The Fabulousness — Or this one. Photoshop can do wonders.

I haven’t updated The Fabulousness in awhile. It’s time to recount some fabulous things about life! 

I have:

• Grown a radio show to 500+ subscribers
• Recorded another audiobook
• Grown a YouTube channel to 400+ subscribers
• Worked on Miss Fitz and the Hard NO November
• Attended arthritis exercise classes for six months
• Held my husband and youngest child’s European Union passports in my hands
• Visited Canada
• Studied Italian for over 300 days in a row

It has been a terribly difficult past two years. DESPITE THAT, I have done all of the above. That is some truly FABULOUS STUFF!

Another fabulous thing that isn’t my achievement at all is…my baby boy is finishing high school.

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. less fabulous below

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I miss my Seannie horribly. I love him so much and think about him all of the time. It hasn’t faded or gotten much easier, and it’s hard to live in an extended state of grief. He graduates this weekend and I’m still not sure if I should go or not. I want to show him support, but he has been verbally abusive the past few times we have spoken or seen one another. I told him that if I go, he won’t know I’m there, anyway, because the gym will be so crowded…but I don’t know if I can resist approaching him, trying to hug him, trying to tell him I am proud of him and that he can do anything he sets his mind to doing.

I wish him peace. Peace, joy, confidence, success…I think I will write him a letter. I just want him to know that no matter what, he is loved.

There are days when I feel like he has broken my heart, and other days when I have hope that someday we will be able to find common ground. We are family. He is one of the great loves of my life. I know he doesn’t understand that right now, but I hope someday he will.

And I wish I had been a better mother to him. But I can’t keep counting all the things I did wrong. I have fought for him, for what is best for him, but soon he will be legally able to make those decisions for himself. I hope he takes care of himself, is surrounded by real friends–true friends–and knows love. 

I forgive him. I can forgive him anything, with ease. I forgive Tim for his role in all this. I even forgive Sean’s father. This year, I hope I can really and truly forgive myself.

I want to tell him I dreamed of his sweet smile, and how the love he gave lit up the entire house. We miss you. We all miss you. How do I let you go?

We’re saying goodbye to two of our good bois today: Parker and Samson. It hurts, letting go. It hurts, seeing them suffer. It sucks having to be the one to decide when it’s time. I can see why God walked away from the whole “creation” mess. You can’t stop yourself from wanting them, loving them, needing them, delighting in them…and you can’t dim how much it hurts when their lives are over. I wouldn’t blame God one bit if he went back to clock-making and drank himself to oblivion.

I’m not God, though, and I’ve used up all my access to miracles. My heart has been on my actual boys and my youngest child. My four children. My husband. 

I love my animals, but if I’ve had any miracles to spare, I’ve been directing them towards my babies, wishing them health and peace and happiness and just joy and hope for the future. It’s not a good time for two of them. Two *real* life boys. One is a man, the other is close. Our family has been exploded, and I have done what I can to do what’s right. I’ll keep trying to do what’s right. I’m exhausted, emotionally. I miss my sons. 

They blame me for a lot. I suppose I should have expected this. Maybe if there’d been no pandemic…if I hadn’t had pneumonia just before it…maybe this, maybe that. Again with the God thing, right? Things could have been different, but they aren’t. They are just how they are.

What if I just radically accept that children grow up, teens go through stuff, genes turn on and activate certain behaviors, parents learn how to set boundaries, and life goes on? Relationships change, and sometimes that change isn’t graceful or wise or loving or patient. Sometimes (often, I think, when it comes to young men and their moms), change comes in the form of angry rebellion and thoughtless acts.

I’m not a teenage boy, though, so I don’t get to choose the childish, thoughtless response. I have to think about things. I have to do my best. I have to honor my emotions and recognize my fears, and then still do the right thing by these independent people. For one kid, it might look like telling him “no.” For the other, it might look like “yes.” But it’s not simple. It’s definitely not “one size fits all,” which is, I believe, a common metric for siblings to use to compare what their parents do.

I know I definitely compared how my mother treated me to how she treated my brother and my sister. My own kids (two of them) are doing that now. I have a relatively easy relationship with the other two, who still live at home. One will be leaving the nest sooner than later. The other is still in middle school. 

And I look at myself versus my mother in terms of parenting style. We are almost two separate species. It’s interesting, though, how many of my issues with my teens are similar to those I had with my mom. At least in the case of one child. I don’t have all this parenting stuff figured out, but I think there is something to genetics. I was rebellious and independent. I’d have done the same thing he is doing, if I could have. As much as he thinks he loathes me, he *is* me, in a different form. It’s hard. I cherish him and I’m angry at him, but I also understand him. And I don’t know if it will be possible for us to have peace for some time. I have the law on my side. I could shut down his experiment in being a teen grown-up, but it’s not that simple. I’m not sure that’s even right for him.

My two adult sons are functioning on different levels. One is asking me for more help than I can give. The other asks for very little. He’s probably ready to leave the nest at any time, but hasn’t felt any rush. He’s happy. The other is…well, I can’t say for sure what he is. Miserable? Angry? Happy? He’s delicate, and he’s removed himself from my sphere of influence, and he wants me to give him free reign to bring whatever energy of the day may reign into our home, whenever. I love you, adult son. I want what’s best for you. I can’t let you destroy the peace in this home. We’ve ALL been through a lot. Not just you. You want me to rescue you, and I’m not able to. ONLY YOU CAN RESCUE YOU.

And then, there’s the little one. They’re seeing the chaos I never wanted for any of my kids. Watching me deal with it. Taking notes. How do I prepare this little one for life? I’ve got to model the right thing, without ever fully knowing deep down if I’m doing the right thing. Just trusting. Thinking, praying, reading, hoping, and ultimately trusting my gut.

So that’s where I direct my miracle allowance lately. Towards those kids.

Today we are having two of the family dogs put down, and all week, Tim and I have gone back and forth. Should we? Should we not? It’s really no question today. We can see the suffering and the pain, and the refusal to take pain meds. The dogs are 12, which is the upper expected limit for their breeds. They’re not having fun. They’re not enjoying life. They’re existing through each day, having more and more pain, and accidents.

Our pets have been angels in our lives. My dogs have given me the affection and the love that I needed to cope with loss. They’ve protected me and given me security when I battled agoraphobia. They have calmed me through C-PTSD and played peacemaker when kids lost their tempers. Parker’s effect on Tim is something like Xanax. That dog has been his best friend for a long time. Samson has been my Chewbacca, watching my back and scaring away Darth Vader, UPS, and anyone else who came to the door to alter the deal.

I’m going to miss these dogs. These good bois. These furry angels. I hate today, for what it is. But I would hate myself even more if I let them suffer any longer. We were blind to how much they were suffering, before. Now that we see it, it can’t be unseen.

Just do the right thing, Leslea. That’s all you can do. That’s all I can do.

Even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts.

Sean has chosen to live with his father, and it’s difficult to live without him in my every day world. I’m overcome with tears frequently, and every time I see his photo, I feel a huge part of me is missing. But, perhaps he is happier there. I can’t be sure, because he doesn’t want to communicate. I hope that someday he will change his mind and want to talk to me about anything–everything–mother and son things, friendly things, anything, really. Nothing will ever stop me from loving him, and I believe he knows that. I will always hope for a reconciliation.

Seamus’ first job at McDonald’s is going well. He genuinely enjoys it, and seems to have learned how to do nearly everything there in the first few days of employment. I can’t express how gratifying it is to see him happy, after so many years of struggling with depression. Happy Seamus is a gift! Next stop: driver’s license and buying his first car.

Sam’s job is going well, too. His employer recently threw a company party, which was evidently extremely wild and incredibly fun. He’s at the perfect age for such things, yet he remains a responsible, kind, and respectful young man. Samuel fills my heart with joy every single day! If you meet Sam and you don’t like him, then you frankly just do not like people at all, because Sam is the best kind of person there is.

GiGi has begun middle school, and had her first “close contact” brush with Covid-19. She turned up negative, thankfully. Playing the harp, snuggling me in the middle of the night (even though three of us do not really fit in the bed!), and growing up way too fast, she is everything a fifth grader can be–in that ever-changing world of “the tweens.” She and her friends still like to talk to Tim and me. They call me “bestie” even though I’m a middle aged lady who knows nothing about TikTok dances.

Tim and I are planning an anniversary trip soon. 11 years of marriage coming up. We remain firmly in love.

All four dogs and four cats are doing well. We now have four birds, as well, so the symmetry between kids/dogs/cats/birds is interesting, isn’t it?

There’s a blue moon tonight. A good night for meditation on upcoming goals and heartfelt desires.

Originally posted by im-the-butterfly

An Honest Woman, Montana Brides #2, is out on audiobook. I’m admittedly putting more energy into promoting the forthcoming Miss Fitz Discovers Midlife Magic by Red Tash, but I’m quite proud of my historical adventure romance books, as well. There’s a secret project also coming out soon. I suppose I’ve gotten quite a bit of work done this year. I miss having a paycheck, but I couldn’t have done it without the time, so I don’t have any regrets on focusing on writing. Here’s hoping it pays off. 

Two new releases and a lot more! 

Originally posted by tvneon

I’m really jonesing for my next puzzle, The Happy Isle by Magic Puzzles, but I promised myself I wouldn’t start on it until I’m at least 50% through my second pass over my latest WIP. I’m at 45%, so palm trees and aggravating straight edge pieces are definitely on the horizon. 

Besides denying myself the joy of a jigsaw puzzle, another thing I do to try and get myself over the hump of procrastination is allow myself to play a round of PVP on Guild Wars 2 in between 10 minute sessions of editing. I’ll probably draw out the sessions to 15 minutes. I feel like PVP is getting more screen time than Miss Fitz at this point, and that’s really not fair.

It’s not like I don’t want to do the work. I actually really am enjoying the story, the characters, and the process. There is just something hard-wired in me that fights that actual process. Are all writers like this? I think at some point we all are. The fun part of having the idea is like the sex before the baby. Nine long months of labor and 18+ of raising the kid, and you’re like, why did I do this? Oh, yeah.

I fear I have just outed myself as a horrible mother.

There are authors who barrel through the work like a blur. I am not one of them. I’m not going to try to be. I’m pretty happy with my work, but I totally appreciate my superfast friends. They are super cool and I look to their example when I ask myself if I am denying myself the pleasure of writing/editing, or what. Because sometimes I am, and that’s just self-flagellation, isn’t it? It’s okay to not work on a lousy $9/hour project if I’ve got the energy to write, right? And then I do it. Because I can. Sometimes I have to remind myself that other authors are allowed to write, and so am I. We are all allowed to write. It’s not a crime. It’s not a sin.

This particular WIP was possibly my fastest first draft, taking about six or seven weeks from start to finish, and although I always feel like I put a lot of myself into my stories, this one feels like it’s right out of my present life as a mom of four, unlike any other novel I’ve written. So, is that good? Sure. It’s something I’ve struggled for years to try to understand how to do, and I have to thank Emma Jameson specifically for not only encouraging me to write about my life, but also to dabble with fictionalizing it. 

I don’t want to jinx myself because I’m only working through a draft–it’s not like it’s out for sale and getting rave reviews just yet. But I do feel good about it.

So I suppose that is my long-winded way of saying, I have learned that even when I really love what I’m working on, I will still have days when I would rather clean the air filters and the dog’s ears than sit down for 15 minutes and edit my own work.

And to be honest, I have always loved what I’m working on, even when it was really, REALLY awful (and I knew it was awful, and it was meant to be awful). I suppose I’m just accepting that this is me. I have to bribe and trick myself sometimes, but maybe I love that. Maybe I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

Originally posted by gypsyastronaut