When I was 15 years old, I stared out my window longing for freedom. I sat on my bed and rested my head on the windowsill and I fantasized about crawling out and seeing my friends. But I didn’t. Doing so meant the end to my little life. And while already having lost the freedom to talk on the phone, to wear pants, to wear makeup, to socialize, or to even get a glass of water without asking, why I felt so afraid of the consequences is beyond my comprehension now. But I feared leaving and so I dealt with the sadness of my little room and the darkness of my home by writing poetry and taking two pills a day–one tiny white pill called Zoloft and one larger one with another name I don’t remember, but it was supposed to help me stop pulling out my hair.

***

Hair flying wildly, as  Nick would storm into my room red faced and scream at me to start closing my blinds. He could see me undress when he walked over to that side of the yard to smoke his cigarettes. I don’t know why I always forgot to close my blinds. Maybe I didn’t want to lose sight for even a second, of the promise of freedom outside that window. Closing the blinds meant I felt protected in my home, but to be honest, that home did not protect me. And so I kept forgetting to close my blinds when I undressed, and my step-dad kept forgetting to not smoke on that side of the backyard and look in my window.

***

Windows were places to dream on long drives. On drives to my step-grandmother’s house, I sat in the backseat looking out the car window and dreamed of seeing my secret boyfriend, Ryan, in another car. I fantasized that if that ever happened, I would press my hand up against the cold glass, spreading my fingers out like a starfish and mouth to him “I love you.”

***

You may think I was always good, but when I was almost 16, there were a couple of months where my sister and I would open that window in our room and push out the corner of the screen so we could sneak out to smoke cigarettes. I remember it clearly now. We turned our fan on when we went to sleep and its noise muffled the sounds of our secrets and cries. At 2 o’clock in the morning, when everyone in the house was asleep, the fan would also muffle the sound of us crawling out the window. After we successfully crawled out, my heart pounded and my adrenalin rushed as we stuck the cigarettes in the empty Bic ink pens. This way our fingers wouldn’t smell like cigarettes and give us away. We didn’t leave our house–We just sat on the grass with our backs against the cold brick wall and took long drags, holding the smoke in our lungs for as long as we could, and then slowly blowing it out. We smoked just one cigarette each, but that cigarette was our secret freedom— the one thing we did that he couldn’t take away. And after that cigarette, we slowly crawled back through the window, while praying to God, no one heard. My heart didn’t stop pounding until I stepped out of my mother’s car the next morning and walked up the steps of my school.

***

School had come and gone and during the summer between my sophomore and junior year, my step-dad found a house that could embody everything he wanted our family to be. It sat on three acres of horse property in the hills of the Alta Loma suburbs at a price only dreams could afford. Yet even I at that time hoped that this house could change us. The one-story home with the attic, double sided fireplace, and horse property appeared like a fairytale waiting to rescue us from the chaos of our lives. In the attic of the home, some 30 feet from the floor, sat a window. If our step-dad got this house, the attic would be my sister’s and my room, but only under one condition– he would put bars up in the attic window and cut the large tree out side of it down. This way, he said, we couldn’t run away.

***

Away was all I wanted one night— I couldn’t wait for freedom anymore and so I cut the screen in my window. I couldn’t open it like I had before because we didn’t have that fan anymore and I would make too much noise trying to push out the screen that evening. Looking back, I know I was serious about leaving. If I wasn’t serious, there was no way I would have cut that screen. Cutting the screen meant abuse ten times worse than what I experienced that evening. Cutting the screen meant I had to leave or risk the consequences. I think I was going crazy that night as I threw away all my belongings into big black trash bags.

“What are you doing?” my sister asked. And I just threw my head back and laughed and laughed.

“Does it matter anymore? Does it really f@#$ing matter?” I said.

Could anyone blame me? I had just experienced my step-dad throwing me against the towel cupboard, calling me a slutt and a whore as he forcefully rubbed lipstick and mascara all over my face, my neck, and my arms until I was covered in red and black streaks smeared with tears and sweat. And just when I thought it was over, he pulled out my blue and green, flower- covered poetry journal and read each page out loud, tearing it out of the book and throwing the crumbed pages and more soul-killing adjectives in my face. I fought back by pressing my knees against my chest and dreaming of my next poem.

And so after I threw away almost all that I owned, I took my backpack and my sister’s backpack and packed in each: one pair of jeans, one t-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, a toothbrush, deodorant, and a pen—my ultimate weapon. Then I hid the backpacks in the old, ripped, box spring of my bed, so that when our step-dad checked under it to make sure we cleaned up the mess he left after destroying our room, he wouldn’t see. After he checked and went to bed, I took out the scissors and cut the screen and promised my sister that we would never have to live like that again. And looking back at this story years later, I have only one regret. Anthony—I’m so sorry I didn’t pack your bag too.

***

Too soon after CPS forced our stepfather to leave, I snuck out my window and hopped over the brick wall. It was the first and last time I ever did it, but I did. My mother was asleep and I had a girlfriend over for the night. She had a crush on my next-door neighbor and wanted to see him. Without any thought, I pushed out my screen and we crawled through the window and we didn’t come back ’till 5 in the morning.

***

Morning on our darkness wouldn’t come for some time. We dwelled in it for a while despite our attempts to move forward. At the beginning of my senior year in high school, my mother found a small apartment not far from our former home. She had to switch from being the sick and weak mom, fighting Lupus and Epstein bar virus as she made our lunches, did our laundry, and cooked us dinner to being a strong, single, working mom.  Because she had not worked in 8 years, the humble job she found could only pay for so much. My 11-year-old brother slept on the couch in the living room. My sister and I shared a room again. My mother slept, lonely, and scared in the master bedroom. Sometimes late at night, my sister, brother, and I could hear noise coming from our mother’s empty room. One of those nights we developed enough courage to open the door and face the intruder. And there we found our crying mother–crawling through her window back into the house, still holding the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels–so we wouldn’t see how drunk she was. We were all mourning the morning of our lives. But morning would come indeed. Mine came first. My sisters second. My mother next. My brother last.

***

Last day of August 2007, I wrote in my diary, “In my new room behind the safe walls of my loving father’s home, I close the blinds when I undress and the window screen remains sealed tight.”

Well, Kanan didn’t sit silently the whole time and so Pastor Mike had to rush a bit through the dedication. I should have fed Kanan more snacks before we came up. Gah…that’s what I get for waiting until he was two to get him dedicated. Hope you enjoy the sentiment as much as you laugh at Kanan’s enthusiasm for prayer. 🙂

Today I recieved my official pink slips. My principal called me into his office and told me how much he wished he didn’t have to do this. He said all the nice things he could say—we will try and do everything we can to bring you back, you are one of our best teachers, etc. I asked him some of my own questions and expressed my gratitude for being able to start my career at this school and said goodbye. The experience sobered me to say the least. Its strange, this layoff could lead me down one of three roads–to a better school and a better career or to a challenging season (hopefully) of substitute teaching until I could land another teaching job, or to a humbling season of unemployment before another fork in the road that could get better or worse. I pray for the former but I am planning now how I will handle all three. I took a really detailed and scientific personality test a while back that definied me as an introverted, perseptive, equally logical and emotional, planner. I plan. And I have to write out my plans on paper over and over again for myself to process and feel like I have things under control. I can’t tell you how many times I have calculated my expenses and budget if I have to live on unemployment or if I had to live on substitute teacher income, or if I got a job at another highschool making what I make now. I have three plans on how to handle the three possible : the best, the best of the worst, and the worst.

The best: I save my money from not paying rent for the next three months and get a nice nest egg for an apartment and move out at the end of summer back to Oceanside so Kanan can stay with his current daycare provider who has become like a grandmother to him. I’d commute to whatever job I found unless of course it was super far away which in that case, I would just have to move out anyway. If the prospective school district pays me a salary equivalent or more than I make now, I’ll be good.

The best of the worst: I pull Kanan out of daycare the two work days I have him and take care of him myself (This part is actually awesome! Its just the rest that makes it suck because of the instability and lack of professional development).  I substitute teach the three other work days in the Oceanside School District because with my current contract, they legally have to pay me a daily rate equivalent to what I make now. I’d stay at my folks house and slam out payments on my car to get that paid off so that if I don’t find permanent work I could eventually move out while making less money because I would free up 250 dollars to use toward an apartment. I’d have to save a lot though to get me through the school breaks where I wouldn’t work. And I’d might have to take a summer job to get me through that 10 week dry spell if I couldn’t save enough.

The worst: If there are no sub jobs, I’ll live on 1800 dollars a month as long as I can while actively seeking employment and if I cannot find employment making decent money, I’d go back to school, volunteer, take some mission trips,  and make the most of my time without work. Of course, this option would also require me to take Kanan out of daycare and spend time with more (which is a plus, of course). In the end, if this phase only lasts a season and I do end up teaching again with a permanent position within a year, than it could be a blessing in disguise because of my time I could use spending time with my son during special moments I could never get back.

So at this point, I have to surrender the rest to God. I can’t make anyone of these happen. I can only apply my reaction once that becomes the road I will clearly have to take. I suppose what scares me most is that this is the first recession I have ever experienced as an adult. And given that I am a conservative, I obviously don’t like see the road our government and society is going down in addition to watching my state and my country slip further and further into debt (which no one likes, regardless of political views). So I can’t help but feel a bit of doom and gloom when it comes to the future. Of course I know God will make sure my son and I  eat and are sheltered as I said in my previous post, but there are people out there who have had a number of negative changes take place in their lives that have lead them to be on welfare or some other support system and I can’t help but think that if this could happen to other people, it could certainly happen to me. I am not special or above anyone else. Circumstances happen and great men fall. I have never been great, but if great men can fall then I could fall. The key is finding joy and happiness no matter the consequence. Will I let my happiness be determined by happenings? Or will I remain joyful despite it all because my joy comes from things not of this world? Shouldn’t I stop asking God to serve me and instead ask Him how I could serve Him? Who is Lord after all? Continue reading →

Kanan and I wanted to leave yesterday and get to the Wild Animal Park early, but every imaginable happened to get us a late start. First, just getting everything packed and ready to go for a couple of days (we had originally planned to head up to Palm Springs afterward to visit my cousin for a couple of days), then I realized I had yet finished my neighbor’s laundry which I offered to do to help her busy life out, then I had to deliver it, then we got half way there and realized I left the tickets at home. When we did finally get close, my GPS directed me to the wrong address and I had to drive around a while before I found it.

When we did arrive, it was already 11:30  and it was packed. I made the mistake of not bringing my stroller and there was a line down to the street just to get in. To top it all off, it was hot! Needless to say, our number one priority—the butterfly jungle was unattainable because the line just to see that exhibit was an hour and a half long. So Kanan and I did have a good time yesterday, but it wasn’t exactly what we had planned. We went to the petting zoo and Kanan loved the deer, gazelles, and antelope. We saw the meer cats and some exotic birds. And we had a nice lunch. But it was time to go home around 1 so I could get Kanan down for a nap. We decided we would come back the following day to make up for our lost time. And we did.

Today was awesome! We got to the park at 9am and got front row parking. The weather was cool. There were no lines. I brought a stroller, snacks, and coffee for me. Kanan was actually really easy. He stayed in his stroller most of the time. He loved the butterflies as did I. They were so many of them and they were so large and colorful. A couple of them even landed on Kanan’s cheek much to his disapproval but it was a sight.

We were not only able to see more animals, but we just enjoyed leisurely strolling through park and listening to the animals and smelling the flowers—lots of Jasmine and Lavender! Kanan loved the monkeys. He said they were “singing” when they cried out their crazy noises. He picked out a green snake to have painted on his face and actually sat still enough to get it done. He kept showing off to all the kids he passed by.

When we got home, he ran around happily and snuggled up to me for kisses and love. Yes, I loved today. I love my son. I love that I can spend days like this with him when I’m on vacation. And I must say, as much as I hope I find a teaching job for the following school year, if I don’t, I definitely won’t mind the extra time I will get to spend with my son—catching up on all the moments like this I have missed because I was working.

When I was a little girl living in Mountain Home, Idaho, I had a little girlfriend named Angelica. She was Native American and her mom still followed many of the customs of her tribe. Other than that I have no memory of her. I have only a grainy picture or two of us out on the grass or the driveway layered in jackets to and scarves to protect us from the cold—next to a 1979 Ford Pinto.   My mom said that when we moved to California, I was very sad to have lost her. I’m sorry we never kept in touch. I don’t know what she looks like or where she lives or what ever happend to her. But she was my first friend. And I will always remember her because of that. Over the next few years after that, I continued to develop short bursts of friendships that lasted only as long as I lived where I lived. I remember two sisters named Jessica and something else who I played She-ra with and who taught me how to call for the time on the telephone. I remember Devin from Kindergarten who lived in a huge house on Euclid Avenue and had a brother who loved Michael Jackson. I remember a friend with two different colored eyes in my third grade class at Valencia Elementary. And then I met Erika. After I had moved to Fontana with my mom’s new husband, I met her. She was my best friend through sixth grade. I’ve written about her before, so some may know her story. All my other freinds from that time period pale in comparison to my memories of her. But all of that seemed to change after I moved to Rancho Cucamonga. Moving during the sixth grade is a tough time for an adolecent. The girls at Carnelian Elementary were mean to me, no one understood me or appreciated me again like that until high school. And through the drama and emotions of high school, my friendships grew and fell apart with various girls, save just a couple who endured until now—I remember Melanie, Bekah, Jessica, Kelly, Lisa, and Laurel the most. They took turns being some of my closest friends during those years.

Now everyone the told me that the friends I made in college would be the ones that would last my lifetime. That isn’t really the case for me. I made many friends in college and I only keep in contact with a couple—and even those are seldom. Brianne would be the only good freind I made in college, but really I developed my freindship with her at work. We waited tables together at Dalton’s Roadhouse even though we technically met eachother before a chemistry class when I bummed a cigarette off of her. But and I have been friends since and I think we are coming on to a 10 year anniversary here soon.

And so this leads me to a point here, as long winded as my introduction may be. For the longest time over the last 9 years, Brianne and my two good friends from high school Lisa and Bekah have been the only real friends I have had. And for being such real friends, there is no way we have spent as much time together as we should have. Much of it has been my fault because up until a little over a year ago—I have put my boyfriends first in my life. When I dated Matt Rybak in my earlier college years, I spent most of my time with him and his friends. Then when I met Mike, I switched the free time to him. So through that relationship, I developed casual relationships with his friends while maintaining just enough contact with my three good friends to keep those alive. Such a pathetic friend I was. And so needless to say, when my relationship with Mike proved to be over, I knew I would have to approach my life differently and I prayed to God for help in the process. Much was a part of this makeover. And my friendships were just one of the many changes.

Well the Lord answers prayers so wonderfully. It has been one year now since Mike and I have broken up and I have made and nurtured and developed some amazing friendships! So me are on fire and I have some more in the earlystages still, but I want to pay tribute to God of course, but also to the wonderful ladies in my life.

First, there is always Lisa. She and I have been through so much together in our lives, and while she lives in Upland with her own family, I think of her often and love her dearly. She inspires me with her intense passion for her husband, her ability to work ridiculously hard to contribute to the family income, and her  judgment free respect for me even when I haven’t deserved it. She knows the girl inside me who I have tried to forget for years. She loves that girl. And she loves me. How could I ever be so blessed to have a friend like her?

Then there is Bekah. Another friend from school and someone I respect and love greatly. She gets classier and classier as she gets older. She can do 5 things at once, look gorgeous as she does it, and has endured some of the biggest trials motherhood could have. She is sensitive like me and I understand for it, as she does me. I feel safe when I am in her home and I know without a doubt that she will one of my closest friends for the rest of my life.

Of course there is Brianne. She knows some of my biggest weaknesses and loves me anyway. She has not been afraid to call me on my selfishness when I have definitely deserved it, and has taught me how to be a better woman. She has been a model of  how to be single and confident and loving. And when she met the love of her life, I couldn’t have been happier for her.

Now I have my friend Kelley—a woman who showed me Christ’s love one day with a Starbucks and check to help me out during a really financially hard time for me. A woman who invited me to church with her one day. And a woman who helped lead me back to God. She will earn a beautiful crown in heaven for her selflessness. She is my friend and a mentor. She is a model of a the kind of mother and wife I hope to be one day.

Then there is Lael. She came into my life through the internet. How odd to make a friend in an online education class last year and find out that not only is she my age, is an English teacher, and has the exact same personality as me, but she also was seeking a relationship with Jesus and rekindled her relationship with him at the same time I was rekindling mine. And she also had to end a relationship that was not giving glory to her Lord. Since then we see each other often and I don’t know how I could have made it though the last year without her ear and her understanding.

Finally, there is my other Kelley. What a suprise to meet such an amazing woman across the street from me. She is strong, passionate, artistic, and caring. She too is a Christian. She too has a 2-year-old toddler. And she too has a colorful past. She teaches me about painting, motherhood, and the continued quest of women to better themselves. I am so thankful to have her in my life.

I have so many other girlfriends who I am getting to know and hope to know more and to spend more time with, honestly, you wouldn’t be on this list if I didn’t want to spend more time with you and write a tribute to you as well–friends from work like Bethany, Colleen, Merideth, Chandra, Nancy, Sheryl, Freda, and Rachel. Friends from church like Jenn, Julie, Claire, and Amy. All such amazing women and all who I am equally thankful to know even if we don’t spend a lot of time with eachother.