People always comment on how different my two girls look.  One is fair, blonde, blue eyed - the other is olive skinned, dark hair, brown eyes.  Their personalities are often as different as their hair color.  Lily tends to be more easy-going and has a sweet nature about her.  She’s also prone to over-sensitivity and the need to always be right (even when she’s wrong).  Arden is hilarious and energetic; she’s the life of the party and is also prone to wild mood swings and difficulty adjusting to even the smallest obstacles (imagined or real). 

Way back when Mike and I were splitting up, both girls went to counseling.  It was a great experience for the both of them.  Lily’s counselor was fine, but I really loved Arden’s.  She had just enough of an edge to her that Arden knew she couldn’t get away with anything, but tempered her edge with a nurturing and kind side.  In a way, I got more out of Arden’s counseling than she did.  I tried to emulate her therapists finely-honed skills - being both the disciplinarian and the person you’d most like to hug you.  She showed me the two didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.

The biggest thing I learned from her was that I needed to stop holding onto my emotions.  Children can be ungodly frustrating, and Arden definitely knows how to push my buttons.  There are so many times she’d whip me into a frenzy, and the more I lost control, the more she reacted and pushed.  Sometimes I almost felt like she was trying to push me over an edge, just to see if I’d really come back every time.  Honestly, there were times I didn’t want to come back.  I felt like I didn’t deserve what was being dished out.  It was too much with everything else.  Her therapist spent a lot of time with me explaining that I got the brunt of it because Arden felt the most comfortable with me - she could let it out and know that I still loved her.

While that was great to hear, I still had to learn to deal with her tempests.  The problem was, when Arden would throw a fit or defy me, I’d get angry.  I could pretend I wasn’t, but she saw right through it.  Not only did I get angry, I’d hold onto it for an hour or two.  I just didn’t feel like she deserved forgiveness so quickly.  But her therapist demonstrated, over and over again, that you could allow your child to get out “the uglies” without getting personally involved with it.  Making noise in a restaurant or being awful during a playdate?  Calmly remove her from the situation and let her kick and scream somewhere away from others.  Wait it out, even if it takes a while.  When it’s over, enforce whatever is enforceable and LET GO of the emotions. 

I practiced, a lot.  I tried to ignore people who told me I was letting her “get away” with whatever “it” was.  Slowly, her tantrums slipped away and I felt closer to her than I had in a year or more. 

We’ve been back sliding a bit lately. I don’t know why, but maybe it’s because I’ve stopped being consistent.  Maybe it’s because I’m tired when I get home at night and I don’t have a lot of patience or interest in being patient with her bad mood as she transitions from after-school care to my care.  I forget that she too is adjusting to me being at work all day, and that this may be her way of letting me know she misses me too.  I’d much prefer a hug and a sentence like “I miss you, Mommy,” but this is how she expresses it right now.

Today was kind of awful.  After half hour of being her normal cheerful self, she slipped into one of her dark moods.  She was rude, belligerent, and when Windsor came over for lunch, Arden refused to eat and speak to anyone.  I stayed calm, had her food packed up, and took both girls home.  I sent Arden to her room to recover from whatever she was mad about (because she won’t use words to tell me when she’s in that kind of mood).  I stuck her food in the refrigerator and hung out with Lily.  After about 20 minutes, I went into Arden’s room. 

She was playing on her bed, but as soon as she saw me she frowned and turned away.  I knew better than to think she’d talk to me, but I told her that her behavior was unacceptable and rude and that Windsor’s feelings had been hurt (probably not - Windsor gets Arden like no one else in the universe, but it was nice being able to point out that a non-superhero like Windsor might have had hurt feelings).  I hugged her and told her I loved her and she could come out and join the rest of the human race when she felt better.

About 20 minutes later, a paper airplane flew into my room:

I heard Arden giggling, so I opened it up:

She had finally admitted she was hungry, and drawn me a picture to illustrate she was ready to eat. 

As I got up to reheat her lunch, I got hit in the back of the head with another airplane:

(to translate:  she wanted to cuddle like I had been with Lily)

On the back of the airplane, she’d drawn this:

We sat together while she ate her very-delayed lunch and she smiled at me.  I realized that I hadn’t held onto my emotions, and when she made the effort to draw me a picture - and say sorry in her strange little way, I was in a place where I could hear it and move on.  She still received her punishment from lunch (no ds for the afternoon) but she was good-natured about it.  Tomorrow she says she’s going to call Windsor and apologize.  For me, those paper airplanes were a big step in the right direction. 

(note:  so very tired, grammatical errors ahead.  cut me some slack.)

In the last three weeks, I’ve started a new job, finished my first big project, raced in Washington DC, had a birthday celebration (small scale) for Arden, had a birthday celebration (large scale) for Arden including mass chaos at a Build-A-Bear followed by even bigger chaos at a slumber party, followed by lack of sleep, a 10 mile run, and a huge, successful and very loud surprise party for Running Boy followed by breakfast, cleanup, dehydration and an overwhelming need for narcolepsy. 

So to back it up:  work.  Work is work, yes, but it’s also way more strategic than I’d hoped and is actually challenging me more than I was lead to believe.  This either means I’ve dumbed myself way down over the past decade or it’s just good and honest challenging work.  I like my team and have only irritated someone one (by putting lotion on a dry ankle; apparently she’s very sensitive to smells and had no issues letting me know about it).  I’ve been cramming my running and workouts into the days somehow.  I’ve also been adjusting to the unfabulous thing that is workplace food.  Communal eating is rampant on my floor and someone is always bringing in some junk or other.  This defies logic, as I work with some of the thinnest people I’ve known.  It’s wreaking havoc on my own self-esteem issues but I am trying to get over. 

Army 10-miler: I had a fabulous weekend in DC with Running Boy and our friends Andrea and Joe.  I could go on and on about it, but the Renaissance in Pentagon City is amazing, the weather was beautiful, Ethiopian food doesn’t agree with Running Boy’s internal machinery, and seeing our friends before a moving running experience was really amazing.  The race itself wasn’t what I’d call well thought out.  This is strange, considering it’s a government that can run huge projects with millions of people and . . . oh, wait.  Right.  Government.

The plus side:  running with veterans, some missing legs and arms or both, some with prosthetics and some in wheelchairs, really brings home the cost of a war.  It was an odd race in that many times throughout the 10 miles, I felt myself close to tears and not just because I really wanted to stop running.  Watching mothers and sisters, wives, girlfriends, friends . . . all of them running with pictures of their dead on their backs.  It was a hard thing to take in, especially against the backdrop of a gorgeous day, the sun crashing against the Potomac and the monuments and cherry trees at my back. 

The down side:  Joe had to stop at mile 2 for help with his knee and I ran the last 8 alone.  The first 10k was good.  The last 4 miles was just ugly and miserable.  I was hot, slow, and even all the cute army boys manning the water stops weren’t enough eye candy to keep me going.  I walked the better portion of the last 2 miles, just to find myself dehydrated and overheated while I wandered around a parking lot at the Pentagon, attempting to find a particular Hooah tent in the middle of what seemed like thousands of other tents.  Did they provide a map of what tent contained what unit?  Nope.  Nor did I realize that after 45 minutes and yes, let’s admit it, a few tears of utter frustration and the dire need to sit down, that I’d meet up with everyone just to walk another mile back to the metro station.  Even better - a runner, waiting for the metro, decided that chugging water would make him feel better.  “Chugging” and “post race hydration” do not go hand and hand.  While we all charged through the opening train doors, Chugger expelled the water he’d just inhaled in a 50 mph arc.  The last 1/4 of the arc hit my right side and legs.  Oddly he continued onto the train, still gagging, at which point the doors closed in time for him to release another jet onto a new group of people. 

It was a long ride back to Richmond, and I admit my crankiness at Running Boy’s custody schedule continues to irritate me.  Don’t know why I can’t just accept it for what it is and hope for a change in it soon, but I’m not going to lie:  losing the majority of every other Sunday makes traveling nearly impossible.  And I’m tired of feeling like his situation still dictates what I can and cannot do. 

HOWEVER.  The weekend was great and I got a tiny bit of down time before . . .

Arden turned 7. Family dinner on Tuesday, following by a whirlwind week of school stuff, work and coordination.  Her actual birthday party included 8 kids at Build a Bear workshop.  Yes, I’m still disturbed by a steel pipe shoved up the rectum of an unsuspecting bear or rabbit, but the girls really love it and Arden even stuffed the butt of an owl for me.  After, we had pizza and cake at the house.  I will admit that I overextended the invitation.  3 girls plus Arden is probably plenty; I did way more than that, and I paid the price for it.  This also includes the idea of the girls going home to their parents saying, “Arden’s mom is MEAN!”  I had to do a lot of “mom-voice” and threatening.  One girl actually left at 11.30 because the dryer beeped and she said the noise sounded like a robot. I got no sleep that night, but had to be up at 6 to get ready for a 10 mile training run.

pics:

So why not skip it?  Because the longer runs are important and after running 8 miles alone after 2 with company, I had no desire to try to get 10 miles in isolation.  I had a babysitter come at 6.30 to help get the girls up, dressed and fed before the parents came to pick them up. I paid well; that was quite a task for her.  The 10 miles itself was really nice.  A side note:  that particular route is the one I did on Christmas morning after leaving the girls with Mike.  It was my first Christmas without them since their birth, and it was a pretty wretched day.  The route is one of my favorites because it’s mostly flat and full of good people watching, but the roads still hold a trace of the utter despair I left behind on December 25. 

After, my mother showed up to entertain Lily and Arden.  Through many very complex gyrations and a lot of help from friends, especially the aforementioned mother, Andrea and Renee, not to mention the boys who kept him busy Saturday, I was able to pull off a huge coup and actually surprise Running Boy with a huge birthday party. 

Side note #2.  I had originally thought I’d combine his birthday with a divorce party, because SURELY he’d be divorced by October, right?  Well, I wasn’t right, but I continued on with my planning.  I can’t even explain how complex it was trying to shuttle four kids around without setting off warning bells, but with some careful planning and some crafty lying, I had him convinced we were going “away” for a night.  When it finally clicked, he was pretty impressed.  His friends amaze me; 20+ years of knowing him and they drive all kinds of hours to make it down for this party.  It was a mixed bag of people; some of our running friends, some of my friends who have learned to love him, many of his friends I was meeting for the first time (and who got over how weird it was that I’d hijacked his phone and began sending random text messages to people I’d never talked to about coming to a party I was hosting).  Everyone seemed to click, the beer flowed liberally, and in my second major coup of the day, I managed to talk Dean Fields into doing a house party.

(actually it isn’t that hard.  pick a date he’s available and write him a check, and he pretty much shows up…)

One of my first real dates with Running Boy was to see Dean play at Cap Ale here in Richmond.  It was a ton of fun and I’ve been a big connoisseur of his music since then.  He’s readily accessible through all the social media norms, so I reached out to him when I found out he did these house shows.  Some begging and pleading to move dates around and voila - he showed up at the house, mingled for an hour, played in the backyard in front of a roaring (duraflame) fire until his hands got so cold they went numb, and ended up sticking around for the rest of the wackiness.  It seemed as though most really enjoyed the experience, but for me it was incredibly meaningful.  As I’ve traveled the better portion of the last year with RB, Dean’s music has played on my iPhone and during many an ice bath, hot bath, or afternoon of doing nothing.  His music was the soundtrack to the end of my marriage and the start of my new life, and to have him play songs that are important to me was something I’ll never forget. 

pics:  (warning, not every pic is family friendly)

Arden had yet another birthday party to attend today, so I dragged my hungover, still dehydrated rear to the mall.  We ran after the kids and rode a train and tried not to be cranky as all of us were very tired.  It’s going to feel very good hitting the pillow in the next 5 minutes.  I also was going to post a video I took of Dean in the backyard, but it’s really crappy quality and you can see what his house shows are like by clicking the link above. 

I feel like I am coming off an adrenaline bender, and so looking forward to doing nothing next weekend.  For now, however, I am so grateful to those who made the weekend possible and for the ability to give something back to Running Boy.  He very much needed a bright spot among the few dark ones that remain. 

This year, due to all the divorce crap and monetary frugality, I eschewed (good word!) the typical Short Pump birthday party.  This was particularly timely since I no longer live in Short Pump (can I get a woot?  Thank you).  The usual far west end party includes ponies or jungle animals, huge fetes with manicures and pedicures, lunches at the Dominion Club, private Cirque du Soleil events and live concerts featuring Disney Princesses on Ice and the Rolling Stones (just kidding) or cooking classes.  Considering I was instructed by Arden’s kindergarten teacher to invite all of the kids in her class (and there are 18 of them), I figured we’d go back to the good ol’ days and have a party at the house. 

I still rented a moonbounce.  Coupled with a badly-designed Hannah Montana pinata, everything worked out.  The kids managed to collapse the moonbounce twice. The second time was the best; Todd and Theresa’s son was trapped at the bottom with two huge boys on top of him and a smattering of girls.  All of them were screaming, so Todd totally hulked out and shoved them up and out of the hole while sternly telling them to knock it off (or some version of that).  Thankfully Todd has a meaner voice than me, because no one listened to me the first time they managed to make the roof cave in. 

Mike showed up for the last portion of it.  It was awkward and weird but at least he knew some people there.  He was polite to the members of my family and dealt with Lily’s meltdown at the end of the party.  He actually dealt with Lily’s meltdown better than I did.  The clutching of my leg and screaming, “I don’t want to go to Daddy’s! I WANT TO STAY WITH YOU!” for a good 15 minutes wore me down and after she left, I had a moment of crying and begging myself, albeit privately.  I feel like such failure when my kids hurt over decisions the adults have made.  This is why so many people stay married - among other, less compelling reasons.  It is unnatural as a parent to willingly hurt your kids.  There are plenty of ways to rationalize what happened at the party, but at that moment all I could feel was that I was hurting my daughter and making her do something she didn’t want to do.

(Rationalizations that came later:  she was overtired.  I was going to Virginia Beach for the Run Like A Girl event, but in her mind, Va Beach equals fun on the sand and in the ocean.  She’d spent two weekends in a row with her father.  She didn’t want to leave the Moonbounce.  She didn’t want to leave Emma.  The list goes on . . . .)

Regardless of how things ended, the girls had a great time and I think Arden was pleased with everything.  It was a huge relief to just do something lower-key and let the kids play outside on a gorgeous day. 

Arden, telling me about the movie “Babe”:

A:  So there was this guy who did Virus Dancing and he was really good.  I want to do the Virus Dancing too. 

Me:  Hmmmm.  Never heard of that. 

L:  (rolling eyes and sighing loudly) It’s IRISH dancing, Arden!!!!

Lily, loving Laura’s convertible BMW we have this week:

L:  Mommy, can we please keep the car?  Tell Laura she can have ours.

Me:  I don’t think so Lily.  She loves her car. 

A:  Then pay her for it, Mommy. 

L:  I think $10 will work.  Yeah.  Give her $10. 

Nikki is a friend I met through NaNoWriMo.  We have a lot in common, despite a 12 year age difference.  She’s been living in the house on the third floor and has been our unofficial nanny/nurse/chief coffee drinker since she moved in.  Since I’ve been remiss on writing about the kids, Nikki wrote a guest post.  She might become my regular, unpaid guest blogger until my brain is less muddled and full of bees. 

My alarm goes off at 6:55, and resisting the urge to hit snooze, I jump out of bed. Jump is a misnomer here. It’s more like I don’t even think about the fact that prior to two weeks ago, this waking time did not exist for me. I stand up, grab my iPhone, tweet my location on Foursquare so as to not be ousted as mayor of Casa Estrogen, and head downstairs. 

It’s different. It takes time to get used to, as all changes do. I’d write more, but someone is calling for me to braid her hair.