It’s a New Dawn, It’s a New Day (It’s a New House, It’s a New Fling)

14 Apr

porch swing

Imagine this: I’m in my 2001 Mazda, windows rolled down, on the highway, and this is blasting on the radio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zu4kQRnz75E

Chewing gum and blowing bubbles.

Nodding my head like it’s 1992 and I’m Mike Myers.

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day. Ten days ago, I left my city apartment, with the chattering neighbors, and the stuffy stairwell, and the streets crammed with buildings, traffic lights and garbage cans, and moved into a quiet suburban neighborhood, where morning sounds are birds chirping, coffee dripping and children playing. After a lengthy search and almost having given up on the idea several times, I finally found a cute little house with an itty bitty garden and a more than decent landlady.

I moved!

I packed, I sorted out books and CD’s and other accumulated possessions into His and Mine boxes. There’s nothing in my new house that isn’t mine. No forgotten pair of men’s underwear intruding on my drawers. No How to Become Rich inspicrapical books that I’ll never read on my book shelves. It’s all me and my boy.

Third morning in my apartment, my Boy slept over at his dad’s. I opened my eyes and looked around the room. I did not feel disoriented, I felt content (in more ways than one). The light coming through the windows, and the quiet of the empty house were soothing and comforting. The coffee I shared with a friend in the sunlit garden and the stories that were told between gulps made me feel free… Stories about the date, first one since Skating Guy, stories about after the date, stories about 5 am goodbyes.

God, I needed that. The second he laid his hands on me (finally, I had been signaling for most of the evening) my body turned to butter as I blissfully parted with analysis and judgment and allowed myself to sink into the sweet oblivion of arms and legs, and lips and tongues and necks, and backs, and other parts.

That was last week. Then there was unpacking. I pretty much deserve a medal for having the house completely unpacked and organized in 7 days. Including, obviously, a PORCH SWING! Including sitting on that porch swing, hugging my knees, with a nice cup of herbal tea. Happy place.

Ever since I can remember, this has almost always been the case: If I wanted something so badly, that I could literally envision it in my head, that I was able to make myself believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would come true – it did. I’ve seen this picture in my head so many times before. And here it is materialized.

The highway, the car, the music, parking under a tree that will cover my already dirty car with a sea of dry leaves before morning. The radio switched off, the windows rolled up, the car door shut, the green gate opened, and here I am, in my little haven, with the birds chirping, laundry drying on the line and my son’s toys left outside on the grass.

I made this for myself. And I’m almost as proud of that as I am of the gorgeous little boy I get to share this with.

Happy International Woman’s Day to a Me Still Craving Male Affirmation

8 Mar

I’m having such a blah day. The landlord to that house I want isn’t sending me the contract and I’m beginning to worry there might be something fishy going on there. I’m dying to move, but I need to let the daycare know what’s up in two days, and I’m not sure things will be final by then, or ever…

To make things worse my Boy is sick again, for the fourth time this month. High fever, not planning on going to daycare tomorrow. So mommy has to miss work, AGAIN.

And then there’s the other thing. It’s no secret that one of our most basic needs as human beings is to be touched, and it’s been really long. This sex deprivation is making me agitated in an already agitating situation. Bad for my health. And there’s not much I can do about it. I have no life, it’s all work and motherhood, and by the time I get a night off, I’m usually too tired to do anything. Then I finally get a break and my boy is healthy for an entire week, and he goes to his dad, and I go out drinking and meet a creepy weirdo who doesn’t get a hint.

My ego has really taking a blow lately. I feel unattractive, unsuccessful. Even if rationally I know I’m doing well, I feel like a failure nonetheless. And in this pool of self-pity that I’ve sort of let myself sink into today, there seems to be only one thing that can drag me out: male attention. Affirmation that does not come from within. I just really need someone to think that I’m cool right now, and that someone has to have a penis and a nice smile.

I’ve come a long way this year, but here’s something that hasn’t changed a bit: I still don’t think I’m worth a dime if I’m not constantly told I am by others.

Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but why don’t you drive away that boy I like, creep me out and stick your tongue down my throat?

7 Mar

So in my desperation – I’m not afraid to admit it, it’s been months since anyone’s touched me – I had my second unsuccessful to say the least, attempt at the pick-up-bar scene. Three drinks later, the boy I liked said he was thinking about getting back together with his ex, a guy ten year older than me tried to politely ask for my number, and a creepy yet persistent 30-year-old-divorce-atterny (I kid you not) was giving me tips on how to finalize my divorce and come visit his bedroom while I was at it.

I began by saying I was desperate, and if he had been even slightly less creepy and aggressive, I would have gone with it. But within seconds it was how much he liked me, and how he’d told that other guy – the one I actually liked – to back off, and then the chewing began. The chewing of my lips, like they were a piece of meat, which made me want to ask him to please start treating all of me as a piece of meat and not just my lips. I mean, there hadn’t even been one nice soft getting to know you kiss.

I gave him a false number. That’s the most chicken shit thing to do in the world. Then I left that place and let all the weirdos continue hitting on the few normal people that had come there in order to get over or get back at exes.

 

Butterflies again, and it’s not about a boy

27 Feb

porch swingTomorrow may well be life changing. You see, there’s this house. Small and rickety and just waiting to be given some love and attention by two new tenants, seeking a new life. It means moving to another town, farther from BD than where we are now. It means renting again, and dealing with landlords, and also letting out our apartment and dealing with tenants. It means living in a house for the first time in my life, which excites me but also scares me to death – what if I get mice, or worse, a snake? What if someone creepy comes into my yard? What if things keep breaking and it’s too much work to take care of?

Tomorrow I meet the landlords. I’m going to impress their socks off. I’m going to be brave and sign a lease all on my own, and move in, and get a really good exterminator to make sure I get as few unwanted guests as possible in the yard.

I’ve already found really good daycare for my Boy. I have parents and sisters and friends living nearby. And there’s a fantastic coffee place just a short walk away. The house itself isn’t big, but it’s more than enough for the two of us. There’s a tiny living room, a decent sized kitchen and two big sunny bedrooms that will be just wonderful to wake up in every morning. There’s no bathtub, just a shower – that will definitely be an adjustment. But the gorgeous little front yard, and the enormous backyard, where tea will be sipped on a porch swing, barbeques will be hosted on sunny Saturday mornings, and playhouses will be built, where my Boy will play with his new neighborhood friends – these will all make up for the practical showers that are about to replace our bath time ordeals.

It’s going to be great, I think. As long as the contract is fair and the landlords seem reasonable. And as long as I don’t chicken out…

Loved

31 Jan

snoopy

When I was a kid it meant everything to me that my sisters would feel loved. I played out every perfect-mother-cliché that I saw in a movie or read in a book, said every right word, did every right thing, well, the young adult interpretation of the right thing at least.

Overbearing father, busy mother, blah blah blah, and my perfect baby sisters, two little dolls to dress up, and brush their hair, and cook for, and help out with homework, and teach them how to tell time, and build up my ego knowing that I was necessary to them, to make up for my feeling unnecessary where I should have felt paramount.

This post is not supposed to be a parent-rant, although I can see that’s where it’s heading. I just suddenly remembered today, strongly, vividly, how much I loved my sisters when we were little. And I love them truly today, as an adult. But when we were younger it was different. It was like I was their mother. Parents usually say that until you have kids, you don’t know how much love you’re capable of feeling, how protective you’ll be of your little ones. But that wasn’t true in my case. I knew, because that’s how I felt about my sisters. I wanted to protect them. I wanted to teach them. I would have done anything in the world for them and they knew it. And it made all the difference to me knowing that they had someone in their lives that they knew would do anything in the world for them. Not just in a life and death situation, but even if they just had a cold and needed to be spoiled.

So I got a lot out of our childhood relationship, for sure. They helped me fill a void that slowly grew in me, to shut up that voice that always told me that I was unworthy. I proved myself worthy to them. And then they grew up, and I needed to take care of someone more helpless than they were, so I got all these male friends at school that had issues and I mothered them, secretly falling for most of them, embracing the pain of unrequited love as if it were a trophy.

When I met BD, one of the first things I loved about him was how he took care of me. He was the first person in my life to do that in the totality that I had fantasized about my whole life. I’m sure you’re imagining me as this neglected kid with overgrown fingernails, but I was really well taken care of. And I knew that I was loved, too. And if something really horrible had happened, my parents would be there without any doubt, I’m sure of that. It’s just that totality that I was craving. The worrying about whether I would be cold without a jacket, or what time I would get back home. Whose house I was sleeping over at, if I had a sandwich for school, or it I woke up on time in the morning. It’s not that they didn’t care, they had their hands full and I was very self-contained.

The first time I ever got sick and BD took care of me, I was elated. In pain, but elated. He was all over the place, making me tea and soup, and getting me those extra soft tissues with the aloe in them, and bringing me the remote and checking in with me every twenty minutes. And there were other things too, like he hated it if I wore shear clothes, because he didn’t want anyone else having a look at what belonged to him. And he’d threaten to beat up anyone who messed with me, and though he was the geeky type and didn’t mean it seriously, it was romantic and his intentions were what counted.

Now I understand, BD showed me what it was to be loved in totality, to be taken care of, the way I had only taken care of others in the past but had rarely been on the receiving end. It was OK to cry with him, crying didn’t make me a wuss, and he never expected me to ‘just get over it’. He’d just hug me and tell me it would be OK. Sometimes that’s all a girl needs.

Even this week, as I told him I didn’t want to live together anymore, through tears, he still found it in him to console me. And I thought to myself – am I making a huge mistake? What am I giving this up for? I have a man who loves me incredibly, who wants to spend his whole life making up for his mistakes.

But the thing is, that I don’t need BD in order to be on the receiving end anymore. I am already on the receiving end of so much love and care and warmth. My gorgeous son, who blows me a kiss in the morning when I say goodbye to him at daycare, and hugs my legs when I come back to pick him up. I mother him, and I’m supposed to mother him! Isn’t that awesome? I have my friends whom I can tell things about my life, pretty or not, and they’ll accept anything without a hint of judgment. I have two beautiful sisters whose future kids will one day be my Boy’s baby cousins, and whom I fantasize about us raising together, with the ideals of parenthood that we all share.

I tend to get emotional and needy when I’m sick. I start thinking about how I can’t really handle things on my own. Thank god, after I stop throwing up, and I did eventually yesterday, I sober up and remember what’s real. Sitting on a park bench with my friend R and telling him about my aspirations, and hearing that he loves me and receiving his embrace. He believes that I’ll get there, and so do I, and if my son could speak, he’d tell me that he believes in me too.

The Long and Winding Road

25 Jan

The long and winding road, that leads new me to her new life. It will never disappear, I’ve seen that road before. It led me to motherhood, career choices, love, passion, cooking, painting, blogging, teaching my boy and myself to be happy. 

That wild and windy night 15 months ago, the rain has washed away. It left a pool of tears, but the sun has dried them up, and now I know the way.

Many times I’ve been alone and many times I’ve cried. I know not everyone appreciates the many ways I’ve tried, but I’ve tried.

And still I find myself back again, on the long and winding road, where I was left standing a long, long time ago, and where I now choose to stand, brush my shoulders off and lead myself and my little boy to where we want to go. 

Wish me luck and courage.

Movie Moments

1 Jan

spatula

New Year’s day, and here I am. Still uncertain, still shaky, still on hold. What the hell am I doing? I know what I have to do, it’s just that I haven’t been feeling very courageous lately.

A year ago I was beginning to get a grip on things. Everything fell apart in October 2012. But in January 2013 I was beginning to put the pieces of my life back together. Slowly, one piece at a time, I learned that my life was a puzzle that could be put together in more ways than one. I waited for three months for BD to turn around. And then came the SCREW IT stage, no pun intended, well, maybe semi-intended. I discovered that life was magic. I was astounded by the revelation that I could live my life any way I wanted to, that I was free to do whatever I wanted.

Life is magic. People watch movies and read books and hear stories, and they say: things like this never happen in real life. Bullshit. Everything happens in real life, if you let it. Movie moments are all around us, waiting to be discovered by the power of one bold move, a small act of bravery.

Dinner today. Scrambled eggs. Tomato. Cucumber. Olives (Baby loves olives!) A spoon. And then BAM, Baby leans over and grabs a giant yellow spatula with a smiley face on it from the kitchen counter. Now he’s using it as a giant spoon, picking bits of tomato with it and stuffing them into his mouth, laughing his head off. Too young to have reservations. So open minded, that he would never ask if it was appropriate. Who the hell cares? It makes him happy.

It’s harder for us. We’re so aware, so worrisome. It’s harder for me. So uncertain, so afraid of making a mistake. So afraid to be brave that I prefer this impossible status quo. I prefer to let life guide me and spoon-feed tasteless mashed carrots. Instead, I should just grab me a giant yellow smiley-faced spatula, pull life by its reigns and fill it with movie moments and passion and happiness and me.

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