I’ve had my current dishes since 2000, as they were a wedding present from Mike’s mom and dad.  When we split up, he left me with most of them.  I have a weird mishmash of dishes now - 2 single small plates, a couple of mugs, too many dinner plates, not enough salad plates.  Every time I use them I’m reminded of when I got them, and how long I’ve had them.  The irony of the missing pieces is not lost on me. 

I already hate cooking in my kitchen because, well, it’s even uglier than the kitchen I had in my ramshackle Catherine street apartment in Ann Arbor.  Half the appliances barely work and the counters, though scrubbed with bleach, magic erasers and any other implement I can get my hands on, never look clean.  I call the oven a mini-bake oven because none of nice bakeware fits in it.  Apparently everything was smaller in 1963. 

Putting food prepared in an unhappy place onto unhappy dinnerware has made it even worse.  I don’t know why I have such strong attachments to things - how a song I listened to a lot in 1989 can actually bring back the smell of the bay in April, or how the feel of a certain pair of bedsheets can make me recall the exact temperature of my old bedroom in my last house with Mike.  The dishes have become one of those nagging reminders of what my life used to be like.

One of my deal sites had Ink Dish dinnerware on sale - and I’ve had my eye on these for quite some time (the pattern is called May).  I just couldn’t justify the expense.  Remind me of that when my kids talk me into yet another stuffed animal I’ll be making them donate in a year or two; I just don’t have the money anymore and when I do have it, I spend it on them.  Or running shoes. 

Soon, I’ll be eating off these.  They are totally my taste - I bought them only for me, and I didn’t give any consideration to what anyone else thinks of them.  They certainly wouldn’t go in my old Wyndham kitchen, and maybe someday soon I’ll have a new kitchen to match the feel of them. 

Bon Appetit. 

(yes, those are pigs roaming across the dinner plates)

In the long gaps between blog posts, I’m doing things like laundry, running, chasing kids, and making mistakes.  As someone said on Facebook today, “if you weren’t making mistakes, what would you blog about?”  Good point. 

First, and it’s okay, you don’t have to pay me for this advice, but . . . if you have recently struggled with marital issues, separated, or divorced:  DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT watch Blue Valentine.  Though I could appreciate the exceptional writing, great acting and interesting cinematography from afar, I wanted nothing to do with the actual plot.  I felt almost like I had a hidden camera in someone’s house.  Less glamorous than reality tv (I kept wanting to brush Michelle William’s hair) and incredibly less voyeuristic and inspirational than a biography, the movie was two hours of fingernail-pulling agony. 

Running Boy’s 10 second review:  “Why would I want to watch something I’m already living through?” 

Another good point.  While most divorcing couples I know lack the overly dramatic alcohol-fueled workplace rages and random flashbacks to abortion clinics, this one hit far too close to home.  The closest thing I can liken it to is forcing a newly-minted divorcee to watch their wedding video, go through old photos, and read love letters from the early stages of their relationship while simultaneously filing their divorce papers, taking the kids to therapy and considering bankruptcy vs. suicide. 

I spent some time after the movie was over feeling incredibly sorry for myself, my extended family, and mostly my kids.  All the guilt and sorrow I thought had finally disappeared FOREVAH was suddenly back again; this guilt had obviously been eating a lot of carbs and processed foods because the sucker was heavier than the last time it was with me.  Trying to buck off this monster, I wondered whether I would ever feel settled or safe again.  I also wondered whether I would ever be able to trust my feelings for someone, or trust anyone to love me.  In the dark, it seemed highly unlikely. 

Thanks a lot, Blue Valentine. 

Philip relayed the fabulous statistic to me from his therapist that it takes an average of 5 years to truly move on from a divorce.  Great.  Thanks, Phil.  This might explain why, when I thought I was through the worst of it, I realized I’ve barely scratched the surface of the dark pool of damage that still roils beneath my skin.  If I didn’t choose right before, and I hurt someone badly, what’s to keep me from making that same “mistake” again?  It seems to me that divorce drives a few unpleasant points home.  a.) nothing is forever, b.) maybe I’m not biologically engineered to be married, and c.) it’s possible I can never trust my judgment again.  Just sayin’. 

On top of my reservation at the Haven o’ Guilt and Doubt restaurant, I really messed up with Arden this week.  My experience reminded me of a room decoration my ex sister-in-law had:  a weird mirror her mother had given her.  It said, “Mirror Mirror, on the Wall, I am my Mother, after all.” 

It’s true.  We are our mothers. 

There are many things about my own mother that I wish I could emulate.  She actually enjoyed cooking for my crabby, picky ass.  She was a perky morning person.  She liked hanging out with me, and thought I was funny.  There was always some random goody in my lunch bag, sometimes with a note. 

Then, there were things I didn’t want to emulate.  Little things, like not wanting my friends over a the house or me spending the night with them, either.  Her insistence on making my bed every morning.  Forcing me to eat peas.  And sometimes, the way she chose to discipline me. 

Without getting into details, because that’s not fun for anyone, I decided long ago that I wasn’t going to discipline my children with spanking or hitting or slapping.  I didn’t like what it did for me, though yes, one could argue, the fear of my dad beating my ass was quite the motivator in making it home by curfew.  What I didn’t like in my own past and in my close friend’s lives, was watching their parents lash out physically in anger.  There IS a difference between swatting a child on the rear when you need to get their attention, and letting your anger boil out of your pores while you lose control of your limbs and your mouth. 

I’ve found that discipline works best with Arden when I am calm, cool, and detached.  But the other day, something happened.  She did what most teenaged girls do, even though she’s only 6. She screamed into my face. It was some ugly comment or another.  It was like another person took over me, and what followed shocked me.  My instantaneous response to her behavior was something my mother had used as an outlet for her anger many times in the past.  It surprised both of us:  Arden stared at me, eyes wide, and I stared back at her, my eyes even wider.  I immediately pulled her into my lap, apologized, and took responsibility for my actions and my anger.  I told her she owed me the same courtesy, and she turned into me, hugged me and told me she was sorry, too.

This isn’t a gripe about my mother or how my parent’s generation dealt with smart mouths and disobedient children. She did what she thought worked best, just as I am doing the same with my own children.  My dad, though he rarely had to physically punish me, loved running surveillance on me as a teen and busting me for being places I shouldn’t have been.  I didn’t have much privacy, and in retrospect, that was probably ok.  I don’t agree these were the best methods for dealing with me, but they worked for them and that is all there is to that. 

For me, though, letting my anger out in physical ways seems backwards to me.  Just today, I told Arden and Lily that the next person to lay hands on someone else out of anger was getting in REALLY.  BIG.  TROUBLE.  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wondered if they were going to be thrown back at me because I have, myself, acted out of anger.  I just want to screw up my kids in new, different ways:  I know I’m far from perfect but I also know what felt really bad to me growing up, and I don’t want to serve that kind of crappy feeling up on a plate in my own house. 

Now that I’ve flayed myself and walked barefoot across broken glass, I can move on with my week.  I’ve got a fun 3 day weekend at the beach to look forward to.  Let’s hope I can make it without any more gut-wrenching movies or anger-infused mommy moments. 

After a short visit from a nasty virus that made me feel like my joints were on fire and included several visits to the toilet for vomiting, I realized how grateful I am that I am rarely sick anymore.  I also realized how fortunate I was to have someone to hold my head from falling into the toilet.  I think I might have drowned in the aforementioned toilet had it not been for Running Boy. 

I’m not a good sick person.  I am cranky from being sick, yes, but I’m doubly cranky because the sickness is interfering with my life, or in this case, the weekend.  It precluded me from running Saturday morning and made the long list of errands that needed to be completed tiresome and difficult.  I cursed at it and forced food and water down my throat to make it go away sooner.  By Sunday morning I was able to force myself through 5 long, humid, and excruciating miles, followed by 10 less long, still humid, hotter, and only mildly unpleasant miles on the bike.  I’m okay with the fact that my first duathlon training exercise was miserable since I’d been sick less than 48 hours prior. 

So what’s up, other than sickness?  Well . . .

on the “trying not to be a fat middle-aged mom” front, I’m doing the Run Like a Girl 8k in Charlotte, NC on May 7th.  I’m running it in honor of turning 40 and I’ll also be pimpin’ out some rad running and ovarian cancer awareness stuff at the store.  Come say hi.  Running Boy is coming too, and he’ll be meeting my bestiest friend of them all.  Saturday night we’re heading out to Enso for a belated birthday dinner and a “hells yeah” to the close of yet another successful race. 

I’m signed up for Dominion Riverrock’s Filthy 5k because Running Boy talked me into it and I’ve never done a mud run before.  I’m not really into being dirty, but then again, I wasn’t really into being sweaty or running until I felt like dying either and look at me now.  It’s May 13th. 

On Sunday, May 22 I’ll be Running Like a Girl again at Pocahontas State Park and still pimpin’ the gear.  It’s a trail run and gorgeous so if you live in the tri-cities area of Virginia, you should definitely run.  You have to have girl parts to register, but if you’re a dude and still feeling like helping, you can volunteer and we’ll be nice to you. 

If I can wax female for a moment, the RLaG events are pretty inspirational.  Not only are you running to raise awareness and cash for ovarian cancer research, running with bunch of friendly women at all levels of physical fitness and all ages is truly inspirational.  I’ve run quite a few races now and this is always one of my favorites.  It reminds me of the reason I started running the first place:  to challenge myself and HAVE FUN.  While I still get competitive with myself, this race is one that reminds me to enjoy the scenery along the way.  I always meet new people and take longer strides to get a chance to speak to whoever is running next to me.  Seeing mothers and daughters, and sometimes even grandmothers, running together is very inspirational and leaves me feeling all “GIRL POWER!” and stuff.  One of my favorite parts is seeing my Richmond bestie cheer on the women; Theresa’s spirit is infectious and she always has a blast putting on the races with her brother-in-law Mark.  Even Running Boy has a big presence in this all-women event; he’s doing some financial stuff behind the scenes and is putting together a team as well as volunteering.  It feels like a family and it reminds me of all the reasons I’m proud to be part of the running community. 

Long term, I’m planning on doing my first triathlon this summer, probably in August.  I’ll start with a lil’ sprint tri and see how that feels.  Guess I’d better start swimming again.  Running Boy and my friend John as well as some of the other local runners I know are seriously considering the Vegas Rock n’ Roll half marathon - it runs at night through the strip.  That’s in December, and there’s a Rock n’ Roll half in Dallas in March which I definitely want to do because my sis lives outside of DFW. 

In personal news, I’ve decided to put my job search on hold until the fall.  Supposedly the economy is recovering (really?  haven’t noticed yet), and mid-May theoretically will bring the return of my busy season and theoretically I will start selling things on a regular basis which will theoretically result in continuing to pay my credit line off and maybe, even maybe, pay myself.  In the fall I will suck it up and again apply for jobs and see what happens.  It will be a financially lean summer for me, but considering Running Boy has his own budgetary concerns (divorce=broke), it will be a nice summer of hiking, running, racing, and for me, biking.  They are all fairly inexpensive.  Hopefully I can get both girls biking with me too. 

Philip is going to help me out with an art project and I’m really excited about it.  I was lamenting to him that writers, although creative, have nothing pretty to hang on the wall.  The art isn’t really tangible, and for me it doesn’t have the same “wow” factor that a nice piece of art has. This conversation came from another conversation with a friend about Philip.  I was telling her that I was irritated that someone with an MBA in finance can just pick up a paintbrush and be a decent artist.  I stamped my foot and said it wasn’t FAIR (he comes from an artistic family).  Here I am, supposedly creative, and Lily draws far better than I do at 8 years of age.  During my conversation with Philip where he was laughing at my assertion that it is just WRONG and frankly ANNOYING that he can be good without having to work hard at it, I had the brilliant idea to send him some of my writing and let him work it into some kind of art.  No idea what he’s going to come up with, but I can’t wait to see the final result.  I decided to send up some of my journals, on the yellowing form paper I used to use on my dot matrix printer (I think that was what it was called).  The journals are from the late 80’s and they are hilarious and dramatic. 

After nearly 2 years of upheaval, my personal life is slowing settling down.  I was looking back at where I was a year ago and the change is quite monumental.  The choices I was making last summer are completely different than the ones I make today.  I guess I needed some time playing in the sandbox of mistakes and confusion to figure out I didn’t want to live there.  Though the kids and I still struggle, we are better and finding ways to be a family of three.  Is it weird talking to my ex-husband about how his girlfriend and my boyfriend will figure into all of our lives?  Yeah, more than a bit awkward, but we’re managing to communicate about the really important stuff.  Hopefully we’ll get to the point where we can communicate about the important stuff too.  In the meantime, I try not to get overwhelmed with things that aren’t happening either today or tomorrow - meaning I try not to stress about my relationships or my job situation or how I’m going to survive if the economy tanks.  It’s a balance between sticking my head in the sand and not going all deer-in-the-headlights about my life and where I thought I’d be at 40 versus where I actually am. 

It does feel amazingly good to be settled again, even if my version of settled includes a bunch of camel crickets in my family room (gotta call the landlord again) and a creaking house that is now missing the bottom half of an interior door thanks to Thora having a freak-out and eating it. I used to miss the predictability of my old life, but my new one is becoming more stable and secure.  Being able to take a deep breath after a long period of time is incredibly welcome.  Seeing the boyfriend go through a horrific divorce makes me grateful, more than ever, that mine is behind me and we never went at each other the way that most couples do.  I’m hopeful that when he gets to the other side, he’ll be stronger and happier than ever. 

I feel lucky today, and I’m relishing it like a kid with a fistful of cake. 

(shamrock shuffle 4k, meg on the left with a four leaf clover around her neck, me on the right in ridiculous shamrock socks and shamrock barettes)

It’s beautiful outside, and I’ve done nothing but play all weekend.  I desperately needed some downtime, and for me that simply meant time without stressing about things I can’t control or worrying about the impact the year and a half has had on the girls, or keeping up with the messes in my life, or how far behind I am in my work, or how I’m unemployed and can’t seem to make corporations understand that small business owners DO have something to contribute to their bottom line. 

I didn’t really think about any of these things. 

Friday I went to a wine party at a friend of a Edwin’s house.  Neither of us could really drink since we were both running in the morning, but we enjoyed ourselves and I met some new people.  The theme was Irish/St. Patty’s Day (of course) so everyone was asked to bring a “bottle of Irish Wine or, failing that, a green bottle of wine”.  I asked my friend Susan who is editor in chief of a big wine magazine for her thoughts.  Her response?  “Irish Wine?  It’s called whiskey.”  Someone even brought Boone’s Farm which made me crack up. 

I was in a pretty good mood Friday night. I had something unexpected happen, which is going to help me in a significant way.  Out of the bitter aftertaste of divorce, some money I wasn’t expected landed on my doorstep and it enables me to pay off the rest of the outstanding marital debt.  This will free up a few bucks monthly so my budget won’t be as tight, and I actually might be able to save some money each month instead of being in the red.  Additionally there is enough left over to help me with a down payment on a house next year.  The “why” of the money is sad, but the result of the money is happy and very necessary right now.  I was honestly at a breaking point with my finances, and hearing that I hadn’t gotten a job I felt I was entirely qualified for (and was frankly something I could have done half asleep, one arm tied behind my back, and with one eye closed) put me in quite a funk.  My new situation doesn’t mean I don’t have to go back to work, but it does mean I can take my time finding the RIGHT job instead of ANY job. 

This also enabled me to replace my aging running shoes.  I was trying to stretch them through the Shamrock Half Marathon next weekend, but frankly my aching arches weren’t making for fun runs.  What does a running nerd buy when a little bit of extra cash comes her way? 

(from left to right, Asics Hera socks, Saucony racing flats, Sport Beans, and the new version of Brooks Defyance 4 - my shoe of choice)

Whether the racing flats will help me in my short distance races I do not know, but I do know that the few laps I took around Road Runners convinced me.  It’s like running with nothing on my feet.  They only weigh a few ounces. 

Saturday morning, I met the YMCA 10K training team and my running buddies Meg, Sarah and Joe for our scheduled 7 miles.  We were in a hurry because we were trying to make a 9 AM race - the Shamrock Shuffle 4k.  Edwin came with me so we could ride to the race together.  Usually the training routes are flat and suburban, but some sadist in charge decided to run us across a major road into an area under construction.  It was like running on a camel’s back.  Hill after hill after hill.  After hill.  Did I mention more hills?  By the time we finished, my hamstrings and glutes were killing me and the only thing I wanted to run to was caffeine and a soft bed.  Or perhaps a masseuse. 

Instead, we caravaned down to Palani Drive for the 4k.  I know lots of people were laughing at the distance - a 4k???  Is that even worth getting into your racing clothes?  A resounding yes is my answer to the question.  By far, that was the most fun distance I’ve ever run.  Despite the car ride helping my muscles to freeze in place, once we got out and started stretching we were ready to go.  Edwin took 1st place in his age group and 3rd overall - AFTER running the 7.  I was quite pleased with my time as well, considering how this course had hills (damn you Mark Junkermann) and I was very fatigued.  My total time was 26:12.  Next year, I’m running it without anything other than a warm-up jog beforehand and giving it every ounce of stamina and speed I have. 

Sarah’s husband Tim met up with Edwin and me at Galaxy Diner for some much needed grease and coffee.  After buying my geeky running stuff, I took a huge nap in which I slept so hard I drooled and probably snored louder than any dog or sleep apnea-affected person.  Edwin did man stuff that I’ve been avoiding - and really, the only stuff I refer to as “man” is generally involving measurements, straight lines, and fractions.  He hung some things on Lily and Arden’s walls that have been sitting in closets since I moved to this house in (ahem) last May.  I hope they are excited to see it. 

We had dinner with Edwin’s mom after waiting an exceedingly long time at Dead Red Lobster.  A “20 minute wait” was actually an hour and 20 minutes.  We scarfed down massive quantities of overly-buttered fish-like entrees and headed back out again to see Dean Fields at Capital Ale.  I couldn’t really tell if Edwin’s friend Bob liked him, but we had a great time.  It was a fairly intimate and low-key setting, and he played some of my favorites including “Carrie’s Feet” and “LA”.  If you haven’t heard Dean, I suggest you give him a listen.  You can see the video for his new single here:

(oh yeah, he’s from Richmond too)

Today I cheered on some of my favorite runners from a warm and cozy chair at Ellwood Thompson’s . . . Theresa, Prissie, Gina, Edwin, and briefly waved hi to Theresa’s hubby Todd as he biked out of the parking lot at Dogwood Dell.  I’m always inspired to see people, especially those of us with kids, getting up at the crack of dawn to be outside, exercise, socialize, and go back home to our children refreshed and somewhat muddy.  It’s a great example to set for them, and hopefully my kids will grow up in a much less sedentary lifestyle than I did. 

Now it’s off to do some housework that is badly needed, after opening the windows in my house to let the spring air in.  I just feel singularly fortunate today.  I appreciate the silence as much as I appreciated being surrounded by people I love all weekend.  In addition to my friends, I’m seeing someone who is regularly described by others with words like solid, funny, talks-a-lot, trustworthy, loyal, dependable, unshakable, very bald and occasionally, captain oblivious.  I’ve suffered a great deal for an extended period of time.  This weekend, I felt some of the heaviness and oppressive thoughts lifting.  I can sense the corner is nearby, though I don’t really believe in corners unless you know that turning a corner inevitably leads to another corner you must turn as well. 

Here’s to a new set of corners. 

I had a call with the estate and trust attorney Mike and I used way back when to set up trusts and directions in the event we were both killed individually or in one great fell swoop.  He was calling because Mike is (rightly so) removing me as a fiduciary and benefactor from his side of the documents. 

Our attorney was someone I coached and did marketing planning for many years ago, when I was still earning a living from doing such things . He was always one of my favorites:  soft-spoken but extremely intelligent, passionate about providing the best, most comprehensive services he could, and open to suggestions.  Soon after I stopped consulting for his firm, he went out on his own.  I’d like to think I had something to do with building his self-confidence so that he felt free to do it.

He was calling to get my permission to be removed from Mike’s documents and to find out what I wanted to do. Obviously, I need a new will and trust for the girls.  But at his hourly rate, it’s going to be quite a while for me to be able to afford to do it.  As we talked, I jokingly said, “Well, here’s hoping I don’t die between now and then.” 

He said very quietly, “Don’t worry.  I will do your documents and you can pay me when you can.  You can pay $10 a month or you can wait and pay it all at once.  It’s just not an issue, so stop thinking about it.”  After he said this, he proceeded to ask how the girls were handling everything, remembering their names and that my oldest is the same age as his son.  He wasn’t asking to be polite.  He actually wanted to know. 

I haven’t cried much since our divorce was finalized, but his kindness got the waterworks flowing.  Thankfully it was after we hung up the phone.  I am often overwhelmed by other people’s kindnesses.  The hardest part has been accepting it when it is offered, but I spend my life trying to help other people and now when I most need help, I have to be willing to hear it the offers. 

I think many of us go through life not realizing how the little things we do or give to others drastically affect them.  I know I’ve given much of myself over the years:  time, money, advice, support, hugs, or just a place to be safe.  Because it is easy for me to give, the giving easily loses its value and I underestimate what I have done for others.  I am finally in a position to give back to people again, as I have the emotional energy I was lacking for a year and a half.  I’m stronger, happier, more settled than I have been, but I still very much need help. 

It was an amazing moment for me.  People make jokes about lawyers and sometimes the stereotype is true.  However, the majority of lawyers I’ve worked with (and been married to) are good, decent people.  Some are even in law for the right reasons.  I remembered all the sessions I’d had with this attorney in his small office years ago and how we’d talk about his future goals, determining the individual steps it would take for him to accomplish them.  5 years later we’re discussing things that didn’t seem possible to me back then, but his compassion and thoughtfulness hasn’t changed a bit. 

It actually made me miss my coaching clients.  Even the attorney ones.