My Plea to the Universe

"...What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights...I don't know anymore." I really don't. Right now I don't know what I believe in or what I stand for. I don't know where I'm going, and I'm fighting really hard to accept where I've been as a learning experience rather than the heartbreak that it actually feels like. Scrolling through my newsfeed on good ole' Facebook this weekend, I found that three dear friends who divorced during and after me (and for similar reasons) got engaged. And while I am ecstatic for each of them, and not anywhere near wanting to get married again to my current someone or anyone, it heavied my heart because I don't think that in my 35 years that I've ever had a romantic relationship with anyone who truly loved or valued me. There is no one who has come along in these past few years who thought I was worth committing to, emotionally or otherwise. And as accustomed as I am to riding solo, that just really sucks. I was just sitting in my dining room chatting with another friend who experienced her second divorce recently, and we agreed that maybe if we put our wishes out into the universe, the universe will return to us with a change in love. I guess it's worth a shot. So, Universe, hear my cry in the form of my wish list for 2013 or at least the near future: 1. I don't put much stock in education level or career success level...but please send me someone with emotional intelligence. Someone who knows what he wants and how to say it. Someone who can listen to me without taking my words as personal attacks, without thinking I'm counting on them to solve every problem or gripe, and without judging me for the moments when I let my emotions or lack of sleep get the better of me. Someone that can deduce that I just need a hug or help with the dishes, or a snuggly night in front of a dumb sci-fi flick. 2. Please send me someone who wants to be included in my life, and not just in the fun parts. Someone who wants to meet my extended family and is comfortable enough sitting next to my brothers-in-law in an Applebee's talking football or music or whatever it is we end up talking about, rather than making excuses to stay away from such events, or showing up but staying aloof and/or staring at his phone all night. Someone who actually shows up to my birthday party...or even plans it! Someone who my friends finally meet and look at me and wink, because they actually like having him around. And likewise, someone who includes me in their life, too. Introduces me to friends, male or female, and is proud of knowing me and being with me. Someone who thinks to invite me to get-togethers, whether it's a kidless weekend for me or not. Someone who gets out of bed at a reasonable hour on the weekends and WANTS to hang out or go somewhere or do something or TALK to me. Someone who wants me around. 3. Please send me someone who understands and respects that I do not want or need a replacement father for my children. They have a dad. I am their mom. Just be a positive role model...be akin to the "cool uncle." Give advice if they ask for it, hugs if they ask for them, be the world's best homework tutor, toss a football around with them. And just embrace it for what it is. Embrace the possibility that two little boys might value your presence and support, rather than assuming that I intend to hold you to being (Step)Father of the Year. 4. Please send me someone who is okay being exactly the age they are, with no desire to move backward. I am no longer a spring chicken, but that doesn't mean I'm not beautiful, fun or spirited. I don't want to be in my 20's again. I don't want to dress like I'm in my 20's again. I don't want to be or act as stupid as I was in my 20's again. I don't want to date anyone who is still in their 20's. I've lived a lot of life...I'd like to meet someone who can relate. Send me someone who feels the same. 5. Please send me someone who wants to be loved, hugged and wanted, and someone who wants to reciprocate. And someone who's never going to take for granted that I want to give the love and physical affection to them. I know it sounds like I'm asking for the moon. I've met only extremes these past few years...immature, stage 5 clingers without jobs who text me all day at work because apparently they don't realize that I can't talk to them ALL. EFFING. DAY. or men so emotionally unavailable that I can date them for months (or hey, how about A YEAR) at a time without them ever expressing any feelings of love or adoration toward me. I am a moderate girl on all levels...politically, musically, culturally...please tell me there's someone out there for me. Please, universe.

Island

I had a great day with my sons today. Just me and them. I called just about everyone this morning and even posted on Facebook where we were headed, in the hopes that someone would want to connect and spend some time with us. We ended up on our own and had a great time. I expected as much, but was just hopeful for a connection to the world outside of my own household. But then as the evening has progressed, I jumped from social networking site to social networking site to see that the world is up to so many things together that I am not invited to. On this holiday weekend, families are swimming and throwing parties and barbecuing and golfing and having a blast, and inviting people who are no closer to them than I am. People who are my friends and family. I am left out, and it's really weighing on me. -My single, childless friends don't include me because I have children. -My married friends, childless or otherwise, do not include me because no one wants to have the third wheel and/or no one wants a youngish single, available woman anywhere near the husbands. I know some of you are protesting, "That's not true!" but I actually had one female friend admit to me, "I don't want my husband to realize how much more fun you are than I am" after I found out that I was the only one excluded from a weekend outing. -At the moment, all of my other single parent friends have significant others. Not only do they have significant others, but they have significant others who don't object to spending time with them even when their children are there. I don't have that. Not even a trace of it. I've been trying so hard lately to put myself out there. I have been participating in after-work activities, attending fitness classes and signing up for things in an effort to meet people who are like me, or maybe even meet a companion who could be something more to me. But tonight, all I feel is lonelier than I did yesterday. I knew being a single mom would be hard financially, but I knew I'd make it work. I knew it would be hard to get over my ex-husband's betrayal of me, but I did, and we're on great terms. I knew that someday I'd long for the love and attention of someone other than my sons, and I've caught and released quite a few fish back into the proverbial sea. But I never really fathomed how alone in the world I would really feel. I grew up with a bevy of cousins living next door to me or within 10 minutes of my house, and I was never short on friends, family, boyfriends and people who wanted to share my time. Today, I am almost 35 years old, and I'm an island. I wish things were different. I wish I weren't so sad.

Gallons

Where do I start? Usually when I wake up with this many thoughts overflowing from my head, I immediately pour them onto paper and try to make sense of them. But it’s been so long since I’ve blogged publicly that I don’t imagine that the overflow of emotions could ever transfer in a way that didn’t make me sound either completely insane or seemingly suicidal.

I am neither. But I am…tired. Just bloody tired.

The kind of tired that sends you to bed early and you fall asleep within seconds of letting your head meet pillow…but with that supersized side order of anxiety that wakes you up from even the deepest of slumbers to send you wading in your private pool of self-pity, frustration and despair. I find myself thinking, the minute the alarm clock goes off, of everything that’s miserable and how I’m going to try to simply push through it with a smile on my face. Just get by. Just smile. Make it a great day. Be your best you. Hang in there.

I’m trying.

But try as I might, I’m drowning in it lately…the despair. The loneliness. The uncertainty. Whereas I used to be able to vent, put things into perspective, count my blessings and then keep plugging along, I just feel consumed lately by the sense that things will never get better for me. I am lonely. I am broke. I am defeated.
I love my children more than any words on paper or on my computer screen could ever express. And essentially, they are the only reason I’m here. I love them more than I love me. Or you. Or anyone. And as long as they need and want me to be here, I am here and doing my best to be everything they need.

And therein lies my heartbreak. “They are the only reason I’m here.” Every mother worth her salt will tell you that it’s enough for them. Because what kind of mother would ever long for any additional or alternate sources of happiness when her beautiful, perfect children should be enough?

But let’s not forget this…I am not only a mother. I am a woman. I am a human being. Human contact is a basic need. I might be punished for saying so, but you’ll just have to forgive me for saying that I want more. I want friends who are present for me. I want a family who is involved with mine and my son’s lives. I want a companion and a partner who sees me as more, loves me and wants to be a part of my life. I want a career and a home that make me feel successful, fulfilled and comfortable. I want a life that is such that, when my boys inevitably move on and my nest is empty of children, it is still filled with or visited by people who want me in their lives.

None of that is happening for me. I never see my family unless I relentlessly pursue them, in which case I hate myself for seeming desperate or a bother. It’s become harder to keep in touch with some friends, and even harder getting everyone to come together. I’ve fallen into love with a man who continually detaches himself from me when I get to be too emotionally overwhelming, only to come back, leaving me wondering if I’ll ever really be loved and accepted fully ever again, if I’ve ever really been at all. My job and the people who work with me are sucking the soul out of me at a dizzying pace, and I am searching desperately for a replacement that won’t feel like I’m just settling. I’m in Purgatory.

All of these things, no matter how hard I try to better or change this situation, feel completely out of my control. I did not choose to be a divorced, financially-strapped, lonely single mom stuck in the middle of a suburban hell that she can't escape. But it’s what I got, and it’s what I’m trying to do my best with…having no one over the age of 6 to talk to at the end of a hard day and outside of work hours. Having a home so far from family and friends in a neighborhood devoid of friendly neighbors, that no one ever just “stops by.” Having no money to go back to school to better my career or get my boys or myself involved in activities that would reconnect us with the world, yet having “too much” money to qualify for any sort of assistance. Sleeping in one tiny corner of a massive king-sized bed, wishing there was a hand there to hold, or someone to giggle with while watching Family Guy. Staring at the stars at night, wishing I were anywhere else, wishing I never longed for anything, wishing I was a better person, wishing I were better-looking, or a better mom, or better at anything that mattered to anyone who matters to me.

My sons should be enough. I am a horrible person. You can say it to me over and over again, call me ungrateful, call me pathetic, call me trite, call me shallow, call me whatever you want. But I just cannot help how empty I feel, and I cannot help yearning for things to fill a void that I’m starting to think will never fill.

Recently I sat in my friend’s chair while she painstakingly flat-ironed my hair, and I bemoaned the latest rift between me and the man who I’ve been devoting the last several months of my life with. She listened carefully before weighing in.
I, according to my friend, am a gallon girl who is living a life surrounded by pint people. I have gallons of love and devotion that I’m handing to people, and they are either taking it and only refilling my gallon by a pint, or my gallon overwhelms them so that they decline any further offerings. That’s why I’m empty, she said. I need to find a gallon guy and gallon friends, or I will find myself carrying around an empty heart forever. I might not give only to receive, she says, but I’m noticing the emptiness nonetheless.

I don’t think there are any gallon people in the world, if that’s the case.

And that makes me sadder.

Life Without Plotlines

"M thinks you're 'fake.'"

Her voice cut through my haze. I had already spent an ungodly amount of time trying to turn J's Transformer back into a Mustang GT, and I was still failing miserably. He sat patiently next to me with his baby brother, both of them watching movie clips on my phone. I chewed on her words for a minute, trying to make sense of them.

"Like how?" I finally asked, not particularly caring at that moment.

"Well she says that you act like you're such a great mom in your blog and online, but that when she's seen you the past few times with your kids, you've been distant and tired, and that sometimes you even lose your temper and raise your voice at them."

My friend braced herself as if hoping for an explanation that would blow her mind. One that wouldn't force her to her knees moaning, "Say it ain't so, D! Prove that you're the perfect mom and this isn't all just a ruse!"

But that was just the thing. I have NEVER said I am a perfect parent. I'm not. All I've ever said, and all I will continue to say, is that I love my kids. To the moon and back.

"Well, that's the thing about life, I guess," I shrugged. "It doesn't cut from plotline to plotline or climax to climax. In between all of the revelations and curveballs are normal days. On normal days, I AM tired and can be distant. On normal days, I DO lose my temper and raise my voice or discipline my children. That's how life works. On normal days, I'm plunging Dixie cups out of the toilet (Thank you, C) or glueing seashells into a diorama or staring into the fridge trying to figure out how to conjure a quasi-sensible dinner out of practically nothing. But that doesn't mean I'm not a good mom. But I guess that's her point. It doesn't prove I'm perfect either. I'm sorry if I've ever misrepresented myself."

My friend stared at me thoughtfully. The conversation ended there, just as bizarrely as it had begun.

It got me to (AGAIN) lamenting over why I even journal some of my deepest, darkest thoughts on my blog or share my life with friends via social networking. On one hand, the Internet opens doors to information and support systems that our own parents couldn't even fathom. But on the other hand, it opens the floodgates for naysayers, trolls and self-righteous readers who truly can't see the forest for the trees. But it's not really their fault. They don't KNOW you. No matter what you write, they don't really KNOW you. And thanks to the general anonymity of the Internet, they never will.

But the person who denounced me as "fake?" Well, she is someone who considers herself my friend. Not just an acquaintance either. This "friend" knows that the past 3 months or so have thrown all manner of curveballs at me that I cannot share publicly out of respect for my family and friends. She knows EXACTLY why I'm tired and distant. I have chosen (surprisingly) to keep certain things very private as of late. Yet she doubts my sincerity as a mother because I'm not Mary EFFING Poppins each and every time she sees me?

I struggled with what to do next. Do I call and remind her that, on top of recent trials, I parent predominantly ALONE? AND work full-time? AND try to have a life as an individual? I mean, has she not MET my toddler? I love him more than life, but the kid wears me out.

I am a human being. I rise with the sun and sleep with moon just like she does.

It is/was disheartening. But ultimately not disheartening enough for me to call her up and reem her out for gossiping, or to even bother explaining myself to her. Certainly not disheartening enough to frighten me from continuing to write...Part of the reason I am a good parent is because I DO write. And while, AGAIN, I am NOT a perfect parent, you can bet your ass I'm a darn good one.

So here's where I recite one of my many mantras: "You raise your kids, and let me raise mine."

Life is not just peaks and valleys. There are an abundance of plateaus along the way where I'm not cooing or cuddling or running through the sunflowers with my children, but rather, just getting us through our day the BEST THAT I CAN.

If you want minute-to-minute drama, comedy, romance and action, might I suggest Netflix.

And we'll all live ORDINARILY ever after.

Happy Birthday, Tiny Soulmate

I never really wondered what he'd look like. During my first pregnancy with J, I would dream about it constantly. But I never really wondered with C. I just eagerly awaited his arrival, especially in the last 2 weeks while I was on modified bedrest and it hurt to even stand up.

But then after an easy 8 hours of labor, my ex-husband placed this beautiful child on my chest and he looked right into my eyes, and I said, "Hi, C!" and burst into tears of exuberation. And suddenly, I knew that I'd always known this child and what he looked like. Maybe that's why I never wondered. I'd known him my whole life.

Tomorrow marks 3 years since I first looked into those eyes, and my, have those 3 years flown! Flown by in a flurry of new opportunities, adjustments and praying that this tiny precious baby would adapt and thrive between two separate households. Much to my amazement and joy, he has surpassed my every expectation.

But that's what C does. He makes it, and he makes it on his own terms and in his own time.

C marches to his own drummer, and unapologetically so. He is not a talker, but a do-er. He takes it all in, Laughing, dancing, crying, singing, he does it all without abandon, and he couldn't care less about what anyone thinks about it. But when he wants to be quiet, he's quiet. When he wants to be alone, he separates himself from the world and enjoys his solitude. He chooses his every adventure, as uneventful as some of them might seem.

I often joke that the world could cease to exist, and C would find his way. He has an old soul He is free-spirited, independent, stubborn, unpredictably emotional, off-beat, and smart ...essentially, he is me in a diaper and size 2 shorts..which is also more than likely the reason why he knows exactly how to drive me completely bananas. But alas, even when he's a cantankerous little ball of ill manners, our hearts and our breaths remain in sync as the universe always meant for them to be.

I am connected to C in a way that is so special, yet so otherworldly that it is practically impossible to explain.

Recently the boys and I attended a neighborhood barbecue, with about 10 other neighborhood children ranging in age between 1 and 6. My older son, per the usual, established a camraderie with the other children almost immediately and organized a relay race of sorts along the golf course behind our home. Nearly 20 feet away in another yard altogether, C was by himself, giggling and dancing through the rays of the sun as they shone through the trees, trying to catch sun dust in his hands and collecting acorns in his pockets.

"Do you think he's okay?" A neighbor asked cautiously. "Don't you want him to play with the others?

"Nah. C is always okay. Don't you worry about my boy...and never count that kid out."

And I stood smiling, my heart bursting with joy and pride, at this wonderful little person. My tiniest soulmate.

He is who he is and he knows who he is. Some people never fully figure that out, and at only three, C is solid in his own shoes.

Happy birthday, C. Thank you for keeping me on my toes. Forever your mommy, always your biggest fan.

Batshit Crazy Is As Batshit Crazy Does

"To love is to burn; To be on fire." -Jane Austen

We were laying on his living room floor, white wine cursing through our blood, his stereo blaring classical jazz. We got into a discussion about a much-younger girl who he had dated prior to dating me. Crazy, he called her, shaking his head.

"Just because she loves you and said so, that doesn't make her crazy," I said. We had already split and gone our separate ways, remaining good friends, but I couldn't help but wonder if in my absence, I was referred to as "crazy," too.

He chewed on that one for a while, and then nodded.

"I think everyone in the human race is a variable level of crazy. Ranging somewhere from mildly nutty to batshit crazy. But I think we're all there."

I couldn't help but ask, because I knew he'd tell the truth.

"So where do I fall on the scale of 'mildly nutty' to 'batshit crazy?'" I braced myself to hear something that I knew would hurt my feelings.

But he just smiled. "D, you are not crazy. You might be saner than all of us. Your problem is that you share. You talk about things. Our culture doesn't want to talk. Perception is everything, and if everyone perceives us as happy, functional, human beings, we'd rather just believe it whether it's true or not. I think you might be such an open book that it is off-putting to most people. They fear your honesty. They prefer blissful ignorance."

He paused. "You are...you were too much for me. I don't always know what to say to you, and it's exhausting."

I pouted, because I knew he was right. I am nothing if not self-aware.

"I think maybe you could close it off a little. Not talk about things. Not be so incredibly raw that it scares people."

He held up his hand as I opened my mouth to object.

"I KNOW you're about to accuse me of asking you to change and that you're about to tell me that people who love you shouldn't want you to..." Shit, he knows me too well. "But maybe use that surplus of compassion that you're carrying around and consider that maybe you need to take it down a notch to be courteous to those who aren't as...FEELING...as you."

Oh, now there's my soft spot. I wouldn't want to be discourteous. I beat myself up sometimes over how I've made someone feel. He got me with that one.

I closed my eyes and thought about it. I went to bed that night and continued to think about it. I woke up the next day still thinking about it. I resisted the urge (then) to write about it. And when I started talking to/seeing someone a short while later, I put it into practice.

I closed off. I did not talk to friends about him. I did not talk to family about him. I did not talk to Facebook about him. I did not blog about it. I just rode it out, with a smile on my face, never over-analyzing, not losing sleep over things, not venting to girlfriends. I put a cap on that "surplus" of emotions so as not to inconvenience or "put off" this person who I was developing such an affection for. Some time later, after riding the middle of the relationship road and keeping as private as private could be, I found myself face-to-face with a man who, for the first time in my entire life, accused me of being indifferent and frigid (emotionally, not physically). He lamented never being able to tell what was on my mind. He puzzled over how I never made a big deal out of anything (how very un-female of me). He doubted that I could commit, emotionally or otherwise, to anyone.

Insert exasperated sigh here.

So, there I was at an impasse. Me in my cement shoes, standing in the middle of relationship purgatory. I behave how "normal" people behave, and all of a sudden I'm frigid? At that juncture, if I had suddenly uncapped and verbalized my thoughts and feelings, it would have come off as exceedingly phony and well, CRAZY. Of the batshit variety. The equivalent of going from 0 to 80.

So we went our separate ways. Him thinking I was flighty, indifferent and commitment-phobic. Me never having the opportunity to tell him that he was the first person I had been truly READY for in quite some time. And just like that, it was over. And like always, I learned something. And that's where this turns into a quasi-rant.

No, people DON'T talk a lot about how they're feeling. Especially now that they can hide behind monitors and all manner of electronic devices and not say "boo" to another person EVER. Social retardation is spreading like wildfire. I get it. Cap and filter, appear normal, don't talk about how you feel, and if you're perceived as perfect/normal/happy/etc., you will eventually truly become what you've perpetuated, right?

NO, guys. No. You. Won't.

In my normal state, I have a bad day at work, lose my child support, lose a friend, get a speeding ticket, get puked on by a 2-year-old or get into a fight with a significant other, and I talk about it. Yes, sometimes I talk it to death, but I get it out. It doesn't fester. I vomit all of those words up right into the bucket by posting a blog or calling my dad or friends or venting on Facebook, and then it's done. My belly is empty, I hear some words of wisdom or support, and I tackle the next challenge.

Done.

And people call me erratic, or crazy, or whatever the hell it is that people say when they're self-righteously hiding behind their monitors and reading my blog.

But the guys/gals who shoot up their workplaces, schools or grocery stores? They cap and filter EVERYTHING. And the news stations interview their peers and families after the fact and everyone is SHOCKED. "Everything seemed fine. Everything seemed normal. He/she was such a good boy/girl." Because perception is everything.

I want to shake them and say, "You only saw what took the LEAST ENERGY AND EFFORT to see! You didn't want to ask questions, because you didn't want to pry! You didn't want the incovenience of hearing someone else's woes! You made it NOT OKAY to talk about feelings of rejection, anger, frustration and melancholy!"

Those who cap and filter...when they finally snap, it's never small. They straight up LOSE. THEIR. EVERLOVIN'. SHIT.

Why? Why not talk about it? Why not listen to it?

Is being vocal and passionate really CRAZIER than that?!

I have said this more than once in print and in live words: We do each other a tremendous disservice by putting up facades and making conscious efforts to be phony.

You are not really fooling anyone. Not even yourself. Be real. Be alive. FEEL something. TALK about it. You don't have to tell ME all of your business, but don't front either.

Crazy or not, I have concluded that I can really only be myself. I am open, I'm honest, I'm passionate about things, I am raw, and I will rarely-to-never leave you guessing about how it is I'm feeling. But you know what I'll NEVER be?

-The nut that shoots up a Target for not giving her a refund.
-The sad soul who swallows an entire bottle of Ambien after losing her job.
-The frigid mom who never lets her kids see that she has struggled and survived.
-The middle-aged woman who moves out of the country on an effing whim just because her suitor doesn't propose on New Year's Eve as she thought he should (Sounds like a Diane Lane movie, no?).

Call me mildly nutty or even batshit crazy.

I can only be me. And I KNOW who I am.

Do you? Does anyone else?

Remind me to never again try to be anything else.

To the Moon and Back. Happy birthday, my darling.

Wednesday, June 1, 2005. 9:45 p.m.

Approximately 38 weeks and 15 hours after it started, it was finally over. My pregnancy had ended and my journey into motherhood had begun. The room was abuzz with excitement and exhaustion. People were talking to me, but it wasn’t registering. Then my 8 lbs., 2 oz. baby boy was placed in my arms, and my world changed forever. He was sweating with fever, his big, beautiful eyes squinting with his screams.

My body went numb at the sight of him. Sometimes it still does. He still takes my breath away. I am still trying my best to comprehend how I could possibly ever deserve this remarkable, wonderful child.

Tomorrow he turns 6 years old. He has the same big beautiful, knowing eyes and a bigger smile. Two of his bottom baby teeth are gone, and the teeny body that they once told me was on the “lower average weight percentile” compared to his peers, is now solid and adorably chubby.

Those who have met my oldest son know that he is special, in ways that exceed a mother’s own biased perceptions. The child who I once feared and felt so helpless over and never quite forgave myself for not instantly connecting with…I now sit up at night to watch him sleep and hear him breathe. In the morning, he comes alive with curiosity, wild giggling, insightfulness and compassion. He equalizes the mood in the room and befriends those who need it most. His kindness is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

He radiates love and light, and I hope that he will do so for as long as the universe lets him. And I hope I get to bask in that light for as long as the universe lets me.

He keeps my world spinning.

Happy birthday, my love. Enjoy love, life and the animals in the clouds. I love you to the moon and back.