'm cozy in bed.
Until the pillows are perfect and quilts snuggled up.

He will wait for an invite to come up.
When no invitation is offered, he will sigh, turn twice and settle on the floor, as close as can be.

I will settle.
I will sleep.

He will patrol our kingdom throughout the night.
He will end each round with a sigh and a flop, so close that the bed frame shakes.

He will wait for my alarms to announce sleeping time is over.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

stop pretending

Maybe I'm impatient.
Wait, no.

I know I'm impatient.
I'm impatient and I dislike wasting time.

I have a finite amount of time here on this earth. 
Do I know how finite?  nope.
I don't like wasting my time on something that won't make me happy.

I don't see the point of pretending to be something I'm not.  Ever.

Job hunting.  I go into interviews intent on being the very best version of myself.  I'm going to do my darnedest to show the interviewer that I'd be great in the job.  It's up to the interviewer to decide who,  out of all the candidates, they think is best suited for the position. And that's okay by me.  I trust that they know more about the job than I do.  I trust that they'll pick who they think is best person. If I don't trust them to do what's best for the company,  do I really want to work for them? If I pretend to be something I'm not, and I get the job?  I'm stuck pretending for as long as I'm there. Most likely, I'm not going to enjoy it.  

People hunting. Same. I'm gonna be all kristin, all honest and blunt and awkward. Enjoy it. or not.  But I'm not pretending. I don't sport.  I'm not going to pretend to enjoy them just 'cause you're cute af. If sporting is that important to you,  I don't wanna waste my time falling for you, only to have you walk out later. That just sounds like a recipe for broken hearts and I have mine nicely stitched back together, thank you very much.  

So, stop.

Stop with all the oh-my-gawd-my-life-is-over-I-don't-have-a-person.
Stop with all the no-one-will-ever-love-me.
Stop with all the I-can't-believe-I-didn't-get-the-job.

Stop teaching our children that we can only be happy when someone else loves us.
Stop teaching them that the path to happiness cannot be traversed alone.
Stop teaching them that they have to pretend to be something they're not.

Teach them that their wants and desires are just as valid as everyone else's.
Teach them to stand on their own. 
And teach them that's okay.
Because it is.  


Wednesday, October 5, 2016

ten things september taught me

Goodbye September.  Hello October.

For a week now I've been trying to write a "what September taught me" post.  Thus far I've written four.  they all sucked. So, instead, a list. 

  - "There's how you break up with someone, and then the rest of the world"  My eldest, upon asking for advice on ending a relationship without hurting anyone.  MY ELDEST ASKED ME FOR RELATIONSHIP ADVICE.

 - "What do you do for fun?"  - Oh, hell.  Least favorite question ever. I don't know.  Well, now I do, but I didn't.  I gave up doing me things in order to take care of family things. It took me a while to figure out what I do that is fun.  So, I fix my house.  I garden.  I watch old sitcoms. I cuddle with my dog. Sometimes, I sew.  All these things are fun.

 - Appearance matters.  If you look around at where you want to be and see NO ONE with pink hair, glitter, or visible tattoos, you have to work twice as hard to present the look and attitude expected of where you want to be.  and it will most likely take twice as long to get to where you want to be.  But I'll be damned if I give up pink hair, glitter, and tattoos.

 - I don't miss being "with" somebody.  I miss having someone to text all the stupid little funnies that happen everyday.

  - I want adventures. I want laughter.  I want hikes with dogs and stars and coffee and painting.  I want someone to lead and someone who will follow.  I want cozy nights at home. I want someone who isn't impressed that I drink whiskey. I want forehead kisses and a clean kitchen.  Mostly, I want laughter. and adventure. Someone to remind me there's life outside my bubble.

 - New wifi password everyday = amazing increase amount of chores done willingly.

 - Single Kristin = increased whiskey consumption.

 - Tommy and I both need to get out more.  So. baby steps.  longer walks. everyday.

 - Sleep matters.  A regular sleep schedule makes every day a bit better.

 - Guys that blush.  yeah. I like those. 

Saturday, September 10, 2016

adjusting focus

I've been going through all the things, trying to determine why I have so many things. Know what?  It's way easier to stash a thing it in the corner than to let it go. 

So, in an effort to make all my stuff fit into my 1400 sq ft house with no garage, I'm attempting to follow a trend by determining what brings me joy.  Those are the things I am focusing on. My dining room is currently FULL of every bit of crafting crap I own. 

Last night I grabbed a box of notions and bottle of Glenmorangie lasanta. 

Oh boy. 

That scotch sure brings me joy. Not because of any property of the alcohol.
But the taste. Exquisite. The warm sweet, smooth flavor of a good highland scotch.

I don't drink to get drunk. 
I don't generally drink to get tipsy.
Nine times out of ten I don't drink to push the feelings away.
Ten times out of ten I drink because it brings me joy.

I digress.

As I sorted though the box of notions and ribbons I discovered that some were very easy to set aside. Some were not. 
I love the old silk ribbon. 
What are the stories behind these bits?
Where had it been before I found it?
Was this all that was left after trimming a new dress half a century ago?
Did another woman caress the velvet and choose it for her hat? 

I know. Call me crazy.
Silk embroidery floss. Vintage velvet ribbon. Glass buttons. These bring me joy.
I shall keep them.

Next up is the fabric. I haven't really sewn anything since I moved over a year ago. Mostly because I have too much stuff, too many half done projects, too many things I started and didn't finish.

I like sewing. I like quilting. I like embroidery.  These things bring me joy. 

Time to get it sorted so I can do the things that bring me joy.
Time to make time for the things that bring me joy.
Time to make my house a home. The walls are still mostly bare. There are still things piled everywhere with no homes. Time to decide were the extra sheets will actually be stored. 

This year I have learned so much about myself.

I learned when to relax and have fun.
I learned to not discount my feelings.
I learned not to let important things slide.
I learned that my happiness is not dependent on anyone else's happiness. 
I learned that my Littles just want me to be happy. They smile when I am and worry when I'm not.

Most importantly, I believe these things. 
I don't second guess myself quite so much anymore. 
I discovered that I know I am beautiful. 
My 15-year old stretch marks, my not-so-perky-anymore-rather-small boobs, my I-had three-children hips, and my I-enjoyed-the-sunshine-as-a-child skin. 

I know I really am happier when I wear glitter.
I know I really am happier with pink hair.
I know I really am happier wearing black and grey and shades thereof.

I'm far from perfect. FAR. 
I really don't want to be perfect.
But, I have things about myself I would like improve.
I'd like to finish projects.
I'd like to not be so reclusive and to accept more invites to be social.

I'm working on making my house look the way I want it to.
I'm working on not so much clutter. 
I'm working on losing that last 6 pounds and gaining enough physical strength to spend the day working on the house without sore shaky muscles.

So, it's time to refocus. Time to meander down my path alone and see what's around the next curve.

Saturday, August 13, 2016

august again

End of summer.
Back to school. 

Time to stop and look around and see where I’m at.

Seven years ago I was recovering from a hysterectomy.
Five years ago I moved out of the city.
Three years ago I was leaning on my friends, struggling thru everyday in a new reality.
Two years ago I stopped treading water. 
Last year?  
Last year, I sat in the house I purchased myself and happily drank terrible whiskey. I had a conversation.
Tonight I'm sitting in my almost perfect farmhouse with MY new-to-me Jeep in the driveway, drinking 12 year old scotch. Watching Cheers. Happily. Writing again. 

Still missing my six.
Still wishing the world was smaller, or I could travel more.

Life flies by.
My eldest starts high school next month.
My littlest starts middle school.
My boy is taller than I am. 
I enjoy my nine-to-five. 
I found a person who makes me happy - a person who only grunts when he feels my cold feet on him, and pulls me closer in the middle of the night, a person who tells me when I’m being confusing and humors me when I question everything and squirrel from project to project. 

I have a house I bought myself and a line of baby roses that will eventually be a hedge. 
I have family who help every way they can and listen when I feel like talking.

I don’t pretend to know where life is going.  
I can’t tell you where I’ll be next year or who will be next to me. 

I can tell you I am going to grab every moment, happy or not, and live it.

I suggest you do the same.

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

finding joy and letting it go

Last year, walking away from stage managing was one of the hardest things I had ever done.
It’s right up there with my divorce, that’s how much I love stage managing.  But I had to say goodbye.

I willingly walked away. Stage managing isn’t a reliable source of income. With My Littles to feed and house, I need a reliable source of income. So, I found a “normal” job.

This autumn, the opportunity to stage manage presented itself.  Before I accepted the gig, My Littles and I talked about it. We determined we would try it.  It was only six weeks, we can do anything for six weeks.

The show went up, ran, and closed.

For six weeks I was spread super thin. Leaving the house at 7 am and getting home after midnight, most days driving an hour between jobs to spend 20 minutes with My Littles.

It was hard.

Lots of fast food, no laundry, no quiet time.
Very little time with My Littles, my family, my guy.

When I walked away from stage management last year, I had thought part of intense sadness was that I wouldn’t see my friends.  I had made some wonderful close friends when I stage managed.  Going back, none of them were part of this production.  Yeah, I missed them, but I realized that my love of stage managing had nothing to do with those particular people.

I still love stage managing.
I had missed it so much.
So very much.
Way more than I thought I had.
Stepping back into that role made me realize exactly how much I missed it.

It was crazy stressful.
And I loved it.

My heart was full of joy.
Stage managing fills me with joy.

This should be the point where I say I’m going to follow my heart and figure out a way to keep that joy in my life.

But it’s not.  

Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve got responsibilities, three of them. 
My Littles.

Their happiness is much, much more important to me than my joy. 
They need me to be in their lives daily. 
The need me working a reliable job.

It’s what’s best for them.
And they come first.


They always come first.

This is not the first time that I’ve found joy.
This is not the first time I’ve let go of a joy because they come first, and it won’t be the last.
Experiencing tiny bits of joy is totally worth the hurt of letting them go.

I willingly, happily, choose to let go.

I happily choose to stay here. 
I happily choose to work a “normal” job. 
I happily choose to do what is best for them. 


I never want them to think they’re holding me back from my joy.

They are my joy.
They hold my heart.

They will always be my Littles, long after they’re taller than me.


the smallest Little will graduate high school in seven years.

In seven years, I’ll follow my joy.
In seven years, I’ll knock on doors and see who answers.
In seven years, I’ll pack my things and go.

Until then,
I’ll kiss them goodnight
I’ll help with homework,
I’ll be here, exactly where they need me.