Currently 12.2.13

Hello friends! Pneumonia, stress and writer's block took me away from the laptop for the last month. Thought it'd be good to jump in with a 'currently' post.

Reading: This Is Between Us, by Kevin Sampsell, a brutally honest, often heartbreaking portrayal of love and relationships and the mess they create. Told in a series of vignettes, the book chronicles the relationship of a man and woman over five years, from their first days together to their times apart, and back again. I am IN LOVE with this book. The narrator is entirely frank and unmediated: sometimes I hate him and oftentimes I am just as baffled as he is by his partner and kids. Reading this book is like a love affair in and of itself, but also feels like a retrospective of my own past relationships. As someone who recently left a decades-long relationship, I find iy downright miraculous that Sampsell can be so graceful in showing us the spectrum of what it means to be a relationship: the bravado, the romance, the mistakes -- ones you admit to and ones that you hide -- the juxtaposition of feeling like you know someone better than anyone else in the world while also realizing you may not know them at all.

Working: Two weeks ago I accepted a new position as a pre-K teacher at a private preschool closer to my house. While I wasn't necessarily unhappy at my last school, I was grossly underpaid and overqualified to be potty training three year-olds (which was what most of my day encompassed.) My new school is state-of-the-art, and the position includes much better benefits along with a substantial increase in pay. Settling in hasn't been easy -- my co-teacher doesn't seem especially thrilled to have me there, which has made the transition more stressful than anticipated -- but I'm hoping that time with solve that challenge.

Stressing me out: The relationship with my ex-husband has been disintegrating at a pretty fast rate, for reasons I can't identify. I have gone above and beyond to keep the peace between us, including generously giving up my scheduled time with my kids over Thanksgiving break to allow them extended time to visit with his brother, who came into town for the holiday. My ex adamantly refuses to compromise or engage in constructive conversation with me about our children and our custody schedule. He's been doing really passive-aggressive things like purposely dropping the kids off late. Despite having a girlfriend, financially rewarding career and possession of the home we once shared, the man is incredibly bitter and entitled. I had hoped that after a year of divorce we'd have some resolution, but things are worse than ever, and I have no clue what to do about it aside from strengthening my boundaries with him and refusing to let myself be taken advantage of.

Watching: So many movies. Is there anything better than going to see a movie on a cold fall night, diving into a bucket of popcorn and icy soda and snuggling into your seat with your love by your side as the previews come on? I think not. In the last month, I've seen Gravity, Rush, 12 Years A Slave and Dallas Buyers Club. All were excellent.

Thrifting: On Black Friday I went thrifting, and came across this:



I don't know the person who decided to encrust a rack of antlers in rhinestones and donate them, but I love them. A lot. 

Contemplating This weekend marked the four year anniversary of my most recent discharge from treatment for anorexia and bulimia. There was an inexplicable pattern in my 15 year history of having an eating disorder where I would relapse near the end of summer and end up in treatment around Thanksgiving. This happened at least 6 times. Despite years of therapy and hospitalizations, I am still trying to determine why this time of year is so triggering for me. In any case, I'm deeply thankful to have achieved what most professionals consider a full recovery. During my darkest days, I did not think I'd ever be at the point where I could write honestly and openly about my eating disorder the way I do now, and have put it behind me as completely as I have. If you're reading this and struggling with addiction yourself, please know that recovery is possible. It's the very hardest thing you'll ever do, but it is worth it. I was told, point blank, on more than one occasion that I would never recover. And yet here I am, eating caramel apple pumpkin pie and not giving a damm, happier than ever.


Anatomy of a bad parenting day.

On Sunday morning my twins woke me up at 5 am. It wasn't a day I had to go to work or a day they were required to be at school. There were no religious events to attend and no family meals to prepare and no company coming over. They slammed doors and turned the volume of the computer up until it shook the windows and opened and closed and opened and closed the refrigerator door searching for something to eat. Then they knocked on my door. BANG BANG BANG, looking for me. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom? Mom? MOM. MOM? MOM? MOMMY? MOMMY? Mom. MOM!

I could tell it was going to be a no good, terrible, horrible, awful, very bad day.

At seven am I prepared breakfast. They wanted pancakes. I did not have eggs for pancakes. They wanted bacon. I did not have bacon. They wanted sausage. I did not have sausage. They wanted french toast but not the yucky gross kind made with the healthy whole grain bread that I like to eat but with the squishy yummy white wheat bread that is comprised mostly of corn syrup, fairy dust and glittery rainbows. I did not have the squishy white wheat bread.

It was a no good, terrible, horrible, awful, very bad day.

At nine am I was drinking my third cup of coffee, exhaustedly composing Monday's blog post, when one of my twins settled himself next to me. MOM, he beckoned. Did I know that bellybuttons are really just scabs and there's a new Super Smash Brothers game coming out for the Wii and could I buy more poster board and scotch tape so he can make a Transformer costume and why did Jake get to be on the computer when he hasn't even had a turn yet and that totally isn't fair, and did I want to hear him recite his multiplication tables because he TOTALLY could do it and what were we going to have for lunch? The words swam on my computer screen. My left eyelid began to twitch. I could feel my blood pressure start to rise.

It was a no good, terrible, horrible, awful, very bad day.

At twelve I took one of my twins to the grocery store. The stimulation of passing shoppers and Christmas displays would distract him, I hoped. I wheeled the cart through the store and realized I had forgotten my list. I wanted honeycrisp apples but the store was out of honeycrisp apples and I wanted yellow raisins but there were no yellow raisins and my boy wanted to look at toys but I didn't have money for toys. "Why not, Mom?" he asked. Were we broke? I bought him and his brother a toy each. Every check-out line was blocked by an extreme couponer arguing over that week's price on mustard.

It was a no good, terrible, horrible, awful, very bad day.

At one-fifteen I arrived home. I blearily unloaded the groceries into the house. My daughter, who was still in bed, had to be at her lacrosse game across town in forty-five minutes. I dimly realized that my kids hadn't eaten lunch. I made sandwiches out of the yucky bread. I was a failure as a mom. While putting away the mayonnaise I accidentally knocked my boy's Lego helmet off the counter and it smashed onto the floor into million pieces and my boy howled in protest and when he came into the kitchen to assess the damage the dog climbed onto the dining room table and began to feast on his sandwich and when I tried to chase him away, he bit me.

I lost it. I said the F word. (I have never, ever cursed in front of my children before.) I yanked the dog by the nape and threw him outside. I yelled at my boy for leaving Legos in the kitchen. I yelled at my daughter for not knowing where her cleats were. I yelled at my other boy for not finishing his lunch yet. I huffed and puffed and stomped and raged.

It was a no good, terrible, horrible, awful, very bad day.

Every mom has bad days, and some bad days are worse than others. These are days when you raise your voice a bit more than necessary, can't seem to get a handle on the kids' behavior, and are not as compassionate as you could be. These are days when you overreact, when you overheat, when you say things you know you shouldn't have. The days you get into bed at night and just feel like crap. For whatever reason, these days happen. They happen to all of us. We don't like to think about them, but they do. Sometimes you get into a not so great cycle and they happen, or they just happen out of the blue.

I had rough days when I was married, and now experience rough days as a single parent. I know I'm not the only one going through this. More and more moms are finding themselves left without a spouse and handling all the responsibility of raising a family. A recent news report stated that the number of single-parent households has actually doubled in just the last 20 years. For most single mothers, that means working a job full-time and parenting full-time. That's quite a load, to say the least.

As I sat in the car, driving my traumatized kids to the lacrosse field, I felt terrible. I was a Bad Mom. I had lost my temper, sworn in front of my children, and lost control over my emotions. I hated myself. So I did the only thing that I could think to do: I apologized. I know some parents might not agree with his decision. In their opinion, admitting even the most horrible mistake sounds like parental heresy. It would have implied weakness, or diluted authority. But I think that the three most beautiful words may not be "I love you." When warranted, they may be, "I was wrong." I think that saying sorry tells children that they are more than beloved, they're considered people of integrity by their parents, who want them to go into the world respecting authority, but respecting themselves more.

I told them that the way I acted was wrong. I didn't let my twins off the hook for waking me up before the sun rose, though, as that's not acceptable behavior in my house. I explained that most people do not function well on less than six hours of sleep. I told them, over and over, that I loved them. I suggested that we buy a clock for the their room so they understand to stay there playing quietly or reading if they wake before 8 am. I promised I would work harder at controlling my emotions when I felt myself becoming overwhelmed.

Amazingly, they forgave me. And I'm working on forgiving myself. No parent (or person) is perfect. Everyone has bad days. The best we can do is learn from them and move on


An open letter to my happily married friends.

Dear married friends,

You might remember me as a twosome. I was married for a long time, lived in a beautiful big house, and had you over for dinners and wine and play dates with your kids. You were there when my husband was out of town, which was often, and when I struggled with my recovery through anorexia. You were good to me, and generous, and kind.

Then my ex-husband and I decided to divorce.

Let me first say that I'm truly glad your marriages are more successful than mine was. I see your posts on Facebook, cuddling intimately with your husband on your couch, swimming in the ocean with your kids and posing with cartoon character at Disney World and sharing plans to renovate your kitchens. Sometimes I'm a little bit jealous of your happiness, but in the end, I really am happy for you.

But I have to talk to you about something that's been bothering me since I got divorced in December. As I went through the divorce process, I stopped blogging, removed myself from social situations, spent more time at home and less time posting pictures of myself on Facebook. It might have seen like my divorce had defeated me and that I wanted just to be left alone. The good news is that I'm okay; I'm surviving, and doing quite well. I know this because I watch a lot of Grey's Anatomy and research my symptoms on WebMD which pretty much makes me a medical professional.

I've noticed the way some of you seem to have fallen off the face of the earth. Several of you have made thinly veiled excuses when I've tried to make plans, or acted distant and judgmental when we finally did get together. I know there have been rumors about why my ex and I separated, despite the fact that no one confronted me about them. I understand why you're uncomfortable. Getting a divorce sucks. It isn't something I ever thought would happen to my marriage, and it isn't something I'd ever wish on yours. When I stood in front of 140 people at my wedding, in my big poofy dress, I didn't say my vows with the intention that I would, one day, be out on my own.

I've come to the conclusion that some of you didn't know what to say to me immediately after I divorced, so you said nothing at all. I was too caught up in my own struggles to understand this at the time, and I rarely called you, so that left us at an impasse. Some of you may have disagreed with why I had decided to pursue divorce and felt you couldn't talk to me for fear it would cause a confrontation between us. I know this now, but at the time I had no clue as to the reason for your silence.

Another reason I I lost friends, as many divorced people do, is because those who were mutually friends with my ex and I chose sides. You may not have done it consciously, but felt you couldn't stay friends with both of us, so one of us had to go. I found this to be true especially when my ex-husband was friends with the husband of my friend -- especially if they were golfing or hunting partners. Maybe you felt uncomfortable spending time with me when you knew your husbands had just golfed with my ex. You didn't know what to say to me, and I think you may have even felt guilty, so you stayed away. It didn't help that my ex made a supreme effort (when he had never done so before) to stay friends with you and your husbands, while I sat around waiting for you to call me.

Thing don't always work out as planned, my married friends. Even with the intention of staying married forever, my ex-husband and I grew apart. This happened over a long, long time. Just as it takes two people to build a marriage, it takes two to destroy one. As most of you didn't take the time to ask me what had gone wrong, or why I had to get out, you don't know the full story. You don't know the extent of the misery I felt.  You don't know how long I struggled to make the decision to leave. And you don't know the dysfunction that existed in my marriage. I didn't come to the conclusion to divorce lightly. It wasn't impulsive, and it wasn't without merit.

I want to tell you that divorce isn't contagious. You can't catch it from me, any more than I can catch the happy bliss you share with your husband. I'm working hard to get my life back on track and that includes keeping the friends I have as well as making new ones. Divorce isn't the end of the world. It's the start of a new life.