I learned my lesson. I will never drink that again... Water. Coffee. Protein bar. Motrin. My hangover cure. Hopefully.

Did anyone ever learn more in life than on the playground? I learned some of the best lessons there. Like: Never play red rover if you're the smallest, you will be targeted. Or: Never wear a skirt to play, you'll inevitably show your My Little Ponies.

Today I took the kids (Ava, 7, and Isaiah, 4) to the park. As they played on the playground, I took in all the lessons life offered me in those moments. Lessons about people. It isn't quite so practical and direct as it was when I was a kid, but the education is useful nevertheless.

When we got there, the swings were empty. Not a soul touched them and I couldn't resist. I spent at least 15 minutes there, swinging alone as the kids climbed and slid in front of me. It was awesome. I can never resist a good swingset. And you know what happened after I got off? By the time we left, 3 moms (all of which had seen me on it) sat for a swing, too. You can call me a trailblazer, I won't mind.

After that, I sat on a bench at a distance from the kids with the latest Smithsonian magazine opened to an article about Al Pacino. And ya know, I was the only parent there who sat (gasp) at a distance. I had the fleeting thought, "I wonder if they think I'm being negligent because I'm not as "involved" as they are?" Negligent... hovering. It's all in the spin. I squashed the thought.

There was a difference between how the fathers treated their kids compared to the mothers. The father who was by himself with his adorable, curly-haired blonde toddler let her run around without shoes. He had her shoes, in fact he carried them the whole time. She just didn't want to wear them and he was cool with it. The moms? They were quick to put shoes back on if one ever fell off. Splinters, guys. You can get hurt.

(I liked the bare feet)

And then came the bane of some mothers' existence: the skinny mom. She had one toddler running and an infant on her chest in a carrier. Every mom on the playground suddenly crossed their arms. Perhaps not in a defensive move, but definitely in an "I'm covering up my imperfect belly" move. Shoulders became tense. The air was even less jovial. All because of self esteem or the lack thereof. Now, I'm not going to insult anyone here, one of the main reasons I'm in counseling right now is to try and help build a healthy sense of self esteem back up. But it was a damn shame that all it took was seeing someone perceived as perfect walking by for it to ruin the day for so many. And it sucks for Miss Perfect, too. She did nothing wrong, but it's a sure thing she's hated on.

A mosquito bit my big toe.

My imagination roamed...my park bench was at the entrance to a nature trail. Behind me was woods. What if someone grabbed me from the dark woods. People could sneak there easily...if they are Indians, you know, the Native American kind (I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to say Indians anymore). Or maybe if they are Ninjas. I would definitely not hear them stealthily moving amongst the trees and vegetation. So let me recap where my imagination took me: Ninjas and Indians were going to grab me from the woods behind my bench. Is that racist? It's OK. My husband is black. You can't be in an interracial relationship and be racist. Proven fact. (If you could see me now, I'm trying so hard not to laugh at my bad self.)

My education wasn't complete when we left the park. Oh no, the worst of it was in the car with the kids.

Ava: Mom, do just kids get their tummies pierced?

Me: Uhm, what? No, kids don't get their tummies pierced. It's kind of a grown up thing, actually.

Ava: How old do you have to be to get your tummy pierced?

Me: You're not supposed to get it done until you're like, 18. But sometimes some parents go with their daughters when they are like, 16. And they sign a form saying it's ok. But it's not really ok. Not with me. Because belly rings aren't that great. They get infected a lot. It hurts to get it done. And? They're supposed to be sexy. Are kids supposed to be sexy?

Ava: I can't believe you just said that word.

Isaiah: Do people get earrings in their peepees?

Ava: NOOOO!!!

Isaiah: Mommy, do people get earrings in their peepees?

Me: Well...Yes, I believe that some people have done that before. But that's pretty ridiculous, don't you think?

Isaiah: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Ava: GROSS!!!

Me: ~sigh~

Ava: Wait, that means they had to show someone else their privates to get it done.

Isn't that special.

Yeah, it's the last week and whatever before 2.0 (crossing fingers). But listen, I never used the subs feature. I always read you guys through my private log because I friended most of you. I never liked that someone could sub me without my permission and the only way for me to unsub them was blocking. That's a major flaw, so I didn't do it to others (cuz I'm a good little bitch and obey the golden rule).

But now, with the transfer to 2.0, I'm a little worried I'll lose you. The mockup didn't look that easy for following, but maybe that wasn't finished when John gave a sneak peek. So to be sure I have you, I'm smothering you. M'kay? You're getting subbed and friended. Even if it's the last week. I just want to make sure I have my xanga fam with me on the other side.

I decided last week that today would be the beginning of our school year. Yes, I decided (we homeschool, so I get to do that). I probably decided it because I'd finished purchasing all of my materials and curriculum etc and thought, hey, let's get it started in here. Woohoo. Uh-huh. (That was a little Black Eyed Peas serenade for ya.) I'd already done allthelegalthings (never thought I'd appreciate anything about Texas, but at least they didn't regulate the hells bells out of homeschooling. Thank God for small favors) and we were set up as a legit North Carolina school. Can I get another woohoo? No? Not so much? Yeah, I'm not feeling that one either. I don't like being in a public registry as an official NC "private school," but that's the game we have to play and I'll move my pawns as necessary. So long story short, we began our first day today.

What that also means is that today, I spent A Long Time in front of my printer. Why? Holy atomic pile, Batman! The forms. See, I might have filed allthelegalthings with alltheregulatoryagencies, but I didn't update my new school year file yet. Curriculum lists. Daily logs. Attendance records. HSLDA membership (my account number changed this year, does that change every year?). The NC state homeschool law (I print it and keep it laminated with my proof of legal status). North Carolina school ID number and proof of registration of our "private school" with the state. Etc. There was more, but this is boring and you get the gist. Homeschooling is not just a matter of deciding you want to do it and *boom* you're doing it. Not if you want to keep doing it (you get busted for doing shit like that? And you're in the next HSLDA court report because they have to help your ass in a lawsuit, while your kid is in public school and you fight for your right to get him back home). Suffice it to say, my brain is done.

OH but wait, I have classes to teach. Dangit! So we started the first day of second grade with Ava and preschool with Isaiah. I had no idea he'd be into it, but I have stuff for him. I'm not going to make him do it every day, but I see that he wants to be a part of it this year. Man, it's a challenge to do them both at the same time. I definitely drank my coffee this morning. ALOTofit

So now, it's lunchtime. We finished school for the day. I think I finished my business end of the process (but fried brain isn't exactly the best computer for determining that). Next? I need to find a UPS drop off location. Because this damn Koa wood hair stick broke the first effing time I tried to use it. Piece of crap.

The reviews on Amazon lied. Or? I got a dud. Now I gotta return it. HASSLE! Ugh.

*It was probably a bad idea to begin the school year the day after the MTV awards. Why? Because I have a badass tradition of drinking a whole bottle of champagne whilst watching them, which makes them even fricking funnier. I do this every year and it's required. Last night was no exception. Bonus: I drink it straight from the bottle. Classy!

My therapist is so like my mother. Yeah, that's a good thing. I see her on a weekly basis, for the next 3 months or so. I have homework. Daily affirmations. Nooooooo!!!

Am I the only one who pictures Stuart Smalley? Tell me I'm not the only one old enough to get this reference? Because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.

LOL! Oh if only I could get Mr Smalley out of my head, maybe I'd have an easier time not feeling so ridiculous. 

It's easy to say, or really believe, that when a marriage is in crisis the number one thing you need to do is get help. Get into marital counseling. I've long been an advocate for it myself. Four and a half years ago it was what got us through (or past, I should say) our first crisis. But we didn't finish our sessions, though there were only 6 to begin with. Why?

There were lots of compelling reasons (and man, we were doing so much better!) but the worst was complacency. We were 4 sessions in when Isaiah was born. We were actually semi-trying to get all of the therapy completed before his birth, but he came slightly early at 38wks. Why did this prevent or discourage further treatment? The military. They had been waiting on his birth for Josh's transfer.

The transfer to Texas. A.K.A. The years of hell.

And so began the complacency rut. The hole was already there because we were not fully out of our original marital crisis. Back-burner. Neglect. Prolonged separations (his job). Denial. Disengagement.

4 years passed. We could have gotten back into counseling in Texas. We didn't make it a priority, though. We chose not to.

I fully believed that once we moved, things would magically get better. I of course see the error in this thought (this fragile hope) now. It's also why things came to such a head in what seemed like such a small amount of time when we moved to North Carolina this June - the realization that it wasn't the situation (and oh, how I'd blamed the situation. I blamed it. I blamed the job, the schedule, the area, everything). But it was us. It was our marriage.

So here we are, deep in crisis. Deep in it. It seems inescapable. We cried out for help. Marital therapy. We got 12 sessions.

7 sessions in, we were not at all better. It seemed to be getting even worse (inconceivable). We were barely beginning to get through the surface, and it just wasn't working. Marital therapy, you see, doesn't work when you aren't individually healthy for each other anymore.

So with our therapist's approval, we called it quits.

When marital therapy fails does that mean your marriage is irrevocably broken? Not necessarily.

Because when marital therapy fails, individual therapy begins. Where that road leads is anyone's guess. But emotionally broken people can't contribute to a healthy relationship. Ultimately, individual health is of paramount importance. For me. For my kids. Even for our family. Regardless of the relationship status.

When we fell in love, we were individually healthy people. We didn't fall in love with brokenness. Brokenness doesn't keep a marriage together. Individually healthy people do. No blame. No more hurting. Ownership of ourselves, even in this emotionally abusive marriage. (Yes. Somewhere along the line, that's what changed. And if you really knew me, surely you picked up on some aspect of that loss of self - and surely, hopefully, you can have compassion for imperfect emotional eggshells.)

I'm going out on a limb here. I know only what has been presented because this is, so far, a word-of-mouth love story. A tragedy. We only want those who did the wrong thing to acknowledge the life lost and acknowledge their wrong doing. No one is asking anything else, at least not as far as I know. This isn't a smear campaign, but as long as this continues along the path it is currently following, those who are hurt get hurt deeper by what at least appears to be an attitude of either cover-up or minimization.

This is Sampson. He was rescued and adopted during the Coast Guard's efforts in Hurricane Katrina. He was the official station canine for USCG Station Tybee Island in Georgia.

While doing a PT run in a national park, Sampson was struck by a Waste Management truck that was "speeding recklessly" on a posted 15mph road. Sampson had been running alongside his shipmates. The driver of the truck did not stop, he kept going. Is it possible he didn't realize what he'd done? I can't imagine being so out of it that you don't realize you're driving alongside a group of military servicemen and women who were likely jogging in formation - with a dog, no less. But perhaps that goes with the definition of reckless. It certainly seems to support it. At any rate, the driver kept going and Sampson died later that night from his egregious wounds.

Of course Waste Management was contacted regarding the incident. Their response was less than satisfactory, and was in fact hurtful. They denied responsibility, reportedly deleted online questions or comments (Facebook page here), blocked those who were repeated "offenders" on their page, and in all ways have wiped their hands and refused to even look into the possibility that the United States Coast Guard might have been aware of and clearly seen the bright green truck marked "Waste Management" which ran over their beloved shipmate.

Then, in an even more heartbreaking strike, Sampson was declared, by a representative of Waste Management, to have been "just a pet." So why bother making a stink, right? He's just a pet. Besides the fact that he wasn't just a pet (he was an official member of USCG Station Tybee Island and was in all ways a part of the Coastie family), what the hell does that "just" signify?

Because words have meaning.

Just. As in, only. He was only a pet. I suppose that means that to the Waste Management representative, pets are not valuable lives worth taking pause for. The driver sure didn't. Sampson didn't even get the respect of a stop. He was a drive-by. A hit and run. And the representative of the company is treating him the same way. He isn't giving Sampson the respect of life, not even a pause for the possibility of responsibility. Not even an ear for it. Even his mourners are silenced, promptly hushed for asking questions or for needing just a modicum of dignity or respect from those who were responsible.

This isn't right. We want people to know about this. It's been almost a year since this occurred (September 27th, 2012), and still no resolution!! Only continued cover up and ignorance.

I can only end this with the loving words of those who lost him. Fair winds and following seas, BM2 Sampson D-Dawg! Your duty watch is complete, big boy.

UPDATE: I see reports that Waste Management has expressed that they were "saddened" by the event. That was the only official action taken. So I update to say they aren't covering up. Exactly. They just don't give a damn.

Link to original story, and you can also find information from the official USCG Station Tybee Island's FB group page (in their short timeline you can verify Sampson and his death etc). I did my best to verify this prior to writing. Due diligence.

Driving along yesterday, we stopped at a red light. Beside us, a man in his SUV was smoking with his front window rolled down. Ava (7) made a very interesting comment to me about it. 

Ava: Mom, why is his window down? 

Me: Well, lots of times, when people smoke in their car, they roll down the windows so it doesn't make the car too dirty or stinky. 

Ava: But it's making their bodies dirty and stinky on the inside when they smoke. Do they care more about their car than their bodies? 

Point well made, my little one. Great observation. It ruins the value of a car for it to have been a smoker's vehicle. The air filters etc are ruined and filth permeates the interior, no matter how much you clean it. People care more about the value of their car and will roll down the windows for those reasons and for fresh air when they smoke because of it. But their bodies? Well, I guess they don't put as much value or stock in them. 

From the mouths of babes.