I was a sparkling, outgoing little thing as a child, and various events around the ages of four and five changed that. I twisted down and inward, learning to distrust friendship and limit the risks of connections. Being a Third Culture Kid exacerbated that, "gifting" me with the dichotomy of going deep quickly (because time with people may be limited) and yet holding back from true connections (because everyone says goodbye.) My sister became the true extrovert of our family, with my brother at the other end of the extreme as one of the most introverted people I know. My parents are both introverts who know how to work with people All The Time.
Me? I was an introvert who wanted friends and didn't know how to make them. And as I gradually became more confident and entered my career, where I work with people All The Time, the extrovert within began to blossom.
It wasn't until my world fell apart almost two-and-a-half years ago that I started making stronger, more intimate friendships, however. When I had nothing left to lose, because I was on the cusp of losing everything anyway regardless of my level of honesty, I finally connected with people. Online, in real life...in both arenas, I reached out and gathered in and connected.
Not all of those friendships have withstood the test of time. Some had their moment in the journey, and they gradually faded away into the background. A couple have imploded due to argument and disagreement and hurt feelings. And a few...well, a few have been torn between then and now.
I have two friends who were the closest I had to best friends in the Before. Both women were married to friends of The Ex--this was, in fact, how I met them. Both women were there for me--oh, so very there for me--when my marriage was fatally wounded and then festered and decayed until it had to be amputated. They were there for me through some of the worst of it all.
C stayed by my side for more than two hours one night, listening and worrying and listening some more, as I rocked in a corner alternating between keening in agony and pouring out my pain. Then she tucked me into her own bed and fed me in the morning. She and her husband opened their house to me unconditionally. If I had needed it, they would have moved me into their spare room.
M listened and commiserated for hours over the phone and in person, despite the awkwardness of having been on the other side in her own marriage (which was mercifully salvaged) of the same sort of final disaster that tore mine apart. She stuck with me despite having to mediate between me and her husband, the closest thing to a best friend The Ex had or has. She loved me, she forgave me, and she cheered me on toward health and healing.
And now, in the After...Both women are still friends. They still love me, and I them. But the intimacy is slowly waning, replaced by an unspoken awkwardness as they--and I--are torn between two worlds, two circles, two friendships. It becomes easier and easier to not call, not email, not meet for quality time. And while I doubt that I will ever stop considering them friends, the reality is that they are no longer in my closest circle, nor I in theirs.
I am torn between whether to take steps to regain that old intimacy or continue with the status quo. I've never been extraordinarily good at making friends, although I have more close friends now than I've ever had before in my life. I've never been terribly good at keeping friends either, at fighting for friendships when they are threatened or begin to fade.
It is easier, after all, to keep a buffer between us, whether physical or emotional. There's less risk that way.
But isn't that what I'm trying to learn to do? Take the risks and hazard the pain?
Growing is hard.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Blending
Blending families isn't easy. There are always obstacles, speed bumps, steps backward. I've learned to be patient and keep my expectations reasonable.
But there are those moments that make my heart sing.
KlutzGirl curling up on the couch with me to watch TV, letting me stroke her long blond hair and give her a cuddle.
The Padawan making a sly joke about me that sets us all laughing.
The Dark One letting me hug her--and kind of hugging me back.
DramaBoy running across the room to hug MTL exuberantly after days at his dad's place.
The Widget giggling uncontrollably as MTL tickles him and they rough house on the couch.
Sitting around the dining room table, all of us, eating dinner and laughing. Together. A family.
But there are those moments that make my heart sing.
KlutzGirl curling up on the couch with me to watch TV, letting me stroke her long blond hair and give her a cuddle.
The Padawan making a sly joke about me that sets us all laughing.
The Dark One letting me hug her--and kind of hugging me back.
DramaBoy running across the room to hug MTL exuberantly after days at his dad's place.
The Widget giggling uncontrollably as MTL tickles him and they rough house on the couch.
Sitting around the dining room table, all of us, eating dinner and laughing. Together. A family.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Turtle
I haven't posted here in a month. Truth be told, I haven't even been reading blogs lately, much less blogging. I realized last week while chatting with a friend that I've been "turtling"--pulling my head and limbs into safety, shielding myself from the world, because apparently the world has gone insane. I'm trying to get through without going batshit crazy, and apparently that has lately meant cutting off most of the interactive online world. Blogger, Facebook, all that: I've been MIA and struggling to even care.
The country where I grew up blew up into civil war (again) just days after my parents flew out. While one side (the side we support, remarkably) has technically won, the violence goes on. At this point I rely on the news my parents give me. Most of the news centers get it wrong, anyhow. Contrary to popular opinion, it is NOT a religious conflict, among other pieces of disinformation.
The reality of politics and legislation in this state and region and nation has shot my blood pressure through the roof. It's all or nothing for me: either I tuck my head down and shut my mouth, or I'm ranting. I need to find a career counselor. I've never had a back-up plan for an alternate career: now I may not have a choice. I need to be prepared.
I hate politics. I hate most politicians. I hate the greed and corruption and rampant corporate capitalism that has washed over us all and isn't even pretending to care about 98% of the population any longer.
I wish I could just pull into my shell indefinitely.
The country where I grew up blew up into civil war (again) just days after my parents flew out. While one side (the side we support, remarkably) has technically won, the violence goes on. At this point I rely on the news my parents give me. Most of the news centers get it wrong, anyhow. Contrary to popular opinion, it is NOT a religious conflict, among other pieces of disinformation.
The reality of politics and legislation in this state and region and nation has shot my blood pressure through the roof. It's all or nothing for me: either I tuck my head down and shut my mouth, or I'm ranting. I need to find a career counselor. I've never had a back-up plan for an alternate career: now I may not have a choice. I need to be prepared.
I hate politics. I hate most politicians. I hate the greed and corruption and rampant corporate capitalism that has washed over us all and isn't even pretending to care about 98% of the population any longer.
I wish I could just pull into my shell indefinitely.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Habit
There are moments when I'm washed with a wave of gratitude and relief to be joined with this man, moments when I recognize the subtle poison of many years' habit slowly leached clean by today's reality.
The Ex did not particularly love my parents. He didn't hate them, but he didn't ever feel terribly comfortable around them--and he most certainly resented them during the months they were here. We would go years without having them around, and then when they were--well, I wanted to spend time with them. So schedules would be altered, plans would be made, and sometimes they'd want to come over just to spend time. You know, with their daughter. With their son-in-law. With their grandchildren.
He resented the changes to the status quo. He resented having to fit additional people and plans into our holidays, our weekends, our summers. And he outright hated having them come by to visit if there hadn't been, oh, a week or so of advance notice.
I grew accustomed to mediating. I'd tell them I needed to check with him first before confirming. He'd rarely say an outright No, but I would be in for a long bout of soothing, cajoling, and hours of underlying tension. Flexibility and graciousness were not his strong points. I felt torn, forced to choose between my parents and my husband.
Looking back, no one won in that scenario.
Flash forward to last night. My parents are back in the country--they flew in this last weekend--and while MTL and I were able to spend some time with them, they hadn't gotten to see the kids yet. We had plans for them to come to dinner Friday night, and I hadn't told the boys that Grandma and Grandpa were back in town, since I didn't want them to get too upset about waiting. The Ex must have said something to them. Yesterday when I picked up The Widget from daycare, he took one look at me, burst into tears, and buried his head in his arms. I miss Grandma and Grandpa! he sobbed, and it was with no avail that I assured him they would be visiting the next day.
So I called them, and we made plans for them to come by for dinner and a brief visit.
As I hung up the phone, a wave of apprehension washed over me. I hadn't checked with MTL before making the plans. How would he feel about it? Would he be angry about my parents showing up a day ahead of schedule? Would he resent them spending this much time at our house? Would he be upset that I had invited them before checking with him?
I texted him nervously and waited for his reply, reminding myself that he is far more laid back than The Ex in these matters, reminding myself that he showed no sign of resenting my parents this last weekend--he was even pleased that their plane's delay allowed him to accompany me to the airport to pick them up.
Sure enough, when he called me, he had no problem at all with the change in plans. There was no guilt trip, no resentment, no tension. When I told him later that night what I had experienced, he just looked at me and said I'm a silly girl--and when I explained why it had happened, touched my arm with compassion and understanding, and told me not to worry.
There are so many reasons I love him. He keeps giving me more every day.
The Ex did not particularly love my parents. He didn't hate them, but he didn't ever feel terribly comfortable around them--and he most certainly resented them during the months they were here. We would go years without having them around, and then when they were--well, I wanted to spend time with them. So schedules would be altered, plans would be made, and sometimes they'd want to come over just to spend time. You know, with their daughter. With their son-in-law. With their grandchildren.
He resented the changes to the status quo. He resented having to fit additional people and plans into our holidays, our weekends, our summers. And he outright hated having them come by to visit if there hadn't been, oh, a week or so of advance notice.
I grew accustomed to mediating. I'd tell them I needed to check with him first before confirming. He'd rarely say an outright No, but I would be in for a long bout of soothing, cajoling, and hours of underlying tension. Flexibility and graciousness were not his strong points. I felt torn, forced to choose between my parents and my husband.
Looking back, no one won in that scenario.
Flash forward to last night. My parents are back in the country--they flew in this last weekend--and while MTL and I were able to spend some time with them, they hadn't gotten to see the kids yet. We had plans for them to come to dinner Friday night, and I hadn't told the boys that Grandma and Grandpa were back in town, since I didn't want them to get too upset about waiting. The Ex must have said something to them. Yesterday when I picked up The Widget from daycare, he took one look at me, burst into tears, and buried his head in his arms. I miss Grandma and Grandpa! he sobbed, and it was with no avail that I assured him they would be visiting the next day.
So I called them, and we made plans for them to come by for dinner and a brief visit.
As I hung up the phone, a wave of apprehension washed over me. I hadn't checked with MTL before making the plans. How would he feel about it? Would he be angry about my parents showing up a day ahead of schedule? Would he resent them spending this much time at our house? Would he be upset that I had invited them before checking with him?
I texted him nervously and waited for his reply, reminding myself that he is far more laid back than The Ex in these matters, reminding myself that he showed no sign of resenting my parents this last weekend--he was even pleased that their plane's delay allowed him to accompany me to the airport to pick them up.
Sure enough, when he called me, he had no problem at all with the change in plans. There was no guilt trip, no resentment, no tension. When I told him later that night what I had experienced, he just looked at me and said I'm a silly girl--and when I explained why it had happened, touched my arm with compassion and understanding, and told me not to worry.
There are so many reasons I love him. He keeps giving me more every day.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Gag Order
I have so many friends having a hard time right now. Sometimes I feel guilty for being so happy.
You know how that is?
I mean, I've been down--really, truly, horribly down--quite a few times in my life. Good God, two years ago I was still crawling out of the Depths. They were there for me then and since. Goodness knows DraftQueen became my best friend out of those times. I wouldn't have met her if it hadn't been for blogging through the pain.
Most of my life has involved depression to one extent or another. I'm not entirely free of it now, though not nearly to the extent of What Was. I still have plenty of challenges and discouragement, especially on the political and career fronts. I mean, good lord. MTL has seen me raging around the living room ranting about all the anti-woman and anti-union and anti-teacher SHIT that is going on in this sad, sad country right now. More than once.
(Thank God that while we don't see eye-to-eye in all political areas, we do match up for the most part on those ones. Otherwise heads might roll. I've been THAT heated about it all, peoples. IT'S EVEN SHOWN UP ON MY FACEBOOK WALL. That's saying something, considering my conflict-avoidance tendencies.)
Anywho. Where was I? Oh right. I've been there.
However, despite those challenges, I can honestly say that I am happier than I have been in...well, decades. Since before kindergarten, I'd venture.
Meanwhile, many of my friends and loved ones are facing crisis after crisis. Health. Jobs. Family. Relationships. Depression verging on and tipping over into despair. Even war.
Sometimes, I just feel guilty. I don't know what to say, other than I love you and I understand and I'm so sorry. I wish I could gather them up for hugs, offer them tea and sympathy, but almost none of them live in physical proximity.
And when I want to gush about my own happiness, my wedding plans, my adoration of the man with whom I will spend the rest of my life...Well. I try to hold back, at least. Even then, I wonder if I'm saying too much. Should I just shut up?
I wish I could fix it.
Stupid broken world.
You know how that is?
I mean, I've been down--really, truly, horribly down--quite a few times in my life. Good God, two years ago I was still crawling out of the Depths. They were there for me then and since. Goodness knows DraftQueen became my best friend out of those times. I wouldn't have met her if it hadn't been for blogging through the pain.
Most of my life has involved depression to one extent or another. I'm not entirely free of it now, though not nearly to the extent of What Was. I still have plenty of challenges and discouragement, especially on the political and career fronts. I mean, good lord. MTL has seen me raging around the living room ranting about all the anti-woman and anti-union and anti-teacher SHIT that is going on in this sad, sad country right now. More than once.
(Thank God that while we don't see eye-to-eye in all political areas, we do match up for the most part on those ones. Otherwise heads might roll. I've been THAT heated about it all, peoples. IT'S EVEN SHOWN UP ON MY FACEBOOK WALL. That's saying something, considering my conflict-avoidance tendencies.)
Anywho. Where was I? Oh right. I've been there.
However, despite those challenges, I can honestly say that I am happier than I have been in...well, decades. Since before kindergarten, I'd venture.
Meanwhile, many of my friends and loved ones are facing crisis after crisis. Health. Jobs. Family. Relationships. Depression verging on and tipping over into despair. Even war.
Sometimes, I just feel guilty. I don't know what to say, other than I love you and I understand and I'm so sorry. I wish I could gather them up for hugs, offer them tea and sympathy, but almost none of them live in physical proximity.
And when I want to gush about my own happiness, my wedding plans, my adoration of the man with whom I will spend the rest of my life...Well. I try to hold back, at least. Even then, I wonder if I'm saying too much. Should I just shut up?
I wish I could fix it.
Stupid broken world.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Stories of Us
I think a few of you who read over here don't regularly read (or read at all) my main blog, Diapers and Dragons. So I thought I'd link you to the three posts I wrote there recently that tell the stories of how MTL and I met, fell in love, and (eeeeee!!) became engaged.
So here you go:
How MTL Became My True Love (Part I)
How MTL Became My True Love (Part II)
How MTL Became My Fiance
Enjoy!
So here you go:
How MTL Became My True Love (Part I)
How MTL Became My True Love (Part II)
How MTL Became My Fiance
Enjoy!
Saturday, February 19, 2011
IT'S OFFICIAL!!!!
As of around eight o'clock tonight, in a dark corner by the tenth hole of the glow-in-the-dark putt-putt golf place where we went on our first date exactly one year ago:
 |
| Now (OMG OMG OMG) |
 |
| In 2-3 weeks (OMG OMG OMG) |
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Vent
I know I shouldn't let her get to me, especially when it's stupid shit that I bring on myself, like clicking on her Facebook info and noticing that she "likes" some childish FB thing, but still. I'm allowed to just not like her very much, right? RIGHT?
And I'm sure she feels much the same way about me. Civility or no, I'm sure we both get under each other's skins in special little ways that only an Ex and a Current (and Forever, mind you) can.
There are certain things I just won't do as far as my Ex and his Current (and maybe Forever if she gets her way, You Go Girl!) are concerned, though, and some of them I'm learning from her.
Which is why I'll keep my venting and my own passive aggressive and better-than-you crap over here. Don't you feel special?
Because bitch, he's not your "used toy" and I sure as hell am not "less fortunate" than your sorry ass.
There. All done. Now I'll move on with my life, thankyouverymuch.
And I'm sure she feels much the same way about me. Civility or no, I'm sure we both get under each other's skins in special little ways that only an Ex and a Current (and Forever, mind you) can.
There are certain things I just won't do as far as my Ex and his Current (and maybe Forever if she gets her way, You Go Girl!) are concerned, though, and some of them I'm learning from her.
Which is why I'll keep my venting and my own passive aggressive and better-than-you crap over here. Don't you feel special?
Because bitch, he's not your "used toy" and I sure as hell am not "less fortunate" than your sorry ass.
There. All done. Now I'll move on with my life, thankyouverymuch.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Aphasia
I am a Word Nerd. I love words. They are significant in both sound and meaning. I need them. They have power in my mind: power to hurt, power to heal. MTL has learned and is still learning that the specific words he uses mean a great deal, and there are times when he has to think carefully about not just the intent behind the words, but the words themselves.
I imagine this makes life with me more difficult than not.
You would think, then, that I would be silver-tongued and fluid, always with the right words to say, ready to be said at the right moment. In some situations, this is the case. Put me in a classroom and I do quite well. Place me at a keyboard and I also do well. Usually.
Add stress and conflict and difficult emotions, however, and the story changes. Ask me to express my deeper feelings, my innermost thoughts, and my tongue trips and falters and stills.
Last night I lay with my head on MTL's lap, watching TV, and I turned to look at him. I reached out a hand, touched his cheek, and said, Do you have any idea how much I love you?
How much? he asked.
I should know better. It's not the first time I've said something like that. Not the first time he's returned the volley and called me out. How much do I love him? How do I express it?
I don't know how to bridge the gap between thought and tongue at times like these. Do I list all the things I love about him? It's an insufficient list. I feel like I'm only skimming the surface. Do I try to explain, as I cannot even here with the space and time to write it out, the way he has become an integral, essential part of me? How do I do that without making it sound like I've lost myself, become less instead of more? How do I say anything without sounding like a mawkish teen caught in the throes of twitterpation? How do I explain this without mimicking the trite phrases of Hallmark cards?
None of my words are enough. The only ones that make any sense are those written by others straining to put into concrete letters the intangible substance of emotion. I look mainly to e. e. cummings, who at least grasped that conventional language was not enough, and his love poems resonate like no others do for me.
Such as today, when I am overwhelmed with the evils and frustrations of the world, and leaden January weighs my mind, and so
This much, I said, and I stretched my arms out and away from my breast, shoulders straining at their edge.
Is that all? he asked, laughing.
Hey! I spread my arms as wide as I could! It was an obtuse angle!
You're an obtuse angle! he replied, and he laughed again and hugged me close.
I don't know if he truly understood what I was trying to say, what I'm trying to express when I make those oh so limited sounds and gestures.
I wish he could see into my mind, feel what I feel, know what I know. I just don't have the words.
I imagine this makes life with me more difficult than not.
You would think, then, that I would be silver-tongued and fluid, always with the right words to say, ready to be said at the right moment. In some situations, this is the case. Put me in a classroom and I do quite well. Place me at a keyboard and I also do well. Usually.
Add stress and conflict and difficult emotions, however, and the story changes. Ask me to express my deeper feelings, my innermost thoughts, and my tongue trips and falters and stills.
Last night I lay with my head on MTL's lap, watching TV, and I turned to look at him. I reached out a hand, touched his cheek, and said, Do you have any idea how much I love you?
How much? he asked.
I should know better. It's not the first time I've said something like that. Not the first time he's returned the volley and called me out. How much do I love him? How do I express it?
I don't know how to bridge the gap between thought and tongue at times like these. Do I list all the things I love about him? It's an insufficient list. I feel like I'm only skimming the surface. Do I try to explain, as I cannot even here with the space and time to write it out, the way he has become an integral, essential part of me? How do I do that without making it sound like I've lost myself, become less instead of more? How do I say anything without sounding like a mawkish teen caught in the throes of twitterpation? How do I explain this without mimicking the trite phrases of Hallmark cards?
None of my words are enough. The only ones that make any sense are those written by others straining to put into concrete letters the intangible substance of emotion. I look mainly to e. e. cummings, who at least grasped that conventional language was not enough, and his love poems resonate like no others do for me.
Such as today, when I am overwhelmed with the evils and frustrations of the world, and leaden January weighs my mind, and so
I am struggling to feel sufficient: in my work, in my parenting, in my love, in myself. I am struggling to hold onto hope when my mind so much more naturally turns to despair. And how do I bridge the gap when my words refuse to take shape?in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
-before leaving my room
i turn,and(stooping
through the morning)kiss
this pillow,dear
where our heads lived and were.--e. e. cummings
This much, I said, and I stretched my arms out and away from my breast, shoulders straining at their edge.
Is that all? he asked, laughing.
Hey! I spread my arms as wide as I could! It was an obtuse angle!
You're an obtuse angle! he replied, and he laughed again and hugged me close.
I don't know if he truly understood what I was trying to say, what I'm trying to express when I make those oh so limited sounds and gestures.
I wish he could see into my mind, feel what I feel, know what I know. I just don't have the words.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
A Giant Leap for Stepkind
There are small steps in this process. Unintended pun, but hey, it works: small steps in becoming a step-parent, a step-couple.
This week was a hard one for me and MTL, as old baggage and old issues raised their ugly heads again. It takes time, and I'm not good at patience. I want a quick fix, a quick solution, and that just can't happen when we're dealing with ancient scars that have etched themselves across the deepest parts of our psyches.
So. Small steps. Sometimes even step-backs.
The children, however, occasionally take leaps. When DramaBoy was dropped off by his father this week, he was clutching two pudding cups and sporting a huge grin. I have pudding! he crowed. One is for me, and one is for my stepbrother! I have a treat for my stepbrother The Padawan!
MTL and I conjecture that perhaps The Ex told DramaBoy that it's okay to refer to The Padawan as his stepbrother, something that DB wants deeply. A couple of months ago DB pointedly asked when MTL and I are going to get married, as he wants The Padawan to be his brother. I told him at the time that they pretty much are, so it's fine to call The Padawan his stepbrother, but he didn't do so until this week. So...some switch was tripped in his head, and boy was he happy about it.
Last night MTL handed me some mail, saying it was mine. Two envelopes were addressed to me; the third was addressed to "The Parent of The Padawan". Oh, I said, am I the parent of The Padawan? You sure this is for me?
Yep, you are, he said.
So I opened it. And then handed the contents over to MTL, since it was something from The Padawan's school. Heh.
But the biggest leap? The one that had me warmed up inside? Last night The Padawan reminded us that we needed to contact his friend's mother about having his friend stay the night this weekend. He called, and once the mother was on the other end, told her (and I quote): My parents are ready to talk to you. Here!
And he handed me the phone.
It's hard to read The Padawan sometimes. I know he likes me. I know he's very fond of DramaBoy and The Widget. But last night, hearing him refer to me as one of his parents...
That was a very big step.
This week was a hard one for me and MTL, as old baggage and old issues raised their ugly heads again. It takes time, and I'm not good at patience. I want a quick fix, a quick solution, and that just can't happen when we're dealing with ancient scars that have etched themselves across the deepest parts of our psyches.
So. Small steps. Sometimes even step-backs.
The children, however, occasionally take leaps. When DramaBoy was dropped off by his father this week, he was clutching two pudding cups and sporting a huge grin. I have pudding! he crowed. One is for me, and one is for my stepbrother! I have a treat for my stepbrother The Padawan!
MTL and I conjecture that perhaps The Ex told DramaBoy that it's okay to refer to The Padawan as his stepbrother, something that DB wants deeply. A couple of months ago DB pointedly asked when MTL and I are going to get married, as he wants The Padawan to be his brother. I told him at the time that they pretty much are, so it's fine to call The Padawan his stepbrother, but he didn't do so until this week. So...some switch was tripped in his head, and boy was he happy about it.
Last night MTL handed me some mail, saying it was mine. Two envelopes were addressed to me; the third was addressed to "The Parent of The Padawan". Oh, I said, am I the parent of The Padawan? You sure this is for me?
Yep, you are, he said.
So I opened it. And then handed the contents over to MTL, since it was something from The Padawan's school. Heh.
But the biggest leap? The one that had me warmed up inside? Last night The Padawan reminded us that we needed to contact his friend's mother about having his friend stay the night this weekend. He called, and once the mother was on the other end, told her (and I quote): My parents are ready to talk to you. Here!
And he handed me the phone.
It's hard to read The Padawan sometimes. I know he likes me. I know he's very fond of DramaBoy and The Widget. But last night, hearing him refer to me as one of his parents...
That was a very big step.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Telephone
My brother recently mentioned that it's one of his goals in life to never have an Ex. That means no Ex, period--not just Ex-Wife, but Ex-Girlfriend. In other words, I believe, not getting into a relationship until he knows it will Last Forever From Day One.
As MTL and I said to each other later, after biting our tongues (for the most part), there's also another way to never have an Ex: never have a relationship to begin with.
It's all about risk, really. If you're not willing to take the risks, you never experience anything at all--joy as well as pain. And I will say, failing teaches us the most about life and ourselves.
That being said, there are definite drawbacks to having Exes, especially the sort that don't go away. A friend of mine recently got divorced after only two years of marriage, with no children involved. I'll admit to some jealousy, not of a marriage doomed so soon, but of her divorce reality: she is not tied to that Ex for years and years to come. She can, if she so chooses, simply never have any contact with that particular man ever again. They didn't even own a house together, for goodness sake.
MTL and I are in the relatively fortunate situation of having Exes with whom we are amicable. Since there are five joint children involved and we aredoomed required to interact with those two people for, well, ever (at least to a point), I'd rather we all be amicable than otherwise. No argument.
But I'd much rather we didn't have to interact at all. I don't care how well we get along. I don't care how friendly we can be. I don't care how helpful we are. If I had my druthers, I wouldn't ever have to call or email or talk to or see either of them again. I'd rather not be Facebook friends with either of them--and interestingly enough, I am with both. (Don't bother telling me I can defriend them--there are reasons it's better to just keep things As Is. For one thing, it keeps them both thinking of me as Friendly. Heh.)
There are things that irritate me about each of them, enough to write a book. Lately, however, there's one thing in particular about MTL's Ex that has been driving me absolutely up the fucking wall, and I simply don't know what to do about it.
She calls him Almost Every Single Fucking Day. On top of the texts that I know she sends him, and which I don't see and honestly try not to think about. And yes, I know the kids are generally what the calls and texts are about, and yes, there has been lots of drama about The Dark One lately, and yes, I know that arrangements aren't quite as streamlined and clear as they are with me and The Ex and therefore there has to be more communication to handle things as they come up, and yes, I know that she doesn't really use email and therefore doesn't communicate that way as much as I and The Ex do.
I also know that MTL has absolutely no interest or romantic attachment to her whatsoever and generally finds her irritating and frustrating and doesn't particularly enjoy communicating with her. It's not a trust issue, not really. (Yeah, yeah, I know there's that infinitesimal part of me that has issues simply because they were married and have children as a common bond and spent way more years together than we have and all that shit. I'm working on it.)
BUT.
I hate it when his phone rings. It's almost always Her. I would venture a guess that about seventy-five percent of the phone calls he gets are from Her. Sometimes he'll just reject the call when he doesn't feel like talking to her. Most often he answers, because it might be important.
He just got a call from her a little while ago. It's what put me over the edge into writing this post today. There was no reason for her to call--not a good one, at any rate. She has the kids this weekend. We aren't even picking up The Padawan today as we usually do on these weekends, because he has tomorrow off school and will be staying there until tomorrow afternoon. From the sounds of the conversation, nothing had happened with any of the kids. There was no pressing issue. She was just wondering about something.
I'm sure it was just a question that popped into her mind. So she picked up her damn phone and called.
That's what she does, so often. Almost every day. And every time she does, I feel that anger and resentment building up inside. Shut the fuck up, I want to say to her. Leave him alone. Leave US alone. Go the fuck away, you jealous bitch!
Because that's part of it, you see. Whether she wants to admit it or not (and she actually has, to MLT, a bit at least), she's jealous. It doesn't matter that she's remarried and even has another child with her husband. It doesn't matter that there's no way in hell they'd ever get back together. She's never completely let go of him. The life we're leading was supposed to be Theirs. The plans we're making were supposed to be Theirs. He was supposed to be Hers.
It doesn't help that we are, in pretty much every way, much better off. We have good jobs. We aren't wealthy, but we are comfortable. We live in a nice and (rather importantly) large home. And she and her husband? Well, they really, really don't.
From a purely objective place, I can understand the jealousy. From a more subjective place, less so.
And I sure as hell wish she would just give us space. Even when all I'm talking about is the interruption of two minutes time when we're just relaxing on the couch.
Because this is OUR time. OUR space. OUR relationship. And it feels, every time that goddamn phone rings, like she's shoving herself into it, with the constant reminder that we will never, ever, be completely free of her involvement.
I know that I need to just let it go. But that's just logic.
Emotion has never listened well to logic.
Maybe that's because they can't talk on the phone.
As MTL and I said to each other later, after biting our tongues (for the most part), there's also another way to never have an Ex: never have a relationship to begin with.
It's all about risk, really. If you're not willing to take the risks, you never experience anything at all--joy as well as pain. And I will say, failing teaches us the most about life and ourselves.
That being said, there are definite drawbacks to having Exes, especially the sort that don't go away. A friend of mine recently got divorced after only two years of marriage, with no children involved. I'll admit to some jealousy, not of a marriage doomed so soon, but of her divorce reality: she is not tied to that Ex for years and years to come. She can, if she so chooses, simply never have any contact with that particular man ever again. They didn't even own a house together, for goodness sake.
MTL and I are in the relatively fortunate situation of having Exes with whom we are amicable. Since there are five joint children involved and we are
But I'd much rather we didn't have to interact at all. I don't care how well we get along. I don't care how friendly we can be. I don't care how helpful we are. If I had my druthers, I wouldn't ever have to call or email or talk to or see either of them again. I'd rather not be Facebook friends with either of them--and interestingly enough, I am with both. (Don't bother telling me I can defriend them--there are reasons it's better to just keep things As Is. For one thing, it keeps them both thinking of me as Friendly. Heh.)
There are things that irritate me about each of them, enough to write a book. Lately, however, there's one thing in particular about MTL's Ex that has been driving me absolutely up the fucking wall, and I simply don't know what to do about it.
She calls him Almost Every Single Fucking Day. On top of the texts that I know she sends him, and which I don't see and honestly try not to think about. And yes, I know the kids are generally what the calls and texts are about, and yes, there has been lots of drama about The Dark One lately, and yes, I know that arrangements aren't quite as streamlined and clear as they are with me and The Ex and therefore there has to be more communication to handle things as they come up, and yes, I know that she doesn't really use email and therefore doesn't communicate that way as much as I and The Ex do.
I also know that MTL has absolutely no interest or romantic attachment to her whatsoever and generally finds her irritating and frustrating and doesn't particularly enjoy communicating with her. It's not a trust issue, not really. (Yeah, yeah, I know there's that infinitesimal part of me that has issues simply because they were married and have children as a common bond and spent way more years together than we have and all that shit. I'm working on it.)
BUT.
I hate it when his phone rings. It's almost always Her. I would venture a guess that about seventy-five percent of the phone calls he gets are from Her. Sometimes he'll just reject the call when he doesn't feel like talking to her. Most often he answers, because it might be important.
He just got a call from her a little while ago. It's what put me over the edge into writing this post today. There was no reason for her to call--not a good one, at any rate. She has the kids this weekend. We aren't even picking up The Padawan today as we usually do on these weekends, because he has tomorrow off school and will be staying there until tomorrow afternoon. From the sounds of the conversation, nothing had happened with any of the kids. There was no pressing issue. She was just wondering about something.
I'm sure it was just a question that popped into her mind. So she picked up her damn phone and called.
That's what she does, so often. Almost every day. And every time she does, I feel that anger and resentment building up inside. Shut the fuck up, I want to say to her. Leave him alone. Leave US alone. Go the fuck away, you jealous bitch!
Because that's part of it, you see. Whether she wants to admit it or not (and she actually has, to MLT, a bit at least), she's jealous. It doesn't matter that she's remarried and even has another child with her husband. It doesn't matter that there's no way in hell they'd ever get back together. She's never completely let go of him. The life we're leading was supposed to be Theirs. The plans we're making were supposed to be Theirs. He was supposed to be Hers.
It doesn't help that we are, in pretty much every way, much better off. We have good jobs. We aren't wealthy, but we are comfortable. We live in a nice and (rather importantly) large home. And she and her husband? Well, they really, really don't.
From a purely objective place, I can understand the jealousy. From a more subjective place, less so.
And I sure as hell wish she would just give us space. Even when all I'm talking about is the interruption of two minutes time when we're just relaxing on the couch.
Because this is OUR time. OUR space. OUR relationship. And it feels, every time that goddamn phone rings, like she's shoving herself into it, with the constant reminder that we will never, ever, be completely free of her involvement.
I know that I need to just let it go. But that's just logic.
Emotion has never listened well to logic.
Maybe that's because they can't talk on the phone.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Afraid
A blogger friend of mine (not a close one, but still) just lost her husband in a horrible and completely unexpected way. He was in the hospital for several days before they finally turned off life support and let him go. She is left, stunned and bewildered, with two very young children and a life turned upside down and inside out.
I found myself unable to reach out to her, unable to comment, unable to join the ranks of bloggers asking for prayer and support and love for our internet friend. When the news finally broke that he was, indeed, gone, the most I could do was leave a short and rather lame comment saying that I was saddened beyond words and sent my love for her and hers.
I couldn't even pray about it.
I'm not linking her blog here, because I have no intention to use her tragedy as the focus of this post, as it is essentially a self-centered (and selfish?) one. This tragedy SHOULD be about her, and instead I find myself utterly incapable of moving beyond the visceral fear it triggered in me. Because this is my nightmare, the ultimate fear of abandonment, one that I never truly had until I opened myself up to the risk that is True Love.
I've lost people here and there--my great-grandmother, my aunt, The Ex's grandparents, several students--and while I have struggled with their deaths, I don't think I've felt the loss like a hole that could not be filled. I don't think too often about what it would be like to lose someone even closer, like a parent or sibling or even a grandparent (as all four of mine are still living, believe it or not). Mostly, when the thought crosses my mind, I feel numb.
Perhaps it's all avoidance.
Here's the confession, however (and I've only told two people this before): there were times during my relationship and marriage to The Ex, when things were at their varying worst, that I fantasized about his death. Not murder, no--just, you know, some sort of accident or disease or something like that. It seemed like a cleaner way to remove a source of conflict and pain.
God, that seems cold put in writing.
It's not something about which I am proud. At all. I consider it a measure of how broken my mind and heart and soul were for so many years. And I'm glad he didn't die, because I think the guilt would be crippling.
But I did have those thoughts, and I never felt much more than the acknowledgment that the change itself would be a wrench, but that otherwise...well, otherwise it would be a relief.
I have never felt, at any rate, that the death of any one person would be shattering to me, even though I know I would grieve.
That is, until about six months ago. MTL and I were talking about his job and the dangers associated with it, and he mentioned the reality of metal poisoning, and how his life may very well have been shortened by the quantities of various metals that have made their way into his system. At those words, I experienced a visceral reaction I've never had before: the utter terror of what it would be like to lose him to Death's inexorable grasp.
I've been unable to fully escape that fear ever since. It's surfaced again at different times: when he mentioned a scare he had years ago over a potential lupus diagnosis; when we've talked about getting old; when the deaths of others bring home the reality that everyone, inevitably, dies.
I didn't tell him about my friend's husband for several days. Not that it is someone he knows, but still--I often mention major events in the lives of my blogger friends. Not this one. The other night, during one of my all-to-recently-frequent teary episodes, I finally told him about the fear, about how I realized that by letting him inside all those walls and that armor, I've opened up my heart to the potential for extraordinary pain. Not only do his words and actions have more power to hurt me than anyone else's; losing him would be a mortal wound.
I feel melodramatic writing this out. I worry that you, reading this, will worry that I have tied my identity up in him and developed some unhealthy relationship, because that's the sort of thing I worry about. You thinking that, I mean. (I'm not good at confessions, really. Too much showing the cracks under the pretty surface.)
Whatever. I'm not saying I would die the next day or do something stupid or anything like that: I'm saying it's a wound that would never, ever heal as long as I did live. And I'm selfish enough to wish that perhaps I could go just a little before he does, or even better--at the same time. Because I'm not so sure he would do very well either. I understand, finally, how it is that sometimes there are those couples where the one passes away not long after the other goes, as though with that death, life simply did not have enough hold any longer.
(I am definitely imagining a time many, many years from now. I'm not sure how to feel about the trend toward longevity on both sides of my family tree, I have to say. Both a blessing and a curse, perhaps.)
I think that's why I struggle so much with this blogger's story: it drives home the reality that the end may be far closer than we ever imagine. And she has to keep going, has to keep living, has to stay there for her children.
The reality is that I didn't truly understand the risks when I decided to love him fully. It's too late to turn back, even if I wanted to.
Which I don't. I suppose that means that I know every moment spent with him is worth the pain of any moments spent without.
When I told him about my fear, MTL was silent for a while, then told me the story of his grandfather's death. When he was fairly old, he became ill with cancer. At the end, even sitting for a while in a chair became exhausting. One night, he woke, turned over in bed, took his wife of many years in his arms and cuddled her close, and then died.
That will be us, MTL told me. And in the meantime, if we live each day fearing death, we won't really live.
And then he took me in his arms and cuddled me close, and I cried.
I found myself unable to reach out to her, unable to comment, unable to join the ranks of bloggers asking for prayer and support and love for our internet friend. When the news finally broke that he was, indeed, gone, the most I could do was leave a short and rather lame comment saying that I was saddened beyond words and sent my love for her and hers.
I couldn't even pray about it.
I'm not linking her blog here, because I have no intention to use her tragedy as the focus of this post, as it is essentially a self-centered (and selfish?) one. This tragedy SHOULD be about her, and instead I find myself utterly incapable of moving beyond the visceral fear it triggered in me. Because this is my nightmare, the ultimate fear of abandonment, one that I never truly had until I opened myself up to the risk that is True Love.
I've lost people here and there--my great-grandmother, my aunt, The Ex's grandparents, several students--and while I have struggled with their deaths, I don't think I've felt the loss like a hole that could not be filled. I don't think too often about what it would be like to lose someone even closer, like a parent or sibling or even a grandparent (as all four of mine are still living, believe it or not). Mostly, when the thought crosses my mind, I feel numb.
Perhaps it's all avoidance.
Here's the confession, however (and I've only told two people this before): there were times during my relationship and marriage to The Ex, when things were at their varying worst, that I fantasized about his death. Not murder, no--just, you know, some sort of accident or disease or something like that. It seemed like a cleaner way to remove a source of conflict and pain.
God, that seems cold put in writing.
It's not something about which I am proud. At all. I consider it a measure of how broken my mind and heart and soul were for so many years. And I'm glad he didn't die, because I think the guilt would be crippling.
But I did have those thoughts, and I never felt much more than the acknowledgment that the change itself would be a wrench, but that otherwise...well, otherwise it would be a relief.
I have never felt, at any rate, that the death of any one person would be shattering to me, even though I know I would grieve.
That is, until about six months ago. MTL and I were talking about his job and the dangers associated with it, and he mentioned the reality of metal poisoning, and how his life may very well have been shortened by the quantities of various metals that have made their way into his system. At those words, I experienced a visceral reaction I've never had before: the utter terror of what it would be like to lose him to Death's inexorable grasp.
I've been unable to fully escape that fear ever since. It's surfaced again at different times: when he mentioned a scare he had years ago over a potential lupus diagnosis; when we've talked about getting old; when the deaths of others bring home the reality that everyone, inevitably, dies.
I didn't tell him about my friend's husband for several days. Not that it is someone he knows, but still--I often mention major events in the lives of my blogger friends. Not this one. The other night, during one of my all-to-recently-frequent teary episodes, I finally told him about the fear, about how I realized that by letting him inside all those walls and that armor, I've opened up my heart to the potential for extraordinary pain. Not only do his words and actions have more power to hurt me than anyone else's; losing him would be a mortal wound.
I feel melodramatic writing this out. I worry that you, reading this, will worry that I have tied my identity up in him and developed some unhealthy relationship, because that's the sort of thing I worry about. You thinking that, I mean. (I'm not good at confessions, really. Too much showing the cracks under the pretty surface.)
Whatever. I'm not saying I would die the next day or do something stupid or anything like that: I'm saying it's a wound that would never, ever heal as long as I did live. And I'm selfish enough to wish that perhaps I could go just a little before he does, or even better--at the same time. Because I'm not so sure he would do very well either. I understand, finally, how it is that sometimes there are those couples where the one passes away not long after the other goes, as though with that death, life simply did not have enough hold any longer.
(I am definitely imagining a time many, many years from now. I'm not sure how to feel about the trend toward longevity on both sides of my family tree, I have to say. Both a blessing and a curse, perhaps.)
I think that's why I struggle so much with this blogger's story: it drives home the reality that the end may be far closer than we ever imagine. And she has to keep going, has to keep living, has to stay there for her children.
The reality is that I didn't truly understand the risks when I decided to love him fully. It's too late to turn back, even if I wanted to.
Which I don't. I suppose that means that I know every moment spent with him is worth the pain of any moments spent without.
When I told him about my fear, MTL was silent for a while, then told me the story of his grandfather's death. When he was fairly old, he became ill with cancer. At the end, even sitting for a while in a chair became exhausting. One night, he woke, turned over in bed, took his wife of many years in his arms and cuddled her close, and then died.
That will be us, MTL told me. And in the meantime, if we live each day fearing death, we won't really live.
And then he took me in his arms and cuddled me close, and I cried.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Snarky Love
The following conversation took place after I had mentioned something about myself (which I don't quite remember now) and MTL had responded with a bit of surprise.
Me: I know I told you about that before.
MTL: Yeah, but that was like, four years ago or something.
Me: (laughs) So how long, in nonliteral terms, have we been together?
MTL: At least ten years, I'd say.
Me: Well, that does kind of make sense. Sunday is ten months. So that puts us at about a year per month, right?
MTL: Sounds about right.
Me: Boy, that could get confusing when people ask us about it. Just think of what it'll be like when we're in our forties!
MTL: "It's been, what, honey? A couple hundred years?"
Me: "At least a hundred and twenty."
MTL: "Yep. Loooooong time."
Me: "When we said 'forever,' we meant it."
MTL: "Yup. And the bitch just won't die!"
The fact that we then erupted into laughter and ended on a kiss says volumes about why we fit each other like a frickin' two-piece puzzle.
We're crazy like that.
Me: I know I told you about that before.
MTL: Yeah, but that was like, four years ago or something.
Me: (laughs) So how long, in nonliteral terms, have we been together?
MTL: At least ten years, I'd say.
Me: Well, that does kind of make sense. Sunday is ten months. So that puts us at about a year per month, right?
MTL: Sounds about right.
Me: Boy, that could get confusing when people ask us about it. Just think of what it'll be like when we're in our forties!
MTL: "It's been, what, honey? A couple hundred years?"
Me: "At least a hundred and twenty."
MTL: "Yep. Loooooong time."
Me: "When we said 'forever,' we meant it."
MTL: "Yup. And the bitch just won't die!"
The fact that we then erupted into laughter and ended on a kiss says volumes about why we fit each other like a frickin' two-piece puzzle.
We're crazy like that.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Home for Christmas
The other day, as I was driving along listening to the radio as I ran all the many many errands that tend to fill my afternoons, a minor miracle happened.
One of my favorite Christmas songs is "I'll Be Home For Christmas." As much as I love it, however, it's a song that has always been mixed with sorrow for me. Which, really, makes sense. It's a wistful song. For me, listening to it has always made me long for the holidays of Yore, back in West Africa with my parents and all the family traditions and joy of that time of year. This has been true ever since I was in college. Even when I was swept up into my former in-laws' family and welcomed into their homes for the holidays (as well as other times, of course, but you know what I mean) long before I even became an official in-law, even when I was married and forming new traditions--I always longed for Christmas at Home.
I realize now that this is because I had not truly formed a new Home with The Ex, all those many years.
So normally that song would make me think of years long ago, in another time, another place. The other day, however, when I heard that song, I had a completely different response than I've ever had before. Instead of thinking of West Africa and holidays of decades past, my first thought was of my Home with MTL and our children. I pictured our living room with a Christmas tree in the corner, the children opening the presents we've gotten for them, and me snuggling on the couch with My True Love watching it all with joy and delight.
It's a new era for me. I truly have a Home, and it's Here and Now rather than There and Then. And that's where I'll be for Christmas.
One of my favorite Christmas songs is "I'll Be Home For Christmas." As much as I love it, however, it's a song that has always been mixed with sorrow for me. Which, really, makes sense. It's a wistful song. For me, listening to it has always made me long for the holidays of Yore, back in West Africa with my parents and all the family traditions and joy of that time of year. This has been true ever since I was in college. Even when I was swept up into my former in-laws' family and welcomed into their homes for the holidays (as well as other times, of course, but you know what I mean) long before I even became an official in-law, even when I was married and forming new traditions--I always longed for Christmas at Home.
I realize now that this is because I had not truly formed a new Home with The Ex, all those many years.
So normally that song would make me think of years long ago, in another time, another place. The other day, however, when I heard that song, I had a completely different response than I've ever had before. Instead of thinking of West Africa and holidays of decades past, my first thought was of my Home with MTL and our children. I pictured our living room with a Christmas tree in the corner, the children opening the presents we've gotten for them, and me snuggling on the couch with My True Love watching it all with joy and delight.
It's a new era for me. I truly have a Home, and it's Here and Now rather than There and Then. And that's where I'll be for Christmas.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
This Isn't My Version Of The Fairytale
I never pictured myself as the Evil Stepmother in any of my visions of the future. The Loving Stepmother--great. The Funny and Just A Bit Odd Stepmother--sure. Sarcastic, Snarky, Cynical-With-A-Heart-of-Gold Stepmother--naturally. Evil? Not so much.
And yet, here I am. I suppose I should have seen it coming, and I even did just a bit, but I was truly under the impression that The Dark One liked me well enough--and "like" was just fine. It would have been wonderful to be loved, but that would be pushing it with a girl already in her teens by the time I came into her life, and who is not terribly tender towards parent types to begin with.
When things got nasty three months ago and she ended up moving in with her mom, it seemed as though I was the neutral ground. She seemed to see me as someone she could talk to about certain things she couldn't say to her father. We tried hard to keep it that way.
But since then...since then things have become increasingly difficult with her. I have found myself enraged with her attitude: her use and abuse of people around her, her self-centeredness, her downright bitchiness. I cannot stand the way she treats her father. I have to bite my tongue. I have to not tell her exactly what I think of her. Sometimes a little bit of it sneaks through.
I know, I know. She's a fourteen-year-old girl. And I'm realizing that a part of my reaction is, as MTL so astutely intuited, guilt over realizing how I treated my own parents when I was her age--though it should be noted that I wasn't quite so bold in my mistreatment. I'm the adult in the situation. I can't control her behavior, but I can--and should--control mine.
Today, though, she quite suddenly took several steps beyond the boundary with MTL. The trigger? Apparently, me. Somehow, she has twisted my presence in her father's life into a Grimm's fairytale of evil stepmother and evilly-influenced abandoning father. She is using me as a tool to manipulate her mother and strike out against her father.
It's not all me, of course--she has issues that go back far before I ever was even a blip on MTL's computer screen. But my presence is a weapon she's choosing to wield...and she used it today.
I won't go into the details, but the result is that she is persona non grata here. If she wanted to see how far she could push her father, she found the limit--and surpassed it--today. She isn't to come back to our house. She isn't welcome here for Christmas. She's done.
And honestly? I can't blame him.
Now we're sitting here in the wreckage of what had been a rather good holiday weekend. It's yet another adjustment among all the other adjustments. Where it goes from here? I don't quite know.
I hope that one day we will all find our way back together, to something approaching a more whole family. But for now, we gather up the fringes around the ragged hole torn in our family's fabric, and figure out how the pieces fit again.
As for me, I have to make sure the label does not become the reality, regardless of provocation.
And yet, here I am. I suppose I should have seen it coming, and I even did just a bit, but I was truly under the impression that The Dark One liked me well enough--and "like" was just fine. It would have been wonderful to be loved, but that would be pushing it with a girl already in her teens by the time I came into her life, and who is not terribly tender towards parent types to begin with.
When things got nasty three months ago and she ended up moving in with her mom, it seemed as though I was the neutral ground. She seemed to see me as someone she could talk to about certain things she couldn't say to her father. We tried hard to keep it that way.
But since then...since then things have become increasingly difficult with her. I have found myself enraged with her attitude: her use and abuse of people around her, her self-centeredness, her downright bitchiness. I cannot stand the way she treats her father. I have to bite my tongue. I have to not tell her exactly what I think of her. Sometimes a little bit of it sneaks through.
I know, I know. She's a fourteen-year-old girl. And I'm realizing that a part of my reaction is, as MTL so astutely intuited, guilt over realizing how I treated my own parents when I was her age--though it should be noted that I wasn't quite so bold in my mistreatment. I'm the adult in the situation. I can't control her behavior, but I can--and should--control mine.
Today, though, she quite suddenly took several steps beyond the boundary with MTL. The trigger? Apparently, me. Somehow, she has twisted my presence in her father's life into a Grimm's fairytale of evil stepmother and evilly-influenced abandoning father. She is using me as a tool to manipulate her mother and strike out against her father.
It's not all me, of course--she has issues that go back far before I ever was even a blip on MTL's computer screen. But my presence is a weapon she's choosing to wield...and she used it today.
I won't go into the details, but the result is that she is persona non grata here. If she wanted to see how far she could push her father, she found the limit--and surpassed it--today. She isn't to come back to our house. She isn't welcome here for Christmas. She's done.
And honestly? I can't blame him.
Now we're sitting here in the wreckage of what had been a rather good holiday weekend. It's yet another adjustment among all the other adjustments. Where it goes from here? I don't quite know.
I hope that one day we will all find our way back together, to something approaching a more whole family. But for now, we gather up the fringes around the ragged hole torn in our family's fabric, and figure out how the pieces fit again.
As for me, I have to make sure the label does not become the reality, regardless of provocation.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Because I Wasn't Already Way Outnumbered
My brother is moving in with us on Saturday. And we're happy about it.
He's an odd duck, that one, an odd duck of whom I am very fond but also somewhat protective and worried on a regular basis because he's so VERY odd, and while not caring much about what society/other people think about oneself is rather admirable....well, there are ways in which he takes that a bit too far.
But MTL really likes him. More importantly, in a way, and most definitely related, MTL understands him. Perhaps better than anyone I've ever met. In many ways more than I do. And rather than overlooking my brother or rejecting him or finding him annoying, MTL likes having him around, finds him amusing and good company--ACCEPTS HIM.
The Padawan very much likes having my brother around as well, and the boylets adore him.
So since life has gotten a bit rough lately, and he has a better chance of finding jobs and being taken care of to a certain extent and not crawling into a hermit's hole, he's joining our crowd for while.
He stayed with us for almost two weeks a little bit ago, and the situation worked out so well that I started wondering if it was at all feasible to have him move in. But it's not something I necessarily wanted to propose to MTL, especially considering the difficult family history with his parents and his maternal uncles (long story, but it basically involves her taking care of them all their lives, to the financial and relational detriment of MTL's parents). When my brother (I really need to come up with a pseudonym for him) left to take care of business down at my parents' house for a while, and asked if perhaps he could come back for another visit once the business was handled, and MTL said yes...well, that started me thinking more.
And then MTL brought the situation up, and I felt him out a bit, and he was the one to suggest that my brother move in at least until March, when my parents return to the country.
And I fell even deeper in love with that man.
I don't know how to explain it, really. It's that he GETS my brother, with whom I am very close. It's that he would welcome my brother into our house for an extended stay. It's that my brother can be comfortable around us--around MTL--when so often other people drain him.
Even that doesn't quite work as an explanation.
But consider that The Ex never particularly liked my brother--and the feeling was mutual. That The Ex decided very early on (when my brother was only eight) that he was annoying and obnoxious and too weird to have around. And never gave him another chance, not really. They were always polite around each other, but never comfortable. And while my brother never said anything against The Ex when I was living with my brother while separated from The Ex--well, let's say that he listened very well and didn't attempt to influence my decision either way, but didn't seem exactly displeased with the divorce.
So he will be moving into what was supposed to be The Dark One's bedroom. MTL even cleaned out the stuff she'd left behind and sent it to her mother's. She's been back all of one overnight in the last three months, and spent most of that time shut away upstairs watching TV. She doesn't seem interested in being part of our lives.
I won't lie about how that hurts.
But I have to say that having my brother around creates the opposite of drama. And since I already have enough going on dealing with old, old issues in therapy--yeah. I'm very happy about it.
Even if we do sound like we're trying to reach sitcom status.
He's an odd duck, that one, an odd duck of whom I am very fond but also somewhat protective and worried on a regular basis because he's so VERY odd, and while not caring much about what society/other people think about oneself is rather admirable....well, there are ways in which he takes that a bit too far.
But MTL really likes him. More importantly, in a way, and most definitely related, MTL understands him. Perhaps better than anyone I've ever met. In many ways more than I do. And rather than overlooking my brother or rejecting him or finding him annoying, MTL likes having him around, finds him amusing and good company--ACCEPTS HIM.
The Padawan very much likes having my brother around as well, and the boylets adore him.
So since life has gotten a bit rough lately, and he has a better chance of finding jobs and being taken care of to a certain extent and not crawling into a hermit's hole, he's joining our crowd for while.
He stayed with us for almost two weeks a little bit ago, and the situation worked out so well that I started wondering if it was at all feasible to have him move in. But it's not something I necessarily wanted to propose to MTL, especially considering the difficult family history with his parents and his maternal uncles (long story, but it basically involves her taking care of them all their lives, to the financial and relational detriment of MTL's parents). When my brother (I really need to come up with a pseudonym for him) left to take care of business down at my parents' house for a while, and asked if perhaps he could come back for another visit once the business was handled, and MTL said yes...well, that started me thinking more.
And then MTL brought the situation up, and I felt him out a bit, and he was the one to suggest that my brother move in at least until March, when my parents return to the country.
And I fell even deeper in love with that man.
I don't know how to explain it, really. It's that he GETS my brother, with whom I am very close. It's that he would welcome my brother into our house for an extended stay. It's that my brother can be comfortable around us--around MTL--when so often other people drain him.
Even that doesn't quite work as an explanation.
But consider that The Ex never particularly liked my brother--and the feeling was mutual. That The Ex decided very early on (when my brother was only eight) that he was annoying and obnoxious and too weird to have around. And never gave him another chance, not really. They were always polite around each other, but never comfortable. And while my brother never said anything against The Ex when I was living with my brother while separated from The Ex--well, let's say that he listened very well and didn't attempt to influence my decision either way, but didn't seem exactly displeased with the divorce.
So he will be moving into what was supposed to be The Dark One's bedroom. MTL even cleaned out the stuff she'd left behind and sent it to her mother's. She's been back all of one overnight in the last three months, and spent most of that time shut away upstairs watching TV. She doesn't seem interested in being part of our lives.
I won't lie about how that hurts.
But I have to say that having my brother around creates the opposite of drama. And since I already have enough going on dealing with old, old issues in therapy--yeah. I'm very happy about it.
Even if we do sound like we're trying to reach sitcom status.
Monday, October 25, 2010
What Dreams May Come
I rarely remember my dreams, at least for long. When I do, they rarely make sense, other than the occasional anxiety dream in which I am very obviously worried about (usually) work or money or both. I don't even have the recurring nightmares of my youth any longer.
Lately, however, my dreams have been speaking to me. I think my mind is preparing itself for the battle to come: I head back to therapy on Wednesday to work through some old, old issues.
A couple of them have been reassurance dreams, as I see them, much akin to the dream I had ten months ago in which I firmly and contentedly rejected The Ex despite being unattached, lonely, and (frankly) horny as hell. When I woke that morning, I woke with the realization that two important questions had been answered: no, I didn't want The Ex any longer in any way, and no, I wasn't going to go back to him just because of loneliness.
The other night I had a dream in which The Ex suddenly married his girlfriend. For some reason, MTL and I were at the house when they returned from the wedding. I helped the girlfriend/wife put items away, and as we worked side by side I saw that she was already upset and frustrated in her new role. And in my dream, I stood there with my hand covering a sympathetic (and slightly smug) smile and said, Oh dear. I know.
I know. A little passive-aggressive, that. But I woke with the clear understanding that if and when The Ex does remarry, I certainly won't feel hurt--but I might feel a little pity.
The dream that has me reeling still, however, is one that I will mention on Wednesday to my therapist, because it goes to the heart of so many of the issues I still have with insecurity and anger and fear of abandonment, fear of Not Measuring Up.
Saturday afternoon MTL and I lay down for a much needed nap, and I dreamed one of the most vivid dreams I've had in some time. In my dream, four women suddenly showed up at my door: my mother and three classmates from high school. They are all women with whom I have been close at some point in my life. I am still close with two of them (my mother being one, of course) and keep vague tabs on the other two through blogs and FaceBook. In my dream they came tumbling into my house, uninvited, and I felt myself retreating through the rooms as they advanced. They weren't there in a menacing way--rather, it was as if they were intent on simply having a good time in my presence--but I felt invaded and uncomfortable. They were chattering away about what music and concerts and such were the proper ones to attend--vivacious small talk, you see--and I realized that I didn't much like anything they mentioned. And as they rampaged through the rooms, I suddenly realized that this was not my house at all, but my mother's, and suddenly I didn't know where MY space was--the place that was truly mine rather than belonging to her.
I felt small and alone and very, very much on the fringes.
Then MTL woke me because it was time to get ready for the wedding we were attending that night, and as I stood in the shower mulling over the dream, I suddenly realized that these four women are all women whom I deeply respect but who also leave me feeling judged and insufficient on a regular basis. They all lead lives and have views and strong beliefs that vary considerably from mine, in various areas, for they are not by any means identical to each other. But because I do respect them, their opinion of me matters more than, perhaps, it should.
In my view, I don't battle demons. I battle dragons--thus the name of my other blog.
The other night, in yet another dream, MTL fought dragons at my side.
I have some work to do, some battles to fight. But I'm not alone.
Lately, however, my dreams have been speaking to me. I think my mind is preparing itself for the battle to come: I head back to therapy on Wednesday to work through some old, old issues.
A couple of them have been reassurance dreams, as I see them, much akin to the dream I had ten months ago in which I firmly and contentedly rejected The Ex despite being unattached, lonely, and (frankly) horny as hell. When I woke that morning, I woke with the realization that two important questions had been answered: no, I didn't want The Ex any longer in any way, and no, I wasn't going to go back to him just because of loneliness.
The other night I had a dream in which The Ex suddenly married his girlfriend. For some reason, MTL and I were at the house when they returned from the wedding. I helped the girlfriend/wife put items away, and as we worked side by side I saw that she was already upset and frustrated in her new role. And in my dream, I stood there with my hand covering a sympathetic (and slightly smug) smile and said, Oh dear. I know.
I know. A little passive-aggressive, that. But I woke with the clear understanding that if and when The Ex does remarry, I certainly won't feel hurt--but I might feel a little pity.
The dream that has me reeling still, however, is one that I will mention on Wednesday to my therapist, because it goes to the heart of so many of the issues I still have with insecurity and anger and fear of abandonment, fear of Not Measuring Up.
Saturday afternoon MTL and I lay down for a much needed nap, and I dreamed one of the most vivid dreams I've had in some time. In my dream, four women suddenly showed up at my door: my mother and three classmates from high school. They are all women with whom I have been close at some point in my life. I am still close with two of them (my mother being one, of course) and keep vague tabs on the other two through blogs and FaceBook. In my dream they came tumbling into my house, uninvited, and I felt myself retreating through the rooms as they advanced. They weren't there in a menacing way--rather, it was as if they were intent on simply having a good time in my presence--but I felt invaded and uncomfortable. They were chattering away about what music and concerts and such were the proper ones to attend--vivacious small talk, you see--and I realized that I didn't much like anything they mentioned. And as they rampaged through the rooms, I suddenly realized that this was not my house at all, but my mother's, and suddenly I didn't know where MY space was--the place that was truly mine rather than belonging to her.
I felt small and alone and very, very much on the fringes.
Then MTL woke me because it was time to get ready for the wedding we were attending that night, and as I stood in the shower mulling over the dream, I suddenly realized that these four women are all women whom I deeply respect but who also leave me feeling judged and insufficient on a regular basis. They all lead lives and have views and strong beliefs that vary considerably from mine, in various areas, for they are not by any means identical to each other. But because I do respect them, their opinion of me matters more than, perhaps, it should.
In my view, I don't battle demons. I battle dragons--thus the name of my other blog.
The other night, in yet another dream, MTL fought dragons at my side.
I have some work to do, some battles to fight. But I'm not alone.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
The Ex-Factor
We are very Civilized.
That's the word a coworker used when we were chatting about Halloween plans and I listed all the people who will be with us for that Event.
You see, MTL and I have, by blending our families, become the center of this trailing extended family involving Exes and others. And since we are amicable and try to focus on the children, we'll all be joining forces for certain events, such as Trick or Treating. On October 31st, our enormous group will consist of me and MTL, our five children/stepchildren, MTL's Ex and her husband and their daughter (MTL's kids' half-sister), and then The Ex and his girlfriend. The Ex's mother, with whom I am still close, may also join us. A massive group of six children and six or seven adults with a tangled web of connections.
Very Civilized.
And we are, honestly. To the best of our abilities, we get along and avoid conflict and try to keep the focus on the children. The Ex and I haven't fought about anything in ages and have become far better at communicating and working through occasional issues than we ever did when we were a couple. It's a level of teamwork that was markedly lacking in that marriage. As a close friend (who knew us when we were together and is still friends with us both) said to me yesterday, The Ex and I do much better when we don't have to take care of or worry about each other as individuals and spouses--we're quite decent co-parents instead.
Who would've thunk.
MTL and his Ex do fairly well that way too, though with different areas of trouble and ease than The Ex and I have. Of course. Their dynamic is different because they are different. But still, overall...Civilized. She and I get along quite well too. In fact, I even "rate" enough to get those annoying text forwards that are the new evolution of the email chain letters--you know, the ones about beautiful women and send this to the ten most beautiful women you know blah blah blah? Yeah, those. JOY. It says something that we're at that level of amicability, though. And this weekend MTL and I have her daughter with us so that she and her husband can actually celebrate their anniversary.
It reminds me of the whole Bruce Willis/Demi Moore/Ashton Kutcher situation. With much the same responses from people who hear about it, really. And I'm grateful, because it means there's so much less drama and the kids aren't torn apart by parent conflict.
But here's the catch. As much as we all Get Along and, I'm sure, will get even better at Getting Along as time goes on, there's still an underlying sense of unease about the Exes. One time when MTL and I were chatting online (we were at work) about cooking and laughing a bit about our respective Exes' cooking problems, I wrote that The Ex did actually bake really good pumpkin pies. MTL said something snarky along the lines of There will be no complimenting of exes! Just trash talk. I agreed. I'm not interested in hearing compliments about her, either. Not total bashing--they're not evil, either of them--but certainly not praise.
There's something unsettling about the existence of another person with which the other has spent a significant part of their lives, with whom the other has children, with whom the other did Significant Other things including the intimate stuff. Neither of us likes to dwell on it.
And I'll admit this: when MTL's Ex calls, which she does frequently, to talk about the kids and work out transportation and all that sort of thing, I have to fight back a little surge of jealousy. There was this one day last week when MTL was talking to her and she said something and he laughed and called her a dork. That's an affectionate term in our family, and I hated that he called her that. Last night she called to check how her daughter was doing with us, and she said something funny and he laughed, and I hated that too.
It's silly. It's petty. I fight it and I don't make a fuss about it and I'm sure it will get easier with time. But it's there.
I'm sure there are ways he feels the same with The Ex, too. I know that months ago when The Ex and I met at a restaurant to go over some legal paperwork, MTL struggled with it. He knew it was silly, but the whole idea of my meeting The Ex for dinner, all by ourselves--it triggered the same sort of jealousy. And the other night when I had a long phone conversation with The Ex about the kids and DramaBoy's school and some behavioral things we've been seeing with them both and Halloween and all that sort of Co-Parenting Stuff, I noticed that MTL stayed close and listened in--much as I often do when he has similar phone conversations with his Ex.
I know that it's good that we all get along and cooperate and co-parent. It's healthier for the children. And that's why we do it: for the children. I know perfectly well that if there weren't children involved, neither of us would have much, if any, contact with the Exes at all.
I don't fear that he wants to be back with her. I know better. I don't fear that he doesn't love me. I know better. The whole thing has very little to do with logic.
That's the Ex-Factor, isn't it? And I--we--have to get more comfortable with it, because it's not going away. Not as long as we have children in common. It's just a part of our life.
But I don't have to like it.
That's the word a coworker used when we were chatting about Halloween plans and I listed all the people who will be with us for that Event.
You see, MTL and I have, by blending our families, become the center of this trailing extended family involving Exes and others. And since we are amicable and try to focus on the children, we'll all be joining forces for certain events, such as Trick or Treating. On October 31st, our enormous group will consist of me and MTL, our five children/stepchildren, MTL's Ex and her husband and their daughter (MTL's kids' half-sister), and then The Ex and his girlfriend. The Ex's mother, with whom I am still close, may also join us. A massive group of six children and six or seven adults with a tangled web of connections.
Very Civilized.
And we are, honestly. To the best of our abilities, we get along and avoid conflict and try to keep the focus on the children. The Ex and I haven't fought about anything in ages and have become far better at communicating and working through occasional issues than we ever did when we were a couple. It's a level of teamwork that was markedly lacking in that marriage. As a close friend (who knew us when we were together and is still friends with us both) said to me yesterday, The Ex and I do much better when we don't have to take care of or worry about each other as individuals and spouses--we're quite decent co-parents instead.
Who would've thunk.
MTL and his Ex do fairly well that way too, though with different areas of trouble and ease than The Ex and I have. Of course. Their dynamic is different because they are different. But still, overall...Civilized. She and I get along quite well too. In fact, I even "rate" enough to get those annoying text forwards that are the new evolution of the email chain letters--you know, the ones about beautiful women and send this to the ten most beautiful women you know blah blah blah? Yeah, those. JOY. It says something that we're at that level of amicability, though. And this weekend MTL and I have her daughter with us so that she and her husband can actually celebrate their anniversary.
It reminds me of the whole Bruce Willis/Demi Moore/Ashton Kutcher situation. With much the same responses from people who hear about it, really. And I'm grateful, because it means there's so much less drama and the kids aren't torn apart by parent conflict.
But here's the catch. As much as we all Get Along and, I'm sure, will get even better at Getting Along as time goes on, there's still an underlying sense of unease about the Exes. One time when MTL and I were chatting online (we were at work) about cooking and laughing a bit about our respective Exes' cooking problems, I wrote that The Ex did actually bake really good pumpkin pies. MTL said something snarky along the lines of There will be no complimenting of exes! Just trash talk. I agreed. I'm not interested in hearing compliments about her, either. Not total bashing--they're not evil, either of them--but certainly not praise.
There's something unsettling about the existence of another person with which the other has spent a significant part of their lives, with whom the other has children, with whom the other did Significant Other things including the intimate stuff. Neither of us likes to dwell on it.
And I'll admit this: when MTL's Ex calls, which she does frequently, to talk about the kids and work out transportation and all that sort of thing, I have to fight back a little surge of jealousy. There was this one day last week when MTL was talking to her and she said something and he laughed and called her a dork. That's an affectionate term in our family, and I hated that he called her that. Last night she called to check how her daughter was doing with us, and she said something funny and he laughed, and I hated that too.
It's silly. It's petty. I fight it and I don't make a fuss about it and I'm sure it will get easier with time. But it's there.
I'm sure there are ways he feels the same with The Ex, too. I know that months ago when The Ex and I met at a restaurant to go over some legal paperwork, MTL struggled with it. He knew it was silly, but the whole idea of my meeting The Ex for dinner, all by ourselves--it triggered the same sort of jealousy. And the other night when I had a long phone conversation with The Ex about the kids and DramaBoy's school and some behavioral things we've been seeing with them both and Halloween and all that sort of Co-Parenting Stuff, I noticed that MTL stayed close and listened in--much as I often do when he has similar phone conversations with his Ex.
I know that it's good that we all get along and cooperate and co-parent. It's healthier for the children. And that's why we do it: for the children. I know perfectly well that if there weren't children involved, neither of us would have much, if any, contact with the Exes at all.
I don't fear that he wants to be back with her. I know better. I don't fear that he doesn't love me. I know better. The whole thing has very little to do with logic.
That's the Ex-Factor, isn't it? And I--we--have to get more comfortable with it, because it's not going away. Not as long as we have children in common. It's just a part of our life.
But I don't have to like it.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
"[in]sanity"
This one? I think it speaks for itself.
"[in]sanity"
conventional wisdom says
we should take it slow
don't rush into things
test the waters carefully
wait and
wait some more
conventional society says
we being crazy
insane fools
we should take a step back
think and
think some more
but i've never been one for conventionality
i'd rather be unique
and when i look in your eyes
hear your voice
feel the beat of your heart
i know
this is more real than
conventional can ever create
so even though we're crazy
leaping off this edge
trusting in an ephemeral future
i'd rather be a fool with you
than sane without
*********************************
"[in]sanity"
conventional wisdom says
we should take it slow
don't rush into things
test the waters carefully
wait and
wait some more
conventional society says
we being crazy
insane fools
we should take a step back
think and
think some more
but i've never been one for conventionality
i'd rather be unique
and when i look in your eyes
hear your voice
feel the beat of your heart
i know
this is more real than
conventional can ever create
so even though we're crazy
leaping off this edge
trusting in an ephemeral future
i'd rather be a fool with you
than sane without
Thursday, October 7, 2010
"apology"
The first time I hurt MTL's feelings--however unintentionally--I faced a new kind of reality. For the first time my emotional reaction and my apology were based not on fear of losing him (though I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a tinge of that--yay emotional baggage!) but on pain for having hurt him at all.
So this is what I wrote. He'd already accepted my apology, but this seemed to heal the hurt.
"apology"
i hurt you
and in hurting you
hurt myself
because somehow
somewhen
you became more than just
someone i know
this connection between us
links us in joy and pain alike
and even though you say
we're okay
the ache lingers like a bruise
and likely will
until i can look into your eyes
get lost in their cerulean depths
kiss your lips
feel your body beneath my hands
the thrum of your heart under my fingers
until i can whisper love in your ear
breath warm against your skin
and sink into the peace of You
until then
all i can do is send my love
and apologies
across the miles between us
fumbling with the words that must substitute
poorly
for the reality of how i feel
So this is what I wrote. He'd already accepted my apology, but this seemed to heal the hurt.
******************************
"apology"
i hurt you
and in hurting you
hurt myself
because somehow
somewhen
you became more than just
someone i know
this connection between us
links us in joy and pain alike
and even though you say
we're okay
the ache lingers like a bruise
and likely will
until i can look into your eyes
get lost in their cerulean depths
kiss your lips
feel your body beneath my hands
the thrum of your heart under my fingers
until i can whisper love in your ear
breath warm against your skin
and sink into the peace of You
until then
all i can do is send my love
and apologies
across the miles between us
fumbling with the words that must substitute
poorly
for the reality of how i feel
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