<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614</id><updated>2011-09-25T07:49:59.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Butterfly</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>34</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-6384963079923671150</id><published>2010-08-08T20:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-08T20:14:10.572-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I believe in signs</title><content type='html'>Saturday morning I grabbed my Coke Zero, a granola bar and my purse and headed out the door.  As I got to the door of my car, a small butterfly landed on my granola bar wrapper.  Without thinking a second, I said "Good morning Brian."  The butterfly then flew away.  I shouted out, "Have a good day."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I take this as my sign that Brian was saying hello and checking in on me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To back up a bit I have been hanging out with a guy that I met through a friend.  We have a great time hanging out together.  We moved a little fast at first, but Friday night we had an actual date.  Dinner, a movie and no sleepover.  And we still had a fabulous time.  Maybe Brian was giving me a sign that I'm doing ok. Or maybe he just wanted to see me smile.  Either way, I liked it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-6384963079923671150?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/6384963079923671150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-believe-in-signs.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6384963079923671150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6384963079923671150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-believe-in-signs.html' title='I believe in signs'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-1519977836572881057</id><published>2010-07-27T19:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-27T20:10:02.932-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Soulmates, movies, and checking out!</title><content type='html'>I sit here watching the movie Sweet Home Alabama.  I don't know what it is about this movie that allows me to watch it over and over again.  The only thing I can come up with is that Melanie and Jake found their soulmate at the age of 10.  I think that Brian and I became soulmates at 16.  I think it's the same reason I could watch Twilight over and over.  Bella and Edward have the connection I feel Brian and I did.  I'm pretty sure I'll never find another love like that again.  Oh, I believe I'll find love, but nothing like what Brian and I had though.  I want to be loved.  I want to look into the eyes of another every morning and know that I am the first and last thing he thinks about each day.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny how there are certain movies we can watch over and over.  Some have meaning, some don't.  Let's see what are some others?  Top Gun, Good Will Hunting, The Bourne Trilogy, Overboard, I am Sam, The Breakfast Club, Monsters, Inc., P.S. I Love You, When Harry Met Sally.  Just to name a few.  Some for love, some for the look of the men, and some just because.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like to tune out at night.  An escape from the real world.  It's like watching soaps.  You just check out and wrap yourself up in that world.  I tend to check out a lot.  More than what is healthy.  I personally think it's healthy in my head.  lol.  These late nights are getting to me though.  Still sleeping on my side of the bed.  Sometimes I put my arm on his side just to pretend it's on his chest.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Death sucks.  Doesn't matter how, when or why.  It sucks at any age, young or old.  The grief it leaves behind is more than most of us can bare, but we keep marching on.  One day at a time...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-1519977836572881057?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/1519977836572881057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/07/soulmates-movies-and-checking-out.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/1519977836572881057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/1519977836572881057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/07/soulmates-movies-and-checking-out.html' title='Soulmates, movies, and checking out!'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-4970950350961538766</id><published>2010-07-22T22:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-22T22:58:14.016-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One foot in front of the other</title><content type='html'>Today was a great day!  The girls and I went to visit Brian's grandma.  She broke both of her shoulders in a fall a few weeks ago.  She looks awesome and is doing well.  We then went to IKEA to get some ideas for the girls room rennovations.  And I have to say the best thing I bought there was a frame for a butterfly card I had bought.  It's perfect!  Everything about it. The frame, the picture and the verse.  It says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Butterfly&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lights beside us like a sunbeam&lt;br /&gt;and for a brief moment its glory and beauty &lt;br /&gt;belong to the world but then it flies again&lt;br /&gt;and though we wish it could have stayed...&lt;br /&gt;we feel lucky to have seen it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Unknown&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love it.  I can't figure out where to put it though.  I want to see it everyday.  &lt;br /&gt;Well, after IKEA we ran to Michael's to get some scrapbooking stuff for the girls.  I want to make each of them a scrap book with thier daddy's favorite things.  Pepsi, salt and vinegar chips, favorite colors: white and black (they matched everything), Skor candy bars, boston baked beans, golf, soccer, etc.  I want them to remember.  I think that Taylor was just 6 when Brian died.  She will only remember what we tell her.  I need her to remember.  I need to remember.  I feel like he's just slipping away.  Life is going on, but I know he's here.  The girls want to redo their rooms.  This includes painting.  Brian painted a special wall in both Madison and Taylor's rooms.  I think it is so sweet that they want to keep the one wall just they way their daddy did it.  I hate the thought of moving out of this house.  I'm not, don't worry.  At least not anytime soon.  Any house after this won't include Brian.  Some of this house is without him already with our rennovations, but I know he is still here.  His blood, sweat and tears are here.  His spirit is here.  I know I go on and on here about him, but this is the one place I feel I can.  In my daily life I get the looks or fear people will tire of hearing about him.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to my great day!  The girls and I then grabbed dinner at my favorite: Chick-fil-a.  It was fabulous.  No one had any major meltdowns.  We all got along.  We sang in the car together and Taylor beat us at Beetlejuice.  Instead of saying punch buggie and slugging your sister, we say Beetlejuice and rack up the points.  That was my solution to the punching, not to mention Brian liked the movie.  :)  So today was a good day.  Lots of daddy things and all on a good note.  Tomorrow is another day.  What will it bring?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-4970950350961538766?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/4970950350961538766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/07/one-foot-in-front-of-other.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/4970950350961538766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/4970950350961538766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/07/one-foot-in-front-of-other.html' title='One foot in front of the other'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-2158615019171949679</id><published>2010-07-18T21:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-18T22:04:51.253-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Journey for a purpose</title><content type='html'>So it's about time I come out of hibernation.  In the last five months I have:&lt;br /&gt;survived the renovation of my kitchen, met a guy that I enjoy spending time with (more on this later-though don't get too excited), enjoyed many breakfasts and lunches with friends, celebrated my first birthday without Brian, taken a vacation to Hershey Park with the kids and my mother, began a series of panic attacks, attended a memorial dinner in honor of Brian with zillions of family and friends, had a break down with my history professor (to receive a pity grade of a B), substituted several days at the two elementery schools, attended my first wedding without Brian, attended two outdoor concerts, hosted a birthday party for my youngest without any help from friends and family, watched my eldest daughter graduate from 6th grade, lost another wonderful man in my life: my grandfather, attended another wedding where my children were a part of the wedding party (Brian would have been too), failed a NOVA class, went on a family vacation cross country with my parents and children and visited old friends in Seattle with the girls.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whew!  Guess I've been busy when you put it that way.  And to think I didn't think I had been doing a thing.  It's officially summer now.  School is out and we are home for the remainder of the days.  No classes until August 30th either.  :)  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had my highs and lows.  Luke and Luke finished the two bathrooms.  We still keep in touch some and have seen each other a few times since.  I met a guy named David that had me high for a while.  I enjoy his company, but there is something about him that I can't put my finger on.  He's very closed mouth.  Not sure on this.  Anyway, we've been talking off and on since just before my birthday.  He got me through my first wedding since Brian.  It was nice not to be alone.  I made it through the anniversary of Brian's death.  The memorial dinner was great.  We had about 50+ people come out to the Crab House.  It made the day a little more barable.  I hit a rough patch a few weeks ago.  Feeling as if I shouldn't be here on Earth.  A little scary for me, but I'm coming around.  I still think it should have been me that was taken from the girls.  Brian would have had more patience with the girls.  He would have gotten the work all done.  He was a hands on guy.  All I do is bury my head in the sand.  That's what happened with my NOVA class.  I was doing so well until Pop died.  I sunk back into my bed and ignored the school work.  I'll now be taking 6 hours in the fall.  Ugh.  At one point, I just wanted to quit school.  Why bother taking classes if I can't mentally handle it?  I've screwed up the last three sememsters.  But reality says I have to finish.  For me and for the girls.  I need order in my life.  I need purpose.  I'm on a journey to find it in the next 7 weeks.  lol.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was a good day.  Yesterday was Madison's 10th birthday.  To celebrate we went to a DC United game with friends.  Even the heat couldn't damper the day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have so much more to say but it's late and I should gather my thoughts first.  I feel like my brain is ADD and I can't focus.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-2158615019171949679?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/2158615019171949679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/07/journey-for-purpose.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/2158615019171949679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/2158615019171949679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/07/journey-for-purpose.html' title='Journey for a purpose'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-3119393642550209191</id><published>2010-02-06T16:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-06T16:52:19.904-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hibernation!</title><content type='html'>Snowed in with no place else to go, but crazy. I've been in such a funk since last night. I miss him so much. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat in the shower this morning remembering his face, hair, eyes, chest, hands, and &lt;br /&gt;making love. I laughed as I accidentally got water into my eyes. Brian would have gone crazy. He always had the towel hanging over the edge of the shower, just in case. He must have been scarred for life as a child. He didn't even like the spray from the shower in his eyes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried to explain how I'm feeling to my bestest friend, but I know she doesn't get it. I am so jealous of her marriage and their relationship that I can't see straight, yet I want to be around them. I see so much of Brian and I in them. I see how much he loves her. She wonders how he could love her for who she is. They are best friends. They share everything! Yes, even the secrets I tell her. lol. That's how Brian and I were: best friends, husband and wife, and lovers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She tells me to keep it together for the kids, but I just can't. I love them with every fiber of my being, I do. But to be honest, I don't want them around. Not that I don't love them or like being with them. I just want to lie in my bed, watch movies and zone out. I don't have the energy to be a mom. I don't want to play the Wii, play in the snow, play board games or even snuggle. I've been sitting on my couch all day in the fetal position watching movies all day. I haven't lifted a finger to feed them. They have fended for themselves. Taylor and I did go out and shovel a bit, but I just got exhausted and angry that I was even doing it at all. As I sit here I hear Morgan telling Taylor to be quiet because Mommy is in a bad mood. It makes me cry. I can physically step outside of myself, see what I'm doing wrong, but can't make my body do the right thing. I just want to grieve. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to punch the shit out of something. I'm so angry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I was over my hump from months 6-7. Sadly, I am in another low at month 9.5. My BFF says it comes and goes. Her mom lost her husband a few years back, so I know she has seen it first hand with her mother. I guess in my head I kept thinking that the one year mark would hit and all the sadness would be gone. I'm told it's a process. I'm more of a one time thing person. Hurry up, do it and get it over with. Grief doesn't work this way. The worst thing is, the kids don't get that. They just see me during my manic highs and lows. I lost it this afternoon. I threw a cup across the room, because Taylor refused to wait for me to do something for her. Horrible. I'm a horrible mother. All I can think of is Mommy Dearest. I don't want my girls to remember me like that, but how can I make things different when I feel so alone in this. I know I have a zillion friends, but not one of them gets this. Not one of them is alone. I'd love to be able to have an ex-husband to send the children to. Hell, I can't even send them to my mothers at this point. (Medical issues) Friends offer to help, but the children don't want to go anywhere but be with me. Lord only knows why. I'm such a joy to be around. No need to call CPS. I'm not beating them, they eat 3 meals a day (or more), they get to bed at a reasonable hour and they are doing fine in school. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to get my shit together. I don't want to clean up the rooms that need organizing, nor do I want to do my school work. To be honest, I just want to live in my fantasy world where things are peachy. And if I can't be there then I'd rather be in my bed watching movies or napping. Is it bedtime yet for the kids? They aren't bothering me at all, but if they are in bed, then I know they can't ask anything of me. Not sure on the whole God thing right now, but say a prayer that my children turn out ok and that I don't scar them for life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rose, I will call you! I'm just trying to find the right time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-3119393642550209191?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/3119393642550209191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/02/hibernation.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3119393642550209191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3119393642550209191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/02/hibernation.html' title='Hibernation!'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-3602510755980445088</id><published>2010-02-05T20:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-05T20:30:54.054-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Snow:  the root of all sadness!</title><content type='html'>Snow, snow and more snow. The snow is beautiful, but there is a lot of it. I just shoveled the entire driveway, ALONE. In the beginning I felt good that I was able to do this alone, with no help. Somewhere in the middle I began to cuss Brian for not being here to do this instead of me. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this storm and the last could have been the very thing that took Brian from me. It is said that many men suffer from heart attacks after shoveling snow. What if Brian hadn't died on the soccer field? What if he had his heart attack while shoveling the snow in the driveway? I usually didn't help him. How long would he have been out there? What would I have done? The kids would have experienced the death of their father. I guess, it's safe to say that things happen for a reason. At least at the sportsplex, the girls and I didn't have to see him suffer. But maybe if we were there or if he was here, we could have said goodbye. Maybe he had some words for us to hear. I dunno. I'll never know. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can my day go so well and end up so badly? It's the little things I miss. I forget that trash day is Tuesday and Friday. I missed it today. That was his job. Shoveling was his job. I remember and miss so many things that set me off and put me in a funk. I'm tired of doing this. I know this is part of the grieving process, but I want it to be over. I'm done. I don't want my life to go on without him, but I don't want to keep going on this way either. Is there some happy medium???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-3602510755980445088?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/3602510755980445088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/02/snow-root-of-all-sadness.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3602510755980445088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3602510755980445088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/02/snow-root-of-all-sadness.html' title='Snow:  the root of all sadness!'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-6887923153166883325</id><published>2010-02-03T20:06:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-03T20:26:46.876-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hoping tomorrow is a better day!</title><content type='html'>I'm having a day.  Not a bad day, but not a good day.  I woke up a little grumpy, though there was no school today.  I got to sleep in.  I should be happy.  Just about lunch time I gathered up the girls to head to Sears to pick out appliances for the new kitchen.  Taylor then informed me she did not want to join us, so she made other plans.  Great choice.  I dispise shopping with her.  It's all about what she can get out of the trip.  So, Morgan, Madison and I headed to the mall.  We grabbed some lunch first and then browsed around Sears.  I spent $3300 in a matter of 45 minutes.  Damn.  The fridge, stove/oven, and microwave will be delivered next Wednesday.  Beautiful.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made one more stop to a clothing store to purchase some new bras and panties.  Who doesn't like to look pretty?  The girls helped me pick out some new items and were actually very good.  Great start to the day, right?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, sometime between then and 4:00pm I got into a funk.  It hit me.  I'm alone.  Yes, I know I have three beautiful little girls.  And yes, I love them with all my heart and soul, but they can't fulfill my needs right now.  I want an adult to talk to, to cuddle with and to hug and cry on.  I feel like a loser of a mother.  I basically let them run all over me.  They treat the pantry like it's a 24 hour snack shack.  They go to the basement to eat and promise to pick up thier trash.  Do they?  No!  I find it all chewed up from the dog, scattered all over the floor.  Do they not hear me?  I know it's my fault because I don't follow through.  I honestly don't have the energy to be consistant.  I may be on it one day, but so tired the next.  As for their bedrooms, omg.  I've given up on Madison's room.  I can't even walk in there anymore.  I just shut the door and tell her I'm not doing the laundry until it's out in the hall.  Same for Morgan.  Her room is a bit cleaner, but still has baskets of clean clothes in it that she refuses to put away.  Taylor, believe it or not, has the neatest room.  I helped a little, but I guess having a smaller room is easier.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their breakfast is made by themselves.  I know that Morgan usually has cereal, Madison usually has a poptart and Taylor's breakfast usually includes a chip or cracker of some sort.  I have bribed her with a piece of fruit if she is going to have chips.  This is a step in the right direction.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kids are typically watching tv in the recroom downstairs for every waking hour.  Again, I don't have the energy to listen to the fighting.  I feel horrible, but basically I see myself acting as if "Children should not be seen or heard."  I'm doing such a disservice to them.  I'm not the loving mom I was.  I make sure they are fed, clothed and clean.  They would probably be better off somewhere else.  At the end of the day, the last thing I want to sit and do is listen to them read a story with me.  That is horrible.  I'm a teacher for God's sake!  Reading is important.  It then turns into an attention seeking battle between Madison and Taylor for the reading, so I quit doing it.  I know it's wrong.  I do.  But by 8:30pm I'm ready for quiet time.  Patience is not something I have an abundance of.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, when I tell people how lonely I am and they say, "You have three kids," it's just not the same.  I'm physcially, mentally, and emotionally lonely.  I'm not feeling my steller self today.  Tomorrow is another day.  Hopefully it will be better than today.  I can only hope for the best.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-6887923153166883325?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/6887923153166883325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/02/hoping-tomorrow-is-better-day.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6887923153166883325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6887923153166883325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/02/hoping-tomorrow-is-better-day.html' title='Hoping tomorrow is a better day!'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-3614462885707978339</id><published>2010-01-20T19:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-20T20:11:24.332-08:00</updated><title type='text'>He will not be erased...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/S1fSrWLJW8I/AAAAAAAAAHM/kO3CFTRhf4E/s1600-h/morgan+and+brian.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 232px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/S1fSrWLJW8I/AAAAAAAAAHM/kO3CFTRhf4E/s320/morgan+and+brian.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429039517946960834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/S1fSrDXFekI/AAAAAAAAAHE/mUYgcCVr7xs/s1600-h/brian+and+i+christmas.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/S1fSrDXFekI/AAAAAAAAAHE/mUYgcCVr7xs/s320/brian+and+i+christmas.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429039512896764482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just when I thought I had a handle on things, life threw me a curveball today.  I woke up feeling good. Showered, took the kids to school and headed off to my therapy session.  I told Robin of all my boy stories, my troubles with my mother and all about Christmas and New Year's.  I left there feeling great.  She saw nothing wrong with me "dating" these men as long as I was careful.  On the way home I was singing and dancing to the radio.  Wayne and I then headed to the county office to get permits for the kitchen remodel.  It only took 90 minutes.  Again, all was good.  Then I checked the mail.  There at the bottom of the pile lay Brian's W-2.  I suddenly got sick to my stomach.  I slowly opened it up. My eyes began to water and tears ran down my cheeks as I read the numbers.  How could something so silly upset me.  It's the last tax form I've been waiting for.  I can have my taxes done now.  I should be excited because I'm getting money back.  Nope.  All I had were tears.  It put me in such a funk for the rest of the day/night.  After reading the form, I went upstairs to my bed and stared at Brian's picture.  Was I sad because this made his death real?  I can't figure it out.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To go along with this sadness, I think I sold the van today.  The only problem is, I think I have to get the title transfered into my name before I can give the new owners the title.  So now I have to go to DMV with Brian's death certificate and get a new title.  I keep feeling like I'm erasing him from my life.  His name won't be on the taxes after this year.  His name will be removed from both titles of the cars.  My new mortgage will only have my name on it.  Erased.  He is not a man that can be erased.  He was my high school sweetheart.  We followed each other to Virginia Tech.  Our wedding reception had a moon bounce.  We had three beautiful little girls that each have a part of him enstilled in them.  He pushed me to finish my degree.  I pushed him to take the job of his dreams.  He was my best friend, my husband, and a wonderful father.  He loved me like no other ever will.  He gave me the moon and the stars.  For my birthday in March he gave me one of the singing cards that played, "Just to See You Smile."  I love that song.  It's so true.  He did everything and anything to make me and the girls happy.  I was a lucky woman to have such a kind, loving man in my life.  He will never be erased from my memory, my heart or my soul.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-3614462885707978339?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/3614462885707978339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/01/he-will-not-be-erased.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3614462885707978339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3614462885707978339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/01/he-will-not-be-erased.html' title='He will not be erased...'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/S1fSrWLJW8I/AAAAAAAAAHM/kO3CFTRhf4E/s72-c/morgan+and+brian.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-4028042560461651702</id><published>2010-01-17T19:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-17T20:01:13.107-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This is one game I'm not sure I want to be a part of.</title><content type='html'>Ok, let me tell you how happy I am that I didn't have to date as a teenager.  This is much more difficult as an adult.  I now know people hate the dating game.  There are no set rules.  What you do defines everything.  One simple mistake and you break the deal.  If you call to much, then you're clingy.  If you don't call, it means you aren't interested.  But it may actually be that the person is actually busy and doesn't have time to talk.  Then there's the non-exclusive rule.  You can be talking to a guy, but it's still ok to see other people.  And apparently I just learned that you can't ask about the "date" he's been on, even if I don't care.  Isn't that like asking how your night was?  Ok, so I did judge just a little.  My mistake.  So now I'm told to back off by his friend.  I didn't think I was smothering.  Jesus.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, now I sit and wait.  In the meantime, I have asked him and his friend to redo my bathrooms.  I'm thinking it may be a bad idea right now.  How do I get out of this?  Maybe it will all work itself out.  I'm me.  I'm nosey.  It's who I am.  I'm just guessing he is not the one who can handle me.  I'm outspoken.  I haven't always been.  But I had a fabulous husband, father and best friend.  I'd give anything to have him back.  ANYTHING!  But the reality is, he won't.  So here I sit with no husband, no father for my children and no best friend.  I want that again.  I know what I want and I guess that is what I am looking for whether I know it or not.  I tell myself I'm looking for fun and sex, but in reality I'm hoping that fun and sex leads to more.  And how can I expect someone to come into this life of mine and take over?  I can't.  It's way too overwhelming.  Three kids, a widow and this life.  lol.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a game I want no part of...  Why can't life be more simple?  Black and white. Yes and no.  Off or on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-4028042560461651702?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/4028042560461651702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/01/this-is-one-game-im-not-sure-i-want-to.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/4028042560461651702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/4028042560461651702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/01/this-is-one-game-im-not-sure-i-want-to.html' title='This is one game I&apos;m not sure I want to be a part of.'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-6525770139346026297</id><published>2010-01-10T18:29:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-11T20:21:01.197-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A little bit of happiness...</title><content type='html'>The girls and I made it through the holidays.  It was definately different, but in a good way.  Sometimes, I do think that things happen for a reason.  Dad had his knee surgery before the big snow on Saturday.  We were all snowed in here, mom too.  And because Mom and Dad live so far out, they couldn't make it home, so they came back here to stay for a little over a week.  It was crazy, but a good crazy.  Kids were running, dogs were barking, and Dad had Mom and I busy tending to him.  Physcial therapy came to the house and all was well.  I did miss Brian, but I was so happy to at least have Mom  here with me to put out the things from Santa.  That would have been far too sad for me to do alone.  My father-in-law took the kids shopping a few days before Christmas to shop for gifts for me.  They were so excited.  This was a tradition started by my FIL when Brian was a child.  Every Christmas Eve my FIL would take all of the kids shopping for my MIL's gifts.  Brian shared this tradition with our children.  And while it wasn't Christmas Eve that they went shopping, I think it did my FIL and the girls good to get out and be together.  Christmas Eve used to be my one morning to sleep in and get last minute things together while the kids were away.  I'm really glad my FIL offered to take them.  I was going to ask him if he was interested, but he beat me too it.  I know my mother would have taken the girls, but it just meant more to all of us to have my FIL take them.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for Christmas morning, Dad was able to come down to watch the "show".  The girls loved all of their gifts.  Though Taylor said she wanted a real drum set.  NOT!  Just after seeing all that Santa had brought, my MIL and FIL came with groceries to make breakfast.  It was a nice relaxing morning.  There was more gift opening and a delicious breakfast.  Mom got me a beautiful windchime set with Brian's name engraved on them.  It has a beautiful poem that of course I cried while reading it.  Dad got me a pendant for my necklace with a mom holding three girls.  First, my father never buys our gifts.  Second, he cried when he gave it to me saying that it was his four girls.  And lastly, I had asked Brian for the exact pendant for the past two Christmas'.  Ironic isn't it?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of the day the kids played and we all computed on the three laptops.  Mom had bought a honey ham and some vegetables for dinner.  We threw a quick dinner together in 15 minutes.  We warmed up some corn, green beans and made mashed potatoes from flakes.  lol.  We were tired and it suited us all well.  It was my family:  my mom and dad and my girls.  Still hard to believe that Brian was just with us last year.  I've been sleeping on the Marriott pillows I bought for him last year.  Brian was right, they are nice.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we made it through.  New Year's, well that's another story.  To be honest, I dreaded New Year's more than Christmas.  In the past, my parents take the girls for the night and have thier own party with sparkling cider and sparklers, while Brian and I went out.  I had no plans this year.  I had been invited to various places but didn't feel comfortable doing couple things.  Jay stood me up, go figure, but I didn't let that stop me from having a good time.  My friend Becky from high school had invited me out to Fredericksburg with her husband and a group of friends.  Of course all couples, but me and this one guy they were trying to hook me up with.  AHH!  But I told myself I would not stay home alone.  I was going out if it killed me.  I knew the girls would be with the girls and the boys would be bonding, so I was ok with this group.  I new 50% of the people, so I was comfortable.  We went to a great dinner and then bar hopped for the remainder of the night, stopping to watch the pineapple drop at midnight.  Yes, I said pineapple.  lol.  Still I had no one to kiss, but Becky.  :)  My bestest friend of 22 years.  After several drinks I did begin to flirt with the new guy, Luke.  Did I mention the room situation at the hotel?  Well after making sucha  last minute decision, what did I expect.  There was only one room left in the entire hotel and of course, it had but one king size bed.  I was assured by Becky that Luke could sleep on the pullout sofa.  See where this is going? By 2am we all headed back to Bek's room and hung out for another hour.  By now I'm a little drunk, but can remember most things.  What happened next, I remember.  Luke and I went back to our room.  I got my bag and pj's and went to the bathroom.  I was able to take out my contacts, a good indicator that I'm not too drunk, and get my flannel pj bottoms and tank top on.  I walk out and guess who is laying in the bed watching Sports Center.  What was I supposed to do?  I thought, Ok this is a king size bed, we are adults here.  Well, somehow we were spooning and the rest is up to your imagination.  I do have to say that the cuddling was by far the BEST part.  Next morning was a little awkward, but he was a gentleman.  I don't do one night stands.  I have never ever done such things.  Honestly, he was the second, yes you read that correctly, second man I have ever been with. Luckily he doesn't know that, but I digress.  He's been texting me daily.  It won't go into anything serious, but it's nice to have the attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here is where I made my New Year's resolution.  I was in such a good mood for the next four days.  I'm not sure if it was Luke or my new med's kicking in or both.  I told myself that I was going to stop feeling lonely and do something about it.  No this does not mean that I am going to sleep with the entire world.  I just meant that I am going to socialize, I am going to flirt, and I am not going to sit at home and wonder.  I am 35 years young.  Yes I said it.  I am going to relive my 20's as an unmarried woman.  I get a do-over.  I get to see what I missed out on.  Yes, I miss Brian with every fiber of my being, but he also wouldn't want me miserable.  Hell, I wouldn't want him miserable.  He will always be with me in my head and in my heart.  Thoughts of him run through my veins.  I have visited him at the cemetery and had a discussion about all of this.  (Yes I really am crazy.) Going to see him keeps me grounded on what is important.  I need that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past week another friend invited me to watch football at her house with the girls.  Another fix up.  The guy was there but didn't realize I was single.  We get to go for round two at the playoff game this weekend.  lol.  I also have a coffee date with another guy in two days.  I'm just having fun, not making any commitments.  Maybe I'll meet Mr. Right, but for now I'm hanging out with all of the Mr. Right Nows.  I'm moving forward a little at a time.  It's scary, but it beats the alternative of being alone and lonely.  I know how dark that place is.  My friends say they admire me.  Not sure why.  I know what I want and I will get it again.  It may be different, but I've had a fabulous taste of happiness.  For now, I'll take every little bit of happiness I can find...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-6525770139346026297?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/6525770139346026297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/01/made-it-through-holidays.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6525770139346026297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6525770139346026297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2010/01/made-it-through-holidays.html' title='A little bit of happiness...'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-5018072519034852893</id><published>2009-12-09T20:40:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T21:09:19.034-08:00</updated><title type='text'>People are making me crazy.</title><content type='html'>I'm a 35 year old woman with a house, two cars and three children. Now, I didn't get here alone, but I am left here to fend for myself. So that being said, shouldn't I be capable of making my own decisions? I'm so tired of people telling me to be careful of my finances. I know money isn't everything, but it's Christmas and I like to give. Not to mention, why can't I have my new kitchen? Don't I get something that will make me happy out of all this? "This" sucks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brian's office is apparently collecting money for Christmas gifts for the girls. I hate being the charity case. They don't need anything. NOTHING! I've bought far too much already. I'm trying to purge, not collect more stuff. I went through everything that I have purchased for the kids and realized I've already overdone it. I know that no one thing will bring their father back, but I can try to bring them joy in other ways. I just don't want handouts. If they insist on giving money, then by all means please put it in their college fund. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Madison and Taylor went under the house to get all of the Christmas stuff out off the crawl space. They did it all by themselves. Ok, so I lugged it upstairs, but they were two determined little beings. Morgan came home later to help decorate it. The whole experience wasn't so bad. I thought it would be horrible, but it wasn't. I put up several of Brian's ornaments from his childhood. The kids decorated it the way they wanted. We have colored, non-blinking lights. It's what they wanted. We put up a lighted wreath and trees outside. That's about all the decorating I'm doing. The kids put the little elves up around the living room. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm finding that it is shopping that is giving me more anxiety than anything. I went to the grocery store the other day and felt short of breath and fuzzy. I chalked it up to low blood sugar. Then yesterday I went to Kohl's and saw all of the men's things and began to think of Brian. The girls always picked out character pajama bottoms from there. I got short of breath again and felt like someone was sitting on my chest. I took deep breaths as I walked down the aisles. Then I found a book called, "I Know My Daddy Loves Me." Of course I had to read it. So, then I cried. I got my stuff and got out of there. I then had a bright idea to go to Target to pick up a few things. It only got worse there. I had breakfast, so it wasn't the blood sugar. What do I do? This is making shopping not fun at all. Not that it has been. I'm going for my follow up with my new medication next week. I'll let him know. Meanwhile I get to go to his family's Christmas party this weekend. I told his mother that we needed to put a sign on the door that said, "We are all ok, please don't ask." Think it would work? I doubt it too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll wrap this up with a conversation with my youngest daughter last night as we were putting up the tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;T: Mommy, do you think you'll get remarried?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;T: Well, when?&lt;br /&gt;Me: When I find someone special again.&lt;br /&gt;T: Why don't you go to www.whynotdateme.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Out of the mouths of babes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-5018072519034852893?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/5018072519034852893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/12/people-are-making-me-crazy.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/5018072519034852893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/5018072519034852893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/12/people-are-making-me-crazy.html' title='People are making me crazy.'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-5809885995163237987</id><published>2009-12-07T14:44:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-07T15:06:15.102-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On a high for the week.</title><content type='html'>Well, my director agreed to withdraw me from my social studies class.  It won't even show up on my transcript.  I will take it next fall and student teach in the spring of 2011.  I have a plan.  I walked out of there feeling like the weight of the world was off of my shoulders.  I've been in such a good mood ever since.  Now, my mother isn't very happy, but then again when is she ever happy?  She's worried about money and insurance.  Blah, blah, blah.  I'll just sub more to get more $$.  I really should have kept my old job, but hindsight is 20/20.  Who knew that I would need more time with school?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things are coming along.  Mom and Dad are spending the night on Christmas Eve, so the girls and I won't be alone for Christmas morning.  I plan on ordering a turkey for Christmas from Wegmans.  I don't feel like cooking.  It's all I can do to think about putting up a tree.  Ugh.  The girls decorated a small tree to put on Brian's grave.  We will take it there next Sunday on our way to Mom and Dads.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend of mine is helping me plan for a new kitchen.  I'm sure Mom will LOVE this.  Oh well, we will be fine on money.  I'm sure of it.  I keep thinking that I'll get it back when I sell the house.  I may even like the house a little better.  I really like the new layout.  I hope it works out.  I'm living for today, not for tomorrow.  You just never know...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for Pat, we had a great talk last night.  We are just friends, but it's nice he confides in me and vice versa.  He reminds me a lot of Brian.  Chad came over the other night to check on us.  He stayed for like 5 hours on Friday night.  I'm hoping Lisa wasn't too mad.  It was so nice to see the kids laughing and wrestling with him.  It was like Brian was in the air.  There was a feel of family.  He played Rock Band with the girls and we even judged the kids playing, "So you think you can dance."  It was hilarious.  It was a wonderful night.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Morgan is going back to counseling tonight.  I'm hoping to set up a standing appt. so that this stomach thing can come to a close.  I don't know what else to do.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, the dinner bell is ringing.  I must feed the little children.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-5809885995163237987?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/5809885995163237987/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/12/on-high-for-week.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/5809885995163237987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/5809885995163237987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/12/on-high-for-week.html' title='On a high for the week.'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-8699112484532718473</id><published>2009-12-01T20:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T20:57:31.531-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Slap in the face</title><content type='html'>I have read several books on grieving: ones for children and for widows.  Not one mentioned that month 6/7 would be the worst yet.  I've totally lost it.  I spent the entire time at the grief counselors crying.  Then I came home to cry for another hour.  I skipped class that night.  I just couldn't be with people.  I kept the babysitter and went to see the The Blind Side instead.  Good movie.  Robin, my counselor, suggested a few things to help me out in life.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Go to Mom's for Christmas so I don't have to be here.&lt;br /&gt;2. Tell professors I need to slow down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kids nixed the Christmas at Mom's.  They want it here.  I can't blame them a bit, but it would make my life easier.  For once, it's not all about me.  So Christmas will be here in their home.  I was able to get a majority of the kids Christmas presents on Black Friday.  I just need to pick up little things here and there.  It's my parents and others I need to get.  Not sure what to do for all of them.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for school, I spoke with my social studies professor last night and I think I'm going to drop her class.  I'll finish up the math class, but I'm so far behind in SS that there is no way I will catch up.  I go to talk to the director tomorrow.  I'm a little nervous about it all.  I just have to go slower.  One class at a time.  I have a plan.  Let's just hope the director agrees.  It may be Spring of 2011 before I graduate, but I'll get there.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think we should all write our own books.  I know everyone's jouney is different, but we learn so much along the way.  I'd give anything to wake up next to Brian again.  I often wonder if I will ever get there again.  Remember Pat, the guy I said I wasn't interested in?  Well, I honestly don't think I am.  But I must like the idea of his individual attention.  He had told me before the engagement party not to let him know if I did hook up with anyone.  I explained that wasn't fair and he responded with, I want my cake and eat it too.  So, I guess that is my issue too.  I got all hyped up when he called on Black Friday, even though he knew I was shopping with my aunts and cousins.  He said he was checking up on me.  Well that same night he texts me and answers that he is watching tv.  I asked with who and he responded with a friend from work.  I then told him he shouldn't be texting me then.  The next night I made the mistake of asking him if this person was a boy or girl.  It was a girl.  I figured.  He asked if I was mad.  I said no, but asked how he'd feel if the tables were turned.  He said he'd be jealous but happy for me.  I told him I was, but in reality I wasn't.  Then it dawned on me why I was so angry, he will hang out with her and won't even hang out with me as a friend.  I let him know.  All he could say is sorry.  So now, I've let him text me first.  He has been every night.  I refuse to ask about the girl.  He wouldn't kiss and tell anyway.  Not sure what is going on here.  Guess I thought he'd be the one who's chest I could lay on and have it mean nothing.  So much for that.  I know it's a lot to ask of a guy.  Not to mention the train of baggage I bring along.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanksgiving went well.  Judy and Joe weren't themselves, but it was nice.  Mom and Dad came to support me.  All of his family was there.  The kids had great time playing.  We get to do it all again on the 12th for the annual Christmas party.  I'm not sure how they are still putting it on.  It's not like Brian was the star of the party, but things just aren't the same there.   The kids and Judy are going to decorate a small tree to put up for Brian at the cemetery.  I can't even stand the sound of Christmas music.  I am so anti-Christmas that it's not funny.  I'm trying to keep it to myself for the kids, but not sure if I can make it the 24 days without losing it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not subbing anymore until after break.  I need to get this house in order.  It's a disaster.  And even if I'm not subbing, my days seem to fill up so fast.  I have two assignments left in Math and I'll be done.  I'll be so glad come Dec. 17th.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've either been up really late or sleeping all day.  I can't get regulated.  I was up till 4:30am on Sunday night, but then came home to take a 3 hour nap.  There is no time for naps between now and Sunday.  I look forward to them too.  It's the only place I can go and forget the rest of this life.  Guess I should head there now.  A day of leisure is now full of three different meetings and basketball practice.  Good nite all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-8699112484532718473?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/8699112484532718473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/12/slap-in-face.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/8699112484532718473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/8699112484532718473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/12/slap-in-face.html' title='Slap in the face'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-2400579170359710232</id><published>2009-11-04T21:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T21:51:33.627-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling blue</title><content type='html'>I'd like to know how one can visit "The Happiest Place on Earth" and not feel so happy.  We just got back from Disney World with my mom, aunts and cousins.  I'm not sure if was the amount of people in our group or the grief, but I just didn't have the magical feeling.  Yes, I had fun, but not super fun.  I LOVE Disney.  It just wasn't the same this time.  Nothing to get psyched over.  I feel like all of my funness (is that a word?) was taken when Brian died.  We did have a good time though.  The kids were the priority.  I have to thank my mother for the distraction from Halloween at home.  Halloween was a bigger holiday for our family than Thanksgiving.  We would always have people over to a pumpkin carving night.  It was a big toodoo.  But now, those days are gone.  The kids started talking about Christmas today.  I explained that it would be different this year.  They asked questions about who would put up the tree, etc.  It was always something Brian and the kids did.  They helped him assemble the fake tree.  I hate change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brian's mother has invited us to Thanksgiving dinner, along with my parents.  I'm wondering if my mother would go, for me.  My MIL invited my parents too.  It would help me alot in making a decision of whose house to go to.  I know they will always be in my life, but I would really like to be with my family.  Can I have it all?  These are the decisions I will have to make.  Forever...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So after I made my last post, the following day I get another drunk text from J asking for, well, you know.  I asked him if he could still give me what I wanted.  He said yes for that night, but not sure on any other night.  I told him to take a hike.  Ok, so if I would have had a sitter, I would have been in the car in a heartbeat, but I didn't.  I texted him on Halloween wishing him a good one.  He responded, so I guess he's not too upset.  At least I'm angry at him now.  The anger makes me think twice.  Meanwhile another friend, P, that I have been in contact with thought I wanted something more.  I explained I didn't, but just like having a guy to talk to.  He's divorced with a three year old.  It's not quite the same, but similar.  We listen to each other rant about things.  It's nice.  I have no attraction to him what-so-ever.  He's just a nice guy.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girls and I are going to a Hopice "reunion" from the kids summer camp this weekend.  I get to meet other parents too.  Not sure how I feel about that, but it's only 2 hours.  I can do it.  The kids are excited to see thier camper friends.  I'm glad they made the best of the situation.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have so much paperwork to go through.  I'm a little behind in it.  I feel like I'm drowning.  I can't even tread water at this point.  I just want to put my head in the sand and pretend the world doesn't exist.  My bed being the sand.  lol.  Speaking of, I'd better call it a night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-2400579170359710232?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/2400579170359710232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/11/feeling-blue.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/2400579170359710232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/2400579170359710232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/11/feeling-blue.html' title='Feeling blue'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-8895427423748106057</id><published>2009-10-16T22:31:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T23:05:55.778-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Been on a Bumpy Ride</title><content type='html'>I am ten days short of six months without Brian. Since school started, I have been having a very difficult time. It hasn't been one thing in particular. It has been a combination of EVERYTHING. I enjoyed my long term sub position but was ready to be done when my time was up. That on top of grad school and the kids put me over the edge. I put off all grad work until the sub position was over, Oct. 1. And here it is Oct. 17 and I'm still behind. I got kicked out of my endorsement class and absolutely HAVE to have it to student teach in the spring. I freaked at first, but have come to deal with the reality. So, I don't graduate in the Spring. I wait till fall. So what? I still finish, right? My mother is unaware of this. She is going to freak out. I set up a meeting with the director of the program for Monday. We shall see what she says my options are. I know that I cannot take on anymore at the moment. I find it very difficult to concentrate on anything. I can read a chapter and not remember a damn thing. Hence the drop out of the endorsement class. Ugh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I want to do, and all I seem to be doing, is lie in bed. I get the kids off to school and climb back in bed. I'm guessing it doesn't help I'm up so late like tonight. Today I slept until 2pm, got up, showered, did the dishes and then went to get the girls from school. Honestly, I want to drop the kids off at my mother's for a week and stay in bed. I would hope that after a week I would get sick of it and snap out of this funk. I am far worse than I was in the beginning. People said this would happen. I thought I was doing so well. I see it happening before my eyes, yet I can't do anything to stop it. I know the difference between right and wrong and what I am doing is wrong. Tonight was the first, maybe second, night I cooked dinner since he's been gone and ate as a family. Six months people. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brian was my best friend. He was the one I would be talking to now about all of this. But he's not here. My best friend is gone. To read it makes it so real. I miss him. I miss his voice, his eyes, his touch, and him being a daddy. I get very little break. I want that time at 6pm when he used to walk in and take over. I don't get that anymore. The girls, they miss him so. Poor Morgan has been taking over. Sad, but true. God love her. She has been helping out in the kitchen at breakfast and lunch. I try to tell her how much I appreciate all she does. She starts counseling again on Monday. I'm hoping it helps her stomach issues. They were ok for a bit until school started. I'm guessing the stress of school triggered it again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I myself have felt ill lately. I had finally written the old boyfriend off and then I get the call. You know the drunk dialer. He said everything I had so wanted to hear. EVERYTHING. He explained to me why he had waited and asked if I was glad. I am, I know I'm not ready. He promised me the moon, stars and the sun and reneged the next day. I'm guessing the alcohol gave him the courage to say the truth and then that scared him. I was sick all weekend. Not sure if it was Jay or a stomach bug. I'm thinking a little of both, since I have been feeling nauseous every time he comes up in thought or conversation. We did talk last night and agreed to be "friends." I'll take it. I'm not sure I'm really ready for anything more anyway. He says he's used to doing things whenever and wherever without checking in with someone and he's still wants to play the field. Whatever field that is. We are 35 people. lol. I asked him what he thought it was I really wanted from the relationship. Then I laid it all out there. I said I wanted to lie with a man with my head on his chest while watching TV. I asked if he could give me that, because THAT is what I want. He ignored the question and we have moved on. I just can't let things go. I bring up past conversations and probably say too much. This dating thing, whenever I get there, is going to suck. I'm too straight forward now. Brian didn't play games. Say what you want. Bottom line. So, now I do. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I have started seeing a grief counselor. She is awesome. I'm hoping to go back next week. She makes me feel normal. Whatever that is. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've officially been up for 12 hours and it's 2am. Guess I should go to bed. Tomorrow we have the school funfair and the movies with my cousin. I'll be putting on the brave face for the funfair. I'll be getting all of "the looks" that I dread. You know, the ones that say, "Oh her husband is dead, she must be a mess." Yes, yes I am.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-8895427423748106057?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/8895427423748106057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/10/been-on-bumpy-ride.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/8895427423748106057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/8895427423748106057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/10/been-on-bumpy-ride.html' title='Been on a Bumpy Ride'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-3594957005975293072</id><published>2009-09-06T21:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-06T21:23:35.190-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dance</title><content type='html'>"The Dance" starring Brian and Toni&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking back on the memory of &lt;br /&gt;The dance we shared beneath the stars above &lt;br /&gt;For a moment all the world was right &lt;br /&gt;How could I have known you'd ever say goodbye &lt;br /&gt;And now I'm glad I didn't know &lt;br /&gt;The way it all would end the way it all would go &lt;br /&gt;Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain &lt;br /&gt;But I'd of had to miss the dance &lt;br /&gt;Holding you I held everything &lt;br /&gt;For a moment wasn't I the king &lt;br /&gt;But if I'd only known how the king would fall &lt;br /&gt;Hey who's to say you know I might have changed it all &lt;br /&gt;And now I'm glad I didn't know &lt;br /&gt;The way it all would end the way it all would go &lt;br /&gt;Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain &lt;br /&gt;But I'd of had to miss the dance &lt;br /&gt;Yes my life is better left to chance &lt;br /&gt;I could have missed the pain but I'd of had to miss the dance &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brian and I were like two dancers moving in sync with the music.  We knew who was going left and who was going right.  Sometimes he led and I followed and sometimes I led and he followed.  We just were.  At parties we could be together, yet apart.  We knew each others thoughts and movements.  It is so hard to be at parties with a bunch of couples.  I'm always the third wheel.  I envy those that share a kiss in the corner.  I cringe when I see families laughing from a far.  Why isn't that me?  Why can't I have that?  What did I do to deserve to be alone?  We were perfect.  When I see couples fighting over stupid stuff at parties I just want to shake them and tell them to get over it and love one another.  You never know what tomorrow will bring.  Though six months ago, if someone would have told me the same, I would have shrugged them off.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing is forever and we need to treat each day as if it were our last.  On my birthday we all went out to dinner.  As we walked to the ice cream shop we passed by several little shops with cute displays in the windows.  As I was ordering our ice cream, Brian said he would be right back.  He didn't want anything.  He returned with a big bag.  I asked him what it was and he told me it was a birthday present.  Being sentemental, I didn't want to open it until I got home.  It turns out that he bought me a wooden sign that said, "Always Kiss Me Goodnight."  I LOVED it.  It is so true.  I didn't like going to bed fighting.  There were many a nights that we were up until all hours talking until all was well.  Making up was much more fun than fighting.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure what I will do without my dancing partner.  For now I will dance.  This is what I believe Brian is telling me to do:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I Hope You Dance&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,&lt;br /&gt;You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,&lt;br /&gt;May you never take one single breath for granted,&lt;br /&gt;GOD forbid love ever leave you empty handed,&lt;br /&gt;I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,&lt;br /&gt;Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,&lt;br /&gt;Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,&lt;br /&gt;And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you dance....I hope you dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,&lt;br /&gt;Never settle for the path of least resistance&lt;br /&gt;Livin' might mean takin' chances but they're worth takin',&lt;br /&gt;Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth makin',&lt;br /&gt;Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,&lt;br /&gt;When you come close to sellin' out reconsider,&lt;br /&gt;Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,&lt;br /&gt;And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you dance....I hope you dance.&lt;br /&gt;I hope you dance....I hope you dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,&lt;br /&gt;Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,&lt;br /&gt;Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance, &lt;br /&gt;And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dance....I hope you dance. &lt;br /&gt;I hope you dance....I hope you dance. &lt;br /&gt;I hope you dance....I hope you dance.. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now I chose to dance.  Sometimes fast and sometimes slow, but I will keep on dancing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-3594957005975293072?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/3594957005975293072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/09/dance.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3594957005975293072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3594957005975293072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/09/dance.html' title='The Dance'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-7052031545166703096</id><published>2009-09-02T17:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-02T18:37:24.990-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Moving forward, but dragging my feet.</title><content type='html'>Brian's boss sent me an email yesterday stating that Sept. 1, 2009 would have been Brian's 6th year anniversary at AmCad.  The place he loved going to everyday was the place that helped take his life.  Ok, so that is just my opinion, but I feel the stress from his job contributed to his untimely death.  I know that heredity, diet and other things contributed as well, but still.  They stole his sole and took advantage of a very good man.  He never said no.  He made whatever they wanted work.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss talking to him.  After class yesterday I wanted to call him on my way home.  I miss the hugs and kisses.  I miss hearing his voice.  What happens if I forget his voice?  I know I have videos of the girls and him, but I'm not ready to watch them yet.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This semester I have a full load.  How am I ever going to get through this without him.  I depended on him for so many things.  He got me through so many projects and papers.  He always knew how to talk me down from one of my anxiety attacks.  Brian would proof read my assignments and give me feedback.  He would keep the girls while I attended classes.  He would make dinner and put them to bed.  Oh how I miss him.  I know that I have to finish this program in order to support my family, but I was hoping to do so with Brian by my side.  I wanted him to be in my graduation picture.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find myself, purposefully, not looking at pictures of him.  I'm not sure if it is too painful or if I like to pretend he is still away.  I want to get new pictures of the girls together.  I was going to do it for his birthday, but his time ran out.  I thought of having the 4 of us done, but that is so permanent.  Us, without him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Taylor has been giving me a really hard time lately.  Her temper tantrums are coming more often.  Over the weekend I had to drag her out of Costco screaming.  I had told her that she couldn't have a lava lamp and she threw a fit.  I had her sisters put the Halloween costume back.  She didn't deserve anything for that behavior.  That is when she hit me with her cast.  When I grabbed her she proceeded to bite me on my arm.  I still have the bruise.  With that I left my mother to pay for our items and took Taylor to the van.  What on earth do I do with her?  Is it grief, age, or anger?  Is she just testing me?  I'm so done with this.  I'm hoping when school starts that she will get better.  Maybe we all need a little structure in our lives.  I have enjoyed spending the summer with the girls, but we all need to get back to reality.  Even if it does suck!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are all moving forward into these uncharted waters.  Together we can do it.  For better and for worse.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-7052031545166703096?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/7052031545166703096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/09/moving-forward-but-dragging-my-feet.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/7052031545166703096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/7052031545166703096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/09/moving-forward-but-dragging-my-feet.html' title='Moving forward, but dragging my feet.'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-6685783629496926520</id><published>2009-08-20T22:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-20T22:19:47.073-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer of Fun</title><content type='html'>So remember when I said all I wanted to do was sleep?  Well I got part of my wish.  Last night I went to bed at 9pm and woke up at 8:30am this morning to take my girls to camp.  I was back in bed by 8:44am and slept until 11:06am.  You would think I would be well rested, but I think I could honestly stay in bed all day and sleep.  I remember my mother doing this when I was a kid.  I was left to fend for myself on weekends for breakfast.  Bryers ice cream was delicious.  No wonder I was so heavy in 4th grade.  Is this how my children will remember me?  Will they remember eating popcorn, cereal or poptarts for breakfast.  (Those are the current meals of each child.)  I try to pull it together for them and do fun things during the day, but by nights end I am done.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to King's Dominion today (a local amusement park).  The kids had a great time, although my youngest couldn't do too much due to her cast.  I am actually going to call the Dr. in the morning about the cast.  We are scheduled to go to an indoor water park for a few days next week, but I am worried they won't let her do any of the activities with her cast on.  So much for the waterproof cast.  Do I jeperdize her healing wrist so that she can have fun on our trip?  Or do I cancel the trip?  It's our summer of fun.  We actually leave for the beach tomorrow too for the weekend.  Busy time before school starts.  I guess I'm doing this all out of guilt.  Once school starts for the kids and me (grad school), life is going to be chaos.  I have class 3 nights a week and the kids will have a sitter.  I feel horrible for having someone else care for them and putting them to bed instead of me.  I keep telling myself, "Only one more semester."  I just have to keep telling myself that.  I'm just not sure how I am going to do ALL of this alone.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, enough whining.  I'm going to fold my laundry and head off to bed.  Here is to a happy weekend at the beach!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-6685783629496926520?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/6685783629496926520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/summer-of-fun.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6685783629496926520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6685783629496926520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/summer-of-fun.html' title='Summer of Fun'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-1076250331055700826</id><published>2009-08-19T14:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-19T14:16:27.290-07:00</updated><title type='text'>At the end of my rope.</title><content type='html'>In the midst of thinking I'm doing ok.  I realized today that I am NOT.  This parenting without a break thing sucks.  He doesn't come home to releave me like he used to.  I sleep all the time in the day, but not at night.  I've been taking the kids to camp at 8:30am and going back to bed until 11:00.  This leaves me enough time to take a shower before picking them up.  Though yesterday I didn't even shower.  I slept 25 minutes longer.  There are days that I even take naps in the afternoon as well.  I totally lost it today with my children.  I gave them the warning of:  "Mommy's going to lose it, so go find something to play with."  I feel so guilty, but I just needed quiet time.  No whining, no gimmies, no fighting.  I tried to apologize to the girls.  I'm hoping they are resilient.  In the 'moment,' I could feel my BP shooting up.  I hate feeling out of control.  I have so many things to do, but no motivation to do them.  I'm doing the laundry now for the beach this weekend.  I need to straighten up the basement, have the kids clean thier rooms, put away the clean clothes and declutter the living room.  Though, I have nothing to give.  I'm on empty.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny how I can say I'm doing well, when in reality I'm not.  I can get the kids where they need to go, and make sure they are fed and in bed on time.  I kinda lose track of the bathing, but for the most part they are fairly clean.  lol.  Here is hoping for a better tomorrow.  We are going out to dinner tonight because who wants to cook?   Not me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-1076250331055700826?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/1076250331055700826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/at-end-of-my-rope.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/1076250331055700826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/1076250331055700826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/at-end-of-my-rope.html' title='At the end of my rope.'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-5266064194277698939</id><published>2009-08-18T21:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T21:49:44.275-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Does Lightening Strike Twice?</title><content type='html'>I miss him.  I miss the smell of his hair.  The touch of his skin.  The goodbye kisses in the morning.  The phone calls in the middle of the day.  The sound of the kids yelling, "Daddy's home."  I miss hearing him read the kids a bedtime story at night.  Falling asleep on his chest every night with his arm around me holding me close.  I miss seeing him cook on the grill.  I miss buying him clothes, Pepsi's and Sour Cream and Onion chips.  I miss hearing his voice.  I miss his I love you's.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will anyone ever love me the way Brian did?  He gave his everything to us all.  I wanna be loved again.  To be hugged again. And to be kissed again with such passion.  I miss him.  Together forever, till death do us part.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-5266064194277698939?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/5266064194277698939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/does-lightening-strike-twice.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/5266064194277698939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/5266064194277698939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/does-lightening-strike-twice.html' title='Does Lightening Strike Twice?'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-7495828948801972675</id><published>2009-08-15T20:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T20:05:28.871-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Girls are Back in Town</title><content type='html'>My babies are finally all home.  All children are home for the summer.  The girls seemed to have a good time at grief camp.  They have only shared a few intimate experiences with me.  Each day I seem to get a little more information from them.  They all talked about the Healing Circle.  I like that.  We are all healing from this horrible tragedy.  Though it will take our wounds far longer to recover than any scab.  Each camper was able to make a stuffed animal and dress it in an adorable outfit.  How cool is that?  I was able to talk to two of the girls' Big Buddies.  They were able to briefly share that Madison and Taylor were able to laugh, cry and share their stories at the Healing Circle.  I am so proud of my girls for facing something so difficult with strangers and leaving with new friendships.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-7495828948801972675?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/7495828948801972675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/girls-are-back-in-town.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/7495828948801972675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/7495828948801972675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/girls-are-back-in-town.html' title='The Girls are Back in Town'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-6555128766270415287</id><published>2009-08-08T21:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T21:49:52.278-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Remembering the beginning</title><content type='html'>I finally brought home the box of notes and momentos from my parents house.  The box was filled with notes and things from high school and college.  I threw away anything irrelivent, but kept everything else.  I have been reading the notes each night before bed.  Even as a sophomore in high school he loved me.  The notes have not made me sad at all.  They have only made me smile.  I was loved by a man with all his heart.  I'm a lucky lady.  I wonder if there will be another man that can love me half as much as Brian.  He was such a romantic even then.  He said silly things like: I love you more than infinity +2.  There were more, but I forget them.   I'll be sure to read them again tonight.  Brian was a wonderful man who loved me and the girls with all his heart.  Why did it take me until his death to dig out the old notes?  I'm glad I have them though.  I can now show my girls how much he cared for me.  I want them to know they came from loving parents.  I hope they can remember.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've hung out with Brian's best friend and his fiance for the past two days while the girls have been at grief camp.  We spent last night talking about Brian and how the girls will be dating before we know it.  Some how I got all teary eyed after Ryan mentioned always being there for me and my girls.  Through my tears I said I was counting on it.  I want the girls to have a male influence in their life.  I'm so afraid they are going to go looking for it as teens in the form of a boy looking for something other than real friendship.  I myself remember doing this as a teen.  My dad wasn't around much at that time, but I needed some attention.  I was lucky to have had a pretty good head on my shoulders though.  All I can hope is that I give my girls the tools to deal with all of life's challenges.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go pick up the girls tomorrow from camp.  I really have missed them, though I have had a lot of fun.  I haven't gotten anything done that I was supposed to.  Oops.  I half expect the girls to be "cured" tomorrow and resilient, but know they won't be.  I'm hoping this weekend will have done them some good.  I'm guessing that they won't talk too much about it, but I'm hoping they will.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-6555128766270415287?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/6555128766270415287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/remembering-beginning.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6555128766270415287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6555128766270415287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/remembering-beginning.html' title='Remembering the beginning'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-6688681541263264803</id><published>2009-08-04T21:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T21:20:41.723-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dash</title><content type='html'>The Dash Poem&lt;br /&gt;by Linda Ellis &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read of a man who stood to speak&lt;br /&gt;At the funeral of a friend.&lt;br /&gt;He referred to the dates on her tombstone&lt;br /&gt;From the beginning to the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He noted that first came the date of her birth&lt;br /&gt;And spoke of the following date with tears,&lt;br /&gt;But he said what mattered most of all&lt;br /&gt;Was the dash between those years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For that dash represents all the time&lt;br /&gt;That she spent alive on earth&lt;br /&gt;And now only those who loved her&lt;br /&gt;Know what that little line is worth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For it matters not, how much we own,&lt;br /&gt;The cars, the house, the cash,&lt;br /&gt;What matters is how we live and love&lt;br /&gt;And how we spend our dash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So think about this long and hard;&lt;br /&gt;Are there things you'd like to change?&lt;br /&gt;For you never know how much time is left&lt;br /&gt;That can still be rearranged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we could just slow down enough&lt;br /&gt;To consider what's true and real&lt;br /&gt;And always try to understand&lt;br /&gt;The way other people feel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And be less quick to anger&lt;br /&gt;And show appreciation more&lt;br /&gt;And love the people in our lives&lt;br /&gt;Like we've never loved before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we treat each other with respect&lt;br /&gt;And more often wear a smile,&lt;br /&gt;Remembering that this special dash&lt;br /&gt;Might only last a little while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when your eulogy is being read&lt;br /&gt;With your life's actions to rehash&lt;br /&gt;Would you be proud of the things they say&lt;br /&gt;About how you spent your dash?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brian spent his dash living life to the fullest.  He played hard.  He lived, laughed and loved.  His dash was filled with times of family and friends.  He gave his all in everything he did; always giving deep down to the core.   He was a wonderful, loving and playful father.  He loved me with all his heart and did anything to make me smile.  He was my best friend.  I will miss him.  His dash was way too short.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-6688681541263264803?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/6688681541263264803/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/dash.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6688681541263264803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6688681541263264803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/dash.html' title='The Dash'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-5221902036705213611</id><published>2009-08-03T19:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T20:27:50.227-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tonight I fly alone.</title><content type='html'>Brian sleeps alone tonight in the depths of the earth.  I don't feel him here with me now.  His ashes were on the dresser until today.  He was always with me in the house.  Tonight we sleep alone; not in the same room.  I just had to stay after the ceremony to witness his burial.  I had to see it to believe it.  And all I could think about was jumping down there and bringing him back  home.  Would anyone really know?  I thought maybe, just maybe it was like a time capsule and I could dig him up in a few years and look through all of the things the girls put in there and visit with him.  I know in my heart of heart, HE is not there, but a part of him really is.  I thought about putting my wedding ring in there, but knew I wanted to save it for my girls.  The cement box they put him in seemed so institutionalized, so sterile.  Who wants to be in that environment?  I would have brought a pillow or blanket if I would have known.  I know this all sounds crazy and unrealistic, but these are the things that I think of.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to my in-laws for breakfast and hung out for 3 hours.  I was totally inappropriate at the ceremony when I invited everyone to my in-laws afterward.  I made reference to drinking at 11am and something about "it's 5:00 somewhere."  I say the damnedest things when I am nervous.  The girls and I came home afterwards and I checked out for three hours in my room.  I took a long nap.  The kids and I had a talk on the way back, but no one really had much to say.  My middle daughter put a piece of her blanket in the envelope to be placed in with Brian, along with a picture of her with straight hair.  He always loved her hair straight.  I thought the blanket was the sweetest thing ever.  My oldest daughter had painted a picture and hand drawn a Father of the Year Award for him.  She also included two pictures of her with him.  My youngest wrote him a letter with a picture of three trees and two flowers.  Daddy, Taylor and Morgan were trees and me and Madison were the flowers.  Super sweet.  I really wanted to keep it, but it wasn't for me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I'd better try to get some sleep.  I'm heading back to my friends for a pool party tomorrow morning.  The kids will play while the ladies chat.  I guess the distraction will be good.  I have taken two benedryl in hopes of sleeping tonight.  I'm not much on heading to the bedroom alone.  He's just not there...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-5221902036705213611?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/5221902036705213611/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/tonight-i-fly-alone.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/5221902036705213611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/5221902036705213611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/tonight-i-fly-alone.html' title='Tonight I fly alone.'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-3036065098440828440</id><published>2009-08-02T13:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-02T18:35:53.082-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One step forward and two steps back</title><content type='html'>That is how I feel today.  Tomorrow we go to bury Brian's ashes.  Before you ask me why I am putting them in a plot, I have to tell you it is for my girls. (and MIL)  But mostly for my girls.  They like going to cemeteries and bringing flowers.  We often visit my nana at Arlington Cemetery.  They love to look around and see who is new and who has had visitors.  I, personally would be fine with having him stay on my dresser, but I do what I can for my girls.  For my girls I will even go to my MIL's after the ceremony for lunch.  I tried to get her to have lunch at a resteraunt, but she insisted on having it at thier house.  What if I don't feel like it afterwards?  Do I have to go?  I have no idea how I will be.  This is going to be what makes it final.  At least I think so.  I'm still waiting for the tidal wave, but it hasn't come yet.  I've tried to cry in the last week and a half, but have to tears to shed.  I'm all dried up.  I even bought the movie "Beaches" to jumpstart it, but haven't watched it.  I LOVE that movie.  It reminds me of my friend Becky.  I finally went to visit her last week and invited myself and the girls for a sleepover.  I haven't really hung out with her in several years, but it was like we never skipped a beat.  That is just who we are.  We have been friends since my 8th grade year.  She's the best.  She is my Bette Midler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a one step forward note, I bit the bullet and facebooked Jay to see how he was doing.  He actually responded and has made my day for the last two days.  Funny how contact from someone can set the tone for your day.  It's not a lot of communication, but it's something.  I vow not to screw this up this time.  I like what little attention I am getting.  My friends say they will set me up, but I'm not ready to date.  I just like attention from familiar people.  I know I'm safe with him and not some wack job from the streets.  Right now it's just friends and I will take anything over nothing.  For now he is my distraction.  Reality sucks!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for now I will put the love of my life to rest.  The girls and I each have something special to place in his urn tomorrow.  My MIL called tonight.  She is a mess.  How come I am not?  I'm guessing it is because I am the type of person who doesn't get nervous until the day of the event.  We shall see how I do.  I'll have Mom and Dad there for me, as well as all of his family.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll keep you all posted.  I'm hoping for closure, but am pretty sure I won't get it just yet...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-3036065098440828440?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/3036065098440828440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/one-step-forward-and-two-steps-back.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3036065098440828440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3036065098440828440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/08/one-step-forward-and-two-steps-back.html' title='One step forward and two steps back'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-4274337747533526757</id><published>2009-07-27T08:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T18:18:45.400-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Irrational</title><content type='html'>ir⋅ra⋅tion⋅al   &lt;br /&gt;–adjective 1. without the faculty of reason; deprived of reason. &lt;br /&gt;2. without or deprived of normal mental clarity or sound judgment.&lt;br /&gt;3. not in accordance with reason; utterly illogical: irrational arguments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I was talking to a good friend and she told me, "Toni, I'm a little worried about you.  You are making a lot of irrational decisions."  It gave me food for thought.  She isn't one to give advice very often, so when she does I tend to take it to heart.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I thought about it.  First I became infatuated with a boy.  Then I felt the need to go shopping for a new Vera, a bed for my daughter, and a new entertainment center.  Finally, I am now looking to buy a new car.  I realize no matter what I do, it will never bring back Brian.  The car I thought I wanted has no trunk room.  Since then, the car hunt isn't as fun as I thought it would be.  Not much is helping.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night was the first night that I have dreamt of Brian since he has been gone.  It was as if he had never left.  We were all out in the back yard playing.  It was nice.  Today marks three months since he has been gone. In one week we will place Brian in his final resting place.  It is all becoming so real.  He is definatly not coming back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My middle daughter is at the beach with my in-laws.  I'm hoping the break from them will do me good.  I knew I wouldn't be able to deal with picking up other people on this day.  I'm doing well myself to keep it together.  I think I'm doing ok though.  I've kept pretty busy.  I find that is the key.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm off to put my kiddos to bed and enjoy some quiet time.  Until tomorrow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-4274337747533526757?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/4274337747533526757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/irrational.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/4274337747533526757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/4274337747533526757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/irrational.html' title='Irrational'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-639847647408313408</id><published>2009-07-22T20:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T21:12:07.208-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Putting a Band-Aid on Love</title><content type='html'>Not long after Brian died, an old friend contacted me to let me know how sorry he was to hear about Brian's death. We began talking on Facebook late at night. I finally asked him to dinner. We went out, totally platonic and talked the entire time. I paid for dinner, because I invited him out. He mentioned a cookout at his house the next day and invited me and the girls to come. I ended up going without the girls, as they were on the way home from the beach with my Mom. I had a great time visiting with his friends and Mom and Dad. Did I mention that we went to Jr. High together and kind of dated then? His mother used to be my cheerleading coach. She is a teacher and we talked all about education. After his friends went home I went to his house to hang for a couple of hours. We talked and talked about what we have been doing since high school. I could tell he was tired, so I left. But this time when I hugged him, I kissed him. It was reciprocal. He closed the front door even. When I realized what I had done, I said thanks and left. I even texted him to see if he had any regrets. He said none. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now somewhere between that night and the next week, he either got a lecture, a conscience or came to his senses, because he has been avoiding me ever since. He said it was a little weird for him. I get that. Then he said I was looking for something more and he isn't right now. Then how come every time we text or email at night, he is flirty. Is he being a gentleman? Or does he not want to give up his freedom? After practically stalking him for two weeks, I have come to realize that I cannot use him to distract myself from this reality of hell. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way home today I texted him this:&lt;br /&gt;Just came from the cemetery to make Brian’s arrangements. I honestly want to thank you for making me slow down to deal with this. Sorry I called you an ass. You were just doing the right thing. Thank you Jay. You're still a good guy in my book. I’ll give you your space now. Take care. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It occurred to me that he was right in all this. IF and I mean IF he does care, then he was avoiding me to protect me. If not, then he just has no social skills. lol. Anyway, I'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just miss the physical closeness. He could fill that void. He is familiar to me, but he was right. It was too soon for him and me. Maybe there is hope down the line. He's the one I always thought got away. But then again, maybe God has his own plan. Have wonderful, fulfilling life with Brian first, and then see where life takes you. Hmmm...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-639847647408313408?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/639847647408313408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/putting-band-aid-on-love.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/639847647408313408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/639847647408313408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/putting-band-aid-on-love.html' title='Putting a Band-Aid on Love'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-7510136148879182573</id><published>2009-07-22T10:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T11:02:43.781-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Can't Breathe</title><content type='html'>I took the girls to both cemeteries.  I never said a word.  I just showed them the avaiabilities at each cemetery.  They liked Stonewall Gardens best.  I won, but why do I feel so horrible?  When I told my MIL I think she was crying.  I get it.  I do.  But it is the kids who will visit us.  She took it without a fight.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I went today to make the final arrangements for the burial.  Death is expensive.  Don't let anyone tell you different.  Between the hospital bill, the services, and the burial, I'm out a whole lot of dough.  It didn't help that I bought two plots just so no one else could be next to us.  lol.  But it was important enough for me.  It's ok, that is what life insurance is for, but still.  But I digress...  Sitting there filling out the paper work was ok.  I was all business.  It wasn't until we started designing the memorial stone that I began to lose it.  I couldn't breathe.  His name was on a tombstone.  Why?  It certainly shouldn't be.  Not to mention my name either.  I put a "together forever" embleme in the center with a butterfly near my name.  Under his name we wrote, "Left this wonderful world too soon."  He loved that song and it was the background song to his slideshow at the services.  OMG.  I'm so not looking forward to this.  I must sit for fear of passing out on the day of his burial.  I want to be strong for my girls, but don't think I can do it.  Upon seeing the memorial on the screen, all I could think of was this is how I felt the night I saw him at the hospital, dead on the ER table.  I cried the whole way home today.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm hating my time alone, but don't want to be with people either.  I just want to be busy.  Remind me of this in September when I won't even have time to be on here.  Between the kids, grad school and subbing, I'll be busier than a one armed paper hanger.  lol.  My mother's saying.  Believe me I have plenty to do around here, but nothing I want to do.  lol.  I have an hour before Morgan comes home.  Guess I could at least run the dishwasher.  That's not too much effort is it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-7510136148879182573?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/7510136148879182573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/cant-breathe.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/7510136148879182573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/7510136148879182573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/cant-breathe.html' title='Can&apos;t Breathe'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-3963069661467364952</id><published>2009-07-15T20:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-15T20:15:46.087-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tough Decisions I Shouldn't Be Making</title><content type='html'>Why is it with death, we have so many decisions to make?  Cremation or not, interment or scatter, donate organs or not, what type of service, what cemetery and what to say on the tombstone.  I have now visted three cemeteries.  The first one is very local and beautiful, but the flush markers are so close together that the kids could use them to play hopscotch.  The second cemetery is pretty, has flush markers but is not as beautiful as the first.  It will do though.  Now the third.  My MIL suggested this one because I had mentioned wanting an above ground memorial.  The cemetery is owned by her church and is very old.  It dates back to the 1800's.  She and my FIL went to visit it a few weeks ago.  I have been putting her off until today.  They fell in love with it stating that it reminded her of home, aka. West Virginia.  They want to buy two plots as well, if I choose to bury him there.  First off, my husband NEVER wanted to be buried in West Virginia.  Second, it's old and not very well kept.  The only thing that had me considering it is my 7 year old daughter.  She wants a tombstone like my Nana.  I get it.  So, I am doing the diplomatic thing and taking the girls to see both cemeteries on the way to Mom and Dad's on Sunday.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Personally, I feel like she has cornered me into this.  I did tell her that it was the kids final decision.  She had best not be sneaky.  Do I have the right to bury him where I want?  Where I feel comfortable buring him?  I don't want to rock the boat, but come on lady.  Next she'll tell me what to put on the memorial.  NOT!  I'm so sad and so angry all at the same time.  My selfish little teenage self says to bury him in the 2nd cemetery.  It's pretty and doable.  The other part of me says, well, will it matter in 99 years?  NO.  I don't want her to win either.  This is my life.  He spent 12 years married to me and 7 more dating.  He is my husband.  He lived with me.  He is the father of my children.  I have a say.  I have a say.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-3963069661467364952?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/3963069661467364952/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/tough-decisions-i-shouldnt-be-making.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3963069661467364952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3963069661467364952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/tough-decisions-i-shouldnt-be-making.html' title='Tough Decisions I Shouldn&apos;t Be Making'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-1770613121878837812</id><published>2009-07-10T04:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-10T04:56:43.930-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thoughts for the Day</title><content type='html'>I met up with some girlfriends this morning for "boot camp."  OMG, am I out of shape, though I could do much of it but the running.  I have a long way to go.  I'm hoping to do something every morning whether it be walking or biking.  Maybe I'll actually go to bed earlier.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I head to the second cemetery today to check things out.  The girls are going with a friend of mine to a movie this morning.  She is so kind to me.  The appraiser for the house is coming at noon.  I hope she is kind to the house.  I need this refinance.  Then it's off to the pool with the girls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't finished my final paper yet.  I called the professor last night and told him I couldn't do it and I wasn't coming to class.  I kept the sitter and went to see a movie for the first time, all by myself.  I had a great time.  I laughed out loud.  The Proposal is a romantic comedy, but hilarious.  I needed a good laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's gonna be a good day!  At least that is what I tell myself!  Have a great weekend!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-1770613121878837812?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/1770613121878837812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/thoughts-for-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/1770613121878837812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/1770613121878837812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/thoughts-for-day.html' title='Thoughts for the Day'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-7587693106674827561</id><published>2009-07-08T18:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-08T18:29:31.409-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Packin it up</title><content type='html'>Ok, so I just packed all of Brian's clothes up and am donating them to AmVet.  I don't know why I chose today?  I just had a bug up my butt and knew the people would be coming tomorrow.  The entire time I had a flutter in my chest.  I did it as quickly as I could.  Like taking off a band-aid quickly to avoid pain.  I kept his tee shirts, sweatshirts and underwear, cuz who wants the underwear?  I kept the tee shirts for the girls.  Maybe I'll do something with them later.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's only been 10 weeks but it feels like forever.  I just can't see why I am not as upset as the widows on the Young Widow Bulletin Board.  Is it because he traveled? I know I can do this on my own.  I just can't figure out why I'm not in deep depression.  I seem to be hurrying things along.  Like today with the clothes and Friday with the cemetery visit.  I keep thinking something is going to make it hit home, but nothing.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday I did cry at the chaos of the dental and health insurance.  It looks like Metlife dropped us, but not really.  I don't know.  We don't have new cards at least.  That is stuff I would have handled anyway.  I just want the storm to hit and blow over.  I need to move on.  I am not one to be alone.  I don't even like to go to the grocery store alone.  lol.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I sit and wait for THE Big Storm.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-7587693106674827561?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/7587693106674827561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/packin-it-up.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/7587693106674827561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/7587693106674827561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/packin-it-up.html' title='Packin it up'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-7044169190794327573</id><published>2009-07-06T18:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-06T18:48:45.538-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Anything but the right thing.</title><content type='html'>I have 7 science journals due tomorrow night.  I believe I have over 1/2 of them due.  I have sat down countless times over the last 24 hours to complete them, but can't bring myself to do so.  I get distracted either by the kids or by the message boards.  I even had a school mate email me one of her examples to help me get started again.  I've read her pages and still nothing.  This is the worst.  It is my finals week and I have to get this work done.  Still I sit here typing words that come so easily.  When will my head be straight again?  When will the forgetfullness go away?  For God's sake, I forgot our wedding anniversary last Sunday. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tell myself I have to burry him soon.  I need it all to hit me, just to get it over with.  I want to move on.  I need to move on.  So I think.  All my life I have lived in my little bubble where everything is peaches and cream.  I like my bubble.  In my bubble, Brian is away on a business trip and I'm only alone for a little while.  My bubble burst 10 weeks ago.  I want my bubble back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-7044169190794327573?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/7044169190794327573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/anything-but-right-thing.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/7044169190794327573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/7044169190794327573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/anything-but-right-thing.html' title='Anything but the right thing.'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-6421797867794071172</id><published>2009-07-06T12:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-06T12:50:13.481-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Ocean</title><content type='html'>Someone on an online bulletin board wrote:  "I guess the best way to describe this grief journey is to compare it to the ocean. Some days are calm and you find inner peace while others days are like a tidal wave and the grief just crashes down all around you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How true.  Sometimes I feel at peace and then there are days like today that I feel like I'm drowning.  It seems as though I am treading water on the days in between.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-6421797867794071172?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/6421797867794071172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/ocean.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6421797867794071172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/6421797867794071172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/ocean.html' title='The Ocean'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9160965739132912614.post-3292730598677981574</id><published>2009-07-06T10:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-06T10:12:33.091-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Butterfly</title><content type='html'>The butterfly is a symbol of hope, the symbol of new life and the symbol of those who are bereaved. Before it becomes a butterfly, though, it must spend time in a cocoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We might be tempted to help release the butterfly from her cocoon. It is human nature to want to assist, but if we do, she will fall to the ground and die. By her struggle to free herself, she strengthens her wings enought to survive and fly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grief is certainly like this process. We feel ugly, we change, we hide, we sometimes spin a cocoon around ourselves. It takes a long time. There is a difference, however; others may help us as we struggle. We need not do it all alone as the butterfly does; but the ultimate responsibility is ours. We have to grieve, hurt, cry, be angry and struggle to free ourselves from the cocoon of grief. And one day we do emerge - a beautiful butterfly - a stronger person, a more compassionate person, a more understanding person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Author Unknown&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9160965739132912614-3292730598677981574?l=madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/feeds/3292730598677981574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/butterfly.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3292730598677981574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9160965739132912614/posts/default/3292730598677981574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://madamsbutterfly.blogspot.com/2009/07/butterfly.html' title='The Butterfly'/><author><name>mmandtt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17110562653217974789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c9mUgH1TiPw/SlIpAnnYwkI/AAAAAAAAAGg/0SuMiaWfT5s/S220/butterfly.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
