I Am My Mother’s Child

There is nothing that brings you to the reality of your life like a court ordered social study. If you read March 5, 2014 then you know that the ex husband decided to have me served. Somewhere along the way he decided he wanted 50/50 custody of the kids. 

He remarried about three years ago. He moved into her house with her and her two children. No big deal right? Her house is 23 miles away from my house. The same house I intentionally selected because it was less than 7 miles from his door to my door. My goals in selecting a house were a good school district, a sense of community and not far from their dad. I never wanted him to feel like his children were to far away. But then he moved. Our youngest were attending a charter school that was in another city  about five miles from my house. I made the decision to move them to the zoned school in our district. He was not happy about my choice and he said I was moving them further from him so he hired an attorney and I was served. 

Back to the social study. After several months of court dates, attorney’s fees and tension between us the judge ordered a social study as requested by the ex. 

A social study is conducted by a social worker. They have you fill out pages and pages of documents listing everything that has happened in your life. It’s your autobiography. This document is scrutinized and judged by the social worker. They come to your house and interview everybody who lives there. They walk through your home taking notes on everything from the items on your refrigerator, safety of the neighborhood and overall opinion of your home. The social worker also interviews friend, doctors, teachers and family members. 

The document… Geez… The document. It took me several days to fill out the document. For me, it was the equivalent of standing naked in front of strangers who had magnifying glasses and were intent on viewing every flaw. It was hard. As I said it was an autobiography of my life. The questions were invasive and at times difficult for me to answer. You see, I am like many of you, I have tucked the disappointments and heartaches of my childhood away in a place that I don’t like to visit. But here in this document I was asked about things I don’t like to discuss with close friends let alone a stranger.  But I answered honestly. 

After a few weeks I received the results of the social study. This was the document she would present to the judge. The judge would use this document to assist with his final ruling. As I read her report I cried. I cried because here was a stranger summarizing my life in a 15-20 page document. 

My life  started out as a potentially tragic story. I was born the youngest of three. My mother was about 21 when I was born and had birthed a total of three children in less than four years. She was the true definition of a single mom. My father was around but he wasn’t present. My mother worked very hard to provide for us but she wasn’t home with us. I was molested as a child. I started drinking as a teenager and drugs, although I did not partake, were readily available. 

I continued to cry as I read the document. My ex husband’s life looks wonderful on paper. He grew up in a two parent household. He has one brother and they had a dog. His mom stayed home for the most part and his father was an engineer. He was raised in a Christian home. He and his new wife both had stellar up bringing. They are the ideal American family when you read about them. As I continued to read and cry, I was sure I had lost. How and why would anybody in their right mind select me over them? As I reached the last couple of pages I realized I had been holding my breathe. There were about ten numbered items. These were the things the judge wanted to know. This was her final assessment. This was decision. 

Why is this article titled as it is? Because after reading her summary of my life I went back and rewrote my life story. I needed to add in the side notes and I needed to understand my life from the view point of a young twenty something raising three kids on her own. I needed perspective. I needed to understand that the social worker’s summary was not the final say on my life. Through tears and fears I read my life story to three friends of mine. I felt the need to say the words out loud. I’m front of people who love me. We are often judged by our past. We judge others based upon their past. But I realized that I’m more than my childhood. Like my mother, I am an overcomer. Our stories don’t read the same but the common thread is do the best you can and overcome obstacles. 

The social worker’s assessment was in my favor. My children are still with me the majority of the time and I changed their schools. I don’t hold a grudge with the ex.  

Write your own story. Statistics and opinions do not have the final say. Write your own story and release  hope. I rewrote mine and am confidant when I say I’m an overcomer and my mother’s child. 

The Colors She Wore

She was beautiful from a distance
She was stunning up close
Her eyes told her story
Her words revealed her heart
She was like none other
She never unintentionally blended into a crowd
The colors she wore told her story outloud
Red made her feel powerful
It gave her life
It hid her pain
Red on her lips or that little red dress
Power and life were the crowns in that story
Blue was the color she wore to disappear
She blended into the sea of people
She faded into the backdrop of the sky
Blue meant she needed time to herself
Blue was reflection
Her color of undetection
Her wardrobe consisted of black as well
It wasn’t for the illusion of being thin
She wore it to be more corporate
She wore it to be received well
It was not her color for going out on the town
That was to common and if you know her, you know she’s not common
Beautiful combination that told her truth
She wore vibrant colors to express her mood
Green or coral, magenta or ecru
Browns made her feel earthy and real
One with nature and mankind
She felt like deep breathes and world peace
Green was her color to represent new and fresh
She channeled mother earth
Together they would give birth to ideas and philosophies
They would embrace the circle of life
Whatever the color she was talking to you
She was sharing her right now
Her inner thoughts and feelings
She was telling you her story by the colors she wore

The Parting Gift

She tried. She gave it her best effort. If you know her or if you’ve heard of her then you know her best effort contained thought, action, love, maybe even a few tears and lot of her emotions as well as time. He tried. He gave her his time, shared his space, and fed her body and spirit. It just didn’t work out. That’s the thing about relationships sometimes they don’t work out. 

Where did things go wrong? They never went wrong. Things just never went completely right. They laughed, held hands, had inside jokes and shared special moments. She prayed for him. He encouraged her. All the stars seemed to have lined up. Maybe it was her insecurities or could it have been his inability to let go of the past? Perhaps she wanted more than he was willing to give. It could have been as simple as they both lost interest. Either way, whatever the reason it was over. Neither of them had verbalized their unwillingness to move forward. Their actions told the story. The time between phone calls and dates became fewer reminiscent of a couple who had been married for decades. Text messages were scattered throughout the week like the first fallen leaves in autumn.

He was kind enough to provide her with a parting gift. He did not refer to it as such but in her mind that’s what it was. For him it was a well thought out gift that she would enjoy for years to come. A gift that would bring a smile to her face and create gratitude to her heart. For her it was a parting gift which is never to be confused with a consolation prize. Neither of them were losers who needed consoling but winners who would separately celebrate the opportunity they had to get to know each other. One last hug. One last look into each other’s eyes. One last goodbye. No broken hearts. No tears to shed. No sad songs or movies. No dramatic ending. They were two people who shared a moment in time that they may or may not fully recall in a few years. 

I’m Better Than That

This is Random Chic.

She may not have been born by the river but she’s cried a river of tears. 

She didn’t create laughter but she loves it like its her own. 

She did not give birth to love but she unconditionally loves the four she gave birth to.

She is who she is today but not who she was yesterday. 

(It’s not G like most of my postings. There is one word)

I hope you enjoy.