Spilled Milk.

After hitting the snooze button an estimated six times it finally dawns on me that if I want the beeping to subside I need to hit “dismiss….”



I had woken up the night before around 1:00. I scrolled through a couple of missed text messages -none of which really evoking a need to respond. I rolled out of bed and found my way to the kitchen. After pawing through various leftovers in the fridge, I settled on a bowl of Raisin Bran and ended up stumbling over one of Charlotte’s piles of books on my way out to the recliner. Of all the things to curse over, at least it was a mound of books- what a studious baby. I sat there cross legged next to the mound of books and the crumpled up paper towels I used to clean up my spilled milk-but if it was just that, then why was I crying?


I don’t get hysterical when I cry- unless of course its when I find out Charlotte’s dad is having another baby a year and a half after we had our child together; or if its an alcohol induced ball-fest involving an unnecessary amount of 7-11 pizza pockets and tator tots.


Two tiny tears silently sloped down my left cheek and slid down my neck. I just left them there and I picked myself and my paper towel mess up off the ground and dumped my half-eaten midnight snack in the sink. I slowly walked around the house and found myself creeping back into the bedroom. I crawled into bed and pulled my warm fleece blanket up to my neck. I wouldn’t say I cried myself to sleep -but I don’t remember when I stopped crying or when I finally drifted off.


When Charlotte woke up around 8:00 am I was right in the middle of making her some toast. I set her sleepy little self in her high chair and hastily got dressed while she ate. We were going to get new tires this morning and our appointment was at 9:00…after she was all done I threw a little sundress on her and her pink Crocs and we hit the road. I wasn’t looking forward to today; I would have to make the drive to Cle Elum again only 4 days after Charlotte had returned. Derek’s brother is visiting from Arizona and of course I can’t just tell him he can’t see her (although every single one of my family members has taken it upon themselves to voice their disapproval of allowing Charlotte to be gone again so soon). I barely had to pack for her because her bag was still full of clothes and shoes from her last trip. I printed off some pictures for her grandparents of her in- the- park photo shoot and neatly placed them on top of her pile of clothes. I walked back into the house after putting all of her things in my car, and found her flipping through a book on my bed in our room. “Look Mama, its Panda Bear!” I smiled and replied, “ Ya baby, what does Panda Bear see?!” She recited the entire book to me as I gathered some clothes and shoes for my overnight bag, even though I didn’t really know for sure where I was staying overnight. I felt almost embarrassed as I put my makeup bag and mini shampoo and conditioner on top of the clothes. I was being pretty presumptuous- and maybe that’s why I’d been crying.

Operation Destroy Animal Barn

I wake up to the sound of Charlotte shuffling around in her crib, she is telling her baby doll to put her diaper back on and some random story about how were supposedly going to get the car washed today, “after we get Mama’s coffee…” Before long she stands up and peers over the side of her crib, “Get up Mama, I wanna get out.”

“Where we goin today little bear,” I ask… “The animal fair Mama!” she yells back at me! Yep, we are braving the county fair together, Aunt Kate has to work so it’s just gonna be Charlotte and I…parading around in the dirt and cow manure-and looking fabulous while doing it.

We head into the bathroom and brush our teeth, and by brush our teeth I mean she gets toothpaste and water everywhere BUT her mouth and I end up brushing my teeth in the shower, as I have to stop and wipe up her mess mid-teeth cleaning.

She decides she is going to take a bath almost the entire time I am drying my hair, putting on my make up and getting dressed- Then we eat our scrambled eggs and wheat toast and she plays in her cereal for a solid half hour before insisting that she get out of the high chair because, “I need Mama do my hair and get my shoes on…” We load up in the car and as soon as we hit the road Charlotte says to me, “I want Lady Gaga Mama…” Now, I know what your thinking, what kind of mother lets her two year old listen to Lady Gaga? Welp, this Mom does, right here. She likes the Pokerface song and its not like I let her sing along to that other dreadful one talking about “ wanting to ride on your disco stick…” so, don’t judge me judgers.

We manage to dodge paying for parking because my excellent parking-spot radar happens to come across the last open spot in front of the park which is directly across from the fairgrounds. JACKPOT. We roll up to the gate in our Limited Edition Eddie Bauer stroller ( all class and sass ) and the barely functioning, possibly blind and most definitely hearing impaired old man behind the ticket counter says “ She’s free, $12 bucks for you…”

WHAT. WHAT. Twelve freaking dollars?!?! JUST to ENTER into a fenced off, carnie-infested, overpriced high-calorie junk food mound of dirt that reeks like diabetes and animal feces’!!!??? Do I get some sort of complimentary elephant ear? A giant lemonade served by a very questionable most likely recently paroled guy? I clearly did not hide my disgust well, because the old man grunted and swiped my money away from me probably thinking to himself about what a bratty little drama queen I was….

Anyway, we head through the gates and make a beeline for the Kiddie Zone and Old McDonalds Farm….Operation Destroy Animal Barn is a GO.

Members Only.

I remember sitting at work one day at a job I really enjoyed- but was barely paying me enough to survive on. I was living pay check to pay check and sometimes off my credit card. I loved my office, my desk…I loved that town and I loved a man. But making the choice to move back home for a better paying job was put off for one reason and one reason only. It wasn’t about losing the job I loved, the town I loved, or the man I loved; I would lose my independence.

I would have to swallow my enormous although arguably foolish pride and allow myself to become more dependent on people than I really ever had been. It would take me a while to get on my feet again and I would have to do something I hadn't done since I was 18; live with my parents.

I have been arguing with my mother non-stop all day and the chain of events leading up to my move home almost 9 months ago have been playing over and over through my head (maybe that’s why I have a headache). This dreadful feeling of failure and desperation is creeping around inside me like a dirty little thief. I feel as if I’ve somehow become less of a mother, less of a provider…for living with them. What they don’t understand is that I don’t want to be there anymore than they don’t want me too. Like all parents, they would “do anything” for me, or Charlotte at least…but it seems there is always some condition, some issue…something usually out of my control that creates this massive looming tension lurking around every corner and filling every room; this dark, heavy cloud slowly stifling us all.

I used to not need anyone, and now I don't WANT to need them, but I have no choice.

Derek told me once that I would never need anyone- or at least that I thought I didn’t. Brian told me after our relationship ended almost the exact same thing, that he had always felt left out,  like I would never allow him to get both feet through the door.

....and now I can finally see him: eagerly pacing from side to side, stranded at the velvet ropes just waiting to be let in, ignoring the painfully bright and flashing neon sign dangling above his head ; Members Only.

I miss my independence. I mean I really, really miss it. I miss Charlotte and I living in our own little world, our tiny little family unit- just me and her against the world. I know I will get it back someday, I know I can pick myself up and start over again…but maybe this time I will find a balance. Some sort of happy medium that I thought I was looking for, that I think I was striving to find… but that I never quite allowed myself to fall into.

Charlotte, Carlos and the Countdown to Rodeo Weekend!

I lifted my head and felt my cell phone peel off my check and plop down on my pillow, it was beeping and vibrating vigorously. 5:00 am already? I was heading off to meet Charlotte’s grandmother today, I finally get to see my Charlotte Bear! My goal was to get up extra early, shower and get all ready for work so that I wouldn’t have to worry about it when I got home with her. However 5:00 am came much sooner and harder than I anticipated and I ended up sleeping in till well after 7:00; so much for plan A.

At 7:20 I just so happen to wake myself and glance at my phone. SHIT. I jump out of bed and scramble for some jeans and a t-shirt. I throw a bottle of water and my purse in the car and hit the road. I stopped for a quad shot (don’t judge me) sugar-free soy latte and some gas. I have grown so accustom to this drive that I no longer dread it at all- I Iook forward to it. Two whole hours of dancing and singing like an idiot in my car, two glorious un-interrupted hours of thinking to myself; sometimes out loud, about anything and everything going on in my life. I have conversations with myself that I probably won’t ever end up actually having with the people they are intended for…but at least I get all my thoughts in order and figure out what I should do- even though I probably won’t end up actually do that either.

Before I know it the two hour long drive is over and I pull up to Grandma’s car in the Safeway parking lot. I see my little Charlotte bear hopping up and down in the passenger seat pointing at me, I practically tuck and roll out of my moving vehicle; IM SO HAPPY TO SEE HER! She throws her tiny arms around my neck and clings to me like a little baby monkey, Carolyn and I chatted for a bit then said our goodbyes. Charlotte slept most of the drive home but as soon as we pull into the driveway her big blue eyes pop right open and she asks, “Where’s Carlos?!”

Carlos is my sister’s boyfriend, and Charlotte is mildly obsessed with him…I recall my first crush being in 5th grade; but Charlotte of course one-up’s me again. She walked before 12 months, talked shortly after, counted to ten by 18 months and now she has started mackin on guys by the age of 2. (Note to self: begin thorough investigation of private girl’s schools on the East Coast)…

Luckily, Carlos had today off and showed up not long after our arrival. Two thirty rolled around and it was time to prepare for work, today I am rockin one of my brand new Rodeo ensembles; cowgirl boots, a little white dress complete with turquoise necklace and bracelet ( and maybe some poofier than normal hair) RODEO WEEKEND IS COMING, gotta get the boots worked in and get in the spirit of whiskey drinkin, swing dancin and a never-ending supply of wild, willing and able cowboys.

(Although, I could probably pass on the cowboy part…)

Weekend on the Westside

My eventful 60 hour work week came and went. All of the sudden the weekend had passed and it was Sunday morning. Kristin’s birthday party had been a relative success, considering the alcohol-induced impromptu game of strip poker was uneventful yet still entertaining (as no one actually removed any articles of clothing) and the drunken arguments were kept to a minimum. Almost no one ate the overpriced cupcakes I bought, but someone did manage to drink my personal pint of Pendleton (that I apparently did a horrible job of hiding from the other party guests). Therefore, my enthusiasm for drinking had been reduced to non-existent before 7:00 pm, but I did a marvelous job pretending my keg cup of water was champagne. I was the first to wake up in the morning- ready for my chicken fried steak and looking forward to the drive home.



Kristin’s bedroom looked like a bomb went off; leggings, shirts, bras, make up all scattered about her floor and furniture...and oddly enough a unopened pack of cigarettes and a Smirnoff ICE sitting on her nightstand (although the Smirnoff is not in my realm of choice for alcohol- this group doesn’t normally waste a pack of Camels or booze for that matter). Everyone began peeling themselves off couches and floors and began sifting through the wreckage for their personal belongings- most likely ending up with something that doesn't belong to them. Because no one ever ends up with all their stuff and almost always ends up with the stuff of someone else’s.


Actually finding a breakfast establishment suitable for Princess Kristin proved to be a much less problematic than I had anticipated. With the handy work of an iphone and only one u-turn, our caravan of vehicles made it to a pretty decent spot that ended up having ginormous portions of food and a questionably young, primarily female, wait staff. All in all- I think the number of people offended by our obnoxious bunch was quite minimal considering the usual shenanigans involved with our after-partying meal. The mood was slightly tainted by some unusual sexual tension between a few group members and a hint of lingering frustration between a few of us who were involved in the “minimal drunk arguments” that had taken place the night before.


Thankfully my good friend Mindy has even less of a tolerance for hung-over hangouts when you’re out of town than I do, so we blew that Popsicle stand as soon as breakfast was over. DJ Mindy set the mood as we zig- zagged through 1-90 traffic listening to everything from 90’s rap to classic rock… we talked about the weekend and what we had planned for the rest of the day, and despite the combination of her hostility and (getting less and less believable) apathy, I think it was safe to assume that she was thinking about the person she keeps swearing she never thinks about- and I was doing the same thing.