Get your own shoes...

I wrote this a few months ago and actually posted it on another blog. I wanted to post it here because I really want it to be a part of BSA.

Since we were little girls far too young to understand the real meaning of love, we’ve been fed a silly notion of true love. You know it: the dreamy stuff, the kind in fairy tales, where everyone lives happily ever after with birdies flying around their heads in the morning? Where the prince shows up with the most amazing pair of shoes you’ve ever seen. Nonsense. Utter ridiculousness. Sure, it sells books and videos to five year olds, but that sort of thing just ain’t out there. There is no ideal. Just the same way there is no perfect person.

Love exists in the world, in relationships, in the hope (and I don’t say that lightly) that perhaps it will find its most compatible counterpart in another. Call me jaded, but the likelihood of the love counterparts finding each other are slim to none. Does it happen? Can it happen? Sure. But there’s a leap of faith necessary. It doesn’t come easy and you have to take everything you know, everything that’s comfortable and disturbing, everything you’re afraid of and everything you dream about, you’ve got to take it and toss it – maybe never to see it again. If you win, you win big. But chances are (sorry to burst bubbles) you won’t. What sucks the most is when you think you’ve had it, or you’ve been convincing yourself you’ve had it, and then one day, Poof!, you realize you’ve been dreadfully wrong. That hurts. Hurts you of course, but really wounds the object of your formerly perceived affection. That’s life. Brush yourself off. Keep your head up.

Now before you think I’m all gloom and doom, there is some good to speak of. Yes, the odds are against you, but I’m one who always liked a challenge. If, and remember that if is a big word, you find it, you will be living in a way few have been lucky enough to appreciate. I don’t want to be sappy, but true love is an all encompassing, full body, life affirming, makes-you-believe-in-god experience. It’s when you experience love with all your senses. You can smell your love on your skin long after you’ve parted, you can taste their passion, you can hear the beat of their heart or a sigh of relief after too long apart, you can feel their joy, you can see their soul.

I guess to bring this whole thing together, I need to point out that if true love is what you’re after you can’t just sit back and wait for it to ride up a horse. You’ve got to risk everything. Throw it all away and leave yourself bare. Exposed. Scary? Sure. Dangerous? You’re not swimming with piranas. It depends how much you value love.  Whether you believe in it, want it, are willing to risk your whole life for a chance at living a little. If I’m alive, I want to be living. Just think: if you win, you win big. Screw the princess and the frog and the horse and the shoes. Get your own damn shoes. Make them stilettos. Find love. And if you do, fight like hell to keep it.

Where do we go from here...

What a weekend. I feel like I've been dragged behind a cop car on a high speed chase.
I wrote about the kids' reaction to their daddy time, but I suppose I didn't say much about my reaction to their reaction. Here's where I should insert an audio clip of me screaming like a mental patient. I won't. Don't wanna blow anyone's speakers.

We all define ourselves in one way or another. The definitions are fluid over time, but at some point, for those of us who are mothers, we become someone's mama. When that happens, all the other definitions sort of cease to carry any significant weight. At least that's what happened to me. I am a lot of things, but I am their mother foremost. It's who I am. I think a mother is like slice of pizza. She's the base, the foundation, onto which everything, mushrooms, dreams, pepperoni, aspirations, gets placed. I love pizza.

So, when those sweet little brats came home and happily announced that they didn't want to live in this house anymore but instead preferred the house with the bunkbeds, perhaps you can understand my wrath. Sure, they are kids. And lets face it, what four or six year olds do you know that wouldn't be impressed by a few car loads (mini sized carloads!) of new toys and someone lavishing attention upon them who, frankly, never even wiped their butts before? Damn, someone buys me a coffee and I'm thrilled, so imagine what was happening in their heads...

So where do we go from here? Let them have their bunkbeds and new toys and the attention. I have a sneaking suspicion, and a few of you have assured me of this as well (yes, thanks Ty and thanks Fumbling) that this will all fade. What they had this weekend was a Disney-esque Christmas extravaganza. A honeymoon, if you will. Honeymoons don't last and eventually, you have to go home. Shit, sometimes honeymoons aren't so honey-moony.

My mom is concerned. About whether I can handle them leaving me on alternate weekends. If I can handle not being able to know what's happening. If I can not tuck them in at night. I explained that these things aren't easy, that this is only just the beginning, that I'm scared and angry and anxious and pissed off and mad... but what's the alternative? Change my mind? Ha! That's a good one. No, this is the way it's going to be. Life is a highway, and I have to keep on driving. I have to drive on cruise control all night long and love those kids like no one's business. Even when they're asking for someone I know is playing golf for an audience.

Mom also said that I needed to find strength. "Find strength wherever you can, find the strength to get you through this," she said. I know just where to find my strength. There's a surplus of strength waiting for me and hugs and kisses and a shoulder to cry on and get all boogery, too. There's love and devotion and belief in that place. He's driving too. We're driving together and not stopping until we get there.
Thanks, Blue.

Trust

A blindfold, around my eyes

One foot in front of the other

Across the tight rope, there’s no net

I walk, not blind

Steady, carefully measured steps

You’re there, on the ground

Guiding, speaking softly, assuring me

I fear falling less than I do not walking

I trust you, I have faith in me

I extend my hands, offer my heart

Don’t let me down

I’ve shown you my soul

Protect me, believe in me

I walk, not blind

I will not fall

Silent night

No. Not as in Christmas. One day after Thanksgiving and they were playing Christmas music in Stop and Shop. I almost started throwing juice boxes. Then I started to cry and left without my eggs or my little guy's vanilla soy milk.

It's silent in my house. The kids are with their father. Save for a few times that I can count on one hand, I always kiss them goodnight before they close their eyes. I'm not tucking them in tonight. You know those dreams where you wake up in a panic thinking you left the house without your clothes on? That's what this is like. Feeling like you forgot to do something major. Feeling like something is missing. Three major things are missing.

I spoke to them. The boys told me that daddy bought them so many new toys. That they had bunk beds with a  ladder. My daughter asked when I was coming. I tried to sound excited about the new wii games, the Toy Story sheets, all the stuff.... But inside I was seething that he was trying to buy them. I was seething and yearning for the smell of their hair, my little guy's feet curled up against my stomach when he falls asleep.

This is divorce. Yes. The reality. I'm not mad, Not regretful. No, I'm just a little blindsided and feeling like I'm going through withdrawals, or having a craving. So intense. I miss them so much.

The anger I have is on my heart. Anger partially aimed at myself for hiding my true feelings for so long. Anger about enabling a behavior in someone. Anger at letting someone take advantage. Anger for settling for someone who didn't love me right. Anger for being made to feel so alone for so long. Anger for being weak and pathetic instead of strong and resolute.

I suppose that anger with myself will fade. Time passes and eventually these experiences, my marriage, well I suppose it all turns into history. I've turned the page. The ink is almost dry.

STBE and his attorney have my documents, my settlement agreements. Those endless pages of legalese await signatures. The lines with our names under them straight and stark in black ink against the white pages. I think I need a blue pen. For sure, Blue.

Sleep babies. Mama is keeping watch. I love you like no one else. Touch your hearts. Sweet dreams.

There's a reason...

Yesterday I was taking down my Halloween decorations. I balanced precariously on the porch railing in my best three inch heeled boots and took down the ghosts that had been blowing in the breeze, I unplugged the electric pumpkins, tossed the real ones in the woods to decompose,  unearthed the tombstones, and decided to let the silver sparkle skeleton I called skinny finally get some rest for those weary bones. Bye fellas, hang in the basement with the Easter Bunny stuff until next year, ok?

So, as I was balancing so gracefully there on the ledge in my Prada's, praying not to fall face first into the bushes, a car approached. Inside, a dear, sweet, treasured friend. Yay. I needed company, someone to share  peanut butter and jelly on english muffins with, someone to smile with, someone to vent with. "Here, you carry the ghosts. Let's go to the basement, we can count his Converse sneakers, It'll be fun." She made me take a picture of all 18 pairs, lined up like little Chuck Taylor soldiers. haha

We haven't known each other long. Our kids brought us together and it is her contention that had it not been for the kids we likely wouldn't have been friends. I'm not so sure, but I will get to that later. We've known of each other for a little over a year, and we've been friends since probably last April or May. We're both in shit up to out ear lobes, very different shit varieties, but hey.. shit is shit. Let's call her Ty.

She came in the house clearly on a big dose of mojo. I always know this when she asks to bum a cigarette. She said that she had a revelation of sorts. That she had figured things out for us. Hmm... was there a wand in her clown car? (btw, she has a little car, and she has three kids and all their stuff, and she manages to transport them everywhere: the beach, splish splash, 16 hours to Canada, ALL WITHOUT A DVD....a domestic goddess, for sure!)

She said that we had found each other, that we had been sent to each other, for a specific purpose. Each of us with our shit raining down, together we found some peace in the eye of that storm. We have cried together, she's been involved in my dangerous liasons (her kids think Blue is my dentist), I've changed her daughter's diapers and carried that little girl two miles in my arms, her husband has given endless piggy backs to my boys, her mom made chicken pot pie and I ate it. And now, just as the squatter in my basement is about to leave (PRAY! GOD SPEED!), Ty is leaving too. Packing up the clown car and heading west. Just when my life is balancing out and I'm able to breathe a little easier, I'm gonna be watching tail lights. All of this I ironically learned just before I was headed to the attorneys office to finalize the settlement agreement. I met the lawyer in tears, he asked if I was reconsidering. I laughed in his face and then grabbed him by his shoulders and bawled... my closest friend here is leaving.

Her leaving will mark the end of the her shit storm and the beginning of the next chapter for her and her family. The irony in the timing is so sad.

"2011 is gonna be our year," she said pumping her fist and reminding me of Tony Robbins. "We suffered enough and look, the wind is shifting and things are changing. He's leaving, you'll be free and so much more at ease...  and me and the fam are finally gonna get out of here." That's what she said, but what I heard was more like, "He's leaving. I'm going. You stay."

Shit, Ty. Just when we were gonna get a chance to really have fun. Are we only meant to be stormy forecast friends? Can we not be fair weather friends too? Isn't it usually the other way around? People only want to be your friend when things are good, not in times of trouble?

She thinks that had it not been for the cosmic pull that god put in place that propelled us together, we'd never be friends. That we're unlikely friends. She says I'm a Nassau County girl (though she has converted me to a 631 area code appreciator) , and she's from Suffolk. She's got a cat that pees on her, and I wash her sweaters. She eats cherry turnovers on Tuesday afternoons, I drink diet coke and frozen yogurt with sugar in it and think I'm living large. To be fair, she's had a hand in the transformation of Grace. We baked pies, apple and pumpkin, and then she handed me a fork and we ate. I broke my full fat dairy virginity with her over toasted almond gelato. Her facebook picture is one I took of her. Her hair blowing in the breeze at the beach. She's adopted my favorite retort, "YOU'RE KIDDING ME, RIGHT?".

Again I say, shit Ty. I know you have to go. I want you to go and live out your Motor City dreams. But the selfish side of me wants you to stay with me. So we can go to the movies and eat m&m's for dinner, so we can drag the kids to diners throughout Suffolk county, we have so many more pies to bake and pots of soup to cook. My god, I don't know how to get to the barber in Northport without you.

But I will tell you this. I stand strong in so many ways because of you. And when you leave I will be crying huge, wet, gum ball-sized tears (like I'm doing now).... because I will miss you so desperately. But inside, past the wet cheeks and all that, I will be smiling so broadly for you, for me, for us, that we got past the storm, weathered it together and are headed both of us for blue skies.

I need tissues.