Kind, for kindness' sake

Well, shit.  I got into a fender bender over the week end.  It was one of those stop and go traffic situations, when everyone is going, and then suddenly STOP, and I slammed on my brakes, and we just slid into the car in front of us.  Driving FAIL!

Luckily, no one was hurt. !!  But my front end was “moderately” damaged, which translates into I’m not so sure I want to drive it.  Smooshed front end (we made it home okay afterwards, but still…)  The other car, a few scratches on the bumper.  Actually, I think the other driver was ready to launch a full scale grumpy at me, but then he saw my car vs. his car, my sweetheart girls in the back seat looking out at him, me with tears running down my face as I called my fiancé, A, to tell him that we got into an accident, and it seemed that all grumpiness whoosed out of him like a deflated balloon.  And again, I am so very thankful we all okay.  We exchanged insurance information and off we went back into our lives.

So driving home, tears still rolling down my face—driving sucks sometimes, and I suck!—the girls kept asking if I was okay—and I responded that yes!  Mommy was okay, just sad about the car and glad everyone was fine.  And clearly, they **were** fine, chirping happily, listening to music.  Big sis said she was ‘startled’ but both she and little sis were carrying on as if nothing had happened, especially evident when they began arguing over which Frozen song we were going to listen to.  (I seriously need to count my blessings, my 1^st world problems are driving a smooshed in car and hearing my lovely girls fighting over who would be Elsa and who would be Anna.  Really. )

My fiancé A and his mom beat us home (the outing had been to pick out the girls’ flower dresses—which we did! And they are gorgeous! And this post is supposed to be about that!) and immediately he came outside when we pulled into the carport.  Me, still crying, the girls, still belting out “Let it Go”— I’m not kidding, life felt like a weird soundtrack at that moment. 

And my lovely, A, swooped in and said, you know darling, we’ve been talking about getting you a new car for months, I don’t think it’s worth the thousand dollars or whatever it will cost to fix this old POS car, and so maybe it’s just time.  And my soon to be mother-in-law gave me a big old hug, which made the tears squeeze out even more, and she offered to stay with the girls (who were way more excited about spending time with step-grandma than boring talk about a car), and off we went to the dealership. 

Three hours later, we came home in a brand new mini-SUV.  Seriously shiny, all these technological advancements like a rear view camera and blue tooth and the whole nine yards.  But most of all, it feels safe to drive.  I guess the girls and I have been driving around in a rickety old car all these years and I just never noticed.  It’s actually not that old—14 years—but there was no car payment and it had just been fixed up last summer and everything seemed fine; it never seriously crossed my mind to get a new car, even though A was talking about it. 

Anyway, we loaded up the car seats and took the girls for a spin and they couldn’t be happier, they love it.  Little sister kept saying, THIS IS SO AWESOME!  And big sister climbed into the way back when we got home, clearly she approved it for jungle gym potential alone.  And through it all, A was so sweet and kind about it all.  He was proud to get us the new car—it was like it made sense to him for him to do it.  I am such a far cry from being sad and scared and worried and wondering when the earthquake anger will come.  With A, I’m learning that it doesn’t come.  That he wants to take care of us because he loves us and wants us to be safe.  It’s a new language—I’m still taking it all in and treading carefully, wanting to trust the sounds, learning to understand the syllables.

This morning, my normally tired little girls who pull out their grumpies, bounded out of bed.  They couldn’t wait to get ready and load up and climb into our new family car.  Big sister wanted me to tell her early care teacher that we got a new car, but I was feeling embarrassed, lol, and didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.  Little sister was so excited to go to school in our new car, she sang the entire way to town.  Well, she normally does that, but it was interspersed with, I love our new car, mommy!

Life sure takes us on strange turns.  A tells me to brag to all my friends that I crashed my car and he went out and bought me a new one.  I don’t know how to brag about things like this, but I am very thankful.  So very thankful and I guess this is another lesson I need to learn about how A is kind for kindness’ sake.

Happy, I mean, happy!

So the last two days have been pretty amazing.  My fiance’s mom flew into town for a visit and we’ve been showing her the sights out and about our beautiful home, including a sea turtle sleeping in the sun, waves washing gently into the shore just a few yards away, and the gorgeous panoramic views of the ocean and the green, verdant mountains that stretch from coast to coast.   It’s so fun to share these experiences with her—watching her exclaim in delight to the balmy trade winds and the sunfilled skies, walking in the hurried and unhurried pace of someone on vacation who wants to take everything in at once and simultaneously relax by resting, eyes closed, on the sand—it’s like we are on vacation, even though we live here, because our day-to-day world normally takes over, and it’s easier to stop and smell the flowers when a guest is among us.

My future mother-in-law is warm and caring, just as I thought she would be, even though my contact with her has been limited over the last couple of months since we announced our engagement.  She immediately told me “welcome” to the family and gave me a genuine hug at first sight, we have joked and laughed and my fiancé has been happy and content, too, and it all feels good.  So good and peaceful.  And life *should* be good—so many positive things are happening in just the next couple of months—moving in together and getting married, an upcoming summer trip across the country, sharing sights and sounds and experiences as we travel, the start to blending my sweet little family into a new iteration of what “family” means. 

Having my future mother-in-law here also makes everything so much more real and true.  I’ve met his younger brother already, and face-timed his dad and step-mom, but as I meet more of his family and spend time with them--and seeing how they’ve been so welcoming towards me and my girls, it has shifted my perspective a few steps toward believing in the good in life and celebrating what is to come.    Our plans—suddenly not just sweet dreams and grand ideas, but genuine, conscionable  actions, embedded in love and stability.

Okay, yes this is a gushy post.  I guess it’s been a while since I’ve set aside the anxiety and simply embraced the positive and light and good things in our life.  The last couple of days, she has been saying how hard it is to be so far away, now that we will be a family, she will have to come visit more often.  It’s hard for her to get away from her responsibilities, as it is for us here, but it’s so nice to enjoy the connection of my fiancé and his family.  So I will bask in it a little while longer, for as much as I can and as long as I can.

Today, my heart is happy and full, and for once, I’m not afraid the happiness will disappear.

<3

The Right Way

I’ve been caught up in a bunch of e-mauls this week, and it’s been a complete pain in the ass.  Again.  There is a great resource for coparenting with an abusive ex, here:  <click>

I full on kicked into the “response process” and it helped some; after wondering (ok, agonizing) all day, I finally emailed a two sentence response, indicating that while we are in a disagreement, to continue the conversation with our court ordered co-parenting mediator.  (Who is sometimes effective, sometimes dismissive, and after spending time with her, I sometimes have to see my own therapist to process, because he uses the coparenting mediator as a forum to complain and I’m often doing the “response process” with her, too…but I suppose that’s another post altogether).

I noticed that lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time on whether something I send or think or advocate or do, is “the right” thing.  In fact, I spend almost all of it.  It’s part of the “agony” of the response process.  Am I doing the right thing?  Am I protected?  Am I leaving a door open for vulnerability?

And an attorney friend of mine responded to this question—hoping that my two sentence response was the right thing to do?—something that cleared the way, cue the sunrays and angels and clouds.

There is no one right way.  There is the way that I choose, based on a variety of factors, minimizing stress on the kids (and me), holding boundaries, protecting ourselves, and I need to stick with that choice and move forward.  Because no matter what decision I make, there will always be a response or consequence.  And when that response and consequence comes up, I will deal with it like I’ve always dealt with it.  So it’s okay to let go of “the right way,” and just choose and move forward.

I don’t know why I haven’t seen this before, and I hope I can hold on to this feeling like a u-haul truck has been lifted off my back somehow.  Because it’s true: it doesn’t matter what I do, and evidence has shown that no matter what I do, there will be a complaint or a nitpicky response or a light or heavy-weight emaul.  And I will deal with it.

Go zen warrior!

Headlines

Lately, I’ve been wondering about the goodness in people.  I’ve been caught up in the headlines such as a little boy being bullied for wearing a My Little Pony backpack to school, and the bizarre reaction from the school about the backpack being a “trigger” for bullying.  Seriously?  The adults should know better. http://huff.to/1lLb5P5  I do love that at least there is a lot of support appearing around little Grayson, and thank goodness for that. 

Then I read an article about a woman who is being charged with murdering her fetus that was delivered stillborn, because she did drugs (yes, it’s true), but the fact of the matter is that the drugs had nothing to do with why the baby died.  NOTHING, NIL, NO RELATIONSHIP TO THE SUFFOCATION BY THE UMBILICAL CHORD IN UTERO, but the Mississippi prosecutors are proceeding anyway.  http://www.blogher.com/why-matters-you

Man, I just can’t handle bullying little boys because they like ponies, nor can I handle the likelihood of this teen mom who just lost her baby going to jail.  My blood is boiling!  And half of it is boiling because I feel so insignificant and can’t DO anything.  Change the world!  Stop this bullsh*t!  RAWR!  Why can’t I wave a magic wand and make this earth a better, more loving, accepting place to which my daughters can grow and thrive?

So, with that in mind, I’m fuming at my inabilities.  I wish I could march on over to that school system and give the principal a piece of my mind.  Or that I could somehow hire an excellent attorney for that teenager who has more on her plate than any of us can imagine.  But I can’t.  And it pisses me off.

So what can I do?  Normally, I’d think about how I must concentrate on making a peaceful, supportive, loving home for my daughters.  To teach them social responsibility and to embrace their unique perspectives and teach them to respect others, and should they disagree, be informed about the disagreement, and then stand up for what they believe in, stand up against cruelty, love themselves so they know for certain when “love” is offered with the illusion of having to pay a price.  It’s a tall order.  I wish there was a manual for it.  I hope it’s enough and I’m afraid that it’s not.  It’s all I can do at the moment, though, and I want to be at peace that this is one difference I can make—if I can’t help those kids across the universe, please let me have the strength and consciousness and ability to help and nurture my own.   

But that doesn’t make the fuming go away about the injustices dealt into the world.  I wish I had superpowers and could DO SOMETHING.  So instead of doing something for them, I have to do my best to do something in my small universe.  To be the change I want to see in the world.  Those are nice and unbelievably hopeful words uttered by someone we can all look up to—and I wish and hope they are enough.  Please let them be enough.

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.