My second entry this week on yesterday's theme (don't worry ladies, I'm merely writing as the Spirit moves me--I do not have a planned writing for each day of the week!) has to do with what not only I but most women I have experienced when either bearing or having been a caregiver of young.
A heightened sense of awareness surrounds us when pregnant, as if our modern selves have assimilated a past trait, dormant until released by hormones, that creates in us an almost animalistic sense of who we are, what surrounds us and how we must protect that which grows deep inside of us. Some of us develop a very acute sense of smell, while others' hearing becomes extremely sensitive. I found myself wondering, at various points throughout my 2 1/3 pregnancies, how much of this was part of evolutionary design; just as our ancient relatives had to constantly be aware, sense danger, protect themselves from nature, flora and fauna that we present-day homo sapiens likewise have an innate sense of survival unlocked while childbearing. It was, in fact, the disappearance of this heightened sensitivity that signalled for me the end of the pregnancy I miscarried; my body told me it was over before modern medicine did.
My husband could not seem to comprehend this heightened sense of smell, as he would bring the stinkiest gyro sandwiches filled with onions, peppers and garlic; or organ meats grilled to perfection by his African classmates, and then wonder why I would run from the room with my hand over my mouth.
Just protecting me and my baby.
The basic senses return to normalcy following pregnancy, only to be replaced by learning to discern need from want from the tone of a cry, to be able to spot a lost child in a crowd of people and assist appropriately, and to become more patient toward children who cannot be quiet when inopportune to be, well, noisy children! Remember how loud we thought our newborns cried? Now we hear a newborn and think their cry is so tiny and precious, while we reassure the new parents that we are not bothered and that such a sound is so incomparable to what we now live with!
Our senses have adapted and evolved with our experiences.
I was reminded of this last night, when dining with my children in a small restaurant. A young child had cried out, squealing with what I heard was delight--I never even turned to look, as I didn't want the parents to feel they were bothering me. It was a family place, not a formal adult restaurant--taking setting into account, I could choose to go to a different place had I not wanted to be bothered by children's squeals. Yet my children had other opinions. Young Prince remarked, "Gee, it sure is noisy in here. Why is it so noisy in here?" while La Princesita, trained by her Mama Llama in tolerance etiquette, merely looked at her plate and continued eating silently ("When nothing nice to say, say nothing at all."). I explained with a siloloquy of reasons of which I am certain my 4 year old understood (or rather, listened to) 25%. However I knew, without even having to turn my head to look, that these were happy sounds.
This is not a gender-defined issue, but rather a skill that we all possess, some more inclined than others, and it is our choice to learn to hone this skill or not. We sense and, consequently, we learn and grow. Sometimes that is the key to survival.
lunes, 27 de octubre de 2008
domingo, 26 de octubre de 2008
The ability to sense and learn new ways
The diamond-shaped girdle of Venus prominent on my right palm says that I have a very highly developed sixth sense. My Mars line is also prominent on both hands, dictating a high degree of sensitivity to my surroundings that is not only innate (left hand) but that I am living up to my potential (right hand).
I am sensing and sensitive, and sensibly so.
Open to new ideas but with my code of ethics intact, I enjoy stepping out of my comfort zone to stretch my senses, to experience all of that which Life has to offer and to discover ways of keeping that spark lit. I have allowed that spark to be extinguished once, and I suffered a complete breakdown. Never again will I permit my spirit to be dampened by another. Yet that agreement with myself comes with a comprehension that only I have the power to maintain, nourish and permit that spark to grow into a fire that pushes me into new experiences and out of comfortable complacency.
I cannot depend on any other to make me sense Life; others can only strengthen or discourage this power, depending on the positive or negative influence they exert over me.
I can give pages of examples of when my sixth sense has told me that somebody close was in grave danger, or has saved my life. Some stories I have to tell I may, one day, weave into a perhaps rather narcisstic short story collection. I can experience physical manifestations of pain and the great trials of my loved ones, those with whom I share a multi-leveled bond. In my musician days, I permitted that the music would enter my being and carry me; indeed I was not a master of technique but instead it was my ability to sense and learn to make others feel the music I could offer that made me a good musician.
I allowed my senses to empower me rather than to hold me back. Yet there is a certain degree of maturity and being open to learning new ways that must accompany this sensing. And I cannot speak for all here, as we are all following different paths, but the numbing of my senses through medication or a dictatorial brainwashing of right vs wrong that does not jive with my inner being creates in me conflict so great that I feel forced into hiding, away from that which I feel is a true danger to the good in my soul, to the marvelous and unique creation that I am.
If I inhibit, or allow the inhibition of, my power to sense, how will I be capable of feeling?
Trusting my senses guides me, most often than not, toward a path that I might not normally have taken. The free will of decision still exists, but that intuition exerts great influence over which steps I take next. This often is the fabled "road less traveled" so alluded to by Frost, but I have seen from an early age how that does, in fact, make all the difference.
*---*
In a combined thematic writing effort shared with The Quest for T and The Exception, this is the first theme put forth. I had so many thoughts I first typed, then deleted, then tried again. Some of those thoughts might come forth later--we shall see. This topic will be discussed throughout the week, I am sure, in posts and comments; for any parties interested in becoming involved or posting on this same topic, please link in so we all can derive the maximum benefit from each other's points of view.
I am sensing and sensitive, and sensibly so.
Open to new ideas but with my code of ethics intact, I enjoy stepping out of my comfort zone to stretch my senses, to experience all of that which Life has to offer and to discover ways of keeping that spark lit. I have allowed that spark to be extinguished once, and I suffered a complete breakdown. Never again will I permit my spirit to be dampened by another. Yet that agreement with myself comes with a comprehension that only I have the power to maintain, nourish and permit that spark to grow into a fire that pushes me into new experiences and out of comfortable complacency.
I cannot depend on any other to make me sense Life; others can only strengthen or discourage this power, depending on the positive or negative influence they exert over me.
I can give pages of examples of when my sixth sense has told me that somebody close was in grave danger, or has saved my life. Some stories I have to tell I may, one day, weave into a perhaps rather narcisstic short story collection. I can experience physical manifestations of pain and the great trials of my loved ones, those with whom I share a multi-leveled bond. In my musician days, I permitted that the music would enter my being and carry me; indeed I was not a master of technique but instead it was my ability to sense and learn to make others feel the music I could offer that made me a good musician.
I allowed my senses to empower me rather than to hold me back. Yet there is a certain degree of maturity and being open to learning new ways that must accompany this sensing. And I cannot speak for all here, as we are all following different paths, but the numbing of my senses through medication or a dictatorial brainwashing of right vs wrong that does not jive with my inner being creates in me conflict so great that I feel forced into hiding, away from that which I feel is a true danger to the good in my soul, to the marvelous and unique creation that I am.
If I inhibit, or allow the inhibition of, my power to sense, how will I be capable of feeling?
Trusting my senses guides me, most often than not, toward a path that I might not normally have taken. The free will of decision still exists, but that intuition exerts great influence over which steps I take next. This often is the fabled "road less traveled" so alluded to by Frost, but I have seen from an early age how that does, in fact, make all the difference.
*---*
In a combined thematic writing effort shared with The Quest for T and The Exception, this is the first theme put forth. I had so many thoughts I first typed, then deleted, then tried again. Some of those thoughts might come forth later--we shall see. This topic will be discussed throughout the week, I am sure, in posts and comments; for any parties interested in becoming involved or posting on this same topic, please link in so we all can derive the maximum benefit from each other's points of view.
viernes, 24 de octubre de 2008
my greatest teacher
I always knew that I wanted to be a teacher.
Constant example was perhaps key in this decision. My father was one of the best-known and well-respected teachers in the school district in which I was educated. I was thus raised with an awareness of the hours of behind-the-scenes work that teachers must employ to create magic in their classrooms, the exhaustion that follows a full day on your feet working to make that one lightbulb in the eyes of that student in the back corner desk to flicker on and to capture that child's attention, and the extras (the coaching, the extra-curricular activities) that all help to boost a teacher's salary so as to be able to financially raise a family, pay a mortgage, and live comfortably...on a meager teacher's salary.
I was thus raised with a high degree of respect, before I fully even understood the concept, for all my teachers and all they do--just for me.
I remember the names of each and every teacher of mine, and hold in my heart an enduring memory of each of them. Yet it was my father who was my first teacher. He taught me by example, not by endless lecture. He taught me of the qualities I would need to nurture in my soul to be able to be a truly great teacher, and that I can do anything I wanted, as long as my heart was in it. This lesson did not come through words; it came through a set example and implicit expectations.
Both my sister and I were pretty much straight-A students. I fell to one B+ in geometry Freshman year of high school one quarter, and that ruined my chances for any state school scholarships. Yet I was never chastized for grades; I was instead taught to take anything in which I may not have excelled and learn from it...indeed, often one learns more that way than through the mere memorization to be able to excel for the grade.
Cheating was unacceptable, and that was a question that would never cross my mind. Knowing that one of the class valedictorians, going off to Hahvahd in the fall was sitting with his jacket over his notebook page with calculus equations so he could move it with his foot and look made me lose all respect for him. It's not the school or the grades; it is the ethic you use to acquire the necessary information and apply it. Now, looking back, I feel bad for him--I know his mother put a huge amount of pressure on him to get the grade "or else". I know because she called me one night to complain to me about a B we had received on an Honors English project--so received as her darling son chose NOT to attend that class. I called the principal--evidently, so did she, and succeeded in getting his grade changed.
I have written on ethics in the educational workplace that do not jive with the simple ethic of teaching with which I was raised. It became increasingly difficult for me to mesh with an educational system that places higher priority on factors other than the ability to teach the students well.
Education has become an ego-driven profession, rather than one in operation for the best interests of the students. We see this now in so many ways:
Parents push for their students to be in the classes of those who teach for the test instead of those who teach--well, to teach. They fear that their child will be categorized as "stupid" if not in a GT program, or that they will not go to college if not pushed hard enough by grade 3. They forget that we all did just fine...without having an hour's worth of homework a night pushed on us until at least 5th or 6th grade, if not later.
Teachers feel the need to teach to the test for fear of losing funding, in *some* schools for a better salary as the teacher's salary and test scores are intertwined, for fear of parent fall-out when their children don't make the cut for GT programs, and for ensuring good student evaluations at the university level. The last parent night I attended left me disappointed at the highly defensive tone of my daughter's teacher; it was apparent to me that she felt need to defend her way of educating our children. I am in tune with my daughter and can see she is not only learning but also enjoying her experience, that couples education with a great emphasis on citizenship. Thus, I trust her teacher is doing a fine job.
When leaving the university two years ago, I was stunned that I had students who had the gall to say that they expected grades to be "given" if they complained loud enough. A close friend and colleague left Tulane for that same reason--this was a trustee's daughter who flunked and this professor was asked to "reevaluate" the grade. Evidently, these students have learned something from their parents...
Yet my father taught me that, when you love something enough, you will learn to capture your students and teach them in a way dictated through your passion. When he died, I had been teaching for almost ten years already, in some form or another. I didn't realize how many lives he had touched with his style, influence and humor until his funeral. The large church was filled with colleagues, recent students still in high school and even some of his very first students from 1967. He was lauded for his laughter and his ability to relate to the students at the junior high level--a true feat, learned from one who has taught middle school for three years. He was loved because he loved to teach.
Last night, my private student told me that he could always go find another Spanish class but that "you just don't find teachers like you." I am remembered and I am deeply honored when that occurs. I know people who are quitting their jobs, going back to school and earning their teaching certificates because they want to teach. That usually comes with a huge financial sacrifice. However, ask any teacher and s/he will tell you that we don't teach for the money, we teach for the love.
I can feel my father still guiding me in many steps I take daily. He taught me to ride a bike, to drive a stick and to not be afraid of the ball. He taught me to stand up and face consequences when I err, and to gracefully accept recognition when honored. I am blessed to have had my father as my greatest teacher, as were so many others with whom I shared my father.
Today is Blog Blast for Education. There is so much about which I could write. Instead, I ask that today you take a moment and think about the teacher who made the greatest impact on your life. And give thanks.
Constant example was perhaps key in this decision. My father was one of the best-known and well-respected teachers in the school district in which I was educated. I was thus raised with an awareness of the hours of behind-the-scenes work that teachers must employ to create magic in their classrooms, the exhaustion that follows a full day on your feet working to make that one lightbulb in the eyes of that student in the back corner desk to flicker on and to capture that child's attention, and the extras (the coaching, the extra-curricular activities) that all help to boost a teacher's salary so as to be able to financially raise a family, pay a mortgage, and live comfortably...on a meager teacher's salary.
I was thus raised with a high degree of respect, before I fully even understood the concept, for all my teachers and all they do--just for me.
I remember the names of each and every teacher of mine, and hold in my heart an enduring memory of each of them. Yet it was my father who was my first teacher. He taught me by example, not by endless lecture. He taught me of the qualities I would need to nurture in my soul to be able to be a truly great teacher, and that I can do anything I wanted, as long as my heart was in it. This lesson did not come through words; it came through a set example and implicit expectations.
Both my sister and I were pretty much straight-A students. I fell to one B+ in geometry Freshman year of high school one quarter, and that ruined my chances for any state school scholarships. Yet I was never chastized for grades; I was instead taught to take anything in which I may not have excelled and learn from it...indeed, often one learns more that way than through the mere memorization to be able to excel for the grade.
Cheating was unacceptable, and that was a question that would never cross my mind. Knowing that one of the class valedictorians, going off to Hahvahd in the fall was sitting with his jacket over his notebook page with calculus equations so he could move it with his foot and look made me lose all respect for him. It's not the school or the grades; it is the ethic you use to acquire the necessary information and apply it. Now, looking back, I feel bad for him--I know his mother put a huge amount of pressure on him to get the grade "or else". I know because she called me one night to complain to me about a B we had received on an Honors English project--so received as her darling son chose NOT to attend that class. I called the principal--evidently, so did she, and succeeded in getting his grade changed.
I have written on ethics in the educational workplace that do not jive with the simple ethic of teaching with which I was raised. It became increasingly difficult for me to mesh with an educational system that places higher priority on factors other than the ability to teach the students well.
Education has become an ego-driven profession, rather than one in operation for the best interests of the students. We see this now in so many ways:
Parents push for their students to be in the classes of those who teach for the test instead of those who teach--well, to teach. They fear that their child will be categorized as "stupid" if not in a GT program, or that they will not go to college if not pushed hard enough by grade 3. They forget that we all did just fine...without having an hour's worth of homework a night pushed on us until at least 5th or 6th grade, if not later.
Teachers feel the need to teach to the test for fear of losing funding, in *some* schools for a better salary as the teacher's salary and test scores are intertwined, for fear of parent fall-out when their children don't make the cut for GT programs, and for ensuring good student evaluations at the university level. The last parent night I attended left me disappointed at the highly defensive tone of my daughter's teacher; it was apparent to me that she felt need to defend her way of educating our children. I am in tune with my daughter and can see she is not only learning but also enjoying her experience, that couples education with a great emphasis on citizenship. Thus, I trust her teacher is doing a fine job.
When leaving the university two years ago, I was stunned that I had students who had the gall to say that they expected grades to be "given" if they complained loud enough. A close friend and colleague left Tulane for that same reason--this was a trustee's daughter who flunked and this professor was asked to "reevaluate" the grade. Evidently, these students have learned something from their parents...
Yet my father taught me that, when you love something enough, you will learn to capture your students and teach them in a way dictated through your passion. When he died, I had been teaching for almost ten years already, in some form or another. I didn't realize how many lives he had touched with his style, influence and humor until his funeral. The large church was filled with colleagues, recent students still in high school and even some of his very first students from 1967. He was lauded for his laughter and his ability to relate to the students at the junior high level--a true feat, learned from one who has taught middle school for three years. He was loved because he loved to teach.
Last night, my private student told me that he could always go find another Spanish class but that "you just don't find teachers like you." I am remembered and I am deeply honored when that occurs. I know people who are quitting their jobs, going back to school and earning their teaching certificates because they want to teach. That usually comes with a huge financial sacrifice. However, ask any teacher and s/he will tell you that we don't teach for the money, we teach for the love.
I can feel my father still guiding me in many steps I take daily. He taught me to ride a bike, to drive a stick and to not be afraid of the ball. He taught me to stand up and face consequences when I err, and to gracefully accept recognition when honored. I am blessed to have had my father as my greatest teacher, as were so many others with whom I shared my father.
Today is Blog Blast for Education. There is so much about which I could write. Instead, I ask that today you take a moment and think about the teacher who made the greatest impact on your life. And give thanks.
miércoles, 22 de octubre de 2008
my greatest fear
I am afraid of debt.
I don’t know debt. I know that I am lucky in that way. Credit cards are paid off to $0 each month under my home economics plan, at whatever price, and the only debt hanging over my head now is the house, on a 30 year fixed, locked-in at 5.5%.
I am terrified that divorce will push me into debt, all because I am afraid to leave this house and try to start anew in another residence. I want the impact on the children to be the least possible, and I feel that maintaining the residence, their neighborhood, friends and school is important. Plus, I don’t live in a very resell-able home; it is a 45+ year-old brick rambler with plenty of problems that, although on just under 1/3 acre, is on a lot adjacent to a cemetery. That does not bother me; I grew up across the street from a cemetery, it helps with the Halloween décor and hey, the neighbors are nice and quiet. But such a location does bother a lot of people.
Some say that filing for bankruptcy in divorce is the best thing that has ever happened to them; they can start anew, cutting old financial ties. My pride in having worked so hard in managing finances so as to keep my credit report stellar and my rating high doesn’t allow me to see this possibility as a positive. Instead, for me it would be yet another failure--I failed at marriage, I failed the hopes and expectations of so many, I failed with the finances…let’s see, what else can I add to the failure list?
I am well aware that I married for security. It was perhaps the adamant decision on his part to give everything up (income, insurance coverage, a place to live, EVERYTHING) to go and get a master’s degree in Sweden as only that institution would do. No compromise, no thinking of the fact that life was different and that sometimes plans need to change a bit once married, like I had to do. All my plans and goals had to change to fit with his, only to have my existence completely ignored once he got what he wanted.
But let’s not go there. The heart of the matter is, I realized that the “security” for which I married was not, in fact, so secure as I previously had believed it to be. I learned that this could come and go on a whim. I don’t believe that I should be 100% supported, so I have always worked. But I could not work in Sweden. It was illegal on my visa. I could have stayed back in the United States during that time, I suppose. However, we really hadn’t had a chance to be “married” since we had been married, and I felt that I needed to go with him and actually give this a try.
Long history made longer--go get some hot tea or a beverage of choice, I'll wait...
I don’t know debt. I know that I am lucky in that way. Credit cards are paid off to $0 each month under my home economics plan, at whatever price, and the only debt hanging over my head now is the house, on a 30 year fixed, locked-in at 5.5%.
I am terrified that divorce will push me into debt, all because I am afraid to leave this house and try to start anew in another residence. I want the impact on the children to be the least possible, and I feel that maintaining the residence, their neighborhood, friends and school is important. Plus, I don’t live in a very resell-able home; it is a 45+ year-old brick rambler with plenty of problems that, although on just under 1/3 acre, is on a lot adjacent to a cemetery. That does not bother me; I grew up across the street from a cemetery, it helps with the Halloween décor and hey, the neighbors are nice and quiet. But such a location does bother a lot of people.
Some say that filing for bankruptcy in divorce is the best thing that has ever happened to them; they can start anew, cutting old financial ties. My pride in having worked so hard in managing finances so as to keep my credit report stellar and my rating high doesn’t allow me to see this possibility as a positive. Instead, for me it would be yet another failure--I failed at marriage, I failed the hopes and expectations of so many, I failed with the finances…let’s see, what else can I add to the failure list?
I am well aware that I married for security. It was perhaps the adamant decision on his part to give everything up (income, insurance coverage, a place to live, EVERYTHING) to go and get a master’s degree in Sweden as only that institution would do. No compromise, no thinking of the fact that life was different and that sometimes plans need to change a bit once married, like I had to do. All my plans and goals had to change to fit with his, only to have my existence completely ignored once he got what he wanted.
But let’s not go there. The heart of the matter is, I realized that the “security” for which I married was not, in fact, so secure as I previously had believed it to be. I learned that this could come and go on a whim. I don’t believe that I should be 100% supported, so I have always worked. But I could not work in Sweden. It was illegal on my visa. I could have stayed back in the United States during that time, I suppose. However, we really hadn’t had a chance to be “married” since we had been married, and I felt that I needed to go with him and actually give this a try.
Long history made longer--go get some hot tea or a beverage of choice, I'll wait...
Ready?
Okay, I'll abbreviate as much as I can:
I was finishing my master’s when I got married in May 1999. July came and my father, who had undergone a horrible 14-hour liver surgery in January of that year and was not expected to live through it, ended up in another 13-hour surgery to conduct a bile duct bypass, as scar tissue had grown so hard that it created a blockage. Fly home to help, in the middle of heavy studying for master’s exams (literally reading at least 300 pages daily--in Spanish--hence I still can’t bring myself to read much). It was the last time I saw my father alive.
One more semester of teaching, classes and my exams for the degree, with calls from Mom saying that Dad had collapsed in a pool of blood, another 911 call in the middle of the night, master’s “hazing” by the tenured of the Department that had me in tears--I was miserable. I told the chair I couldn’t continue in the PhD program (it was a combined program) and, two days after I turned in all my final work, my mom called saying Dad had slipped into a coma. And he died. And then my world went into a tailspin, I got shingles, I had to return to teach the next semester as a visiting instructor since He was still 5 months away from finishing his tour in New Orleans and then returned to Oregon. That was Year One of marriage.
Year two began, literally, with Him leaving to go back to a ship. I worked at the local university but was there mainly to help my mother get back on her feet. My marriage almost ended then; we had little to no contact and I was a mess, feeling like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders and my “partner” left me alone to deal with it--not that he particularly wanted to have anything to do with my mother.
So for Christmas that year, the first anniversary of Dad’s death, we went to Hawaii, to His childhood home. With my mother. My sister was living there at my in-laws' home while finishing a residency requirement for PT, which caused even more strife between He and my family. Then we went from Hawaii directly to Sweden. In January.
Hell is not hot. Hell is cold and dark. That is what I learned in Sweden.
Classes began and I ceased to exist. He would literally return to the single-bed efficiency apartment (yes, I slept on the floor, in the entranceway, in the bathroom or in the study lounge) and, as the computer was at such an angle, he sat down upon returning and, back turned to me, stayed like that until 2 or 3 a.m., taking a break for the dinner I would prepare. Sex was the obligatory lay--let him do what he needed to do then he was back on the computer, back turned to me, default position.
So I left that room. I tried to leave that life, but I didn't try hard enough.
I should have left before I got pregnant, but I didn’t.
I should have left when he threw a yelling fit at my mother and my sister in the middle of the street in Copenhagen, but I didn’t.
I should have left when he threw the table at me, but I didn’t.
My sense of security was destroyed and I was with a man who had no clue, nor seemed to want to get a clue. And I started to wake up.
Perhaps I have been in debt, truly, for the past ten years. I just never banked on it being this kind of debt.
One more semester of teaching, classes and my exams for the degree, with calls from Mom saying that Dad had collapsed in a pool of blood, another 911 call in the middle of the night, master’s “hazing” by the tenured of the Department that had me in tears--I was miserable. I told the chair I couldn’t continue in the PhD program (it was a combined program) and, two days after I turned in all my final work, my mom called saying Dad had slipped into a coma. And he died. And then my world went into a tailspin, I got shingles, I had to return to teach the next semester as a visiting instructor since He was still 5 months away from finishing his tour in New Orleans and then returned to Oregon. That was Year One of marriage.
Year two began, literally, with Him leaving to go back to a ship. I worked at the local university but was there mainly to help my mother get back on her feet. My marriage almost ended then; we had little to no contact and I was a mess, feeling like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders and my “partner” left me alone to deal with it--not that he particularly wanted to have anything to do with my mother.
So for Christmas that year, the first anniversary of Dad’s death, we went to Hawaii, to His childhood home. With my mother. My sister was living there at my in-laws' home while finishing a residency requirement for PT, which caused even more strife between He and my family. Then we went from Hawaii directly to Sweden. In January.
Hell is not hot. Hell is cold and dark. That is what I learned in Sweden.
Classes began and I ceased to exist. He would literally return to the single-bed efficiency apartment (yes, I slept on the floor, in the entranceway, in the bathroom or in the study lounge) and, as the computer was at such an angle, he sat down upon returning and, back turned to me, stayed like that until 2 or 3 a.m., taking a break for the dinner I would prepare. Sex was the obligatory lay--let him do what he needed to do then he was back on the computer, back turned to me, default position.
So I left that room. I tried to leave that life, but I didn't try hard enough.
I should have left before I got pregnant, but I didn’t.
I should have left when he threw a yelling fit at my mother and my sister in the middle of the street in Copenhagen, but I didn’t.
I should have left when he threw the table at me, but I didn’t.
My sense of security was destroyed and I was with a man who had no clue, nor seemed to want to get a clue. And I started to wake up.
Perhaps I have been in debt, truly, for the past ten years. I just never banked on it being this kind of debt.
lunes, 20 de octubre de 2008
just plain tired!
I had full intention to sit down and try to write something tonight. But alas, it is 9:10 and I can only barely keep my eyes open while I yawn so hard tears run down my cheeks.
Plus, I have the most adorable little boy sleeping next to me who is lulling me into dreamland with his baby snores and his desire to cuddle up close and tight with his mama llama. It was so hard to pull myself from his mouse-like cuddle position this morning to face the cold, dark kitchen and start the morning. This was the first below-freezing morning of the season here, and I would have loved to have spent a bit more time sharing his warmth.
But we all eventually made it out of bed, nice hot steel-cut oats for breakfast with some decorative M&Ms as the proverbial spoonful of sugar that makes the medicine go down. With tummies happy and warm, we braved the great outdoors in our treks to school, and maintained warmth in laughter as our hot breath let loose dragon-like "smoke" in the 32 degree air.
"Jack Frost came to visit!" is how the Young Prince greeted his preschool teacher this morning.
It warmed up over the course of the day, although I only got out to enjoy the weather for about an hour and a half in the late afternoon for softball practice. A quick visit to She-ra's place for great company, a glass of wine and half her dinner (geez, guess I was hungry...) and that puts us at bedtime back at my house.
I have had worse Mondays. These are hard days usually as He takes Monday as his weekly RDO. So He's around. Which means I pretty much hang in my room as I am afraid I'll have to deal with him if I leave my room; inevitably, I go to the kitchen and voila! guess who appears? I now just take my food and eat by myself in my bedroom, unless it's just the monitos and I.
So much is on my mind, and I will find time to sort through to blog about some of it during the week. Until then, I relish the season's change, the Hand of Mother Nature showing off one final display of colorful spendor before the gray, cold, colorless winter sets in.
Plus, I have the most adorable little boy sleeping next to me who is lulling me into dreamland with his baby snores and his desire to cuddle up close and tight with his mama llama. It was so hard to pull myself from his mouse-like cuddle position this morning to face the cold, dark kitchen and start the morning. This was the first below-freezing morning of the season here, and I would have loved to have spent a bit more time sharing his warmth.
But we all eventually made it out of bed, nice hot steel-cut oats for breakfast with some decorative M&Ms as the proverbial spoonful of sugar that makes the medicine go down. With tummies happy and warm, we braved the great outdoors in our treks to school, and maintained warmth in laughter as our hot breath let loose dragon-like "smoke" in the 32 degree air.
"Jack Frost came to visit!" is how the Young Prince greeted his preschool teacher this morning.
It warmed up over the course of the day, although I only got out to enjoy the weather for about an hour and a half in the late afternoon for softball practice. A quick visit to She-ra's place for great company, a glass of wine and half her dinner (geez, guess I was hungry...) and that puts us at bedtime back at my house.
I have had worse Mondays. These are hard days usually as He takes Monday as his weekly RDO. So He's around. Which means I pretty much hang in my room as I am afraid I'll have to deal with him if I leave my room; inevitably, I go to the kitchen and voila! guess who appears? I now just take my food and eat by myself in my bedroom, unless it's just the monitos and I.
So much is on my mind, and I will find time to sort through to blog about some of it during the week. Until then, I relish the season's change, the Hand of Mother Nature showing off one final display of colorful spendor before the gray, cold, colorless winter sets in.
sábado, 18 de octubre de 2008
a spreader of the love
Harrassed Single Mom was spreading some around today, and I was graced with some of those droplets of goodness. Thank you.
In acceptance of the Love, and in accordance with the Rules, a meme must be completed. As I am completing this task along with a glass of Tempranillo, the responses might become quite wordy.
So here it goes:
1. Where is your cell phone? On my nightstand. Easily...too easily...within arm's reach.
2. Where is your significant other? Waaaay the hell too far away.
3. Your hair color? Chestnutty? Been described as "fawn" by a gay friend's boy toy in N'awlins once. Not kidding. My mother was actually with me--boy, her eyes were opened that night.
4. Your mother? Visiting my sister in Vegas. Some of us have all the luck...and then again...
5. Your father? Watching over me, my guardian angel.
6. Your favorite thing? I would have to say my music..and my ability to appreciate all music.
7. Your dream last night? Labrynth-esque. That's all I can seem to recall.
8. Your dream/goal? To live and love fully.
9. The room you’re in? My bedroom.
10. Your hobby? Drinking wine seems to be most apt to mention at this moment, although I do consider myself rather well-practiced in a variety of different hobbies.
11. Your fear? Being left all alone on this Earth.
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? I'll take this question as "where in life" as opposed to a geographic location. I want to be well into starting my life anew. Period.
13. Where were you last night? At home, where else? I really *don't* get out much.
14. What you’re not? A good cook. Healthy, yes, but not creative nor original en la cocina.
15. One of your wish-list items? I want my violin bows rehaired. Badly. Can't play again until that is done.
16. Where you grew up? Southern Oregon.
17. The last thing you did? After pouring myself a glass of wine, I engaged in a brief tickle-fight with my monitos.
18. What are you wearing? Heavy socks, heavy gray men's sweats from Old Navy, a magenta camisole under a heavy pink with dark pink flecked v-necked sweatshirt, with my hair pulled back in a bun. Three rings, two pair earrings, toe ring, anklet--they never come off--and I think that about covers things.
19. Your TV? PBS Brit-com reruns. Absolutely NOTHING else on Limited Basic Cable service on a Saturday night.
20. Your pets? My male binge-and-purge striped short-hair kitty cat.
21. Your computer? Mac and Mac. This one is a laptop; the other is a "desktop".
22. Your mood? So mixed--happy still in having met The Exception yesterday; jealousy of T and the great sex I know she is getting right at this very moment; cachonda from my extremely high libido that hasn't found any degree of relief lately; frustration resulting not only from the libido issues but the fact that today was my day with the kids but that He barged in and took them (I wrote IN INK on the calendar that next weekend is MINE); happy in that the wine is making me care less and less as I finish the current glass; relief that the game this morning is done; exhaustion just from The Day...oh, like always, just so damn moody!
23. Missing someone? Hell yeah.
24. Your car? Dark gray ever-so-slightly sparkly special from Subaru. Outback, to be exact. Saved our lives once--will never go back from Subaru.
25. Something you’re not wearing? A bra. Not that I really need one anyway. But perhaps that's too much information (insert wine-induced giggle here).
26. Favorite store? Depends upon that for which I am shopping. Sometimes Target, sometimes Old Navy, sometimes Restoration Hardware, sometimes Whole Paycheck, sometimes whatever online merchant can best fulfill my needs.
27. Your summer? Oh, not as hot as usual. Ought not complain since I'm freezing my ass off now.
28. Love someone? Oh, yes. Deeply.
29. Your favorite color? Purple. Black. Deep blue. Deep green. Deep red. When I'm in the mood, white does me good--in August. I like white linen. I also like some pinks, and fuschia works great in certain moods. No yellows or oranges, please. Nor puke greens. Ick. "Camo" ain't me.
30. When is the last time you laughed? Oh, dear. It has been a while. Perhaps I need another glass of wine.
31. Last time you cried? Oh, yesterday. Or was that earlier today? I forget. I cry much, much more than I laugh. Pretty sad, eh?
In acceptance of the Love, and in accordance with the Rules, a meme must be completed. As I am completing this task along with a glass of Tempranillo, the responses might become quite wordy.
So here it goes:
1. Where is your cell phone? On my nightstand. Easily...too easily...within arm's reach.
2. Where is your significant other? Waaaay the hell too far away.
3. Your hair color? Chestnutty? Been described as "fawn" by a gay friend's boy toy in N'awlins once. Not kidding. My mother was actually with me--boy, her eyes were opened that night.
4. Your mother? Visiting my sister in Vegas. Some of us have all the luck...and then again...
5. Your father? Watching over me, my guardian angel.
6. Your favorite thing? I would have to say my music..and my ability to appreciate all music.
7. Your dream last night? Labrynth-esque. That's all I can seem to recall.
8. Your dream/goal? To live and love fully.
9. The room you’re in? My bedroom.
10. Your hobby? Drinking wine seems to be most apt to mention at this moment, although I do consider myself rather well-practiced in a variety of different hobbies.
11. Your fear? Being left all alone on this Earth.
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? I'll take this question as "where in life" as opposed to a geographic location. I want to be well into starting my life anew. Period.
13. Where were you last night? At home, where else? I really *don't* get out much.
14. What you’re not? A good cook. Healthy, yes, but not creative nor original en la cocina.
15. One of your wish-list items? I want my violin bows rehaired. Badly. Can't play again until that is done.
16. Where you grew up? Southern Oregon.
17. The last thing you did? After pouring myself a glass of wine, I engaged in a brief tickle-fight with my monitos.
18. What are you wearing? Heavy socks, heavy gray men's sweats from Old Navy, a magenta camisole under a heavy pink with dark pink flecked v-necked sweatshirt, with my hair pulled back in a bun. Three rings, two pair earrings, toe ring, anklet--they never come off--and I think that about covers things.
19. Your TV? PBS Brit-com reruns. Absolutely NOTHING else on Limited Basic Cable service on a Saturday night.
20. Your pets? My male binge-and-purge striped short-hair kitty cat.
21. Your computer? Mac and Mac. This one is a laptop; the other is a "desktop".
22. Your mood? So mixed--happy still in having met The Exception yesterday; jealousy of T and the great sex I know she is getting right at this very moment; cachonda from my extremely high libido that hasn't found any degree of relief lately; frustration resulting not only from the libido issues but the fact that today was my day with the kids but that He barged in and took them (I wrote IN INK on the calendar that next weekend is MINE); happy in that the wine is making me care less and less as I finish the current glass; relief that the game this morning is done; exhaustion just from The Day...oh, like always, just so damn moody!
23. Missing someone? Hell yeah.
24. Your car? Dark gray ever-so-slightly sparkly special from Subaru. Outback, to be exact. Saved our lives once--will never go back from Subaru.
25. Something you’re not wearing? A bra. Not that I really need one anyway. But perhaps that's too much information (insert wine-induced giggle here).
26. Favorite store? Depends upon that for which I am shopping. Sometimes Target, sometimes Old Navy, sometimes Restoration Hardware, sometimes Whole Paycheck, sometimes whatever online merchant can best fulfill my needs.
27. Your summer? Oh, not as hot as usual. Ought not complain since I'm freezing my ass off now.
28. Love someone? Oh, yes. Deeply.
29. Your favorite color? Purple. Black. Deep blue. Deep green. Deep red. When I'm in the mood, white does me good--in August. I like white linen. I also like some pinks, and fuschia works great in certain moods. No yellows or oranges, please. Nor puke greens. Ick. "Camo" ain't me.
30. When is the last time you laughed? Oh, dear. It has been a while. Perhaps I need another glass of wine.
31. Last time you cried? Oh, yesterday. Or was that earlier today? I forget. I cry much, much more than I laugh. Pretty sad, eh?
viernes, 17 de octubre de 2008
surprising revelations
I had a great morning!
I got to meet The Exception! And WHAT an exceptional lady she is!
2 1/2 hours was just not long enough for a chat, and coffee was probably the weakest thing to have been intaken while talking...but we make do with what we can.
What was perhaps most surprising to both of us was...
my height.
Or rather, the fact that I am much taller than she thought I would be--or that I was surprised to have come across so, well, short.
So, to set the record straight, here are my stats:
5 feet 9.5 inches tall. And love to wear heels. I have chosen to embrace my height.
125 pounds. Never more, sometimes less.
Bust-36A. Teenager bras. Proud of it...as one admirer of mine has said, "perfect handful, any more would be a waste on you."
Hips/Waist...hmmm...don't know. I wear junior size 7 long jeans--hipsters.
Hair: chestnutty, naturally darker than it is now due to sun and perm. I like curls.
So...what did you imagine? What do we imagine when we only have words (or a llama avatar) to work with? How do our words help to create the image we portray to others?
I was in awe of Exception...she was in shorts and a tank top, while I had on jeans, tights, boots, heavy socks, camisole and heavy (albeit short sleeved) sweater. It's not even supposed to hit 60 today--a 25 degree drop from yesterday. Brrr! I admire the strength that so many can demonstrate before these downright chilly temps!
So there you have it. And yes, pretty much each and every one of you were spoken of at some point in our conversation. So if your ears were ringing, you now know why.
I got to meet The Exception! And WHAT an exceptional lady she is!
2 1/2 hours was just not long enough for a chat, and coffee was probably the weakest thing to have been intaken while talking...but we make do with what we can.
What was perhaps most surprising to both of us was...
my height.
Or rather, the fact that I am much taller than she thought I would be--or that I was surprised to have come across so, well, short.
So, to set the record straight, here are my stats:
5 feet 9.5 inches tall. And love to wear heels. I have chosen to embrace my height.
125 pounds. Never more, sometimes less.
Bust-36A. Teenager bras. Proud of it...as one admirer of mine has said, "perfect handful, any more would be a waste on you."
Hips/Waist...hmmm...don't know. I wear junior size 7 long jeans--hipsters.
Hair: chestnutty, naturally darker than it is now due to sun and perm. I like curls.
So...what did you imagine? What do we imagine when we only have words (or a llama avatar) to work with? How do our words help to create the image we portray to others?
I was in awe of Exception...she was in shorts and a tank top, while I had on jeans, tights, boots, heavy socks, camisole and heavy (albeit short sleeved) sweater. It's not even supposed to hit 60 today--a 25 degree drop from yesterday. Brrr! I admire the strength that so many can demonstrate before these downright chilly temps!
So there you have it. And yes, pretty much each and every one of you were spoken of at some point in our conversation. So if your ears were ringing, you now know why.
jueves, 16 de octubre de 2008
the last trial
The final hearings have begun at long last and soon, hopefully, this will signal a new step forward in Life for both involved. Health issues are stable and a taste of freedom to leave the country has been enjoyed; a taste not experienced in years due to accusations of improper activity under a former president's regime. Found innocent in the first trial-- (sigh) one down, one to go.
Some of us can only sit on the sidelines, watch, listen, support, love and hope while the rest of us must face our trials, stand up for our innocence and continue on with life as much as humanly possible under the circumstances. Those who must be the supporters are laden with feelings of impotence and endless "what-ifs", emotionally and mentally involved but unable to do anything due to endless series of obstacles that exist.
This is the story of all of our lives, really...sometimes simply more literal in translation. All we can do is hang on and see where this ride takes us.
Some of us can only sit on the sidelines, watch, listen, support, love and hope while the rest of us must face our trials, stand up for our innocence and continue on with life as much as humanly possible under the circumstances. Those who must be the supporters are laden with feelings of impotence and endless "what-ifs", emotionally and mentally involved but unable to do anything due to endless series of obstacles that exist.
This is the story of all of our lives, really...sometimes simply more literal in translation. All we can do is hang on and see where this ride takes us.
miércoles, 15 de octubre de 2008
I'm doing good!
Nothing going on. Working, mothering, being Me. Feels good.
I don't want my vent-area (this blog) to become a pity party. That has bothered me. I like to feel I have a place to get everything weighing on my soul out, and I am grateful, eternally so, for support and guidance I have found here. Hugs are wonderful and say more than anything; too bad we live so far apart.
However, I am well aware that it takes always two to do the proverbial tango, and I am not unculpable (is that an English word?) in this situation, nor is He completely at fault. I know I could be more courteous, I could be nicer, I could be plain honest--but I can't. It is a road of self-discovery that I am on, which sometimes has more potholes and other times runs relatively smooth.
Everything you write gives me much to think about and reflect upon, and it is so appreciated. I feel I have wisdom being granted me from those who have walked this path before in some form, and am not being pontificated to by someone merely trained in theory. I feel you give me permission to experience that which I feel--while I beat myself up for feeling the way I do because it is unnatural for me to feel this way. I am the one who has always made everything work, no matter what the situation. I "bloom where planted"...a motto of mine. So why can't I just suck it up now? Because I just can't anymore. Perhaps because, before, I didn't feel like my life was slipping away.
Besides a killer headache that has so far lasted three days, I am good this week. Work is good and fulfilling, time with the kids has been wonderful and I feel my routine has clicked perfectly into place, finally, this week.
I need to live for me and for my monitos! When I forget that, it all falls apart.
I'm doing good.
I don't want my vent-area (this blog) to become a pity party. That has bothered me. I like to feel I have a place to get everything weighing on my soul out, and I am grateful, eternally so, for support and guidance I have found here. Hugs are wonderful and say more than anything; too bad we live so far apart.
However, I am well aware that it takes always two to do the proverbial tango, and I am not unculpable (is that an English word?) in this situation, nor is He completely at fault. I know I could be more courteous, I could be nicer, I could be plain honest--but I can't. It is a road of self-discovery that I am on, which sometimes has more potholes and other times runs relatively smooth.
Everything you write gives me much to think about and reflect upon, and it is so appreciated. I feel I have wisdom being granted me from those who have walked this path before in some form, and am not being pontificated to by someone merely trained in theory. I feel you give me permission to experience that which I feel--while I beat myself up for feeling the way I do because it is unnatural for me to feel this way. I am the one who has always made everything work, no matter what the situation. I "bloom where planted"...a motto of mine. So why can't I just suck it up now? Because I just can't anymore. Perhaps because, before, I didn't feel like my life was slipping away.
Besides a killer headache that has so far lasted three days, I am good this week. Work is good and fulfilling, time with the kids has been wonderful and I feel my routine has clicked perfectly into place, finally, this week.
I need to live for me and for my monitos! When I forget that, it all falls apart.
I'm doing good.
domingo, 12 de octubre de 2008
a complete idiot
Or just a really big furry camelloid wimp.
That's me.
We talked tonight...actually, I talked and he didn't--which is nothing new--and in the silence as I awaited for him to just say something, I wondered why my mouth always betrays me.
I like to think I am so strong and yet I am not. I can gently tell him, remind him of what is wrong between us and he retorts that yes, I am always right. I tell him that I like to think that I am but I need to have someone to challenge me to see things in other ways--a challenge he never poses. I think he's intimidated by me.
I told him that I don't know. I vary. One day I have no issue with throwing this all away and washing my hands. I told him I'm in my prime and I am just watching it go by, wasting my life away. Then the next day I vacillate; I think that maybe, just maybe I can make this work but with heavy sacrifices--no sex, for example--and put on the happy face so that the children who cry when they think that they're going to have to leave this home will be calmed into a sense of complacency.
Reality is that I do know. I do tell him I don't love him, but that I respect him as the father of these kids...and he spits back that no, I do not respect him. Okay, so I need to do a better job of respecting. Being more civil. It is hard, I say, in this living situation. I therefore maintain the need to separate living situations so that we can see if this is going to work going forward or not (although, in all honestly, I don't see how I would go back. I can't have a marriage without sex. I cannot...although there are those who can, I can't. I will not go back to crying in shame and disappointment after each time and feeling as filthy as he always made me feel. I do not miss that. And I did let him know that.)
Why am I a complete idiot? Because I ended this conversation tonight saying, basically, "day by day, one step at a time." If that isn't a hope-filling prophecy, what is? Damn me. I cannot destroy somebody to his face. I don't have the guts.
I admitted a lot of wrongs of mine. Included, I admitted that I need to not expect him to engage the children in the same ways that I do. That is unfair. I did tell him, however, that I want him to enjoy the kids now, as much as I am. While they are kids. I want that for him, for them. He asked, "In only my days with them?" To which I respond, "Of course. Just like I have to find the time during my days with them. Our weekdays aren't all fun and games and playing...I need downtime, playtime with them, too. That's why I insisted on you not getting them every single weekend. If that were the case, I wouldn't get my downtime with them. It would not be fair."
Our ages, our interests, our styles, our speeds, our hours, our motivations and our expectations round out the main incompatibility issues we feel...all discussed tonight. Again. Rather--that I feel, as I have always felt the only one to have the energy, the variety, the get-up-and-go, the push, the drive, and the independence and motivation to *do* rather than to sit back and wait to be told what to be done.
I'm tired. I've been tired for a long time. It stemmed long before grapefruits being thrown through the kitchen window in a midnight rage of his. It is tiring being the sole energy in a relationship, with he being the one ending up gratified, with all he wants. Even now, he's ended up with a brother in the area. Won again. I have nobody. My family is all at least a 5 hour plane trip away. At least. And I'm stuck.
Sometimes I feel I'm pulling at straws. That this is all a bunch of little things masking bigger reasons. Reasons he and I cannot speak of again. I wonder if he has forgotten...
He feels I don't respect him. I haven't felt respected in years. We have so much to hash out if we were to try to actually go back to the table, that I could not do it. I have never forgiven him for abandoning me when I most needed a husband--when he showed me he didn't have the balls for the job. I have high standards but I am also needy. I am an extremely emotional person who needs a partner who can be strong enough for me to lean on when I need to lean, and to lead me when I am blind.
With him, I have never once felt we had reached that level of compenetration and trust. I wanted an equal. Instead it has been orderer-doer; motivator-follower....much, as I see it, a military establishment (which is all he knows in his professional life).
He told me to go back to counseling, find someone else since I ended up "firing" my first and only counselor I had ever had. She was the one to cancel on me and never call me back when she said she would--she had started trying (what I felt) to micromanage my time and question my priorities ("mental health isn't a priority if you have to even think about whether you should use your only gym time during the week to meet with me," for example...it was getting ridiculous and mothery). To be honest I wasn't getting much out of counseling. I dreaded it, trying to think of what on earth I was going to talk about that next week...we were down to once a month after being twice-weekly post-breakdown. I got out all I needed to say and went on with Life, discovering what I needed to do to make myself better--and talking to her about it without getting any solid suggestions from her wasn't getting me far. I get better help and solid direction from those who know rather than one speaking from theory's standpoint, from blogging.
So, in a nutshell is tonight's drama. I'm tired and would like to try to get some sleep now. I crave resolution--but sense that this ideal is far out of my reach yet. That scares and intimidates me. A sad fact is that, with more money, we would be able to move forward and get on with our lives. Perhaps our situation isn't permitting this for a reason. I'm not sure why...but right now it appears the only reason is to put me through hell.
That's me.
We talked tonight...actually, I talked and he didn't--which is nothing new--and in the silence as I awaited for him to just say something, I wondered why my mouth always betrays me.
I like to think I am so strong and yet I am not. I can gently tell him, remind him of what is wrong between us and he retorts that yes, I am always right. I tell him that I like to think that I am but I need to have someone to challenge me to see things in other ways--a challenge he never poses. I think he's intimidated by me.
I told him that I don't know. I vary. One day I have no issue with throwing this all away and washing my hands. I told him I'm in my prime and I am just watching it go by, wasting my life away. Then the next day I vacillate; I think that maybe, just maybe I can make this work but with heavy sacrifices--no sex, for example--and put on the happy face so that the children who cry when they think that they're going to have to leave this home will be calmed into a sense of complacency.
Reality is that I do know. I do tell him I don't love him, but that I respect him as the father of these kids...and he spits back that no, I do not respect him. Okay, so I need to do a better job of respecting. Being more civil. It is hard, I say, in this living situation. I therefore maintain the need to separate living situations so that we can see if this is going to work going forward or not (although, in all honestly, I don't see how I would go back. I can't have a marriage without sex. I cannot...although there are those who can, I can't. I will not go back to crying in shame and disappointment after each time and feeling as filthy as he always made me feel. I do not miss that. And I did let him know that.)
Why am I a complete idiot? Because I ended this conversation tonight saying, basically, "day by day, one step at a time." If that isn't a hope-filling prophecy, what is? Damn me. I cannot destroy somebody to his face. I don't have the guts.
I admitted a lot of wrongs of mine. Included, I admitted that I need to not expect him to engage the children in the same ways that I do. That is unfair. I did tell him, however, that I want him to enjoy the kids now, as much as I am. While they are kids. I want that for him, for them. He asked, "In only my days with them?" To which I respond, "Of course. Just like I have to find the time during my days with them. Our weekdays aren't all fun and games and playing...I need downtime, playtime with them, too. That's why I insisted on you not getting them every single weekend. If that were the case, I wouldn't get my downtime with them. It would not be fair."
Our ages, our interests, our styles, our speeds, our hours, our motivations and our expectations round out the main incompatibility issues we feel...all discussed tonight. Again. Rather--that I feel, as I have always felt the only one to have the energy, the variety, the get-up-and-go, the push, the drive, and the independence and motivation to *do* rather than to sit back and wait to be told what to be done.
I'm tired. I've been tired for a long time. It stemmed long before grapefruits being thrown through the kitchen window in a midnight rage of his. It is tiring being the sole energy in a relationship, with he being the one ending up gratified, with all he wants. Even now, he's ended up with a brother in the area. Won again. I have nobody. My family is all at least a 5 hour plane trip away. At least. And I'm stuck.
Sometimes I feel I'm pulling at straws. That this is all a bunch of little things masking bigger reasons. Reasons he and I cannot speak of again. I wonder if he has forgotten...
He feels I don't respect him. I haven't felt respected in years. We have so much to hash out if we were to try to actually go back to the table, that I could not do it. I have never forgiven him for abandoning me when I most needed a husband--when he showed me he didn't have the balls for the job. I have high standards but I am also needy. I am an extremely emotional person who needs a partner who can be strong enough for me to lean on when I need to lean, and to lead me when I am blind.
With him, I have never once felt we had reached that level of compenetration and trust. I wanted an equal. Instead it has been orderer-doer; motivator-follower....much, as I see it, a military establishment (which is all he knows in his professional life).
He told me to go back to counseling, find someone else since I ended up "firing" my first and only counselor I had ever had. She was the one to cancel on me and never call me back when she said she would--she had started trying (what I felt) to micromanage my time and question my priorities ("mental health isn't a priority if you have to even think about whether you should use your only gym time during the week to meet with me," for example...it was getting ridiculous and mothery). To be honest I wasn't getting much out of counseling. I dreaded it, trying to think of what on earth I was going to talk about that next week...we were down to once a month after being twice-weekly post-breakdown. I got out all I needed to say and went on with Life, discovering what I needed to do to make myself better--and talking to her about it without getting any solid suggestions from her wasn't getting me far. I get better help and solid direction from those who know rather than one speaking from theory's standpoint, from blogging.
So, in a nutshell is tonight's drama. I'm tired and would like to try to get some sleep now. I crave resolution--but sense that this ideal is far out of my reach yet. That scares and intimidates me. A sad fact is that, with more money, we would be able to move forward and get on with our lives. Perhaps our situation isn't permitting this for a reason. I'm not sure why...but right now it appears the only reason is to put me through hell.
sábado, 11 de octubre de 2008
got it
Got the hint.
Mama Llama-dumb move.
Why did I invite him along in the first place? Stupid reasons, actually.
1. Good old fashioned Catholic guilt.
2. Pity.
3. The bad day I was having when I chose to open my mouth in the first place.
4. Guilt.
5. Attemping to spare him the feelings I go through when I see him leave with the kids.
6. Lack of courage to just do it without checking in first.
7. Did I mention guilt?
I think that, come tomorrow morning, he will not be going with. Which is going to make the day all the more enjoyable for me. However, in the well-established tradition of silence between the two of us, the topic has not again been touched.
Today has been a good day; post-softball game (in which my princesita SOCKED the heck out of the softball on the first pitch each inning, thank you very much!) had me showered and watching She-ra's eldest chase a soccer ball around a sunny field; car got washed and Argentine short story read. Chocolate eaten...
Now I am going to go out for dinner, by myself, and see how that goes. I could do take-out to eat here at home, but I am going to force myself into the social realm. And that is about all I have to say today.
Mama Llama-dumb move.
Why did I invite him along in the first place? Stupid reasons, actually.
1. Good old fashioned Catholic guilt.
2. Pity.
3. The bad day I was having when I chose to open my mouth in the first place.
4. Guilt.
5. Attemping to spare him the feelings I go through when I see him leave with the kids.
6. Lack of courage to just do it without checking in first.
7. Did I mention guilt?
I think that, come tomorrow morning, he will not be going with. Which is going to make the day all the more enjoyable for me. However, in the well-established tradition of silence between the two of us, the topic has not again been touched.
Today has been a good day; post-softball game (in which my princesita SOCKED the heck out of the softball on the first pitch each inning, thank you very much!) had me showered and watching She-ra's eldest chase a soccer ball around a sunny field; car got washed and Argentine short story read. Chocolate eaten...
Now I am going to go out for dinner, by myself, and see how that goes. I could do take-out to eat here at home, but I am going to force myself into the social realm. And that is about all I have to say today.
miércoles, 8 de octubre de 2008
a whole truckload of crap
That about says it all, ¿no?
I am actually smiling as I write this. I am trying to learn to find HUMOR in the power struggle, in the immature passive-aggressive nature of my broken-down marital relationship and in the fact that my 48 year old housemate doesn't seem to yet get how to live communally...or just does what he does to try to piss me off.
There is a problem with the freezer. For some reason unknown to me, the shelves barely are wide enough to stay on their supports. I don't know if their molecular speed has slowed so much that they have actually shrunk in size or what, but all I can say is that, once in a while, the shelves will fall, all contents out onto the floor, at barely a touch.
When this occurs with me, of course, met with a "Damn it" here or some other exasperated sigh-cursing combo. And I bend my lazy ass over and pick everything back up. Put it away. Fix it. Key operative idea: Clean up after myself.
In the past two weeks, this has occured three different times in the late evening hours (between 10 and midnight sometime) as He has gone to the freezer to raid his cookie supply. The past two instances, I have gone to the freezer the next morning for some frozen waffle reason only to find everything thrown back in atop a shelf that equally has been just tossed in on top of the shelf and its contents below. Great. So I take it all out and put it all back.
This morning, when opening the freezer, the entire contents of that top offending shelf came tumbling out at me, and the contents of the cookie stash opened and greased my entire floor. Angry? Yes, to say the very least. I would have left them there had I not had students in my house this morning. Plus, I have two little monkeys and a cat who LIVE for the two-day rule (sad, but only slightly exaggerated truth). So what did I do? Nothing I am particularly proud of in my gifted 20-20 hindsight, but I put the little oatmeal morsels back into the canister, then took my fist and crushed them all, each and every single one, to smithereens.
And this was all before 7:00 a.m.!
I am tired of fixing what He does wrong. I am tired of him being the Officer on this ship while I am the subordinate who has to clean up after him. So this time I didn't. I am hoping that, tonight, he will come up and go for the cookies again. And have them fall out all over his feet as they did mine this morning. Of course, that will not happen. They will all fall out again tomorrow as I go into the freezer for something, and I will be stuck with the mess, commencing my day with a lovely string of obscenities.
Fast forward to Sunday. I plan to take my children to a corn maze on my one day with the kids this three-day weekend. Out of pure, utterly stupid kindness I invited him to come with. I received an email from him yesterday asking if his brother and his girlfriend can come along with.
I said no, I am sorry, but that this was my activity with the children and that he was invited along as a kindness. That did not mean that he could, in turn, invite whomever he wanted. I countered that they could, instead, do something together either Saturday after softball committments or Monday when both children are out of school for the day.
What did I get back? A response saying that his brother has never done anything to me, that I should pay him the kindness that He pays my family.
Need I remind him of how he angrily fought with my mother and my sister in the middle of the street in Copenhagen, turning heads, putting me into cramps (I was four months pregnant) and sending me fleeing back to the train to Malmo, where he later threw a table at me and I had my passport in hand, ready to leave... (just one single instance of various I can list in which my husband and my family could not be civil)
Why didn't I go then?
Respect, indeed. My mother told me then that he has no respect for any of us...but I defended him to the end. Boy, was I blind?
So I am this time sticking to my guns. It is my day and my rules. I realize that his brother is family; he is just not MY family. If I invite a friend to go somewhere, is it right for her to turn around and invite a bunch of other people, then ask if it's okay if they come with? I wouldn't do that to someone else's invitation, personally, unless directly told to "bring a friend." He can make the rules for his days with the kids, during which I will try my hardest to figure out some good ME things to do this weekend while he has the kids and not sit and try to work my weekend away.
I feel that he is trying to work his way back in. Maybe he senses my invitation as a weakness. I merely extended the invitation (that I am about at the point of rescinding) as a kindness, as I told him I would try to make an effort to, once in a looooong while, do something all together.
Maybe, for me, that's too much too soon.
I am actually smiling as I write this. I am trying to learn to find HUMOR in the power struggle, in the immature passive-aggressive nature of my broken-down marital relationship and in the fact that my 48 year old housemate doesn't seem to yet get how to live communally...or just does what he does to try to piss me off.
There is a problem with the freezer. For some reason unknown to me, the shelves barely are wide enough to stay on their supports. I don't know if their molecular speed has slowed so much that they have actually shrunk in size or what, but all I can say is that, once in a while, the shelves will fall, all contents out onto the floor, at barely a touch.
When this occurs with me, of course, met with a "Damn it" here or some other exasperated sigh-cursing combo. And I bend my lazy ass over and pick everything back up. Put it away. Fix it. Key operative idea: Clean up after myself.
In the past two weeks, this has occured three different times in the late evening hours (between 10 and midnight sometime) as He has gone to the freezer to raid his cookie supply. The past two instances, I have gone to the freezer the next morning for some frozen waffle reason only to find everything thrown back in atop a shelf that equally has been just tossed in on top of the shelf and its contents below. Great. So I take it all out and put it all back.
This morning, when opening the freezer, the entire contents of that top offending shelf came tumbling out at me, and the contents of the cookie stash opened and greased my entire floor. Angry? Yes, to say the very least. I would have left them there had I not had students in my house this morning. Plus, I have two little monkeys and a cat who LIVE for the two-day rule (sad, but only slightly exaggerated truth). So what did I do? Nothing I am particularly proud of in my gifted 20-20 hindsight, but I put the little oatmeal morsels back into the canister, then took my fist and crushed them all, each and every single one, to smithereens.
And this was all before 7:00 a.m.!
I am tired of fixing what He does wrong. I am tired of him being the Officer on this ship while I am the subordinate who has to clean up after him. So this time I didn't. I am hoping that, tonight, he will come up and go for the cookies again. And have them fall out all over his feet as they did mine this morning. Of course, that will not happen. They will all fall out again tomorrow as I go into the freezer for something, and I will be stuck with the mess, commencing my day with a lovely string of obscenities.
Fast forward to Sunday. I plan to take my children to a corn maze on my one day with the kids this three-day weekend. Out of pure, utterly stupid kindness I invited him to come with. I received an email from him yesterday asking if his brother and his girlfriend can come along with.
I said no, I am sorry, but that this was my activity with the children and that he was invited along as a kindness. That did not mean that he could, in turn, invite whomever he wanted. I countered that they could, instead, do something together either Saturday after softball committments or Monday when both children are out of school for the day.
What did I get back? A response saying that his brother has never done anything to me, that I should pay him the kindness that He pays my family.
Need I remind him of how he angrily fought with my mother and my sister in the middle of the street in Copenhagen, turning heads, putting me into cramps (I was four months pregnant) and sending me fleeing back to the train to Malmo, where he later threw a table at me and I had my passport in hand, ready to leave... (just one single instance of various I can list in which my husband and my family could not be civil)
Why didn't I go then?
Respect, indeed. My mother told me then that he has no respect for any of us...but I defended him to the end. Boy, was I blind?
So I am this time sticking to my guns. It is my day and my rules. I realize that his brother is family; he is just not MY family. If I invite a friend to go somewhere, is it right for her to turn around and invite a bunch of other people, then ask if it's okay if they come with? I wouldn't do that to someone else's invitation, personally, unless directly told to "bring a friend." He can make the rules for his days with the kids, during which I will try my hardest to figure out some good ME things to do this weekend while he has the kids and not sit and try to work my weekend away.
I feel that he is trying to work his way back in. Maybe he senses my invitation as a weakness. I merely extended the invitation (that I am about at the point of rescinding) as a kindness, as I told him I would try to make an effort to, once in a looooong while, do something all together.
Maybe, for me, that's too much too soon.
lunes, 6 de octubre de 2008
clarity
From the darkest moments clarity can shine forth.
Words of others can also help us see what has not previously been clear.
In Windy's memento left on yesterday's post, he said that "There is a perfect man out there waiting for your trail to cross his. And when you meet him it will be like your eyes opened for the first time."
That mere statement shocked me into a realization of that which I had been told I need to do for quite some time, yet perhaps borne of yesterday's desperation I finally internalized the message:
I need to remember how to be ME.
That means a ME without the identity of mother, wife, or teacher attached. How do I retake my identity as the strong person I used to be before I signed that identity away with marriage? I was so strong, independent and content in my 20s. Sure, there were lonely times and mistakes made. But I was comfortable with myself, with who I was and with going to a café to sit by myself with a book and read.
My children have now, for almost seven years, created my identity, both public and private, that I hardly feel I have the courage to go out by myself anymore.
I realized yesterday that this process is much like that which my mother felt when my father died and her two daughters, who were already long out of the house, could not change their lives to be back with her for longer than the 8 month period I took to go to be with her. I don't want to go through this when I'm older; I want to retake my identity NOW. That requires me to learn how to be ME without depending on another to help me define ME. Traveling helps--but why should I have to travel to recreate myself? Why do I need to be out of the country to feel far enough away from my responsibilities and detach enough to let my true Llama-ness come through?
Tough questions, no easy answers. But I am trying, and today can only be better than yesterday.
Words of others can also help us see what has not previously been clear.
In Windy's memento left on yesterday's post, he said that "There is a perfect man out there waiting for your trail to cross his. And when you meet him it will be like your eyes opened for the first time."
That mere statement shocked me into a realization of that which I had been told I need to do for quite some time, yet perhaps borne of yesterday's desperation I finally internalized the message:
I need to remember how to be ME.
That means a ME without the identity of mother, wife, or teacher attached. How do I retake my identity as the strong person I used to be before I signed that identity away with marriage? I was so strong, independent and content in my 20s. Sure, there were lonely times and mistakes made. But I was comfortable with myself, with who I was and with going to a café to sit by myself with a book and read.
My children have now, for almost seven years, created my identity, both public and private, that I hardly feel I have the courage to go out by myself anymore.
I realized yesterday that this process is much like that which my mother felt when my father died and her two daughters, who were already long out of the house, could not change their lives to be back with her for longer than the 8 month period I took to go to be with her. I don't want to go through this when I'm older; I want to retake my identity NOW. That requires me to learn how to be ME without depending on another to help me define ME. Traveling helps--but why should I have to travel to recreate myself? Why do I need to be out of the country to feel far enough away from my responsibilities and detach enough to let my true Llama-ness come through?
Tough questions, no easy answers. But I am trying, and today can only be better than yesterday.
domingo, 5 de octubre de 2008
how not to cry?
I am uncertain as to how NOT to cry when my children leave to spend the day with their father.
It tears me, rips me, shreds my heart inside.
So I stand in the hot shower, hoping the tears will camoflauge into the water droplets.
Just to be able to enjoy that much more time with my children, should I just 'suck it up' and pretend we are one happy family again? Tell Him I am sorry for the strife I've caused. No, we will never sleep together again but maybe, just maybe I can live with a completely sexless life just to have my children around and make them feel they belong to a Whole.
I feel at the brink of making that sacrifice, just to not deal with this heartache. Can I be strong enough this time around so as to not enter into the downward spiral of an emotional breakdown again?
I don't know.
Is it worth a shot?
I don't know.
All I know is how empty I feel today, how I hid my tears from my children as they kissed me good-bye, how I sobbed behind the closed door. It isn't even 24 hours. Evidently my children are my everything; I cease to exist without them.
Now, to drown myself in a pool of lesson plans and preparations for the upcoming week.
It tears me, rips me, shreds my heart inside.
So I stand in the hot shower, hoping the tears will camoflauge into the water droplets.
Just to be able to enjoy that much more time with my children, should I just 'suck it up' and pretend we are one happy family again? Tell Him I am sorry for the strife I've caused. No, we will never sleep together again but maybe, just maybe I can live with a completely sexless life just to have my children around and make them feel they belong to a Whole.
I feel at the brink of making that sacrifice, just to not deal with this heartache. Can I be strong enough this time around so as to not enter into the downward spiral of an emotional breakdown again?
I don't know.
Is it worth a shot?
I don't know.
All I know is how empty I feel today, how I hid my tears from my children as they kissed me good-bye, how I sobbed behind the closed door. It isn't even 24 hours. Evidently my children are my everything; I cease to exist without them.
Now, to drown myself in a pool of lesson plans and preparations for the upcoming week.
sábado, 4 de octubre de 2008
my desktop tag
Okay, Z...here is MY desktop...
(sigh) You got me before I got to get things better organized. Now I'm embarrassed. Believe it or not, I TOTALLY know where everything is on my computer...!
Anyone else up for the challenge? Windy? T? OC? TE? Kay? Yeah, now I'm curious...and a bit nosy to boot!
(sigh) You got me before I got to get things better organized. Now I'm embarrassed. Believe it or not, I TOTALLY know where everything is on my computer...!
Anyone else up for the challenge? Windy? T? OC? TE? Kay? Yeah, now I'm curious...and a bit nosy to boot!
viernes, 3 de octubre de 2008
la luna
In the western horizon of the clear autumnal night, I saw the perfect crescent moon about to be consumed by the tops of the neighborhood trees.
She was smiling at me, apparently unaware of her awaiting fate.
*---*
My mind is on preparing lessons on a unit (advanced Spanish) regarding the Disappeared. Argentina's Dirty War and the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, Colombia and the FARC, Chiapas, the women of the Ciudad de Juárez, Perú...legislation supposedly created to right the wrongs but rather are mere avoidances of blame and justice. It is important, it is history, it continues today and we do not know how lucky we are, really.
Emotionally it is intense and my thoughts are enveloped in these themes, and in Spanish. Blogging words are not coming to me right now. I am reading everyone with blog updates per my Google homepage and yet not commenting as I simply cannot right now.
I will put the Disappeared out of my mind as I help She-ra fix a toilet today. Now, does that not sound like a rockin' Friday afternoon activity?!
*---*
Take a moment this evening to find the moon, wherever you may be.
Smile back at her.
Rejoice in the warmth that fills your heart.
She was smiling at me, apparently unaware of her awaiting fate.
*---*
My mind is on preparing lessons on a unit (advanced Spanish) regarding the Disappeared. Argentina's Dirty War and the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, Colombia and the FARC, Chiapas, the women of the Ciudad de Juárez, Perú...legislation supposedly created to right the wrongs but rather are mere avoidances of blame and justice. It is important, it is history, it continues today and we do not know how lucky we are, really.
Emotionally it is intense and my thoughts are enveloped in these themes, and in Spanish. Blogging words are not coming to me right now. I am reading everyone with blog updates per my Google homepage and yet not commenting as I simply cannot right now.
I will put the Disappeared out of my mind as I help She-ra fix a toilet today. Now, does that not sound like a rockin' Friday afternoon activity?!
*---*
Take a moment this evening to find the moon, wherever you may be.
Smile back at her.
Rejoice in the warmth that fills your heart.
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