Archive | April, 2013

Texting Goodbye

30 Apr

message

“I had a talk with BD today. I agreed to try two months of therapy together. I don’t know if it’ll do any good but I’m giving it a chance. I remember you said that there are no good or bad decisions, only the choices we make and life that follows. I wanted to say thank you for coming into my life at such a meaningful time, and teaching me to be open and trusting again, and reminding me just how happy I could be. Maybe we’ll meet again some day, but in the meantime I’m going to try hard not to call or text, so I can really figure out where things are going, even though I know it’ll be hard. I also just had to tell you that Baby finally figured out how to put the round peg in that bucket you got him. What a clever boy. Goodbye Skating Guy.”

“Remember that therapy is just the beginning and you will have to do all the really hard work on your own. Be strong and eat lots of tomatoes. Only you are in charge of your happiness. In every situation you can choose to be sad or to see the opportunity that the situation brings, and there is always an opportunity. If you look back at your life, you’ll see that everything that happened to you brought new opportunities along with it. You are stronger now, smarter, more beautiful, more aware. Happier. You have a wonderful, clever, happy boy. He’s a reflection of you. You’re a wonderful mother and I learned so much from you. Thank you. Goodbye Sweet.”

Goodbye, Again.

29 Apr
Got this beautiful picture from: http://fromthelittlewhitehouse.blogspot.co.il

Got this beautiful picture from: http://fromthelittlewhitehouse.blogspot.co.il

We’d been back together for a month, Skating Guy and I, and a spectacular month it was. Closer than we were before, more in love, more intense. I walked around infatuated like some hormone stricken 16-year-old, drawing pink hearts in her notebook and playing little futuristic scenarios in her head, how he’ll ask me to the dance, how he’ll tell me he loves me, how he’ll propose.

Six years younger than I am, SG has a head full of magnificent red curls and the most curious thoughts. He has warm brown eyes and big full lips, that almost seem disproportional in comparison to his other features. His embrace is strong and often he holds me so tightly that I can’t get away. Especially if I’m upset about something, then he’ll grab me and pull me to him, kissing my forehead lightly and just holding me powerfully between his arms.

That’s just the way he held me this morning, as we were saying goodbye. I’m pretty sure this time it’s for good. Funny how I was the one breaking up with him, and he was the one consoling me. You’re right, he said, we want different things. You want a family, and you deserve one. I want to read books, and learn languages, and find myself.

It was a powerful, overwhelming type of love, almost alarming, a kind that grabs you in the gut and hurts and satisfies you and leaves you feeling an urgent need to hold on and not let go, the kind of love you know cannot last. We fell into it unintentionally. We were travelling on completely different paths, but somehow we met at a crossroads, and we lingered there as long as we could, and then it was time to carry on.

I know saying this makes me a non-feminist, and you can raise your eyebrows at me all you like, but I need a man in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I can make it on my own, I know I can, I am making it on my own. I ‘ve been making it on my own for a while now. And raising an amazing little boy. And doing a damn good job at it. BUT, if I want to be truly happy, I need a man in my life. Someone who completes the magical trio I’ve longed for ever since I was a little girl: Mom, Dad, Baby. A traditional, old fashioned family, that sits together for dinner, and has family vacations, and lives together until the Boy is all grown up. A family that argues sometimes over silly things, or serious things, but always sticks together nonetheless.

SG cannot give me that, and won’t be able to. And I’m done waiting for boys to become men so they can give me what I need from them. Been there, done that. Besides, if SG suddenly became that man, he wouldn’t be that boy I’m so in love with anymore.

You’ll be happy, he promised me, as we were standing by the door. With BD or without. You’ll get what you want.

I know, I said. And you will too.

Don’t cry.

I can’t.

Ok then, come here.

He held me the way he always does when I’m upset, strongly, tightly, overbearingly.

And then he left, and I shut the door, and went to the window to watch him walk away.

 

 

All That She Wants

15 Apr

Nature's Embrace by Josephine Wall

He’d be kind. He’d listen when I spoke, and even when I didn’t. He’d hold me when I needed to be held. He’d love my son but understand his place as a significant adult in his life, yes, but not his father. He wouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. He’d be warm. He’d be generally happy and often smile or laugh. He’d enjoy a homey evening together of cooking dinner, chatting, washing dishes, watching a movie. He’d have time for us. He’d have time for himself. He wouldn’t be rich, he’d make just enough money so that between the two of us we could manage a comfortable life. He’d want to look after me. Sometimes he might even worry about me, just a little. He’d help me out with things without being asked to. He’d love me. I’d love him.

Our relationship would start casually and gradually intensify. We’d be passionate and physical, and wouldn’t be able to take our hands off each other at first. As time went by, there wouldn’t be as many sparks, but we’d still enjoy one another physically. It would start becoming serious. We’d use the L word. We might be scared. Maybe we’d both been hurt before. But that too would pass and in its place a calmness and sense of security would slowly grow. After some time, keys would be exchanged. Sleepovers would multiply. Eventually boxes would be packed and moved. Closet space would be cleared. A new life would be built and shared.

A little boy would grow up in a safe and loving environment. He’d go to school and play sports, or do arts or read books, whatever made him happy. And we’d be proud as hell. We’d all have a good relationship with his father, who might also have found a new love, built a new home.

We’d grow older. Things would change. Challenges would appear. But we’d cope with them. We’d argue from time to time. We’d be mad at one another. But at night our bodies would meet under the covers and a forgiving warmth would envelope us both.

He’d always remember how I liked my coffee, and I’d remember he preferred tepid water to cold. He’d keep the light on in the kitchen at night because he’d know I hated sleeping in pitch dark. I’d invest in organic tomatoes, because I’d know how much he liked them. Sometimes, when the Boy didn’t think he was too cool for it, we’d order in and play board games or have a movie night. Maybe there would even be another boy in the picture. Or a girl. Maybe.

I’d get a second chance at happily ever after.

But…

But if I didn’t, if things didn’t work out, I’d be strong enough to handle it. Wouldn’t I..? I’d pick up the pieces of my shattered heart and glue them back together. I’d have to find a way to protect my son from having his heart shattered too.

When I think about the risks… It almost seems too dangerous. Sometimes it makes me want to give up hope of ever having a Chapter 2.  But I remember a line that I heard in a song: There are no victories in all our histories without love. And I put on that song that I used to love as a teenager. And it makes me feel a little more hopeful, and little more brave.

Birthdays

14 Apr

birth of venus

I’m only 32 and I already have three separate friends who hate birthdays. B doesn’t like to be reminded of her age. R and N simply think birthdays are meaningless, since age doesn’t mean anything. R says it’s just another way for people to compare themselves to their peers. He’s 38, when’s he going to settle down already? You know, she should start thinking about children already, at her age. When I was 30 I had a career and two children, not that there’s anything wrong with waiting tables, but you know, there is. N criticizes how people wait for their birthday to do things they love. He thinks every day should be a celebration of us living the life we want to live.

All this is fine, and true. The competition thing, the living each day to its fullest. But let me just say this – I love my birthday! And I think my friends are sort of missing the point.

1. Birthdays are a very good excuse to be completely narcissistic, not give a shit about anyone else, and do stuff that you love and never find time for.

2. You get presents on your birthday, and presents are awesome! I fucking love presents.

3. Birthdays are not a celebration of how old you are, but a celebration that you ARE. If it weren’t for that crazy morning, 32 years ago, when my mom gave birth to me in a hospital room with five other women, and my dad rode his bike all around town shouting at strangers, I have a girl! I’m a dad! If it weren’t for that, I would not exist. I would not think, or believe, or love, or create, or become a parent myself. I would not ache, or break, or pick up the pieces of my life and start over. I would not be. And that’s what my birthday is to me, it’s a celebration of my life, with its peeks and its slopes, with its joy and its misery.

Many years ago, before I met BD, before I became, well, me, I had a really bad year. It was the year my heart was broken, my trust violated, my body taken advantage of. It was the year I stopped believing in god, and love, and happiness, and became an existentialist without really knowing what that meant. And most significantly, it was the year that I became I comfortably numb. So much shit was going on in my life, that it was too much to handle. So I didn’t. I just shut everything and everyone out. I went through the motions of life without laughing or crying, without feeling. Today, looking back at those days of numbness, I realize that there is yet another thing I celebrate every year on my birthday. I celebrate feeling! I embrace the pain and pleasures of life and I know that as long as I can feel, I exist.

And as long as I exist, I intend to celebrate my life. I feel lucky – to have loved, to have married, to have become a mother, to have been betrayed, to have recovered. I know that my heart may be broken in the future, but I still choose to love. I know that my trust may be violated in the future, but I still choose to trust.

Happy birthday, me. You’re doing great.

You live, you learn, you love you learn, you cry, you learn, you lose, you learn…

I need a dollar, a dollar is what I need.

6 Apr

dollar

“Well I don’t know if I’m walking on solid ground, cause everything around me is crumbling down…” 

This week has been easier. Baby still has a cold, he’s still teething, and I still haven’t been getting any sleep, at all. To top that off, I woke up sick as well, sick enough to cancel my day and go see a doctor. But it was still better this week. It was better because I’ve regained knowledge of what I want: A divorce. A fair settlement. A new life with my son, and possibly, at some point, with a man.

“You’re making a mistake.” He told me again. “Just tell me what you need. More time? To think it over?” I try to be assertive in these conversations, but I don’t know how to do that without shouting at him to get out. When I try to talk confidently and calmly about wanting to move on, he discredits everything I say. When I finally get angry he says I’m talking out of anger, and I need to give myself time. It’s so strange how things have changed between us. How only six months ago I cried my eyes out as he packed his suitcase, and thought I was never going to recover. Now I just want the rest of his things out of my house, and more closet space for Baby and me. I want there not to be any hidden agenda when he transfers money into my account or takes Baby for the night. I want him to do those things because they are his duty, and because he is a good father. Not because he’s trying to win me back. Because I know now, and feel now, with a strong certainty, that his window of opportunity has passed, that we are over.

To make a complicated matter just a little more complicated, my financial situation sucks at the moment. I wasn’t planning on working at all this year. I was going to be a stay-at-home-mom for the first year of my baby’s life. When BD left I got a part time job, but I’m spending way more than I’m making. BD’s been transferring money to my account every month, and covering our mortgage. Once we get divorced, I know there will be child support, but it’s not going to be like it is now, when he still has the hope of me taking him back. I don’t want to give up the apartment, I really don’t. It’s a small, modest place, and I love it, I love that it’s a 10 minute walk away from the park and that the neighbors are friendly, and that the vegetable guy always smiles at me and gives me his best strawberries that he keeps behind the counter, and that the supermarket delivery guy knows my son’s name. It’s our home, and it will really break my heart to have to leave it.

I finally sat down with an excel file yesterday and wrote down all our expenses and my income. I’ve already arranged for expanding my position to full time next year, but a teacher’s income is still a teacher’s income. There used to be the possibility of tutoring, but it’s really difficult for me to clear up an afternoon for work when daycare ends at 16:00 and I just want to spend time with my son in the few hours that are left to his day before he goes to sleep. Daycare… It’s so expensive! And then there are all the other expenses of raising a baby. I know I’ve become a little spoiled. I have a sitter that comes in once a week, and then I go out. I have a cleaning guy that I know I will have to part with. I have a mineral water dispenser that is way too expensive for me to keep. And let’s not forget my therapist, jeez, it’s pricey to maintain emotional stability, isn’t it?

I was worried before I began the excel chart, but somehow I found that once it was done, I wasn’t discouraged. Somehow, it was actually a relief to see everything written down, rather than a huge jumble of anxiety in my head. I made a new chart, of what things will look like starting September. I’ll be working more. I’ll be cleaning my own place, at least most of the time. I’ll be going back to filtered water. I’ll be getting more help from my mom, instead of the sitter. Also, hopefully, there will be a good settlement.