Around this time of year, I always pull some financial reports on my little tiny company to see how badly I’m doing.  I’m not bothering this year because I don’t need a report to tell me how much the economy has wreaked havoc on my websites, only one of which still exists in its original form.

But, I can do a YTD comparison from last year to this one personally.  So much has changed.

I am not sure I really wrote much about last December, but it was horrible.  It was officially the first Christmas/Holiday season without the kids and the husband and the house.  My rental was freezing cold and every night I’d walk around, turning out the lights, and the camel crickets in their half-frozen state would jump half-heartedly in my direction.  It was just so dark around here, no amount of candlelight or faux Christmas cheer could warm or brighten a room.  Forcing myself to put the tree up or lights outside took huge amounts of energy.  I wanted to hide, but when you have kids, you can’t.  I took one for the team, so to speak, and when the girls weren’t with me at night, I’d unplug everything and wrap up in a blanket to kill the perma-frost in this badly insulated house. 

A bunch of things fell apart in December of 2010.  And for the first time since I first hit the big wall of “I give up” in September of 2009, I hit a newer, bigger wall.  Only this time, I knew a hospital stay wouldn’t fix it. 

I gutted my way through two weeks of holiday hell and cheer.  I stayed with friends, buried myself in books, put on a happy face in front of the girls, and waited for whatever this particular brand of crap was to go away. 

There are no words to explain how bad those few weeks were.  I gave up, but held on because I had to.  I had a dog to feed, kids to love, bills to pay. I did not want to be here and I did not want to feel anything - good or bad - ever again.  Normally so in touch with my feelings, I shut down completely and went numb. If someone had asked me to do a self-portrait then, it would have been a painting of a bag of potatoes in a dark cellar.  I couldn’t move. 

It finally lifted, but not until January. 

On December 31st, I ran the Resolution Run.  I needed to prove some things to myself, namely that I still existed in a form strong enough to complete something/anything.  Someone I knew from the running community asked me if I was running it.  This was after I sent out a group text to everyone I knew (including him) going through divorce, wishing them the best.  I said yes.  We decided to meet up there, run the race and have drinks after.  It was New Year’s Eve, after all, and both of us were coming off a pretty crappy year.  Divorce, kids, financial pressures:  we had been through the wringer, in our separate hells. 

Turns out that my “date” for the race became my date for the year.  Running Boy made me laugh that night, and it felt so foreign that it hurt to do it. My ribs weren’t used to expanding and my lungs were still asleep. I found myself talking, the words easier to string together.  I remembered that I had a brain, and a heart, and that I too could make others laugh. 

We were slow in our movements.  Introducing kids took a while, as it should.  Our relationship was complex by its nature.  We both have kids, work, family stuff and commitments.  Because of the complexity, we did everything tentatively.  I didn’t introduce him to any of my friends except those in the running community who already knew him.  He didn’t talk about me much, either.  I know that on my end, I’d been burned so badly by others I had no desire to share anything about my personal life with anyone. 

Most notably, for the first time in any relationship, I had no desire to drag up all my crap and throw it in his face in the name of honesty.  Many experiences have made me who I am today, for better or worse, but I didn’t have the need for him to hear, understand, accept, and look at all of the bad things I’ve said or done.  Important details have emerged when they are needed, but neither of us spent much time dissecting the past.  He’d done a lot of his post-marital legwork and I’d analyzed myself to hell and back.  It was time for me to stop thinking about living life and start doing it. 

So we did. 

In one year, I did more traveling than I’d done in 10.  In January, we took a day and attempted to visit “numerous” wineries to the west of Richmond.  We made it to exactly one because someone (not me) had a few too many samples.  We ended up spending the afternoon with the winery owners, sitting in a beautiful log cabin overlooking the mountains. 

In February we did the Six in the Sticks Chili Run with many of our friends and celebrated a hellish trail run with bandages and coffee and chili. 

In March, we headed off first to Williamsburg for a lovely stay at a B&B, then to Virginia Beach for the Shamrock half marathon after running the Shamrock Shuffle earlier in the month.  Shamrock weekend was legendary, in many ways - friends, togetherness, a great race, beautiful weather, ocean, down time. 

April meant running the Monument Avenue 10K with more good friends, Easter and egg hunts with our kids together, and family dinners. 

We went Andrea and Joe’s wedding - a fabulous experience - combined with another B&B and long run through new territory in southern Virginia.  A fishing expedition at my friend Mary’s house with all 4 kids catching their first live fish.  Run Like a Girl in Charlotte, where Susan and Eddie met him for the first time.  My first Mud Run with him.  Memorial Day weekend with the Greens and part of his family at the Eastern Shore.  Trail runs with Theresa, Prissie, Gina and whoever else felt up to it.  Tubing with Trevor at Dan and Nicole’s - the two of us accepting ridicule for renting the “couples tube” (a figure 8-style inflatable so we could both ride together).  A weekend getaway mid-summer to Waynesboro.  Barbecue and Folk Music festivals in Galax and plenty of runs on the New River Trail, while learning to appreciate Southwest Virginia.  Another weekend trip to Wintergreen with more hiking and running.  Visits to the Children’s Museum with all 4 of the kids, managing not to lose any of them.  Date nights at Sushi-O, taking his daughter to get her first salon mani and pedi, reading to his son while trying to make train sounds without sounding like a psycho.  Hay rides and pumpkin patches.  A weekend in DC with good friends and the Army 10-miler.  Seeing Todd’s band play out for the first time in a long while.  Museums and art galleries (my choice), offset by his need to “mantique” (read: look at junk he doesn’t need).  Thanksgiving together. 

In a year, my life completely changed.  I got a job - one that I like, one that challenges me.  I met someone who complements me in many ways while still allowing me the freedom to stay me.  He’s strong and opinionated; he’s soft and kind; he’s 100% male but has an affectionate side that has warmed even the coldest of hearts in my life.  While it’s been difficult, and the kids have struggled to accept his position in my life, 12 months later we’re doing a whole lot better. 

I think back to the utter hopelessness I felt last year at this time, the dread of seeing my divorce finalized, the sheer emptiness I felt when I left my kids on Christmas Day to force myself on a 10 mile run just to kill the boredom and sadness.  I still have my hard times but they are different now.  The pieces have fallen together, and they don’t look the way I thought they would, but they still make a pretty picture and one I can live with.  I struggle still to be flexible with the direction of my life, but he has made that easier for me.  Even when he irritates the living hell out of me, we both end up laughing about it.  When I push back against the way my life looks, he reminds me of what we both have to gain by being understanding and flexible and it’s usually what I need to hear. 

You don’t need me to spell this allegory out for you, so I’ll just say:  My house is still so cold in winter, but I got an infrared heater.  The camel crickets aren’t around much anymore, and I joyfully put up my Christmas decor this year.  (Running Boy, staring at the excessive decorations: ‘Ummm, do you do this every year?’) I enjoyed shopping for gifts, I’ve been hugging my friends a lot, and even though I’m off from running for a month, I’m happy to be taking steps to be healthier and stronger. 

It’s been a really good year. 

I know I’ve mentioned it before, but one thing I’m really proud of in my own divorce is the way my ex and I have handled any issues with the girls, especially regarding how we discuss the girlfriend/boyfriend in each of our lives.  My ex’s girlfriend is actively involved in both girls lives. Has it been weird?  Yeah, of course.  Am I threatened by her? No.  She fills a role in their life, and right now that role is fun for all of them and full of exciting and new things.  She doesn’t have kids of her own, and is able to focus on mine.  Sometimes that is weird for me.  That’s the best word I can think of for it.  At the end of the day, though, I trust my ex’s judgment.  I know he will put good people around the kids we had together.  And I’m pretty sure he feels the same way about me. 

So yes, I know that we are more on the “fantasy” side of divorced parents sharing custody of their kids.  I get it.  I get that most divorces and custody arrangements are ugly and drawn out for years.  The kids pay the price, and so does everyone touched by that kind of poison.  I felt so grateful I had dodged that particular bullet, though I’m peppered straight through with many other kinds of ammunition.

What I didn’t consider was how much damage and anger my boyfriend’s soon-to-be legal ex-wife was going to cause. 

I mean, people are reasonable, right?  Both parents love their children, and want what’s best for them, and frankly, we can say that what’s best for a child is an amorphous thing, but really, it normally isn’t that hard to figure out what hurts them less and how to behave around them.  Even if I felt ill will toward my ex’s girlfriend, and I do not - I would NEVER (capitalization necessary) discuss that in front of my children, or tell them bad things about her, or try to turn them against her.  My children have enough strife in their life without worrying about how their mom feels about their dad’s girlfriend. 

Unfortunately Running Boy’s ex doesn’t feel that way. 

Much as I’d love to lay her open right here, it won’t do any good.  It might actually do some harm.  So I’m going to keep this general.  I’m not allowed to send this directly to her, so I’m just going to write it here and hope that the universe, God, or whatever she believes in will give her some peace so she can in turn give it back to her children.

Dear ___:

I know we’ve never officially met.  That’s been partly due to the fact that neither of us has any desire to meet, but also because I am afraid to meet you.  Some days I harbor such intense anger and disbelief surrounding you that I fear a face to face meeting would result in all sorts of words coming out from behind my filter, and we all know that’s not going to be good.  But I’m going to put that aside for a minute and introduce myself.

Hi.  I’m the girlfriend of your ex-husband.  I’ve been around for quite a while and I am not going anywhere.  I have two children of my own; I believe you’ve heard lots about them from your own two children.  I just have a couple of things to remind you of, as well as a couple of things to ask of you.  If you can do these things, we’ll get along just fine in the future.

First, the reminder parts. 

You left him.  YOU left.  You chose to end it.  When you end things, you don’t get to dictate the future.  You don’t get to say, “I don’t love you anymore and I want out” and still try to set rules about who he can date, when, and how.  Additionally, communication is an amazing thing.  Say what you want and say what you mean and you might get better results.  Waiting until court to throw a bunch of crap out into the air doesn’t help anyone.  If you have concerns about him, or me, or our life together - speak up.  I know it’s hard and weird but it’s necessary. 

Second reminder.  YOU left.  I realize that sounds like the first, but in this case, I mean it in a different manner.  You wanted out.  You got out.  But maliciously attempting to destroy his life (and I still don’t get where all your anger comes from, but I’m guessing you don’t either - in that case, therapy is a real life-saver) isn’t helping and it’s hurting his kids.  The amount of money the two of you are spending in legal fees equals a Harvard education for at least one of your two kids.  Keep it up and I’m sure we can get another 4 years of ivy league paid out in legal fees.  Is it best for your kids to be attending community college because you blew through every ounce of money you once had fighting over 40% custody versus 60%?  Or a couch that was worth $1000 10 years ago?  Trust me.  It isn’t worth it. 

Oh, I know I sound a bit self-righteous.  I made many, many mistakes in my marriage and in the ensuing aftermath.  But that’s my crap and I have to live with myself every day for it.  However, I never attempted to make my ex pay or give me things that weren’t mine to take, WHETHER I WAS LEGALLY ENTITLED TO OR NOT.  I resent you trying to ruin him in your need for the almighty dollar.  I resent you continuing your path knowing full well there is no good end result for yourself, yet you’re going to see it through to the bitter end.  Most of all,  I resent you dragging two innocent children into your issues, and I resent having to deal with you.  I’ve earned some peace in my life, whether you believe me or not.  And nothing about the way you act is peaceful, whole, or healthy. 

My requests: 

Please, no matter how you feel about me - leave me out of your discussions with your children.  I made the dire miscalculation to take your 4 year old daughter out to have a manicure with me.  It’s something my kids have always enjoyed doing with me and I felt like she needed a little extra attention.  Apparently, in your words:  “____(me) is not your mother and she shouldn’t be doing your nails.”  Interesting that nail polish makes you a mom.  Apparently nail polish is the domain of the mother, but making sure your 4 year old’s birthday is recognized (in your words, what kid needs a party every year???), is the domain of girlfriends and other family and friends.  How fun it must have been for your ex and my boyfriend to hear his daughter say that I am not supposed to be caring for her in any way or showing her love or attention.  Are you that insecure that you can’t allow me to do anything nice for your children?  The next time your son runs a high fever, should I withhold a cool washcloth for his forehead because again, that is a “mother’s job”?  God forbid I step on your toes by reading a story, sharing a hug or fixing popcorn for your children.  If you can’t change this, then please provide me a numbered or bulleted list of all the items that fall to the “real” mother so I can avoid those in the future. 

Here’s the deal - when we leave husbands, we also accept the fact that we are not going to be with our kids 100% of the time.  And frankly, if someone is around my girls when they are sick or tired or just feeling lonely and can provide them some solace, a washcloth, or a band-aid, I’m completely okay with it.  Why can’t you be?  Can you truly grow up and let go?  Saying mean things about me or making your little girl feel strange about allowing me in her life really isn’t helpful to anyone, even if it makes you feel better when you do it. 

My part of the deal is that I will not try to replace you as their mother.  I couldn’t even if I wanted to.  My ex’s girlfriend won’t replace me either.  More people to love children is never a bad thing.  Remove your head from your ass and take a hard look at where you are directing your misery.  Because yes, it’s bugging your ex and it’s bugging the crap out of me.  However, it’s doing worse than bugging your children.  You are hurting them, as surely as you wouldn’t let them play in traffic or eat dirt or leave dirty needles around your apartment. 

And I mean this from one mother to another:  honey, it would help all of us if you’d stop worrying so much about everyone else and start looking at your own parenting skills.  When your daughter runs a fever and has trouble breathing or is acting out of it, suck it up and take her to the doctor instead of leaving it for your ex to deal with.  Stop throwing stones at other people who are just trying to help and spend some time looking into the roots of your own miserable behavior.  Take the time you have with your kids and LOVE them.  Focus on them, not on all the other things you aren’t “getting” or “losing”. 

Because, as I’ve told your ex many times over now . . . if you wanted all of those things, all you had to do was stay married to him. 

Divorce requires so many sacrifices. Many of them you don’t even realize until you stumble blindly into that wall.  Part of your realization is going to be that your ex is happier now.  His life has moved forward.  Your kids are surviving and doing well, even if you make poor decisions sometimes. 

Frankly, if the worst thing your kids have to experience is another woman who loves and cares about them, your kids are pretty lucky.  Just as mine are lucky to have someone to love them when I’m not around, and do things like paint their nails or braid their hair. 

xoxoxo,

The ex’s girlfriend

This working thing has really been killing my bloguctivity, but yes, I’m still here. 

Many things have happened since I last confessed my sins.  In no particular order of importance . . .

Running:  One more race and I’m officially done until January.  I’m doing a local Thanksgiving Day race.  I didn’t do the half marathon last weekend as I had planned (and trained for) - mostly because my body hurts in weird places and frankly, running 3 last year was enough.  I dropped down to the 8k and had my best race of the season.  I am definitely a cold weather runner.  I ran consistently and quickly (considering how I’ve been running).  I had enough energy that during the last mile to really push myself.  Flying down the final hill to the finish line, I remembered why running is so addictive.  But since then, I haven’t had the urge to do it . . . probably because I’m exhausted, busy, and fighting a cold.  I won’t be able to run until January due to some surgery looming on December 2nd.  It’s nothing major but it requires me to not lift anything over 10 lbs for a month and NO exercise except for walking.  Whee-haaah, I’m going to be insane. 

Work: Really, really busy.  Incredibly busy.  Working on higher level stuff than I’d dared to hope for.  Trying to stay on top of it while navigating the enormity of the organization.  I’m still enjoying the structure and the brain power there, and I’m still not taking the free pens and post-it notes for granted.

I’m Petty and Hurt: I’m mostly over what happened before and after the separation and subsequent divorce from my husband.  Sometimes, though, I discover a landmine under my unsuspecting and blissfully stupid feet. Just when I think I’m immune to those old pains, it detonates and I’m left dazed and muddy, wondering what the hell just happened.  This happened recently.  I want to think that I am a bigger person, that I am not the type to let things bother me, especially petty things. But I’m not big enough yet - and maybe I never will be.  Out of the many things that happened during the worst period of my life, some are still so painful I have to look at them briefly, then look away for a month or two.  I can’t really delve into them because there is no good outcome and there never will be.  It’s just an ugly part of my life that cannot be changed or redrawn no matter how many times I poke it with a stick. 

One of those things was the loss of many friends - 2 in particular - that were nearly as painful as the loss of my marriage.  I’ve managed to come to terms with it, but only in the sense that it isn’t fixable and there is nothing anyone can do to repair it. 

To understand the issue I have to explain the background.  I was the social one in my marriage.  I was the one interested in outings, having friends over, going places, doing things, couples dates, etc.  When I didn’t put them together, they didn’t happen.  I don’t think my ex would disagree with this; he acknowledged it many times during discussions.  He wasn’t all that interested.  He had me, he had his work, and later he had the girls.  I always admired (and despised) his ability to be so content with so few things. 

That being said, he wasn’t all that interested in any of my friends either.  He was polite, went out when asked to, acted socially and attended parties.  But he was never attached or involved with any of them.  So you can imagine my surprise when years after this has all happened, I am reminded that he’s still talking to the one person I’m smarting the most over losing.  Especially when it is dropped casually in the car by my children’s random chatter.  Which lead to Lily asking me why I wasn’t friends with her anymore.  Which lead to a discussion I really didn’t want to have, but had anyway.  I answered her question as truthfully as I could without saying anything bad about anyone and also letting her know that occasionally even best friends have arguments that can’t be patched. 

(on another note, I find it interesting that I am still not willing to drop a bunch of our marital or friendship dirty laundry here - I guess I am “big enough” on some levels to act appropriately). 

After that discussion, I was left wondering what the motivation for both of my exes (ex-husband, ex-friend) is.  You could say that keeping our children in touch with each other is a “good thing”.  After all, many of their early milestones were spent together.  But . . . really?  It would be like me trying to get in touch with his law school friends and hang out with them and their children.  I realize part of what makes me ugly is that I did honestly classify people as “mine” and “his”. I don’t think it’s all that uncommon, but admitting I’ve gone down that road is icky.  And she was definitely “my” friend.  Every time I hear about them getting together, I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.  There is part of me who also mourns the fact that I won’t get to see her child grow up, a child I loved like my own.  So this means I should be happy my kids will, but I’m not.  I’m not happy about any of it.  In short, anything that reminds me of her and that situation hurts so much I can’t bear it.  I’m frustrated and sad - at myself for caring about it, and at them for continuing to talk. 

I could write 5,000 pages on everything that happened over the years to make me snap when I did during my relationship with her.  But I’m not going to.  I’ve hashed it all out over the years in therapy, and I’m done with it.  It will always hurt but I also realized that the letter I had written to her was never going to be sent.  I didn’t want to talk about anything, which was really the first time in my life I accepted that I couldn’t - and didn’t want to - fix something that was broken.  I needed to be okay with her thinking I just went crazy and accept that she has one view of what happened.  There was no real point in trying to explain how I got to that point, because it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. 

So the question is now how I handle her infrequent interactions with my children, and how I handle processing why in a million years my ex would even be slightly interested in maintaining a relationship with her.  Still working on this issue and trying to find a way to be a better person. 

[Someone asked me recently if I thought she, or my ex, or my ex’s girlfriend reads this blog.  No idea - but if they do - hi to all of you.  I am positive I would never read anything like this if they were the ones writing it, but if it gives them a charge or helps them feel superior, more intelligent, and more together than I am, I’m happy to provide that platform.]

Running Boy:  Running Boy and I are still, well, running.  Sometimes it feels like that’s all we ever do.  I’d love to be able to say things are going to calm down, but they won’t.  The facts: between us there are 4 kids, 4 custody schedules, one bitter and unhappy ex-wife and 2 dogs.  I’ve had to accept some facts that are very hard for me.  In my fantasy world, I had a view of how my future would look and though I am very happy now, and feel settled and at peace with my life, the real vision of how things will need to be in order to function is very different than my original feeling.  I’ll get into details at some point when it’s more appropriate to do so, but let’s just say that I really wish I didn’t live in a highly conservative state right now.  The laws here that dictate what is right or wrong really bother me.  In short, the fact remains that from a strictly legal perspective, it’s ok to have different men in and out of your life (and your kid’s lives).  It’s not ok to have a serious committed relationship, however, because if one lives with another in the Commonwealth of Virginia without being married, your custody is up for discussion.  It’s really freaking bizarre. 

In the meantime, we have lots of fun, we rile each other’s children before bed time, run together, talk about how love makes you fat and generally enjoy life.  We both have earned some time to enjoy. I’m hopeful that very, very soon he’ll be one step closer to real freedom, or as free as one can get when you have children with someone else. 

In December, we’re celebrating our first year together.  Not sure what we’re doing yet, but hopefully it will involve a lot of either skiing, spa-like excesses, sleep or running.

State Hospital:

In a completely unrelated and almost bizarre manner, a friend posted this video on Facebook today.  The State Hospital in Traverse City was always one of my favorite places there. My earliest memory of the grounds dates back to elementary school. I had to do a leaf collecting project, and the State Hospital was famous for having a huge variety of trees.  I still remember my dad helping me pull a ginkgo leaf off while we compared it to a page in my textbook.  It was beautiful, albeit scary - too much crumbling brick and decay, but fascinating.  The video really captures all I loved about it.

(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. 

During the years of marriage, I was rarely in the situation we all call “a fight”.  We rarely “fought”.  Disagreed, yes.  Got on each other’s nerves, yeah, probably.  We used to take pride in the fact that we didn’t fight.  Later, it occurred to me that we weren’t arguing like other people because we weren’t really talking about the things that we really felt.  It was easier to ignore those things, let them roll off the proverbial duck’s back, play nice and be nice.  We were experts at playing nicely.  We were so good at it, I hardly noticed the silence between us. 

In the past two years, I’ve learned how normal arguments can be.  At first I was taken off guard - if I was fighting with someone (and by fighting, I mean talking passionately about whatever the major drama of the moment is), then it must mean we weren’t compatible and something was seriously wrong with both of us.  Even worse were the disagreements where my feelings would get hurt, or someone would hurl something mean at me.  I’d actually cry real tears.  The ex would have died before he let something out, knowing it would hurt my feelings, even if it meant we weren’t going to fix the real problems. 

Those few times I had a bruised ego or my feelings had been wiped with dirty feet, after the initial sucker punch feelings wore off I felt something strange:  I was feeling.  I had hurt feelings because my feelings were awake, and I was engaging enough with the other person to allow myself to see and be seen.  Some of these disagreements were the answer to any question I had about the longevity of the relationship.  Others either brought me closer to the arguer; on the best occasions, I learned something about myself or discovered yet another flaw or chink in my armor I hadn’t noticed previously. 

Now that I’ve set the scene, I have to say that Running Boy and I rarely argue.  This is mostly because if he irritates me (and he does, often), I let him know it immediately, usually as it’s happening.  When I get on his nerves (and I do, often), all it takes is a strained sigh or eyeball roll to let me know I’ve stepped over the line.  His honesty can be refreshing because unlike most men, he’s not scared of me in the slightest.  His honesty can also be pretty hard to hear because I’m not always right there ready to drink what he’s been mixing up for me.  Even the things he’s said that have hurt my feelings the most have become the stuff of legend; if he’d let me, I’d love to post what led up to me explaining to him what you can and can’t say to girls in general, but alas, I’d like to stay with him a bit longer. 

We’ve had a couple of serious miscommunications.  I think I’m being obvious - it’s not obvious enough to Captain Oblivious, and we end up sparring until he finally gets crabby and says, “OK out with it, what the hell is up with you?”  It’s that kind of in-your-face directness that is attractive to me.  There’s no point in being coy when your cover has been blown. 

We had our first major argument on Thursday night, and like most arguments, what caused it is really quite minor and insignificant.  I’ve always held that the things that make me angry aren’t usually directly related to what sets me off.  I hold a lot in, believe it or not, and try to go with the flow as long as possible.  The problem is, I don’t always know when my uncorking is going to happen, so something small may happen and good lord, watch out - Ima Gonna Break Bad on YOU.  We have an underlying disagreement about something and we butt heads on it occasionally, but this time I felt like I’d spoken many, many times and I was tired of what appeared to me as not being heard.  He was tired and cranky and feeling like he had no other options, and he was frankly annoyed by what appeared to him as me not being understanding. We got into it.  I was stormily folding laundry and he was talking, trying to get me to talk back, and finally he just demanded I stop being a quiet bitch and bring on the loud bitch. 

It was one of the best arguments of my life.  Although my feelings got hurt once again, and I almost grabbed my stuff and left his house because he was being a butthead, the entire time we argued and went back and forth over the issues we were both alternating between laughter and insistence.  I never thought, “This fight is going to end us.”  I knew he’d get over it and I knew I would too.  That kind of security allows you to talk without too much fear.

I wasn’t being heard, so I talked more loudly - more emphatically - and probably stopped folding laundry to show him how MAD I was.  He started to smile and I glared at him.  “WHAT is so FUNNY???” I shouted.  He laughed then, a big belly laugh.  “We’re totally fighting!  It’s our first fight!”  This made him laugh even harder and made me start to smile, as well.  Later, when the smiles had faded and we were back into it again, he was raising his voice and I giggled.  We were both just so tired, and frustrated, and we knew it was a stupid argument to be having any way.  At some point, we gave up on the laundry and the discussion and arm wrestled.  And that is not a euphemism for something else. 

I’m not sure he gets what I was mad about, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to have this same “discussion” again, probably on another upcoming Thursday night.  It’s one of those things I’ve realized about being in a relationship again.  The same things are going to drive each other crazy.  It’s more a matter of being able to say it outright, and know that you’re going to try to fix it but will probably not be successful and the other person is just going to have to suck it up and live with your quirks and weirdness.  I know that our future arguments might not include the laughing and pointing this one had, but if they can be similar, I think we can overcome a large majority of crap.