Darkness

“No matter how dark the room gets I can always see. It looks emptier when I put the lights on so I don't do it if I can help it. Brightness disagrees with me: it hurts my eyes, wastes electricity and encourages moths, all sorts of things. I sit in the dark for a number of reasons.” 
― Janice Galloway, The Trick Is to Keep Breathing

Perusing Goodreads.com for quotes related to 'Darkness' is generally not to be taken as a good sign, but let's start where we are. And we are in darkness.

The thing about darkness that I'm particularly stuck on is that it doesn't lessen by sharing. You can sit with me in my darkness and it's nice to think, for you at least, I'm sure, that that is helpful. But sharing darkness does nothing to alleviate it and in fact often grows it. And I and my kind are so very acutely aware of its pure contagion, that it becomes almost a moral obligation to the world in general and loved ones in particular to hide it away. To quarantine oneself. To say, through word or action, "Keep your distance - you don't want this."

Any decent therapist, first year psych student, or casual reader of the most pedestrian psycho-blog drivel (erhrmm) - will tell you that you are "isolating" (always the gerund, not sure why) and that "isolating" is a very bad thing. It turns depression in on itself, magnifies it. Leads to "ruminating" (a personal favorite) and, inevitably, "spiraling" (to be avoided at all costs). But that is irrelevant, because if they're selling that drivel then they've never been depressed, or compelled to add to that depression the concern about how said depression affects those around you, which is exhausting and omnipresent. As it should be, otherwise you'd just be a selfish asshole who doesn't care  how their choices (choices?!) affect those around them. And oh but there is a canyon of difference between self-indulgent and selfish. Thank goodness.

So, two things. A) Darkness is not alleviated by sharing and B) Darkness is in fact contagious. Quarantine is clearly the only reasonable response.There is nothing to be gained by its avoidance. But this offers a new challenge, which is how do you not alienate the people who love you with the practice of quarantine? They will feel slighted. They always do. And you will attempt to explain to them that you are sparing them your very ugly pain, and they will either be offended or look at you with the mixture of fear and disgust  reserved for the truly insane. If they're self-centered they'll be offended - of course they can help and how dare you presume otherwise? If they're merely so comfortable in their sanity, the only state they've ever known, they will fear you've gone off the cliff. Either way you've hurt them. There is no winning, which of course exacerbates the fight.

Wee little voice

I witnessed something very strange today. My fearless, ruthless daughter - the one that earned the red-hair-reputation, the one that rules our household with an iron fist - she got nervous today. It was her first day at Pre-K, her first day in a daycare "drop 'em off in the morning, pick 'em up after work" kind of setting....so yeah, okay - "nervous" would be perfectly appropriate. Except I've never seen my Anna nervous before, ever. I don't know that I've ever seen her anything other than overflowing with confidence. Angry, defiant, whiny - all of these things and more - but these generally spring from a misunderstanding around the undeniable fact that she is in charge (funny, not everyone gets that and Anna is constantly having to remind us all). But nervous...nervous is new.

Last night was all excitement. "I will wear my lady bug dress and my new black high heels (not really - sshhhh) and white socks and I want one barrette in my hair - the purple one, even though it won't match because purple is my favorite anyhow and..." This went on for roughly 3 hours.  When I entered her room at 6:30 this morning, she was sitting up in bed "brushing" her hair (unfortunately from the end to the root instead of the other way around).

This morning was all excitement. "I will have cinnamon toast for breakfast because I may not like the lunch there and I want to take my Hello Kitty backpack because Hello Kitty is my favorite and you forgot to give me my vitamins Mommy - the gummy one and the one with sparkles please." (She has ceased calling me "mama" and insists on "mommy" now, and I am heartbroken about it as I am out of babies to call me "Mama")

The drive to the YW was all excitement - she went in with me to drop her brother off in the much cooler "older kids" room, quick to tell anyone who dared grant her more than a passing gaze that today was her first day in Pre-K. You'd think she'd be intimidated by a bunch of 8-year-olds...you'd be wrong.

Then, as we climb the stairs to the Pre-K room, an almost unfamiliar sensation these days: she has willingly, voluntarily deigned to hold my hand. As we walk down the hall and approach the door, her steps have slowed down. We swing the door open and there she is, like any other 4 year old little girl, hiding behind her Mommy.

There were no tears - at least I didn't see any from her, and she didn't see any from me, mostly because I waited until I was back in my car to cry. There were more hugs than usual, and lingering, but no tears. And while I've been anxiously awaiting today - "That little girl needs a brisk wake-up call!" - I now find myself terrified that perhaps I've made a mistake. Yes, I want her to cooperate and to someday move towards acknowledging the slim possibility that other people in the world might know a thing or two about a thing or two, too...but this over-confidence, as much as it pains me daily and causes me to pull my hair out and raise my voice and feel bad about raising my voice and dig in my heels sometimes and cave to avoid the battle others...what I wouldn't give for it. That wee little voice in your head, the one we all carry around? Right now hers always says, "You got this kid, piece of cake." And isn't that what we all wish our little voices said to us? Did I really lament that my daughter lacked self-doubt?

I know, I know...I know. This is just another challenge, another step along the road to independence, and the introduction of "sharing", late as it's come, is better managed now then in Kindergarten. I'm just...I'm nervous. I'm nervous about what her wee little voice will say to her tomorrow morning. I wish I had her confidence...

Thoughts on Moving

I have along and complex relationship with moving. My last house - my marital homestead - I lived in 9 years, and it is the longest I've lived in a house in my entire life. Prior to that was Mt. Wolf (we called it "the white house" - it was white) on the corner of Chestnut & Third. I lived there from the time I was 2 years old till I was 8. In between those two is whirlwind of moving between 3 states 8 school districts and dorm rooms. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I love it all. I love the concept of inventoring all your belongings - thinning out, prioritizing, being forced to decide what you really need (is this worth finding a box?). And it is always, always, a fresh start.

We've got a great place lined up. Some of the creature comforts divorce forced me to turn my back on - dishwasher, central air, etc. But also an amazing back yard, a weeping willow, a deck. It feels...like a happy place to be.

Which is funny, and telling, as I've only "been" there for a 20 minute walk through. But wow is it full of expectations already.

I love "new". I love it. I am, quite literally, addicted to it. I have my own personal New Year's Eve every 3 months, as tortured readers of my blog will attest to, and I embrace it whole-heartedly (read: drink the kool-aid) every time. And this is no different.

Its perfect. I've never fucked up in this house. I've never made a poor choice in this house, be that "one more beer" or "nap instead of run."

I know. Failure is certain - one can't set these ridiculous expectations of perfection and expect to succed. But here's the thing - I think, really, its still worth it.

I've never stuck with a new & improved lifestyle born of one of these self-indulgent re-imaginings - not in full. But...each time, I've picked up a bit of steam. The complete and utter peace I feel when I go to Zensday (DC mediation center) - its not enough to ensure I always make the two hour drive, but it doesn't render the time i DO spend there less valuable.

When Idid the food thing (Sam's first refined sugar ever was his first birthday cake, his second exposure was his second bithday cake) what did I gain? What did he gain? I can't say for sure but he likes clementines better than cookies.

True, now we eat fast food once a week. It could very well be catagorized as a failure.

But I always come back. I always strive for better.

I wonder if i can marry "everything in moderation" with "start from scratch". I'm not saying I'll quit smoking, I'm saying I don't want to be in the habit of smoking a cigarette on my deck, so if I'm desperate I'll walk around the block. I'm not saying I won't drink, but I don't want my kids to see me with a beer in my hand more than once a week (I'd go hard-core on this, but football season is right around the corner).

I don't know if I'll get anywhere. But I know I'd feel like shit if I didn't bother. I'm an oportunist, and this is an opportunity. New house, new Jeanine. Its a familiar concept but nonetheless thrilling. I don't know how to dip my toes (perhaps that's my problem?) but I know how to dive in headfirst. Sometimes it ends in a head injury, sometimes it doesn't. I'm gonna go for it.

toothpaste

this evening, the subject was toothpaste. Papa provides purple toothpaste, while i provide blue though - for the record - mine is sparkly, so...you know. obviously i win this round.
yes i'm joking but it often feels that way. each time sam says "my house" and its obvious he's referring to my ex's place, anna's new propensity for crying 'i miss Papa' every time i put her on timeout or (horror of horrors) say "no". each of these, though i know better, results in a mental tally mark on the chalkboard in my heart.
my parents were really good at this. i am fond of saying, to therapists or coworkers or random single moms at the park, "my parents didn't offer much of an example for marriage, but they set a high bar for how to be divorced." i could count on one hand the times a disparaging comment about the other parent slipped out. christmases, birthdays - we all spend these times together, as a family. me, the kids, mom, dad, dad's wife. it still surprises me today when people find that odd.
and i gotta say we're doing pretty good. we all spend time together at least once a month - the kids, my guy, the ex and i. in fact i do from time to time grow concerned its a bit TOO cozy (do you really need to invite my boyfriend golfing? ask him to pick your bracket for you? come on...) but overall its been good for the kids. they don't feel the pull of duelling loyalties and i'm grateful for that.
but - i'm a child of divorce. i know how this works. you are happier in one place than you are in another and while, as an adult, you may realize you had it totally screwed up...it plagues me. not to the point that i ever wish them a bad time at their dad's - of course i don't - but deep down...i wish them a much better time at mine.
Here's the rub: that's never going to happen. i won't use this blog to disparage my ex's parenting skills, but in the interest of context...i'm the one that says 'no'. i'm the boundary setter and sole enforcer of the rules. as such, i get the lion's share of the fallout.
i find myself at this precipice...like i need to just accept that they will prefer their father, probably until the point at which they have children of their own and realize what parenting entails. and - don't get me wrong - he's a great father, and all that...yada yada yada. he loves them. he's just very very very very very...averse to confrontation (and, maybe a little bit, work, where parenting is concerned). they always get the toy, the candy, whatever. they have to approach burning down the house for any sort of punishment to be handed down. as such - he's fun. he's the fun guy.
and i find myself, stuck inside of moments, really really tempted to follow suit. i'm sure i spoil them more than i would if we were together already. i'm certain of it. its so tempting because in the back of my head there is always this little voice saying, more than anything, "i want them to remember how much fun they had here this week." its not a - its not cause i want them to go tell him that or anything. its not a petty thing. its...honestly, its probably a self-absorbed thing. i want them to have good memories of me.
and the thing about being the lone disciplinarian is that you have to do it MORE than you would otherwise. the first two days at my house are the worst, because they're just accustomed to getting away with everything and that's the mode they're in, so i'm like crazy scolding mama for minimum 48 hours. and i step outside of myself and see those moments and think "geez they must think it really sucks here."
i get it. i know that i have a job to do, and that that job is more important than their reaction to me telling them "no, you can't have McDonald's for dinner (again)". but damn if i don't resent never getting the opportunity to be the fun guy.
that's what i'm struggling to let go of, that resentment. striving for acceptance, once again.