I hate it when I lock myself in the bathroom. I hate what it has come to mean, what it indicates about where I am at. I hate it

I don't want to be seen. I don't feel safe in my house. This mental struggle I am having with reclaiming my right to be in my house is tortuous.

Oh my goodness, I found my glasses! Buried at the bottom of big endless purse! This calls for some Amy Winehouse!

I am going to do something here I have not before. Share my most precious things, talk about my sons.

I have two sons. One is nine, the other six. They are the reason I do anything, the reason I do everything. They are the divine force in my life that keeps me seeing that there are resons much greater than anything I am faced with to keep going, because I must provide for them.

I wish I could use their names, because their names say much about who they are. I insisted upon naming them, and I believe it is one of the things my ex held against me and that fed into his decision to divorce me. I do not regret my insistance upon that. I believe the act of naming someone is a sacred responsibility you take on with that person, and I would never have trusted anyone else with that. Many men trust their wives with that responsibility, understanding the nature of the roles of mother and father. My childrens' father is narcissistic, and it did not sit well with him. I was willing to take that on.

It's not appropriate to share their names here, so I won't.

The elder is highly intuitive, sensitive, thoughtful. He is naturally muscular and strong, he sees people and things and holds those observations and then uses them to comfort people when they are dealing with things that lay them weak. He constantly surprises me with little things like coming into the house with the short ends of pine branches and showing me how to make pine nettle tea. I surprise him with things like an aquarium with rocks, pond, light and food for the garter snake his cousin and him caught and put into a makeshift cage, which Joe, the snake escaped from the same day somewhere into the house. My son had asked me a month before that, if he caught a snake could he keep it as a pet. I said yes, of course. He called me at work that day, he was so excited. But he and his cousin (nor the nanny) knew what escape artists snakes are. By the time I got home that day, Joe had escaped and was in the house. Took me a few days, but I found Joe. I then went out and bought the tank and setup. My son still stands in front of the tank, before and after he holds Joe, appreciating it. He felt honored. He has the best heart.

My younger son has a leaping, flying mind. He is so quick, so intelligent, he grasps things so quickly. He understands things far beyond his years. His dad has been trying to get the school to skip grades with him already. I will not let that happen. He is just as sensitive, but because of intellect rather than intuition. My older son has an intuition that is genius. My younger, an intellect that is genius. My younger son tries in some ways to mask his quick grasp of things because his heart is good. He is not arrogant. He is proud, he is stubborn, he has had to deal all of his young life with the frustration of understanding things far beyond what has been in the paradigm of what adults think he's capable of understanding. What my younger son appreciates the most in life is being able to show something he's done, figured out, accomplished and not have the response reflect some variation of amazement because it's not expected of someone his age. He just wants the experience of someone enjoying it with him in the moment. He's been living with being the smartest kid since he entered preschool. It holds no enchantment for him.

I miss them so, this third weekend into not being with them, it feels good to share something of them here. They are my heart, and yet my husband's kids, who are a source of angst to me, occupy all the space here. Now they have some space here, and they are the goodness in this world for me.