Chased by Children

Who Your Friends Are...

One of my friend's sons recently had a car accident.  A very serious car accident.  He was hospitalized overnight and did not return home.  His live-in girlfriend was seemingly unconcerned that he was missing overnight, she didn't call him, she didn't call his friends or parents looking for him.  After the car accident my friend's son broke up with the girl citing her indifference to his well-being on that particular night.

Better writers than I have written of friendship more eloquently than I ever could.  But it all distills down to this:  in your darkest hour, as the whirling waters around your head threaten to drown you -- who is the person you know is plotting for your rescue?  Who is the person who may have taught you to tread water for just such an occasion?  Who is sustaining you with bits of food and water?  Who are the people who hear of your plight and come rushing to your aid?  And just who is that one person who will jump in risking their own well-being to ensure that they will have done everything they can to save you, and that if you do go down both of you will go down together?

Alternatively, who is standing on the shore?  Comfortably gazing from their position in repose?  Laughing at the spectacle or criticizing the way you are treading water.  Perhaps they avert their eyes to avoid their own discomfort or they've become bored with watching you struggle. 

And once the crisis has passed you are armed with powerful knowledge.  You know your own strength (and are significantly stronger than before the crisis).  You have water treading skills that you can instill in others.  And you know who your friends are....and who they aren't.

 

Blessed and Blossoming (um, except for the colossal failure of my new year's resolution)

So, I'm a slacker.  Sue me.

The big news (since I ran out of gas) was the "Divorce Shower" that my darling friends from Stepford threw me.  It was part "shower" and part "housewarming" and part "an excuse to get together for cocktails".  It was absolutely amazing.  They brought furniture and small appliances.  They set me up for a comfortable existence here on my own.  I was especially moved by the women who'd been divorced themselves who brought me furniture that they'd been given when they got divorced and moved into their own homes. 

My parents came early on Saturday and FIXED my place UP!  Dad hung all the drapes and hung the moulding frame that he made (!) for my bathroom.  My mother brought all the comforts of home with enough OXO kitchen tools and gadgets to make Rachel Ray jealous (because clearly nothing actually produced in my kitchen ever will).  And the soft goods...oh, the soft goods.  The towels, the rugs, the hot pads.  The woman knows how to shop for a new home.

The princesses also got gifts at the party.  Lots of games and art supplies (and their nana brought them each a hamper for their rooms).

Lovely.

Running out of Gas...literally.

So yesterday was a busy busy day. 

I drove an hour to a meeting with an incredible lady who runs an "executives in transition" networking group.  She was helpful and motivating.  But she is not the topic of this post.

I then drove 45 minutes to see my lovely therapist, Julie.  She was helpful and motivating and funny.  But she is not the topic of this post either.

I then drove 30 minutes to eat dinner with a new friend.  He was delightful and funny.  But he is not the topic of this post.

I then headed home, roughly 40 minutes away.  And a funny thing happened after that very busy day of driving, driving, driving. 

I ran out of gas.

I RAN OUT OF GAS.

At my age.  In the luxury automobile that I can no longer afford.

Out of gas with the other cars whizzing by at an alarming rate ( I did manage to guide my car off the actual road).  And being an adult woman with no job and few friends I'm willing to bother at nearly 9pm because almost all my nearby friends have young children.

So what did I do?

I called the wasband.  And he is the topic of this post, people.

He leapt out of bed and ran and got some gas in a gas can then he risked life and limb jumping over a median and pouring the gas into my tank (at least some of it got in my tank, a lot ended up on the ground for some reason). 

Over the course of this blog I have been unkind to George (the wasband) but last night he really came through for me.  It's not the first time.  It probably won't be the last.

Thanks George.

You mean, it's not all about me?

One of the things I've noticed about DIVORCED people is that they all LOVE to tell their story.

Myself included (ahem).

As soon as you tell someone you're divorcing (and if they have been through it themselves) you get their story.  Usually it starts with one line about why their ex was the WORST.  Here are some recent examples:

She slept with our neighbor the plastic surgeon who did her boob job.

He left me for one of our daughter's friends.

She never cooked.

He liked to sleep in his car.

I caught him sneaking cookies while I had him on the Zone diet.

He was mean to the cat.

She left me with a can opener and one can of beef stew, nothing else.

And then they launch into the stories.  These stories are gut wrenching and occasionally terrifying.  The battlefield of marriage is laid bare once the couple files their papers.  And on some level it does make me feel better about me and my ex.  I have quickly discovered that we were by no means the most disfunctional twosome out there.  Who knew?  Not me.

It leaves me wondering about the human suffering that doesn't make headlines.  The quiet battles out there for autonomy and control.  Nobody does a telethon for women who can't get out of bed because they feel they've disappeared in their marriage.  You don't see planes full of people rushing to the aid of middle-aged men who have realized that this is all there is ever going to be... 

Holidays in Chicago

The Princesses and I took a trip into the city this weekend.  It was fabulous.

Limo (as way of Transportation)

Park Hyatt Hotel

Dinner at American Girl Doll Store

Room service for breakfast

Shopping on Michigan Avenue

The Princess and the Frog movie

Dinner at Rosebud

Ghiardelli's for Hot Chocolate

Hershey Chocolate Store for souvenirs

It was all AMAZING.  And I paid for it all myself.  I made all the decisions myself.  I was with the girls completely and totally by myself....it was heaven I tell ya. Heaven!

Little Rays of Sunshine

Hello Interpeeps!  I am starting to feel a little bit more myself these days. "Whatever do you mean?" you ask.   Well, I kicked a cat this morning...

Seriously, the divorce is going great.  And by "great" I mean it's not going anywhere. 

We still co-habitat. 

We still don't get along. 

I still make the chili with ground turkey instead of ground beef (a crime against God and man) because I know he won't eat it otherwise.

And I could post a thousand snarky comments about why that sucks and how horrible things are for me but I won't.  Instead I will tell you about a moment. 

It wasn't such a big moment. 

I was standing in a house talking to a realtor about renting it.  I didn't end up renting it for a number of reasons (all my own) but it was at that moment that I felt myself turning a corner.

I could suddenly see the possibility of a future with my children that didn't include the Wasband.

I could glimpse the adult life for which I've longed.

A little ray of sunshine peeked through the thickness of those ominous clouds that have been following me around for a year now.  And I knew for the very first time that I was going to be okay.

If I were a Song writer....and a man. Here is the song I would have written.

I wanna ask you
Do you ever sit and wonder,
It's so strange
That we could be together for
So long, and never know, never care
What goes on in the other one's head?

Things I've felt but I've never said
You said things that I never said
So I'll say something that I should have said long ago:

(You don't know me)
You don't know me at all
(You don't know me)
You don't know me at all (at all)

You could have just propped me up on the table like a mannequin
Or a cardboard stand-up and paint me (paint me anything)
Any face that you wanted me
To be seen.
We're
Damned by the existential moment where
We saw the couple in the coma and
It was we were the cliché,
But we carried on anyway.

So, sure, I could just close my eyes.
Yeah, sure, trace and memorize,
But can you go back once you know

(You don't know me)
You don't know me at all
(You don't know me)
You don't know me at all (at all)

(You don't know me)
You don't know me at all
(You don't know me)
You don't know me

If I'm the person that you think I am (Ah ah ahh)
Clueless chump you seem to think I am (Ah ah ahhh)
So easily led astray,
An errant dog who occasionally escapes and needs a shorter leash, then
Why the heck would you want me back?!

Maybe it's because

You don't know me at all

Ahhh ah
Ahhh ah

(You don't know me,
you don't know me.)

Ahhh ah
Ahhh ah

So, what I'm trying to say is
What (What?)
I'm trying to tell you
It's not gonna come out like I wanna say it cause I know you'll only change it.
(Say it.)

(You don't know me)
You don't know me at all
(You don't know me)
You don't know me at all (at all)

(You don't know me)
You don't know me at all
(You don't know me)
You don't know me at all (at all)

What?

-Ben Folds "You Don't Know Me"

I take it back....

.....he might be a jerkface.  But I'm never supposed to say that because the children someday will read this blog and then they will know that I said it.  And they won't think, "Gosh, Mom thought Dad was a jerkface"  They'll think, "Mom thinks part of me is a jerkface"  and to have your mother think that about you isn't good for them.  So, I'm not saying he's a jerkface....I'm just leaving open that possiblity.

If you want to know more, you are just going to have to buy the book.

D-I-V-O-R-C-E

I've filed the papers.

I've told the Princesses.

It's not over....by a long shot, but some day in the not-too-distant future it will be.

But I have set my feet on this path and am convinced it is the right thing for everybody involved.

This is an incredibly painful time in my life but even more so for the princesses.  They are the ones who will suffer the most during this change.  Pray for them.  Think kindly of them.  Send them your good energy, they will need it.

It is not a decision that I have taken lightly.  The title of this post has been my password on my email account since 2002.  I kept waiting for a sign from God that would tell me the right thing to do.  Of course, a sign never came and I stopped waiting...and started therapy. 

I can only say this...I am trying to make this as elegant a sea change as possible for my daughters, their father, and myself.  It will not be easy for any of us.

That is all I have to say about it.

Say Good-bye to skinny jeans.

-Before you read this post please enter my contest.-

Fat Bridesmaid posted today that she fits into her skinnier jeans.  She even posted a picture of herself in said skinny jeans (and very hot red heels, ahem).  She looks great but it got me thinking.

I may never get into skinny jeans again.

You may ask how I know this.

Because while I don't think my weight is out-of-control, I am not skinny enough for jeans.

It's not even on my radar at this point.

I've thrown away all the jeans I used to wear.  Along with old bras and underwear. (I didn't mean to rhyme).

I have a mid-life paunch.  And some roundness where there used to be something firm (I'd say more but this is a family show). 

I'm softer.  And jigglier.  And a little bit fluffier.

I don't mind, especially at the moment.  At this point it gives me some comfort in a very cold winter to have a little added insulation against the wind.