Removing the Closet Door: "Coming Out" Pt. 2

 If I had only known...

In my last post, I shared a big secret that I'd been keeping for approximately 20 years. If you haven't read it, you can go here to do so. It was pretty much the most important post that I've ever written and I still don't fully know the effects of it. Whatever they are though, I'm glad that I finally had the courage to do it.

I'm sure that those of you who read it probably have a lot of questions, especially those of you who are friends and family members of mine. I will attempt to address some of them in this particular post.

First, I want to say that I was born this way. I did not choose to be a Lesbian. I think it's very important that I say this because, eventually, if we repeat it enough, us Gays (and our allies) might get it through some of your straight heads that we are human beings just like everyone else, we can't change our "gayness" any more than a straight person can't change their "straightness". We can hide it, just like you can hide it (which is, of course, what I did for waayyy too long.), but that can make for a pretty difficult life. Mmmkay?

All right. Moving on...

I don't remember much of my early childhood, which I guess isn't very common. I do remember being 8 and realizing that I was different than others, even though I didn't know how I was different than them. I just never quite felt like I fit in. When I was in 5th grade, I remember trying to hold my friend's hand and her getting really embarrassed because, as she put it, "girls weren't supposed to do that anymore" as she let go.

It wasn't until I was 13 or 14 though, that I knew for sure that I was Gay, when a little light bulb went off in my head after I got a crush on one of my female teachers at school. It was around that time that I also realized that I had never really noticed boys in the same way that I noticed girls, and I never really had the same feelings for them that other girls seemed to have. I was pretty ambivalent, actually. The only thing I did know was that I could never, ever tell anyone about what I'd discovered about myself. I saw how much kids made fun of other kids who they just suspected were Gay and I was NOT going to be one of those kids!

It was then that I started my acting career. I played the straight, boy crazy, teenage girl and made sure that everyone "knew" that I liked boys and not girls. In order to "prove" this, I even became a little promiscuous with a couple of them, even though I remember laying there during sex feeling absolutely nothing, aside from some chafing.

I  did have one boyfriend in high school, who I didn't sleep with, probably because he was also Gay (He ended up coming out a few months after we broke up). We were still really good friends, though and we even went to our Senior Ball together. The day of the dance, we went to an amusement park with a group of other kids. While we were there, I finally got up the guts to tell him my little secret. I knew of all people he would understand and be there for me.

I remember getting really shaky as I brought it up to him.

I think it went kinda like this:

"Hey, Matt?...Ummm....How did you realize that you liked guys?...Ummm....because....I ....think. Well, I think I might like girls."

He replied with a little smile, while he grabbed my hand and winked at me. "Oh, don't worry! Everybody has a little Gay in them. You're just fine."

(Matt, you and I need to have a serious talk...)

Well, that was a relief! I wasn't a Lesbian after all, I was just like everybody else! Phew!

Only I was. I just didn't want to be. Deep down, I knew this.

I was already so insecure about so many other things. Being Gay was just one more thing about me that was "wrong" and I just couldn't deal with it. I had grown up in a Mormon community where little girls were supposed to grow up, find a man, get married, and have babies and even though I stopped going to church when I was 16,  I had spent years in Sunday school being taught that it was the right thing to do.

So that's what I did.

I met a wonderful guy, and as weird as it seems, I did really fall in love with him. He was kind and loving and he treated me well. Nobody else had ever made me feel special like he did. He really was an amazing guy. I don't think I consciously tried to forget who I really was, but I think I let my desire for being "normal", which to me, meant getting married and living happily ever after, take over.

He asked me to marry him when I was still 18. We married when I was 19 and by 20, I was a mom. I became a mom again at 26 with our second child.

Looking back, I realize now that I never had time to really figure out who I was and come to terms with it. I was too busy trying to do everything possible to cover it up, and making sure my life moved forward at 90 miles an hour was my way of doing that.

Every once in a while, I would realize that my attraction to women wasn't just a curiosity, but the thought of giving up a life that I had purposely and carefully manufactured was too terrifying, so I continued to pretend to be someone I wasn't, which ended up causing a lot of pain in my life. However, I would never regret getting married or having my children. Without them, I would have been even more lost. Yes, living a manufactured life was extremely difficult and painful, but it also taught me a lot of lessons along the way and I really do feel that it was the path that I was meant to take.

Anyway, after 15 years of hiding who I was, I finally told my therapist in 2009. We discussed it for almost a year before I finally had the courage to tell my husband. At first my husband and I were optimistic. We read about other couples like us and how they dealt with what's called a "Mixed Orientation Marriage". Some opened up their marriages and just lived together like roommates. Some remained intimate, but the Gay spouse dated outside the marriage. Some stayed monogamous without any changes. We discussed all of these possibilities and also decided to try counseling, but our counselor was not a good one. She was not helpful in any way and we left our sessions more confused than we were when we went in. Not wanting to put our kids through a divorce, and not wanting to cause more pain for either one of us, we chose to stay monogamous. A few months later though, he told me he just couldn't do it anymore, and we decided to separate in early 2011.

The separation was hard on both of us. We had been together for so many years and now we had to learn to be alone. We moved into the same apartment complex, but into different apartments thinking that it would be best for the kids, but it only made things worse by blurring the lines. He didn't seem to be able to know how to give me my own space and independence and I didn't seem to know how to set those boundaries. I think it also made it harder for the kids because they didn't have a routine and they didn't understand why dad could come over and watch movies with mom one night, but that he would eventually have to go home.

While we were separated, my husband didn't date and I only dated one or two people. After several months of both of us being unhappy, we decided during Christmas break, that we would move back in with each other for our children. I guess we figured that if we weren't any happier apart from each other, we may as well be together for our kids. Besides that, we were still really good friends, so why not give it the old college try?

In hindsight, it wasn't the smartest thing to do...

However, moving back in together did mean that I could continue to keep hiding my secret from everyone I knew, with the exception of my best friend and one other friend that I had told. As far as everyone else was concerned, I was "Holly Housewife" and I wanted to keep it that way. There were times when I would think about telling my dad, or my other family members, but I was always able to stop myself just in time. I guess I just wasn't ready.

Things went pretty well for us after we got back together and we generally got long pretty well, too. We thought we were doing so well, in fact, that last year we decided to build a new home for our family because we wanted to give our children the stability that we felt they needed after moving around so much.

Again, that wasn't the smartest thing to do, but we thought it was the right thing to do.

I started having panic attacks shortly after our money became non-refundable. I knew in my heart that I was making a mistake, but my heart ended up being overridden by my desire to give my children a stable, normal, happy childhood, unlike the one that I had. I mistakenly thought that by being my true self, I would be doing a disservice to them. Let me unequivocally state right now that if you are a parent, you are doing a disservice to your children by NOT being your true self. I know that in my case, I had a harder time being the kind of mom they needed because I was too scared to be myself first, and a mom second.

I did tell my husband about half way through construction that I really didn't think I could promise him any type of future. I knew deep down that I was starting to get tired of being someone who I wasn't. In what he now admits was denial, he took my hand and kissed it and said we would be okay. I repeated myself again and still he assured me it would be okay.

But it wasn't okay, obviously.

Shortly before the house was finished, I approached him again and said that I wanted him to think about living in separate bedrooms. We weren't the happily married couple that we were trying to be and I wasn't the straight Susie Homemaker that I was trying to be. It had become extremely difficult to sleep next to him every night, knowing that I could never give the kind of love that he deserved, more so knowing that I could never give him a part of myself that every person should be able to give to the person they love. Often times, I would lay next to him at night, staring at him while he was sleeping, with tears rolling down my cheeks. I would wish and wish that I could be the wife that he deserved, but I knew that there was no fairy godmother out there to grant that wish.

I knew that this role that I was playing, that I had played for so long, was about to end, but I was terrified of what my life would look like without the security of that role. I had grown so comfortable with living my lies that I couldn't even wrap my head around the idea of living my truth. My lies were predictable and safe. My truth was not.

However, the lies were really becoming to difficult to live with. I often slept until 2 or 3 in the afternoon, just so that I didn't have to face the day. I started to avoid my husband because of the pain I felt when I looked at him. I started to withdraw from my family, my friends, and even my children. It was becoming more and more difficult to say why mommy wasn't feeling well today, when mommy didn't feel well yesterday either. Sometimes I would even wish while I was falling asleep at night, that I wouldn't ever have to wake up again. It was starting to get pretty scary in my head and I was starting to feel myself sink even deeper into depression.

Then one day, as I laid in bed counting the hours away, it hit me. I was going to have to make a choice. I could live as the person that I truly am and always was, or I could live as the person who I wanted everyone to think I was. The latter hadn't been working out for me for quite a long time. So, for the first time in my life, I chose to start working on the former.

One night, as we sat watching T.V., I  finally told my husband about everything that I was going through and we started talking. We talked all night long. It was a very deep conversation, maybe the deepest we've ever had, and it opened up the gates for some other really deep conversations between the two of us. It was after several of those conversations that we decided the best thing to do was to start sleeping in separate bedrooms, and prepare for separate lives. We realized that we both needed to be happy one day and that it was never going to happen if we continued to pretend like we were something that we weren't.

A lot has happened since then.

My husband and I have continued to sleep in separate bedrooms and we no longer live as a husband and wife. Basically, we are roommates. Our plan is to try to keep this home for our children if it's at all possible and we are in the process of figuring everything out when it comes to that and other things. At this point, we wouldn't be able to sell it anyway because we are bound by our HOA agreement which states that we cannot sell it for a predetermined amount of time. I think this is probably the part that is hardest for people to understand about our situation, but it is working for us. In our minds, we are separated and will eventually be divorced. The fact that we live in the same house doesn't change that for us. We have separate finances and separate social lives, and yes, separate dating lives.

We sat down with Diva a few weeks ago and I told her the truth with my husband sitting next to me for support. I could not have asked for a better response from her. She has been amazing. She told me right away that I was still her mom and she still loved me no matter what, Gay or straight. She has continued to be supportive. I have to say it makes me pretty proud that I've raised such a loving and accepting child. Her support means everything to me.

I also told my dad, brother, and sister the truth,which is something I never thought I would be able to do. Unfortunately, I don't exactly have an adorable YouTube video to show you with everybody cheering and clapping their hands, but I'm hoping they will come around.

I've also told some more of my friends and have found a lot of support there, so far. However, I'm still well aware that not everyone will be supportive and that not everyone will want to remain in my life.

Speaking of dating...

I'm actually in a relationship with an amazing person, who I will call M. She makes me very happy and I hope I make her happy too. My husband has met her and they get along pretty well, even though I know it's not easy for him. My children have also met her and they both like her. Diva and M love to joke around together and are always sending funny little texts to each other. In fact, M is actually one of the reasons why I decided it was time to come out, though she has never pressured me to do so. I love her and I'm proud to have her in my life. That's not something that should be hidden. The one promise I made to myself during all those years that I was too scared to tell people who I was, was that if I ever did meet someone I would never hide them. I just don't feel like it's right to hide the person that you love.

(Okay, maybe if they're really ugly....)

Anywhooo....You might still be wondering why I, not only made the decision to come out, but why I also decided to share such a personal story with you. Lucky for you, I'm planning on explaining all of this in my next post.

For now, I'm just hoping that this particular post helped you understand even more about me and my journey. Maybe it will help some of you out there who are Gay see that there is one more person in the world who knows what it's like to go through what you are going through. Maybe it will help some of you who are straight, but who have friends or relatives who are Gay, understand a little bit more about what it can be like for us prior to the moment that we tell you that we are Gay.

If you'd like to know more about my journey, you can go move on to part 3 in order to find out why I decided to share my story.

Love,

Jen

It's Time to Remove My Closet Door: "Coming Out" Pt.1

We all have secrets we keep.

Some are pretty small and innocuous, causing no harm and we may even forget we kept them.

Some of them are quite the opposite though, and these are the secrets that often cause the greatest harm to both the secret keeper and to those who the secret is kept from.

Those of us that carry the burden of these types of secrets eventually learn to live with them as a constant companion, along with the guilt and shame that often accompanies them. They weigh heavily on us, but we still do everything we can to try to protect them. For some reason, we feel that the outcome from sharing these deep, dark secrets will be far worse than the pain that we feel from keeping them. The pain, however, is relentless. It never dissipates and it never goes away no matter how hard we try to ignore it. In fact, the opposite happens. It continues to get worse. We suffer and our relationships suffer. However, we still remain silent. Nothing, we tell ourselves, is worth the cost of sharing our secret, so we lie instead.

We lie to our friends. We lie to our family. Most of all, we lie to ourselves.

We become excellent actors and actresses that continually deliver Oscar winning performances every single minute of every single day.

We manufacture incredible facades that even we can become fooled by.

We do everything possible to make our horrible secret go away.

and still, it refuses to leave.

(In fact, it raises the finger at us.)

I happen to know a lot about secrets like the ones that I am describing, because for the last 20 or so years, I've been carrying the burden of hiding my own deep, dark secret and in doing so, I've watched myself  lie to everyone I love, terrified that I would be hated by them if I dared tell them the truth. I've watched my relationships suffer because of these lies, I've watched myself become deeply depressed because of my inability to make my secret go away no matter how hard I wished it to and I've also watched myself do some pretty self-destructive things as a result.

My particular secret nearly killed me.

More than once.

However, none of the actions and consequences above were ever enough to get me stop hiding, so instead I  stood and cheered for those who proudly stand up for their rights, while staying silent about how those rights pertained to me. I watched others bravely tell their truth, while hiding mine. I taught my children the importance of not being afraid to be who they are, while being terrified of who I am, and I argued passionately for equality and compassion, while refusing to share my reasons for being so passionate.

Why?

Because, of fear.

Fear of what people would think.

Fear of what people would say.

Fear of what people would do.

Fear of what my life would look like if I were to tell people the truth.

I cannot begin to tell you what a toll it takes on someone who lives in a constant state of fear, but I will tell you as someone who has lived in that state for the majority of my life that it's absolutely exhausting and eventually you realize your either going to die in that state, without ever fully enjoying your life or you're going to have to get tired of living that way and then do something about it.

Luckily, I got tired.

I got tired of being scared.

I got tired of lying.

I got tired of being someone I wasn't.

Most of all, I got tired of keeping a secret that nobody should feel like they have to keep.

So after several years of therapy along with the support of the very few people on this entire earth who knew my secret, I  finally decided to stop hiding and masquerading as someone else, and to start living my life instead of the one that I manufactured. I decided that I was going to live as the real me. Not the me that I had created.

The real me is a 34 year old, Stay-At-Home mom of two living somewhere in Salt Lake City, Utah. I'm also a college student majoring in Social Work. I live in a cute little house with a picket fence, and drive a 2005 Honda Pilot with 160,000 miles on it. I recycle religiously and feel terribly guilty when I don't. I spend way too many hours driving kids to and from lessons, helping with last minute school projects, and nagging them to brush their teeth. When I have the time, I like to play with my makeup collection or work on various home decor projects. I love cupcakes, Diet Coke, the color pink, and social documentaries. One of my greatest dreams is to see the Eiffel Tower and if I could live anywhere, it would be on a beach, preferably a tropical one. I enjoy quoting lines from several of my favorite movies, including, Wayne's World, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, Empire Records, and Dumb and Dumber. I wear yoga pants just to make people think that I give a crap about physical fitness and my lucky number is 5. I'm also a lesbian.

There you have it.

My secret, the one that I've been carrying around for the majority of my life, is now no longer a secret, and unless you think yoga pants are something that a person should be ashamed of,  you probably guessed correctly by assuming that it is the last sentence in the above paragraph, the one that contained just four little words (Well, five if you count "I'm" as "I am"), as that secret.

I'll let you have a minute to let that sink in, in case you need it.

In the meantime, here's a visual aid for those of you who learn better that way.

I guess this means that I'm officially "out" now.

All it took was 20 plus years of hell and the four cupcakes I ate while writing this post.

{I guess that means that, in addition to being a Lesbian, I'm also procrastinator and a stress eater.}

The important thing though, aside from the fact that I obviously need a cupcake intervention, is that the hell that comes with living a false life is finally over. I no longer have to live with the weight of  that huge secret on my shoulders. I no longer have to live with the fear of someone figuring it out, and I no longer have to live with it haunting me no matter how hard I tried to ignore that it existed.

I can finally live a real life now, rather than the one that I created out of fear and I can finally live this real life as who I really am, rather than as a character that I created.

I can live. I mean, really live, which is something that I honestly never thought would happen. It certainly wasn't easy. In fact, my journey to this new place is definitely the hardest one that I have ever taken in my life. As a matter of fact, It took years to get here. Years of living in denial and trying to convince myself that I could live as someone who I wasn't. Years of feeling like a hypocrite because I could accept, love, and fight for the rights of others like me, but just couldn't seem to accept, love, and fight for myself.Years of pretending. Years of lying. and years of fear.

But, I finally did it.

I finally got to a place where I could look at my reflection in the mirror and have one less reason to hate myself.

I finally got to a place where I could look another LGBTQ person like me in the eye and not feel the guilt associated with being a coward and a hypocrite.

I finally got to a place where I can handle the loss of family and friends because they are unable to accept me due to the fact that I'm a Lesbian.

I finally got to a place where I can handle being judged, treated differently, and even hated for who I am (even though it still pisses me off).

I finally got to a place where I can say the words, "I'm Gay" out loud so that others can hear it, instead of just whispering them silently to myself, hoping nobody would ever figure my secret out.

I finally got to a place where I can be me.

And that's a good place to be.

I have to say that it's also a much better place than the one where I was all those years ago when I realized that I wasn't like the other girls I knew who would argue over who was cuter on Saved by the Bell, Zach or Slater, while I sat quietly next to them paying far more attention to Kelly Kapowski, but not really understanding why, and it sure as hell is a much better place than the one that I was in for a couple decades after I realized that I was different than those other girls, but refused to move from because I was too scared of what people would think or say.

So, I think I'll stay here in this groovy little place a while and enjoy it, if you don't mind. Actually, I think I'll stay here even if you do mind, so mind or don't mind. That's completely up to you.

In either case, I'm still the same person I was before you read this post. I haven't changed at all during the time that it has taken you to read it. The only thing that's changed is that you now know about a part of me that you didn't know about before you started reading and now that you know about that part of me, you get to choose what to think about me from here on out. I hope that you will still accept me, but even if you don't, I'll be okay.

I'll live.

I've lived through much worse.

Love,

Jen

P.S. - Obviously, there is much more to the journey that I've taken to get to where I am now, and I'm sure that some of you would like to know more about it, what my current situation is, and why I finally decided to come out. I apologize that I didn't include it in this post, but I will be posting more about it all very soon. I promise.

P.P.S. - Sincere apologies to any of you who feel misled because you were expecting a blog post about my real closet door.

(Update: You can read part 2 by going here )

From Dresser to T.V. Console

Remember back when I posted my very first furniture project. It was a bedroom set makeover, and the catalyst that sent me from buying new matchy-matchy furniture into finding furniture that just needed a little lovin' and "elbow grease" (which is a term that has always sounded gross and unsanitary to me.) to look pretty again.

Anyway, that bedroom set had a good life after I made it over, but eventually I started making changes. The first change had to do with the mirrors, which I made into part of that Christmas wall gallery. After Christmas was over, I decided to transform them back into mirrors and use them for the mirrors on my makeup vanity and they are now living happily ever after on top of the vanity. I sold the nightstands because they were too low for the new mattress set we bought last year. I did keep the armoire for our bedroom TV and have so far left it alone, but as far as the dresser goes, I ended up deciding not to put it in our new bedroom. The space would have been too crowded between it and my vanity, so we moved it to our basement where it sat untouched for several months until I decided it would make a great TV console. Not a super unique idea, but I wanted something to fit our board games, along with space for the miscellaneous crap I hide when it's time to clean up for company, and I had already sold our existing entertainment armoire so we were using a shoe rack from Ikea as a replacement.

After I decided what I wanted to do with it, I got to work (after much procrastinating). Since I like that "eclecta-cottage" look (a term that I should really trademark...), I decided to chalk paint it and distress it, because what's more awesome than making pieces of furniture look like they have been through a war? I chose the same color as my dining table, Sherwin Williams, "Watery"

Here's some before shots, which you probably remember...

before makeover #1

before makeover #2

The first thing I did, of course, was paint it using the chalk paint. After I did that, I used an orbital sander to distress it so that the previous paint color would show through (Actually, I planned to sand the original paint off and then paint the areas I wanted to distress black, so that color would show through when I distressed it, but I was too lazy.) I had never used an electric sander before, but it turned out to be quite fun, so much fun that I got a little carried away on a few areas...

As you can see, I stayed with the original hardware, which I decided to spray paint flat white, to give it the "lighter-fresher" look that I'm going for in the house. Originally, I didn't think to distress the pulls, but I did drop a few of them so they kind of distressed themselves and it ended up working out.

Then, it was time to make a shelf for the electronics to sit on. At first, I wanted to take just the center drawer out, but the DVD player wouldn't quite fit, so I decided to take the other two top drawers out.Then, I took out the little drawer glide thingy's and sat some spare particle board on top so I could put all of the electronics on those. After the shelf was in, the mister used some weird attachment on his drill that looked like a big circle, cookie cutter, thingy to drill the holes in the back for the cords. He was just about finished when our drill started smoking before meeting it's demise, so he had to punch out the rest of the hole by hand.

probably should have had him drill those holes before I painted it to avoid the extra distressing...

I did plan on adding some whitewashing and a little bit of glaze, but I got too impatient so I didn't. I didn't put a protector on it either, which I may, or may not, regret some day. However, I think it works for now and I'm pretty okay with how it turned out (even though I need to fix it so the ugly cords don't piss me off every time I look at them).

So there you have it.

One Post, Two Little Projects.

While I've been busy with dance competition season (which, thankfully, is almost over), swimming and gymnastics lessons, trying to get us settled into the new house (I'll post a few pictures, soon.),and working on getting all the paperwork ready for my trip to Africa, I've completely forgotten that I also needed to post about a couple of my recent projects! Don't hold your breath because they aren't all that awesome, but they do include dressing up one of Diva's bookshelves, a second redo of the kitchen table that I refinished quite a while ago, re-purposing my old dresser, and making a totally cool headboard (okay, the last two aren't finished yet, but I am hoping to get the dresser done this week and the headboard done before the year is over).

If you follow me on Instagram, you've probably already seen the pictures, but since I know there are people who still aren't on Instagram (cough, cough...my sister), I'll go ahead and post them here to give you all a little break from all of the posting that I will be doing about my journey to Africa.

Project #1 is hardly worth mentioning and I think we've all seen it a million times on Pinterest so I'm not even going to watermark it, but since it technically does qualify as a restyle, I'll post it anyway.

I simply took Diva's boring white bookcase and added a little shelf paper that I got from Target to the back to give it a little something extra. It was very quick and really easy, though I do advise having a credit card with you to smooth out any bubbles and also that you take a deep breath when the pattern doesn't line up perfectly between the two, or more sections you have to use to cover the back.

I didn't take a "before" picture, but I'm sure you can picture the white back that it used to have.

Project #2 was a quick restyle of the kitchen table that I had previously redone clear back in 2012. When I say quick, I mean it. I literally did it in two days, just a few days before we moved into the new house. I didn't really plan on it until I realized that the extra paint I had left over from painting the dresser (which was also painted in the same time frame) would would also look cute on the kitchen table and because I had already decided that I needed to replace two of the chairs, one due to the Tyrannosaurus Rex incident the week that I finished the table the first time and one because I just couldn't find any chairs that would work with it (Surprisingly enough, it's hard to pull off mismatched chairs!), I figured I may as well give the table a new look, too. So I slapped some paint on there, decided it looked pretty good, and kept going. I also put about five coats of polycrylic on it to try to protect it from the ridiculous amount of wear and tear my family puts on furniture.

Here's what it looked like after the first time I redid it:

and here's what it looks like now:

The ladder back chairs were already white, so I didn't need to do anything to them, but the other two chairs are"new" ones that I found via Facebook. They are actually the very chairs that inspired me to go to Africa. They were originally a dark aqua blue, which didn't look quite right with the table, so I decided to paint them white. Only this time, I had a friend of my sisters paint them because I needed them sprayed to match the other ones, and there was no way I was going to spray in my new garage!


For the table, I used the chalk paint recipe that I always use mixed with Sherwin Williams "Watery", which is a great soft blue from their coastal collection and goes with the whole cottage-like atmosphere that I'm trying to create.

It's Been 5 Months and...It Still Hurts.

Wow! Has it really been that long since I last posted?
  
{Don't you love how I say this every time I get back from a break, like it's a surprise or something?}

It's been over 5 months now since we all said goodbye to Harley and it still really hurts. In fact, I still cry almost every day and the last few moments I spent with her, as well as the psychotic breakdown I had after she took her last breath, still play over and over in my mind on a loop.

I still forget that dropped food on the floor won't be quickly whisked away by her, that she'll never again open the bathroom door with her nose while I'm in the middle of peeing, jump on the bed to sleep right next to me during a nap,or protectively growl at men that pass me by while I am running.

It's enough to make me crawl into bed and never want to come back out.

However, I do find myself smiling or even  laughing out loud when a funny memory of her decides to pay me a visit.

(like the time she got out of the backyard, trotted down the street, wandered into the backyard of a neighbor and then walked through a door that they had left cracked open before making herself right at home by jumping up on the couch in their living room in order to take a quick snooze. Luckily, they were dog people) 

I also find myself dreaming about her occasionally and even though it can be hard to wake up and realize that she isn't at the foot of the bed anymore,  it's also strangely comforting.

I guess that's what coping looks like, and maybe it's healthy. However, I'm pretty sure that my weird obsession with posting old photos and videos of her and us on Facebook constantly isn't and I'm also pretty sure that some of my Facebook friends are ready to hit "unfriend" if they see one more depressing post about my dead dog.

Mitch and the kids started begging for another dog, pretty soon after she died. Thus far, I've refused their constant requests for one. Most likely due to the fear of going through this pain, that I was completely unprepared for, again. It also feels wrong to "replace" her so soon. I'm certain there's a specific rule on how long you should wait, but I haven't found it yet. I am also worried that I would compare the new dog to her, or not treat it as well as I treated her.

As hard as I try though, I can't deny that a big part of does actually want a dog again and wouldn't be horribly upset if I found one on the porch someday. I just don't really want that "someday" to be tomorrow. I'm not ready yet.

Saying Goodbye to Harley Part 1 of 4 "Something's wrong..."

I started writing this on Saturday morning November 16th, as a Facebook status update for my friends and family and soon realized it was way too long (Why do we share so much more on Facebook these days than we do in our "real lives"?). Anyway, considering one of the best ways for me to release my feelings is to write, I thought I would get my feelings out here on the blog before I explode in a very non-productive way. I have to warn you, this is definitely not my usual entry, consisting of my adventures in home decor or makeup or even the funny little life stories that I occasionally have to share....It's actually quite the opposite...It's about real-life shitty stuff that happens to us all sometimes. I'm even breaking my own rule that I put in place when I began blogging, which was to leave these type of shitty things out of it.

I like to make people smile, not cry...

...but, today is just not a day that I give a shit, frankly {side note: I swear A LOT when I'm upset}.
There are tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat and I'm literally in physical pain over the shitty news we received last night. Before I start, though, I have to give my little "social work major" disclaimer and let you know that I realize that there are those out there who won't understand, and that's okay. I also understand that even though I feel like this is one of the darkest and worst days I've experienced in my life, I know that there are worse things that happen to people.

However, I'm going to be selfish right now and pretend I'm the center of the universe.

There are only a handful of times in my life where I've literally felt that I've been hit in the stomach with a brick. Unfortunately, yesterday was one of them.

Harley, our German Shepherd, is almost 10 and she's had arthritis for the last few years, along with constant ear infections and allergies. She's never let this stop her until recently, though. Up until a few weeks ago, she still enjoyed escaping through the front door to jump in the car for rides whenever she had a chance to slip through as we were leaving to go somewhere. She still acted like a puppy whenever family and friends came over, always super excited to see anyone who knew her. She especially loved to jump on my dad when he came over, who was never too thrilled because her claws left holes in his shirts (though I think he secretly did love it). For the most part, she loved playing with other dogs and was never aggressive towards other animals. She loved being with her kids, and was known to hop on the couch and hang out with her "dad" when he was watching T.V., but I contend that her favorite thing to do was to  jump up onto the bed to curl up next to me. It's no secret that my room and my bed are my haven, so she'd frequently lay next to me and hang out while I did homework, took my regular the occasional nap or watched T.V. and every morning, she'd patiently sit next to Mitch's side of the bed. The second he was out of bed, she was on the bed in his place. When I was sick, or depressed, there she was, right next to me. She'd even skip meals in order to stay right next to me.

A few weeks ago, however, she stopped jumping up on the bed to lay next to me. It was kind of sudden. One morning as she started to jump up, she couldn't seem to get her back legs up with her. She tried so hard and I could tell she was frustrated, but she just wasn't strong enough. I reasoned it was her arthritis and that we just needed to get a refill of her medication, so we took her to the vet, who also prescribed her some Prednisone...which made her a little bat-shit to tell you the truth. While she was on it, she would pace around the house with anxiety, drink gallons of water, which made her need to go out to pee constantly and was a general spaz (even more so than usual). Not knowing that these were normal side-effects, we took her off of it last week and decided we needed to take her back to the vet and see what other options were there.

We could also tell there was something  more to her behavior. She was slower than usual and quieter. She stopped running up to the door to meet us when we got home. She just looked sick. She also hadn't been eating much for a while, which happens when she's on antibiotics because she hates the taste when we mix them into her food, but we knew this was something more. We needed to take her to the vet again.

For some reason, though, I kept forgetting to make the appointment (actually, to tell you the truth, I think I sort of knew something more than the usual was up and was avoiding making the call). Not much changed in the next few days, though, until one night when Mitch was petting her and discovered something that felt like a lump on her neck. Alarmed, he had me check to see if I could feel it and unfortunately, I could. However, I reverted back to my old habit of total denial when things get serious and told him it was just fat, while trying not to show that inside I was really worried. I called the next morning and made the appointment for today.

Turns out, that wasn't fast enough. Thursday night, she suddenly started getting worse and  I panicked. I knew something was terribly wrong with her and I kept Mitch up until 2 am, crying while I tried to come up with a logical and completely benign answer. The thought of "the end" really hit me and I mean, really hit me and I  remember saying to Mitch that I just had a terrible feeling deep in my gut.

I ended up waking up yesterday (Friday) and decided to skip class. She had started to walk funny, kind of like she was drunk. Her breathing, which we had noticed had gotten heavier and more labored in the last few days, was even louder. Her eyes looked different, too. Then, she did something she had never done before. She walked right into the kitchen wall, completely disoriented.

 I panicked and called Mitch who tried to calm me down and told me he would see if he could get off of work a couple of hours early. After I got off the phone with him, I decided to give her her favorite treat. Cheese. I broke apart a slice and threw it up in the air, expecting her to catch it like she always does. It hit her nose and rolled off onto the floor where she had to sniff around to find it. Not believing it, I tried it again (okay, probably 5 times). and each time she missed. I can't remember for sure, because it starts to get blurry, but I think my dad called about then only to hear me have a complete break down over the phone. He did his best to attempt to calm me down and it did work a little.

After I got off the phone with him, I decided to let her out to go to the bathroom. She could barely get off the deck, so I left the door open. A couple of minutes later, I checked on her and she was laying on the grass. She looked comfy, so I decided to let her lay there a while.

I wish I hadn't.

About a half hour later, I became concerned. She hadn't barked her "real bark" in a few days, but I hadn't even heard the little, "Mom, time to let me in" bark. I looked out the door into the backyard and she wasn't there.

I called her. She didn't answer.

I listened for the sound of her tags dangling on her collar. I didn't hear them.

Worried, I put my boots on and walked around the corner of the house.

My eyes scanned the side yard. She wasn't there, either.

My heart dropped.

I knew something was wrong.

 I still needed to check the other side yard, though, so I started to turn around to do that, hoping she was over there,

As I turned though, I saw something in window well.

It was Harley. Sitting there at the bottom. Quivering.  Staring off into space.

She had fallen a good 4 feet, or so. I could tell she was scared, but she wasn't whimpering or trying to get out and she wasn't moving around. She was eerily silent. I screamed and ran back into the house down into the basement, calling Mitch again. I'm not even sure if he understood me at first, but eventually I choked out the words as I ran to get the ramp we had been using to get her in and out of the car. I was sobbing as I carried it downstairs, knowing that I had absolutely no chance of getting her out on my own seeing as how I outweigh her by about 15 pounds (and I'm a self-proclaimed wussy). I opened the window and tried to comfort her. I could tell she was trying to see me, but her eyes were blood red and "vacant". Mitch said he would leave work as soon as he could and we hung up. I called my dad, hoping he was at home, but he was clear across town and it would take him too long. He said to try my neighbors and to try to calm down. He tried to comfort me some more, but I was so panicked, I think I hung up on him.

"Fuck!" I yelled out loud, realizing that the only neighbors I knew had just moved out of the neighborhood and I was pretty sure the husband was working. Everyone else I knew  lived too far, or they were at work.

If there were ever a time I wished I was a Mormon, or not a social recluse, it was now...

I turned my attention back to Harley, stroking her cheek and trying to tell her I was going to get her through this. I  tried again to get her to walk down the ramp a few more times. Fat fucking chance. She wasn't going anywhere. Sobbing, I just stroked the side of her check, telling her that I wasn't going to leave her and that dad would be home, soon (I hoped).

My sister called me just then. I guess my dad had called her. Luckily, my brother-in-law (a firefighter) was home and came right over to help me lift her out. I must say, he was definitely my rock in that moment and I will never forget how calm he was. Harley was so nervous by the time that he got there  that she dug her heels into the gravel, refusing to come through the window for either of us. Instead we had to go to plan B,which was for both of us to jump into the window well and get her out that way. It was nerve wracking, but we were each able to grab an end and lift her out of the well. After we got her inside Aaron stayed with us for a few more minutes. I don't remember what we talked about but I know it helped me calm down a little. I can definitely see why he is so good at his job...As he was leaving, Diva came home and I knew that she was unprepared for what met her.

 She was already having a hard time watching Harley the last few months with her arthritis, panicking whenever she seemed in pain and she probably noticed before we did that things weren't going well. The two are soul mates in a way, and I knew this was going to send her into a panic. I wasn't prepared to tell her what we had just been though and for a second, I even contemplated not telling her. However, Destructo, who didn't quite understand the seriousness of the situation couldn't wait to tell her. After he, not so delicately, shared the news, I tried to explain what was going on more calmly, but being 12, she knew exactly what I was saying. The time with her beloved companion was most likely nearing its end and iIt didn't help that Harley (as if on cue) walked smack into the kitchen wall again as I was trying to explain the situation.

It broke my heart to see Diva's reaction to this before she ran from the room in tears. After giving her a couple of minutes, I found her curled up in my bed, sobbing. Shaking. Unable to move. She told me she needed Emily (her best friend) and we called my friend Jenn (Emily's mom). Her voice mail picked up and as I started to leave a message, my voice cracked, so I had to hang up. Jenn called shortly after and Diva grabbed the phone, asking for Jenn to come get her. She didn't want to stay and watch what was going on. It was too painful.

My heart broke for her and it hurt even more that I had nothing to say to make her feel better. She was too old for me to try to minimize the situation.

Mitch got home shortly after that in order to take her to the vet. I made sure to get some quick pictures before they had to leave...just in case

 (Later, I was pissed when I realized that I hadn't thought to get any pictures of me with her.):

Destructo decided she needed a blanket at this point. He  had been chasing her with blankets for the past few days telling me that she needed them because she wasn't feeling well.

 After I was done taking pictures, I helped Mitch put her in the back of the SUV. While I hugged her and kissed her goodbye, I made him promise to bring her home for at least one more night, but I wasn't sure if that was a promise he would be able to keep. That scene where Jennifer Aniston has to say Goodbye to Marley in the movie Marley and Me came to my mind and I vowed for the 20th time to throw that damn movie away.

After they left,  I tried to keep myself busy. I wanted to break down. Curl up on my bed. Cry hysterically. However I knew I couldn't do that, yet. Not in front of the kids,anyway. So, I did something else instead. Something that comes naturally to me. I decided to do some research. I wanted to know what type of news we were in for and I was hoping it was something that could be fixed.

As I began my research, Jenn (who is truly an angel that I can never repay) and Emily came and got Diva for me to spend the night over at their house, which helped a little. I knew her best friend of 8 years or so could help her feel at least a little better and possibly get her mind off of what was going on, which seemed to be what she needed. However, my heart also broke because I knew Harley, if she did come home, would go looking for her, confused that "her girl" wasn't home to snuggle with her. I wanted to tell her to stay, to not run away. I didn't want her to regret not being home when Harley came home (and I had made up my mind that she was),

It was difficult to let her go, but I knew I needed to let her make her own decision. I truly think it's better that we, as parents, try not to take control of these types of situations and determine for our children how they should grieve. Everyone grieves in their own way and taking a time out was Diva's way. I was going to give her that respect.

I will never forget Emily's face as I opened the door though. Emily is almost like my own daughter and watching her face was just as heartbreaking. She was so quiet and I could tell she was very upset. Harley was just like one of her dogs and I could tell that  Emily, who is one of the biggest animal lovers I know, knew the seriousness of the situation.

After they left, Destructo got onto the computer to play some games and I continued to do my research on my laptop. I wanted it to be some type of kidney infection, something she ate, Diabetes, Canine Addison's Disease...ANYTHING that could be cured or treated...

Instead, fucking cancer kept showing up in my search results.

While I was trying my best to diagnose my dog on my own with a disease far less serious than cancer, Mitch would occasionally text me while they were waiting for the vet. One said she seemed to be moving a bit better while they were waiting for the vet, which gave me a little hope. There were a couple more before I stopped hearing from him. After several minutes, I texted him to see what was going on, but he never answered.

About an hour later, he sent me an eery text that said, "coming home now". I knew right then that the news wasn't good. If it were good news. He would have called. If it were bad news that could be fixed, he would have called. However, even though I knew the news was going to be bad, it didn't prepare me for what happened after he walked in the door with her hobbling right beside him. His face was all red, and his head was hung low. He looked as if he had been hit in the gut. My voice already cracking,  I asked him what the vet said and he quietly answered, "It's cancer.", his voice breaking in the middle of the short sentence.

"What does that mean?" I could feel my voice cracking even more and the pitch had gotten higher as I said it. "How does he know?", "What did he actually say?"

(I tend to use accusatory questioning when I hear news that I do not want to hear.)

Mitch explained what had happened. I tried really  hard to listen, but I know I blocked some of it out. He told me the vet bent down and felt her lymph nodes in her neck, then under her arm pits, hers spleen and by her hind legs. After doing so, he looked up at Mitch and said, "You have a very sick dog." He explained that it was Lymphoma, but that we would need to take her to an oncologist to confirm the diagnosis. Because they would run their own blood work, it was pointless for him to do the same, but he said he was confident that it was Lymphoma.

He went on further and explained that her sudden blindness and disorientation was being caused by the cancer that was attacking the blood vessels leading to her eyes, which explained the trip down the window well and the greetings she was exchanging with the walls and chairs..or really, anything that got in her way. He told him that it probably happened during the night, that blindness can be really sudden with cancer. Yesterday she could see. Today she couldn't. The cancer was also the reason why her back legs were failing her so suddenly. He explained that symptoms can appear suddenly, which is why when they examined her a month before for her ears, they didn't feel anything unusual.

Then he dropped the final bomb. We were looking at less than a month,  1-3 months with Prednisone which would temporarily shrink the tumors and take away her pain, while giving her more energy and somewhat of a quality of life. He also gave him some special dog food which was supposed to boost her immune system (although, it did nothing but give her the worst diarrhea ever and make her feel miserable). He did say that depending on the stage,  we could have as long as 9-12 months with Chemo, however.

After hearing all this, I said matter of factly..."So..he isn't 100%, then?"

"Well, I guess not but he's been her vet since she was a puppy. We know him, Jen and I trust what he said."

"Doesn't matter, he can't completely confirm it, therefore I do not accept his diagnosis, especially considering he didn't run blood work."

I embraced this small nugget of denial. Without blood to confirm the diagnosis, there could definitely be a more reasonable explanation. Maybe, she figured out how to open the freezer and fridge at night while we were sleeping and was just suffering from alcoholism...Maybe, she had finally gotten one of her mortal enemies, the voles living in our rock wall, and had gotten some sort of infection...There were plenty of other logical, less life-threatening explanations, right?

Maybe this was a bad dream. A mistake.

But, as she cuddled up next to me on the floor, letting me stroke the top of her head,  I knew I was wrong. Instead of nudging my arm that it was time to scratch her neck, she just stared at me with those glazed over eyes. She still seemed so terrified and I'm sure she was. She couldn't see her people, had had a really scary fall, and obviously felt like shit. My heart ached, knowing she couldn't tell me any of this. I had never wished for the gift of Dr. Doolittle more in my life. All I could do was pet her and hug her, so that's what I did.

 I spent the rest of the weekend next to her, not leaving her side and refusing to leave the house. Mitch and I took turns sleeping on the floor next to her at night, helping her outside to go to the bathroom every few hours during the night and trying to keep her from walking into walls. We guided her to her food bowl and held it for her when we needed to. We did the best we could to keep her calm. The kids pitched in as well, making sure to be gentle with her and also giving her lots of pats and hugs.

When we realized she was getting more nervous at the new sleeping arrangements because they messed up her nightly routine of going from bedroom to bedroom to check on her people throughout the night, we decided to go back to the old sleeping arrangements, which helped her feel a little better....even though, I still didn't sleep, worried she would need out, or that she would get hurt...or that she would die and that one of the kids would find her.


I think I was up every hour, either taking her out to the bathroom, or just sitting down to spend a few minutes having a chat with her while I stroked her cheek and forehead. I told her all of the funny stories I remembered about her from the time she was a puppy and how much we all loved her. I thanked her for everything that she had done for our family and I told her how sorry I was that she was sick. I also told her I was sorry for not being the kind of "mom" she deserved, and yes, I also asked her what her opinions were on going to a faith healer....

My sister also came over that weekend to take pictures of us with our beloved puppy. It was an extremely emotional photo session with it being painfully obvious that Harley was so sick, but I wanted to make sure that we had some sort of record of our last few memories with her. We still weren't sure what was going to happen on Monday.  I'm so grateful to my sister for doing so. I can never repay her.  She took some great pictures even though she had to work with crappy lighting, an uncooperative 7 year old (Destructo), a blind and confused dog, and a lot of crying.

Here are some of my favorites. (I'll post some more pictures of our life with her from the day we brought her home until the end, soon.)

I admit, she looks a little creepy here because of the blindness.

Okay, okay...She looks a little creepy here, too...

I believe this is when I heard my sister yell, "I quit!" from behind the camera and then turned to see her bawling worse than I was!

She was Taegan's best friend Emily's puppy, too.

She was always by my side, even when I was studying.

...and now for the real tear-jerkers....

Diva and Harley had a very special bond from the day that they picked each other when Harley was just 5 weeks old and Diva was 3. I still remember Diva saying in her sweet little voice,"Mommy, I like this one. I'm naming her Harley. Let's go now." and that was that.

Continue to Part 2

Destructo's "Garage" Bedroom REVEAL!!

I've been meaning to post Destructo's room reveal for quite a while and finally decided  that I better go ahead and stop procrastinating and get it done today, so here you go:

The story of Destructo's bedroom makeover.

If you haven't noticed already this house is infected with the color beige, which I consider to be far too boring so, of course, the first thing I had to do in the room transformation was to turn the yucky beige walls into walls that resembled a garage. 

I wanted the "garage"walls to have the "look" of cement with some texture to add interest to them, so I picked up two cans of flat paint, one in light gray and one in dark gray, from  Sherwin Williams along with glaze which I had tinted with black. Then I went over to Lowes and picked up some venetian plaster and this little spatula thingy:

I thought it would be a pretty easy thing to do, but there were a few little issues that I had to deal with:

 Fail #1: After watching a few "how-to" videos on YouTube, I realized that venetian plaster was going to take way too long and decided to take it back. I did not want to re-experience the P.I.A.of Diva's Polka Dot bedroom EVER AGAIN.

Fail #2: Instead of the venetian plaster, I got this great idea (again,from YouTube) to buy tissue paper to create the texture I wanted, which I planned on putting on the walls and then painting over. 

However, once again, I realized that there were some issues that I hadn't taken into consideration. 

1.The tissue paper was even messier than I thought it would be (which is usually the case, though).
2. The tissue paper kept ripping all over the place and wouldn't stick to the walls in the way I wanted it to.
3. Studly reminded me that we were still renting and that maybe this was not going to be seen as very cool by our landlord, who had given us permission to paint, but not to go all "Jen-Style" with it.

(Yes, I swore like a sailer during this failed attempt.)

So, after two fails, I decided to go with a 3rd option:

I painted the walls with the lighter flat gray paint and then mixed the tinted black glaze with the darker shade of gray. I couldn't remember the ratio the guy at Sherwin Williams told me to use (Okay, I probably wasn't listening too closely when he told me...) so, I just kind of eye-balled it...because I'm super detail-oriented, like that.

When I applied the glaze, I tried a couple of methods in order  to get the textured look. First, I used rags, but the glaze dried too fast on them, making it hard to "blend in" with the wall paint. Then, I decided to use plastic bags, because I've learned from previous experience  that paint does not dry very fast on plastic bags. This method worked a lot better (and a lot faster) for me and soon the walls began to look like this:

I noticed after I was finally finished with the walls that the white baseboards were a little too stark against them, so I went ahead and painted those black. I wanted to paint the bedroom side of his door and the closet doors,too, but Studly convinced me that I probably shouldn't ( Dang him and his practical mind!).

I also changed out the outlet covers and found this really cool light switch cover (which was entirely too expensive, but I just couldn't resist):

The next part was constructing the garage door that I had pictured in my mind for the last couple of years  for his room, which you can read about here.

 After I was finally finished with the painting and the garage door had been assembled, it was time to find a new bed for him. His first bed was one of those Little Tykes toddler size car beds, and he was totally heartbroken when he grew out of it, so I decided to see if I could find him a twin size one and thanks to the magical workings of  KSL (what most people here use instead of Craigslist). I found one for pretty cheap and we went and picked it up.

After that, it was time to find some storage solutions for his 92 billion toys. I found a toolbox at Lowes that I really liked that could be used as a toy box:

Then, I remembered the lovely sibling rivalry that exists in this family and realized that there was a strong possibility that one of them could end up locking the other one in the "toy box" and nixed the idea. 

Instead, I went with the alternative solution of wire garage style shelving and these bins:

Destructo did already have one of those cubical storage units to use for storage as well, but the problem was that it was the maple color and the bins didn't match the new colors of the room, which didn't really work for me. I was going to sell it and get another unit in a different color, but then Diva asked if she could decorate it with duct tape. Being the cool mom that I am, I threw caution to the wind and told her she could. I figured that it was probably going to end up in disaster, but I wanted to give her the opportunity to express her creative side. 

I'll admit, I totally underestimated her:

She used silver duct tape for the insides and front edges, black and red stripes on the sides and then did a checkerboard pattern in black and white on the top. I personally think she did a pretty awesome job!

The next piece of furniture to go in the room was the dresser that I had redone, which you can read about in this post:

After the furniture was in place, it was time to accessorize:

First, we had to make sure this included a picture of his own daddy's car:

Then, we used a bunch of tin Mustang signs from his room in one of our other houses, so I used those along with a couple more and  a lamp I found at Hobby Lobby and a metal figurine of the running pony, (which if dropped on your toe, really freakin' hurts!):

 ...and now, for the best part of the blog post: The Before and After shots!  

Goodbye, ugly beige!

 

Hello,  Jr. Mustang fan's little piece of heaven (on a budget)!

 

 

The shelf on top of the dresser still needs to be hung...

My favorite part of the room is the poster you see above, though. It may seem like an ordinary poster, but it holds a very special meaning for our family. In fact,  I'm actually getting pretty teary as I am writing this part of the post. 

As you can see, the poster (which I'm sure Studly would like you to know is in commemoration of the 35th anniversary of the Mustang.) has several signatures sprawled all over it. These signatures, are from all of the members of our Mustang club who were part of the club back then.

 However, it is one signature in particular that makes this poster so special:

The signature is our friend John's, who was a founding member of our Mustang club and a great friend, who passed away last year due to cancer. He was a genuinely nice guy, who was also a great husband and father and we feel so lucky to have known him. We miss him and his "signature style" of  long-sleeve tee shirt and shorts all of the time and hope he's up there doing some wicked burnouts in some tricked out Mustang as we speak (although it's probably more like 12 in his case).