Resilience

Katherine is the most amazing person that I know.

Last night at dinner we were talking about our goals for the next year.  We discussed our upcoming trip to Paris.  She told me she wants to make things to sell on the internet to raise money for animal shelters.  (Anyone have a clue how to set up Ecommerce for a ten year old?!)

And I offhandedly said, "Well, since last year wasn't our favorite, this year will be better."  And then, fearful of her response but needing to know anyway, I said, "Was the day we told you that we were getting divorced the worst day of your life?"

"Hmmmmm," she replied, "That was bad.  But the worst day was every day in the second grade in the afternoons when I had to sit at that table with those horrible boys who kept distracting me and making it so hard to get my work done!"

I was skeptical.  She's emotionally intuitive - perhaps she was protecting me.  "Are you sure?" I asked, giving her that "Mama knows!" look.  She laughed at me.  "Oh, Mom, you worry too much.  I'm fine.  Why do you always worry about me?  And those boys were SO ANNOYING!  That was much worse."  And then she changed the subject - back to how to help the animals.

When I think about all of the things that have happened to me in my life, good and bad, this incredible child is at the top of my list.  I have certainly tried to model resilience to her, but this, this is beyond my hopes.  My heart is bursting with pride, amazement, and such dreams for our future together.

I really believe that she's okay.  Her dad has only been moved out for six months, and she is thriving.  She is joyful.  The is hopeful.  She's firmly grounded in the present, and she's got plans for the future.

Ahhh, that makes my heart sing.

*****

On another note, interesting community-college-professor-dad and I are off the table.  We are on opposite kid schedules, and that isn't going to change.  Dating in my forties sure IS different than dating in my twenties!  What's more, I feel like I'm bored to death with online dating already, and I haven't even gotten started.  Ah well.  I like that it's low stakes for me, so no matter what happens on the dating front, all is well.  :-)

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!

Powerless

These days, I feel pretty powerful.

I am juggling housework, employment, finances, a series of broken objects such as a car repair, the dog, friendships, etc.  And I'm being a pretty awesome single mom, too.  On my next-to-nothing budget, I'm finding fun things to do with my beautiful daughter, treating her to things like a henna tattoo at the festival we went to, smiling and saying "No, you go ahead" and not letting on that I'd like one too, but it's not in the budget.  Sleepovers at our house with home made chocolate chip buttermilk pancakes on the weekend.  Helping her to make her dad an awesome birthday present, with the requisite shopping trips and time and such to make it happen.  Snuggle time, time with friends.  I make sure her teeth are brushed, her chores are done (so much easier to do them myself but I want to teach her), etc.

And I never, never, never belittle her dad.

I feel pretty good about myself.  I've got some swagger back - the kind that makes men hold open doors for me, the kind that makes little old ladies smile at me.

Powerful.  It feels good to be powerful.

But there is one area in my life in which I am completely powerless, and that one area tries to diminish all the others.

I can not be a father to my daughter.  I can not meet her need for him.

And today it has had me in tears.

This weekend, Katherine got a bit angry with me, and said, "It's not fair.  I spend time with you, but hardly any with Daddy, and it should be half and half.  IT'S NOT FAIR!"  I can see clearly that in her mind, this is something I've created, and she wanted me to fix it.  Quietly, I tried to say something about how I've always been the one to help with homework and before school routines....but she pointed out that it was summer.  I finally told her that I wanted her to have a good relationship with her dad, and I would support that, and that she needed to tell him that she wanted more time with him.

I did not say, "Your dad refuses additional time with you.  He shows up late, drops you off early, and asks for "help" on his weekends because he has other plans."  I said, "Honey, I want to support you and your daddy; I know how much you love each other.  Why don't you talk to him?"

But today when she was elsewhere, I talked to him.  I told him about our conversation, and he sighed heavily and told me how sad that made him.  I told him about a childcare bind I'm in for this week, where I've asked girlfriends to help out with Katherine's care, but said he could take those days.  Out of two full work days, he said, "Well, I could take her for a couple of hours...." and I thought I'd fall off my chair.  I said, "She is homesick and tired of being away, and wants to come home early from the grandparents, but I have to be at work.  She was crying when she went to my parents last night.  I have to work, and since you're not working, would you be able to take her?" and he said "I guess I'll think about it."  I said, "I am trying to figure out the Rubik's cube of my life between work and childcare," and he laughed, "Well, I'm trying to figure out my own Rubik's cube!" and then mentioned a hobby project he is working on.

Our daughter is begging for him, and he is holding her at arm's length.

I hung up the phone, on my lunch break, and sobbed.

I am certain that he is punishing me, thinking only that creating convenience for me outweighs his daughter's need for him.

I will figure out the money.  I will figure out the time.  I will figure out the fatigue.  I will create fun between the hard work.  I will care for our home, for our lives.  I will stroke her hair when she's sad, and I will dance with her when she's happy.

But I can't be her dad, and watching her hurt is far more painful than chemo ever was.