other people and divorce

So - I had this goddawful conversation with a neighbour the other day.  It involved her, sharing the observation (aka surveilling) that I'd lost a ton of weight and that "I'd be perfect if I lost 10 more pounds." So right away, I'm not feeling all loving.  But then, the conversation gets even better, if such a thing is imaginable.

"I was just SICK when I heard about your separation."  She tells me.  "Just SICK."

Now, I wish I could say that this is the first time I'd heard this reaction.  It isn't.  I get this one a lot.  It's probably the most common response I get, in fact.  In a way, I understand this reaction.  L and I were the Toni and Clarisse (Dykes to Watch Out For reference there) of our cohort.  I get this.  From the outside, we looked a lot like the Cleavers.  Actually, we looked a lot like that from the inside, too.  At any rate.  I understand people's surprise.  I understand people's concern.  I understand feeling slightly discomfited.   But if one more person tells me that my separation is making them feel ill, sick or barfy, I will rain down hellfire and brimstone all over their sick selves!  Seriously - how do people expect me to respond to this?  "Gee, I'm so super sorry that my personal pain makes you feel uncomfortable?" or,  "Sorry to have inconvenienced you?" or something along those lines?

 Think about the fact that:

1.  I spent so, so much time agonizing, heart up in my throat, desperately trying to figure out another way to be happy, be whole, be myself and keep my family together;
2.  that every night I go to bed with my brain whirring with terror that I've split up my children's home and parents and security;
3.  that I've desperately hurt someone that I greatly respect and who is a good and loving person, in order to save my waning self;
4.  that I've lost several other friends because these things are uncomfortable and yucky and hard;
5.  that I have no real security, very little income, no housing;
6.  that I've taken a giant leap into some really, really fearful and unfamiliar territory;
7. that, in light of #'s 1-6, I often feel pretty barfy, myself.


In light of all of that - I gotta say - I think it's fucking nuts that when my life is in total chaos, other people would like ME to comfort THEM about it.   C'mon now.  Really?

When my neighbour uttered this phrase, (in a lovely one - two punch right after calling me fat,) I just turned and walked away.  Didn't even bother with the awkward smile, or the sympathetic, "mmmmmm."  Just walked off.

Next time it happens, I don't think I'll be nearly so kind.

Honest Toddler - A Must Read Blog for your Blog Roll!

Seriously.  Go read this post from Honest Toddler.  Freaking spot on!  Brilliant.

Lauren Zuniga, Things to Do in an Ice Storm

Parenting under the influence

No, no and no, I don't want to discuss parenting whilst drunk.  This isn't that kind of blog.

I'm talking about being sad.  (Because, as you know, this is that kind of blog).   And I don't mean, boo-hoo-I-have- pms-and-that-commercial-with-the-baby-kittens-made-me-snivel kind of sad.  I mean, sad-sad.  Trying-desperately-to-hold-it-together-but-oh-my-god-that-Hedley-song-is-sooooooo-sad-and-now-I'm-crying-and-wiping-away-tears-and-snot-while-driving-in-rush-hour-sad.  (Attractive.  I know.  You totally want me right now.)  

The thing about me is, when I feel stuff, I don't sorta feel it.  I FEEL it.  It takes me over and it rocks me.  It's a full bodied thing, and I've been told it radiates.  You know, kind of intensely.  (Shocking, I know).  So then, other people FEEL it too.  And so, here I am FEELING shit.  But I have these littles.  These beautiful, lovely littles who have no need to experience my FEELING.  And I've been trying so very hard to 'buck up' around them.  I force the smile and pull out the crayons or walk to the park.  I do my very, very best to hold it together and do a good job of it.  But it's exhausting keeping up that front, especially because it doesn't really work very well anyways.  Littles are intuitive little buggers, and some, like my Boy-o, are veritable emotional sponges (sigh, sigh, and sigh, he comes by this so, so honestly.  Sorry about that, sweet little dude).  And besides them being intuitive little beings, the front always slips.  Because, well, fronts are freaking heavy to hold up all day.  Today, at the park, I'm half-watching them play and half in my head, and I don't even realize there's a tear slipping down my face.  Front fail.  Good job, Mamacita.

And so what's a sad mama to do?  It's not like I'm not going to get it together.  I always do (you know, mostly).  Do you sit them down and explain to them the shitty astrological mayhem of the transit of Venus (yes, yes, I know it's pretty).  (And yes, yes, I'm being droll).  Do you tell them the truth, because they probably know anyways?  Do you keep lying and hefting up the front as best you can?  Really, I don't know the answer to this.  I only saw my own mom cry maybe a handful of times as a kid and it scared the living shit right out of me.  Because as a child, she was my touchstone for safety and consistency and through her I knew that all was right with the world.  I would assume my kidlets feel much the same.  And they've already seen me cry much more than a handful of times.  Is this awful?  Am I scarring them? How honest should we be with our kids about this stuff?

Anyways... today, I opted for a truth/lie combo (my one-two parenting punch).  After they busted me being teary, I spoke to being sad with them.  I told them that everyone has sad feelings sometimes, even grown-ups, and that it's normal and okay to feel sad and cry.  Boy-o added sagely: "Yes, or angry!  Or frustrated!  Or happy!"  Well, at least we've raised 'em feelings literate.  I assured them that even though I was feeling sad, it had absolutely nothing at all to do with their perfect and wonderful selves, who bring me great, great joy always.  To this, they both nodded vigourously.  (God-I love these little people so much that sometimes it physically hurts).  And then Boy-o reached his little arms up and wrapped me in a hug.  And Girlio dog piled on top (which actually hurt, but was very, very sweet).  And then asked:  "Mama?  Are you feeling all better now?"  And then, I squeezed down the lump rapidly re-growing in my throat, forced a big smile and lied outright.  "Absolutely.  I feel all better now."

A must read from HuffPost

I read this post today, on HuffPost's parenting blogroll.  It made me cry big, big crocodile tears.  And it is so right on.

I need to make lists!  Lots of lists.  It's how I think.  I'm listy.
But I cannot, for the life of me, find a pen.  Anywhere.
And I can't think in crayon.

a reconfiguration of self trash-talkin'

1.  I am clumsy.  But it's because I'm too busy being fabulous to notice things like the table being a little further away than the glass.  I may be a bull in a china shop, but china shops are horribly boring anyways.
2.  I blurt things out.  It can be charming.  And highly entertaining.
3.  I'm awkward.  Physically and socially.  It makes me all sweet and approachable.
4.  I'm not going ever to be the girl everyone falls all over.  But I got some moves.  And excellent fashion sense.
5.  I feel helpless a lot of the time.  I know when it comes down to it, I'm really super scrappy.  Like, hella tough.
6.  There are loads of things I don't love about my body.  It's mine.  It's super strong.  Sensuous.  And I love to dress it up.  I love to take it dancing.  I have a killer smile.  Half-decent eyes.  And I grew babies from scratch in this thing.
7.  I am far too trusting.  I have this capacity to be open-hearted and loving that I am really pretty proud of.
8.  I give too much of myself away.  I am fantastic at nurturing and caring.
9.  I'm not exciting.  Maybe not, but I am amazingly genuine, dependable and pretty effing smart.
10.  I'm scared all of the freaking time.  But I do it anyways.  So I guess that makes me brave.

Ingrid Michaelson: Sort of (Live@Google)

MKay.  I have always, always loved this Ingrid song.  I relate to it, in the everything-I-do-in-the-world-is- too-big-sorta-way.   But this particular live version, which I stumbled upon serendipitously last night whilst in need of a good cry, is hella-holy-crap good.  And did the trick.   It's all good - but at around 3:30-ish on, it is so expressive that if you don't get a little teary, I think you might be hard of heart.  Listen if you, like me, are a bit masochistic in your melancholy love of melancholy music.  xo

I have had several (and I DO mean several) what-the-eff-am-I-doing-? moments in the last little while.  So, in an effort to convince myself that I'm not actually a bumbling oaf of a human being, I re-read Brene Brown's The Gifts of Imperfection, an area which I am the moment, I am feeling particularly, um, gifted in.  But - though I really loathe self-helpy stuff, I quite love Brene Brown.  She is honest and talks about her imperfection's so bravely.  It's bloody refreshing.  Plus she swears, and that's a self-helpy book I can get behind ;).

Anyhoo - the re-read was good.  I am feeling, though certainly no less imperfect, much more grounded in my imperfections.  I was particularly struck by her words in closing, some of which I've posted below - just in case any of you and feeling a bit what-the-eff-am-I-doing-? too.




On her idea of a Wholehearted Revolution:


A small, quiet, grassroots movement that starts with each of us saying, "My story matters because I matter."  A movement where we can take to the streets with our messy, imperfect, wild, stretch marked, wonderful, heartbreaking, grace-filled, and joyful lives.  A movement fueled by the freedom that comes when we stop pretending that everything is okay when it isn't.  A call that rises up from our bellies when we find the courage to celebrate those intensely joyful moments even though we've convinced ourselves that savouring happiness is inviting disaster.




Revolution might seem a bit dramatic, but in this world, choosing authenticity and worthiness is an absolute act of resistance.  Choosing to live and love with our whole hearts is an act of defiance.  You're going to confuse, piss off, and terrify lots of people -- including yourself. One minute you'll pray that the transformation stops, and the next minute you'll pray that it never ends.  You'll also wonder how you can feel feel so brave and so afraid at the same time.

p. 126

Indeed.

yowsa!

Whew! and Yowsa!  So it turns out, I was in good company in my tough times as a stay-at-home-mama.  A recent poll (based on 60 000 responses!) shows that stay SAHM's experience significantly more sadness and depression on a daily basis than do working (outside the home) mama's and working women who have had no children.  Read it and weep...

 http://thesocietypages.org/socimages/2012/05/22/she-works-hard-for-no-money/