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Limbo.

2012-02-03T20:56:54Z

I was talking to someone at work today who’s had a serious streak of bad luck/karma/ickiness lately. I jokingly asked her if she’d clubbed a baby seal in a past life or something. Today I’m feeling sorry for myself, like I’ve had my own baby seal mass clubbing genocidal rampage in my previous life.

It’s such a cliché to say that life isn’t fair. You can be a very bad person, make very bad decisions, hurt people, leave wreckage behind for someone else to clean up and yet, you still may come out ahead.

It isn’t fair that you can work your ass off and have someone take your hard-earned results just because they can.

It isn’t fair that you can be the cause of so much pain and turmoil, and still expect the person you hurt to continue to give to you.

It isn’t fair that children are stuck in the middle, desperate for some stability and sanity with the adults in their lives.

And it certainly isn’t fair that greed and poor moral fiber and a general sense of entitlement affects the lives of those who never wanted to be involved with you in the first place.

Never have I felt so completely beaten down and frustrated with a situation over which I have no control. It seems to drag on endlessly. Most unfortunate, there is no good outcome for anyone involved.

Sometimes I kick myself for decisions I made a while back. Based on the information I had at the time, they seemed sound enough. I wonder if all the hell and frustration I’m feeling now is my own personal penance, my punishment, for my own transgressions in my actions against other people. Maybe watching the suffering of my friend is appropriate and just desserts for the pain I have put others through. Maybe it’s just life and there is no reason why things happen or don’t happen.

I keep thinking about my parents, and all the years they owned a business. It never seemed to matter what the situation was – whenever the law was involved, they always ended up on the losing side. Try to run a business honestly, you pay. Try to reward your employees, you pay. Work hard, be a good father, a good husband – you’re going to pay too.

The dark, niggling fear that consumes me late at night: am I witnessing my significant other’s hell up close and personal because I did the very same thing to my ex?

Then I become rational, reasonable, and begin to list out the ways in which my situation was so different, from the reasons why I got married in the first place, to having children, to our finances, to the way we ended things, to the way we communicate now.

No matter how I seem to look at it, though, turning it this way and that in my head, I feel almost as though I personally deserve this, and that this form of limbo is closer to the Catholic concept of hell than it is to being stuck in the middle, between good and bad.

Sesame Seed Oil - WHAT???

2012-02-02T03:22:23Z

I had a really crappy day today. My patience is shot, and I am not patient to begin with. The day was so crappy I don’t even want to write about it, because then maybe it will have just been my imagination.

Work wasn’t good. It was a vivid reminder that I am not firing on all cylinders (if I were a car, I’d be a Gremlin, with two cylinders), in any part of my life. My personal life feels like someone is alternately standing on the brakes, so to speak, or spinning me in a vortex. I’ve been in varying degrees of chaos since 2009, and this woman wants off the rollercoaster. I have never felt so powerless in my life. The changes that need to happen are mostly outside of myself, and up to other people. I can only sit by, biting my nails, waiting for it to end. I feel like I’m under-performing as a mother, a coworker, a friend and sometimes, a girlfriend.

You can imagine my delight when, after today, I came home finally at 7.30 at night. I left the house at 7 am. Thora decided to pull a bottle of sesame seed oil off my pantry shelf. She ate it. In the middle of the living room. Again. My house now smells like a dirty Chinese restaurant, and two treatments with the steam cleaner has now made it smell like a febreezed Chinese restaurant. Glorious.

Patience. I want it so badly, but instead, I’ll settle for this picture instead.

More “Inappropriate” Sharing.

2012-01-17T14:00:06Z

**This is a long post. I apologize but after editing it and editing it, this is as concise as I can be**

I used to work with a guy who was prone to fits of rage. If he’d been around 3-4 years old, we would have called them temper tantrums. He’d get so mad at a client, he’d scream obscenities and slam his door so hard the ceiling tiles would fly out of place.

I found out a few months into that job that he suffered from diabetes, and didn’t do a very good job managing his condition. When his blood sugar would drop, he’d become irritable to an extreme. Unfortunately, some of his clients got the brunt of it and equally unfortunate that his coworkers got more than their fair share.

Many of us excused his behavior because oh, he had diabetes. And he did. When he managed his condition properly, he was a normal human being.

So I wonder how different mental illness is from his diabetes.

I myself have tired of hearing professionals and those of us who suffer from various forms of it say, “_____(insert condition here) is the same as diabetes or hypothyroidism or any other kind of medical problem. It needs to be treated, and no one looks down on someone taking medication for a heart problem.”

This is true, but the words sound hollow to me because let’s face it, telling someone I suffer from high cholesterol and take meds to manage it is very different than telling someone I’m bipolar II (always important to stress the ‘II’ part! Because that means I’m half as crazy! It’s SOFT bipolar, dammit!) and “need” medication to “be normal”.

The fact is, for many years I was misdiagnosed with simple depression. No one, and there were plenty of people who knew, connected my eating disorder with my true issue. An even bigger fact: most people who knew me would have never known I was sick or suffering. I became a master at keeping my crazy all to myself. It helped that back then, I was a “writer” and I was “artsy” because hell, all of us creative types were prone to moodiness and tears. My eating disorder was also an excellent form of medication to keep the true symptoms buried deep. Some people compulsively shop, gamble, or engage in very unhealthy behaviors. These are the regular types of self-medication. Mine worked very well for many years.

It is not an understatement to express how grateful I am that I came undone at the end of my marriage. It took me being able to realize how bizarre my internal thoughts were to also make me realize that something much bigger was going on. Although I would rather poke hot needles into my nail beds than go through those things again, I am truly the healthiest I have been because of them.

I’ve said all of this before. Why say it again?

Because when I first decided to come forward publicly with my story, I spent a lot of time analyzing the pros and cons of it. I knew that someday someone might try to use my words against me, call me crazy, fling insults, and just simply feel superior to me. More than that, I worried my kids would somehow suffer from other people knowing about it. At the end of my deliberations, I decided to write as openly as I could about it while still maintaining some semblance of privacy and hopefully, dignity. All the others before me who had written honestly about their own journey had helped me so much on my own. I felt I owed it to the people in my life and, in a weird way, people that didn’t know me, an insider’s guide to living with mental illness. I still don’t regret that decision.

Honestly, my fears about coming out with it have come true on a number of occasions. I’ve had to accept the fact that I can’t explain myself to those unwilling to listen. I can’t control how others view me. I just have to be okay with myself and the steps I’ve taken (and there have been many!) to be the person I am today.

I think what’s frustrated me the most is that it’s so much more taboo to discuss mental illness and own it than it is to just live with depression or other things silently, all the while pretending you’re okay. Because I’ve had years of therapy, a great psychiatrist and done tons of personally agonizing and difficult work on myself, I’m somehow “less than” a person who just chooses to ignore their poor life decisions, erratic behavior, self-destructive personality, etc.

WARNING to FAMILY MEMBERS who FREAK OUT THAT I POSTED ABOUT IT IN THE FIRST PLACE: You MIGHT want to STOP READING because OMG SOMETHING POTENTIALLY NEGATIVE HAS HAPPENED! SOMEONE HAS JUDGED ME! WARNING!!!!

(I do get the fact that those in my family who were concerned about me acknowledging what happened just can’t stand the thought of others judging me or potentially penalizing me)

It happened recently that someone found out about my (gasp) illness and was questioning Running Boy about it. Did he know? Was he aware? Was I on medication? In a way, I was amused. Did he know? Come on, seriously? I may not wear a t-shirt that says “Kiss me, I’m Soft Bipolar”, but everyone close to me knows the truth and also knows how hard I work to be the best person I can.

Actually, maybe I DO wear a t-shirt that says this!

I was okay with that part, but the niggling fear under my conversation with RB was, “Is this going to be used against me? Or him? Is my presence in his life going to cause him more trouble than he deserves?” The answer is yes, we could go through some crap. However, I have people lined up to talk about who I am today – including the aforementioned therapy/psych people – and at the end of the day, I’d venture to say I’m more self-aware and stable than the majority of people at the grocery store in any given day.

What’s truly sad is that you’d think from what I’ve said that I was some raving lunatic in my previous life. I wasn’t. Unfortunately, by being so “normal”, I went undiagnosed for years and years and years – which meant that by outsider’s standards, I was fine – but internally I suffered in various ways.

I have a medical condition. I am on two medications, at low doses, to manage it. I spent many years looking at my internal thought processes and my various crutches that enabled me to live with it. As I hiked Sunday with a good friend, she said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy.” I’m not sure I’d call it happiness as I don’t trust that word. I would say I feel the strongest and most calm I’ve ever felt in my life, and this feeling has been with me for the last two years. I still have good days and bad days like the rest of the population, and I still have to really manage my sleep patterns and make sure the people in my life are healthy people themselves. But honestly? Judging me because I’ve taken major steps to be a better mother, a better person? That thought process makes me tired.

I’m curious. Delurk, even if anonymously. Tell me how many people in your life have suffered from mental illness. Share what you can. Have I helped you? Hurt you? What do you think the best way to combat this stigma is?

Paper Airplanes.

2012-01-17T02:34:49Z

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.

Climbing another mountain . . . .

2012-01-09T20:22:53Z

It’s been quite a hiatus, between the holidays, traveling and eating myself into an early grave. I swear I don’t do it on purpose but Running Boy is right: writing when I’m happy is a lot harder than writing when I’m sad.

Work has kept me busy, as well as the myriad of commitments and fun things that happen every December. My kids had a great Christmas, and Arden lost both of her two front teeth just late enough where I couldn’t sing “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth”. She has an adorable lisp now and a huge gap to accommodate her incoming fangs. I spent most of their winter break trying to live in the moment and not think too much about the various uncertainties of my near-future. I did well at that for a time, but am now back into planning mode. It’s my nature to examine situations from all angles and attempt to have a game plan for any outcome. Perhaps I should have been a lawyer, since that’s what most of them do for a living – figure out worst-case scenarios and ways to avoid them.

I still love my job, but I occasionally mourn the loss of my mom-life where I could set my hours and spend time in the afternoons with the girls. I don’t miss not having money and the times work would happen inevitably right after the girls got home, and I’d end up telling them to quiet down so I could get some stuff done or take a phone call. My life is much more compartmentalized now than it was, and that’s been good for me. I thrive on routine and I love being able to come home from work and for the most part, shelve any feelings or ideas about it until the next morning at 8 am.

Running Boy got me an iPad for Christmas, which was really unexpected and over the top but I am in love with that thing like whoa. I think my recent bout of insomnia and sleep deprivation is directly related to the amount of time I spend glued to it, and Netflix is probably going to go bankrupt because of how many movies I have already downloaded. I’ll get my $7.99/month worth, dammit.

For our one year anniversary, we headed to Grottoes, VA for New Year’s weekend. Two of our close friends joined us. We stayed at a placed called the High Laurel Inn and it was amazing. Perched on the side of a mountain overlooking the Shenandoah Valley, we had our own side of a converted barn complete with fireplace and private balcony. Our friends had the other side of the barn. Their big selling point to us was an outdoor 6 person hot tub sharing the same view with the rest of the property. Much champagne and wine was consumed from that perch. I slept a lot – more than I probably should have. It had been awhile since I’d been able to unwind enough where I felt lazy and slothlike. After a day of that, we spent New Year’s Day hiking. Prior to that hike, I had run once and worked out on an elliptical machine once since being released back to normal life activity after a month off post-surgery. Feeling cocky, lazy and slothlike, we chose a “strenuous” 10 mile hike because our inn host offered to drop us at the trailhead. Another selling point of the inn was the proximity to trails in the Shenandoah National Park. We could hike the trail, then hop off when we passed by the inn.
Although I’d looked at the trail map before we attempted the hike, I hadn’t really grasped the fact that the first 5 ½ miles were uphill. And I mean straight uphill. Additionally, the idea was to hike the first half and run the trail the second half. Anytime the ground began to “flatten out”, we started running. By the time we got to the actual flattish part of the terrain, my quads were shot from going downhill and my calves were screaming up the uphill bits. Run that trail once or twice a week and you’d be in great shape.

The scenery was gorgeous, and would have made an excellent natural headstone for my dead body. However, Running Boy kept pushing me onward and cheerfully pestering me with comments and questions. Then he figured out the key to getting me through the hike: promising me dinner and another soak in the hot tub.

After the immediate feeling of death passed, we talked about doing another hike soon since we did have a good time and it’s a pretty inexpensive (and healthy) way to spend a day. I don’t want to make the same mistake I made while living in Northern Michigan. Growing up around the beauty we had at our doorstep made me nearly immune to it. As much as I gripe about Virginia, there are some amazing places to visit and things to do. So as we save our money this winter and spring, we’ll probably be doing quite a bit of mountainous exploring and trail running.

My lease is up in May – big decisions about what to do and how. The only thing I know for certain is that I want to stay in the same school district. I finally feel 100% happy with where they go, and I don’t want to rock that particular boat quite yet. It makes my living options very limited as it’s a small area that feeds into their school. Half of it is $500k and up homes; the other half is tiny brick ranchers that are still overpriced because of the school district. I’m not really into either option. That’s one of those areas I’m avoiding thinking about.

In the meantime, I am still waiting for some finality in other areas of my life. One of my big Christmas gifts came early when Running Boy got some closure. The second half of that is right around the corner, and I will be so very happy when one less thing is hanging over both of our heads.

Another Holiday Letter.

2011-12-21T18:51:45Z

A month or so ago, I posted the annual holiday letter my boss sends every year to family and friends. This year’s is fabulous, too, and with his permission, I’m posting it here. I’ve removed any identifying details and edited it for content, but I’ve left his primary message intact. Enjoy.

I always admired the late Reverend Peter Gomes, whose messages from the pulpit in Harvard’s Memorial Church stirred a lot of souls – especially the memorial services he offered at each of the reunions we attended. Years ago I got to introduce Peter at a church fundraising dinner. (When he referred to me as “Brother” during his remarks, this mid-western hayseed felt like he had made it to the big time!) Recently, we received a flyer announcing an auction of the contents of Peter’s homes. This flyer did what death usually does – reminded me of the value of life. On page 283 of The Good Life, Reverend Gomes wrote: “The good life is not to be found wrapped up and waiting for us like the Dead Sea Scrolls or some ancient artifacts from a culture that once flourished but is now long gone. Not at all. The good life, whose object, like that of hope, is a future good….enables us to live now that which we seek.” Living now that which we seek makes so much sense. Why do we think that real joy is the goal, rather than a daily choice? I am sure Peter left behind some wonderful items for auction, but the beauty of those antiques can’t compete with the messages of love and good-heartedness he left behind.

Peter also wrote and spoke about gratitude – which has been mentioned in numerous Holiday Letters over the years. Those of us who write these annual missives predictably express gratitude for our family and friends, and for the many blessings we have been given. For some reason, though, I have resisted practicing gratitude formally by following the recommended rituals. That may seem a little odd in the face of overwhelming evidence that keeping a so-called ‘Gratitude Journal’ makes us happier. Yet, I have not been able to discipline myself to do that, or anything else that is recommended by those who have studied the phenomenon.

One writer suggested that we should cultivate gratitude by taking a moment during each meal to tell those gathered what we are thankful for – not just during the Thanksgiving meal, but always. (It could lead to surprises, as I remember one Thanksgiving dinner at which a young Reid said he was thankful for Oprah and Wheel of Fortune.) Maybe we will try this one in ’12.

Specifically, this year we are grateful that Paige is actually a fabulous teenager—the kind you can only hope for. (Can you believe she is driving?) We are thankful that Craig continues to pursue his passion of broadcasting baseball, and that he is enjoying all that Florida has to offer. We are grateful that Reid has continued to advance in his development; and we are grateful for the way Karen and I still have fun in all that we do together.

As some of you know from years of reading about Reid, he lives ‘in the moment’ with great joy. “Live now that which we seek…” So, I thought I would share with you a poem I wrote about Reid several years ago:

There is something about Reid
that makes us smile
when he finds joy in the simplest things.

There is something about Reid
that makes him giggle,
seeing a moon, a sun, or a mouse.

There is something about Reid
that makes us happy
in the way his sweet heart sings.

There is something about Reid
that is so sincere when he invites
strangers for “supper me house?”

There is something about Reid
that gives us joy
as he asks for his favorite shows.

There is something about Reid
that touches souls
with the merriment our lives don’t allow.

There is something about Reid
that impresses us all
when we discover what he really knows.

There is something about Reid
that changes our hearts
when he says “me happy now.”

After Craig’s terrific writing last year, many of you are probably a little disappointed to see me back in the game. And I had truly thought I was retired. But when your brother comes through major brain surgery safely and successfully, you feel compelled to write a little bit more about gratitude—and miracles. Those of you who have read The Secret know that there is great power in our thoughts. When it was discovered that Rick had a tumor, hundreds of people openly offered “thoughts and prayers.” Relatives, friends, contacts on Facebook and Linkedin, co-workers at my firm, and the parishioners at our church all offered “thoughts and prayers.” (Even a stranger I chatted with in Denver added Rick to his prayer list…) Don’t ever doubt the power of thoughts and prayers. There is no doubt in my mind that the team of surgeons had an extra pair of divine hands in the operating room. The joy we feel knowing that Rick will be fine is indescribable. I look forward to playing lots of golf with him in the years to come.

Amidst all of this, I continue to be moved by remarks made by the Headmaster of (children’s school) at a Thanksgiving assembly over a year ago. Loosely interpreted, he reminded us that we should be thankful for sadness, because it magnifies our happiness. We should be thankful for loneliness, as it gives us a greater appreciation for connection. And we can celebrate failure, for without it we would know less success. Reverend Gomes said we could only know true joy, if we knew suffering. Indeed, life is rich in joy and sorrow, in achievement and disappointment, in gain and loss. We are so very thankful to be on this journey with such supportive friends and family, as well as those unnamed Angels that move in and out of our lives. May each of us be an Angel for someone every day.

I would like to share a quote from The Power (sequel to The Secret): “So how do you fall in love with life? The same way you fall in love with another person—you adore everything about them! You fall in love with another person by seeing only love, hearing only love, speaking only love, and by feeling love with all your heart! And that is exactly how you use the ultimate power of love in love with life.” Now, combine this thinking with a quote from Albert Einstein: “Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.” We have unlimited potential. Turn your imagination loose. Decide what you want….believe you can have it, believe you deserve it, believe it’s possible for you, and have an extraordinary holiday season.

A note from the daughter:

Even though Dad is “out of retirement” from writing the holiday letter, he asked mom and me (Paige) to add our thoughts this year. Dad has asked me several times to write the holiday letter, saying it would be a great opportunity, but I never took him up on the offer. I was always a little nervous about jumping into something that he has done for so many years, and for a piece of writing about which a lot of people openly express joy upon reading. I certainly didn’t feel prepared to step into those shoes. My other issue was that I never felt like I had anything truly inspiring to share. This is probably the first year that I have actually been able to somewhat connect myself to the things Dad has to say in the letter.

After reading The Secret, Dad did not want to keep the things he had learned to himself. Mom and I listened to him describe the messages and different ways he thought it could really change a person’s life. However, keep in mind that I live under the same roof as him, so our whole family is subject to these eye-opening things Dad has to say throughout the whole year—not just in this letter. And I do admit that I didn’t give it much thought the first time Dad talked about it. Then one day during wellness week, which is my school’s version of drug and alcohol awareness and prevention, the guest speaker suddenly asked if we had ever learned about the power of thought. Many in the room were clueless to the idea, but I knew what he was talking about. He went on to describe a time when he was so nervous about a public speaking event, that he envisioned himself doing the presentation and having it be a huge success, and by the time he got up on stage, he wasn’t a bit nervous and did a great job.

So maybe this crazy idea that Dad had shared with us was something bigger then I realized; maybe it was really possible too. All I know is if a 16 year old daughter can be inspired by an idea so grand and unimaginable, it could truly be life changing after all.

I know my boss has his cranky times or when he feel less than stellar (or feels not in the slightest bit like being politically correct or stroking yet another ego), but in general he exudes joy and confidence and happiness. I’ve never worked for someone like him, which in a way makes me nervous because I don’t know how to deal with someone who appears to open and truly interested in helping his team members succeed. I enjoyed his letter this year as it personally spoke to me (again!). I myself have experienced first-hand the healing and inspiring power that love has over us, and I know that the love I’ve given out this year has made a difference to many different people (including one in particular).

Cheers! Progress.

2011-12-20T18:23:00Z

It’s no secret that the last few years have been full of turmoil, strife, chaos or whatever adjective you find fits the sentence best. Many times I wondered if I was growing up or just regressing, mixing big mistakes with strategic luck and hoping the end result was also the right one.

One thing I constantly try to remember is that there is no end point to life, other than the obvious one (death). In other words, I’ve heard people talk about how they are glad the bad times are over for me – but in actuality, there is no end to bad times just as there is no end to good ones. It’s just life, and it swings back and forth, and when we’re really lucky, life hangs in the balance between bad and good and we hold steady for a bit.

Yes, life has settled down and isn’t bouncing from one disaster to the next. Running Boy’s life is settling down too. We had big news yesterday and it was, in general, all positive for him and his children. It also means he can move forward in his life and put much of what has happened behind him, where it belongs. Much as we’d like to say we can move forward regardless what happens around us, it’s a lot easier to do so when you aren’t constantly reminded or stressed by the things or people from which you are trying to move forward.

It also felt good for both of us to remember that we can have faith in justice, and that there is still some fairness in the world. All too often it seems that people can do really bad things to others without paying the price. I’ve rarely gotten away with anything without paying a hefty fee, so it always struck me as odd that so many others seemed to skate while I was serving time in some sort of emotional jail. In this case, there are no winners – in divorce, there never are. What he got was simply validation from the court system, more time with his children and the ability to stay in business for himself without losing everything he’s worked for 15 years to build. I’d say that’s fair.

Yesterday was a celebration. It doesn’t really matter now how things shake out or how long it takes. The uncertainty we’ve both lived under for the past year is over and now it’s a matter of wrapping up all the loose ends. It is my personal hope that having a definitive decision on many of the issues that tore his family apart will cut down on the amount of stress and anger they’ve dealt with.

In the meantime, I got an awesome early Christmas present in the form of some peace, and I’m going to savor it as long as I can.

Oh hey, so THAT’S what I used to look like!

2011-12-13T21:14:56Z

A week or so ago, someone I work with was telling me about a major life decision she’d made. She had been a single mother for almost 2 decades and had a rough time going from staying home with her daughters to being able to find a job, learning new skills, crawling her way up, one step at a time. She shared that she was often frightened of taking unnecessary risks because she felt her footing was always so unstable, and her time always so limited. There were a number of major decisions she’d made, but she was telling me how she knew she’d made the right ones and when to run from others.

“I’m at peace when I make the right decision,” she said, “and when I am going in the wrong direction, I feel out of sorts, chaotic.” She has a very strong faith and talks about God using the types of words I reserve for therapy – asking for help, digging for the truth, relying on faith to get you where you are going, working hard to do the right things.

I’ve rarely felt pure peace with the decisions I’ve made in the past. Even going back to work full-time, though very necessary and much appreciated, has not been 100% peaceful. Just last night Lily turned on the waterworks again over how much she misses me in the afternoons and how she wishes I could go back to being her mom that was at the bus stop and made snacks and hosted play dates.

(note: I really think she misses the play dates more than anything having to do with me, but it’s sweet nonetheless)

I think this is fairly normal, feeling bittersweet about things you’ve done in the past. People often ask if I regret my marriage and the answer is always a solid “hell, no.” I still care about and respect Mike in many ways. We made two amazing children, had many good years and developed ourselves and our careers together. I’m bittersweet about the pain the dissolution caused me and my family, and any potential permanent damage it may have caused. Sometimes I look back and question all the steps that led me to where I am today. At the end, though, it doesn’t matter. I’m here, I’m me, and most of the time I like both of those things.

One of the things holding me back was the plain old vanilla variety of fear. Divorced people are the true walking wounded, dragging around dead love and bags full of sadness into their future lives. Everyone carries their burdens differently. I have friends who have literally jumped from the marital bed into another marital bed, almost without blinking. I have other friends who grew intense distrust in their minds, a different kind of poisonous mushroom, and avoid relationships altogether. Still others seek out destructive patterns almost as if they want to be reminded of everything that went wrong in their marriage. Many of them have come out of it now, having shaken off the dirt of their interim periods. For me, I dragged fear out of my marriage. I dated people that weren’t by any means good enough for me or worth 2 minutes of my time. I had friends in my life that made me crazier than I already was. I surrounded myself with liars and cheats and in some cases, thieves – both of my time and the little money I had.

This just made the fear so much worse. If I couldn’t trust my judgment (because obviously, my judgment is no good: the person I married is no longer my husband, so that’s Failure – 1, Judgment – 0). Then I continued to make bad decisions, wrong decisions, and suspect decisions. I started to do the opposite of what my brain told me to do because there was no way it could be right when so often it had been wrong.

Even as recently as August, I was struggling with self-doubt and against those things I felt were good. I couldn’t find a job, my relationships with others seemed either completely disconnected or shallow, and my relationship with Running Boy was complicated by a whole bunch of external factors. I was tired and at times it seemed like it was easier just to cocoon myself, make sure I didn’t hurt anyone, anything, or myself.

So this fall, I took it slowly. I made careful decisions. I thought through my job decision carefully. I eased into working; normally I come in with both barrels blazing ready to change the world. This time I let myself adapt to corporate life after all these years, one single toe in the company water at a time. I stopped worrying about my relationships and what was going to happen and started focusing on the moments in between the worry – the moments where my life actually happened.

And I realized: I was happy. Content. Satisfied with my life and the direction, with how my children have adapted; hell, I was even pleased with how Thora had finally stopped eating my house or destroying expensive things (this was because I changed my approach to her, and stopped leaving those things where she could reach them).

I’ve made some seriously major decisions in the past month. At some point I’ll be able to talk about them, but not right now. I’m still sitting with them, cautiously enjoying them, poking them to make sure they aren’t suddenly going to turn into monsters with teeth and hair and start biting me. They haven’t. When I made the biggest decision, I woke up the next morning expecting to feel dread or despair. Instead, I felt peace and comfort. I had the usual niggling worries, but none of the big screaming doubts and insecurities. It felt right, and not just at that moment.

Days have passed and I still wake up every morning calm and peaceful. It seems like 3 years of terror’s chaotic reign has decided to pack up and move to more pleasant quarters. I feel like I’m visiting myself in the past, when I had my shit together and I was a normal person who wasn’t stressed to the gills and ripping myself to pieces internally every day. It was good to meet my old self, but with a new-found sense of security and conviction. Do I know I’m 100% right? Nope, never will. But I do know this: I’ve never felt more certain about any decision I’ve made.

YTD Comparison.

2011-12-05T17:13:33Z

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.

Bah Humbug, or, Another Festive Item Falls Prey to Thora.

2011-12-01T15:43:26Z

I splurged and bought this Advent house for the girls. It was such a lean Christmas last year, I’ve been a bit generous with the spending. It lasted less than 12 hours. The cleaning lady called to tell me that the house was in pieces and Thora was puking wood. Awesome.

Nail Polish Makes You a Mom.

2011-11-27T02:46:47Z

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

Still Working On It.

2011-11-14T23:56:07Z

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.

A Post About My Boss.

2011-10-28T14:04:40Z

I’m a little bit in love with my boss.

No, not THAT kind of love. But back when I was looking for jobs, and struggling to process the idea of working INSIDE a law firm instead of consulting for one, I was being very picky about where I applied. Firm X had employees who would rather go through a meat grinder than suffer another day at their firm. Firm Y was a huge, ancient machine, rolling along with the good ol’ boy network for which Richmond is infamous. Firm Z had a crazy managing partner who slammed doors so hard, the ceiling tiles would fly out.

In other words, I either knew too much about the firm to want to work there or the reputation of the firm preceded it in a cloud of foul-smelling smoke. There were a few firms here that had stellar reputations and a few that were so quiet (meaning they didn’t send their marketing people out of the local office frequently), I didn’t know much about them. The firm I ended up with was one of those “quiet” firms, and it wasn’t until I began the interviewing process that I found out who the players were and what the environment was like. Rather than belabor all the details that led me to taking on this project, I’ll just give the number 1 reason I ended up here.

The CMO here in my firm is “famous”, at least in the legal marketing world. I’d heard his name tossed around at other firms and legal marketing events. He was originally a lawyer, but one of the rare ones crazy good with business development, and decided to go into the business of teaching other lawyers how to sell. Yeah, I said sell - which usually freaks the lawyers out. His job is way more 20,000 feet up in the air than any consulting I did. He’s big picture; I’m big picture on a small budget, meaning I had to do most everything myself to implement the big picture. His passion for business development is probably the number one thing I love about legal marketing - working with lawyers, helping them gain the confidence needed to step outside the office, and showing them the ways they can help their communities and clients.

Having the opportunity to work under someone who could teach me so much was icing for me. I’ve had lots of bosses - some of them have been spectacular (my boss at the accounting firm, so strategic in his moves that he could seem to magically make everyone more productive; one of my favorite consulting clients up in DC who has the most incredible ethics and humor and brilliance). Some of them have been, well, less than spectacular and you wonder how they ever came to be in a management role (let’s not forget the boss addicted to kiddie porn who couldn’t help himself from watching it in the office, or the one who was caught having sex with the office admin in the middle of day, on his desk, at work). I was excited about all the smart people in my department and I was hoping it was as good as they promised it would be.

So far, the lip service about the culture here has proven true. With the minor blip or burp or bad day, my team functions as a true team, and it’s refreshing to be surrounded by good attitudes and a lot of brain power.

One day, I was talking to my coworker about the backgrounds of people we work with. I have always loved learning how people end up where they do, and we talked about our boss. She pulled out a letter, simply titled “Christmas 2007”. It was a copy of something he’d sent to family and friends way back when. Reading through it, I was blown away. I really knew nothing about his personal life, his family, or anything outside of the legal marketing realm. I finished reading and thought about the letter. I thought and thought about it for another two weeks before I got up the nerve to tell him that I wanted to publish it here, on my blog.

I was given permission to put it here, though I have redacted some of the names of family members or other identifying characteristics. It’s lengthy, but don’t skip over any of it. It will make sense when you read it. Reading it as I did - blind to the circumstances of his family and life - made the message even more poignant. Other than adding links to items he referenced and the aforementioned “names changed to protect the innocent”, it is unchanged from its original form.

“Me happy now.” Reid says these words whenever he hears or does something that strikes his fancy. Learning that “Kaboom” (America’s Funniest Videos) will be on Sunday night or that Craig will be home from Boulder for a visit; going to Paige’s school to “push me please” (Reid’s words for swinging), or just hearing that I will be home from work in time for dinner – any of these is enough to trigger the phrase.

I was wondering what would make most of us say me happy now? Getting a promotion, a raise or an unexpected day off? Getting flowers or a massage? Taking a trip with someone we love? Reading (or writing) a good book? Reconnecting with an old friend? Closing a huge deal? Visiting a family member that we haven’t seen for a while? If these are the things that make us happy then it seems that we should be doing them, or, at least, working toward doing them. There is nothing wrong with focusing on a little happiness in the midst of our sometimes-crazy over-scheduled lives, right? I would really like to declare 2008 ‘the Year of Joy’!

Many of you probably heard about Randy Pausch, the young professor at Carnegie Mellon who was told he had just a few months to live earlier this year. A father of 3 small children, he chose to use his remaining time to make a positive impact on the world and to establish an exemplary legacy for his children. He called the diagnosis “a gift”, saying: “to actually know how much time I had left on this earth gave me a chance to plan carefully how I used every minute.” His Final Lecture has been viewed by millions of people on YouTube, and he has truly made a positive difference in many lives. My favorite point in Randy’s presentation is that brick walls are put in our way not to stop us, but to give us something to break through. He talks a lot about childhood dreams, and enabling the dreams of others. God bless the people who give us the gift in the message to “live like you’re dying.”

Albert Ellis, whom Psychology Today once described as the “greatest living psychologist” (before he died, of course), was fond of quoting the Greek stoic philosopher, Epictetus, who essentially said: ‘It’s not events, but our opinions of them, which cause of suffering. The challenge is to be able to change our opinions and mental habits so that we become robust and self-accepting enough to withstand external events that used to cause us suffering, such as getting rejected by a woman or getting fired.’ So as we face the inevitable challenges of daily life, maybe our response to whatever happens around us should be me happy now . . . not only when Paige makes a full-out diving save in a soccer game, but when she lets a soft goal slip past her - - me happy now that she is able to play and be part of such a great team. When I think of Craig graduating from college in May it makes me smile, but I still need to be happy if he says he may not move back to Boston. I am typing with a stiff neck and wearing a brace right now, but Reid keeps kissing my neck saying “bubba better?” Even with this pain, how can I not be happy now?

Where else can we find Reid’s wonderful perspective in our lives? How about when loved ones like Jorgan, Kristen and Aunt Judy beat the odds and get a good bill-of-health; when I receive a wonderful book like “Season of Life” and I like it so much that I send a bunch of copies to my high school football friends; when Karen tells me she and Clara got a “Big W” in their team tennis match; when Paige says she really likes her teachers; when we learned that our 6-month kitchen renovation project would be done (almost) on time; when we heard that Craig’s first snowboarding runs of the season were a blast; when thinking about our annual trip to Florida with friends; going to a World Series game in Denver, or when family friends welcome us into their home on Thanksgiving. Me happy now. How about a weekend with Lizzie on Nantucket, a vacation in Florida with friends, sharing my collection of poems, or hearing Paige sing in the school chorus. What about weekend getaways with Karen, or going to a yoga class (my new favorite workout). There is real joy in the rapport and connection Karen has with her brothers. And what about Terry and Jodi having a baby! Me happy now.

I am reminded of the movie Being There in which Peter Sellers’ character shares simple insights (mostly gleaned from TV) that catapult him from being a reclusive gardener to a Presidential advisor. “If you give the flowers water, they will grow…” Simplicity. No agenda. No political clutter and no ego. Here, simple, honest phrases are interpreted as genius and loving kindness – a lot of lessons in a simple movie.

There are a number of life lessons encapsulated in Reid’s simple little phrase, too. We are blessed to have a loving caretaker, Helaine, who spends a lot of quality time with Reid. But someday we will need to introduce Reid to a home where he will be with peers and full-time caretakers. We will plan and make the move sensitively, but leaving him there for the first time will be devastating emotionally. Our strength at that moment will not come from within, though; it will come from Reid when he looks around his new digs for the first time and turns to us with his disarming smile and says “me happy now.” We will draw on his capacity to accept profound change, appreciate life’s constants and connections, and his willingness to openly express his feelings . . . now that, my friends, is inspiration.

So why is there so much focus on Reid this year, when we have two other wonderful children? Partly it’s because no matter how you interpret the Bible, its insights about children are priceless. The psalm says: “Come as a baby weak and poor to bring all hearts together.” God has blessed us with someone who, in many ways, will always be a child. “Whomever welcomes this little child . . . welcomes God.” Reid doesn’t rely on hype or phony positivism to enjoy life; he just enjoys what he enjoys; he seeks it out and drinks it in. Even something as basic as bedtime prayers (which he calls “God Bless”) or riding in the front seat of the bus or seeing a UPS truck gets it done for him. I want to learn from that perspective what joys I might be missing in everyday life . . .

Talking about Reid also gives me a chance to talk about Karen - - she who for 17 years has never once – not once – complained about how much work it is to bathe and feed and dress Reid; no complaints about trips to the doctor or spilled water. Like Laurie, for whom the same can be said, this, to me, is the true definition of ‘motherhood’. Thank you to all who give care and comfort to those in need or less fortunate. It represents the kind of giving that I want to be reminded of this holiday season.

We can slice and package “time” any way we want, and it may seem artificial to say we are at the end of a “gift”; but we are at the end of another year, and that is a gift for which I am truly thankful. Let the ‘first gift of Christmas’ this year be hope for more time together to live, and to give and to love.

This entire message had great personal meaning to me, especially since the last few years have been so disruptive and chaotic. Allowing myself to feel happiness, or god forbid, joy in the little things, has been a major struggle for me. After I finished digesting the letter, I took advantage of a breezy, sunny day and ran across one of the main bridges downtown that crosses the James River. Instead of listening to music and gutting it out through the run, I listened to the cars and the birds and sniffed the air. I focused on how good the water tasted, said hi to every homeless person I met, and lingered near a local brewery featuring a woman singing out on the deck.

Additionally, my dad recommended “Being There” to me at a young age. I didn’t get the movie the first time I saw it, but I get it now and I love it. My dad’s eternal optimism and his ability to be grateful for life when so many of his friends from WWII didn’t have that same benefit . . . it made him fearless about risk-taking and it made him one of the few people I knew who absolutely drank in life’s experiences with the same amount of gusto in which he consumed Manhattans and wine.

I can’t say I’m always going to remember to do those things, but when I look around my office at the bumper stickers someone had made for my boss (unsurprising in that they say “Me happy now!” - Reid), it’s a little jolt in the middle of a regular workday filled with perceived crises and deadlines and emergencies.

It also reminds me daily that I probably made the right decision in coming here.

The Latest List.

2011-10-17T02:08:30Z

You might have gotten the wrong idea, considering I’ve barely used the category here called “Things Thora Eats”. Unfortunately, I’ve been too busy to really stay on top of it so I’m going to update it here briefly.

This weekend, a carton of Morton’s salt met an untimely demise:

A Bulova watch box, which thankfully was the only thing she managed to mangle, and not the item inside it:

And finally, another item that foiled her in the end, but not before she managed to puncture it and leave sticky juice on MY BED:

Long overdue . . .

2011-10-17T01:08:43Z

(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:

www.flickr.com

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)

www.flickr.com

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.