Christmas Stuff 2019

I was going to just write another short Facebook post on Christmas this year, but then I remembered that I have time right now to write on the blog. Time. What a precious gift.  It's one that we try not to take for granted around here given that our normal schedules don't usually give us much of it.  But for right now, I'm enjoying the room to breathe.  Not that I'm not always breathing, but right now, for however long it lasts, I'm not just going through the motions. I'm aware of each breath, taking in longer, deeper breaths and appreciating the gift of life that each one brings.

  In this state of awareness of life that my breathing gives, I started thinking about the first breath that happened on the very first Christmas.  The breath that gave us Christmas.   The breath that also gives me life today.  It's so weird to contemplate that the One who doesn't need breath to live, chose to succumb to its restrictions as a gift of life to the rest of us.  When You don't need breath to live, You don't have to die.  Jesus knew that accepting a life that required breathing to live meant that He would also have to one day die.  And He did it anyway.  His first breath wasn't a gift of life for Himself, but a gift for us.

I've had to keep that at the forefront of my mind this Christmas season as I've struggled with some changes in tradition that occurred this year.  It wasn't anything completely out of the ordinary or devastating.. just normal stuff that happens when kids get older.  Last year, Korben found out the truth about Santa. Which meant he also found out the truth about our elves, Asher and Candy Elf.  But Logan still believed so Korben became a helper in keeping the magic alive for him.  This year, Logan also found out the truth.  So that's it. No more Santa. No more Candy Elf. No more letters to the North Pole.  No more excitement in looking for Candy Elf in the mornings and wondering what he told Santa last night.  And it has all been a bit sad for me.  I have felt like a piece of Christmas is missing without their joy and excitement over those things. Their belief in those things is what has made Christmas so fun for me as a parent over the last eleven years.  I wasn't prepared for this day when it would just suddenly stop.

Logan asked if he could hold the elf now that he knows it's not real, and he said it felt weird to hold him after so many years of not being able to touch him so he wouldn't lose his magic.  It was weird for me too. The boys still wanted to take turns hiding Candy Elf, but it just wasn't the same. The funny thing is, when Logan first started asking questions about Santa this year, I told him that what's more important to remember about Santa is not Santa the man himself, but the spirit behind Santa.  And now I'm being all hypocritical and forgetting that spirit myself just because my kids know the truth.  But Santa and elves don't actually have anything to do with Christmas. So maybe instead of being crushed by the ending of certain traditions, I should just focus on why we even have Christmas to begin with and the real reason behind the Christmas spirit.  Besides, traditions only exist because they at one point began, which means new ones can always be started.  So here's to starting new traditions but also being ok without any traditions at all. Because no matter what, Christmas is still Christmas.                     

Memoir

A Broken Celebration: the day my divorce was final

This was it.  The day I had been waiting for.  Sounds a lot like what people would say when they’re about to graduate, or get married, or get that big promotion, or have a baby. Today wasn’t that kind of celebration, but it was a celebration, nonetheless.  A decade long relationship, eight of those years including marriage, including abuse, was coming to an end today.  I was finally going to be free.  Oh happy day indeed. 

I drove to my apartment, the one I would soon be moving into.  My soon-to-be-ex-husband and I decided to try to keep living together during the divorce proceedings, for the kids.  My lawyer had tried to convince me to fight for the house in court because I would have almost definitely have won that battle.  But I didn’t want the house.  It was his house.  He was the one that moved us to this new city, the one who found that house and fell in love with it.  My only connection to that house was being abused by him in it.  Every room was tainted with the echoes of my pain and tears.  Who wants to live in a house that haunts them with their own nightmarish memories?  No, he can have the house.  And I don’t want to sell it either because at least it could be some place of stability and familiarity for the boys when they are with their dad.  Why uproot them twice if I don’t have to?  And maybe my soon-to-be ex-husband will appreciate that I’m not coming after him for everything’s he’s got, that I’m trying to keep as much civility as possible.  Because no matter what I’ve been through with this man, he is forever the father of our two boys, and that counts for something.  The better we all get along after this, the better it is for the sake of those two boys who didn’t ask for any of this.

I pull into the parking lot of my new apartment complex and walk up to the third floor. Apartment 1334... my home.  Nobody has a key to this place but me.  Nobody else is coming in here.  I walk inside to the living room, find a spot on the floor in between the two windows to my left, and just sit.  I soak it all in.  This place is safe.  I am safe.  I will never wait for my soon-to-be-ex-husband to get off work in this space and wonder and worry about what kind of mood he might be in when he gets home, or what kind of effect that mood will have on me.  Because this is not his home; it is my home.  There’s no danger here.  Only freedom.  And relief.  The relief is overwhelming in the best possible way.  It’s like I have been riding the currents of a rushing river, always waiting for the next set of rocks to crash into, but now all the rocks are gone, and I’m finally headed straight to the open ocean.  There’s so much space and so much air in the open ocean.  I can breathe again.   I forgot I knew how.

I take in one last breathe in my new safe haven and gather myself up for one last formality before I begin my new life.  I must go down to the courthouse to have the judge sign off on the divorce decree, making it final.  I get back in my car, make it to the courthouse and find my lawyer in the lobby.  We walk into another room where the judge is sitting at a table, smiling.  He greets my lawyer with a friendly hello and they briefly talk about their upcoming plans for the weekend.  Just another day.  He smiles at me and says, “You’re about to be a free woman. Congratulations!”  I think there was some other formality too, but I can’t remember.  All I can remember is him saying, “Congratulations!” and then signing the decree and shaking my hand, all with a smile on his face.  Congratulations.  Congratulations.  It keeps ringing in my ear.  It won’t go away.  This is not something I should be congratulated on.   You congratulate people when they get married, not when their marriage ends.  But wasn’t I supposed to be smiling too?  This is what I had been looking forward to, wasn’t it?  And now it was done.  Just like I wanted.  My celebration day.  But it didn’t feel right.  A marriage, a union between two people that was supposed to be until death do us part, was over.  My family was broken.  I mean, it was broken even while the marriage was intact, but now it was officially broken.  Legally broken.  Just like that, with one little signature.  I was not happy after all.  But I forced a return smile and thanked the judge and my lawyer for all they had done, I took the papers that declared I was no longer married, and I headed back down to my car.  I sat in the driver seat and I started to weep uncontrollably.  So much for celebrating; more like a broken celebration. 

The tears wouldn’t stop.  I had stopped crying when my now-ex-husband lost his temper on me while we were still married.  I cried at first.  Who wouldn’t?  But crying never made him stop and I felt like every time I did cry it just gave him more power over me.  So I learned to stop the tears.  He would not see me in pain.  He didn’t deserve the luxury of seeing me hurt.  But now, in this moment, I had no control over the salty water that flowed out of my eyes.  It wasn’t because I regretted the divorce; I didn’t.  I had been 99% sure it was what I needed to do for a long time, but I needed to wait until I was 100% sure before I followed through with it. And I did wait until I was absolutely sure.  I had even lost a long-term friendship over it.  She had been asking me, begging me, to leave for a long time.  A lot of people did. At least the people who knew the truth about what was going on did. And I understood where they were coming from; nobody wants to see someone they love go through that kind of pain unnecessarily.  But in return, I needed them to understand that this wasn’t like just breaking up with a boyfriend.  We were talking about divorce. That is a big deal, especially when kids are involved.  I needed to hold on to hope for as long as I could that something would finally click inside of him and he would see and grasp and understand the damage he had done... and change.  It would have been so much better, so much easier, if he would just finally see me, the me on the inside, not just the body that I provided, and love me.  I wanted him to love me so badly.  Most of my friends did understand, or at least pretended to.  But she didn’t.  And in the end, she decided that if I wasn’t going to get divorced on her timeline, then she just wasn’t going to be my friend at all anymore.

I don’t know how much time had passed after she left that I finally decided it was time to file for a divorce.  I had been talking to a counselor who asked me what it would take on my then-husband’s end in order for me to be happy again.  She asked me to describe my perfect scene to her.  And in that scene, my perfect scene, my husband wasn’t there anymore.  It wasn’t a scene where he and I and the kids were living it up happily on some beach or something; where he finally did love me.  He just wasn’t there at all.  That was when I realized that even if he did change by then, it was too late because too much damage had been done and I could never be a wife to him again. I was at a point of cringing and literally feeling nauseous in his presence; like he might touch me and I couldn't stand the idea of him even accidently brushing against me. That's not how wives are supposed to feel about their husbands. But I did feel that way and there was no getting away from that now. And I thought about the kind of marriage that I was modeling for my boys.  If they ended up in marriages just like mine because it was all they knew, I could never live with myself.  It was time to leave.  None of that changed there in my car on divorce day, with so many years worth of un-cried tears flowing down my cheeks.   It was what I needed to do.  There was no regret.  But that didn’t change the sadness of it all.  This was not the way it was supposed to be.  I felt like a failure.  I had let down my family, everyone who was there on my wedding day, my parents who invested financially into that wedding, my kids, and God.  I had let every single one of them down.  This was a day for mourning, not celebrating.  So I let myself cry all the tears.  It was like my tears had also felt trapped all those years, just like I had, and were welcoming their newfound freedom.  They finally had the freedom to fall.

I don’t remember much else from that day.  Nothing else mattered that day.  Except I do remember all the love I received from my loved ones that I felt I had let down; even from God, who I felt I had let down the most.  It’s hard to describe if you’ve never experienced it yourself, but it’s like I physically felt Him there in my car with me that day, telling me that no, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, but that I am still loved, and nothing will ever change that.  It was the first time that I had truly felt loved in a long time.  Funny how true love, not the fake stuff my ex-husband threw at me, cradles you in your weakest moments like that. 

So why choose this sad, depressing story as the one I tell and write about?  Because it defines so much of who I am today. And because I don't want my story to have happened in vain. If there is anyone else out there going through something similar, I want you to know that you are not alone. It’s been five years since my divorce and life is easier and harder and better and worse all at the same time.  Abuse and divorce are forever a part of my story, and forever a part of my kids’ story, which is always going to be hard and sad.  I hate that this broken family is the one that my kids are forced to be a part of.  And knowing the full ugly truth of divorce, I am not an advocate for it unless it truly is the only last resort.  But in the middle of so much hard, ugly stuff, there can still be beauty and redemption and growth.  My ex-husband broke me and then buried me as deep as he possibly could.  But instead dying there in that deep hole he shoved me in, I began to grow.  Once I was free from his abuse, I was able to start growing into the person I was always meant to be; and because of my deep burial during those abusive years, the roots to the person I’m growing into now are that much deeper and that much stronger.  I'm still in the middle of the strenuous pruning process and am still waiting on the day that I will fully blossom, but the sun is bright and growing conditions are optimal.

Krause Springs is Almost Heaven

Since moving back to Abilene last year, my parent's friends have also become my friends. And when your parent's friends are your friends, sometimes you get invited to do things with your parent's friends without your parents. Hence, an invitation to spend a few days in Spicewood during the week of 4th of July with my parent's friends, who are also my friends. Apparently, a few of these friends make an annual trip to this lovely little place in Spicewood called Krause Springs, and I opted to join them in the shenanigans this year. I had never heard of Krause Springs and was just expecting another campsite that fits the norm of what most other campsites look like. I was kind of wrong. It is so much better than most other regular camping grounds. I was met with beautiful scenery that included a forest full of lush green trees, waterfalls, and spring fed swimming holes. Basically, Krause Springs is almost heaven. 

     

KimE was kind enough to give me a tour when I first arrived. She showed me this tiny little tree that is probably close to around 1700 million years old. I wonder how many rings are inside that thing?

A far off view of the swimming pool. It's a man made pool but is still spring fed. The owners of the place have a pretty neat irrigation system in place that feeds water from the spring in and out of this pool. It's gorgeous… and really cold. 

A stone diving board.. because why not? 

My first morning waking up, I got up pretty early and did some exploring and found my way down to the natural spring swimming hole. It was super quiet and peaceful when I was there in the morning taking pictures, but a bit more crowded when I went back later in the day to do some actual swimming. 

Pictures never do the real life version justice, and this isn't a great picture, but if you look closely you can see one of the waterfalls. To the left is a rope swing that you can swing into the water from and behind that is a cliff to jump into the water from. I partook in the rope swinging during my visit but never did make it to the cliff. I fully regret that and plan to make up for it next visit. 

Another waterfall I discovered on my morning exploration..

I have become terrible about taking pictures of people, but I tried to be mindful about it this trip. I didn't do great, but I got a few.  This one is me, KimE (who is the one that invited me on this lovely trip), and Debbie who I met for the first time on this trip. I was warned Debbie might scare me away. No such thing happened. The verdict is in and I freaking adore her. She is pretty much the best. 

Look! Another picture of people.. I was on a roll. This was on actual 4th of July when a few more people showed up to join the shenanigans. Most of us wore some patriotic stuff to celebrate the occassion. Michelle and Debbie rocked some pretty awesome festive hats. 

Debbie and Diane! Diane did wear some super cute patriotic stuff too.. she was just slower getting out of her jammies, because we were camping and who cares? Anyhow, I was done taking pictures by then. Sorry I don't have a picture of your cute festive head bow, Diane! 

Eddie was there too so I guess I should include him. Although I just realized I got zero pictures of Mark. Knowing him he probably isn't too upset about that though...hopefully.  That's all I have of the people.. apologies. I also had a prior commitment to spend actual 4th of July on Lake Granbury with some other loved ones, so I left the Krause Springs party that morning, but it really was a great trip and I'm so thankful for the invitation to join this year. This group of people are pretty rad and I love that I get to hang out with them from time to time. 

My days at Krause Springs were filled with excellent scenery, excellent swimming, excellent company, and excellent margaritas (thanks to the Dillards). Who could ask for more? Sincrely, thank you guys for having me out this year! I truly enjoyed every minute of it. 

And just because.. a short video of the fantastic firework show we saw out on the lake in Granbury on the 4th. That was as equally of an amazing trip. I am so lucky to know so many wonderful people who welcome me with open arms. I love you all.

Farm Trip 2019

This is the story of our trip to the Farm Easter weekend back in May.  I know it is currently almost July.  This is the way my life goes these days.. apologies.  So.. Easter was coming up and it was the boy's weekend to be with their dad.  Those weekends only happen about once a month but I always dread them because of the traveling.  Either I have to drive to Dallas two days (Friday and Sunday), or I have to drive to Carthage on the Sunday that their weekend with him is up.  It's just a lot when you're a single working mom, going to school, and every weekend day is precious time that really can't afforded to be sacrificed.  But as such is life.  Anyway, the point is, while I always try to make the best of those traveling weekends, my mom knows what a toll it is on me. So she had the brilliant idea to go to the Farm in Livingston on Easter weekend so that I would be closer to Carthage on Sunday and she could help with the driving.  Brilliant.

Later, mom asked if I minded if our friends, Lenny and Dave, tagged along with us since Lenny hadn't been to the farm in several years and Dave had never been.  Of course!  Then some other friends, Eddie and Michelle opted to join in on the whirlwind traveling shenanigans too.  We had ourselves a legit adventure now! A couple of days before the trip, I was informed that I would be picking the boys up in Dallas instead of Carthage, which kind of defeated the initial purpose of this trip.  But it was already planned and I was still excited to go, so bring on the shenanigans!     

6 hours and one chipped windshield later, we made it to the Farm. We were immediately greeted by the cows. 

Of course, the newbies had to be given a tour the land, so we loaded up on the mule and four-wheelers.  Gosh, it really is lovely out there. 

Once everyone had done some exploring and nightfall came, we visited on the front porch.  Nights on the Farm are just as lovely as the days on the Farm. 

If you're looking for Eddie, he's the one that is glowing. Because safety first. 

The next morning, we were greeted with the lovely mist of the pond.  I've seen it so many times, but it never gets old.

Lenny is pretty much always the breakfast maker when traveling with her.  Because she is a professional.  Look how cute she is in her farm apron.

There just isn't much in this world that is better than fresh farm eggs. 

Even the syrup was happy about Lenny's delicious breakfast. 

The men, with their full bellies, started doing man stuff.  Actually, I just made that up. I have no idea what those two were doing here.

And the women started doing women stuff.  Ok, I made that up too.  No need to start calling me a sexist or anything, k?  Look how cute they all are in their Easter hats!

Later, everyone did some practice target shooting.  Lenny collected the shells. 

My mama in one of her happy places - on a four wheeler, ready to do some more exploring!

The rest of us motley crew rode the mule this time.  Mike was being camera shy and tried to avoid getting his picture taken.  Don't worry, Mikey... there is still a picture of you somewhere! Muhaha!

Hi, Michelle!

My buddy, Cami, is the best farm dog around.

I think some conspiring was going on here...

And my mama2, Lenny, taking out one of the four-wheelers..

On Easter day, I snuck away from the Farm for a few hours to visit my dear friend, Rita, who was also spending Easter in Livingston.  My gosh, it was so good catching up with her. I don't usually enjoy leaving the Farm when I'm there, but that day, I very much enjoyed my time away from it. 

When I got back to my other people, it was time for my papa and I to get some good four-wheeling time in; the muddy kind.  It's sort of become a tradition for us to get some father-daughter time in like this when we are at the Farm.  It's my favorite. And there was a nice mud hole nearby that provided an excellent spot to get nice and dirty in. This was not that mud hole. It's just the creek. We stopped by after our muddy shenanigans.  

Will someone please hose down those four-wheelers? And us?

Then it was bonfire time. Actually, I think was from the previous  night and just ended up in the wrong spot on here. Whatever.  Anyway, bonfires are one of my favorites.  And there's Mike on the mule... don't worry though, Mikey, I still got a better picture of you later.. you can't avoid it forever!

How cute are my parents dancing by the fire, y'all? I mean seriously...

There were some jokes made about the little camping chair I was sitting in and how I could move up to a big kid's chair if I wanted.  But I'm short.  And I like my feet to touch the ground.  So y'all just leave me alone, k?  This red chair isn't the one I was sitting in, but it was also dubbed "Cassi's Chair" since it was apparently my size. Everyone's got jokes. 

Diane!! It was also her birthday weekend and she finally decided to grace us with her presence after visiting some folks in Spicewood.  Sorry you didn't get more photo time this trip, birthday girl! Come a little sooner, next time?! 

Kayla made it in a picture too! She was traveling with Diane. They stayed for much longer than the rest of us did, but were only there for the tail end our short weekend there.  Thus, not as many pictures. Sorry, guys.  And Aby!! The kindest, most sweetest woman I know. The Farm is hers, but she makes it seem like it really belongs to all of us.  She really should have made it in more pictures.  

But look, Mike! I told you an actual picture of you existed! 

This last picture is also out of order, as it occurred on the day we arrived.  This was my first crawfish season not living in Houston where I had access to it whenever and wherever I wanted. And it was rough, because I LOVE crawfish.  But my Aunt Karen and Uncle Rick, who live close by, stopped in for a visit and brought me some.  Oh my gosh, I was so happy.  It was the only time I got crawfish all season.  Also, why I don't have pictures of them, I don't know.  I'll try to up my game next visit.  Anyway, it was a trip too short, but still so worth it.  Thanks for the adventure, people!