08.19.08
a strike for katey
since she was little, my daughter has gone to almost every birthday party she’s ever been invited too. i think it’s important. whether i know the parents or not. if it’s convenient to our plans or out of the way. i’ll adjust. because what’s more important to a child than their birthday. cake. games. friends. fun. presents!!!
the summer is a hard time for a birthday. i knew it as a kid. i see it as a parent. kids come and go from summer camp. a constant revolving door of friends. so when the little girl came up to me and asked if s.a.b could come to her party i said of course. i’d never seen katey before. maybe in passing but she never stood out. she was quiet, unassuming. never near the circle of chatty girls my sab could always be found with at the end of the day. but that afternoon she was glowing with the excitement of turning eight. she had no invitation to give us ~ somehow it got lost. she knew it was on sunday ~ but wasn’t quite sure what time. they were going to be bowling ~ at one of the two local alleys. details to her seemed meaningless. it was her birthday. that’s all that mattered. her mom called the next day with specifics and i assured her we’d be there eager to share in the celebration.
it wasn’t until we were on the way to the party that sab told me that katey’s mom wasn’t her REAL mom. my first thought was a step-mom but i was quickly corrected though sab couldn’t remember the word. katey’s real mom was is jail she said. and her dad was too. or maybe he was just somewhere else. so katey’s mom was her … what do you call it ? … foster mom. i admit i was a little shocked and extremely curious. why was the mom in jail? where was the dad? how long had katey ~ and the little sister i was soon to meet ~ been ”in the system?” i bit my tongue, careful not to ask questions that seemed condemnatory. i teach sab not to judge and i try to do the same.
we got to the bowling alley right on time and i was surprised to see there was no one else there for the party. i don’t just mean other kids. even the birthday girl was no where to be seen. obviously no one came early to tie ballons to her chair or decorate the bare table set up behind the lanes we were to be on. maybe they were just running late. it happens.
katey’s mom was nice. her 18-year-old foster sister friendly. they set up a few things and let me know we had two lanes ~ one for the kids, one for the adults. to my dismay it became clear that we were the party. there were no others. one guest. one friend. as someone who throws big to-dos for my child, i couldn’t help but wonder if katey felt jaded. her little sister, punished from an earlier misbehavior, was grounded from bowling so sab and katey shared a lane alone. i joined katey’s mom and older “sister”. sort of bowling but paying more attention to encouraging sab as each ball thrown bounced off gutter guards and took down a random pin or two. as katey bowled, her every pin knocked down went unnoticed. no one cheered or even glanced her way. her “sister”, not quite the expert bowler, was pouting and frustrated with her game and mom’s attention obviously belonged to her “real” (adult) child. so i became the over-eager cheer squad anxious to ensure kately felt like the princess bowler she deserved to be on her day. katey seemed oblivious to the lack of attention from her family. though it quickly became apparent that her little sister wasn’t quite so content with living in the shadow of a different last name. she fought hard to steal the spotlight with tactics of blatant disregard for rules and respect. the negative attention craved over the alternative of being ignored. she worked so hard at demanding even my attention, hardly heeding the occasional warning of promised later punishment.
i admit i’m jaded in my perception of foster families. i’ve had little personal knowledge yet media stories focus on the failures of a system too easily manipulated and abused. maybe i can’t understand the difficulty in taking in two little girls and becoming their mom overnight. or the fear of getting too close only to have to send a child back to their “real” parents. katey and her sister had only been in this family for two months yet they threw her the party. bought a few presents and lit the candles on her cake. maybe this was more than katey had ever known on her birthday. maybe to her one friend to bowl with was the biggest celebration ever. but no party, big or small, can ever replace the unconditional love of a mother and i hoped that in spite of the appearance of displacement, katey and her little sister weren’t merely temporary nuisances. my heart breaks for katey ~ reserved and quiet, careful not to rock the boat. and for her sister ~ temperamental and lashing out, so young to be so angry.
on her last ball thrown, katey got a strike and there was no way she could have contained the excitement and pride that radiated. i cheered as loud as i could and as she ran to me for a hug i silently prayed the feeling of success from that one strike would stay with her a long, long time and somehow balance out the many she already has against her.
08.08.08
nickles and dimes
i have never been the “bitch ex-wife”. i bend over backwards to ensure my daughter sees a positive relationship between her parents and i like to think that in many ways so my does my ex-husband. he’s a good dad. a good person. we’re complete opposites and there are plenty of things about him that i find irritating and disagree with but i try to keep my opinion out of it.
the biggest bone of contention between us is one of the same that plagued our marriage ~ money. though we have a child-support amount in our divorce papers, it was not court ordered, it’s never had to be enforced and it’s about as bare bones basic as you can get. he gives me half of daycare (after school care now that she’s older), half of health insurance that i supply and half of the theme park annual passes that still come out of my account. most of the time, bumps along the way get split; doctor’s visits, extra-curricular activity fees, birthday party expenses. but i don’t always ask. up until a few months ago i made more money than he did so i let things slide. and honestly, bringing up money with him is such a sore subject that i’d rather pay for a little more and save myself the grief. choose my battles and keep the peace.
but every so often my ex gets a hair up his a$$ and starts demanding numbers. “how much is daycare during the school year versus the summer months and holidays?” “what exactly do you pay in insurance?” i fully admit that he has every right to know. it’s his money and it’s going through me to pay for his daughter and nothing more. but when he starts, it bothers me. instantly puts me on the defensive. i feel this underlying accusation that says “i want proof that you’re not abusing my money”. it’s not like we haven’t sat down and gone over the same numbers time and time again. i haven’t recently asked for more and god knows cost of living isn’t decreasing over time.
in addition to what he doesn’t realize he doesn’t pay, he benefits in other ways. rent on his townhouse is well below market. it’s one of a couple my mom owns and i manage. really it’s a win-win for everyone since he gets a deal and we get a trustworthy tenant but it’s just another place he saves a few bucks. and when it comes to clothes, i can likely count on one hand the items he’s bought her in the past year. though he justifies that by claiming his mom adds to her wardrobe on a regular basis … yeah, so does mine but when last year’s jeans are a little too snug or a cool florida winter means a new coat, i don’t go calling mommy nor my ex.
what’s stupid is that none of this is big-money. it’s miniscule amounts that really don’t matter. our current salaries are comporable, both of us are well above the poverty level and our daughter wants for very little.
i’m not sure why it upsets me. and i don’t mean just a little bit either. it flat out pisses-me-off-sends-me-over-the-edge-ready-to-bite-someones-head-off upsets me. it’s silly really. and if i would just take a deep breath, write the figures down again, and smile while i do it, he’d probably shut-up about money for another few months. but his pettiness makes me want to show him what he doesn’t do. makes me want to mirror the miser and demand he save and show me every receipt for clothing or extra school supplies and compare them to mine. i cringe at the thought of stooping to his penny pinching level.
see a penny pick it up. all day long you’ll have good luck.
can i get a receipt for that?
08.06.08
now is the summer of my discontent
i’m in a rut. plain and simple. my every week is the same. day in and day out. up at 5:30. get my daughter up at 5:45. walk the dog at 6:30. leave for work at 6:50. i time it to the minute. routine. mondays, wednesdays and fridays i’m at the gym. two miles fast on the tread before weight training. tuesdays a 4-6 mile tempo run. thursdays track sprints with the group. saturdays my long run. sundays are usually workout free unless i’m bored. i do add fun. i don’t subject my daughter to a schedule of pure boredom. weekends we keep busy at the beach or the park. a movie maybe or busch gardens. sometimes when she’s at her dad’s i even throw in a night out with the girls. or the rare date i give in to. but come monday, you can time my every move. predictable.
i need something yet i’ve no idea what it is or how to do it. if i don’t stay on schedule, i’m late for work. if i don’t follow the training path, i won’t be ready for the marathon. so how do i shake up a world that has structure for a reason? how can i let loose and have fun and still be the responsible parent i need to be? earlier today a friend told me to go do something out of character … like skydive. but i don’t think a one-time adventure will solve my woes. not to mention the fact that i have enough anxiety getting into a plane none-the-less jumping out of one. another friend worried i was depressed and ensured a shoulder to cry on. but i’m not sad or riding the edge of a breakdown. i’m simply restless. for the first time in my life i feel average. ordinary.
i want to travel to far off foreign lands and explore ancient ruins. i want to salsa dance until 3 a.m. on the arm of an adonis with an insatiable sexual appetite. i want to squish grapes between my toes in a wooden barrel at a little vineyard in southern italy. i want to climb mountains. sail seas. drive fast. i want to experience everything this vast world has to offer.
yet my only foreseeable travels are to visit friends and family in massachusetts. i have two left feet on the dance floor and with my luck, adonis would likely end up being a womanizing bastard or even more likely gay. the only grape i’ll squish is the one that inadvertently gets dropped and left on the kitchen floor. and driving too fast isn’t economical with the cost of gas these days.
bored and boring. i’m going to scream!!!!!!
07.22.08
save the ta-tas
i have taken on an incredible challenge. on oct. 31, 2008, i’ll be walking 60 miles over the course of three days and camping out at night.
it’s for an event called the breast Cancer 3-day, which benefits susan g. komen for the cure and the national philanthropic trust breast Cancer fund. every advancement in breast Cancer research, treatment, education and prevention in the last 25 years has been touched by a komen for the cure grant. they are working hard to build a future without breast Cancer.
without a cure, one in eight women in the u.s. will continue to be diagnosed with breast Cancer.
i’ve committed to walking the breast Cancer 3-day to support an amazing friend of mine named shelley. i watched her lose her mother to a very long painful battle with breast Cancer only to turn around a few years later and be diagnosed herself. she had just gotten married and had hopes to start a family soon after. now it seems, so many of her dreams are on hold. she’s been through round after round of treatment and recently received the good news that she is in remission. but she was in her twenties when she was diagnosed and recurrance is an all too likely possibility. i want to do everything i can to keep that from happening and if walking 60 miles helps in even a small way then it’s a challenge i’m willing to take.
i’d truly appreciate your support. any donation, no matter how small, will help. just follow the link below to visit my fundraising page. if you don’t want to donate online, you can download and print a donation form (available on my page).
http://08.the3day.org/goto/rebecca.boudreaux
thank you for your support. together we can help find a cure!
07.21.08
i think you already know the answer to that
i had to ask. i tried so hard not to but i think i knew that it was simply a matter of time. the text sat there in the draft folder ever since i’d heard from him. many a time i went to send it and before i could push the button i’d come to my senses and shut the phone. but the other night those senses, and the rational thought process behind them, fell victim to the influence of vodka on the rocks. does drunk texting constitute drunk dialing? the moment it went through i wished it back. i already knew the answer so why even pose the question. was i hoping for something unexpected or needing confirmation of the inevitable. did i simply want him to know how close i’d be. or did i really hope to see him one last time.
i wasn’t surprised when there was no imediate response. he wouldn’t get it right away. not to that in box. but i tried to imagine the words that would come across when he did write. tried to pen them in my mind. tried to create the miracle. yet i couldn’t convince even the dreamer in me that there would be anything more than the expected read.
i never did get the reply text. i got an unexpected phone call. his words still masking an underlying sadness that i don’t think i simply choose to hear. the conversation was what i expected. what i already knew to be the best decision. but my reaction was something new. the emptiness i expected to feel never opened up. the hole in my heart wasn’t a vast expanse that left me aching for something unattainable. maybe i asked the question for a reason. i knew what the answer would be but maybe i simply needed to actually hear it.
07.01.08
boston
maybe it’s time i show the weakness that rarely gets worn on my sleeve. to share a little of the not-so-strong woman that prefers to hide behind the confident one. maybe the tough girl “i don’t want to fall in love” blogs are masking what i really need to say. but it’s hard for me to admit to anyone else, none the less myself, that my heart doesn’t belong to me. he stole it and in spite of choices made he still holds it on a string that tightens every time i’ve almost managed to escape. it’s as though he knows. senses my release and grabs for what he knows is still his before he loses it forever.
the story of boston is one that can’t be written in a mere paragraph or two. it stems back more than a decade to a brief romance prefaced by a broken heart and a friendship disrespected. a triangle that led us to each other but kept us from trusting what i think we knew even back then. i didn’t want to love him. the unwritten rule said he wasn’t allowed to love me. we tiptoed around the past and ignored the potential future. we lived in the moment simply enjoying what came so naturally between us. … until i left. a decision that i do not regret yet one i never could have known would haunt me in years to come.
it was eleven years later that i opened pandora’s box and a birthday card fell at my feet. his sweet words scrawled across the page brought a smile to my soul and i wondered where life had led him.
a google search. an email sent. a reach back across the years. when my phone rang and i heard his voice the time and distance seemed all but real. lost in the laughter and memories we found that same instant connection we’d had back then. by fate chance i held a plane ticket to visit family not far from where he was and we made plans to meet. just two old friends wanting to share our stories over dinner.
when he walked in to that restaurant it was as though not a moment had passed since i’d left. his smile was captivating. his green eyes piercing. and his childlike nervousness endearing. we picked at our food unable to focus on anything except each other finally giving up on the charade and finding a quiet little hole in the wall bar with a pool table and strong drinks. if ever i was certain in the concept of soul mates it was that night when his lips touched mine again and i knew i was still his.
once again we found ourselves in a triangle. once again i didn’t want to love him and he wasn’t supposed to love me. this time we tiptoed around the present and made plans for the future. we spoke of our forever. we dreamed of our everyday. we bridged the distance between us with plane flights, emails and hours of conversation. he wasn’t just the one i loved. he wasn’t just my dream. he was my best friend. the one who knew my every facet and loved me for my every imperfection. we knew the challenges we faced ahead. the choices and the sacrifices we would have to make to be together. but we had already lost eleven years and couldn’t dream of letting another go by apart.
i’m not sure how to make what happened make sense. i was so sure there was no doubt but the sacrifice proved too much for him and i can’t blame him for making the choice he did. one of the things i love and respect most is that he is an amazing daddy and those two little boys deserved him more than i did. he had to try. had to fight. had to choose. and when he told me his decision a part of me died.
months of silence allowed me to slowly heal. had he loved me the way he claimed to have loved me he never could have walked away so easily. i told myself that destiny was a sham. soul mates a childish dream that didn’t exist. and i was almost convinced when the call came.
his voice was sad. anguished. it became apparent that he had loved the way he claimed and still did. his every day was as much a struggle as mine. but it still changed nothing about the way things had to be and as much as it hurt, i knew he wouldn’t change his mind. little by little the calls increased. i welcomed them. i missed my best friend and the comfort i got from having him even slightly back in my life helped fill the emptiness of not having him mostly in it. but it wasn’t fair to anyone to continue. not him. not me. and mostly not her. she who i can’t help but think about. it was last november i found the strength to tell him i had to let go. unexpectedly i’d found myself with an open door before me that i couldn’t walk through without telling him goodbye. it was only fair, he agreed, that i have a chance to find what we both knew he couldn’t give me. and though i didn’t find love through that door, the last seven months have allowed me to realize that i have the strength and desire to find it someday.
but he’s done it again and somehow i knew it was coming. for two days prior everytime i heard the beep of an incoming text my heart skipped a beat and i was sure it would be from him. i don’t know how but i just knew. it was a simple message. belated birthday wishes followed by a back and forth banter about life and running. almost as though i was texting with a friend i’d spoken to yesterday. no mention of the seven months of silence and the situation unchanged. and it scared me to realize how easy i could fall right back in again. a quick final statement and i shut the phone cringing everytime it went off wondering if he would respond or leave me to have to piece myself back together again.
it’s been one week now and though letting go gets a little easier every time i wonder if this will ever truly be over for either of us.
06.03.08
fidelity
though i don’t forsee a wedding anytime in my near future, and though i continually stress my independence and comfort in solitude, i have to admit that someday i would love to share my life with someone. i won’t settle and i’m in no rush. but i know that somewhere out there is the man who is my bestfriend, lover, confidant, partner and ultimately, my husband. but more and more i’m begin to wonder if i’m better off exactly where i am. single and essentially happy though sometimes a bit lonely. because everytime i feel as though i can believe in love. everytime i start to open up my heart to the possibility that there is a happily ever after. i’m reminded that things aren’t always as they seem.
i am divorced. twice actually. and surprisingly my own failed marriages play little role in my jaded nature. the first ended due to youth and immaturity. the second simply from different life paths, dreams and needs. in spite of infidelity in the first and some lingering bitterness from the second, i regret neither and have learned from them what i want and deserve in future relationships. my past in no way minimizes my hopes and dreams for a deep, sincere, committed love.
but it’s what i see everyday. with friends. aquaintances. strangers. he who says he’s happy is spending his lunch hour leading on the other woman. she who pretends to have the perfect home is filling the void with the cliched pool boy who merely brings more emptiness. they that barely exist together only truly live when apart.
i don’t neccesarily define infidelity as that of the relationship but more so as that of yourself. i don’t condone staying in a marriage of neccesity anymore than i agree with straying for simple physical pleasure. if you’re happy, stay and fight for what your heart desires. if you’re not, realize that the truth is ultimately less painful than years upon years of lies. there’s no harsher a critic than what you’ll find within.
don’t try to live the double life. a simple one-time thing or a regular indulgence. a meaningless fling or a slip-and-fall-in-love. no one benefits. no one survives unscathed. no one.
i know.
05.29.08
karma is a beeyotch
walking through the park with my daughter the other day i nearly stepped on a baby bird. scared and seemingly injured he tried to fly away but in realizing his inability simply screeched at me with all his little might. his situation tore at my heart strings and i wasn’t sure what to do. the nest he’d fallen from was too high to hope getting him back into. his protective parents anxiously watching were coming a little too close to my daughter for my own parental comfort. and i had no idea how to care for him should i even attempt to take him home. i walked away knowing i was lying when i told my daughter he would be fine and not to worry.
an hour later, in the comfort of home, the guilt wouldn’t dissipate and we went in search. i still had no idea what i would do but i had to do something. to my dismay he was just out of grasp in a tangle of vines and bushes of the nearby woods and every attempt to reach only scared him deeper and deeper. i had no choice but to leave again and this time the lies i told were to myself hoping i could somehow find a way to accept the laws of nature.
for a moment, i felt almost silly. it was a bird. nothing spectacular. no endangered species or exceptional variety. i was merely witness to darwin’s theory on natural selection. survival of the fittest. who was i to play “god” and interfere with the ways of mother nature. and then strangely i found myself thinking of him. imagining how stupid he would have made me feel. he who would have likely “accidentally” stepped on it with the excuse it had to be put out of its misery. he who nearly broke my spirit with his own emptiness.
but i wasn’t being silly nor stupid. i was merely living by a value i choose to hold strong; compassion. i genuinely care. about all creatures great and small. about friends and family or strangers i’ve yet to meet. it’s not unusual for me to cry at a sad news story as my heart breaks for those involved. i try to put myself in someones shoes and respect how my actions make them feel. i know that i revolve with the world. the world does not revolve around me. it seems a simple concept and i can’t imagine being devoid of that knowledge.
yet he and too many others simply seem to have no regard or concern for anyone other than themselves. not a classic egoist. not stuck-up, vain or materialistic. but simply devoid of compassion. apathetic to all that surrounds them. purely narcissistic. there was a time it made me angry. i would take it personally. i let it make me question my own heart. but now i find only sadness for them. those that feel a need to approach the world with cold-hearted cruelty.
a world devoid of the euphoria of love and compassion. what a lonely place to be.
05.17.08
group therapy
a month or so ago i started running with a running club. with my hectic schedule i don’t have a lot of time to get out there with them but what little i’ve joined them for seems to have made a difference. some of that may come from the difference in training. maybe the distance or the motivation of someone to run with. but what’s changed most in my run is my confidence.
the first time i ran with the group i deemed myself a 10-minute miler. so i was completely intimidated when i learned that three out of the four i was running with that evening were training for boston. i kept up only for their slow warm up mile and after that i ran alone. not quite what i had hoped for by joining a running club but i was used to running alone so it really made little difference to me. but as i came around the corner for my last half mile or so i was surprised and touched to see them all running back to get me. we finished that first run together and what made it even better was when i found out that first mile, their warm up mile, was an 8:45 and i had kept up. granted it was only for one mile of the four i ran, but regardless, i kept up!
the people i run with are hardcore and ultra competitive. no doubt it will be years before i have any chance of doing what they can do. but where i would have expected them to scoff at a little novice runner like me, they are encouraging, supportive and consider me a runner, a real runner. already they laugh at my declaration of being a 10-minute miler and my next next half-marathon will be sub two hours, of that i’ve been convinced.
i ran another 5k last weekend. practice. enjoyment. challenge. i really think i like the distance. 3.1 miles is comfortable. easy. not a mental challenge like the half but an opportunity to improve the physical. and i did so yet again. in spite of miserable weather. absurdly hot with 100 percent humidity (literally) i PR’d again. my goal was to break the 28 minute mark and i did it with time to spare. 27:26. i’m dumbfounded. but the overall time doesn’t register the same way the average does. i averaged an 8:52. i never thought i’d be a 9-minute miler none the less under. but there’s something inspiring about running with boston marathoners. something confidence building about their support.
running has been as individual sport to me and in many ways i need it that way. it is a way for me to escape the stressors of life. my cheap therapy. but maybe i’m not the hard ass, do it all on my own type of person i thought i was . maybe sometimes a little group therapy is good for the soul.
update … turns out the 5k time i had was unofficial clock time. my official chip time was 27:09. an 8:46 average and 278th overall out of 1,234 runners.
04.16.08
Georgia PR
i don’t run a lot of 5k races. i think i have this mentality that i long since passed the ability to run 3.1 miles so why bother. but what i fail to take into consideration is that i can get just as much physical and emotional satisfaction from a short run.
when a friend mentioned she was thinking about doing a race this past weekend, i glanced over to my desk calendar and realized there was nothing i couldn’t shift around. somehow the fact that the race was in georgia really didn’t matter. I’d been looking for an excuse to get up there to visit and this one seemed as good as any.
friday was a long day. a full day at the office. a four hour drive. a powerful demo. another couple of hours in the car. it was almost 2 a.m. before my head hit the pillow and not even 6 a.m. when i woke to my dog finding humor in running up and down the stairs. i was tired. so tired. and the last thing i wanted to do was run. but we headed out the door praying the black clouds above us would hold off just a little longer.
i have to admit i didn’t take it seriously. no sleep. no preparation. rain, hills, new turf … i had every excuse why i wouldn’t make good time. but i like to set goals for myself and decided i needed to do so regardless. leading in my PR (personal record) for a 5k was 29:08 so under 29:00 seemed improvement enough given my less than eager mindset.
when i hit mile one i was shocked. an 8:40. i don’t run an 8:40 … not even close! that’s all it took to change my attitude and rouse that competetive nature i have. i knew i couldn’t mantain that kind of pace but i figured i actually had a chance of making my goal. before the race another runner had mentioned the challenge of the hill at the end of the course. running in florida doesn’t offer much incline and i hoped that obstacle wouldn’t be my demise. but i took it in stride and never felt the top was unreachable. when the finish line came into view i was floored. i found my kick and sprinted the final stretch.
perry georgia dogwood festival 5k — a new pr
28:14
