My friend, started a site: An Open Apology. Anyone is invited to write and submit a letter. It could be to your ex, your boss, your mom, or even your pet. And…..It can be stone cold serious or full of humor. Whatever helps you get the words out…….
Without further ado, here is the apology letter I submitted.
(RED: Thanks for reading this first and reassuring me that I’m not quite the piece of crap I thought I might be. Well…..not in this instance anyway.)
Although these words will never meet your ears, I’m apologizing anyway. You are and will always be protected by what I felt that day, in that moment. After all, I’m a mother. I’m your mother. It’s my job to protect you.
Admitting something I’m deeply ashamed of isn’t easy. Even your father doesn’t know this. How could I tell him? He didn’t share my feeling. He didn’t share my fear. I didn’t want to look less in his eyes or risk losing a piece of his heart. But, this isn’t about him. It’s about you and me.
TO READ THE REST, GO TO: Mom Apologizes to Son with Down’s Syndrome
Need some motivation to get your pitiful, sorry, “I should be dead for what I did to you”, thoughts out?
Okay…This is more about not accepting the apology, but a good song I had to throw in. And you know…..They might not accept it. A chance you have to take sometimes.
Now go apologize at An Open Apology. You know you screwed up! Go make it right.
Since I’m doing such a great job on this blog: writing daily posts, reading and commenting in a timely manner, visiting and commenting on other blogs regularly, selling ice to the Eskimos, selling electric blankets to Satan……..I’ve decided to create a new blog.
It’s going to be hard to believe, but I love posting pics of my son on Facebook. I’m just one of those moms, except sarcastic, humorous captions always follow. I also like to create mini-stories with his pics. So……..A friend of mine suggested I take it out of the FB world and create a blog. I think she just didn’t want to see that crap anymore, but whateverthefuck.
Here it is:
Drop Off Only
Sync to memory
You: Ice, Me: Zamboni
Floorboard to curb
Ain’t that far
Your kids got this
Keep your ass in the car
Drop off only
Not for stalking your kid
It’s for trusting parents
Who let them eat without bibs
And don’t slow us down more
To open the trunk
With backpacks inside
Can’t your kids hold their junk?
Unless it’s a clown car
Needing room for more brats?
The trunk is off limits
And that friend is that
I’ll make an exception
For a body to hide
You can stop very briefly
To tuck it inside
Stop, drop and roll
Next time in the lane
But minus the stop
Or you’ll drive me insane
Many moons ago, my son asked if the Easter bunny was real. he said he really, really wanted to know. After telling him no, he said he knew it. After all, a big bunny hopping around bringing baskets is ridiculous.
He got his little sister. They wanted to know if Santa was real. Again, they really wanted to know. I gave a great explanation about the history behind St. Nick and how it all began. They handled it great. They were smiling and engaged.
THEN……..they wanted to know about the tooth fairy and anyone else represented by a Hallmark holiday. I told them all of it was made up.
THEN…..The eyes bulged and the lips quivered.
Their eyes burned through me, for what felt like ten hours (probably 3 seconds), but in kid time, same thing. AND IN NO TIME……..the horror ensued. They began screaming and crying hysterically. They said I lied about Santa. AND……..Why was I tricking them? I think one of their heads spun around.
Quickly, I regrouped and told them they were right. I did lie to them. “Mommy was fooling around and playing a joke”, I said.
My son decided I lied about the bunny too.
I’m sure the event will trigger some degree of PTSD in the future.
THE OTHER DAY: My son asked for help with his language arts homework. He was struggling. I gave him my expertise. He appeared to believe me, then said, “How do I even trust you? You could just be lying to me.”
Clearly, lies are like memory foam……….even the truths, we say are lies. That would be the “double lie” impact.
In the end……….I secured my children’s innocence and their belief in magic, at least for a while.
I also increased the likelihood that they will never believe a word I say.
WELL………at least I know they fit in with all the other children their age, who don’t believe their parents either.
AND…………That’s how it goes when mommy is a big, fat, nasty, f’ing liar!
Truthfully though, they are all intertwined.
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There is an unintentional Part Two to this posting: Engaged in foreplay and I had no clue.
I’m not certain about the answer to that question, but I’m going to go with NO!
Although? (possible lyrics based on today’s 25th phone call to me)
We call you on phone and annoy you at home
Computer says bad, bad things to us.
There’s a virus and computer will crash in a rush.
We blame Microsoft for this mess.
We work for them too. Let’s run a test.
You try to talk , but we sqawk and sqawk
(US) “Don’t worry.” We can hear the fear in your voice
(YOU) “I’m not worried.”
We ignore you, of course
(US) “Go to your computer and we will tell you the fix”.
(YOU) “Which computer? I have six.”
Not prepared for such a dubious twist.
Nervousness hits. Down my pants, there is piss.
(US) “It’s all computers.”
(YOU) “How can that be?”
(US) “It’s connection to the internet. Don’t you see?
(YOU) “Then I’ll call my provider. They can fix that.”
(US….rattled) “No ma’am. They cannot fix such problem. It’s like dog and cat.”
(YOU) “You make no sense if it’s my internet connection.”
(US) “I made an error. It’s the operating system situation.”
(YOU) “There are different systems running on the computers you see.”
(US….very flustered) “Exactly! Just get on computer and listen to me.”
(YOU) “This is the 25th phone call. Again, Take me off your list.”
(US) “Ma’am! You must hurry on computer to prevent this.”
(YOU) ”LIAR, LIAR, LIAR………..I have IT people in my family. This is such a scam.”
(US….confused, but still reading from script) “Are you there so I can tell you what to do ma’am?”
(YOU) “What the fuck! Take me off your list!”
I keep spouting crapola from my lips.
“Daddy. I am practicing for the big job I will have one day working for Fix My Computer Dude. Now. Once I get some idiot to let me access there computer, how do I get into their personal information?”
I would much rather watch my son’s reaction to having half-eaten Goldfish snacks thrown.
PETA is not going to like this very much.
So…..I’m reading this Year of Living Sober blog and I’m thinking, WTF! Who wants to do that? Just kidding. I am not trying to encourage alcohol consumption or condone alcoholism, although if you are reading this and under the influence, I applaud you for doing what it takes to get through my ramblings. Sort of seriously though, the blog isn’t written by a recovering alcoholic, but rather someone who just wanted to give up drinking for one year.
I decided to analyze my relationship with alcohol. Alcohol and I started seeing each other back in the seventies when my father used it as a cure-all for any fever, coughing, toothache or what have you. He gave us (bro, sis and myself) a shot of Spanada wine and would send us to bed. Like a dumbass, I thought it was some cure. Now that I have my own children, I realize he just was trying to get us to go to
fucking bed and leave him alone.
Alcohol and I started to date again while I was in highschool. There were parties here and there, breaking into parent’s liquor cabinets and an unplanned “so drunk I blacked out” episode during a dress rehearsal. In college, we got hot and heavy. Too much drinking and not enough studying. Sorry dad. I did graduate though. Between college and children it was all about drinking socially. occasionally this led to not remembering the ride home, which means at some point it became anti-social and I was just a drunken mess. I did say ride though. I did not drive. The good news is, my current relationship wasn’t that wonderful, so being out of it on occasion was a blessing. Besides, I got better looking when I drank. Yes….I meant it the way I wrote it.
This leads us to today. Back in May of 2011, right before finals in my nursing class, I decided to have a few beers (3-5) at night to destress myself. This became a few beers each night except for four in the last eight months. Now….three of those four, I didn’t drink at all. One out of the four, I got a bit carried away at a friend’s birthday bash and mixed a few different alcoholic beverages. Needless to say, I slept on the bathroom floor all night…..for convenience of course. I blame her for having a party. What a bitch! My husband kept telling me we had to leave. He blames me for sneaking drinks behind his back when I was slurring as it was, just to stay longer. Let me see here. I’m 41, slurring words and sneaking alcohol. Hmmmmmm! So……I wasn’t suffering from a stroke, a neuromuscular disorder (ALS, cerebral palsy, MS or Parkinson’s) or Lyme disease. Oh my freaking hell! I guess I was
fucking drunk. As a police officer, I would think my husband would know how to identify a woman, who is drunk off her ass and incapable of being responsible. I guess he was blinded by his immense love for me or the hope of drunken sex. Sadly, not much action on the bathroom floor. Just a lot of flushing.
Just keeping it real: This is already too long, so I will write more on this later. Also, I only had one beer left, so I had to bust open the boxed wine. Nothing but the best baby. Two glasses while writing this and I’m good. Off to bed.
This won’t be as tantalizing as the title may show. I received some awards some time back (Blog Awards with Barbies), and one of the requirements is to tell things about myself people may or may not know. So….That is the truth part. The dare part is that this is information you probably don’t want to know, so I dare you to continue reading this post. Okay….I double dog dare you. I’ll try to leave out stuff I have regurgitated on my blog already. I can’t promise to fulfill all the truths I need to, but here goes:
- My first name is Lorre, not Lorrelee. Lee is my middle name, but a college friend of mine liked to put the names together to make me sound hick when he introduced me.
- I was named after the character Laurie in the Little Women novel, but the spelling came from the actor Peter Lorre. He always played sinister characters….go figure.
- If I was a boy, I was going to be named Erin. That was the name of my dad’s childhood dog. Good thing he didn’t realize it could be a girl’s name. Who wants to be named after a dog? That would truly make me a female bitch.
- On a side note: Erin means Ireland or from Ireland and that’s what I named my daughter. Hmmmmmmm.
- I’m pretty sure this wouldn’t be allowed now, but when I was 7, my sister and I belly danced at a bar with my mother. I had a costume made of a bikini with a see-thru skirt and a jewel in my belly button. Yeah……just saying it out loud makes me want to call social services.
- After college, I interviewed (3 hours) with some big wigs at Saatchi & Saatchi New York (advertising). The position for copywriter was between myself and another person. I lost out because they didn’t think I could push the envelope, even though I swore to them I could. Thanks “Anonymous” professor from VCU, who told us not to be crazy in our portfolio. You
fucked me out oflost me a job.
- I colored and bleached my hair 7 times in one day with permanent color. My hair miraculously did not fall out.
- From childhood up…jobs I wanted: cruise director, journalist, lawyer, comedian, talk show host, singer, actress, writer, copywriter, teacher and nurse.
- I will admit to having the Barry Manilow Anthology.
- In 6th grade, I paid $5 to get a new sassy signature by mail. I still use elements of it today.
- I love fettucine alfredo, chocolate covered almonds and margaritas, but not at the same time.
- I have 5 tattoos and they remain hidden unless I dare to wear a bikini in the summertime.