Wet Feet

Let's Talk About Dating

Because this post concerns dating and such, I'm putting it below the cut so those related to me can make a conscious decision whether or not to read on. If you choose to read on, you will find out things about me you will wish you could un-know immediately. Don't blame me. I warned you. And for heaven's sake don't ever try to talk to me about it. I don't want to know what you think about my online dating profile.

Okay? Onward.

Balance

I was having a conversation with a friend of mine a few weeks ago, and I asked him (never married, childless, single 30-something man who is, no, not my boyfriend) a question. "What makes a good mother?"

"One who sets herself aside in favor of her children" was his answer.

One who sets herself aside.

On one hand it's true. My needs become exponentially less important. I will throw myself in front of a bus to save my girls without a second thought. As would most of us mothers.

On the other hand, where is that line between "less important" and "not important"?

Immersing one's self in motherhood is part of the process. But there comes a point where the self is asserted again. For a long time I was happy with no interests of my own other than the things related to mothering. There was a time when the only books I read were child-rearing-related, where all my internet bookmarks had to do with slings, cloth diapers, and mothering.com. I can't say I was unhappy or unfulfilled that way. It wasn't a problem until the rock met the hard place.

Around the time I got divorced I swung the other way and all my interests had nothing whatsoever to do with my kids and everything to do with me me me.

I am aware that the drastic swing my life has taken, from one extreme to the other, has not been immediately beneficial to my kids or, really, to myself. But it had to be done. And for the first time in a year, I've been finding that balance between my needs and theirs. Or, trying to. Or, trying to undo the damage from the swinging. Or, becoming aware of the damage wrought and the need for balance. Or, or, or. You know what I mean.

I can't help but wonder, however, how I would have done things differently if I had known.

I am interested in your thoughts on this matter. Have you found a balance? How?

little bombs

i found a wedding album under my bed this morning. we had three: one arty black and white, one traditional, and one my cousin patrick made for us, with captions written in his nine-year-old's penciled script, which is the one i found.

i showed the bride-obsessed naomi: "here's when your mommy was a bride" (she loved the dress), "and your mommy and daddy danced together and were very happy."

and it was true: whatever events would trigger our collapse in seven years, as the couple celebrating their wedding in those pictures, we were happy. we were in love, as much as we ever were.

"where was i?"

"you weren't born yet. see how little becca was?"

indeed: becca was only a few years older than naomi is now. in 1999 she would have been six.

and it was all, "who is this? who is that? is that your wedding cake? did you and daddy eat your wedding cake together? why is nana falling over?"

i hadn't seen that album in years, probably not since before the end. the last time i saw it, i probably flipped through it nonchalantly with a "hey look how young we all were!" and "damn, that was a great dessert table". this time i scanned our apparently happy faces, looking for foreshadowings of the ending. there were none. we were young, blissful, trusting that everything we had would always be there.

but the day took off, as days do, leaving no space for ruminations. i suppressed the threatening detonation and went down to make breakfast, change a diaper, find lost toys and manage the emotions of other people.

if i were alone, i would have pulled the covers over my head and cried (6:30 am is too early for this kind of upset). or maybe i would have gotten into the shower and let the hot water scald the sadness away. at the very least, i could have let the thoughts run in a straight line until they found their way to a conclusion, or a resolution.

but the questions, the interruptions, the intrusions, kept coming.

and after the questions, the needs and reactions, a meltdown over the wrong kind of cup, the operatic fake crying, the screeching sound of preverbal frustration. the noise downed out any kind of thinking i could have done, and suddenly i resembled the grinch: "the noise noise noise NOISE!"

"mommy, are you... crying?" said the little girl who never sees her mommy cry.

i ran upstairs, they followed with their sandwiches, and smeared jelly all over the sheets as they pawed over my sobbing body.

i wanted to crawl out of my skin. i was caught in one of the conundrums of parenting: the more weakness you display, the more they need you to be strong. the more you need to get away, the more they cling. stopping to feel was simply not a luxury i could afford. an explosion was inevitable, and messy it was.

the explosion, the tears, the apologies and make-up songs are all over now and i have the purged feeling of the air after a thunderstorm, the clarity of a cleared landscape. i also have the exhaustion of a sleepless night followed by an emotional volcano, and my girls are wise to tread carefully around me today. by tomorrow i'll be fine again.

When do you know it's time to go?

I remember pondering this question in the earliest days of our marriage. I remember going to the dreaded Relationship section of Borders and scanning the titles for a book that would answer that question.

In my experience, people who initiate divorce have been pondering that question seriously for a year or more. I know I did.  So when trigger time actually comes, bearing the weight of being the one to finally end it seems like nothing compared to the burden of staying in an empty relationship.

I knew I had to be ready for no one to understand. I had to be the bad guy. And I had to be okay with that before going ahead. To be the instigator means to be the one to shoulder the blame.

Wise people will know that there's always more to a marriage that anyone can see from the outside. They will nod knowingly at your vague explanations ("it just wasn't working"), and they will know that there's so much you can't say, or explain, or even understand about why you ended your marriage.

But not everyone is wise. Most people press for an easy answer ("maybe he cheated on her!"). People would like to believe that marriages end for concrete, understandable reasons. People like to believe they can learn from your mistakes and make their own relationship divorce-proof. People would like to  believe that if they do things right, they won't have to see the love they built their life upon disintegrate like a cheap bridesmaid's dress.

Even now, I don't have an easy answer as to why our marriage ended, why it ended when it did, or when the point of no return was truly reached.

What I know, is that when it was time to go, there was no other way. "I'm done, I'm just done", I said to a friend across a cafe table, holding a sleeping newborn Miriam on my lap. At the time I had no idea how this would all work. I knew I had no money of my own, no job prospects, no safety net other than the people who love me.

I knew I was done when I thought of another five years with him and felt a sick feeling in my heart and an oppressive weight settle over my mind. I knew I was done when I heard the lyrics to an REM song and started to sob: "I'd rather chew my leg off than get trapped in this"

The short answer to the question is you know it's time to go when there is no more question.

Bittersweet Me- REM

I move across, innocence lost
All flashing pulsar
I move across the earth in my new pattern shirt
I pass satellites

"You're so bitter," your complaint
I can't give you anything
I don't know who you're livin' for
I don't know who you are anymore

I'd sooner chew my leg off,
Than be trapped in this
How easy you think of all of this as bittersweet me

I couldn't taste it
I'm tired and naked
I don't know what I'm hungry for
I don't know what I want anymore

I move across, candy floss
I move like a tank
I move across the room
With a heart full of gloom,
Stronger than you think

Oh my peer,
Your veneer is wearing thin and cracking
The surface informs that underneath,
Underneath is lacking

You move across, innocence lost,
All static and desire,
You're blue in the face from navel gaze,
You set yourself on fire

You strip down and lay yourself out,
I know you can't fake it,
But are you tired and naked?
Are you tired and naked?

It was supposed to be our last mediation session...

I posted to my livejournal. If you want to read it, you'll have to join livejournal and friend me. If Typepad would get on the ball and start offering the option to password-protect individual posts, I would post it here. But alas, typepad sucks ass in that department.

Addendum: Last night I realized that I forgot to add the link to my lj page, once I realized my mistake the baby woke up and blah blah blah here I am the next morning. My lj name is kate-astrophe. I've friended everyone who friended me (three as of this writing: ployhex, birdgetownmama, and hergrace01; if you aren't on the list, try to friend me again), and I recognized all of you, so no worries about that.

Things are Good

I thought single motherhood would be the end of the world.

I feel like I have two lives. One is the one I've always had with kids and the park and odd things sticking to my clothes so much that I can't wear anything more than once without washing it.

And then there's this other life, when I can turn off my internal mom monitor (momitor?) and talk about grown up things and use big(ish) words and complex sentence structures to illustrate ideas beyond the ken of the smartest four-year olds.

Usually my other life is spent warming the same bench at the same coffeehouse I called my home ten years ago. A true one-of-a-kind coffeehouse, there is no substitute for it. Not wanting to return so literally to my past in starting my new life, I explored other ports of elecrticity and caffiene, and finding nothing nearly as unique or stimulating, circled back to my roots. There are a few familiar faces even after all this time (some say you never really leave the orbit of the Last Drop); I regularly see the guy who introduced me to Josh, back when we were young and green as springtime buds.

At first I lived for this life. I counted the hours and minutes until it was time for the handoff and I could walk out the door and exhale finally. At first barely a minute of my time away would be spent thinking of the two at home with their dad, being put to bed and shushed to sleep.

Lately, though, as things settle and my mind becomes more clear, I have more for them. Survival mode gave way to a more balanced, thoughtful perpective. I can now think about being a good parent, modeling values I believe in to the young minds in my charge, instead trying to do damage control, keeping future therapy bills as low as possible without swallowing myself whole.

I am a single mom now. And I feel fine. Better than fine. Free, because the case of the fuck-its appears to be terminal.

Think I'm a narcissist? I probably am. Fuck it. Think my house is disorganized? Yep, you're right. Oh well. Think I'm grandiose, irresponsible, overcommercialized with the giant orange foot over there in the ad column, and a general pain in the ass? Well, you might be right, but fuck it anyway.

I am who I am. I'm not in the mood to compromise or apologize. I am hell bent on living an authentic life (because if I don't, how will my children learn to?) and this means chucking the opinions of others into the proverbial dumpster. Especially the opinions that run in my head of what I imagine people would say. Not only do I not care if what they think, if they disagree, I don't care what I'm afraid they're thinking.

Free.

Has It Really Been A Week Since I Last Posted?

Internet, how I've neglected you. Can you ever forgive me?

Sunday was one of those days where I hit a wall. Monday started out as one of those days that I have nightmares about. But it was saved by an impromptu visit from Jo, and Naomi going for an overnight with her beloved Nana. I've spent the week PMSing recovering. I seem to be on the mend now. (Note to self- listening to nothing but Interpol will BRING YOU DOWN. Don't do it! Mix it up!)

Everything I've written this week is utterly unpostable. Subjecting you to that much self-pity would have been grounds for Typepad to eat my blog whole.

Onto other news.

Naomi's understanding of divorce comes in spurts.

Today she announced her divorce from her husband, Ethan, who's a classmate of hers. (They have been married for a few weeks). Today at the park she rebounded with her boyfriend, Aidan. But not before telling all the sordid details of her need for personal space from Ethan. Here's a picture of the happy couple at the park.

At least she's processing.

The ranks of imaginary friends has also swelled. Tenna-coles and Twizzler have been joined by Mira and Seven. All of whom are now 4 year olds who don't have snackies.

Her teachers tell me she is doing well with the divorce stuff. I've been impressed and a little alarmed by her emerging coping mechanisms, like the entourage of invisible people she travels with. But she seems happy, she sleeps okay, and people tell me this is all normal. She is a resilient girl. I cross my fingers and hope for the best.

The First Day of Autumn

-Yesterday (last night, actually) Naomi returned home safely. She is happy and full of stories about Disneyland.

-Tonight is the first night Josh is spending in his apartment. So, this is my first night as a single mother. I am going to light some candles to commemorate the ending of our coupledom. We've spent a decade together, almost exactly. A decade is a long time in a 28 year old's life.

-Today was our first session with the mediator. She had a copy of How to Talk So Your Kids Will Listen and Listen So Your Kids Will Talk on her bookshelf and a Georgia O'Keefe print on her wall. I think we're in good hands.

Autumn is my favorite season. Not just because my birthday falls in the best part of it. I always feel renewed in the fall. Something about the hope of a new school year. I love the air, I love the smells, I love the food, I love the fashions. Fall in the city makes me glad I stayed instead of escaping to the suburbs from the stinking heat of the urban summer, as I am tempted to do every year.

There's something about this autumn that feels different. When I play with my Tarot deck, I pull cards like The Tower, The World, Justice, and The Star. There is a clarity and intensity to my life this fall that I can't recall having since I was a teenager and the whole world was new.

Last year I approached my 28th  birthday with a vague sense of foreboding. Astrologically, 28-30 is a hot zone for upheaval. Indeed, nearly everything changed this year. My dad unexpectedly lost his job (thus rending the fabric of my family nearly beyond repair), the adoption closed, a child was born, and our marriage ended. I can't relate to the somewhat contented housewife (although a little overweight and a little depressed) I used to be just a year ago.

Who the hell will I be next year??

I have paced a groove in the living room floor

All morning I held my breath. Naomi was on a plane with her dad, on their way to California, the first of many trips there she will take without me.

I do not do well on planes. Turns out, I do even worse when my child is on a plane without me.

For four days, I am home with the baby. I already miss my little girl.

There is so much to do. The house, which is its usual grubby mess (and now overrun with ants) must be cleaned and reorganized. Josh's move-out date looms at the end of this week, and nothing is done.

People always say divorce is hard. It's one of those things that defies explanation, just how hard divorce is, even when it's for the best. As I wander through the house looking for things to throw in boxes I am continually confronted with our dashed hopes and dead plans. We really did plan to spend our lives together. We really did think, for a long time, that we would make it. Even though I've been mourning our future together for a year or more, much longer than Josh, the family photo we took just after Naomi was born still brings me to tears.  That was the best time of our marriage, our first year of parenthood. Naomi brought light into such darkness.

As I am faced with this monstrous task of purging and cleansing, I shrink into a fantasy world of new beginnings. While I should be sorting clothes and toys, I pace and think of other times, other places, other people. I pace and pace, going from one incomplete task to another. I am distracted and distracted from distraction. I am frenetic and unfocused. My wheels are spinning so fast they leave burn marks on my psyche.