As promised, I am here again shedding my truth. Although I think I said EVERY day really what I meant was every week day. And today is Monday so there you go, I am here doing what I promised myself I would do and you know what? It feels really damn good. Almost as good as I felt waking up at 5:45 this morning for the gym. I haven’t done that in months so it honestly felt like I was a superstar when my feet hit the floor in the darkness so early. It’s always so weird for me to get started like, where do I go with this, what do I talk about? I want to dig deep and go all the way back story by story so I can finally share myself in a way that I never had and give a true picture of what my life is like, where I’ve been, where I’m going you know the whole bit. In all the years (13 of them) that I have been blogging I have never been able to get myself there. I try and try to write fluff pieces to entertain, to gain readers, to try and interest people but why? I don’t want a tribe of mommy bloggers following me around, those are not my people I’m sorry. I am not a perfect homemaker. I wish I was but I am not. The whole point of me writing is to finally let my soul free so I can become a better person. No biggie, definitely not asking too much.
Alright then, lets stop beating around the bush and take it back… way way back to the beginning. My beginning. SO yeah. My name is Danielle. I was born in a smaller city in Connecticut. My parents were a young 26 living the apartment life, struggling to make ends meet. My dad is a musician, a drummer and singer. Growing up he was my IDOL. Like American Idol but way better. He has his bachelors degree in music from Central CT University and literally blows my away every time I get to see him play. Seriously, he is the most talented person I know and not just because he is my dad. He is short, dark and handsome. The perfect celebrity package, if he had ever gone out to LA to follow his dreams… instead he had me. And, being a wedding singer doesn’t exactly pay the bills so he also runs the maintenance department of a large nursing home. Sounds kind of depressing when you lay it out there but, my dad was always an upbeat happy guy who loved his family and would do anything for us. He couched our teams, taught us to fish, cooked us dinner, obsessively vacuumed the house. You know, a typical Italian man.
My mom came straight from London. She was born there along with my aunt, my grandma and grandpa brought them over when my mom was only two years old. He took off shortly after leaving my young super British gram to figure out life real fast alone. She became a foster mom and fell in love again to a man who had fought in Vietnam. They had a child together, another girl with the same beautiful shiny black hair as them. They adopted a few of the kids along the way including sisters named Trish and Sandy and a little black boy named Dan. I am pointing out the fact that he is black not because it matters to me but because it always seems to matter to everyone else. I guess it’s unusual to have a black uncle when everyone else in your family is sparkling white. It always makes for interesting conversation. So it turned out this new dad was affected by the war in a way that left him interested in young children more than any adult should be. My grandma lost her foster license when I was pretty young and I was never allowed to sleep over. It was all really hush hush, I honestly never got to know her very well because of it.
When I was just almost five my brother was born. I remember being upset because I wanted a sister. My daughter had the same reaction with our son. I think it’s just a kid thing. Like we all think that your parents are brining a perma-friend into the house until you realize you have to share all your shit with them, and by the time that happens your like yeah I don’t care what they have in their pants they can go now. Lmao no really I love my brother. I have so many wonderful memories growing up with him, we were so close. We used to do this thing in the morning where he would come up behind me and I would pretend I was attaching him as my tail, we were inseparable. Another dark and handsome man in my life although this one is TALL like crazy tall for an Italian, if it weren’t for the fact that he looks identical to my dad I would think he was the mailman’s baby. We’re not so close anymore and it sucks. I miss him. I really do. He’s getting married now and I feel like I am so far away from him, I hate feeling that way.
We moved into a duplex when I was a baby, we were living there when my brother was born. It was a cute place but still in the city and the area was getting bad. I don’t remember it that way but I know now that it was. My parents bought the duplex with their very close friends, I mean so close that you decide to buy a house together who does that?!!! They don’t even talk anymore. How crazy is that? I wish I knew why. I should ask my mom some day. I remember life there being good. We had nice grass, a simple metal swingset, the original Bigfoot truck, one of those little playhouses and a pool. My parents friends had two boys around our age and we would all play together. My dads mom still talks about them always hitting my brother with their toys. The things that stick out in our memories. From there we moved to “the country” that was so far from the country it’s painful to admit but to a city kid, it really did feel that way.
My mom obsessively searched for the perfect house at a time when you still needed maps, newspaper clippings and a payphone if you got lost for over two years. TWO YEARS of driving us around looking at houses, drive by’s and showings to the point that none of us even cared anymore. And then finally one day she found it, the perfect little ranch on this country road in a big town full of assholes, so we moved. I was nine turning ten and it was that scary kind of exciting you get when you are going to be experiencing something new but have no idea what to expect. I loved that house. I still drive by sometimes just so I can remember all those special childhood memories buried deep within myself.
Like the first time I saw her….