Friday, April 22, 2016

Of Girl Scouts, Prince, and Love


Image credit (here)

I just wrote a lengthy post about the exie shenanigans and all the details about how he maneuvered his manouverings so he could be the one to chaperone on DD1’s latest girl scout field trip to camp, but then I re-read it, and even I got sick of the everlasting b.s. that is his wish to be everything to my girls, make me “the bad guy” as my therapist puts it, and nothing I say or do will ever make it change.  That is true.  I accept it.  It sucks.  But it’s better than having him in our house.

The important thing here is that DD1 gets to go to camp.  And even though the other morning, she said, gosh mommy, I wish you could be the chaperone, I said, yes, I do too, I offered, but it’s okay dad’s going, and maybe the next time camp will be on mom’s week end—I believe it’s all going to turn out fine.  The troop is there, it’s not really about spending time with the parents, it’s about experiencing all the fun things of camp.

The coparenting counselor’s take on this is that dad just needs to understand he can’t be both mom AND dad.  Because doesn’t there still need to be another adult in the cabin?  Having dad chaperone didn’t really solve any problems, because the leader is still all alone in the cabin with the troop (dads stay in their own cabin for obvious reasons).  And it’s okay for girl scouts to do girl scout things with their moms.  Like boy scouts do boy scout things with their dads.  Me thinking:  tell me something I don’t know, and trying not to /eyeroll.

Post script:  because of a clause in our decree, DD2 comes home for some bonus time with me and hubby this week end, while the ex and DD1 are at camp.  So while I’d love to be going to DD1’s first girl scout camp experience, I’m going to be making the most of extra DD2 cuddles.


Lastly:  I’m having a hard time putting into words about our great loss of Prince yesterday.  People say all kinds of things about why would you mourn someone you don’t know?  And I thought about it—it’s not really about mourning someone I don’t know, it’s about mourning the loss of parts of myself where his music intermingled, sounds that connected me to the world, still connects me to the parts of me that make up the jigsaw of who I am today.  I can listen to this song I’ve linked, and it will instantly tether me to times, sounds, experiences of my youth, I can almost smell the incense that I burned in the dim fire-hazard house that we shared with four other twenty-somethings, feel the chill air of a blizzard creeping in under the door, hear the laughter, feel the amazement, embrace the jubilance and glee that being young was—like I was drunk on life.  

Of all the people in the world, why should I love you?


Yep, I was inebriated by life.  I wonder what it would be like to feel that way again.  Experiences and PTSD have brought me to another place altogether these days, but I wonder, if maybe I still am part of that…maybe twenty years from now I’ll look back here and think, wow, I was really in the stream, really just, drunk on love, drinking the experiences of life, despite the fear and hardship, still living joyously, still living with love.

I hope so.

Thank you, Prince, for your music lives on in all of us, in all of our hearts, in all of our memories.  I'm so sorry for your loss to the people who love you and know you.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving your art to the world.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Worry

Image credit (here)

I love my babies so much it hurts.  Likely says every mother everywhere.  So when I see their dad encroaching with his manipulation and emotional blackmail, my heart kind of boils.  New emails came in over the week end.  New confidences from DD2 last night :(

I know I have to let go of fear.  But how do you let go of the worry:

He makes them question themselves and their feelings.

He swears at them for things like brushing their teeth or taking too long to put their shoes on.

Little sister repeatedly tells me she’s “dumb” and “lies” and “breaks things” because “that’s what daddy says.”

They feel responsible for his feelings, that if they don’t behave a certain way (i.e. too friendly with their stepfather; too loving on the phone with me when they’re with him), they worry he thinks they don’t love him.

I worry they think they are at fault when their dad loses his temper.

I worry they’ll carry the responsibility for a man in their life into their adult relationships.

I worry they’ll think love isn’t love unless it includes anger.

I worry they’ll think that if they love him enough, he’ll change.

I worry they’ll think if he doesn’t change, there’s something wrong with them.

I worry they won’t realize it’s okay to be happy and to be loved without hurt.

I worry they’ll think they’re not good enough.

I worry they’ll think they are unworthy of love.

I worry that the self-confidence and trust in the goodness in the world that fills them up right now to the brim, will get whittled down into self-doubt and insecurity.

I worry they’ll question their reality.

Dear god, please protect my babies.  Please help them stand up for themselves.  Please help them believe in themselves.  Please help them know they are loved and worthy of love.

Friday, April 8, 2016

Normal is awesome

Image credit (here)

These days my world of coparenting is humming along at an even 5.  Minor league !@#$ may hit the fan once I finalize my summer vacation planning—I want to take the girls to see our family 3000 miles away, but I think even then it would be surmountable.

In the meantime, DD1 has been very cuddly and sweet of late.  DD2 had some pals over for her girl scouts last night to do some crafting for an event coming up on Sunday.  DD1 helped with the crafts, offered to prepare snacks for the little ones, hand them out, give them napkins, get their drinks ready (I almost checked DD1’s forehead to make sure she was feeling all right—I guess her sassy phase of late is taking a break), and I couldn’t have been more happy to see her being so sweet and helpful.

Once the crafts (round 1) were completed, the scouts wanted to play a little bit more, so DD1 said her goodbyes to the wee ones, their moms, and asked if she could go upstairs and hang with A.  And after everyone left, DD2 and I had some quality along time coloring, and when it was time for bed, we headed upstairs with our dog in tow, and I found DD1 and A hanging out playing games on his Ipad.

The girls brushed their teeth and we read a favorite story and they went to bed without a hitch.  And after they were asleep, A told me gosh, DD1 has been really sweet lately.  And I was like, yes, I’ve noticed too!  She’s been so helpful, using her kind voice, asking me to cuddle.  A said she told him that night that when she’s at her dad’s she misses him.  

Me: heart melted into a little puddle.

Tonight is the start of dad’s week end; DD1 is attending her sleepover after she took him to task for not responding, DD2 is attending her girl scout event, at least that’s what the troop leader said.  So no nasty fireworks, no big fights, it’s really nice right now.

Tonight I’m helping the other half of DD2’s troop finish the crafts.  I’m doing my best to enjoy this sense of peace…it’s weird not to have something to worry about.  

This week end, it’s my job to not let myself worry.  Hugs.

Thursday, March 31, 2016

Brushing Teeth is good--says everyone but you-know-who


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For the most part, all seems to be going well.  The mini things that have come up, I’ve handled without too much fuss, like walking on a treadmill.

This latest one though—I don’t even have steam coming out of my ears.  It just makes me tired.

So…I took the girls to the dentist this past Monday, since they were both off school.  In the waiting room, DD2 told me that when she "takes too long to brush her teeth, daddy says, f*ck! hurry up" and "gets mad at me."  I responded that wasn't a good word, and I was sorry daddy got mad at her.  And brushing her teeth was important and I was glad she was brushing her teeth.  She seemed upset about dad getting mad at her, and just cuddled up, until it was her turn to go into the dentist.

Afterwards, Dr. Y said she has at least 7 cavities, and we're now booked with a periodontist.  I don't even know how to broach this with the XE (phonetic for Exie).  Later that night, when the girls were brushing their teeth, I reminded them to be careful brushing (DD1's back teeth had a lot of plaque, but luckily no cavities), and DD2 was careful and brushed really good--they both were tickled about their new toothbrushes.

Anyway, DD2 told me the story again, she said, mommy, you know when daddy says f*ck, hurry up?  and I was like, yeah? (and trying not to react to the f*ck),   and she said, i think it's because he wants me to watch cartoons and not miss out.

So I just responded--gosh, DD2, i'm sorry about that.  Brushing your teeth is really important.   She cuddled up to me again during book time and went to bed.

I've had a couple of days to think about this (girls are with XE through tomorrow, due to spring break). 

The periodontist couldn't get us in until next month, so there's no hurry, and I don't want to incite anything with XE while the girls are there, (especially since DD1's been invited to sleepovers and girl scout events during his time, a lot of back and forth between him and the GS leader, it's all finally been worked out--actually DD1 has been very assertive lately, holding him accountable about getting back to her friends’ parents about things, go DD1!)

So…I’ve approached him with an email basically quoting the dentist’s recommendations, leaving the ‘f*c’k out of it.  The play therapist advised that the girls are learning important life lessons—that they can tell me things without having things blow up in their faces, and the important thing is at least the girls know it’s wrong to say f*ck, don’t say it themselves, and that they feel like they can trust me with their worries and concerns.  O.k., got it.  Hit send and don’t worry.

But the part in me—the part that still is healing—is shrinking a bit, anticipating a nasty response accusing me that somehow the cavities are all my fault.  I know I shouldn’t do this kind of thinking, to not make up what’s not in front of me, but I guess it takes time for these old wounds to heal.  And you know what?  Even if he does, I need to know it doesn’t matter.  I’m no longer responsible for his thinking, anger, accusations.  My head knows that.  My heart mostly does.  Except that tiny piece that feels like crying.  Dammit, I’ve come so far, but still have miles to go before I sleep.  Ah well.

I need a glass of wine.  Which is kind of good, because I have a happy hour planned with two respected colleagues of mine…so I think I’ll go enjoy that.  Because f*ck it, might as well!  Ha.

Thursday, March 24, 2016

On Shrimp and Happiness


I’ve been away due to illness, work deadlines, parenting in general duties!

But as I struggled back to being upright, we did have a very sweet Sunday…

The hub’s schedule has been changing every month, so week end time has been rare and far between.  We happened to have this past Sunday off all together, so after DD1, DD2, and I attended Sunday school and church (DD1 helped me do our palm Sunday liturgist action), we hustled home to enjoy the rest of the day—consisting of hurried sandwiches for lunch, getting to the theater to watch Zootopia…a total on-target kids movie for our time.  

Over lunch, hubby and DD1 brainstormed what to make for dinner, how about, maybe…shrimp?  Which DD1 and I jumped on board with right away, because we both love shrimp; DD2 is more of a get-along, go-along sweetie when it comes to meals, her opinion was, what’s shrimp again?

So after the movie, off to the grocery store we went, to collect all the fixings for dinner.  On the way home, we dropped the food off, so that we could spontaneously stop by an open house (one day we’ll move) and dreamed a little bit about what it might like to have a house big enough for the girls to each have their own room.  And since this particular house was even bigger than that—we dreamed about what it would be like to have a house big enough for a pool, a back lanai area to host dinner parties, as well as a nanny and/or housekeeper.  Ha ha ha!!  Like I said, dreaming!!

Then we took our puppy (ok, she’s one, so I guess I have to accept that she’s a DOG) to the pet store to get her a new gentle leader, more dogfood, a new crate, three new toys (yes, she’s spoiled), and some new treats that cost us an arm and a leg—suffice it to say, we are avoiding all pet stores for the next three weeks!!

Off to home where DD1 and hubby got to work.  Peeling and cleaning and washing and mixing the batter, then battering the shrimp.  DD1 chirruping and bustling around the kitchen, asking hubby if she could help more, if there’s anything else he needed—she was going to help, darn it.  When hubby got out the fryer, DD1 was so proud to fry a batch all by herself.  Setting the table and getting all the food ready for our dinner—DD1 was so excited!  She sliced lemons for the tea and made it a point to tell me how she’d included small cuts so we could place the slices onto the sides of our cups. Awwww…  

During their cooking bonanza, I found DD2 nearly asleep on the couch—to my dismay she’d come down with a fever (ended up staying home from school on Monday, but all is well now), so while we finally sat down to our dinner feast, DD2 was snuggling under the covers, watching Robin Hood (where Robin hood is a fox and Little John is a bear) on her kindle.

As we ate, DD1 commented on the different flavors in the batter, we’d also made star wars mac and cheese, because why not, it was Sunday after all, and broccoli.  DD2 rallied for some toast and jam when her medicine kicked in, and even sang a couple of silly songs, her spirits improved immensely.

After dinner, DD1 asked me to send a picture of the fried shrimp to her three besties’ moms so her BFFs could see—so I group texted them, then she giggled in delight when the girls texted back how delicious it looked.  And I can attest to how delicious it tasted!  (There was so much shrimp, we had enough for dinner the next evening—hubs made a salad for us, as the girls were at their dad’s.)

Later that night, when I tucked the girls into bed, DD1 told hubs that she loved him.  And while we both know the girls have bonded with the hubby over the last three years, to hear her say it was balm to the soul.  (She does say those special words fairly often, but DD1 has always been more close to the heart—much less effusive than DD2).

I went to bed that night completely content.  All was well with the world.  As I drifted off to sleep, I remember thinking, gosh, if every day could be like today—minus DD2 getting sick…simple, fun, loving, kind, I would be the happiest mom in the universe.  I’m not used to contentment.  It’s a wonderful feeling.

Monday, March 21, 2016

Sick

I've been down with a nasty cold or some version of it. Hope to post soon! Hugs!

Friday, March 11, 2016

Fumbling Towards Healing


Image Credit (here)

In the last week, I had one of those Facebook “Day in the Past” reminders, and it was a day five years ago, a picture of my babies dressed in matching cotton dresses, DD2 really just a baby, toddling around barefoot, with her palm tree pony tail sticking up from the top of her head.  DD1 still in preschool, her cherub face grinning, she would be bridging to kindergarten, just a few months later…

And this particular day had a profound impact—it was the beginning of the domino effect that got me out of my abusive relationship with my ex husband. 

See, the picture was taken at DD2’s first birthday, a huge celebration where I live, akin to a wedding, where family and friends will come, some having flown in from thousands of miles away.

And the night before that picture was taken, my Ex had a huge fit, yelled and screamed at me, accused me of locking him out of the planning (?!@$ we’d been talking about it for months, I’d run checklists by him for weeks).  After the children were in bed, he laid down in the floor in our spare room, looking at the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge my presence, or discuss details (his extended family were here, and my extended family had just arrived days before), and I was crying, begging him to please forgive me, that I was so sorry I made him feel that way.  He never relented, I went to bed alone, not knowing what I’d wake up to.  (Actually, quite mild in the grand scheme of things).

The next morning, we went to the birthday party, and it was a huge success, because all of my people were there helping, emceeing, or doing the prayer, or doing the fortune telling game with DD2, who could pick from four items (a piece of money-wealth, an abacus-scholar, a feather quill-artist, yarn—long life), and she picked the money, and the ex was so happy and everyone laughed.  All the pictures from that day showed a “normal,” loving, happy family.

Except, I knew it wasn’t true.  And with my extended family weaving in and out and being surrounded by their loving faces and kindness, something in me switched.

When the festivities ended and people got on their planes and flew away, I slowly started reaching out to them, my friends who I’d known for years and years and years, and my family.  I asked them, what was it like when they argued with their husbands?  What was it like when their husbands got angry, how did they express their anger?

I learned:
1)     No yelling, or very little yelling.
2)     No name-calling.
3)     No swearing.
4)     No breaking things.
5)     No hitting.
6)     No pushing or kicking the children.
7)     No choking or throwing family animals.

I remember one girlfriend of mine told me that her hubby—was so aware of his size (ex-football player, in fact, he left his varsity team in high school because he just wasn’t into hurting people) and how scary that could be to other people, that he was extremely careful on how he expressed himself when angry.

I still, to this day, feel like this can’t be true somehow, that it’s some kind of illusion.  Doesn’t everyone yell, swear, hit, throw, scream, when they’re angry?

But I believed them.  I got myself back into therapy.  I started sharing with my therapist and closest confidantes what was happening.  I shared with two of them my diary of all the explosions since DD1 was born.  They told me it was frightening—I remember that word, “frightening” as a jolt.  And one friend referred me to my attorney—and so began a long and tortuous journey, which started with the TRO because of his threats to put a bullet through my head and murder DD1 in her sleep; and one where I now have full physical custody of the girls.

But that picture—it was taken five years ago.  FIVE YEARS.  I sometimes laugh, thinking, gosh, by now, a shiny, healed Jane 2.0 version would be out.  And yes, I’ve come so far, maybe not shiny, but definitely not as broken, and at other times, a word, a text, a nasty comment, will send me reeling.  Back to these old days.  

I still ask:  is it true the people express anger without violence and nastiness?  Can people really not yell and scream and swear when they’re angry?

So I guess that’s what I mean about fumbling towards healing.  Doing my best.  I don’t have the answers, but I’m beginning to learn that these types of behaviors are the exception to the norm.

Right?