and get your heads out of your collective asses and be good to your sons too! Your children need you. It doesn't matter how old they are. They need you.
THEY. NEED. YOU.
YOU are the grown up. YOU are the one with 'maturity'. YOU are the one who is to lead by example. YOU are the one with more life experience. YOU are the one who teaches them love and compassion and caring. YOU are the one who shows them the meaning of being the bigger man, of turning the other cheek, of being a decent HUMAN BEING.
My son's father has been a part of his life from the day he was born, through our separation and divorce and through two subsequent wives. We and all our families have always had birthdays together, shared special occassions in our son's life, been to school events and every other thing a child needs their parents and extended family at or for... together...
Until 'she' came along.
Number 3. And she's a doozy. A psycho to be precise. And this comes from someone who liked my ex's former wife VERY much. And his girlfriends in between, too. SOMEhow, other than me and the current psycho, he's been VERY fortunate in the partner department and they have all been very nice and have all treated our son so VERY well.
Until 'she' came along.
The only time in the 15 years we've been divorced that he's ever made me cry was our son's sophomore band camp parents night and guess who was the catalyst?
I arrived early, waited for them, saw him crossing the sidelines & met him halfway, knowing his new wife and mother-in-law were with him for our son & figuring we'd all sit together like we always had.
Him, furtive and speaking low... "Um. We're sitting over here. But you probably shouldn't."
Me, stunned... "Whaa'... Are you kidding me?"
Him, still furtive, still speaking low (as though her fkn bat ears might pick up what he was saying across half a football field and through the hundreds of parents voices") "Well. She won't understand and if we sit together she'll be mad."
WHAT? You can NOT be serious!
Me, pumped full of un-felt pride and not wanting to make a scene... "Sure. Ok. No problem."
And I took my chair down the field, set it up, sat with parents I didn't know and proceeded to cry silently behind my sunglasses.
Amusingly enough (after I got my ass up on my shoulders and decided THAT woman was NOT going to change the course of OUR history), I figured I'd kind of 'force' her to talk to me, assuming once the ice was broken she'd be ok... so I sidled up to her afterwards, killing her with kindness, chatty-Kathy'ing away... until I realized she was not at ALL like the ex's 'good' ex-wife, that she was, in fact, quite a nasty piece of business... and that her mother, who she reportedly described as 'a bitch' and 'certifiably crazy', was quite charming and friendly... and I thoroughly enjoyed her company that evening.
I win. ;)
But it's not all her... he, frankly, is an issue in and of himself. He was adopted. He'll be the first one to tell you that, usually in the first days or weeks of knowing him. He's got insecurities as we all do but his run more deeply ingrained than most, I think. He's always had a thing for exotic pets and a plethora of 'cool' hobbies... cockatiel, McCaw, iguana, greyhound, ferret, fly fishing, canoeing, semi-pro photography, film developing, tae-kwon-do, etc. And near as I can translate, it has to do with the insecurity of adoption. If he has lots of cool things and hobbies, you'll like him. Long hair, cool, you'll like him. Leather trench, motorcycle, fly-tying, cool, cool, cool, you'll like, like, like him. And to cap it off, he has a tendancy to tell you ALL about his cool things and hobbies... how great HE is... because I think he's genuinely afraid if he doesn't, you won't see it. You won't know. And the hell of it is... he IS a great guy... smart, funny, great heart... do anything for you if he can...
But the flip side...
he's extremely intolerant of anyone telling him much of anything...
and this extends to the topic of his son (his son who is A #1 first in his dad's book as long as his dad's single but who becomes transparent and/or second-shelf when his dad has female companionship), though amusingly enough he'll unabashadly tell me what he thinks I'm doing wrong in my relationship with our son and I'm supposed to be open and receptive...
Uh huh...
So anyway, back to 'He has been a part of his son's life...'... until almost 7 months ago when, because of work, he had to move to Florida. Our son went down to visit with his dad on summer school break for 3 weeks shortly after he moved there...
And in the interim, his dad's been great about phone contact and has flown in for a couple of really important occassions for our son...
BUT...
Each time he's come in, he's spent MINUTES with our son and then gone off and been totally off grid (our son can't even get him to answer his cell) for the duration of his visit while he tries for the millionth time to mend fences with his on-again, off-again wife... the psycho... and the hell of THAT is he has told me the same stories again and again and again and AGAIN since he first started dating her... bad stories that have necessitated their repeated separations because she has shoved the two of them into Jerry Springer-style show downs and situations.
And my son has been involved in some of these... including one where she cornered him in his own bedroom and screamed at him about what her opinion was of his father and how it related to the business portion of a derriere...
Now all this background is to get us to...
My son's dad is moving back from Florida... on the road right now... our son has seen him for all of 30 minutes total since July... and my son called me a little while ago to say he'd talked to his dad and wouldn't be spending any time this week with him like he'd hoped... that his dad would be staying with the psycho (my word, not my son's)... that his dad said he would see if our son could come to the psycho's house (which is HIS house too!) a little (a LITTLE?!) this week... and before my son could get the words out of his mouth that he did eventually utter, I told him...
No. He would not be doing that. I could hear it in his voice. I could hear the pain and the hurt in my son's voice that his dad was prioritizing this woman AGAIN. Yes. She is his wife. Yes. They are trying to work things out. Yes, our son will eventually have to try to be a part of that family if his father and this batshit woman work things out...
But REALLY? You can't spend an hour and take your son to dinner and hug him and tell him you damned well missed him the last 7 months and do it alone because to be around this psycho who has caused you so much trouble and upset makes my son, in turn, troubled and upset and uncomfortable...? You can't allow this 17 year old CHILD some time to work back into trying to develop a relationship with this crazed bitch since she's acted in such a rabidly insane way in front of this child that even HE, AS a child, knew it wasn't rational??
No.
He can't.
I told my son not to worry. He would have to be honest with his dad and tell him how he felt... that it wasn't that he didn't want his dad to spend time with his wife... but that he wanted just a little time, just the two of them... and he didn't care to stay at 'her' house... yet... that he didn't feel comfortable after all the show downs and screaming and ugliness and the on-again, off-again between his father and 'her'... I told him he had to be honest but not to worry, his dad would understand.
I clearly gave his father too much credit. =-/
I did what I was supposed to. I supported my ex- to his son as I should.
But the response I got when I called him to tell him how his son was feeling, how his flesh and blood was hurting and feeling... what I got was NOT what it should have been...
In his 'defense', he's been on the go since Thursday nearly non-stop trying to get packed and ready to come back to Virginia... and he's been on the road last night and today non-stop from Florida... so I KNOW he's exhausted and I KNOW him well enough to know what an ASS he is when he's like that... so I spoke gently and I spoke with as much understanding and compassion as ANYONE would be capable of... even going so far, when he started showing his ass, as to say "I know you're tired and I know this isn't hitting you well but I need you to hear my tone of voice and hear what I'm saying and how I'm saying it and what I'm trying to tell you about your son... you KNOW I'm not trying to pick a fight..."... and he held steady for another 30 seconds...
But then he teetered straight off the edge of reasonable and I heard things like "He and everyone else is just going to have to understand that I did NOT move back to Virginia to make a choice between two people (I'm sorry, is there a fkn choice to be MADE when it comes to your flesh and blood?!!)", "HE is just going to have to understand that I am NOT moving back to my mother's and I cannot afford an apartment just to [accomodate] him..." (Really?? Who the hell asked you to MOVE to your mother's OR get an apartment, I just told you he wanted to spend an hour or two with you, just you and him, ya jerk; go to crack-haven DENNY's for crap sake!!)... I lost what restraint I had...
This is your son... you were devastated when you lost your own father... this psycho HOSE-BEAST has done nothing but made your life MISERABLE for the last THREE YEARS... and you can't take an hour and take your son to dinner or to hang out with your mother who also hasn't seen you in almost 7 months?
I said, simply, though with plenty of rancor, I know... "Spend time with your son or don't. I don't know what else to say.", and I hung up.
I immediately got a text that said "If your going to speak then hang up guess I don't have reason to answer." Really? Then why are you? (And isn't THAT rich when you get ticked off, yell and hang up on ME R-E-G-U-L-A-R-L-Y?!)
Against my better judgment, I responded... "U have no compassion for u'r own son wanting to see u for an hr or so after he's been WITHOUT U for over SIX MONTHS for the 1st time in his LIFE. U can't or won't see his hurt. What is there to say? I got it. Now quit texting & drive..."
And in the time since I spoke with and responded to him, I've turned it over in my head trying to see all sides... maybe I should've waited until he got home and had rested... maybe I shouldn't be so protective, instead allowing the two of them to work out their differences... maybe I should insist that my son spend time with the psycho hose-bitch if he wants to spend time with his dad... maybe I should understand that his father believes he should put 'her' ahead of our son and it's not up to me to question his priorities...
But what I keep coming to is this...
In my universe, a child is a child. No matter how old they are. And as the adult, the parent, the one with the world experience...
as the grownup, it doesn't matter how tired you are when your child's hurting, YOU are the one who needs to suck it up and have some compassion...
as the grownup, it's my JOB to protect my children and to try to help YOU see things they may not want to tell you, same as you should for me, and YOU should be the one to lead trying to work out the issue...
as the grownup, I will NOT insist that my son spend time with the evil one who's name shall not be mentioned because SHE is the one who's 'acted badly' and it's not up to HIM to make amends or to try to get along when SHE has been openly hostile and juvenile to my son about his OWN FATHER...
and last...
as the grownup... I think since your son is the one you're going to need changing your diapers when you're too old to do it yourself so MAYBE you should put HIM ahead of Cruella once in a while...
I haven't responded any more. There's no need. He will make or break his own relationship with our son and, in my universe, I will simply continue to try to be a good parent, listen to, protect, love, apologize to when I'm wrong, and be happy with my son.
FOOTNOTE: Michael's dad called me last night to tell me about his first day on his new job. We were both more calm and I apologized. Not for what I said. But for my timing. For being perhaps over-protective and feeling as though I had to bring it up to him right away rather than waiting until he'd gotten home and settled and had some time to rest.
And we talked. He has valid points, some of which I'd rolled around when this happened... that forgiveness is the point of the day with him and the troll... that they are trying to work things out and my son will have to be a part of that... that they all need counseling to learn how to live together...
But I did have to choke back a response when he said 'she' had told him she had to learn how to welcome my son to the 'family' and learn to integrate him... wth?!! My son is SO easy-going and friendly... you have to LEARN how to be an adult and welcome a child into the family he's already a part of by virtue of BIRTH?!... do you have to 'learn' how to integrate and welcome the spoiled-brat of a girl you gave birth to (and don't get me wrong, I know it's not the child's fault she's been raised by a wolf)?
But it's not my family, it's not my life nor is it my job to try to control any of that... my job is simply to be there for my son. The end. =)
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Happy Halloweeny
Best adult Halloween in my universe: 3 years ago, local attorney's annual Halloween bash... black geisha wig, blood-red cheongsam with gold frogs, black hose & kick-ass heels, lots of black eye-liner & vivid red lipstick...
A good time was had by all and the costumes were fabulous... super-sweet commonwealth attorney as The Hulk, local bad-boy attorney as Ricky Bobby, a certain judicial assistant as a busty school girl, a Mary Poppins public defender...
And then, there was a certain someone whose name AND profession will remain unspoken... one prone to being a little condescending, not always the most sincere of fellows, one who rarely remembered my name... dressed as a doctor... offering check ups... mmm, how original... ::yawn::
And the good doctor - checking out what I ultimately described as my-sphinx-meets-the-orient-express costume since neither me nor anyone there could decide if I was an egyptian or a geisha - would not move along...
The good doctor came back again and again, intrigued because he couldn't place me... though he'd seen and spoken to me for a year and a half in the course of our work... and the more perplexed he seemed, the funnier it got and the more determined I became not to tell this nerd who worked with me regularly who I was...
His frustration that he was not only unable to place me but that neither I or my friends would reveal who I was just made it better and better... it was like watching a cat with tape on its paws walking around shaking its feet and trying to figure out what the hell was going on and why it couldn't relieve itself of the nuisance...
I did finally let him off the hook and told him who I was... and once revealed, I got the impression he couldn't back-pedal fast enough... I think the good doctor actually had the good grace, unexpected good grace, to be a little embarrassed.
He did, I'll also note, remember my name after that.
A good time was had by all and the costumes were fabulous... super-sweet commonwealth attorney as The Hulk, local bad-boy attorney as Ricky Bobby, a certain judicial assistant as a busty school girl, a Mary Poppins public defender...
And then, there was a certain someone whose name AND profession will remain unspoken... one prone to being a little condescending, not always the most sincere of fellows, one who rarely remembered my name... dressed as a doctor... offering check ups... mmm, how original... ::yawn::
And the good doctor - checking out what I ultimately described as my-sphinx-meets-the-orient-express costume since neither me nor anyone there could decide if I was an egyptian or a geisha - would not move along...
The good doctor came back again and again, intrigued because he couldn't place me... though he'd seen and spoken to me for a year and a half in the course of our work... and the more perplexed he seemed, the funnier it got and the more determined I became not to tell this nerd who worked with me regularly who I was...
His frustration that he was not only unable to place me but that neither I or my friends would reveal who I was just made it better and better... it was like watching a cat with tape on its paws walking around shaking its feet and trying to figure out what the hell was going on and why it couldn't relieve itself of the nuisance...
I did finally let him off the hook and told him who I was... and once revealed, I got the impression he couldn't back-pedal fast enough... I think the good doctor actually had the good grace, unexpected good grace, to be a little embarrassed.
He did, I'll also note, remember my name after that.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Sex, Lies and Headlocks...
(This entry was gonna be about something other than what it's morphed into and it was gonna be called Sex, Lies and Videotape... but when I Googled the title to confirm whether there was an 's' on the end of Videotape or not, I found there's actually a book by the title I'm using and it somehow seemed more fitting...)
OMG! There's a full moon and with it apparently come naked penis cell pictures and utter instanity.
Naked penis cell pics... like skeezy little business cards, if you will... harbingers of ill, bearers of bad feeling...
Maybe you've gotten one from someone you've met casually who asked for your number, you get a text, flip your phone open and VIOLA! Jim Dandy's Yankee Doodle staring back at you with a caption to "Call me!". Or maybe someone you already know in some capacity does it... friend, co-worker, school mate... 'normal', conversational texting back and forth and then BAM! Penis cam, anyone?!
::shudder::
SERIOUSLY??
And in expressing my incredulity at the phenom, two friends have told me it's 'normal' (aaaaand we're back to Doc Kyle using the word healthy because what passes for normal these days is inSANE!)! One friend's my age and said he's had multiple women tell him they've received them... randomly, new acquaintances, BOOM. Another friend, nearly young enough to be my daughter so apparently it's not a generational thing, says yup... she's gotten a handful as well (again, SO sorry about the pun).
Brain bleach and smacking the 'erase' button as fast as your little ham hands can hit the button are the short term solutions... but what about the long term and what it says? About him? About you/her?
And THIS is where this blog's broken down...
It was going to be a deep introspective about how one of these beastly little skeezer-cards puts the recipient into a headlock of sorts; held immobile by a brain-churn that takes way too much energy and time wondering what deeply rooted dysfunction it spells out about the sender and what the recipients reaction says about them...
But frankly, I've decided I just don't want to look at it that closely any more. I've spent a week with this muddying my thoughts, trying to turn it over and examine it and find a way to loosen the headlock...
And all I've done is spent good energy after bad...
There is no explaining it, rationalizing it, making it anything other than what it is... I think, instead, what I will do is simply vent and maybe point and laugh a little... isn't that what you're supposed to do when someone flashes you?
Now I know that people in committed, romantic relationships do things like send pics of their naughty bits to their beloved and I'm not commenting pro or con on that topic... but SERIOUSLY, what in the hell can make a mature adult commit said naughty bits to the infinite universe of 0's and 1's in megabytes and teleport them to a mere acquaintance or someone who's a friend/co-worker/school mate and think it's a good idea? What about it says anything other than "Hi... I'm a boorish, self-indulgent, unaware, disrespectful, adolescent. And also, I'm in love with my winky."
You open an innocent text message expecting some mundane missive and what you get is something that sets your brain churning and leaves you feeling the need for a Silkwood-style scrub down...
EWW! What'samatta, you? Were you raised by wolves for crap sake? You gonna hug your mama with the hands that did that?!
Oy!
I suppose if you've had a history of bad relationship choices, have insecurity and damage and are always seeking and wanting the wrong approval the wrong way, letting it drive you to do things you don't even care to do, then it's not to hard to imagine responding in whatever flirty/sexy way you think the sender's expecting. I certainly know gals that would...
But it's equally easy to imagine ultimately being left feeling empty, disappointed, embarrassed and/or hurt when the crass reply comes back to that would inevitably follow...
With the failures and insecurities that litter my life's path, I still very much want approval and love and support... but what I also know is someone centered so squarely on their own indulgent wants that they would do something so questionable is NOT prepared to offer any of those things and I don't for a SECOND think that there is ANY sentiment behind something like that EXCEPT skeeze. Hellooooooo, McFlyyyyyy...?! Duh!
And you remember it too girls... you're worth FAR more than responding in any way other than the one suggested by a friend... "Wow, that's crass... and classless... all at the same time...", and it's SO important no matter how much forgiving and/or forgetting you're willing to do that you take a moment, rap on your own forehead Biff-style and see the real picture and KNOW, without a shred of doubt, if he sent it to you he's sending it to others. Bank on it.
And since, in my universe, there is only me and I don't always share well with others, I say slip the headlock and walk away...
OMG! There's a full moon and with it apparently come naked penis cell pictures and utter instanity.
Naked penis cell pics... like skeezy little business cards, if you will... harbingers of ill, bearers of bad feeling...
Maybe you've gotten one from someone you've met casually who asked for your number, you get a text, flip your phone open and VIOLA! Jim Dandy's Yankee Doodle staring back at you with a caption to "Call me!". Or maybe someone you already know in some capacity does it... friend, co-worker, school mate... 'normal', conversational texting back and forth and then BAM! Penis cam, anyone?!
::shudder::
SERIOUSLY??
And in expressing my incredulity at the phenom, two friends have told me it's 'normal' (aaaaand we're back to Doc Kyle using the word healthy because what passes for normal these days is inSANE!)! One friend's my age and said he's had multiple women tell him they've received them... randomly, new acquaintances, BOOM. Another friend, nearly young enough to be my daughter so apparently it's not a generational thing, says yup... she's gotten a handful as well (again, SO sorry about the pun).
Brain bleach and smacking the 'erase' button as fast as your little ham hands can hit the button are the short term solutions... but what about the long term and what it says? About him? About you/her?
And THIS is where this blog's broken down...
It was going to be a deep introspective about how one of these beastly little skeezer-cards puts the recipient into a headlock of sorts; held immobile by a brain-churn that takes way too much energy and time wondering what deeply rooted dysfunction it spells out about the sender and what the recipients reaction says about them...
But frankly, I've decided I just don't want to look at it that closely any more. I've spent a week with this muddying my thoughts, trying to turn it over and examine it and find a way to loosen the headlock...
And all I've done is spent good energy after bad...
There is no explaining it, rationalizing it, making it anything other than what it is... I think, instead, what I will do is simply vent and maybe point and laugh a little... isn't that what you're supposed to do when someone flashes you?
Now I know that people in committed, romantic relationships do things like send pics of their naughty bits to their beloved and I'm not commenting pro or con on that topic... but SERIOUSLY, what in the hell can make a mature adult commit said naughty bits to the infinite universe of 0's and 1's in megabytes and teleport them to a mere acquaintance or someone who's a friend/co-worker/school mate and think it's a good idea? What about it says anything other than "Hi... I'm a boorish, self-indulgent, unaware, disrespectful, adolescent. And also, I'm in love with my winky."
You open an innocent text message expecting some mundane missive and what you get is something that sets your brain churning and leaves you feeling the need for a Silkwood-style scrub down...
EWW! What'samatta, you? Were you raised by wolves for crap sake? You gonna hug your mama with the hands that did that?!
Oy!
I suppose if you've had a history of bad relationship choices, have insecurity and damage and are always seeking and wanting the wrong approval the wrong way, letting it drive you to do things you don't even care to do, then it's not to hard to imagine responding in whatever flirty/sexy way you think the sender's expecting. I certainly know gals that would...
But it's equally easy to imagine ultimately being left feeling empty, disappointed, embarrassed and/or hurt when the crass reply comes back to that would inevitably follow...
With the failures and insecurities that litter my life's path, I still very much want approval and love and support... but what I also know is someone centered so squarely on their own indulgent wants that they would do something so questionable is NOT prepared to offer any of those things and I don't for a SECOND think that there is ANY sentiment behind something like that EXCEPT skeeze. Hellooooooo, McFlyyyyyy...?! Duh!
And you remember it too girls... you're worth FAR more than responding in any way other than the one suggested by a friend... "Wow, that's crass... and classless... all at the same time...", and it's SO important no matter how much forgiving and/or forgetting you're willing to do that you take a moment, rap on your own forehead Biff-style and see the real picture and KNOW, without a shred of doubt, if he sent it to you he's sending it to others. Bank on it.
And since, in my universe, there is only me and I don't always share well with others, I say slip the headlock and walk away...
Friday, October 15, 2010
What Goes Around...
Summertime, 1982ish...
My dad was an agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms... he'd briefly served as a Secret Service agent for President Ford... and, as a matter of fact, he'd been in law enforcement since I was a baby...
I'd been sent to live with my dad Christmas of '80 because my mother said she 'couldn't handle [me]'... I was actually pretty normal, I think, in terms of teen experimentation - tried some alcohol and tobacco and had dabbled with pot smoking the few times I was around stoner friends... I never really had a burning (pardon the pun) desire to really smoke it but I damned sure didn't want to be considered the huge dork I actually was... that and I'm a total follower... ;) I also clearly wasn't normal in terms of thinking ahead... but I'm gettin' a little ahead of myself...
I had neighborhood stoner friends who regularly 'burned one', but I'd never been brave enough to do much more than buy the ocassional joint... soooo... it was pretty big stuff for me to decide I would buy a 'nickel' bag of pot for my very own... I got my five whole dollars (saved, ironically, from the lunch money my dad gave me each week) and went to my friend, Greg, and as calmly and coolly as a dumbass such as myself could, arranged 'the deal'...
Now honestly, I wasn't entirely sure what the hell I'd do when I actually got it - again, I'd only dabbled up to that point - but whooooaaaa, Nelly, did I feel WAY cool when the expected delivery date arrived! Of course I had to ACT cool - no mean feat when you're nearly running in place from nerves and anticipation - because I did NOT, of course, want him to know what I giant dork I was when he put it in my hot little hands (as though that wasn't probably abundantly clear to him already... we did, after all, 'hang out' daily!)!
Delivered... ::heart palpitating:: now what... ::hands sweaty:: shit... ::eye roll:: I didn't EEEEEEVEN think of how to actually smoke it once I got it so all I had was a baggie full of pot and... well... nothing... no bowl, no papers, no nothing... and frankly, I was such a rube I really didn't know where to GET any of those things either! ::sigh::
I couldn't tell you where I got whatever means I used to smoke my treasure... I couldn't tell you whether I even smoked much OF it... what I CAN tell you is that somewhere down the road, weeks later, I still had probably half of what I'd started with... and I realized something... after time spent in my purse and back pack, the clumps of pot had broken apart and there were tiiiiiiny little seeds in the corners of the baggie that looked much like the seeds in corned beef...
Hmmmm...
Now, my gramma was an amazing woman and well rounded; read to the handicapped, president of her NOW chapter, golfed, etc... and that woman could make anything grow... ANYthing... I, howesomeever, had a thumb equally brown to her green one... buuuuut... if I could just remember what she'd taught me and take those little seeeeeeds and make them groooow... <eg>
::music swells to a crescendo::
::music peters out::
Actually, I didn't have a clue what I would do with them if I could make them grow... it really just came down to wondering if I could... a challenge, if you will... =D
Soooo, I got my American Freedom Train coffee cup from the kitchen where it hung on a wooden peg rack over the sink...
And I'll digress here for a moment... the American Freedom Train was a 26-car train pulled by three newly restored steam locomotives that toured the country in '75-'76 for the Bicentennial... it came to our area and I toured it on a school field trip, buying my coffee mug (white with red/white/blue steam locomotive logo and - though I did not drink coffee at the ripe age of 11 - the only thing I could afford since my mom was notoriously cheap. I mean thrifty.) in the tiny little train car gift shop... it was one of the few things in my father's house that was 'MINE' and I was proud of it...
Anyway... so I get my cup, I fill it with some soil from a bag in the utility room, I push half a dozen little pot seeds down into the soil and I water it lightly. I don't know where my folks were but I was totally covert anyway and I took it to my room... eyeballing my space, and decided that out of the two outer wall windows I had since I was on the corner of the house, the one overlooking the side/back yard was primo! After all, since the driveway pulled up right under my front window, ANY Bozo could see it if I put it there... ::huge eye roll here::
So I tucked my little cup neatly behind the bottom edge of the priscilla curtain hanging in my window and left it to incubate with the water and sun to germinate what I considered my status boosting seedlings...
Now I can't tell you how long I left that cup there... I know I checked it daily and nearly fainted from shock and panic when the little green tipped plants actually began to poke their little heads from 'neath the soil... "They're growing!! Wait... THEY'RE GROWING?!!"... and I know that I made sure to remember ALL the pointers my grandmother'd given me about growing...
Poke your finger in the soil to make sure it doesn't get to dry...
Poke your finter in the soil to make sure it isn't too wet...
Make sure it gets enough sun to grow...
Make sure it doesn't get so much sun as to burn...
I cringe in my gramma's memory relating that part, I know she'd've been much more impressed with some lovely snap dragons or pansies...
Anyway, I was a very dedicated plant mama and my little seeds turned into little spikes, spikes into little two-leafed plants that turned into three-leafed ones...
And then it happened...
While my front window was directly overlooking the driveway and, therefore, a monumentally bonehead place to hide my contraban... my side window overlooked... are you ready for this... the side yard... where the pool was... where the grass grew... where my dad got on his riding mower and mowed... my dad... the ATF/Secret Service agent...
::sigh::
And now we're back to "And then it happened..."
I came home from school... Pop's at work, step-mom & l'il bro' are either out or downstairs... I go to my room... I put my stuff down and kick off my shoes... I putter for a few minutes... laallaaaa laaaa... I lift the edge of the priscilla curtain to check my little plant that I hadn't looked at the day before... had I? Had I checked it and moved it? Had I forgotten and stuck it somewhere else for 'safekeeping'? Shit! Ok. Now I was REALLY running in place. It was utter disbelief for a few minutes... I tore my room apart and went through every drawer, nook and cranny multiple times, SURE I'd just missed it and rolling a thousand scenarios over in my head hoping I'd just forgotten that I'd done something smart and purposeful with that damned little cup of trouble...
::sigh::
Nope. I knew it. It was gone. And I knew who had it.
Pop.
But I hoped. If there's one thing I've always been it's stupidly optimistic and the QUEEN of compartmentalization (read: ignoring)... I hoped that maybe my step-mom'd taken it and tossed it thinking it was trash and wouldn't think to say anything... I hoped I really HAD done something dorky with it and just didn't remember... again, a thousand scenarios.
But I said nothing. Noooo need calling attention to myself if it hadn't been found, right? Oy.
I don't remember, again, how long aftewards it was that my dad called me downstairs... I think it was a few days... of twisting in the wind... agonized... sweating bullets... and then "THE TALK"... "WHAT were you DOING?! You know I work for the United States Government, don't you?!!", "Alcohol.", "Tobacco.", "Firearms" he recited staccato, as though speaking to the biggest imbecile in the world (yes, yes, I know)... "I knoooow, I don't knooooww what I was doing... I really didn't think they would grow!"... "Then why??"... "I don't know, I just wanted to see if I could do it!".
No, Pop never believed me. It was true, but he never believed me...
Now the saaaa-WEET part...
Flash forward to about 2001...
My daughter's bedroom...
I'm cleaning and picking up dirty clothes for the laundry and I notice one of the drawers about halfway up her chest of drawers is sitting about half open...
I go to close it and realize it's nearly empty... save a small container... a small Wal-mart container... like the ones they package potato salad in from the deli... and it's got something in it... "Hmmh... looks like dirt... wait... and there's something gree... WHAT the HELL??!!"
Em's pot plant.
I took it out. I took it to my room. Eyeballed it. Thought long and hard about it. Emily came home from school. I was still in my room. On the floor, cleaning out on of my dresser drawers... and I call her in.
She comes to the door and sees me in the floor... and I ask her... "So, whatcha got in your dresser?"
She eyeballs me warily and says "Huh?" (my favorite slack-jaw teenage response)
I ask again. "I don't know, what're you talking about?", she says with the look that tells me my princess, my delicate flower, knows EXACTLY what I'm talking about...
So I take it out. The container. And Emily, who's always been FAR more brazen than I ever hoped to be just stands there looking me in the eye. A little defiant, really. And I was the one who couldn't stand it... no twisting in the wind for her... no agonizing... sweating bullets... and no real "TALK"...
But...
I did ask her exactly what Pop had asked me all those years ago... "WHAT were you DOING?!" "I don't knooooww... I really didn't think they would grow!", she said... "Then why??" I asked... just the same as my Pop...
and as I sat in my floor, looking up at her and waiting for her answer, ready for the discipline I'd have to mete out, I heard it...
It was the most surreal moment of my parents-coming-back-to-haunt-me universe... and the most amusing... I truly felt my Pop's pain for the first time in my life and I couldn't do a damned thing but laugh...
"I don't know, I just wanted to see if I could do it!".
Wait. What?
And I knew it'd come back around...
My dad was an agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms... he'd briefly served as a Secret Service agent for President Ford... and, as a matter of fact, he'd been in law enforcement since I was a baby...
I'd been sent to live with my dad Christmas of '80 because my mother said she 'couldn't handle [me]'... I was actually pretty normal, I think, in terms of teen experimentation - tried some alcohol and tobacco and had dabbled with pot smoking the few times I was around stoner friends... I never really had a burning (pardon the pun) desire to really smoke it but I damned sure didn't want to be considered the huge dork I actually was... that and I'm a total follower... ;) I also clearly wasn't normal in terms of thinking ahead... but I'm gettin' a little ahead of myself...
I had neighborhood stoner friends who regularly 'burned one', but I'd never been brave enough to do much more than buy the ocassional joint... soooo... it was pretty big stuff for me to decide I would buy a 'nickel' bag of pot for my very own... I got my five whole dollars (saved, ironically, from the lunch money my dad gave me each week) and went to my friend, Greg, and as calmly and coolly as a dumbass such as myself could, arranged 'the deal'...
Now honestly, I wasn't entirely sure what the hell I'd do when I actually got it - again, I'd only dabbled up to that point - but whooooaaaa, Nelly, did I feel WAY cool when the expected delivery date arrived! Of course I had to ACT cool - no mean feat when you're nearly running in place from nerves and anticipation - because I did NOT, of course, want him to know what I giant dork I was when he put it in my hot little hands (as though that wasn't probably abundantly clear to him already... we did, after all, 'hang out' daily!)!
Delivered... ::heart palpitating:: now what... ::hands sweaty:: shit... ::eye roll:: I didn't EEEEEEVEN think of how to actually smoke it once I got it so all I had was a baggie full of pot and... well... nothing... no bowl, no papers, no nothing... and frankly, I was such a rube I really didn't know where to GET any of those things either! ::sigh::
I couldn't tell you where I got whatever means I used to smoke my treasure... I couldn't tell you whether I even smoked much OF it... what I CAN tell you is that somewhere down the road, weeks later, I still had probably half of what I'd started with... and I realized something... after time spent in my purse and back pack, the clumps of pot had broken apart and there were tiiiiiiny little seeds in the corners of the baggie that looked much like the seeds in corned beef...
Hmmmm...
Now, my gramma was an amazing woman and well rounded; read to the handicapped, president of her NOW chapter, golfed, etc... and that woman could make anything grow... ANYthing... I, howesomeever, had a thumb equally brown to her green one... buuuuut... if I could just remember what she'd taught me and take those little seeeeeeds and make them groooow... <eg>
::music swells to a crescendo::
::music peters out::
Actually, I didn't have a clue what I would do with them if I could make them grow... it really just came down to wondering if I could... a challenge, if you will... =D
Soooo, I got my American Freedom Train coffee cup from the kitchen where it hung on a wooden peg rack over the sink...
And I'll digress here for a moment... the American Freedom Train was a 26-car train pulled by three newly restored steam locomotives that toured the country in '75-'76 for the Bicentennial... it came to our area and I toured it on a school field trip, buying my coffee mug (white with red/white/blue steam locomotive logo and - though I did not drink coffee at the ripe age of 11 - the only thing I could afford since my mom was notoriously cheap. I mean thrifty.) in the tiny little train car gift shop... it was one of the few things in my father's house that was 'MINE' and I was proud of it...
Anyway... so I get my cup, I fill it with some soil from a bag in the utility room, I push half a dozen little pot seeds down into the soil and I water it lightly. I don't know where my folks were but I was totally covert anyway and I took it to my room... eyeballing my space, and decided that out of the two outer wall windows I had since I was on the corner of the house, the one overlooking the side/back yard was primo! After all, since the driveway pulled up right under my front window, ANY Bozo could see it if I put it there... ::huge eye roll here::
So I tucked my little cup neatly behind the bottom edge of the priscilla curtain hanging in my window and left it to incubate with the water and sun to germinate what I considered my status boosting seedlings...
Now I can't tell you how long I left that cup there... I know I checked it daily and nearly fainted from shock and panic when the little green tipped plants actually began to poke their little heads from 'neath the soil... "They're growing!! Wait... THEY'RE GROWING?!!"... and I know that I made sure to remember ALL the pointers my grandmother'd given me about growing...
Poke your finger in the soil to make sure it doesn't get to dry...
Poke your finter in the soil to make sure it isn't too wet...
Make sure it gets enough sun to grow...
Make sure it doesn't get so much sun as to burn...
I cringe in my gramma's memory relating that part, I know she'd've been much more impressed with some lovely snap dragons or pansies...
Anyway, I was a very dedicated plant mama and my little seeds turned into little spikes, spikes into little two-leafed plants that turned into three-leafed ones...
And then it happened...
While my front window was directly overlooking the driveway and, therefore, a monumentally bonehead place to hide my contraban... my side window overlooked... are you ready for this... the side yard... where the pool was... where the grass grew... where my dad got on his riding mower and mowed... my dad... the ATF/Secret Service agent...
::sigh::
And now we're back to "And then it happened..."
I came home from school... Pop's at work, step-mom & l'il bro' are either out or downstairs... I go to my room... I put my stuff down and kick off my shoes... I putter for a few minutes... laallaaaa laaaa... I lift the edge of the priscilla curtain to check my little plant that I hadn't looked at the day before... had I? Had I checked it and moved it? Had I forgotten and stuck it somewhere else for 'safekeeping'? Shit! Ok. Now I was REALLY running in place. It was utter disbelief for a few minutes... I tore my room apart and went through every drawer, nook and cranny multiple times, SURE I'd just missed it and rolling a thousand scenarios over in my head hoping I'd just forgotten that I'd done something smart and purposeful with that damned little cup of trouble...
::sigh::
Nope. I knew it. It was gone. And I knew who had it.
Pop.
But I hoped. If there's one thing I've always been it's stupidly optimistic and the QUEEN of compartmentalization (read: ignoring)... I hoped that maybe my step-mom'd taken it and tossed it thinking it was trash and wouldn't think to say anything... I hoped I really HAD done something dorky with it and just didn't remember... again, a thousand scenarios.
But I said nothing. Noooo need calling attention to myself if it hadn't been found, right? Oy.
I don't remember, again, how long aftewards it was that my dad called me downstairs... I think it was a few days... of twisting in the wind... agonized... sweating bullets... and then "THE TALK"... "WHAT were you DOING?! You know I work for the United States Government, don't you?!!", "Alcohol.", "Tobacco.", "Firearms" he recited staccato, as though speaking to the biggest imbecile in the world (yes, yes, I know)... "I knoooow, I don't knooooww what I was doing... I really didn't think they would grow!"... "Then why??"... "I don't know, I just wanted to see if I could do it!".
No, Pop never believed me. It was true, but he never believed me...
Now the saaaa-WEET part...
Flash forward to about 2001...
My daughter's bedroom...
I'm cleaning and picking up dirty clothes for the laundry and I notice one of the drawers about halfway up her chest of drawers is sitting about half open...
I go to close it and realize it's nearly empty... save a small container... a small Wal-mart container... like the ones they package potato salad in from the deli... and it's got something in it... "Hmmh... looks like dirt... wait... and there's something gree... WHAT the HELL??!!"
Em's pot plant.
I took it out. I took it to my room. Eyeballed it. Thought long and hard about it. Emily came home from school. I was still in my room. On the floor, cleaning out on of my dresser drawers... and I call her in.
She comes to the door and sees me in the floor... and I ask her... "So, whatcha got in your dresser?"
She eyeballs me warily and says "Huh?" (my favorite slack-jaw teenage response)
I ask again. "I don't know, what're you talking about?", she says with the look that tells me my princess, my delicate flower, knows EXACTLY what I'm talking about...
So I take it out. The container. And Emily, who's always been FAR more brazen than I ever hoped to be just stands there looking me in the eye. A little defiant, really. And I was the one who couldn't stand it... no twisting in the wind for her... no agonizing... sweating bullets... and no real "TALK"...
But...
I did ask her exactly what Pop had asked me all those years ago... "WHAT were you DOING?!" "I don't knooooww... I really didn't think they would grow!", she said... "Then why??" I asked... just the same as my Pop...
and as I sat in my floor, looking up at her and waiting for her answer, ready for the discipline I'd have to mete out, I heard it...
It was the most surreal moment of my parents-coming-back-to-haunt-me universe... and the most amusing... I truly felt my Pop's pain for the first time in my life and I couldn't do a damned thing but laugh...
"I don't know, I just wanted to see if I could do it!".
Wait. What?
And I knew it'd come back around...
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Kids Say the Darndest Things...
The grandboys, Thursdays w/ me and Eye Spy:
I get my grandboys every Thursday while their mom works her 'late' night... I often deliver them to her at work to facilitate an earlier arrival home for them...
Me: I spy something blue... (sitting in mom's work parking lot, facing and choosing a small, metal handicap parking sign)
Elijah (5) and brother Matthew (7) make multiple guesses until mommy comes out of work...
Me: Ok, guys, mommy's here... give up?
E&M: YEEEEESS!! What IS it??
Me: See the sign over there...? It has blue with some red writing on it?
E&M: Looking everywhere but where I'm pointing, of course... "No, what is it??"
Me: (realizing maybe using the correct label of what I've 'spied' will be more recognizable for them) "See the handicap parking sign over there...?"
Elijah: (leaning up between the seats, very excitedly exclaiming) "YES!! The one with the GRAMPA on it!!"
::fade to black with loud laughter and one puzzled 5 y.o.::
Me, Emily and Tacos:
Emily, age 4ish... I would drive her to daycare each morning, hand jacked back between the seats so I could hold her hand all the way to 'school' (losing ALL feeling!) and then pick her up each evening and hear all about her day...
Em: "Mommy, mommy, I leawned a new nuwsewy whyme today at school, you wanna heaw it??"
Me: "Of course I want to hear it, go ahead!"
Em: "Ok... Maaawy, Maaawy, quite contwawy, how does youw gaah-den gwow? Wif' silvew bellws and taco shellws an' pwetty maids allw inna wow...!"
::uncontrolled laughter, baffled toddler::
Michael David Awful Dean and Budding Independence:
Michael, age 6ish, hands on buffet, feet back and spread so he's almost doing a push-up, one leg swinging back and front... each of us asserting some long forgotten point...
Me: "Michael, I said yes..."
Michael: "Noooo, mommy..."
Me: "Michael David, I said yes!"
Michael: "No, mommy, I don't want to..."
Me: "And why not, Michael David...?!"
Michael: "Pee-cause me saaaay so, mommy!"
::stifled laughter from behind my hand::
Emily Sarah and Budding Independence:
Emily, age 7ish, butt leaning on the side of her bed, arms folded across her chest, me standing in her doorway & her back to me... each of us asserting some long forgotten point...
Me: "No, Emily..."
Em: "Yes, mommy!"
Me: "I said no, Emily, and I mean it and I don't want to hear another word about it!"
::I turn to leave the room::
Em: (muttered under her breath to my back) "Yooouuu bitch!"
::stifled guffaws from the bathroom where I sequestered myself as I marveled that not only did my 7 year old SAY what she said, but with appropriate application and vehemence::
Michael David and Pirate Ships:
Michael, age 7ish... insanely proud owner of an enormous Fisher Price pirate ship with lots of lovely, losable little men and pieces that he played with night and day... discussing some topic with his step-dad, Mark, who's made some point to Michael D...
Michael: "No it isn't, new-Mahk"
Carlock: "Sure it is, Buddy..."
Michael: "Nuh uh, new-Mahk... liar, liar, BOAT's on fire!"
::peales of laughter from both adults, another perplexed young'un::
The Ponies:
A former co-worker's friend recently took her granddaughter to the mall to ride the hobby horses. The grandmother put several quarters into the machine but nothing happened and finally, she had to tell her granddaughter she didn't have any more money. That evening when the granddaughter's parents picked her up, they asked her what she and her grandmother had done that day.
Her reply: "Well, Grandma lost all her money on the horses." =D
Radio Edit...
I took the grandboys with me to my son's final (senior year) parents' night band presentation (senior year)... the entire band marches in the public entrance to the auditorium behind the audience, drum corp first and going directly to the stage, the rest of the band behind them and ringing the auditorium and essentially giving us a concert 'in the round'...
The band plays full volume as though they're on the field and it's thundrous and absolutely resplendent!
The boys, now 7 and 5, were TOTALLY mezmerized and never moved except to stare in awe around the auditorium at all the teenagers playing their hearts out at full volume...
I often, on our way to meet their mom at her work, put on a few of our favorite "toe-tappin'" songs and me and the boys will sing along at full volume with them often asking me to "Play it again, Grammommy!"...
So at the end, of the parents' night band concert, as the last notes were fading away... the littlest grandboy turns to me and says, "Hey, Grammommy..."
"Yes, Elijah?"
Elijah, continuing to look wide-eyed around the auditorium at all the band members, "We should get that music for our radio!" =D
**** I'll continue to update when I think of more or when more material's made available to me but in the meantime let me say that here's one of the many reasons I love to be around kids... there is NO better laughter or enjoyment in this world than the usually unintended humour of a child and I, for one, love to soak in the joy it gives my little universe. ****
I get my grandboys every Thursday while their mom works her 'late' night... I often deliver them to her at work to facilitate an earlier arrival home for them...
Me: I spy something blue... (sitting in mom's work parking lot, facing and choosing a small, metal handicap parking sign)
Elijah (5) and brother Matthew (7) make multiple guesses until mommy comes out of work...
Me: Ok, guys, mommy's here... give up?
E&M: YEEEEESS!! What IS it??
Me: See the sign over there...? It has blue with some red writing on it?
E&M: Looking everywhere but where I'm pointing, of course... "No, what is it??"
Me: (realizing maybe using the correct label of what I've 'spied' will be more recognizable for them) "See the handicap parking sign over there...?"
Elijah: (leaning up between the seats, very excitedly exclaiming) "YES!! The one with the GRAMPA on it!!"
::fade to black with loud laughter and one puzzled 5 y.o.::
Me, Emily and Tacos:
Emily, age 4ish... I would drive her to daycare each morning, hand jacked back between the seats so I could hold her hand all the way to 'school' (losing ALL feeling!) and then pick her up each evening and hear all about her day...
Em: "Mommy, mommy, I leawned a new nuwsewy whyme today at school, you wanna heaw it??"
Me: "Of course I want to hear it, go ahead!"
Em: "Ok... Maaawy, Maaawy, quite contwawy, how does youw gaah-den gwow? Wif' silvew bellws and taco shellws an' pwetty maids allw inna wow...!"
::uncontrolled laughter, baffled toddler::
Michael David Awful Dean and Budding Independence:
Michael, age 6ish, hands on buffet, feet back and spread so he's almost doing a push-up, one leg swinging back and front... each of us asserting some long forgotten point...
Me: "Michael, I said yes..."
Michael: "Noooo, mommy..."
Me: "Michael David, I said yes!"
Michael: "No, mommy, I don't want to..."
Me: "And why not, Michael David...?!"
Michael: "Pee-cause me saaaay so, mommy!"
::stifled laughter from behind my hand::
Emily Sarah and Budding Independence:
Emily, age 7ish, butt leaning on the side of her bed, arms folded across her chest, me standing in her doorway & her back to me... each of us asserting some long forgotten point...
Me: "No, Emily..."
Em: "Yes, mommy!"
Me: "I said no, Emily, and I mean it and I don't want to hear another word about it!"
::I turn to leave the room::
Em: (muttered under her breath to my back) "Yooouuu bitch!"
::stifled guffaws from the bathroom where I sequestered myself as I marveled that not only did my 7 year old SAY what she said, but with appropriate application and vehemence::
Michael David and Pirate Ships:
Michael, age 7ish... insanely proud owner of an enormous Fisher Price pirate ship with lots of lovely, losable little men and pieces that he played with night and day... discussing some topic with his step-dad, Mark, who's made some point to Michael D...
Michael: "No it isn't, new-Mahk"
Carlock: "Sure it is, Buddy..."
Michael: "Nuh uh, new-Mahk... liar, liar, BOAT's on fire!"
::peales of laughter from both adults, another perplexed young'un::
The Ponies:
A former co-worker's friend recently took her granddaughter to the mall to ride the hobby horses. The grandmother put several quarters into the machine but nothing happened and finally, she had to tell her granddaughter she didn't have any more money. That evening when the granddaughter's parents picked her up, they asked her what she and her grandmother had done that day.
Her reply: "Well, Grandma lost all her money on the horses." =D
Radio Edit...
I took the grandboys with me to my son's final (senior year) parents' night band presentation (senior year)... the entire band marches in the public entrance to the auditorium behind the audience, drum corp first and going directly to the stage, the rest of the band behind them and ringing the auditorium and essentially giving us a concert 'in the round'...
The band plays full volume as though they're on the field and it's thundrous and absolutely resplendent!
The boys, now 7 and 5, were TOTALLY mezmerized and never moved except to stare in awe around the auditorium at all the teenagers playing their hearts out at full volume...
I often, on our way to meet their mom at her work, put on a few of our favorite "toe-tappin'" songs and me and the boys will sing along at full volume with them often asking me to "Play it again, Grammommy!"...
So at the end, of the parents' night band concert, as the last notes were fading away... the littlest grandboy turns to me and says, "Hey, Grammommy..."
"Yes, Elijah?"
Elijah, continuing to look wide-eyed around the auditorium at all the band members, "We should get that music for our radio!" =D
**** I'll continue to update when I think of more or when more material's made available to me but in the meantime let me say that here's one of the many reasons I love to be around kids... there is NO better laughter or enjoyment in this world than the usually unintended humour of a child and I, for one, love to soak in the joy it gives my little universe. ****
Revolutions...
I just have never..." ~Neo
"Heard a program speak of love?" ~Rama-Kandra
"It's a... human emotion." ~Neo
"No, it is a word. What matters is the connection the word implies. I see that you are in love. Can you tell me what you would give to hold on to that connection?" ~Rama-Kandra
"Anything." ~Neo
Simply stated, this is what every human wants, I think.
What I can't fathom is... we all seem to want that amazing connection but so often are just flat unwilling to do the work to achieve it... to hold onto that connection...
To quote a friend "Some [people] see beneath the surface and love that aspect of connecting mentally. Others just want to touch the surface."
Yep, because to see beneath the surface and connect mentally takes effort, dedication, purpose... touching the surface, not so much. But the reward... man, oh MAN... our folks always told us anything worth doing is worth doing right... right? So the reward has got to be amazing for the effort, right??
I've spent so much time in relationships that never connected it's sad, really... I appreciate that I learned from each one and I wouldn't trade the experience, but the time invested was not always positive or productive... the first one was because I was young and didn't think I had anywhere to go and was too inexperienced, insecure and just plain scared to try to stand on my own; the second was because I was pregnant & depressed and thought it would be stability for my daughter and unborn baby; the third was because he had doubts, I walked away, he didn't want anyone else playing with his 'toy' and came back, and I 'won'. Didn't I? Um. And those were the ones I made legal... the last one was 5 years. I was totally committed. May as well have had the paper but wasn't sure I'd ever do that again. Net, net... same result... it was, again, for the wrong reasons. And each one had the same thread... I thought I could change them... fix them... save them... and there was ultimately no connection. ::sigh::
So these days, the whole subject of love and connection fascinates me in a way it never has before... is it my age? My 'experience'? Desperation? ;) Over the last couple of years I've done some soul-searching, some introspection, some working on me... I've looked at my past motivations... I've looked at what I rationally want and expect from a partner. I've realized that to settle because something is comfortable and safe is not where I want to be ever again because while comfort is wonderful, boredom is inexcusable...
Boredom means lack of connection...
A conversation with another friend wrestling with connecting had each of us defining what it is to be a savior versus a 'fixer'. I think we're both fixers. He feels he's more a savior.
savior - a person who saves, rescues or delivers (from harm)...
fixer - a person who desires to fix, rescue or support something/someone that's broken...
I think it's essentially the same.
And on inspection, I think rationally what we really want is to be and have a partner...
partner - a person who is associated with another in some action or endeavor; a player on the same side or team as another...
His thoughts on partnership hit it on the head and I'll paraphrase... [we all seem to want] a partnership so strong neither can imagine it being any other way... where not being together is unthinkable... and I'll add, one in which it cannot be imagined that any aspect of your life good and/or bad happens without the other a part of it, sharing it. Seeing beneath the surface and connecting... love... the connection that the word implies...
To make that deep, meaningful, can't-exist-without-you connection... to see beneath the surface and connect mentally... to make the effort, have the dedication, have the purpose... because the reward... man, oh MAN... to be joined together in the endeavor... to be on the same side as another... to do it right because it's worth it... to connect, to protect, to be protected... amazing reward... that's what I want in my universe.
"Heard a program speak of love?" ~Rama-Kandra
"It's a... human emotion." ~Neo
"No, it is a word. What matters is the connection the word implies. I see that you are in love. Can you tell me what you would give to hold on to that connection?" ~Rama-Kandra
"Anything." ~Neo
Simply stated, this is what every human wants, I think.
What I can't fathom is... we all seem to want that amazing connection but so often are just flat unwilling to do the work to achieve it... to hold onto that connection...
To quote a friend "Some [people] see beneath the surface and love that aspect of connecting mentally. Others just want to touch the surface."
Yep, because to see beneath the surface and connect mentally takes effort, dedication, purpose... touching the surface, not so much. But the reward... man, oh MAN... our folks always told us anything worth doing is worth doing right... right? So the reward has got to be amazing for the effort, right??
I've spent so much time in relationships that never connected it's sad, really... I appreciate that I learned from each one and I wouldn't trade the experience, but the time invested was not always positive or productive... the first one was because I was young and didn't think I had anywhere to go and was too inexperienced, insecure and just plain scared to try to stand on my own; the second was because I was pregnant & depressed and thought it would be stability for my daughter and unborn baby; the third was because he had doubts, I walked away, he didn't want anyone else playing with his 'toy' and came back, and I 'won'. Didn't I? Um. And those were the ones I made legal... the last one was 5 years. I was totally committed. May as well have had the paper but wasn't sure I'd ever do that again. Net, net... same result... it was, again, for the wrong reasons. And each one had the same thread... I thought I could change them... fix them... save them... and there was ultimately no connection. ::sigh::
So these days, the whole subject of love and connection fascinates me in a way it never has before... is it my age? My 'experience'? Desperation? ;) Over the last couple of years I've done some soul-searching, some introspection, some working on me... I've looked at my past motivations... I've looked at what I rationally want and expect from a partner. I've realized that to settle because something is comfortable and safe is not where I want to be ever again because while comfort is wonderful, boredom is inexcusable...
Boredom means lack of connection...
A conversation with another friend wrestling with connecting had each of us defining what it is to be a savior versus a 'fixer'. I think we're both fixers. He feels he's more a savior.
savior - a person who saves, rescues or delivers (from harm)...
fixer - a person who desires to fix, rescue or support something/someone that's broken...
I think it's essentially the same.
And on inspection, I think rationally what we really want is to be and have a partner...
partner - a person who is associated with another in some action or endeavor; a player on the same side or team as another...
His thoughts on partnership hit it on the head and I'll paraphrase... [we all seem to want] a partnership so strong neither can imagine it being any other way... where not being together is unthinkable... and I'll add, one in which it cannot be imagined that any aspect of your life good and/or bad happens without the other a part of it, sharing it. Seeing beneath the surface and connecting... love... the connection that the word implies...
To make that deep, meaningful, can't-exist-without-you connection... to see beneath the surface and connect mentally... to make the effort, have the dedication, have the purpose... because the reward... man, oh MAN... to be joined together in the endeavor... to be on the same side as another... to do it right because it's worth it... to connect, to protect, to be protected... amazing reward... that's what I want in my universe.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Truth or Consequences
Building on a comment from a previous post... I believe firmly in truth. And if I don't get it or give it, I believe firmly in manning up and taking your lumps. I try to give and I expect truth from everyone in my life; I am often disappointed.
I've always told those around me... "Tell me the truth up front no matter how much it sucks because I may get pissed but I'll work through it and I'll get over it; if you lie to me and I find out, though, I'll be WAY more pissed and you'll have a FAR bigger problem on your hands (and we always seem to find out, don't we?)."
Funny thing about that? In my teens I was an aaaaMAAAAAZING liar! Lie about anything. Color of the sky, whether I'd brushed my teeth, whether I'd walked or run home... you name it. In our household were my mother, me and my younger brother and sister and, looking at a snippet of time when I was about 14 and my brother and sister were ages 4 and 1, here's how it'd go...
MOM: "Sarah, where are my tan corduroys and my white banded collar top?" ME: (indignant, of course) "I don't know, why would I know??"
MOM: "Because they're not in my drawers, they were yesterday, you've worn other clothing of mine, I haven't worn them and no one else in the house would!"
ME: (totally pissy now) "Well I don't knooooow, Mooootheerrrr, I wouldn't wear your stuff anyway, I don't like it!" (yes, totally ignoring the fact I'd been previously busted)
MOM: "Well who WOULD then?!"
ME: "I saaaaid I don't knooooow... maybe Ren or Jen did something with them!!! Why are you always accusing me?!!" (sheauuh, riiiight... what the hell was I THINKing?!)
This back and forth, I'm sorry to say, was often daily and how my mother kept from putting me in a sack and dropping me in the closest river, I'll never know.
::sigh::
The silver lining? I developed an intolerance for my own bullshit... good thing since I have ZERO tolerance for it from anyone else...
This intolerance applies, too, in the case of omitting or dissembling... all too often (usually in the midst of a problem over information not divulged) I've had people say to me, "I thought you knew ABC...", "No, why would I know...?", "Well because I said XYZ." Nope. Didn't have a clue and there's no reason I should. In my universe, if you mean ABC, you say ABC. I try to so I assume everyone else does; I'm not a between-the-lines- or mind-reader and I take things said to me at point-blank, face value.
Truth: IF you say to me "I can't wait for you to get the hell out of my truck!", I take you at your word...
Consequence: I will-by-God-get-the-hell-outta-your-truck, maybe out of your life, and I will NOT understand that you didn't reeeeally mean for me to get the hell out of either.
Truth: IF you tell me you don't like drama, can't stand lies and would never tolerate cheating, it will not occur to me you might dabble in any of the three...
Consequence: I will be utterly shocked and rocked to the core when you create the drama, lie through your teeth and exchange sexts with your 20's-something-cousin's-wife and I will never fully forgive or forget, bank on it.
The converse is also true, of course...
Truth: If I say "I've daydreamed about having more kids.", I do not mean "I want you to be my sperm donor or adoption partner.", but only that I imagine scenarios in my life same as anyone. If I grouse that "I've paid all my bills and I'm a little tight.", I'm not saying "Hey Boyfriend, hand me some money," because I'm proud I can pay my own bills and still provide a descent home for my son and I really just need to grouse and have you sympathize because some days are better than others. If I say "I'm not mad that you'll miss my friend's wedding because you didn't ask off in time but my feelings are hurt so let me deal and I'll get over it.", I don't mean I'm secretly pissed, I really do mean I'm not mad, my feelings are hurt, I'll deal and get over it.
Consequence: If you try to read between my lines, you will be wrong and there will be misunderstandings and probably some arguments.
And the final truth is, the consequence will ultimately be your failure in my universe.
I've always told those around me... "Tell me the truth up front no matter how much it sucks because I may get pissed but I'll work through it and I'll get over it; if you lie to me and I find out, though, I'll be WAY more pissed and you'll have a FAR bigger problem on your hands (and we always seem to find out, don't we?)."
Funny thing about that? In my teens I was an aaaaMAAAAAZING liar! Lie about anything. Color of the sky, whether I'd brushed my teeth, whether I'd walked or run home... you name it. In our household were my mother, me and my younger brother and sister and, looking at a snippet of time when I was about 14 and my brother and sister were ages 4 and 1, here's how it'd go...
MOM: "Sarah, where are my tan corduroys and my white banded collar top?" ME: (indignant, of course) "I don't know, why would I know??"
MOM: "Because they're not in my drawers, they were yesterday, you've worn other clothing of mine, I haven't worn them and no one else in the house would!"
ME: (totally pissy now) "Well I don't knooooow, Mooootheerrrr, I wouldn't wear your stuff anyway, I don't like it!" (yes, totally ignoring the fact I'd been previously busted)
MOM: "Well who WOULD then?!"
ME: "I saaaaid I don't knooooow... maybe Ren or Jen did something with them!!! Why are you always accusing me?!!" (sheauuh, riiiight... what the hell was I THINKing?!)
This back and forth, I'm sorry to say, was often daily and how my mother kept from putting me in a sack and dropping me in the closest river, I'll never know.
::sigh::
The silver lining? I developed an intolerance for my own bullshit... good thing since I have ZERO tolerance for it from anyone else...
This intolerance applies, too, in the case of omitting or dissembling... all too often (usually in the midst of a problem over information not divulged) I've had people say to me, "I thought you knew ABC...", "No, why would I know...?", "Well because I said XYZ." Nope. Didn't have a clue and there's no reason I should. In my universe, if you mean ABC, you say ABC. I try to so I assume everyone else does; I'm not a between-the-lines- or mind-reader and I take things said to me at point-blank, face value.
Truth: IF you say to me "I can't wait for you to get the hell out of my truck!", I take you at your word...
Consequence: I will-by-God-get-the-hell-outta-your-truck, maybe out of your life, and I will NOT understand that you didn't reeeeally mean for me to get the hell out of either.
Truth: IF you tell me you don't like drama, can't stand lies and would never tolerate cheating, it will not occur to me you might dabble in any of the three...
Consequence: I will be utterly shocked and rocked to the core when you create the drama, lie through your teeth and exchange sexts with your 20's-something-cousin's-wife and I will never fully forgive or forget, bank on it.
The converse is also true, of course...
Truth: If I say "I've daydreamed about having more kids.", I do not mean "I want you to be my sperm donor or adoption partner.", but only that I imagine scenarios in my life same as anyone. If I grouse that "I've paid all my bills and I'm a little tight.", I'm not saying "Hey Boyfriend, hand me some money," because I'm proud I can pay my own bills and still provide a descent home for my son and I really just need to grouse and have you sympathize because some days are better than others. If I say "I'm not mad that you'll miss my friend's wedding because you didn't ask off in time but my feelings are hurt so let me deal and I'll get over it.", I don't mean I'm secretly pissed, I really do mean I'm not mad, my feelings are hurt, I'll deal and get over it.
Consequence: If you try to read between my lines, you will be wrong and there will be misunderstandings and probably some arguments.
And the final truth is, the consequence will ultimately be your failure in my universe.
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