Once again I stay true to the person I am and being the beginner of many projects, yet finish none. So I guess here is to another start.

I was trying to make my blog flow like a story board but I think I will just give that up for now and post what is on my mind at the moment I am feeling the need to get it out of my system and go that route and see if I fair better on keeping up on this site.

Today I am feeling nostalgic and yet surly.

My High School Reunion is fast approaching. I have made a decision NOT to attend. My reasons are simple enough; I live in another state, far from where I grew up, I really can't afford to take all of may family with me and going alone doesn't feel right, and leaving my husband to deal with my children without me would probably be asking a lot. I also can not afford to go by myself.

While I have presented these as sound reasons to the many invitation requests I receive and continue to receive, I secretly have a deeper issue; I am scared to go.

It amazes what we endure as children and then later give away as we grow older. We move past many obstacles and find various paths in which to travel. For me moving to Kansas gave me a new start. A chance to define myself in a way I had not been able to, nor would have been able to do. while remaining where I grew up. In Kansas I was not the awkward, geeky child of my youth. I was strong, independent, easily liked, a clown, and fun to be around. I have forged many new friendships here and have endured very little social disasters. I am comfortable here.

However back in my hometown, I know the person I am now would fade and be replaced with the person I feel people believed me to be.

Being me was a horrible struggle. I simply wanted to be liked, to be accepted, to be admired by my peers. But instead how I dressed was never good enough and earned me horrible name calling. My personality was never good enough, I was too smart, I could never say anything right. In short I was picked on at every given moment and at the mercy of the people who needed to look good. While others happily cruised the halls, heads held high, giggling and laughing, I kept my head down and prayed I would make it from one class to another without the tongue lashings of the people who I felt abhorred my very existence. I never felt like I fit and my peers made sure I continued to feel that way.
I felt ugly, fat, unworthy, and just plain worthless. I don't think those kids ever realized how much time I spent crying in my mother's arms over the hurtful words, and torment that seemed to come to them as easily as breathing. I began to believe that if anything were to ever happen to me, no one would ever know I was gone - or care.

As an adult, I realize that much of what I went through made me a better person and that I know these same people are probably not at all like they once were. But the traumatized child inside of me still shakes in fear every time I even think of looking at a year book, let alone the very idea of meeting these people face to face.

Even as a mother now, my heart breaks when my children come home upset at how things went on at school for them. My son Korbyn is exactly like me when I was his age. He is very smart, more mature than his friends, but lacks the appropriate social skills to interact with kids his age without coming off as some sort of geek, nerd, or freak of nature. When he talks I hear my voice coming from him. I have to say my personal experiences have helped him develop better and improve, however I know he will need to develop some sense of self on his own.

I remember the girl, Lisa K. who would sit behind me in the classes we shared and seethingly sneer into my ear "What are you doing, Jennifer FREEEEEAAAAAKKKK?" Her voice hissing like a snake. I remember Christina K. who would slap the back of my head, pull my hair, and call me nasty names in Spanish in my English Class. I remember the kids who made fun of me for the clothes I wore. The ones who constantly told me how ugly I was and how I would never get a boyfriend. PE class was the worse for me. I was made fun of for the way my body looked or how I was too ashamed to change in front of the other girls. I even had a girl sit on my lap once and I was called a Lesbian for many months afterward. I even spent a whole school year not wearing my glasses because I was tired of being called four eyes and various other favorites.

I hated school activities where we left the school. As many people cliqued, I sat alone and longley watched the excited banter of others. I watched longingly from the sidelines as people ran off together in elation. All I ever wanted was a chance to feel that happy....just once. While others dominated the student body with their charm and pizazz, I felt like I had nothing to offer and was simply a waste of space. I had tried the clique thing. It hadn't worked out so well for me.

In Elementary School a girl whom I believe I was in Girl Scouts with was sort of forced by her mother to include me into her little group of friends. I felt bad that she was forced to help this mess of emotions but she did so (not sure without argument). The awkward tension that hung in the air as these girls had their personal space invaded was more than they could stand. I eventually agreed to leave and never looked back. I think the moment was horrible enough for both of us that I genuinely felt bad. So I continued to watch groups of friends from the sideline, with the other outcasts, and continue my longing. I knew then that I would never be a key which fit perfectly into the locked groups.

Before the end of Junior High, I had contemplated running away and even mulled the idea of suicide a few times. I wrote poems, and often, which seemed to allow me some outlet. I had a few sacred friends and without them I am certain things could have been worse. I was terrified of the idea of High School. It meant more kids to pick on me from other school and I knew my chances of survival were low, at best.

By High School I felt like I was never going to catch a break. While the torment lessened, it was never really gone. Despite the fact that I never really fit in, I still loved school. I would leave my house early in the morning and walk the several miles to school just so I could sit in my favorite teachers class before school started. I would leave as late as possible from school so I could sit in the band room and listen to the banter of my peers. As long as I didn't speak, I was usually allowed to feel included as they happily bantered about boyfriends/girlfriends, the newest trend, the latest styles, the upcoming school events. I felt like a deer caught in a hunter's site; I knew they saw me, but as long as I didn't move I felt like I was safe.
When most people look back with fond memories, all I see is sadness and anxiety. How I wish I could turn back the clock and just relive it with the same carefree attitude I have today.

Not every moment was bad though. I was fortunate to have a small band of friends who were kind to me. They were the one's who made school bearable. They kept me smiling and kept me feeling like I could survive another day. One of my dearest friends was Nancy J. I don't think she will ever know how her kindness was a sort of rescue for me. She took me under her wing and helped me realize I took things to seriously and I truly believe because of her, it made all the difference in my remaining school years. She and Tina H. and Eddie L. were my heroes. They gave me the tools to realize who I wanted to be and what I could do to become a better person. They were all a year ahead of me so the end of my Junior year was the saddest day for me. I was going to miss my friends. I was going to miss the people who helped me be whole. But most of all I was scared of living my Senior year without them.

I survived my Senior year. In fact I believe it was my best year. I had finished most of my major classes so I had very few classes and a lot of time. I had also joined the elite. I was a Senior and regardless of status within my own peer group, I held some sort of weight due to just being in the 12th grade. Unlike my predecessors or my peers, I chose to befriend people. I enjoyed having Juniors and sophomores as my friends. They didn't care if I was a geek or outcast, they admired me because I admired them back.
When I think back to my youth, I know a lot of what kids did was just what kids did. I know these same kids grew up to be very different people, just as I have. I am certain I have barely crossed anyone's mind over the years and I wish the same could be said for me. Instead I still bear the scars of my youth. I live with it everyday. And with my own children now experiencing growing pains, I have to live my personal experiences to help them.

I am grateful sometimes for the difficulties I went through because I am able to share my own personal experiences with them and give them tools to overcome these strains. I keep reminding my children that school is just school. Not a fashion show or a popularity contest. That the same kids that torture them today will become grown ups with children of their own someday and neither of them are going to recall this day in its entirety. How easily that lie slips from my mouth. I want to spare my children the pain I still fell today from my own experiences. I wish my own parents had consoled me better, made me believe in myself so that I could overcome so many of the things I did. I hope that my own children can come to me years later and tell me they are OK and that the kids of school didn't mess with their heads like it had happened to me.

I find kids are much more cruel these days and their never ending attacks come from far more angles than in my day. I wish I could blame it on so many factors but the end result comes down to parenting - plain and simple. Some parents are heavily involved in their kids life (to the point of being over bearing) and these are the one's who probably have some pretty decent kids. The one's who take a more care free and absent approach don't seem to know or care what their kids are doing. These are the one's who scare me.

I guess I wish I could get just one "I'm sorry" or "Hey, you know you were a pretty good person, I just was being a dumb kid. Sorry about that." I think the killer for me is just wondering was I really that unworthy of a person to you.

Why the Title Blended Families: Blood and Water

When you are a child growing up, your parents help you prepare for almost anything you may be expected to encounter while growing up and becoming an adult. I often felt ill prepared for many things simply because my parents were and still are, uber protective. Sufficed to say, I still managed to find myself facing so many of the adult milestones head on and with very little conviction.

During my youth I had decided I was never going to marry and have children. I felt this world to scary a place to raise children and I certainly wasn't going to add to the human gene cesspool. But as a grew older I realized how very much I wanted to marry and have a family. After a failed attempt to date during High school, I pretty much focused on my studies and hoped love would find me.

OK let's face it, I am no looker. I am as plain and ordinary as a person comes. I certainly wasn't going to win a pageant. In fact a consider myself quite ugly. I am one of those people who justifies my appearance with warm gooey insides that are bursting with beauty. Uhm, yeah right. But I am who I am. Either you are going to like me based off of ACTUALLY getting to know me or you won't. I figure I am in a win-win situation with this mindset. The people I actually have good relationships with really did get to know me as a person. They are the one's who are definitely worth my time.

By the time I was 24 I felt I was going to end up an old spinster. I dated a couple of guys with no success. About this time the Internet was becoming a popular household thing. My roommate hooked us up and I met people from all around the world. It was the most awesome feeling in the world. I could be anyone and look like whomever I wanted....AND NO ONE HAD TO KNOW!!!

I ended up meeting my first husband on the Internet. We chatted a bit online and then exchanged numbers. We spoke a lot on the phone before we decided to meet in person. Long story short, after a short dating period of a month I moved in with him and his parents, got pregnant, and then married within 5 months.

Yeah my parents were absolutely thrilled with how that all went down. I felt like the biggest disappointment for those first few months. Things were made worse by my marriage. Being slightly young and obviously stupid, there were many aspect of my marriage which just never seemed "right". His mother was constantly berating me about how I was a horrible everything to her precious son who was never allowed to do housework or laundry or just about anything. But I tolerated things as they were because I simply didn't know better. I was 100 miles from my family and friends and no one to be my Jimminy Cricket. I just chalked things up to "this is how it is". I am not submissive by nature, I was raised to respect people. Ingrained from a small age, if someone asked you to do something, you did it. No questions asked.

After my son was born, I thought things would improve. For a short time they did. Things ended up even better after my husband and I moved into our own place. For awhile I felt like we might actually start being a married couple and a family. We ended up moving again and then moving to another town and living with his parents again. He decided he wanted to go to school so I supported him by working so he could go to school. He made me many promises that I wouldn't have to work after he got done with school. Painted me this luxurious picture. Made me feel like our future was getting brighter.

Shortly after he graduated school, things took a sudden turn. Our relationship became strained. It wasn't even a subtle strain. He was acting differently towards me. We hit our three year anniversary and it was worse. By the new year he began ignoring me completely. He would not talk to me, look me in the eye, or even sleep in our bed. In desperation and tired of his behavior and unwillingness to talk to me, I left with our son. He found me and took our son to his mother's so we could "talk".

When he got home he handed me a letter. In the letter he asked me for a divorce.

Never in all my life had I ever imagined that I would be reading this letter, let alone facing the fact my marriage had ended. My parents have been happily married for 36 years. Divorce was not something I was familiar with. It was one of the many things my parents had been unable to prepare me for because they, themselves, had no experience in this area.

I'd like to say that I made things work out and that we stayed together, but Fairy Tales are just that, and happy endings don't always happen in real life. I guess ugly ducklings don't deserve any happiness either.

That was a very difficult transition for me. The situation was made even more difficult when I found out he left me for another woman he met in an online game. Of course she was beautiful and probably everything I wasn't.

It has been nearly 8 years since our divorce. At the time I thought my life was over. I still remember every feeling as freshly as I did during that time. I often wonder what my life might be like at this point, but many times I am thankful I don't know.

Change is important and often a welcomed event. I am glad to have had the experience, and despite it all, my ex-husband and I have a good relationship. We have made things possible for the sake of our son. He is our world and though we had hurt each other beyond repair of our marriage, we certainly didn't want our son to suffer in any way. We have balanced our life on his happiness and well being. I an satisfied to say we have been very successful.

My son is now a 10 year old, happy, healthy, energetic boy. He is one of the most fortunate children I know. He has a loving father and step-mother with a little sister and a grandmother and Aunt and Uncle who think the world of him. And he also has a mother, step-father, grandparents, siblings, aunts and uncles who adore him and want noting but the best for him.

It is my one shining accomplishment.

There are times when he will ask me if his dad and I will ever get back together. I have told him many times and in many different ways that his father and I get along better now that we are not married. I explained to him that sometimes two people, no matter how hard they try, just can't fit together. I also remind how lucky he is to have such a large family who loves him and how blessed he is. I can still see the hurt and disappointment when he thinks upon it to long and hard. But he is a very well adjusted kid and I feel confident he has been spared a lasting scared childhood.

My parents still struggle with my decision to do what was best for my son. They felt I should have gotten sole custody of my son, demanded alimony and child support. But it wouldn't have made any of us truly happy. Sure I was hurt and sure I wanted him to hurt as much as I did, but hurting my son int he process to appease my own broken heart was just not on my agenda. I am a grown up, capable of healing from my deep wounds and salvaging what I could of myself. My son, however, would have sustained far more harm if I had chosen to take things down a more drastic road. My parents, over time, have felt what my ex and I did was "most admirable" and they are very proud of my ex and I for handling things as we did. Animosity has slowly faded and I think my parents learned something from this experience as I did.

I have since remarried and our family has grown.

Which leads me to why I named my blog as I did. They say Blood is thicker than water. However I beg to differ. I now have a family comprised of step-children, and bio children. Our family has struggled and still does, to find that happy medium which makes us family. To me there is no difference between the blood or the water in a relationship as long as there is love, respect, faith, and hope.

This is also my journey as a wife, ex-wife, mother, step-mother, and woman.

And love has no boundaries.

More about me

I got a tad side tracked in my efforts to describe myself, so I felt it best to begin anew.

As I said I am 35. I feel younger some days and older other days. I was born in Germany. My father was stationed there. My mother simply told me that with only a radio to fill the time, they became creative at finding other things to do. I was conceived and born in the same country. Shortly after my birth, my father's time of service was over and he decided to pack his bags, his wife and newborn daughter and head home.

Most of my life was happy. I can only imagine what I was like as a child. My mother describes me as demanding, emotional and strong willed. Perhaps this is why she cursed me with a son who is the same as I. Have to enjoy the "parent's curse".

I remember feeling like I didn't belong most of the time. I felt like an outsider in my family. I did very well in school. In fact I loved school. Sadly this made me an outcast as well. My life in school was never good. I did well academically, but socially I struggled to make friendships with my peers. Often I found myself the target of cruel jokes and ridicule. Children can be so very mean. I did not have thick skin and this made me an even easier target. The few times I would stand up for myself I often ended up in a worse situation than it began.

One such memory was when I was in the fourth grade. A young lady I rivaled with in class began heckling me one day. We had a sub, so she took advantage of this situation. Finally angered by her terribly hurtful words, I finally screamed at her to shut up. Her response was "Why don't you make me?" The most appropriate response at the time was "I don't make trash I burn it!" Her response, with a smug cock and shake of her head was "So burn me!" Now I should have know to stop there. I knew what I was about to say was the most terrible thing I could ever muster past my lips. I knew that my parents would be so angry with me for saying it, but like a cornered animal I snapped. I could feel the anger fill me and I was shaking uncontrollably. And I uttered the most horrible words I could have ever said to a girl who was black. "TOO LATE! YOU ARE ALREADY BURNT!"

Her reaction came faster than I expected. She slapped me sharply across the face and we both watched in fascinated horror as my glasses went flying across the school yard, shattering as they hit the ground. That was the instant I felt my second wave of panic for the day.

I had worn glasses since I was in second grade. A horrid curse for any child. Names like "four eyes" were slung so often, I should have not thought much of it. But for a girl who wanted nothing more than to be liked unconditionally, they were the cruelest thing ever given to me. I had a hard time not destroying my glasses. My greatest fear was the idea of a lost or broken pair. My parents reminded me regularly how much those things cost and never let me forget it either. I can't blame them. We were not a poor family but not wealthy either. Affording things such as glasses which were a necessity came with much responsibility.

Of course I was hysterical by the time the teacher made it to the classroom. I knew I was in for it. Not only with the teacher and the school, but also with my parents. For some reason the peers who vehemently detested me defended me that day and never mentioned what I had said. Not initially anyways. I don't recall getting into trouble over the incident either. I do remember that the girl's parents agreed to pay for half of my glasses to be replaced.

My years of Junior high became ever more difficult to bear. I was placed in lower level classes my 7th grade year. I grew bored with the classes I was getting straight A's in. I began getting into minor trouble as a way to win marks with my peers. After 1 semester of pure Hell, I finally convinced my counselor I would have less problems if I was placed into more difficult classes. I remember him scoffing at me and telling me I would fail. But I was determined and pressed the issue.

I was then presented with a whole new set of circumstances. New kids who found more reason to mock me and heckle me. I was bright and learned fast. I was eager and absorbed information like a sponge. However this painted me as a geek and a nerd. But I somehow managed even not to fit in with those individuals. I was not reserved enough for their clicks.

In science class I had a girl who enjoyed seeing me squirm as she would mock my name repeatedly to everyone. In English I was forced to sit at a table because there were not enough desks and a young lady in this class enjoyed pulling my hair, name calling, and kicking her feet in my face.

But still I persevered to learn everything I could. Knowledge was going to be my power. But as I grew older the reigns of my parents tightened and I was unable to do more than go to school and come home. I felt more miserable and alone than I ever did.

During the summer after my first year in Junior High, I made a friend. She was the complete opposite of me. She was alive, spirited, and bubbly. She had a smile and a laugh that could brighten any day. She made me feel like I was someone special. I was her backbone. We complimented each other in so many ways. I don't think I would have made it if it hadn't been for her friendship.

High School became a tad more challenging for me. I was terrified actually. I knew I was only a short distance away from a freedom I was not ready for. But I still excelled academically. My best friend moved away, though we remained in touch. I made new friends. I was a band geek. I lived for my music and school work. Despite it all, my high school years were my happiest. I grew as a person and learned so much from the people of my life.

I graduated in the top 7% of my class. I felt that was a pretty good accomplishment.

Becoming an adult was way more difficult. I have truly suffered some major growing pains.

But I am going to save them for another post.

Wow! Welcome to the World of Blogging!

Hard to imagine with all my experiences with computer and the Internet, that blogging is one of the last things I saw myself doing. Much like scrap booking, the idea seems evolutionarily charming and yet such a HUGE responsibility that once begun, must be seen all the way through to the end.

Seeing as how I often start multiple projects, only to set them aside once the charm has worn off, I hadn't given much thought to the idea of blogging.

But as life continues to "happen" in my world, I see myself needing this process more and more; if only as a way to get my feeling out in the open. Sort of like a diary - for all the world to see.

I also have a strong affection for writing. I love the idea of the written language. The simple nuances of words and the emotions they inflict in the reader. The opportunity to open a world up to someone where none had existed previously. To make a moment as passionate as if it had been actually lived and experienced. To detail a situation so completely that you often wonder if it really happened, or was it merely a part of your imagination.

While most children ran and played and experienced life outside of their homes, my life was consumed by the fears of my parents. Now being a novice parent myself, I no longer blame them. My world was comprised of musical artists like Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Chopin and Schuster. Literary works such as J.R.R Tolkien's The Hobbit and stories of mythical lands and creatures consumed my very life. Books that are now mere images on the big screen had lived in my heart and mind long before their big screen debuts. I have found solace in the written word and grew to love the languages it created.

I only hope I can create such a place here.

So why the title of my Blog?

I live a life that I had never imagined living. I am wife and mother to a blended family. Much as I would like to admit we have our own cozy little Brady Bunch thing going on here, I can assure you our household could challenge most reality shows any day. It is messy and full of cruel realizations. Not the charming life I had imagined in my days buried in books where families were of pristine caricature.

Yes my life is not what I had imagined or hoped for. And yet I am blessed more so than any person I know. Even in the midst of my greatest challenges, I see a future not yet told and prizes beyond the heart of imagination. Truly I am blessed.

Perhaps the proper thing to do is introduce myself. In my dreams of being a writer I had created a pseudonym for myself: Gailyn Nicole Dabneigh. So perhaps for now I shall be this person. I am still as real as any human gets, but because this cyber world can often present some very real concerns, I would like to think I am creating a non-fictional character of myself, and changed my name to protect the innocent.

I am 35 years old. Though in my heart I still feel like a brisk 17. Far from looking like it. I was not born in the US, however I am a US citizen. I was born to two of the most wonderful human beings I ever had the opportunity to love and know.

My mother was adopted by her biological Uncle and his wife and raised not having a relationship with her bio parents because they simply didn't want her. My mother's life even through the adoption was not a happy one. Her Uncle, the adoptive father, left her Aunt, her adoptive mother for another woman. Sadly this did not help the fragile mental state of her mother and for a short time she was hospitalized. My mother then went to stay with her grandmother until her mother got better. Her mother then married the brother of the adulter ex husband. He, sadly, was no better. The man had a strange fetish for small children. Mercifully, my mother was spared from his fetish. However years later, some distant relatives were not. Despite all this, my mother is the strongest woman I know and the most beautiful. She is most definitely my hero.

My father is someone I came to know better later in my life than as a young girl. I was not a "daddy's girl". Not sure why, but our relationship was always strained. Probably because I demanded too much of him emotionally at times and he wasn't sure how to deal with it. But I digress. My father was the only son of 4 children. With two retired military parents he had a lot of stress as the only son. Many expectations for a young boy. His father had been with the railroad for many years, his mother passed away prematurely from alcohol and tobacco abuse. My father's life was not charmed, nor was it bad either. However I think my father had a strained relationship with his father. The kind where a father's love was so great it was ultimately the undoing of the relationship as well. My father also had to live with two alcoholic parents and smokers. Another terrible burden to deal with. Thankfully there was no real sign of abuse. But the effects of the legal drug use certainly made its mark on my father.

As I said my father and I never had a good relationship in my youth and teen years. In my fantasy world he was the mean and terrible giant who kept me locked in the tower. He was the heartless thief who stole my youth. He was like the wicked step-father of the most horrid wicked step-mother fairy tale. I felt as if he and I were never destined to connect. All his love and attention was lavished on his son, whom I felt didn't deserve that attention. I found myself becoming a bit tom boyish just to achieve his affection.

But now as a mother myself, and after many long talks, my father is not the beastly man I made him out to be so many years ago. My father wanted the life of his children to be different than his own. My mother and father, who had absent parents in their lives wanted to be there for us in everything we wanted to do. Their love for us was so strong that the fear of loosing us was too great a risk to allow us to grow up outside of our safe home walls. My father has a bond with his son that he had not shared with his own father. Something I now respect in him. I have a bond with my mother that every daughter should have, but I know my father loves me no less than he does my brother. It is simply a matter of gendered relationships and bonds that must be there.

My father and mother made my life wonderful. I look back on my youth with fond affection, and not the bitterness I once had. Being a mother changed me in so many ways. My parents get the satisfaction of a gentle "I told you so" chuckle with each new phone call I make. Being a mother has taught me more about my parents than I ever could have imagined. They are my world, and I know that one day they will have to leave this place. It will be a bitter, terrible thing to experience, but I am so very blessed to have had the opportunity to learn everything my parents ever wanted me to and more. They have the satisfaction of knowing all those blood, tears, and heartaches were not in vain.