absolute silence

Silence frightens me.

Music must play, a window must be open allowing the birds' songs and the wind's whisper (or roar, if we speak of this past week) to fill my silent spaces. I am selective about the sounds surrounding me; if they drone too much or are too interruptive, they will not be tolerated.

Snoring has long been an unacceptable nocturnal silence substitute. As I child I dreaded family trips because we would all stay in one motel room and I could never sleep due to the severe snoring issues my father seemed to suffer. Ever since engaged, I have rarely been able to sleep in the same bed as my husband, likewise due to his snoring. This has found me sleeping the majority of the marriage, until separation of bedrooms, on the sofa; in hotels, in the bathroom on the floor or out in the car; and in Sweden in the TV lounge of the apartment building. Some say that snoring, as one becomes accustomed to the partner they love, comes to sounds like the sea. I have yet to find that appreciation for such midnight sounds.

When in my home music reaches to almost every corner, especially when I am alone. I grew up in a home where music always played from an old phonograph stereo of my grandfather's, that still to this day is functional. The apparatus through which the music flows doesn't matter now; I must have music playing.

The sound of human voices is also comforting to me. Most comforting is when they are calm, controlled conduits of peaceful coexistence. Now that my children are older and conversant, it is a pleasure to have two intelligent beings in my company that I can teach to opine and to effectively express their thoughts, and let them teach me so much as well.

Yesterday was a silent day, but in a very different and eerie way. I went to the gym in the morning and had a wonderful workout, but nobody spoke to me and neither did I speak to anyone else. Normal for my gym. I returned home and my children were awake, downstairs in His part of the house, watching Saturday morning cartoons. I showered, prepared breakfast, and put myself hard to work on editing my book. That lasted all day, without a single word exchanged with any other human being. I had my Saturday programming on through NPR, but those voices were not speaking on a conversational level with me, personally. It was a radio broadcast.

The sun rose and fell, and it was not until 8:00 last night that I spoke with anyone but my cat. The silence--I must accustom myself to this silence on my weekends without the children. Even if I leave the house, I am often surrounded by impersonal silence as so many in public are engrossed in their own worlds they don't even excuse themselves if they bump into me when dialing or texting on their Crackberries. Sure, sound abounds, but taking the form of the normal drone of daily life, shopping, cell phone conversations--almost anything is more interesting than what is being lived now, or the avoidance of certain silences for fear of having to figure out how to fill those spaces, or fear of having to interact with others outside a comfort zone.

Perhaps I see silence as an abyss. Many see silence as a refuge. How do you see silence?

Flashback Friday

I despise Valentine's Day.

For adults, that it. As a manifestation of feeling between children, it is cute...until later in elementary school when all but the "unpopular" girls get bubble gum on their Valentines and all others merely get a Jolly Rancher, probably left over from Halloween. Watching the popular girls in high school and uni get roses, teddy bears and balloons as a visible, colorful demonstration of adolescent feelings while the rest of us sat back, wishing, dreaming that perhaps, one day, our Valentine's Day would be so decorated, just like a fairy tale...

It creates in us a rather unhealthy expectation, one that has yet, in 36 years of Valentine's Days, to be fulfilled for me.

I no longer live under that delusion, as I have come to see in my mid-20s that I am just not the kind of girl who would ever warrant that kind of attention. However, those I feel very badly for are the Japanese. And WE thought romance was dead! Again, we have nothing on the Japanese there. Valentine's Day in the Orient was quite an experience for this idealistic young person, and that is today's Flashback Friday post for you. Enjoy!

V-day in Japan

Valentine's Day is not celebrated quite in the same way in Japan as it is elsewhere. It is merely a day during which women shower men with gifts of food, chocolate, drink and superficial shows of appreciation, perhaps crushes and/or love.

Women do not receive anything on this day. Instead, a mere obligatorily "reciprocation" and acknowledgment of the given gift of chocolates is granted the woman on March 14, called "White Day".

She will instead receive gifts of soaps, shampoos and body scents.

Bah.

Does this mean to say the men think that we stink?

Why do they get the chocolate and we get body scents?

Yet another reason to boycott the whole day, in my humble opinion.

Oh, and pass the wine. And, um, don't you DARE forget the chocolate.
(Soy-free, of course.)

power-off, shut-down

That is what I think happened to me last night.

It was a night I needed a bitch session, and She-ra, as always, was willing and able. And I flaked.

Actually, what happened was I had a vertigo attack that lasted a good 15 minutes, that had me holding onto the handles of my refrigerator for dear life, until I could get to my bedroom and lay down. And then I fell asleep.

Power-off, shut-down.

Yesterday was the Passport Appointment day. The last time I had to do a passport from scratch, not a renewal, was actually done by my parents when I was 17. I remember going to the post office and getting the paperwork completed. I called and made the appointment, got all documentation prepared, photographs taken and checks written ("Bring two separate checks," I was told. Of course--two kids, two separate checks. Makes perfect sense.) and all organized, birth certificates attached with colored paperclips inside my manilla folders in which I seemingly organize my entire life.

Actually, I just do that to *appear* organized and professional, when we all really know better.

Anyhow...

Princesita and I walk down, while He and Young Prince drive. We get there and soon after they arrive. Right when we are to be called back, He says, "Young Prince had another major meltdown in school today."

Always known for his impeccable timing, I thought, as we were ushered back into the entrails of the postal facility.

I was then chastized, when we sat down, for not bringing blank checks and two separate checks each. Eternally on the defense, I pointed out that, on the phone she had only told me to bring two checks, and as I have two children...well, logic dictates what I will do. She did NOT say that two separate fees to two separate facilities, one being the Department of State and the other being the USPS, would need to be done in two separate payments.

Great. I retorted by suggesting, strongly, that she next time tells the client exactly what it is she wants us to bring rather than assuming we understand what "two separate checks" means. "Two separate blank checks per person" would have been correct. Then she asked if I had a debit card, which I do not. Then she asked about my husband. Of course he has no idea what is in his pocket, he just carries around whatever he always carries. Then, the question that has dictated the past 10 years of marriage: "So what do you want me to do?"

"Can you get the checkbook?" I snapped. I was admittedly snappy. When I prepare for an appointment then am told I prepared wrong, I get pissed off when not given the correct information in the first place.

"Which one"

"What do you mean, which one? THE Checkbook."

"Yours or ours?"

Um...pause here. Yours or mine? I just got my checkbook in December and have written two whole checks with it. It is not out in a public place; it is hidden in my room, in the same drawers as is hidden my purple bunny-eared joystick (with pearl action).

So, trembling with ire, I say, "The ONLY checkbook you need to concern yourself with."

"Where is it?"

Dude.

"On the table."

"The table?"

"Yes, the table."

"What table."

"THE table."

"WHAT table?"

"THE FUCKING DINING ROOM TABLE" is what I wanted to say, but I left out the explitive and I think he got the message. Ms. Post Office manager was silent.

When he returns in a few minutes, he spits at me, "So what, are you going to flee the country with the kids?" He obviously practiced that line all the way home and all the way back.

I spat back a "No" and let the stunned Ms. Post Office manager continue her duties. When she left, I turned around and He started, "This isn't about us, it's about them. It's about the kids. Even Young Prince in school..."

And I interrupted, "Excuse me, I didn't mean to be rude. I was told one thing and completed what I was told to do, and then get here and was told I did that wrong. You should know by now how impatient I get with those who can't tell me exactly what they want then throw it back in my face when I get it wrong. So I got snappy and I'm sorry," I whispered so the lady in the next cubicle couldn't hear.

I am fully aware of what I do wrong and I apologize when I am out of line.

*---*

This past week or so has really made manifest to me how much my life is on standby, and has always been, for Him. I can make a list of the history throughout the marriage of my compromise and my needs put on standby for Him, but I'll refrain. It is, now, to the point of having to be on standby for my morning shower...it all depends on when The Spirit moves Him to get his ass out of bed and into the shower, which is not the same time no two days of the week. I get a couple hours notice at best if he's taking the kids for dinner. Granted, Mondays are his nights with them, but as he somehow feels that he can schedule his counseling appointments for Monday afternoons and that I will be around to watch the kids, I usually just end up (planning and) feeding them anyway. My life is on standby due to this standby deployment...which there is 1/6 chance it will NOT happen, of course. I don't feel steps ahead can be realistically taken until this ends...when I can have a place for him all set up for when he returns, utilities on and in his name, dishes and furniture moved in--because Lord knows he will not do it himself. I would like to make my summer vacation plans to visit my family, and that is on standby until I know if and when he'll leave.

Maybe I should make my plans and tell him to plan his Hawaii trip with the kids around MY plans for a change. But I have a hard time doing that. Why? I'm not sure. I'm not thick-skinned enough to stand up for taking myself off standby.

With all this growing resentment, while knowing exactly what he went and told his counselor yesterday post-passport appointment, I think my shut-down button pressed itself and I went into power-off mode. I slept, awoke, then slept through the night until 4:30 a.m.

The vertigo is slight today and I am maintaining myself both hydrated and well-fed. I think I'm just stressed out, and even running four miles this morning hasn't taken that out of my system. If I could find time I would love to join a dance studio or do yoga again--but not as before as I prefer not to be hit-on again by a narcissist. That stresses me out, too.

I just want to be me, but I feel like that is on standby as well.

the flame

Fire is power.

I am equally fascinated by the flame of a tealight or taper as I am with a campfire. For hours I can sit, engrossed in the observance of patterns of light, of figures my imagination conjures from the graceful dance of the flame. Fire has the power to capture my attention and to allow me to move into another state of consciousness.

Sunday nights in my childhood home were bath nights. My sister and I would take our baths together, akin to how my children currently co-bathe, and once dried and jammied, we would sit in front of the fire that Dad had built in the fireplace and let our locks dry. First the back, then the front. I loved doing my front last as I could close my eyes, let the heat melt into my face and transport myself into pre-dreamland, which soon awaited after our hair had dried. Some nights we begged Dad to put a spoonful of chimney cleaner into the fire, which created a colorful dance of light and my sister and I would yell out the different hues we would see, pointing and jumping enthusiastically at this miracle of light.

I was fascinated by how a heavy log could be consumed down to ashes that crumbled in my hand after being licked by the flame for an entire evening. It wasn't until later that I came to realize that fire is alive. It eats, breathes, excretes and, in how humans use it as a representation of ire, passion and warmth, it seems to feel. This realization deepened my fascination into a respect for fire's power.

When in a tiny, cold Catholic church in Sweden, that lacked of electricity and heat, I was given a tiny taper to hold after trudging through two feet of snow to arrive at Mass. Unable to concentrate due to the deep, bone-reaching cold I felt, I chose to stand instead of sit on the cold bench. I removed one glove and warmed my fingertips over the flame of that candle. I don't remember a thing said in Mass that night; I only remember the warmth that tiny flame gave my fingers and I was grateful.

I light a candle in my bedroom almost every night. I rarely have time to sit and simply stare at the show anymore, but somehow the knowledge that this fire burns next to my bed, safely enclosed in a hurricane holder, not only fills my room with the lovely scent of burning candle but also gives me a feeling of power, of capability and of mind force.

When extinguishing this flame before sleeping, I used to feel a sadness, almost that I took the life of this powerful energy source. I now revel in the smell of the trail of smoke that is left behind, remembering all I felt thanks to that flame and allowing my night to end and my dreams to begin.

What does the flame mean for you?

the mirror

Mirrors have always fascinated me.

When a child, Mom and Dad (note the teamwork represented in my memory of facts) installed sliding mirror doors on our closets in all of the bedrooms in the house. I would sit in front of that sliding piece of vanity-inducing goodness for hours, often merely playing solitaire, a long-time favorite choice of personal entertainment. Or I would pretend to be a rock star.

This set-up proved most valuable when there were two teenage daughters in the house; instead of dominating the bathroom, our precious hair-care routine took place in our individual rooms.

My parents were so smart! However, the fact I could see my entire body when getting dressed did not assist me much in putting together ensembles that did not completely clash. After having taught those ages in a completely different culture than my own, I have come to decide that is a developmental stage, so-called color and pattern blindness and the desire to have one's own style not dictated to by anyone else.

That was Me.

I remember the night my maternal grandmother died. We got The Call at 2 a.m. and never went back to sleep. Nobody did. A major heart attack claimed my 62 year old Grandma in the middle of the night. (Yes, I am wearing red this coming Friday. Please join me.) I sat up the rest of the night, listening to the screaming anguish of my mother, my father making seemingly endless phone calls, lamp on, door cracked but not entirely closed (we had a no-closed door policy in my house; cracked was fine, no firm closure permitted), shuffling cards, listening to KTMT. Tears for Fears' song "Shout" must have been Billboard's #1 that week; it played all day long and every time I hear that song to this day I am carried back to that day when I sat in front of my mirror doors, playing Klondike or Four Aces or Clock or 13 pyramid...whatever...and watched myself cry and cry silent tears while Mom screamed the pain of her soul out. I was fourteen.

Mirrors later became an obsession. If there were anything into which I could catch a glance of my reflection, I would search it out to ensure hair was in place, the little make-up I wore was okay, nothing in my teeth; I had my secret checklist that would be fulfilled in car windows, oven doors and glass picture frames.

Undoing this vain practice has proved difficult. Even at an age in which I should now feel comfortable with who I am and how I represent myself to the world, I seek out my reflection constantly, same checklist in mind.

Perhaps I try to find something deeper, that little "spark" or detail that everyone else seems to see in me but that I cannot see in myself. If I look in enough mirrors, will that ever give me the opportunity to see me as others do?

Mirrors represent a constant search for a me that I, evidently, am not yet certain truly exists except through the eyes of others. What do mirrors represent for you?

editing my life away

I did a lot of that today, on my book, so that is good. It was a High Progress Day...one new student @ twice a week, passport photos taken of the kids (decided that, since He is off more likely than not soon, I had better get everything done that requires both parents' signatures...) and iPod kids mix updates done. Made a healthy AND delicious dinner, then settled back onto my darling laptop to edit the heck out of seven chapters.

Phew!

But it's getting done.

So this is a mundane post, but at least I am here and am still reading you...I just know that, once He is gone, I will have zero book-working time left (tonight is one of his nights with the kids) so I must get as much done as humanly possible now.

Oh, by the way: I can eat Haagen-Dasz' Chocolate Peanut Butter ice cream. No soy in that, baby. The details sure do add up to getting myself back up to a certain quality of life standard.

Time to finish my ice cream and rest these tired brain cells for the night. Excuse the "so this is what I did today" post. Can't think much deeper than that right now, and I know I must be thankful for all I did, in fact, accomplish in a mere 24 hour period today.

yawn

I'm tired. I've just been plain exhausted.

Partially due to it being January...you know, cold, dark, blaugh.

I have also worked hard...my house is officially clean. That says a lot right there.

I'm burning out during the day so I can wear the kids down so they will sleep at night early so I might have a few minutes. These minutes elude me by the time they come around because I'm too tired to enjoy.

And I hear my 5:00 a.m. alarm all right. I just choose to ignore it and instead I fall back into blissful slumber.

My dreams are turbulent, so bliss is not the most apropriate modifier. I suppose that will contribute to a general feeling of needing-to-hibernate.

I'll do the taxes next weekend. After that...anything expected of me? If not, you can find me curled up in my bed living off what little body fat I have for survival. (insert yet another yawn, so hard tears spring from my eyes) Time for sleep.

Here's to sweeter dreams!

Flashback Friday

Today's flashback takes a different form.

I was graciously invited to take part in one of the millions of neighborhood inaugural events that were held this past weekend here in PoliticsMeccaUSA. It was a lovely event hosted by a couple of my students. Not knowing a soul, a girlfriend and I showed up and ended up having one of the nicest nights we have both had in a long time.

I was reminded how magical it is to get to know new people.

As the male counterpart of the couple I teach took my arm and led me around the room, I realized that all these people knew me, and yet I had just begun to learn about them as my students' abilities have grown to the level of speaking in-depth about their groups, hobbies, sports teams and the other two couples they bicycle tour with. It was flattering; the wine helped me overcome feeling overwhelmed.

I met one lady that night who, in 1974, went to the Galápagos Islands. She had a resident visa in Ecuador at that time, so she got a military flight for $70, she and her husband were weighed before getting on the plane, and then crates and crates of beer was loaded on after them. As they took off, everyone madly started doing the sign of the cross (South American military plane, early 1970s...can't say I blame them!) and they landed about an hour or so later in the Galápagos. They had to take a boat to the main residential island of Santa Cruz, and stayed in Puerto Ayora. Tourists are no longer allowed to stay on the islands, I believe.

During her week there, she met a Norwegian family that had lived there for a couple generations and, from what she said, they became quite close by the time she and her husband had to return to the mainland.

Fast forward 18 years, to December 1992 when I, on my resident visa in Ecuador, got a non-tourist rate to fly a small commuter plane out to the newer airport on the island of Santa Cruz and stayed for four nights in Puerto Ayora. My first night there I met a man about my same age who took me each night to show me the "natives only" side of the Galápagos while my companions slept in their hostel. It was a purely amazing and one-of-a-kind experience and part of why the Galápagos are considered my personal paradise.

Upon my departure on my fifth day on the Islands, I was given a book by this man, with a message written on the front cover to me, written by a Joanna Angermeyer: "My Father's Island". He knew the people in the book; the author was a personal family friend and he wanted me to have it to always remember why the Galápagos are such a special place to those few who have decided to make their lives there.

The woman's eyes lit up on Monday night when I related this to her. "Angermeyer..." That was the family she had met in her time in the Galápagos back in 1974, when my friend would have only been about 2 years old. It was a serendipitous conversation as we stood there, relating, remembering, allowing ourselves to fall back into an empathetic zone of experiences shared and people known, albeit separated by almost 20 years.

This conversation was one of the many highlights on Monday night, and showed me how important it is to continue to extend myself beyond my comfort zone; I never know what treasures await me there.

And perhaps I should go back and re-read that book this weekend.

conflicted

He is on standby.

On the list, He is #1 on the list for his rank to be called out for a year of service.

This doesn't mean *necessarily* Iraq or Afghanistan. Upon learning more about it last night, He will go where there is need for his rank--Navy Captain. That could be anywhere...including, of course, where the pirate activity is occuring off the Somali coast of Africa. And as He is an active reservist, not IRR, He is not being called up against his will. Even though He has had three years active duty time and time during Desert Shield/Desert Storm so long ago, it is possible the rotation has been exhausted for his designator. Or that they don't count the aforementioned time.

The chances are 2:3 that He will go. He'll get 60 days' notice.

I sat down and told him that, even though we can't live in the same house, that doesn't mean I want him to go off to war. Main reason being, I don't particularly want my children to not have a father for a year. The one person who I have told about this possibility said, "Well, now you'd finally have what you wanted." I don't see what she is talking about; I want a separation, not for him to disappear. I have never said that. Remember, I won't even consider moving away because I feel so strongly about the children having time with their father. I want the children to have quality time with both of us, not just with me--as I know I need a break, too.

And selfishly (because I am essentially selfish), I know that I also have no family support here. Calling on friends is hardly an option as all the children are all so much older and everyone is so deeply involved in their own heavy schedule of activities; yet my children are still yet too young, by law, to leave home alone. But such is Life. Again, not quite what I had signed up for.

But I will figure it out. I always do!

So then I wonder if I shouldn't just try to make this work. I don't know--to give him some hope or something. Not for me, but for Him. But, as my friend pointed out, He would return in a year and we'd be back in the same situation: He thinking all is hunky-dorey and me, discontented and unfulfilled.

And, really, all is simply in theory as the earliest he could be recalled would be 1 April. So until a 60 day notice comes up, Life must continue on as normal. Just impossible to make any long-term plans for travel on my part; my trip to South America this year may not happen...or I'd just have to take the kids with me...but then I'd need to get passports for them both...hmm. Must think about this now, mustn't I?

insights

La Princesita never ceases to blow me away.

One of the latest revelations to surface involved her church school lessons. She stated that, although she likes the stories of, say, Adam and Eve, she doesn't think they are true.

Surprised at her directness, I asked her why.

"Because snakes can't really talk. And what about the cavemen? And the dinosaurs? Wasn't there an order that things kind of followed, and humans kind of came from them? How could God just have planted a human here and make him talk like we do and say 'there, all done'?"

Wow. I was silent.

"I mean, obviously there is God but I don't think that it happened like all the stories say it happened. How did anyone know? Nobody else was alive, so it's just a story."

--That where the idea of myth comes in.

"What's myth?"

--Stories that kind of draw pictures of things we believe to create a story that makes something hard to understand easier.

"So what is this a picture of?"

--Well, Adam and Eve show us that we need a male and a female to create life. There is no other way. We know that by science.

"Yeah. But what about the snake?"

--You know that little voice inside of you that nags you when you do something you shouldn't do? It's kind of like that little voice.

"Oh, okay." And she turns back to her coloring.

*---*

That conversation left me bursting with pride. My little girl is willing to grow, expand and question in ways that I never felt the freedom as a child to do. Instead, I was given no reason to think beyond the parameters of literalism, which is something I truly believe hindered my intellectual development. She wants to understand the world in the way she best feels comfortable; a practical, scientifically-explicable way and is open to learning different points of view including, more importantly, the WHYs driving different points of view. The thoughts that she voices can sometimes amaze me as they often reflect a level of thinking I didn't achieve until I was much, much older.

May I always give my children the tools they need to be free, open-minded thinkers.

So, whaddya want from me?

A local AP tutoring firm contacted me, with an email line stating they had "Desperate Need for AP Spanish Tutor." Interesting, I thought, and I responded that I would be interested, provided that such contract employment would be on my terms, not theirs (business for me, currently, is not hurting).

My terms being that 1) all classes are held in my home classroom, and 2) my pay is $50/hour.

I received a response inquiring where my classroom was located. Then a follow-up asking me to send my CV and three references. Sure, not a problem...striking me a bit as funny as HE had searched ME out to offer ME a position (evidently responding to my CraigsList ad). However, I said I would send everything only pendent upon my pay being commesurate with my going rates.

He emailed back requesting a meeting with me as soon as possible. I told him that, due to my teaching schedule, I am unable to meet with him before Friday morning. Knowing full well, of course, that his only purpose in seeing me face-to-face was to try to talk me down from my going rates.

He then began to get upset, evidently, in his email, wondering what kind of time I would have to dedicate to his students if the earliest I could come to him is Friday morning. I fired back that I stay at home teaching so that I can be a mother for my two young children as well, 'sir'. That permits me to have students while having my children at home and working around my schedule as, most importantly, a parent first. My students all understand and, above all, respect that in me.

I then said that, if that is not an acceptable arrangement for your company, then we are perhaps not a good match.

He didn't appreciate that response, as I received a rather snide comment back about my "TEACHING SCHEDULE" permitting. I do have students Monday-Thursday afternoon/early evening, then children pick-up from school, dinners to prepare, etc. I have my limits; hence what I have chosen to do--while earning more money than I did at the Uni working their hours. Plus, by now my feathers are a bit fluffed; I did not go to him asking for employment. He, instead, was "desperately seeking a Spanish AP tutor" and sought me out. Then had the nerve to switch the table to feed his own ego? make me seem like the bad guy? I'm not exactly sure, but it didn't work as he has lost one hell of an excellent prospective tutor that he sought and then proceeded to chase away.

It was today that I realized how far I have come in such a short time in my business. Whereas two years ago I would have jumped like a puppy through whatever hoop this man had set out and complied with whatever pittance had been tossed my way, I have learned that my name has gotten out, I have regular students and recommended students alike who I have earned all by myself, with no need for a school or an agency for matchmaking. I don't have to take the crap he was trying to deal out anymore, and I would not have enjoyed working for someone like that. My sympathies to those who do work for him.

In my final email of this exchange I did thank him for his interest...! Queen of the subversive jabs am I!

(and just to let you know---I really, really derive great pleasure from coming out on top of such pettiness!)

dreaming of stilettos

They were black, sexy stiletto dress shoes, to be worn with a sexy black dress. I found them and wanted them, even though I have yet to ever wear stilettos.

With my long legs and the perfect length dress, I would be--well, invincible.

*---*

I am going to an Inauguration Ball, hosted by a couple I have been teaching for almost two years who were kind enough to invite their young Spanish teacher to share in next week's fun. My date is a girlfriend, a fellow mother of a classmate of La Princesita who lives around the corner. Black tie; should be a lot of fun. However, I don't really have a black-tie dress.

I have a week. I will see what I can figure out. She-ra suggested I raid the closet of her babysitter, an 18-year old away at college. Is that a compliment or a jab? :)

*---*

I have had a new surge of Life. I feel good, I feel like I look good, and I take my stiletto dream as an embracing of the sensuality I have permitted to reenter my life. Granted, this sexual validation comes from a battery-operation fallus (which I cannot seem to quite get enough of right now) but I choose to see this as a first-of-the-year pick-me-up that usually does not hit until the sun begins to shine with more direct rays in the springtime.

And I feel good.

Now to find a dress. And, if the mood hits, maybe I will find stilettos for the night...but don't hold your breath.

I have my bed back

Young Prince has moved out and fully into his Big Boy Bed. Yes, he is 4 1/2. But I had an "until 5 at the latest" rule. Exceptions include nightmares and big storms. Otherwise, everyone OUT!

I am enjoying my king-sized bliss--all by myself.

The first morning I have not yet had to be up and out for any reason, I took advantage to dust off my (former) dead battery case. You know the one--big, purple with pearl action. And ears.

Ah, why I had I abandoned thee? What an absolutely glorious way to begin a Saturday.

***

In order to fully enjoy the effects of my little purple Peter Rabbit, I have to conjure in my mind the picture of him. The only man I have ever loved; the only one, in the history of my lovers, to have ever raised me to the heights of bliss just by a look. The only with whom I could fight and look forward to our reconciliation...and who would come after me when I never would admit I wanted to be chased. The only who would love to create with me as a team, be it a meal or a project, or even a work of art. The only who could tell by the tone of my written word--not even voice--my mood. The only one felt challenged by me yet not intimidated by my powerful and very complex spirit. The only one who could make me laugh and cry and feel valid no matter what, because of an acceptance of who I am. The only one who physically fit me as if we had been created for each other.

To experience a love like this makes everything else so gray by comparision. Unfair it is, really; nobody else could ever have a chance in my life. Having such a partner by my side like that, I feel invincible. I am learning to find this strength within myself. Some days are better than others, but I know this will be a good year. I am prepared to make it so.

And with a little help from my friend, all the better!

coffee therapy

There is nothing more therapeutic than a morning spent with a girlfriend.

Or two.

Such rich conversations, filled with giggles and sighs, over cups of hot cappuccino are sometimes just what any doctor would order for attempting to solve the world's problems. Whenever this opportunity presents itself, with any of my girlfriends, I find myself mellow, tranquil, calmed and yet with spirit so recharged I feel anything is possible.

I need to make a habit out of this! Let's see how the upgrade to a w(h)ine night next Monday works...

*---*

The problem with an in-house separation is that it can be easy to take for granted that one parent might be around, even when not his night to "have" the kids, so that the other can take part in another activity. This occurred last night when I, assuming there was nothing on the calendar for the evening--precisely because there ISN'T anything on the calendar for that night--made alternate plans. Turns out He had other plans so I ended up not being able to do anything.

Okay, my bad. It wasn't my night off. The problem with this arrangement is, however, that I don't get a night off during the week. His nights with the kids are M/T, mine W/Th, and F goes to whoever has them for the weekend. The issue lies in the fact that he isn't coming back to the house until about 1/2 hour before the kids' bedtime any night of the week. This means, essentially, that every single night of the week is my night "on" and I don't get to make any alternate plans for any night of the week without children. Monday is the only exception; He has Mondays off, so he's in charge of them during that day. He also takes advantage of my being "around" by scheduling medical/counseling appointments for during that afternoon when he should be taking care of the kids. Instead, I am expected to be there to watch them until whenever he chooses to return. I don't feel that is particularly fair, especially when I am the one to have to change my plans around to accomodate him; he never has to change a thing to accomodate me, except perhaps to take a day off once in a while, which he does anyway--so I'd rather not be around when he does.

Rambling. Sorry. This just means that we are not going to be able to maintain this much longer. I have ceased to prepare meals for him. I no longer do his laundry nor clean his floor of the house (except my office that is downstairs right now). Yet I know that, in the end, I will have to be the b*tch and give him the goal deadline: Out by (insert date). And I'll have to find him the place, or he won't do it.

And I need to treat this as if he simply were not here. No activities on weeknights, aside from Mondays, that don't involve the children, because I simply cannot depend on him to take them, even if his night to have them. Not necessarily very fair to me, if I wanted to join a class or something, but fair is apparently not a part of the equation right now.

Or perhaps it is my punishment for breaking this marriage apart in the first place.

mistaken signals

I am beginning a new phase of life.

This has greeted me with a new perspective and a fresh, confident ideal of not wanting or needing to find companionship on a romantic level. There is so much freedom in knowing that I don't need to have that to feel fulfilled, and the resulting strength is empowering.

However, I find myself at a crossroads because I think my ideal of finding men to pass platonic time with is just that: an ideal, a fantasy, something that I will probably not find. I recently had the opportunity to watch movies one evening with a male friend, for whom I feel no particular spark but who is wonderful company, extremely handsome and at a similar life stage. It was nice, platonic, no pressure felt and very comfortable.

When relating this evening spent in nice friendly company to my female friends, I am surprised at the reactions; namely that I am being naive to think that any man would not invest time like that if he didn't have deeper interest, in hopes that this would develop eventually into more. "Men can have all the patience in the world until they get what they want."

Perhaps that assessment is correct. Perhaps I am being naive. It would be nice to have a single person, woman or man, to be able to call and get together from time to time and just enjoy each other's company, much akin to how I spent this past weekend with my girlfriend from grad school, but without having to get on an airplane to do so. Even better if that person is also a parent, if only for the empathy and comprehension aspect. I simply have no desire, nor am legally able, to develop any relationship deeper than a friendship level, yet am starting to carry doubts of the existence of this no-expectation type of connection at this stage of life.

feeling shattered

Oh no...heavens, NOTHING like what was going on Last Year at this time!

I fell down the stairs today.

Fortunately not all 13 of them. Only about the bottom 1/2...ouch. And unlike a seasoned faller who would know to not to fight the feeling, I reached out, grabbed the banister and promptly twisted my body into landing in a contorted heap at the base of the steps.

And they were the indoor, not the outdoor, steps, so it was all my doing and not to be blamed on some random showing of ice.

I somehow managed to drive myself to the chiropractor, where for the second time in two weeks he had me in tears popping me into place. But I am prescribed ice therapy, "as much as I can" tonight as my left shoulder and the base of my neck is completely swollen (dude, no wonder it hurts so bad!) and to, um, 'pop' back in tomorrow so he can torture me a bit more into place.

So I will sit and give thanks for laptops as my neck ices and I plan the rest of the week's classes.

Side note updates:

My weekend away to Georgia was lovely. My girlfriend and I had not seen each other in about 4 years, and we desperately needed some catch-up time. Watched some old movies, one newer flick and did some shopping. Swapped class ideas and voila! We could have technically written that weekend off for taxes.

My mother is up to old antics again. The Christmas Letter included a lovely guilt trip blatantly directed at this Mama Llama about what a crappy daughter I am to keep her grandchildren at such a distance. She has also rejected the name that my daughter, the first grandchild of the family, gave to her. My sister and her husband are angry with her about this as well, and it makes it very hard to even make the efforts to pick up the phone. I'm getting tired of it. I guess the webcam I bought her for Christmas went over like a lead balloon. Can't say I don't make an effort. I just need to smart up and stop making the efforts...

...if she weren't my mother, it would be so easy.

As far as my Rocking Resolution list goes, I am doing well so far. Granted, we're only a week into the New Year, but still...

And with that I go back to the ice.

reflections on the old; resolutions in the new

Ah, 2008 is gone. History.

I began the month of December in quite a funk, not only due to the memory of and added loss but also due to what I perceived to have been a failure of a year. I wanted to have acheived my separation in 2008 and that did not happen.

However, I could not see at that point the great strides I have indeed made. What might seem like baby steps to some are huge to me. I have Him talking now in terms of "my weekend" vs. "his weekend" with the kids. I am no longer sitting home and crying during his time with the children; I am being productive, going out, enjoying my life and making the most of the freedom I have, trying to relax as much as possible so as to be a better mother when they are mine again. I am overcoming a fear of going out and doing things on my own; my basic insecurities that have ruled my life for so long are beign dismissed and I am coming out stronger and much more self-defined as a result.

And I am trying to laugh more.

That is how 2008 ended for me. What will 2009 have in store?

I want to build my business up just a bit more, as my youngest will be in school five mornings a week this coming year.

I want to cook more, bake more and eat out less.

I want to depend more on tea and less on coffee to keep my eyes open during the day.

Walk/bike more, drive less.

Simplify my life; less expenses, more experiences.

Develop more self-discipline regarding my computer use.

Define my various paths in my life.

Rid my life of that which is toxic and surround myself with healthy people and experiences.

More salads, less sweets.

More exercise, fewer excuses.

Get my backyard back into shape.

Ensure all in my life know who they are and what their roles in my life are; and conversely define what my role in their lives is.

Ascertain that He and I are playing on the same field, with the same expectations--about which, right now, I have an uncertain vibe resonating deep within me.

Start working on getting over my fear of confrontation.

Go somewhere I have never before been.

A new, different passport stamp? Hmmmm...would be nice!

Be the best mother I can be, and give thanks for these two greatest gifts I have been given each and every day of my life.

Keep a cleaner house.

Love more, live more; worry and resent less.

Let things go.

Be well.