Pink Giraffe Musing

Widow.  Who wants to be a widow?  Nobody.  Not even a 90 year old wants to be a widow.  At the beginning of this journey, I remember hating the word.  I remember promising myself it would not define me at 41.  But, I hated it nonetheless.  The pity, the sad glances, and awkward pauses, it all makes a bad situation worse.  And widowhood, more than widowerhood seems to be riddled with judgement and stereotypes and expectations. In those early days of widowhood, it was like a new name.  I tried it out a few times.  It was always awkward, or shocking to the other party.  You're what?  No one expects someone "my age" to be a widow.  But, I was.  I remember crying before I started my new job thinking how everyone there would only know the widow me, the broken version of the formerly awesome me.  The widow version.  It was hard to think I would be meeting a whole new group of people who would only know me,...

Only parenting is one of the hardest aspects of widowhood for me.  Those of you who are married and raising kids probably don't even realize how much you think, discuss, and decide with your spouse.  When your kid is in trouble, or struggling, you brain storm and make decisions together.   Even divorced single parents work to "co-parent" and handle issues in whatever way "together" looks like in their world.  In my world that is all up to a very indecisive me. It's hard, and I second guess myself all of the time.  I guess you could say, I sweat the small stuff.  I have a boyfriend, and he loves my kids too, and while I am sure he could tell you that I do discuss my thought processes with him (again and again and again), in the end, the decision is all mine.  I cannot bare the weight of that sometimes.  Well, I can't but it's hard, and I don't like it.   Last  year, my son started the year in the 6th grade band.  He was enthused...

Life isn't fair in a hundred different ways every single day. "It's not fair",  is something I hear at school from students a lot.  It's not fair that she got the pencil with the new eraser, it's not fair that his paint tray is full of blue and mine is only half full, it's not fair.  I wish there was some way to make people come to acceptance, or maybe realization of the fact that life isn't fair.  It's just not.  Why does the notion that it is even exist??  When you get older it's other things; clothes, cars,  jobs, vacations, and houses.  Some of those ways life isn't fair are insignificant, and if you fret over them, it falls into the "sweating the small stuff" category in my book, and you should just get over it.  Other unfair things, though, are more significant.  Some people are born into nicer families, have kinder siblings, and wonderful, loving, involved parents.  Others are like the first grader who told me the ot...

To the teachers and staff of Still Elementary, who have loved my family so well: I want to thank you.  I really want to more than thank you.  I want to hold a banquet in your honor.   I want to do something spectacular.  But, all I have for you are these words, a hug, and some flowers from my son tomorrow as he walks the halls of Still…..one last time. We started our journey at Still Elementary in 2008, when my daughter began 1st grade.  Sadly, it will end tomorrow when my son finishes 5th grade.  The past 7 years of teaching, learning, creating, and growing are something to celebrate indeed.  The investment of your time and talents into the hearts and minds of my children is definitely praiseworthy.  But, for me and my family, you have done so much more.  You have loved us and held us through some hard days.  You have cared for us far beyond the duty of any educator.  You have prayed for us in our darkest hou...

9 months and 11 days.  The number of days between the death of my husband and then my father.  The number of days between the loss of the two most important men in my world.  The number of days between two events that robbed my children of their father and grandfather.  The number of days between having our hearts shattered not once, but twice. It has been 2 years and some months since my father passed away, and 3 years now for Michael.  After that time I can see, that while we can be happy, it is going to color everything.  Forever.  You don't get better.  You heal in lots of ways, you move forward, but it's there.  And it gets your when you least expect it. I miss my dad.  He was quiet and we didn't talk a lot.  He loved by doing.  I look am my house and there are just things that need to be done.  He would do them when he came to visit.  He always had a creative solution to the little odds and ends that...

Sometimes I wonder how and if I can ever be enough……. can I ever everything my children need,  can I make up for the lack of a father in our home, can I love them enough for 2 parents even though I am just one, can I make it to all the events and games and lessons and practices, can I  stay on top of all the homework and tests and projects?  In addition, can I be everything I am expected to be at work, can I meet all the regular demands, have the energy, stamina, and creativity I need to handle the daily rigors of my job?  Can I manage, in addition, a romantic relationship and friendships?  Can I be the daughter my mom needs, the aunt, the sister I should be?  Can I be everything I need to everyone all of the time?  I don't know.  I know I often feel like I fall short in every category all of the time, and I hate it. I never thought I would be a single parent.  I actually hate telling people that I am, presuming they assume I am divorce...

In February 2011, I started an incredible journey of health, fitness, strength, and smaller clothes sizes.  I know I said, and I'm pretty sure I wrote, that if I could get back to the way I looked at 18 that I'd never let it go.  I lied.  I got there.  I shocked myself, to be sure.  Actually, I think there was a window of time where I was more fit than I had ever been in my entire life.  I mean, I had muscles, real muscles.  Little ones, but you could see them.   In no time, I let it slip away.  Not entirely.  But, enough.  My pre-February 2011 pants would still fall of me, but at the start of this summer I was down to only one regular push up, and I hardly ever run anymore.  The physical strength I had worked so hard to gain was dwindling. In February of 2012, I was in the best physical condition of my adult life, which is a nice place to be at 41.  My kids were doing well, my husband had a job he loved, and was g...