whaddya mean it's not Monday?

This is the Real Simple Thought of the Day today. And for some reason, I feel like it could have been written just for me...



Confusion is the welcome mat at the door of creativity.



Did I miss the part about a time frame?

we interrupt this blog...

Just a short note to say that I'm taking the weekend off of posting. It's my long weekend at work for starters, and although hopefully I'll get a lot of blog fodder out of it, it's still, well, long. But my main reason has nothing to do with work. It's me. I'm really struggling right now, and in spite of all of my best efforts just can't seem to pull myself out of it. I need a little bit of space to figure some things out, or at least to slap myself around a time or two.


Back on Monday. Hope you all have a great weekend.

time flies...and other mysteries

Surfer Dude was student of the day at his elementary school today, an honor that each student gets once during the academic year. They get to bring in their treasures from home and put them in a display case by the front entrance, so all of the other students can ooh and aah and make them feel like the Big Kid on Campus. This morning we carefully took the box full of his special stuff to school and arranged it neatly in the case, Surfer Dude hovering closely to make sure it was all done to his specification. When we were finished, he took one last look, gave me a hug, a kiss and an "I love you mama", and then flew up the stairs to his classroom to start his special day.


It didn't hit me until I was dismantling the display at the end of the day that this was my last go-round with this in elementary school. Surfer Dude is in sixth grade, and with right around four weeks of school left in the year, is already looking at Gumby's junior high with a proprietary eye. I've had at least one kid in elementary school since Sasquatch started in 1997, and it's a really disquieting thought to realize that we are just about at the end of an era. Time flies, all right, and when kids are involved it moves at warp speed. Sasquatch will be a high school senior next year- and the year after if his grades don't improve. How did that happen?


I'm not one of those moms who tearfully laments the baby days and wishes for a house full of toddlers again. With three boys five and under I barely got through the day the first time, and really don't have the inclination to do it again. But you can't escape the fact that my kids are growing up, and even though for the most part I'm okay with this, sometimes it feels more immediate than others.


When they were little my favorite part of the day was when they were bathed and powdered and cozily in their pajamas. There was genuine contentment in those times. Another day survived, fat little well-fed bellies tucked into terrycloth sleepers, a glass of chardonnay with my name on it. Everyone was present and accounted for, healthy and sound. I slept really well in those days, partly because I was chronically sleep deprived, but also because in about three minutes I could make the rounds and make sure all was well with my brood.


I remember the Christmas I was hugely pregnant with Sasquatch and my mom, the FX and I went to Alabama to spend the holiday with my mom's family. At one point my grandmother gazed around her house, looked at her two daughters and three grandchildren, and she sighed this big huge sigh of contentment. "I just love it," she said, "when you're all here and I know you're all safe." I knew jack about the maternal feeling then and thought she was overstating her case, but I get it now. Oh god, do I get it.


The younger boys are gone every other weekend and Sasquatch is rarely seen on any weekend. He comes home to touch base, raid the fridge and change clothes, but that's about it. It's very rare these days for all of us to be home to eat dinner together. Everyone has their own activities and plans, and my house for the most part resembles the airspace above LAX, with people coming and going at all times and in all directions. The nights when everyone is home and accounted for are few and far between, and I love every single one of them. I have a feeling they're going to become even more rare as the years go by.


I've been out of school for years, and yet I still think of Spring as the time of endings and Fall as the time of beginnings. Next Fall will be a doozy around here. And the Fall after that - the college Fall - well, I can't even go there. Not quite yet.


After all, I've still got four weeks of elementary school left.

why ask why?

Could someone please explain to me how it is that you can go to the gym three or four times a week for months, getting to the point where you can run five miles straight with absolutely no problem, but then, when you can't go for two weeks, you're almost back to square one?


How is this possible? Is my body trying to tell me something?


Maybe I should just pop open a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos, flop down on the couch and say the heck with it?


I'm going to have to think about that.

arc three/unexpectedly free

I learned a lot about myself during that conversation.


Some of the things I learned from me:


It's not that I fault the FX for being human and reading my blog even though he swore not to. It's that one of the things that has kept me going the last year is the idea that the he has had absolutely no access to my thoughts or feelings. I've got a great poker face and for the most part don't engage in conversation with him. This is all, unfortunately, moot when all he has to do is boot up his computer to climb inside my brain. It's too bad he's a liar, but that's not exactly news. Strike One.


I'm almost less upset that he was reading it than about the fact that he had completely forgotten that he had promised me he wouldn't. Even though I told him at the time that it was really important to me, it had totally slipped his mind. Once again, a perfect illustration of our marriage. Strike Two.


I realized that I'm a lot more like my dad sometimes than I really want to admit. My dad could cut people off cold - and without a backwards look. When he was done, he was done. I always thought that was cold and unfeeling. But that was before I was done. Strike Three. You're out.



Some of the things I learned from the FX:


I am hopelessly stuck in the past, destined to repeat past behaviors indefinitely. When I get my act together and put the work into myself like he has, maybe I'll be able to move forward.


I'm narcicissistic and self-absorbed and it all has to be about me. The blog is a perfect example, and so is the fact that I always have to be right in every situation. My favorite thing, for example, is to not warn him that bad things may happen if he does (or doesn't do) certain things, just so if/when he fails I can tell him "I told you so".


The fact that he is in a "very serious relationship" and I'm not even dating is just more evidence that I'm the damaged goods here and he's the one who has finally gotten the wonderful relationship that he deserves.


I could go on, but really...why bother? Surely you get the point.


As long as he's in the hot throes of a new relationship he really could care less what I have to say. About anything. My feelings and needs are completely irrelevant to his life, and everything I say or do reinforces his image of himself as the put upon good guy. It takes a lot of work to get a relationship off the ground, and his relationships with everyone else were just going to have to take a back seat. I could care less about letting him in on my needs, but I mistakenly thought that after twenty four years together my feelings might still mean something to him. Stupid me.
What the hell was I thinking?



About five minutes into raving about his new girlfriend, about how she supported him in all his endeavors, how she let him be him, and allowed him to be free to pursue his own hobbies and interests, how she understood that he was "a work in progress" and that she "was there for him" at all times, and even that they "took care of each other", he told me that he had never expected to be in this serious a relationship this quickly. You can't choose, he said, when you meet someone. Then he asked me if I was seeing anyone. Pre-blog reading I would have told him it was none of his business, but that seemed kind of stupid now. If he's been reading then he already knows what my story is. I figured the hell with it and went with the truth.


"No, I'm not," I said. "Ask me why".


"Okay," he said. "Why?"


"Because I think you came out of our marriage with a much higher opinion of human nature than I did," I answered. "And if you shoot down anyone who asks you out, you can virtually guarantee that you won't meet someone who will turn serious too fast."


I wasn't done.


"You know what absolutely kills me?" I asked. "It's the idea that you fucked all four of us over completely with your selfishness and 'I'm the top priority here' attitude and you're the one who gets the happy ending. And you can rationalize all day long that you were completely blameless in our marriage because you've somehow managed to fall into a relationship that lets you feel like you're a good deserving person who just happened to spend twenty years with a castrating bitch like me."



The blog was a keg of dynamite, too. He insisted that he only read it to see what was going on with the kids. I said that was ridiculous, since I made a point of always keeping him abreast of kid happenings. Then he made the "You were a much better writer before you threw yourself a pity party" comment, which absolutely enraged me. On so many levels. "Well, which is it?" I asked. "Any posts where you might get the pity party idea aren't posts where kid events would be mentioned. So what's the truth? Did you just read the "pity party" posts to get off on my pain and anger? We already know you're a liar. Could you be just a little sadistic, too?And, by the way, if you were only in it "for the kids" how come you never called to check up on them when I wrote that they were having a hard time?" I also pointed out that the fact that he had to keep up with my writing indicated to me that he might not be as emotionally detached as he claims to be, an idea that he contradicted mightily.


There was more, but I'll spare you. It seemed that every time either one of us opened our mouths we drew blood, and we weren't going for small veins either. It was artery time, and eventually I felt like I had bled enough.


"You know what?", I said, "You just aren't good for me. In any way. And I know this is a really stupid thing to say considering that we've been divorced for six months, but I'm done. I'm completely done dealing with you. From here on out we discuss the kids and the house and that's it. I have nothing more to say to you and this will be the very last conversation like this that we will ever have. You can't hurt me anymore. I'm finished with you".


We ended the conversation right there. And in spite of the fact that I had, in the heat of battle, given him that glimpse of myself that I don't want him to have, it felt really good. Like a clean start in a way. I walked away from it knowing that we were both way beyond each other's reach. And that that was a very, very good thing.


I don't have to like him and I don't have to deal with him on anything other than my terms. I don't have to let him dictate my life and screw with my feelings and my kids. I will support the kids in every way I can, but I won't be the middle man anymore. He's on his own, and I sincerely hope he is smart enough to realize what he's thisclose to losing.


It has also become apparent to me with dazzling clarity that in spite of everything I've thought in the last year...I haven't lost anything valuable at all. And that it's time to let go and move on.


I'm ready.

arc two/almost through

My finger hesitated over the send button on my email, but no matter how much I hated to hit it, it had to be done. It was the Tuesday after Easter and all of my kids were still dragging. Gumby had spent most of Monday lying lethargically on the couch and Surfer Dude and Sasquatch were still uncharacteristically quiet. I didn't want to get into this with the FX, didn't want to have a conversation with him in any way, shape or form, but my conscience was screaming. My kids were hurting. The reason was clear. I had to confront the cause. This was the email I sent -


Per his request, I'm making an appointment for Gumby to see a therapist. I'm obviously going through your insurance, so you may see paperwork on that. Yesterday was the third Monday in a row that he woke up too "sick" to go to school after his weekend with you and we have to get to the bottom of this. I'll let you know when the appointments are when I know. Unfortunately, it's not just Gumby. I'm extremely hesitant to get into any of the rest of this with you, but for the greater good of our children I'm (very reluctantly) giving it one more shot. I had honestly hoped - after our heart to heart in the driveway - that you understood what I was saying, but it's obvious that you either don't, don't want to, or are somehow living within the delusion that you are. Whatever the reason, it's not working. For any of your children. If you have any desire to discuss this, you know where I am. If you feel you're doing fine with the way things are going, then by all means carry on. I've heard you tell me too many times that I'm influencing the kids and projecting my emotions onto them, but I need to be very explicit with you here. If you truly believe that this is all my doing, you are carrying your trademark denial to new heights. And all of you will lose. I won't do this again, FX. You're on your own from here on out.



My phone rang twenty minutes later. Guess who?


I don't know what it is with me and the FX and phone calls, but we seem to be far more comfortable saying what's really on our minds when we're not face to face. Much like the conversation we had last summer that finally broached some kind of understanding between us, this was a long conversation. 153 minutes, if you want to believe the timer on my cell phone. Unlike the conversation last summer, this discussion lobbed cherry bombs at our oh so tenuous bonds, and, at least from my point of view, effectively destroyed any chance of the divorce relationship I had hoped to be part of. It started out civil and with both of us attempting to be accommodating. It ended up as a gloves off brawl where things were said that can never be taken back, never be forgiven. It was 153 minutes toward the end, and by the time the ride was over I was shaking and exhausted. On paper our relationship ended October 17, 2008 when our divorce was final. In actuality it ended two days after Easter 2009 when the emotional dams burst, and the ensuing flood washed away every trace of respect and empathy we had.


I addressed the issue of Easter and the girlfriend first and, as I had expected, got nowhere. I told him all about what had happened when the boys got home, leaving out the impersonation routine because I thought that would be flat out cruel to pass on. I pointed out to him that the boys see him every other weekend and would like to be able to spend some time just with him. I said, yet again, that he ought to be able to manage his love life in the twelve days out of fourteen that he doesn't have the kids. I told him - honestly - that the kids seemed to like his girlfriend, and had nothing but nice things to say about her. (I have no problem with her. My problem is entirely with him.) But that doesn't erase the fact that they want to spend time with their dad being themselves, not paraded around as some kind of accessory to make dad look better with the chicks. If he wants a poodle, he can go buy one. That's not what my kid go over there on weekends for. Well. That's not what my kids want to go over there on weekends for.


The girlfriend has grown kids and, judging from the food she cooks and schleps over to the FX's house for him and the boys, has quite the maternal streak. I asked him if he had ever considered changing his plans on Easter when everything went to hell in a handbasket. What about, I asked, if when you and Sasquatch realized you had your wires completely crossed, you asked your girlfriend if you could just change plans and have a boy's day instead. She could have headed home and the four of them could have hung out and celebrated dad's birthday. If she is one zillionth as fabulous as he continues to tell me she is, something tells me she would have understood. The idea had never occurred to him, which doesn't really surprise me. He's a big picture guy, you see, and the details often escape him, particularly when they impact other people more than they impact him.


We shifted out of that and onto the next thing I wanted to bring up.


"Are you still reading my blog?" I asked.


"No," he answered immediately. "I'm not."


Someone less used to the way he communicates would have let that go, but I've been down this particular road before. You have to ask very specific questions, allowing as little wiggle room as possible, to get a straight answer.


"When is the last time you read it?" I asked.


"About three weeks ago," he said. "I stopped reading when you called me a narcissist for getting involved with (the gf) so quickly."


I was about to open my mouth to bring up a) that he'd have to get a little more specific than that and b) the fact that he had promised me that he would stop reading last Spring when he continued.


"Ironic, actually," he said, "that you would call me narcissistic on your blog. Seriously. How narcissistic can you get?"


I took a deep breath and peeled off my gloves. This was about to get ugly.

arc one/almost done

I've never been overly impressed with the FX's ability to be efficient, but I'm guessing I may have to rethink that one. He really managed to outdo himself on Easter, by any standard you care to apply. In the period of about two minutes flat he managed to convince all three of his children that his girlfriend was more important to him than they were. And judging by their reactions to this, I think he's facing a real uphill battle to regain ground.


This episode is important on so many levels - the children obviously foremost - but for me it was the trigger that led to the end. In spite of my promise to myself to shut up and lay low, I just couldn't, and believe me when I tell you that I paid the price. My children, however, took the brunt. At first I would have said one child in particular, but a week later I'm not at all sure about that. The devastation was fairly equally distributed.


That was the day that the boys were going to celebrate the FX's birthday, the day they had been looking forward to. The younger ones had been with him since Friday night, Sasquatch had been in and out at home, with plans to meet up with them all on Sunday morning. Saturday at soccer Gumby had said something to me about their plans for the next day, plans which included an IMAX film about half an hour away. As soon as I heard this, I knew the girlfriend would be going, since this theater is right in her neck of the woods. Sasquatch is the only one who has never met her, partly by his own design. At home later, just Sasquatch and I, I asked him who all was going to the movies on Sunday.


"Just dad and me and the boys," he replied.


"Are you sure?" I asked.


"Positive, " he said. "Why?"


"Just curious, " I answered. "Surely dad would let you know ahead of time if his girlfriend was going with you."


"Of course he would," Sasquatch replied. "Dad would never trick me like that."


And there we left it.


I had just finished my Easter potluck lunch at work when I got a phone call from a sobbing Sasquatch. The kid was beside himself, talking in hiccupy spurts, breaking into fresh tears every couple of words. We all know he drives me to the brink of insanity at times with his attitude, but not this time. His pain was palpable. And this was the story he told.


He had spent the night at a friend's house (one of my best friend's sons), and had gotten a call that the FX would pick him up there and then head out to the movie. What he wasn't expecting was to be picked up in the girlfriend's car, with his dad driving, and the girlfriend riding shotgun. They stopped at a store to buy some snacks for the movie, and the younger boys went in with the girlfriend. Sasquatch took that opportunity to tell his father that he wasn't going with them and that he wanted to be taken home immediately. The FX asked why, claimed that he had told Sasquatch ahead of time that the gf would be coming along. His exact words, according to Sasquatch were "I told you it was just going to be us." Sasquatch said they had a very different definition of "us" , and then told the FX flat out that he didn't appreciate the way this had all come about. I'm imagining he was fighting back tears even then, but I don't know this for a fact.


Okay. So some wires were crossed. Neither one of them can communicate for beans on a good day. Maybe he did tell him. Maybe he didn't. This was still (sort of) salvagable, if handled properly. All it would take was a lot of finesse and some changing of plans.


It didn't happen. The FX told Sasquatch that he was really sorry, that he was sure he had told him - and then he drove him home and headed off to the movies with the younger boys and the girlfriend. Sasquatch was devastated. It took me fifteen minutes on the phone to calm him down. Then I called my friend Laurie to enlist her help. We have a ritual on Easter, families we always get together with. This year, for the first time ever, I was working and the boys were scheduled to be with their dad. A quick phone call later, it was arranged that Laurie's family would pick Sasquatch up on their way to the festivities and he would spend his Easter the way he always did -surrounded by fabulous extended family.


I did a slow burn for the rest of the day, and when I got home minutes after the FX and the gf had dropped off the younger boys, I went up to my room to cool off. I had a brief word with Sasquatch to assess his mood, which was quiet but okay, and then I sat on my bed and tried to breathe. Minutes later Surfer Dude and Gumby came up to chat about their day and their weekend.


"Sasquatch is still pretty upset," Gumby said.


"I know he is, " I answered.


"Did you hear what happened?" Surfer Dude asked.


"I did," I replied. "How are you two with it?"


Two blank faces looked at me. Two shrugs. No answer. I'd never before noticed how the two of them have become this kind of united front lately. Two boys. One persona.


"Listen, " I said. "You know you can always talk to me if you're upset. You can always talk to Sasquatch. He's always there. So is dad. You can always talk to dad, too."


Then they both looked at me and laughed.


"Right," they said. "Sure we can talk to dad. Just like this."


And then, so help me god, they launched into the most dead on imitation of the FX you can imagine, caught him squarely in the act of attempting to listen and take part in a conversation, but not quite succeeding. In about thirty seconds, they nailed him. It was eerie. When they were done, they looked at each other and chuckled. It was clearly not the first time they had performed their two man show for each other. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was a really tough call. In the end, I went with neither.


"So what's your point?" I asked. "You don't feel like you can talk to dad?"


"Oh, come on mom," they said. "We just smile and do what we're told."


"Why would you do that?" I answered, outraged. "Why in the world don't you tell dad what you really think? What you really feel?"


They shrugged.


"We just don't," they answered. "It's easier that way."


"So are you saying you just nod and smile like puppets?" I continued.


"Pretty much," they said. "Goodnight."


And off they went to bed.


The next morning Gumby woke up clutching his stomach and crying. Said he felt terrible and asked if he could stay home from school. I checked him out carefully. He really did look kind of crappy, so I told him to lay down and take it easy.


A while later I dropped Surfer Dude off at school. As he got out of the car he turned to me and said in a very off-hand way,


"Have you noticed that every Monday after we're at dad's house Gumby is sick?"


And as I watched him walk into the school all I could think was...


Oh, my god. He's right.