For the greater good

First: a tribute.  Today is Katherine's tenth birthday, and I just want to say for the millionth time how incredibly much I love, admire, respect, and cherish my daughter.  She is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I have no idea how I got so lucky as to have her.  She is kind and compassionate, thoughtful, loyal, and has more integrity in her pinky finger than most people have in their whole bodies.  She is a hard worker, and she is incredibly persistent.  She is the best friend in the world, and the close relationships she holds are beautiful to witness: there is no backbiting, no gossip, only a pure type of love that is rare and beautiful.  Once she has a friend, she keeps her forever - she's retained the friendships she's had since infancy, and they are more precious than ever.

She's incredible, and I am blessed.

Which is how I am getting to my second point.

My ex is not someone I trust.  When he talks to me, he is often rude and almost always abrasive.  He's quick to fly off the handle, even when I am doing backflips to be accomodating, and he doesn't care about throwing little temper tantrums in front of our daughter.  He still lies to me - small lies, sometimes meaningless, but I can't count on him.  He says he never saw the email, even though he replied to it directly.  He says I never told him, even though it's on our mutual calendar.  He shows up late to pick up our daughter, and delivers her home early.

Just typing that makes my stomach hurt.

Today, for her birthday, Katherine requested a dinner at our home with both of her parents.  I didn't hesitate and immediately told her that I'd love to do that for her.  (Okay, first I said, "Are you sure you don't want to pick a restaurant?" but she was clear, she wanted both of her parents in her home.)

And today I am feeling anxious and sad about it.

My ex is going to be in my house, and who knows what snarky rude things he will say to me.  Our daughter has requested dungeness crab - her favorite, and a veryveryvery rare treat - for dinner, and I can imagine him making snide remarks about the price, or complaining that I serve garlic butter instead of lemon butter (or vice versa), or taking all of the claws for himself.  I can imagine him helping himself to things from my kitchen, not just what I serve.  I can imagine that when I sit down he'll start requesting things from me.  I can imagine that when I say something intended to be pleasant, he will say something hurtful in response.  If I ask him how he is, he might say it's none of my business, and if I don't ask him, he might tell me that clearly I don't care about him.

It's a vicious cycle, and one I'm all too familiar with.

What's worse, is that it brings back so many bad memories dating to when I was pregnant and then the day of Katherine's birth.  I won't dwell on it, only say that he hurt me badly then.

Today he posted pictures of himself and our daugther, taken over the years, on his Facebook page in honor of her birthday.  The pictures are all very sweet, and I believe that all of them were taken by me.  They all show a smiling father and his beautiful child.  But people who see them don't know the back stories like I do: the one in a Santa hat that he appears to be so proud of was the day we got our Christmas tree and he didn't want to go and he thought the hats were stupid and I felt like I was two inches tall and I just wanted a happy Christmas experience and he kept snapping at me; the one on the hiking trail where he sulked and refused to walk with us and actually disappeared for two hours when we were by the lake and Katherine kept saying "where'd Daddy go?" and I didn't know and I was starting to wonder what I would do if I got back to the trailhead and the car was gone; the one at the Fourth of July Parade when it was too crowded and he was mad at me and he once again left and we didn't know where he was and he wouldn't pick up his cell phone and then when he did locate us he yelled at me and I cried when Katherine was out of earshot.  But nobody seeing the pictures would know that.  And they wouldn't know that I took those shots. 

A few people have told me flat out that having him come over is too much, that I'm crazy to let him into my life like that.  Well, on my own account, they're right.  There is a part of me that would like to tear nto him and give him a piece of my mind; there is a part of me that is crafting cutting retorts to his rudeness.

But I won't do it.  I will invite him in, I will smile, and I will serve him wine and crab and Caesar salad and garlic bread that I have purchased and prepared.  When he complains that it's taking too long and he's hungry (remember, he doesn't work, but I will be the one rushing home to turn these ingredients into a special meal after work) I will smile and say "would you like cheese and crackers while you wait?"  If he snaps at me, I will redirect my attention to Katherine and say "Tell me about your day at school, honey.  Did the class sing to you before the cupcakes?"  (The ones I made last night, frosted at 6 this morning, and then delivered before work to her school.)  I will dish up the crab on each plate from the kitchen, so that he will not take three of the four claws for himself.   (Katherine will get two because it's her birthday, he and I will each get one.)  If he gets really bad, I will look at him directly and say, "It's our daughter's birthday, and I refuse to ruin it, and hope you will make it good for her as well."

This turning the other cheek thing isn't for sissies.  It's at the exact moment that I want to slap the rudeness off his face that I need to lower my voice, and turn to view my daughter with loving eyes.  I am doing this for her, and for my own integrity, and not for Bryan.  He's enough of a fool that he won't even realize how hard I'm working at not taking his bait, and he will not be appreciative of my kindness to him.

Today, he comes, and as a gift to my daughter, I will feed him, serve him, clean up after him, welcome him, be kind to him, make smalltalk with him.  And I will do it as graciously as I am capable of doing so that it doesn't look forced, and so that I eliminate as much tension as possible.

Because that girl of mine?  She deserves it.

But I thank God that after dinner he will leave and go to his own residence, leaving me at peace in mine.

Happy Birthday, Katherine.  I hope that I honor you today, sweetheart.  May you never read these words, never know the extent of my anger, frustration, and disappointment in your dad.  And should you ever learn, may you know that my love for you is a thousand times bigger than my feelings for him, and you are worth it, every last bit of it.

Merry Christmas from the Family

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P37xPiRz1sg

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We are deep in the heart of holiday season: Thanksgiving is behind us, Christmas is just around the corner.  Katherine and I have decked the halls, and she spent one lovely night sleeping next to the Christmas tree, snuggled under a snowman blanket.  We have seen a Christmas concert, and we've done our holiday tradition of the carousel downtown and a horse drawn carriage ride at night around the city.

Though Bryan only moved out in July, this is our second "separated" Christmas.  Last year, he lived downstairs, and I lived upstairs, with an awful lot of overlap.  I won't lie, that was an incredibly difficult Christmas for me.  I didn't send out holiday cards because I didn't know what to say on them, or even who to sign them from: we lived in the same house, but surely we couldn't send out a "family" card?  Christmas last year, Bryan left in the middle of dinner and locked himself in his bedroom while our house was full of guests.  Nothing provoked this; while I'm sure he found it all as surreal as I did, there was nothing that went wrong or no awkward moment that sent him storming downstairs.  When I knocked on his door and asked whether he was going to join us for dessert (we were all waiting), he yelled at me to go away.  To say that it was unpleasant wouldn't even touch on it.

In addition to our uneasy living situation, last year I wasn't working, I didn't have a solid plan, and our finances were a mess.

So, this year, by comparison, feels like a piece of cake.  Chocolate cake with buttercream frosting and a drizzle of raspberry, actually.  Decadent and beautiful.

This year, with Bryan in his own apartment, decorating the tree had no awkward moments.  He did not complain about the size (too big!) or the location (why do you have to put it there?) or the ornaments (why do you have so many?) or the needles (why even bother if it's just going to die?).  He did not complain about our listening to Christmas carols (don't they get on your nerves?) and he did not complain about how long it took.  Katherine and I had a grand time doing it, and it was absolutely stress free.  I was a bit worried about how I'd do it without another adult to help (we like trees that touch the ceiling!), but somehow, we managed.  She climbed on my shoulders to place the angel on top, and it was magical.  (It involved a lot of giggling.  We both felt like we were going to topple, and somehow that was hysterical.  The angel is a little crooked, but I love her all the more for it.)

This year, I can buy my own gifts for people with my own money.  I don't need to negotiate with him, and I don't need to see him buying himself things he doesn't need and telling me that there is no money for our nieces and nephews.

This year, there is a beautiful picture of Katherine and I, taken by a friend, that goes on our holiday card.  It is beautiful, the best photo we've ever had together, and it makes me happy just to see it.  We will sign them together, and it feels natural and wonderful.

To say I'm relieved by my divorce isn't putting it lightly - my life is a thousand times better this year than it was last year.

But I haven't forgotten that it's not all about me, and that Katherine's feelings matter more than ever, and that she likely still longs for her intact nuclear family, not the two-residences version.  And I haven't forgotten my vow to make her life as great as I can.

So, when Katherine said, "Mama, can Daddy spend the night on Christmas Eve?" I only verifed that she meant in the guest room, and then when she said "yes" I smiled and said "Of course!  Let's invite him."  I reached out to Bryan, explained that it was important to our daughter to have both of her parents there for breakfast and presents, and he accepted the invitation.

I was pleased as can be.  THIS is the divorce I hoped for, where we set aside our differences and come together for our beautiful child.

I was pleased for a few hours before I thought "OH NO!  HE'S GOING TO SPEND THE NIGHT IN MY HOUSE!"  For a moment, I thought "I can't do this!  No, no, no!"  But I can, and I will.  One night out of 365 is not such a big deal, and if it brings joy to our daughter, then so be it.

I will have to serve him breakfast.  And clean it up.  He will not offer to help, and if I offer sausage he'll say, "What?  No bacon?" and he may criticize my variety of coffee (strong and dark).  He will either inform me that I bought way too many presents for Katherine, or not enough.  He will belch and not say "excuse me."  He will not acknowledge my hospitality, and he will not thank me for including him.

It is what it is.  He has not changed because we are getting divorced; sometimes he's even worse.

But it doesn't matter.  I can set it aside for Christmas, and I can ignore his bad behavior.  What my daughter will witness is her mom making every effort to give her a great holiday.  Katherine will see me being pleasant and kind and compassionate.  I will not rise to his bait, and I will not snap at him.  (What I think is another matter, but as long as it doesn't come out, no problem!)

Katherine gets both of her parents at the holiday table, and I get the peace of knowing that I'm doing a good thing.

I also get the peace of knowing it's only one night a year, and that counts for a lot!

One foot in front of the other

Yesterday was a tough day.

In addition to the horrors seen in the media (which hit WAY too close to home), I had to exchange email with Bryan about move out dates.  He keeps wanting to push the date back: for me, it's a rock solid date, but he has suggested date after date after date, later and later dates.  This puts me in the uncomfortable position of having to reject him over, and over, and over again.

Just to be clear: I don't think he wants to be with me.  He's not asking for love, romance, or even companionship.  I just think that he can't bear the idea of moving out.  I don't blame him for not wanting to move away from our daughter; in his shoes, I don't know how I'd do it.  But I think it's more than that... I think it's inertia.  I think it's that he likes the illusion that living in "our" house allows him that things aren't that different than they used to be.

On days when he is "on" with Katherine, he still gets a lot of help.  He goes to the refrigerator, and it is stocked with snacks and food and even beer (which I don't drink, but he does, and I buy for him).  He never thinks twice about laundry for the girl - her drawers are magically refilled (and when the clothes get to small, they automatically show up in the next size - magic!).  He works on bikes out in the garage, and when she wanders around saying "I'm bored, Mama" I do activities with her.  When she says, "I'm hungry," I feed her.

When he moves out, all that will change.

I'm mad at him for all of this, sure.  But I feel sorry for him, too.  I fill hopeful about the future.  I feel certain of my own ability to manage.  I am proud of the effort I put in to making our lives rich and full, even on a shoestring budget.  He is depressed, angry, lonely (he has isolated from many people).

I know he's hurting.  I feel compassion for him, and I work hard on that compassion.  (It turns out that being compassionate is very hard work.)

But it absolutely wears me out to be the strong one, the one setting the agenda, the one who has to keep pushing him away.

And I feel even more worn out when I think of the to-do list associated with his moving out.  Some days I'm barely holding on by a thread, and I feel like I can't manage one more single thing.

Deep breaths.  One foot, then another, then another, then another.......

Back from Vacation

This evening Katherine and I returned home from vacation; a blissful week not all that far from here geographically, but somehow worlds away.  We are far too broke for vacations (the finances of all of this deserve several long posts, by the way, delving into what it means to have given up my career for nearly a decade, his inability to manage finances, and what it means to be living with your ex husband when you still can't support yourself 100%) but fortunate in having several friends with beautiful vacation homes.

This particular vacation home is my favorite. I've been there more times than I can count, and there is something just so right about it.  When I'm there, I can think, and relax, and somehow everything seems clearer.  When I'm there, anything is possible, but I don't feel a need to rush around.  It's a simple cabin, not too big, not too small, and I love it.  There is no WiFi; there isn't even cell reception.  I'm usually pretty connected, and the lack of connectivity itself is fantastic.  The trip was wonderful, and I really came back feeling refreshed.

I had been back in the house all of two minutes, complete with gift from daughter to ex (my idea, because I'm trying to be nice, see?!) to hear "I hope you brought milk with you.  I ran out yesterday."  Little statements like that make me absolutely crazy.  He's been home, nothing to do, and can't even buy his own milk?  And feels a need to mention it within a minute of my arrival?

I did have milk in the cooler.  Good thing, because in the morning if I don't have my coffee with milk I can not function.

(This is not what I look like while I drink my morning coffee.  This is not what I look like, ever.  And my coffee cup is about 5 times that size.)


Seconds later, he spotted the chocolates that had been given to me by a friend, and he lunged for them.  "MMMmmmm I like those" he said, and I snatched them away like a toddler, doing everything but yelling "Mine!"  Oh dear.  My vacation zen can wear off pretty quickly if I'm not careful.

While I was gone I came up with the brilliant idea of forgiving him for everything that's come between us.  I have this idea that he is a broken person, struggling in the world, and that he is doomed to be unhappy unless he changes, but that I have a great capacity for happiness, and that is enough for me, and I should just forgive him.  There is no "just" in forgiveness, I think it's a longer process than that (possibly millenia, actually), but I do like the idea.  It would be easier if I didn't come home to piles of things, a bad smell in the kitchen that wasn't there when I left, and the damn milk.  Breathe in, breathe out.....

It's going to take a lot of breathing for me to get past these little irritations, because after too many years of marriage, the little tape that plays in my head (or is it an MP3?  nah, mine's a tape) says:
How can he expect me to manage every little detail even when I'm gone a week?  Why can't he get off the sofa, even for his OWN coffee?  How on earth will he care for Katherine when I'm not in the background taking care of this stuff?  Why is he lazy?  Why do I have to do everything?

And then the other voice says:
Stop being judgemental.  Move on.  You're getting divorced, and it isn't your problem to solve any more.  Be an adult, don't dwell on the little things.

And the first voice replies:
But it's driving me CRAZY!

Clearly I have some work to do to attain forgiveness.  I know.  I'm working on it, okay?

But on another topic....

I have a massive love of orca whales.  There is something mysterious and beautiful and wise and playful about them - they're like mythical creatures to me, I find them so astonishing.  Well, I live in a part of the world where they live wild, and I've seen them, but only rarely.  Somehow, I got it in my head that when things were going to be okay in my life, when I was going to figure out the career and the finances and the divorce and find The Man, I would receive orcas as my sign.

On the ferry, there was a pod of orcas.  We were with them for at least twenty minutes.  I got pictures.  And I wept, because they were so beautiful, and so unexpected, because I loved seeing them so much, and because I thought, "Really?  My sign?  Right now?"  The orcas did not come bearing checks or a man, but they were no less sublime.

I don't know if it's a real sign.  I'm aware of how cuckoo I sound just for admitting out loud that I think it was a sign, and I don't know if I believe in signs...  But sign or no sign, seeing them was a gift I'm unlikely to ever forget.

Happy Easter Sunday

I am holding back on writing about how much effort I put into Easter and how little he did.  I’m aware of it, but not going to dwell on it.  I think that’s progress!

This morning, the three of us went to church together. Katherine  and I attend our Unitarian Universalist church pretty regularly, and Bryan used to come with us about half the time, but since I asked for a divorce he rarely comes.  This weekend is “his” weekend with the girl, and I was glad he was willing to go to church with her.

But it felt very, very weird.

Because it’s Easter, we all dressed up, and Katherine and I wore great big hats – out of character for each of us, but fun for once a year – with our dresses.  I am determined in our divorce to put her needs first, and I think it’s good for her to be with both of her parents sometimes, especially on holidays, but I’d be lying if I said it was easy.  It’s not easy.  We are a family-not-family, and there are no rulebooks.

We drove together, and when we came in I saw lots of friends, and distracted myself with chit chat while he was in another part of the room.  Katherine and I sat with some friends….and he sat with us.  I guess this is just what I wanted for her, but there was a tiny, spiteful little part of me that wished he’d go sit in the back.  Still, PollyAnna won out, and I was grateful we could publicly keep it together for our girl.

At the end of our service, everyone holds hands and sings the fivefold amen.  It’s lovely and joyful and makes me feel a connection to everyone in that community….but this time, the person next to me was Bryan, and so I found myself holding his hand.  It was a bit surreal: this man with whom I shared a bed and my body for more than fifteen years is such a stranger to me now that holding his hand was awkward and strange.

I lived, and so did he.  I don’t know if Katherine noticed it or not, but I hope that we are teaching her something about resilience and kindness and integrity; I hope she saw how grownups can behave.  I’m proud of us for that small moment, and despite it’s awkwardness, I’m savoring it, because I like it when I do the right thing, and I think it was the right thing.

I'm glad I can do the right thing.

Getting Started

My marriage hasn’t exactly been a picnic.  Hindsight is fabulous, and if I knew then what I know now, I never would have married him.  Well, that would have been disastrous, because then I wouldn’t have the best child in the world, and she’s worth anything.  Anything at all.  Still, the marriage has been a bit of a nightmare, and the worst part is that it was one of those where I just couldn’t wake up to get a grip, so it kept going on.

What’s more, while it was often a nightmare, I was busy convincing myself that things were just fine.  There is a downside to being PollyAnna, and that downside often looks a lot like denial.  The writing was on the wall that we shouldn’t get married, that we were a pretty rotten fit in many ways, but I was sure that love would conquer all.  Needless to say, it didn’t.

The thing is, I don’t want to spring up in outrage against an Evil Ex-Husband.  He’s not a good husband, and I don’t want to be married to him, but I don’t want to vilify him.  He is the father of the most beautiful child in the world: our daughter has such a beautiful soul that I am routinely knocked out by its beauty, and since he helped me to bring her into this world, he can’t be all bad.

I repeat this sentiment to myself many, many, many times per day in the hope that it will help me to get past some of the rage that springs up in response to his idiocy.  Even PollyAnna gets mad sometimes.

I’m still trying to figure out how I can reconcile his idiotic behaviors and my intent to be compassionate.  I’m open to suggestions, but expect me to be a bit of a slow learner on that one; please be patient with me.  I am aware that the words “idiotic” and “compassionate” rarely belong in the same sentence, but there they are. 

The PollyAnna in me sees his humanity and the pain he must feel, but my desire for self-preservation is strong, and refuses to take on that pain.  It is his, not mine, and I can not help, so I must, in Mary Oliver’s words, save the only life that [I] could save.

I’m also trying to figure out where *I* went wrong.  I don’t know if everything happens for a reason, but a broken body (mid-marriage, I got a nasty case of breast cancer) and a broken marriage sound like pretty big signals to me.  No, I don’t think I deserved cancer, and no, I don’t own Bryan’s behavior in our marriage….but I do think I played a part in all of this, and I’m trying to figure it out.  Expect to hear painful ramblings on those topics in the months to come, and maybe we can figure it out together.

What’s done is done, and I am determined to be glad, to find my lessons, to learn them, and to make progress.  It’s a great big beautiful world, and I am going to make my way in it.  I’m going to come out of this stronger than ever before, and I’m going to scoop up all the joy I can find along the way.  I’ve decided that my life is going to be glorious because of these new twists and turns….and that’s the part of my PollyAnna self I like best.