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 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!

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.

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.

Fighting For Forgiveness

There's a difference in me when it comes to arguments. I don't mean a difference from him, though that exists too, but a difference from how I used to be about arguing, like back with The Ex. And Lord, were there lots of arguments back then. Not only did we argue about everything, small and large and in between; we also didn't know HOW to argue.

Because let's face it: arguments happen. Doesn't matter how well-matched a couple is, doesn't matter how much they love each other--at some point there will be disagreement and feelings will get hurt and anger will rise and there will be an argument.

Once upon a time I used to think that the smallest argument spelled doom for a relationship. I came by that impression easily enough: every time I was dating someone and there was a disagreement or argument, it DID spell doom for the relationship. I averaged one brief (and I do mean brief) relationship per year from junior high through high school. Not the best way to learn, really.

With The Ex, I still had that feeling. There was really never that sense that the foundation was strong enough to withstand the battering of conflict. So I did anything I could to "resolve" conflict when it arose. Which meant, for me and for that relationship, being the one to give in, to cave, to placate, to say I was wrong (even when I wasn't, or at least wasn't the only one), to slap that bandaid over a gaping wound so that we could pretend that everything was All Better.

And that, of course, worked so well.

I have learned more about conflict--and resolving it--from a year and a half going through separation and divorce than I did from the thirteen years of the relationship prior. I also learned more about myself, and what I wanted from a real relationship, and how much I was willing to compromise, and how to learn to agree to disagree.

And how to forgive.

MTL and I don't have a lot of arguments. Generally speaking, there aren't too many things upon which we disagree. We're also able, for most things, to talk about stuff without arguing, even when we don't end up at the same place.

But not always.

Our main point of disagreement--and the main source of actual arguments, when they happen--is about the children. More specifically, the issue of Discipline. Now, MTL has helped me enormously with getting my head straight about the concept and in determining how I wanted to approach discipline with my boys. I'd gotten into bad habits, and between PPD and the whole separation/divorce thing and general craziness of it all, the boys were getting away with murder. And I was helping it happen. I've learned so much from him, and things are so much better with the boys than they were before.

But...we don't always see eye to eye. He still thinks I am too easily manipulated by the boys and too permissive and soft with them. I think there are times when he is too harsh. I also think there are times when he has blinders on because it's me with my boys, and I could swear he does similar things with KlutzGirl.

Sometimes it might be handy to have videos around the house so we could check ourselves and see what the other sees, you know?

We had an argument the other night. (It apparently was the night for it, as I found the next day that several friends had fights and arguments with their beloveds the same night. Must have been the moon.) Somehow we got on the subject of Discipline, again, centered on a couple of recent incidents with the boys. It got fairly heated, more so than usual, because we were tired and we'd had such a frickin' emotional couple of weeks. Plus, I was angry that he had been angry about these incidents and hadn't talked to me about it.

Yeah. I was angry that he had been angry. Well, more that he had been angry and hadn't tried to work it out.

Really, this did make sense in my head.

So I ended up stomping downstairs in a huff to lie in my angry misery on the couch watching idiotic late night TV. MTL came down a bit later to see if I was going to come back to bed or not, and we argued some more, and he stomped away upstairs.

And I stewed.

It didn't take all that long, however, before I started thinking more reasonably, despite the anger. The reality is that Discipline and Child Rearing are some of the most frequent points in conflict for stepcouples. Don't take my word for it: check out the excellent advice of Dr. Susan Wisdom (no really, that's her name). MTL and I both want the same things for our children--independence, happiness, and strength of character. We agree on a good bit of how to get there. But not all.

So I lay there and realized I had a decision to make. Keep punishing him by refusing to go back up to our bed? Because that just punished me too. Keep that emotional distance between us? Because that would only widen into a chasm. Wait for him to throw himself at my feet and say he was all wrong? Because that wasn't going to happen. Wait for myself to feel that I should go throw myself at his feet and say I was all wrong? Because that wasn't going to happen either.

Or take that step toward reconciliation? Because reconciliation doesn't have to mean we agree on everything. Forgiveness doesn't have to mean one side is wholly right and the other is wholly wrong.

I went upstairs. He was awake, reading my latest DnD blog post on his phone. I crawled into bed, and our legs touched. Neither of us drew away. I turned to one side and curled into his back. He leaned ever so slightly into me.

We were both still angry. But I told him I was sorry for being so defensive and angry instead of talking things through calmly. We told each other we love each other--even when angry. We fell asleep body to body, anger fading enough to give way to exhaustion.

I woke with his arms around me. He kissed my ear and whispered Brat, the way he does that really means I love you anyway.

I love him anyway too.

Lots Of Mush, But No BS

It's a bit hard for me to write about him online. Not because I don't have the words--they overflow, seriously; I could write a treatise on him and how I feel about him--but because it would just sound so damn mushy and starry-eyed and crap. And I think it could come across as naive and fake, as though I am some twitterpated fool due for a very rude awakening when Real Life comes into play.

Not that I don't have my twitterpated moments. I'll admit to that.

I have a friend, a dear friend, who although she is very happy for me and really rather convinced that MTL and I are the real thing, worries that we have rushed things. I can see her point, even though I personally feel we've done things at the right pace for us. Because normally? If this was someone else? Hell yeah, I'd be sitting there going What the hell do you think you're doing???

There are times when I'm also rather insane. In a good way.

(We're going to overlook that little episode back a year and a half ago, okay?)

(No, really. ALL BETTER NOW.)

We openly admit that our story is a crazy one. It's not "normal," though if you can tell me what "normal" is these days I'd be interested in hearing your theory.

But then, "normal" is also boring.

We're also nowhere near perfect. That WOULD be a foolish lie.

Besides, "perfect" is boring too.

We've already been in the trenches a goodish bit, MTL and I. Linear time says we've barely known each other. Seven months, really. Seven months last week since we first started emailing and texting. Seven months yesterday that we had our first phone conversation. Seven months this coming Sunday since our first date.

Yes, really. That's it. Seven months.

It feels like years. And not in the oh my god I've known you forever and you're just a habit sort of years.

(Been there. Done that.)

It's as though there's a part of me that has always known him. There's a core there that formed so quickly that even when surprises do come along (and oh yes, they do come along), there's a deep knowledge that the foundation is solid.

We aren't the same people, though we have huge amounts in common. We are most definitely individuals, with our own strengths and weaknesses and opinions and points of view and interests. But more often than not there's a balance there. Rather than being identical, we're...well, we're like puzzle pieces. We fit into the same area. Our edges click and fit. Our images, so to speak, blend together. But we have our variations. If we were identical, then we'd just be the same piece to different puzzles. Instead, we're our own parts of the same bigger picture.

How else do I say this? How do I explain how even in moments of stress or disagreement or even anger, there's a connection there I've never had before? That there's a sense of wholeness? That every time I see him or talk to him or hug him or lie next to him or even just see words on a screen that he typed from wherever he is--it's like coming home.

You see what I mean? MUSH.

I never knew this is what Love and Relationship was supposed to be. This partnership. This give and take. This solid ground from which the storms of life are faced, not without being moved, but without being broken.

I don't use the name My True Love lightly. It's not just a label I gave him on a whim.

I know not everyone's story is the same. And that doesn't mean they are better or worse than we are. Just different. I also know that seven months ago I met the man with whom I will spend my life, and I am richly blessed. So much more than words will ever say.

This Isn't What I Planned

I don't know whether to hug her or bitch slap her. I don't know whether to cry or scream. I don't know what to do, and I feel helpless, and that's too often the reality of this all.

I can only imagine how he feels. He's her father.

I'm just her stepmother.

I was naive, you know. Sure, the idea of suddenly being the [step]motherly figure in a blended family of seven rather than the single mother in a family of three was scary. But I figured I could handle it.

And I did and do, really. It's amazing how I've stretched and flexed and learned how to work in this new paradigm. It's miraculous how much I've come to love it.

The naivete came in thinking that it would be how I pictured it all. Secretly I believed we'd bring KlutzGirl to join us, and we'd be all seven together most of the time. The naivete came in thinking that because I've been working with teens for a decade and because I was also once upon a time a teenage girl, I would know what the hell to do when it comes to The Dark One.

Here's reality: I feel helpless. So does MTL. And we've been hit by a full-fledged nightmare. Teenage angst, anger, and manipulation to the nth degree.

Last night was the breaking point, for both of us. After hours of talking and crying and talking again, we finally decided to let her go.

Let her go. Because despite our true belief that we were making the right decision for her by moving into this district, she can't live with it. And despite our true belief that by letting her go to her mother's and go to school there will not make her happy in the long run and will end in tears, we have to let her try it.

I kept hearing that old aphorism in my head last night: If you love something, let it go.

It's what we're doing. It's what he's doing. Even though it tears him to pieces, even though he fears that she'll believe he's just getting rid of her, even though he doesn't want to do this.

He loves her that much.

It's trial by fire for us. There's the pure gold glistening through all this muck. All this shit. The light at the center of this darkness. Going through all this hasn't broken my love for him and his love for me. I love that man more deeply now than I did yesterday, and yesterday I loved him more deeply than the day before.

I never pictured this. I'm having to learn, all over again, that life does not go according to plan.