Climate change

Some days are just emotional, you know?  You think you put all your ducks in a row and have all the lunches packed and the work deadlines met, and you even think you’ve done an ok job with the parenting and the supervising at work thing and…

Sometimes, you still wake up feeling depressed and sad.  I don’t know why.  Things are going really well the last few days, despite a handful of e-mauls from my ex. 

Yet, there is so much energy around responding to those e-mauls, too.  A support network is consulted, and at times, even my official attorney offers advice.  They say he continues to want to “engage” with me, to have “a relationship” with me, because he has lost control.  And with abusive people, losing control is just the one thing they can’t take.  In my case, it’s not only about the control, it’s about the shame.  That deep down, he knows what he did to us, and years later, he still can’t get over the fact that no matter what bright face he showed the court, and no matter how badly he painted the picture of me as an unfit mom, he knows it’s not true.  And on top of it, the court recognized the truth, which is why our outcome was so detailed and so explicit, yet he and his family cannot face the fact that he has an anger problem, and he did things that terrorized and hurt us.  So by not accepting it, he has to not only continue to ‘control’ the situation by sending long, engaging e-mauls, but he also has to show the world that I am the bad person and he is really the good person.  In any way he can. That, apparently, is the shame talking. 

Anyway, when his name appears in the inbox, I will spend sometimes hours on “the response process”—sifting through the crap, carefully choosing language that I think addresses the issue but does not engage too much, that keeps the boundaries firm and at the same time does not invite commentary.  Figuring out what is needless needling commentary that I can ignore.  And also calm down from stupid commentary that sounds accusatory and nitpicky. Next, I consult with people I trust.  Sometimes I call my therapist.  And if in a really gray area, I will consult my attorney because I don’t want to say anything that crosses a line or jeopardizes my carefully laid out and death-defying result of the best protection for my girls and me. 

I’m getting better at—I used to get the e-mauls and freak the f*ck out.  For hours, or longer, sometimes not be able to sleep at night.  That is the PTSD talking.  Now, I will have that initial jolt of terror, and it will calm down in about 5-10 minutes, depending on the content.  Then I focus on the “response process.”  And lately, I’ve figured out what I need to say and send it out for consultation, and am usually 85% there.  Sometimes 100%, and it’s just validation that I still need.  One day, I hope, I will be able to do it all on my own, with no consultation, because I won’t be triggered by PTSD, and I will be fully confident that I’m doing the right thing.  I wish that day was today.

But, it’s not.  So, like I’ve told others in similar predicaments—I must do the best I can in these circumstances that I’ve found myself in, and be as content with that as I can.  Sometimes I feel empowered, and sometimes, like today, I feel sad and tired and depressed.

Writing helps—because rather than having an unnamed, overpowering blob of unnerving emotion hanging over my head, I’ve now described it and shaped it and put it into words that make sense.  A kind of a-ha!  It’s okay to be exhausted by this kind of crap. 

The other thing is—despite the crapiness of co-parenting with what one of my favorite bloggers, Betty Fokker, would most likely refer to as an “asshat,” the view from the positive life that I’ve found myself in lately is unfamiliar.

We are not used to having things go well.  I am not used to having a peaceful, kind person around, who is genuinely interested in our well-being, loving us with no demands or price to pay.  I am not used to the calm life of no surprise eruptions and having the loudest noise in the house be our laughter, even when we get into a heated disagreement.  That a heated disagreement doesn’t turn into dishes breaking and slamming cabinets and threats and terror—that it ebbs and flows as we listen to each other and agree or disagree or agree to disagree, and there is still hugs, and laughter, too, it’s like learning a foreign language.  Or remembering a language I’d forgotten I knew.  I wish this view was familiar, and it is getting to be, and maybe that’s why I sometimes have this feeling of apprehension or shadow of sadness linger, because deep down I have the fear that an earthquake will come and swallow us up. 

We were used to earthquakes.  We knew how to handle them and what to do, where to hide, the many attempts to Red Cross ourselves back to a normal, non-earthquake state.

So I am careful and also a bit wary with this new climate, even though I love the calm.  I love our present and I love how we are preparing for our future.  My heart sings at the same time as it continues to heal from the shadows. 

Blending

We are becoming a blended family.  It is amazing !!!!  and frustrating !!!! at the same time.  

Amazing, because a wonderful, loving, lovely man is going to be part of our lives—for the rest of our lives.  Someone who is supportive and kind and whose heart knows no bounds and who will show my daughters that there are kind, responsible, adult men in the world who take care of their responsibilities, who do not ‘slough off’ their chores and jobs to someone else, who do not lose their temper at the most irrelevant things (or even relevant things) and throw things and break things, who is generous of heart and spirit and caring.

Frustrating, because at this point, the “blend” has not yet happened, and I keep explaining to my sweetheart darling, that until he is a more permanent fixture in our lives and in our house, he cannot be mr. stepdad, not yet.  Sure, he is welcome to support me and should someone not be finishing their broccoli at the table, chime in.  Sure, I love that he plays with the girls and helps out with homework, the 1 or 2 times he is around in a week.  But no, I’m sorry that it’s so hard to understand, but no, he cannot yet be mr. instant disciplinarian, not until we are fully blended.  Yes, he is very important, but he is not part of our family YET.  Soon, so very soon, but until then, we have to be careful about boundaries.

Because:  his presence of once or maybe twice a week is not established, not routine.  For them, when he shows up, it’s party time and celebratory time.  And that’s actually awesome.  They ask if he’s coming after work, they miss him when he is unable to be there due to work schedules, they run to the door when he does come, because they are excited to spend time with him.  He is a wonderful, happy, presence—a presence that is currently part-time. 

It’s amazing that he wants to step in and be a part of our lives, I am so excited and happy and appreciative of this.  That our relationship, built on love and mutual respect and sincere appreciation for our strengths (and weaknesses) is so strong, that now we are willing to forge a new, blended family together.  That over this last year he has grown to love and adore the girls, and they love and adore him, and that somehow, our relationship and our hearts have expanded three sizes too big to hold this whole family inside, safe and supported.

It’s frustrating that my ex has begun a negative campaign whenever he can, that when my daughters come home from a visit, they are suddenly ‘sad’ about the upcoming nuptials, or suddenly don’t want to call him their special name (NOT dad or daddy, as we’ve made very clear that they while we will be a new family, they will always have their father, so dad or daddy is reserved for their ‘real’ dad), because daddy is “not comfortable” with it.   

Frustrating, because while I’ve had three years to learn how to disengage and defend by being positive in the face of my ex’s negative campaigning, my fiancé gets frustrated and wants me to fight, to engage, to confront, to challenge, on any front that will end up only harming the children.  I think it might be an alpha male thing—he wants to protect us, but in an alpha male way.  Even after consulting with my amazing family attorney on what to expect and being counseled on how to react—we need to be careful.    We need to not provoke or drag out a pointless conversation.  And beyond and above, we need not put the children in the middle by ‘demanding’ to know what dad has said about this or that.  If my girls come to me with a concern, they need to know that they can, free of judgment or harsh reaction.  That they come to me at all is a sign that they trust me, and I see how hard it is when their dad says shit about me, we cannot do the same to them.

Amazing that no matter what, on the good days, I still believe that love and happiness and believing in the good in people will win out, and save the day, and it’s what is best for me and the girls.

Frustrating, because I do get triggered, I do have PTSD, and I worry that when I describe my PTSD triggers to my fiancé, he sometimes flips out and tells me to be more aggressive in ways I know will not be helpful.  I know this is normal, human behavior, and he has acknowledged and understands that the best advice is to follow the attorney.  It’s a learning process for him.

Amazing, that after all of the heartache and fear and terrorizing of the past, I’ve grown up and put on my big girl pants and did some very hard work in therapy, that allowed me to open up my heart and accept love that is kind and generous and doesn’t ask for anything in return, that doesn’t come with a price.

Amazing, that when my fiancé and I do have disagreements, it doesn’t turn into him throwing or breaking things or “making us pay” an emotional toll.  I’m learning that it’s normal to disagree without all of those violent trappings.  (I wish it wasn’t so amazing that it took me 20 years to learn this, but I suppose I’ll put that in the amazing category that at least I’ve learned it now.)

Amazing, that despite all the frustrations and challenges and worries about what my ex might or might not do, I can still create a positive, loving household with my children.  That we can blend and be a house of love and accept challenges and celebrate hopes and do our damndest to make our dreams become reality.    

Amazing that a life that I pictured so differently, is changing and becoming a life I could have never imagined.

Michigan, you make me cry

Dear Michigan,
I really, really love your great lakes, your endless green meadows, your Go Blue and even your Spartan cities.

But I have to ask:  Seriously, Michigan?  Rape insurance?  You do a disservice to women: http://bit.ly/1dWjmhf

I wish it wasn't so.  I can't believe my ears and eyes.  You make me want to cry and barf at the same time.

I would like to say I'm shocked and surprised, but I have lived in your lily white and black streets before, somewhat curious about the lack of shades in between and the token Chinese restaurant.  I had thought maybe you just needed some time to grow up a little--and thought that maybe some progress had been made.  The last I visited there was even a Korean restaurant, along with a *gasp* Asian grocery store!

But, I digress.  And I am doing a disservice to the brave men and women who fought the amazing fight against bigotry and marginalization.  Who make a difference every day in someone's life, by pouring hope and love into their children's lives and widening their perspectives with the development and understanding of social responsibility--despite living in the now large umbrella of f-ing rape insurance.

Duke University Freshman

I’m not sure how to react to the whole Duke University freshman working porn to pay for college tuition thing.  I’m in agreement that sex workers should have rights and not be marginalized.  I am so not in agreement about stigmatizing people or treating people as less than human, because of repressive messed up views on sexuality.  

And, I am so not in agreement about men exploiting women, period, and my limited experience and knowledge about porn is that this is the case.  My understanding is that this industry originated for men by men to make lots of money off of exploiting women and women’s bodies, and the men are the ones who get the biggest piece of the money pie and the women get much smaller shares.  That it is an industry that exacerbates and perpetuates stereotypes of women and women’s sexuality, based on a gender biased fantasy that has a real life impact on how men view women as a whole, and that kind of pisses me off, especially when said creators are clearly not interested in expressing women’s voices and women’s sense of pleasure and sexuality.  Or is it different? D id I miss something?

I also wonder if the Duke University freshman will regret her decisions—that seems to be a common internet subject line—that she doesn’t know what she’s doing now, she’s still a teen, that it will stigmatize her for the rest of her life.  Perhaps she is not the first freshman to pay for tuition this way, but in the internet era, she is the first to be recorded for all in the world to watch.  When it’s not vitriol and denigration, it seems to be disbelief that she actually knows what she’s doing.  That for her to say she’s ‘proud’ and ‘at home’ doing porn, is merely a poor decision and observation only the youthful can make. 

As a fellow woman, I do not want to add any more judgment or admonitions to the story, I do not want to denigrate or tear down another woman, especially a young woman who is stepping forward in our crazy world and making sense of it in her own way.  I am more worried about the online bullying and real life bullying that will likely exist.  And to be more worried about that—does it mean I’m sidestepping an opinion?  Maybe it does.  I’m still trying to figure it all out.

I do know this—if this was my daughter, I would be truly unhappy, because of what I think of the porn industry.  I do not want my daughter to choose to sell her body to pay for college or for ANYTHING.  I would want her to be free in her decision to have intimate relations with people she cares about and loves.  That, I hope, is not a repression of sexuality, I hope that is sacred and wonderful and special, an experience she can share with someone (or several someones as she learns about this world and learns what relationships are) who loves her in just the same way.

I don’t know where this puts me on the feminism spectrum, because I identify with being a feminist.  I guess this subject is a conundrum for me, and I’m doing my best to wrap my head around it.  And I may not be succeeding to well, but clearly it’s something that is concerning, and I’m failing at finding the right words.

New Opportunity, 2.0

I received a most unexpected call—to interview for a job that was referred from a friend.  Where I live (and most likely in other places of somewhat insular communities), this kind of opportunity is rare and difficult to find, because it really is “all about who you know.”  So I had applied, even though I knew I was re-starting a job that I enjoy—a job that offers me stability and satisfaction, and for which I had thought the time away from it was enough to inform me that it was time to “come home.”  And it is/was like coming home—safe, familiar, I feel confident with navigating the various departments, staff, and job responsibilities.

Well, it turns out these people at the “new” potential job are really nice—and not in the bland vanilla ice cream way, as an inspired by what they do and how they go about doing it kind of ‘nice.’  When I first stepped into the interview room, I felt a pleasant chime of camaraderie that was friendly and almost familiar with the directors.  And throughout the interview, I felt myself tapping into a part of my brain that I realized I missed all these years, the writerly side of my heart, not just in a daily journal type of way, which I love, don’t get me wrong, but in a general sense of a potential full-time career way.  It was exciting to be talking about writing and art and how the two juxtapose to create a final vision that is not just text and not just images, but a full composition, a story, unified by a theme that stems from the creative process.  Wow.  I was just…blown over by the entire experience.

And here’s the kicker—they invited me back for another interview.  They wanted me to take a closer look and review their publications,  I think so that I could better answer their pointed questions about my vision for the magazine and what I would like to see happen.  Or how I might set an agenda for future publications.  I think this second interview is an important step in the process, that they are seriously considering me, and giving me a chance to formally respond to their work.  It’s exciting and fresh and has all of my creative juices flowing.  Reminiscing on what I love about the literary world, of capturing a voice and telling or re-telling a story—that in the act of reading, words become more than black marks on a piece of paper (or screen), but breathe life into an experience.  I am, in a word, inspired.

And also intimidated.  To be truthful, my skill set in this area is about 12 years old.  The last that I oversaw lay-out and design was so long ago, I had to pull examples out of wide-ranging cobwebs in my brain to think about what it was to be an editor and all of the responsibilities that come with that package.  That it wasn’t just copyediting, but lay out, and it wasn’t just grouping stories, but the final vision.  And truthfully, I was the co-editor, I gathered stories, I solicited writing and permissions and assisted in the general overall thematic content—but the overall nuts and bolts of production and editing were carried out by the staff.  And I was mentored the entire time by a full professor in English.  So maybe I’m in over my head. 

Or, maybe this is a challenge that I can rise and face, one that is both inspiring and exciting.  Because I wonder if part of my fear here is that gender biased social reinforcement that I’m not good enough, or that I can’t feel good enough.

At any rate, I’m really excited by the pending second interview.  My therapist had told me to go into the interview with "joyful curiosity."  And maybe that’s how I will go into this one as well, but with "joyful honesty."  I think I will just be truthful, that I was inspired by the book I worked on so many years ago, because it had a personal relevance to me.  And that I was part of the editorial process in an intimate way, but I was also guided by a professional, mentored almost every step of the way.  That perhaps this job is not only an opportunity to offer my vision and input, my dedication to story-telling and people-telling, but also an opportunity for my development as a writer and editor, and I would be growing with the process.  That I am by no means an expert, but I’m willing to learn and become an expert one day.  And that’s a lofty goal, because I’m a firm believer that you can always learn, even if you feel like an ‘expert’ and confident one day, there will always be another day where you find yourself lacking and in my case, feeling like a complete idiot.  There's always room for improvement.  (Lord knows, that's the damn truth, in my case!)

 

Two houses

Two houses suck sometimes. I know my girls think that.  They don’t come out and say it with words, instead, they might wake up grumpy when it’s time to go to school, knowing they’re going to their second house in the afternoon.  They don’t want to get out of bed, they don’t want to brush their teeth, they certainly don’t want to pick out their damn dress, even though the night before they gurgled with joy about how they couldn’t WAIT to wear the ruffly one with sparkles on it.  Nope, all evening lovely memories of canoodling and smooshing each other with kisses and cuddling up with book time about the Happy Lion are forgotten.  Poof, into thin air.

I suppose I could blame it on the early morning rise which begets our single mom commute to school and work, weaving in and out of traffic as I drive across mountains (literally) to deliver my DDs to their respective drop offs, myself sprinting to my job (I hate running, but I’ve turned into an early a.m. sprinter.  I seriously wear tennis shoes to work).  Or maybe it’s the pre-dawn light and aroma of chocolate chip waffles just not doing it for them, particularly for DD2, along with the fruity pebbles on the table that DD2 has decided to protest in honor of NOT picking out her dress due to lying on the bedroom floor in a heap just mere minutes before—mean old mommy then making an executive decision to pick one to take along, declare it was ‘pajama day’ at preschool for now.  Then carrying DD2 and plopping her in her breakfast chair.  The nerve.  (and yes, it was a sugary breakfast day, sigh).

But mostly I know the overall crankiness is due to the fact that despite ‘the routine’ and kids ‘thrive on routine’ and ‘knowing what to expect,’ having to go to two houses kind of sucks.  We can’t forget a beloved blankie or a favorite lovey, and sometimes they might even get scolded for taking their beloved lovies over; we can’t forget to pack the lunch container from that house or spoon, etc. (and god forbid I forget to pack a sock or two, got a list of missing panties.  Counting panties, seriously.)  And just when they get settled into the routine at our house, then it’s time to go to the second house.  And I’m sure it can’t be easy doing it the other way, too.  Sometimes, they come home and are sad because they’re worried about their dad and what he has said.  Who knows what they say over there about me (mean fruity pebbles tyrant mommy?)  And it doesn’t help that every time they do go over there, I have inward panic attacks about what might happen, because I know what he’s capable of, and yet I have learned to control said fears behind a herculean strengthed mask of smiles and support and positivity because no matter what, my kids love their dad.  

And when they DO share with me concerning anecdotes or questions (i.e. daddy says this and crying commences), I comfort as much as I can, and knowing that the challenges will only increase as the kids get older and start questioning like older kids will, do everything I can to make them comfortable to ask me the hard questions and tell me the hard things--never judging only answering as best as i can.  Translating hard answers into something that doesn't shit-talk their dad (not helpful, and i see how stressed they get when they deliver shit-talk about me from over there), but helps them understand that human beings have limits, and people love other people the best that they know how, and NONE of it is their responsibility.

Two houses suck. 

p.s. I am grateful for the big changes and daily live the potpourri of reasons on how much our life has improved.  I am so very thankful for that.  I’m just saying, even in the best of circumstances, the house juggle can be a pain in the a$$.