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.

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.

Sick

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

Fumbling Towards Healing

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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?

Swap

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He finally agreed to the mother’s day week end swap.

I was a) prompt in responding (within 24 hours), b) did not make snarky comments, c) said thank you for getting back to me, d) confirmed the dates, and e) was overall cordial.

I did not a) be witchy about the two months it took him to respond, b) delay a response out of spite (although the thought crossed my mind).

Considering that he sent me an email requesting summer vacation dates for this summer minutes after he agreed to the mother’s day week end swap, I surmise that he a) realized it would be to his benefit to have me pick my summer dates, because it’s mom’s first choice this year, b) also realized that waiting two months to get back to me about the mother’s day week end swap might bite him in the a$$ for summer vacation planning.

I have every intention of nailing down our summer plans soon, since I am by nature, a planner.  And despite wanting to volley the a$$hattery back from where I received it, I will resist the urge and continue to behave like a civil human being.

That is all.

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones

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But nasty texts accusing me of purposely ignoring someone and withholding DD2’s school clothes …will never hurt me.

Instead, they’re just minor irritations.  That I almost didn’t write about, but decided to share the latest, only so that I can meditate on how far I’ve come in responding to him.  Nasty texts such as this used to reduce me to tears.  Or build into a white-hot heat of anger and indignation.  And while I did have a momentary increase in heart rate, it wasn’t because I was upset at him and his insinuations, it was because I was bummed that I forgot to pack the clothes for my daughter’s sake.  

So here’s how it went—I sent the girls on their overnight, and we always have a bag that we exchange with clothes from one another’s house that are picked up at school.  Since DD2 attends private school that I willingly pay for (and which she is thriving in), I also include DD2’s uniform.  There have been times that I’ve forgotten, because, shocker, I’m not a perfect parent.  And the two times before when this has happened, he has texted me in the early evening, and I’ve dropped off the clothes into his mailbox—it worked out fine.

This time around, I went to bed at 9ish (I wake up at 5:30am for work), and the next morning, I awoke in a a bit of a tizzy, suddenly remembering, oh dear, I think I forgot to pack DD2’s school clothes.  I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my teeth and check my phone, and lo and behold there were twelve texts glowing on the screen, ten of them sent after 10pm, two sent around 5am in the morning.  In the beginning they started off civil enough, but as time passed they become lovingly accusatory and nasty.  Such is life.  My response?  I’m sorry I forgot DD2’s clothes, I’ll bring them over and put in your mailbox in 20 minutes.  (Of course I don’t get a response until two hours later that everything was fine, but that’s par for the course.)

The coparenting counselor says that Exie holds himself to this internal “high” standard of parenting, and every time I don’t meet it, that’s why he leaves lovely notes about sending DD2 to school in leggings that have a hole in it.  Or the snack container that was somehow lost and I was withholding it to spite him and he was going to deduct child support to replace it, or the [fill in the blank] complaint, or the list of how many panties he has sent over.  Yes, I sent DD2 to school in leggings that had a hole in it the size of a dime, not once, but TWICE, because I didn’t see the note or the hole.  The snack container was a mystery to me, it disappeared in school, then magically reappeared and I packed it in the overnight bag when I saw it.  The fill-in-the-blank complaints can be a pain in the rear, but for the most part, these days, I’m able to shrug it off.

In sum?  Sticks and Stones do break my bones, but his nasty comments are having less power over me, and I am grateful.  

Five years ago, I was cowering in fear and terror, contemplating a protective order that was later granted, because he choked the dog multiple times and was threatening to murder my daughter in her sleep and celebrating the idea of putting a bullet through my head, just for a start. 

Nowadays…I live with vigilance, but not terror.  I am so thankful to be five years away from that craziness.

I do wish though…that when you do finally make a break from the violence, that there was some kind of warning that it’s not “over”…that it is a slow journey from managing the terror to managing the crazy to managing the lesser crazy and nastiness.  A journey that probably takes many twists and turns respective to the individual situation and relationship.  That mine became a marathon of less dangerous pain, a continual deciphering of messages and weeding out nastiness, of figuring out how to build up the shields and boundaries while at the same time still embracing that this person will be forever a part of your life, because of the children and what’s best for them (and also keep them safe, keep vigilant).

Maybe one day, it will get better.  The coparenting counselor hopes he will get a life.  She says to not ignore his comments about the leggings or the snack container, because then he just assumes the worst.  She says to write something clever like, ‘hey, found the leggings, hope it makes your day!’ and with a smiley face, because maybe it will snap him out of his obsessive thinking, i.e. it’s not the end of the world!  (I think that’s a bad idea, will probably set him off, but she says if he gets nastier, then stop and refer him back to her.)

How do you filter out what needs to be responded to, what can be ignored?   My original rule of thumb was to limit to healthcare, childcare, education, pick up/drop offs.  Anything else like panties and leggings can be ignored.  But I guess I can see where she’s coming from, too, so I’ve made an effort to address complete misinformation (accusations that I’ve done something he’s assumed I’ve done, etc.).  The last time that happened, it was a lovely marathon of email exchanges that I just eventually gave up on.  (He likes to have the last word).

So then I just repeat my mantra…sticks and stones may break my bones, but you just can’t hurt me like you used to.  <3 p="">

Shh...

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All’s quiet on the coparenting front.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha.

Just kidding.  Actually, I think we’re back to level 5, which I'll take.

I tried another email at the suggestion of the coparenting counselor about the Mother’s day week end swap—the plot has thickened a bit, because now there’s an opportunity for me to travel for work the week end that is in question.  At any rate, I asked if he could please get back to me in two weeks.  He responded that he has an event that is being planned around that time (I take that would mean on mother’s day week end, since why would it be a problem for the kids to be with him the following week end?), but that he will get back to me in two weeks or earlier, so I guess that’s progress.  

I will say that the kids have been in good moods since coming home, no stressful stories, and I’m glad about that.  We’re heading into a whirlwind week end of birthday parties—I feel like I’m being a professional driver and pizza delivery person, and that’s fine with me!  Just going to pace myself and enjoy every moment that I can.  

Just one thing that I hope I don’t pay for later—last night, we called dad like we always do, but weren’t able to reach him, so the girls left a message, and we went on with dinner.  I checked my phone, and he texted asking if the girls could call him back, so after dinner, we tried again, but didn’t reach him again.  So I put my phone away and off we went with the rest of our evening, playing with our dog, watching American Idol on the DVR, cuddling on the couch.  After I put the girls to bed, I checked my phone and it’s been blown up with missed calls and texts…I hope I don’t pay for this.  But at the mediator’s advice, I responded (otherwise he thinks I’m plotting against him—her observation as well as mine) via text that we called him twice and didn’t reach him, our evenings are busy, didn’t see the texts until now, and we will call him back tomorrow(today) at the normal time.

So…let’s hope I don’t catch fire for that, but if I do, I guess I’ll put on my fire resistant pants and goggles and head into the flames.