Is it over yet?

Well, it was bound to come up sooner or later, and the other night at dinner, the topic was brought forth by the girls.

"What are we doing Christmas morning?"

And there it was.  This moment, of many, during the first year after a divorce where you face down any day with significance with sheer determination just.to.make.it.through. It is hard enough when it is a day that just affects you; your first wedding anniversary or your birthday, for instance, but when we are dealing with events that affect multiple people, and add to that traditions that are related to it, well, it becomes a whole other story.

It's not like I didn't know it was coming. Heck, who could avoid the Christmas wrapping paper that was out prior to October 31?  Then, not long after, you start to see the outside decorations come to life- stores getting decked out, talk of Black Friday, with poor Thanksgiving left in the dust. And OMG I saw my first "Every Kiss Begins With K" commercial yesterday.  Yep, that  made me just a little sick. And through it all, I just chose to ignore it, but alas, it's coming whether I like it or not.

But when it comes to the Big Daddy of them all, it seems that every little thing has meaning.  Case in point- coming down the stairs Christmas morning.  A seemingly innocent enough idea, right?  But now, it has become a "thing".  Every year since we had kids my sister and I have traveled to each other's homes for Christmas, alternating between Michigan and Georgia.  And every year since the day they were born, the kids would all wait upstairs while the bleary eyed adults had coffee and sustenance to face the mounds of presents that took hours to open.  Finally the official Price is Right moment arrived- "Come on Down!!!!"- and the gaggle of kids came racing down the stairs to bask in the glory that is Christmas morning.   For the past 12 years this is how it happened. Now my sister lives right down the street, and this is really no longer realistic.  But when I explained this to them, the looks of disappointment in the girls' eyes when they played back to me "You mean, it's going to just be the 3 of us?" Well, as Janice so eloquently once said, take another little piece of my heart....

And while there are so many other "things" out there that need to be dealt with- the logistics of the girls traveling to Michigan, deciding where all the decorations go in the new house, having to get a tree on my own, and just riding the emotional roller coaster until January 2, I will put on a brave face with a Joker smile and get through it.  There are times that I have to sit back and acknowledge all that has occurred over the past 9 months alone.  I have faced those events, and every one has made me a stronger person.  This past week alone I paused to acknowledge all the wonderful things in my life, and while that does not include a partner-in-crime, it certainly does not mean that I am alone.  I just need to remember that. Besides, I know that 2012 is just right around the corner....

46 more days to go.

Funny insight into my life part 2- Pysco Killer

So, we last left off with the strange concoction of smells making its way through the house. Fine, that part is now over. Let’s move on, shall we?

After dinner that same night, I am doing the dishes and the girls are upstairs getting things ready for bed. From where I am at in the kitchen, I can look upstairs (again, Family Room is 2 stories) right over the cat walk and into Belle’s bedroom. I can see the crazy mess that has taken over her space- and to be honest, this is no fault of her own. After cleaning out the garage to make room for the beer fridge to resume its rightful place, I moved some of the large boxes of toys into her room. It had been so nice over the summer that the girls never wanted to be inside, and now that there has stated to be a chill in the air it was time to finally unpack these boxes. As a side note, we have never lived in a house before without an instant playroom, better known as a basement. When moving in, it was decided that Belle would have the bigger bedroom and, therefore, house all of the toys in her space. Hence, the large boxes of dress up clothes, Polly Pockets and God only knows what else is now sprawled out in the middle of her floor. Anyway, I am standing downstairs, looking up to her room and telling her its pajama time, and that’s when I saw it.

The cockroach.

OMG people- I just got the chills again having only typed the word.

Let me put this into perspective. I am on an entirely different level and I can see that thing as plain as day. On her ceiling. Taughting me. DARING me to come and kill it.

Now, let me explain that never in my life have I seen a cockroach (or, nicer word, “palmetto bug”, but heck, they are all grossly disgusting) until I moved south. Everyone tells me that they are just a part of life here, and as the weather is starting to get colder, like any disgusting outside creature, it is looking for warmer climate. All I want to say is how about Florida? I hear that’s where all the cool cockroaches go this time of year. Please, anywhere but my house.

I realize as I am looking at the large cardboard boxes that I have just moved in from the garage that I am most likely the one that transported that thing inside. Nice way to hitch a free ride you freaky little thing. And maybe not so little, as I am still downstairs staring up at what looks to be about the size of a silver dollar, realizing that I am going to have to take care of this.

Time to call in reinforcements.

So, I tell Belle that she needs to go downstairs and repack her bag for school or some nonsense like that because the last thing I want is for her to see it. Then I tell GG to come into Belle’s bedroom. She’s no dummy- she hesitates as she gets to the door. She can smell my fear.

“Look,” I say, “just keep an eye on that thing and I will get a cup and kill it.” She could not physically be any closer to the room without actually crossing the threshold and gave me that look like “I’m not going in there!” I of course, don’t blame her. I don’t want to be doing this any more than, well, anything. But I tell myself that I have to set the example, that girls can do anything, that it’s only a bug- no reason to be afraid. That is what I am saying on the outside. On the inside I want to close my eyes, click my heels, and for all of this to just go away. No luck. So, I get the cup and the step ladder, cautiously position myself at the right angle to capture it, but not really sure what I am going to do after I jail it with the large plastic cup… on the ceiling. But, I go after it anyway, and that’s when it happens.

The thing flies right at me!

OMGI have never moved so fast in all my life! I am convinced it’s in my hair (aren’t there stories about a cockroach getting into some woman’s hair or something? Maybe that’s a bat… at this point it’s all relative…) I am jumping up and down, flinging my hands through my hair, and whipping off my shirt all in about 1.3 seconds, convinced it is on me (it never was. Let’s just go with that.) GG and I run out of the room. The beast is now out of sight.

Crap. Now what? I can’t put Belle back in there, and I certainly can’t tell her about it- she would be sleeping in my bed until the age of 17. I seriously thought about closing the door and taking the Scarlet O’Hara approach- deal with it another day- but then I know I may never be able to go back in there- the creature would own the room. So, I face my fear and tiptoe back in. You know, to take it by surprise.

I sneak around, and then suddenly spot it on the top of Belle’s dresser behind a picture frame. Think you can hide, do you? Ha! I hesitate for a few seconds; I have lost my cup to capture it, and don’t have anything else with me. But I can’t lose this opportunity, and realistically, I just want this OVER with. I move in for the kill- that sucker is fast and starts to make his move, and I crush it with the shirt that is in my hands that was on my back only minutes earlier. I am not taking any chances here- I make GG get the biggest book she can find and then I smash that on top of the shirt- just for good measure. I am still convinced that it might have survived the assault, so I bundle up the shirt- take a quick peek at the dresser to make sure that I didn’t leave it there by accident, and then promptly throw the whole thing away.

Done.

But know what the sad part is?

I really liked that shirt.

Funny insight into my life #1- What’s that smell?

So, as I have mentioned, this life is pretty crazy. 

I am good, until I am not.  The “not” usually occurs when something- any significant thing- happens out of the norm and causes the juggling act to loose its balance and then something  topples to the floor.  From there, it is just a comedy of errors that follows as I try to regain some sense of normalcy. 

With that in mind, I have entered into the next phase to try to get the house together.  The first occurred prior to the girls getting here, and I was on a proverbial rampage trying to update the basics and make this a place we could call our own.  After the girls arrived, the focus has been on settling into our new routine, getting involved in school and just trying to make the best out of every day.  Now, the dust has settled some, and the next phase is underway.

Phase II started with getting some paint work done.  The family room is two stories, and there was no way I could have done this myself, so I saved up the money to hire a painter.  They came in and did a nice job, although in my haste I realized I chose the wrong shade of green for the accent wall surrounding the fire place.  The painters agreed to come back out and re-do the wall for me, which was very sweet.  I had Monday off work, so it was perfect timing.  They finished the job (which would have taken me about 3 hours) in about 20 minutes, but on their way out, they accidently left a large green paint spot… on the back of the white couch.  I immediately whipped off the slipcover and broke out the bleach.  Needless to say, that spot is there to stay.

Since I had the day off, I figured it was also perfect timing to have the new fridge delivered as well.  When I moved to Georgia I took what I had in the moment, and that would have been our beer fridge that we used to keep in the garage.   This fridge, bless it’s heart, is just not cut out to be the everyday fridge for a family; it is small in size, has wire shelves that promotes a lot of items being tipped over, and the door barely seals.  I found a floor model on clearance and was excited about the delivery.  That was, until the crew left behind a huge stain on the carpet from where they let the hand truck rest mid-move.  Ugh.  Time to break out the hydrogen-peroxide (this works great as a carpet cleaner, by the way) and get to work.  This was a nice combination with the paint/bleach smell already circling in the air.

Now that the fridge was in place, it was time to unload all of the fridge contents that I had placed in laundry baskets.   The items had been out a short while, and it was rainy that day, so the bottles and jars were covered in condensation.  Mid way through my hands proved a little slippery, and therefore I should not have been surprised when the large jar of pickles fell from my hands and shattered all over the floor. There were definite swear words that followed.  The strong scent of vinegar that permeated through the kitchen to connect with the paint/bleach/ hydrogen peroxide combo that was already simmering like a witch’s brew in the family room soon took over the entire downstairs.  

Nice.

Did I mention it wasn’t even dinner time yet?

In Her Shoes

Everyone has their favorite room in their house.  It could be the place where you have your favorite chair, or created a tranquil space all your own where every Sunday you read the paper.  It could be due to the color scheme, or that it is typically alive with the energy of the family, or maybe you like the way the light shines into the space during the early morning hours.  I love certain places in my house for all of these reasons and more, but there is a place that truly expresses who I am-

My closet.

OK- more specifically, the shoes in my closet.

I am not even embarrassed to admit this.  Anyone that knows me knows that I love shoes- they are the icing to any outfit, and can take you from dull to daring in 3.2 seconds.  But if you were ever to come over and stand in front of my collection of shoes all lined up in a row, there is something else that you would see if you just look a little closer… all of the facets of myself that these shoes represent.

I love how my career shoes are all together (organized by color and then style, of course).  Their long heels hanging over the edge, just looking intimidating and powerful.  Move down a little more and you will see a nice collection of high heel sandals and wedges, dressy and fun, just waiting for the right evening out.  Then we will move onto pairs that are a little more practical- the lower heels, and the many, many pair of flip flops.  Fast.  Efficient.  Low maintenance.  They cover my feet in a flash for when I am ready to be on the go.  Eventually, you will come to the last section, which is functional.  Here rests my running shoes, outdoor work shoes, and hiking boots.  And yes, the one pair of snow boots that I diligently hung on to- just in case.

The point of this is, like so many women, I have many facets of who I am as an individual.  Who I am in one situation may change as to who I need to be in the next, but all of these characteristics never go away- I just pull them off the shelf as needed to help carry me through the moment.

So in this I find a very interesting quandary; if we, as women, acknowledge that we are all complex creatures, and can share a love for something as simple as shoes, then why are we so judgmental and hard on each other?

This has really been on my mind over the past few weeks.  Personally, I struggle with the feeling of being judged- I will admit that I am sensitive to it, and feel that I am probably more than actually happens.   Take in point an incident that occurred a few weeks ago.  I was stranded in the O’hare airport due to delayed flight (over 5 hours delayed, but that is another story).  It was challenging enough to try to reschedule conference calls and due dates that I would miss due to being mid-air when I thought I would have been long since home, but the real challenge was trying to arrange child care for my girls.  I thought I would be the one to get them off the bus and where they needed to be that evening, but as sometimes happens, life got in the way of my well laid out plans.  After multiple frantic calls to family, I thought I had it figured out.  When I landed, I called my mom, and the line went to voice mail.  I then called my dad, who picked up the phone and said he was at Church.  He was the one who was supposed to have my kids.   I immediately imagine them stranded, all alone.  I took a quick inventory and suddenly I was the crazy woman screaming into the phone “WHO HAS MY KIDS!?!?!”

Oh…. The looks I had from the other women around me.  I am sure the thoughts of “What kind of mother doesn’t even know who has her kids?” flashed as fast as lightening in a summer storm through their minds.  Or maybe it didn’t, because it was too busy going through my own mind. 

 But even if it didn’t happen, we all know that it does happen, and we women tend to be the guilty party.  In the end my situation was a simple misunderstanding and everyone was safe and sound, but the bystanders never see that side of the story.

Here’s the ironic thing- we, as women, know that we all struggle.  We struggle to be everything to everyone, to find time, to find balance, to find ourselves.  We expect perfection from ourselves and certainly from others, and are disappointed when this unrealistic expectation can’t be met.  We should be the community that lifts each other up, and instead we are the first ones to cut each other down.   I think this is one reason why we are so fiercely loyal to our friends, and rely on them so heavily for support.  We know that we will never have to worry about that with these comrades, we will have each other’s back in any battle big or small.  In this group we are not working against each other, but instead come together as a band of sisters that are there for each other, no matter what.

I saw a facebook posting the other day from a mom who was commenting about other girls being cruel to her young daughter.  It was not the first time I saw something like this, and I am certain it will not be the last.  It is heartbreaking to have an outward reminder that this behavior starts so young, and realize that this girl will one day be the woman trying to undermine another female co-worker, make the flash judgment of the mom with the screaming child in the grocery store, or perhaps the crazy lady in the airport. 

I would never say that I am not guilty of this, but I do think that I have gotten better over the years to realize that there is no one way to do something, but I do the best I can with my way.   I would be the first to admit that my way is not right for everyone, just as your way may not be right for me.  But I have committed that before I make that judgment of another woman, before I snap to thinking about how she is doing it all wrong, I will take a step back, and think about her shoes, and all the other ones she inevitably has at home.  I will take a moment to realize that maybe today just isn’t her day, and this is the best she has in this moment, and most importantly, that I myself have been there.    

Remember

Do you remember where you were when you heard the news?

How unbelievable it was, that you were trying to grasp the nature of what was happening.

Who you first thought of.

Seeing it as it happened- or, the first of many replays….  

The second tower being hit.

Wave after wave of first responders pouring into the buildings.

News of other attempts that failed to reach their targets, but didn’t fail in taking lives.

When the first tower fell.

Then the second.

That it looked like a child’s erector set.  Except it wasn’t.

How young your children were.

How tightly you held them.

How you feared for their future.

How you feared for the present.

The eerie emptiness of the skies.

How everyone went where it mattered most- home.

Seeing the brave police officers, firefighters, EMTs and military personal who came onto the scene as everyone else was trying to flee.

Later, supporters lining the streets, cheering them on as they searched for those they already knew were lost.

How homes all had candles burning in the windows that night.

How you never saw so many American Flags flying in the wind.

How you no longer fell under a specific political party, but instead were just American.

How after 10 years, your kids are older, you are wiser, and life went on, but it still seems unbelievable that it happened.

Let us continue to grow older.  Be wiser. Hold our children tighter. Be brave.

But never let us forget.

Thank You For Being A Friend

Lately, the reality that the man I have known since the age of 15, married to for 13 years and have two children with has never even seen where I live has seemed a little surreal. 

To think that this person that has so much significance in our lives has no idea what our day to day looks like… well- to be honest, it has had me feeling a little bit sad. 

I have lived here for six months, and we have now established some roots.  I know where items are located on the grocery store shelves. The girls love their school.  GG is in soccer.  Belle is in tennis.  They have a good connection with the neighborhood kids, and are making friends with other kids in their classes.  They are starting to accept Georgia as home, and Michigan as a place where they are from.

And through it all, M has no idea what this “looks” like.

It’s not that I am looking for his (or anyone’s) approval.  There is this sense of liberation that surrounds me when I realize that along with the challenges, the reality is that this is my house, and I make the decisions that go along with that ownership.  So no, you don’t have to like my decor, the gray paint that will someday be on the walls, or the white sectional.  All you have to do is realize that these are my decisions, and I own them.

But all of that changed over Labor Day weekend.  M and his parents (or, more specifically, my ex-husband and now ex- in-laws) came to Georgia to visit.

And overall, I have to say it was great.

It’s not that there wasn’t anxiety over this.  To have the man that used to be my husband now coming as a visitor was weird, for sure.  But putting ourselves to the side, we both knew how important it was to make it un-weird for the girls’ sake.  One big happy broken family, right?

Yep- that about sums it up.

Friday, the girls and I went to pick M up at the airport.  They were so excited I could barely get the car in park before they threw open the door and ran out to meet him.   It was evident how much they missed him.  I sat patiently in the car- this was their moment to reconnect.  But after they all piled back in, it was as comfortable as could be.

We arrived at the house, and giving M the home tour was again, surreal (maybe it should be some sort of game on how many times I can use the word “surreal” in this post.)    And to answer your next question, yes, he stayed at the house.  M and I have had this unsaid agreement since the moment the word “divorce” was uttered- it’s no longer about us, it’s all about the kids.  And that has remained true every moment since. With that in mind, I would have hated for him to waste any amount of time traveling back and forth to a hotel, missing the early morning schmuggle time, or being there to kiss the girls goodnight.  So yes, the play room became his home away from home for the weekend.

The next day was the family birthday party we had for the girls.  We do this every year as the girls birthdays are only 7 weeks apart.  All morning we were working together to get the house ready; I was cooking in the kitchen, M helped clean up. I wrapped the girls gifts, M went out for ice and beer.  After he returned, M poured us both a cold beverage and we sat and watched the first part of the Michigan game.  It was so relaxed, so comfortable, it could have been any Saturday in our house years ago….

But it wasn’t.

Soon after, M’s parents arrived.  They had made the drive from Michigan to help celebrate the girls’ birthday.  Yes, it was tense at first, but soon we all relaxed a little and easily fell into our rhythm.  Not long after the rest of the family came over- Italian dinner for 12 in my little house.  Through it all, M and I kept sneaking glances at each other during the party; the unsaid conversation going on with each look, the inside jokes, the sarcastic remarks that we knew each other was making internally…  the love we both felt for each of our girls as we watched them open gifts and blow out the candles on their birthday cake.  Divorce does not take any of that away- not unless you let it.

The rest of the weekend went pretty much the same way.  M and I feel into that easy rhythm that we have when we are together.  He made coffee first thing in the morning, and had my cup ready before I got out of bed.  I made him lunch before he even asked for it.  We parented the kids together.  And the reality is- I really missed it.  I missed having someone else there to help. I missed that easy, comfortable feeling of hanging out on the couch after the kids have gone to bed- sharing some wine, and making witty commentary about a favorite program on TV.

The beauty of our relationship is that both M and I admitted that we missed this- but in that same breath realize that doesn’t mean that we were meant to be married.  Being comfortable and easy does not make a marriage;  there needs to be that spark, that passion… the sharing of same interests and desires, the acceptance of who each of you are as individuals that creates the foundation and helps drive a marriage.  Once upon a time we used to be that, but no longer. Staying married only prohibits us from finding that again with the person that we are truly meant to be with.  M is- and always will be- one of my best friends.  He knows me, all of me, in a way that really no one else does.   He cheered me on from the sidelines during my 5k Saturday and afterward said how proud he was of me.  He remains my voice of reason when I feel things are getting out of control.  He has been supportive of my career when other men would have been intimidated by a woman with professional aspirations.  And while it may be hard to understand, through it all this doesn’t make him my husband.

This makes him my friend.

And for that, I will always be thankful.

You Are Six, Going On Seventeen

Today my Belle turns 7.

Could someone please explain how 7 years has gone by?

Wasn’t it just yesterday that she was that bald headed baby clutching the blankie in one hand and her favorite purple cup in the other?

And now, she is truly a personality to behold.

I will admit, I love being able to still see so many sides of her.  On any given day, she will vacillate between being my little girl and asking me to “schmuggle” with her, and then turn around and provide me a glimpse of that sassy Tween that I know is lurking right around the corner.

Sigh.

At 7, these are the things that I already know about my Belle:

1.     She is a force to be reckoned with

2.    She already has an amazing sense of style

3.    While good in school, she’s going to have to work at her studies.  She is never going to have to work at making friends

4.    She can turn your day around on a dime- and yes, that means in either way

5.    Did I mention she is a force to be reckoned with?

Belle is that child that you miss, and then she comes back and totally tries your patience, and then 5 minutes later you miss her again. 

Her smile is priceless.  Her laughter is golden.  Her personality is strong.

And now, at 7, she seems so mature… more than GG ever did at this age. 

I know that both girls have had to do a lot of growing up this year, but Belle, as always, is ahead of her time.

I just want to capture this moment- the here and now- and keep it locked in my memory forever. 

She has promised me that if I still give her birthday parties, she won’t actually get any older.

Any chance I can make that wish come true?