Next week will mark two whole years since I left my (marital) home and moved an hour away (closer to work) with just my children.  I marvel at how much has changed since then!  I was in my lowest of lows at the time.  Miserable is a day in the park compared to what I was going through.  I was lonely, angry, depressed, medicated, counseled, sad, disappointed in myself and in life.  It was just bad.  I found what little comfort I could in my children and when they weren’t around, in a sadly misguided relationship with someone who admittedly helped me through those times by providing me companionship and comfort in the form of what I thought was true feeling, possibility, hope.  Within a couple months I found the “love” that was declared was nothing more than a kind of misplaced devotion that was moved to me during hard times with his wife.  (Yeah, I’ve been that girl…)

That kind of devotion, the infatuation, the lust, the worship, even.  It’s not unpleasant.  In fact, it can be downright intoxicating.  I’ve caught my fair share of admirers.  I’ve even allowed myself to get caught up in the moment with them, feeding on their unbridled declarations of adoration like it was a drug, usually using them up completely before moving quickly on to my next hit.  I’ve left a small trail of broken hearts and/or broken spirits in my wake, never really caring because, really, are they that pathetic?  That’s  not my fault!  I was the man that mothers warned their daughters about, only, I wasn’t.  I was something worse.  I was a girl who played the man’s game better than the boys.  Even two separations and two children apparentlyhadn’t brought me to the light.  At the time I split up with ex#2, I was so completely engulfed in darkness and despair that I didn’t, no couldn’t care enough about another person to realize what was going on before it was too late.  I couldn’t care enough about  myself.

“Do you know what it is to feel the light of love inside you? And all the darkness falls away.”  –Dave Matthews Band, “Shake Me Like a Monkey”

“Why, yes, Mr. Matthews.  I think I have…”

Admittedly, Mr. W and I didn’t have the most promising start.  Both fresh out of not just relationships, but marriages.  Both with children we felt we were neglecting.  Both dealing with a million and one things in our own lives.  We came together in what would probably be considered, even by us both at this point, a time of weakness, for all the wrong reasons, and in the wrong way to start a relationship (physically).  But who said either of us was looking to start a relationship?  Yeah, not so much.  It was a “friends with benefits” sort of scenario if I’ve ever seen one.  But then something strange happened…the darkness began to fall away…

I really never knew “it” could be like this.  I’ve come so far in the last two years in so many areas of my life, directly because of Mr. W; his companionship, his support, his friendship, his love.  He’s never forced anything on me, consciously or otherwise.  The most appealing part of our relationship (well, besides the way it started) was always the lack of pressure.  I didn’t have to think or do or worry or stress (when things were good at least), I could just be.  And now that we’ve worked through all those rocky times, and things are good, the just being is bliss!  Yes, we have worries and stresses and things to think about, but we do them together and we’ve found a way to do all that without putting the pressure on each other or our relationship.  This is how it should always be.  …and I call him Mr. Wonderful!

Mr. W stood next to me in that darkness.  No, he crawled into the hole with me and sat next to me until I’d let him hold me.  Then he held me until I was ready to think about the light.  Then he listened to me talk about the light until I was ready to move towards it.  And slowly, we walked into the light together, holding hands the whole way.  He didn’t pull or push.  He stayed right at my side as I did it on my own.  He gave me back my strength while seemingly doing nothing at all.  Sure we’ve had our moments in shadows during our relationship so far, and I’m sure we will have some downright eclipses sometime.  But I’m willing to bet, all those times we struggled and fought and went through the darkness, if either of us had bothered to look down, we were still holding tightly to each other’s hand.  I’d put my life on that!

There are times, maybe I’m out and about on my own somewhere, when I will get a glance or a comment or a flirtatious moment from some nice looking man and I’ll admit, I sometimes get the blushes and the little stomach flip and I feel a little hint of that old me buried deep in the past and begging for a hit.  But only sometimes, and less and less often for every moment I spend in my new, most wonderful life with my most wonderful mate*.  And less than a moment later.  A split second, a breath, and without even trying, I know who I have truly loving me at home.  I know what I have.  I know that it’s everything I’ve always wanted and so much more.  And I will never give any of it up for anything in the world.  Not for a secret hit.  Not for a few moments of flutter.  Not for the unknown.  Not for the possibility, because quite frankly, there is no possibility.  I won’t give him up.  I won’t give us up.  Never.

* from dictionary.com

Mate:  –noun

1.  husband or wife; spouse. 
2. one member of a pair of mated animals.
3. one of a pair: “I can’t find the mate to this glove.” 
4. a counterpart. 
5. an associate; fellow worker; comrade; partner (often used in combination): classmate; roommate. 
    

   friend; buddy; pal (often used as an informal term of address): Let me give you a hand with that, mate. 

6. Nautical.   a.   first mate.     b.  any of a number of officers of varying degrees of rank subordinate to the master of a merchant ship.    c.   an assistant to a warrant officer or other functionary on a ship. 
7. an aide or helper, as to an artisan; factotum. 
8. a gear, rack, or worm engaging with another gear or worm. 
9. Archaic. an equal in reputation; peer; match.

I think that works wonderfully!  Well, except for the “nautical” stuff, but he is the Navy boy, so I guess he can handle that part of the definition on his own.  

This Saturday I will be taking the kids to the girls fourth birthday party.  Yes, she reached 4 years of age two weeks ago, but this will be the fourth time she is celebrating it.  She had a family party with ex#2 and his family the weekend following her actual birthday, in conjunction with ex#2′s birthday which was the following Monday.  She had a party at pre-school that Friday.  She had a party at my house last Saturday.  And she’s having another one, with friends and all this Saturday.  And you best believe she received presents at the last three, with more to come.  Yes, divorce is rough on kids, but there are some serious perks!

The boy’s birthday falls just 2 days before Christmas and with my two divorces in his life, he basically gets to celebrate and receive gifts for like a month and a half.  He has Christmas with me, with his dad (ex#1) and his family, and with ex#2 and his family.  We are all in agreement that he shouldn’t get cheated on the whole birthday thing just because he was born so close to Christmas, so he also gets three birthday celebrations, complete with specific birthday gifts, not to ever be combined with Christmas gifts.  Now that he is in school, I’m sure there will be more celebrations of birthday and Christmas in his near future.  That’s eight gift-giving occasions in the month of December.  Nice!  (Of course the girl gets her two Christmases every year as well.) 

I am dreading the day that the kids consciously figure out that they can (attempt to) pit all us grown-ups against each other.  Seriously dreading.  The boy has Mr. W and me, his dad and me, his dad and Mr. W, his dad and ex#2, ex#2 and me, and on rare occasion I’m sure, Mr. W and ex#2 to work on so far.  Add in his dad’s girlfriend, if she sticks around, and any future Ms. ex#2 and that a whole bunch of conflict he can bring on all of us if we’re not careful.  With that many people competing for your affection, the possibilities are endless!  The girl doesn’t have any connection to ex#1, but that still leaves her with plenty of drama to cause.  Plus she has the added bonus of an over-involved aunt (and possibly soon-to-be uncle) and over bearing grandparents with their own ideas of child spoiling rearing.  With all the pre-existing differences of opinion on the hows and whats of being parental-types, the kids are going to have a field day working it all to their advantage.  My only hope is that we can at least start reading from the same book by then as I have a feeling being on the same page is just not going to happen.  And I married these men!  What was I thinking?

Why do we get involved with people who are so clearly different?  How can we possibly imagine it will all just work out?  I actually remember telling myself that.  ”It will all work itself out in the end.  We will be fine.  We will be happy, perfect parents.”  Yeah.  Fat chance!  I can’t really speak for the younger, less experienced, just plain dumber me of the days when I “fell in love” with these men, but the me I know today has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING IN COMMON with them.  (Except of course for the kids.)  We don’t think the same.  We don’t like the same things.  We don’t have the same beliefs.  We don’t run in the same social circles.  We don’t have the same goals.  We don’t have the same parenting styles.  We don’t have even similar hopes for our kid’s futures!  Thank the stars I found Mr. W.  I thought a relationship and a marriage and parenting was something that had to be constant work to even hope for success.  I realize now I was sorely and thankfully mistaken.  When you have distinct similarities the “work” just falls away.  We aren’t exactly the same.  That would just be annoying.  And a little creepy.  But we are at least in the same general area on most things.  Different enough to allow for healthy conversation, but similar and mutually respectful (← very very VERY important!) enough to come to some common ground in the end.  There are many moments that we think or say the exact same thing at the exact same time.  (Its cute really.    We call them our “soul mate” moments.  Cheesy, I know.  But show me a relationship without a little cheese and I’ll show you a relationship that just isn’t fun!)  But there are also moments when we see things differently but are able to have adult discussions on the best course of action to deal with such differences.  I know that sounds like “work” right there, but really, there are many more moments of cheese than there are of difference.  And I am so thankful.  That’s why I call him Mr. Wonderful!

Another thing that divorce brings to my kids life is variety.  Most kids grow up with a solid foundation of how things should be based on how things are in their youth.  They have one basic example around them and they tend to follow in that footprint, whatever it may be, right or wrong or indifferent.  There is that whole argument on Nature vs. Nurture that I don’t even want to get into, but you have to admit, those little spongy people just suck up what’s around them and usually continue the trends throughout their own adult lives.  My kids have several, vastly different environments and mentalities and ways of being to sponge from.  On one hand, this may end up totally confusing for them in the end, which would suck.  But my hopes (and true belief) is that the variety will provide them with a much richer bank to pull from.  They will be able to see, and experience several different ways of being, in relationships and in life.  They will be able to form their own opinions on what works and what doesn’t and come up with a mosaic that works for them.  They will be more educated on the sociology of life (at least parts of life) without ever knowing it.  They will take part in a larger spectrum of experiences as they pass from one group of people to another and back again.  I have high hopes for my children, and I am thankful that despite my failures they may actually come out the other end all the better. 

Or they’ll be totally confused.  Which as I said, would suck.

Just like most little girls, when I was young I believed whole-heartedly in fairytales and “Happily Ever Afters.”  Despite my parents’ efforts and a long (really long) string of bad relationships and broken hearts, my dreams of happily-ever-after continued through my teen years into my early twenties.  Then I met ex#1.  Sometime during our twisted courtship (probably having something to do with my dorm-dazed, alcohol-soaked, man (boy)-crazed, promiscuous tendencies) fairytales drifted off and left me in the “real world.”  When I finally got that (less-than) fairytale proposal, my thoughts weren’t of birds singing and how I’d be “Happily Ever After,” they were of “would I learn to love this man” and “will he ever hurt me.” Yeah, true love in it’s finest hour, right?  But all wasn’t lost, yet.  There was hope.  There was possibility.  Wasn’t there?

Maybe not.  We tried to get pregnant (yeah, I know…the horribly misguided thoughts of desperate couples looking for a way to make it work).  We didn’t get pregnant.  For months we didn’t get pregnant.  Then we separated.  First by our hearts, then our minds, then we made it official and we both moved out.  And then I got pregnant! Figures, right.  By that point, alone, pregnant, failed marriage, the last glimmer of “fairytales” faded into the night.  I had my beautiful son and realized no one wants a twenty-something single mom so I settled for who I thought was the first decent guy to show interest in me.  He had a daughter and a failed marriage too, so he understood and would love me…right?  We got pregnant, got married, and got unhappy very quickly and with the birth of my little girl, I realized I couldn’t teach her about fairytales because quite frankly I didn’t have a clue what they were anymore.  I even decorated her room with Tinkerbell, because Tink gets her heart broken, but is still sassy and happy and totally fabulous.  But, much like my parents before me, I failed and the girl is totally obsessed with Princesses and all that fairytale crap.

Yes, I’ve found my prince charming, finally, in Mr. W, but fairytales? Can I get behind them again?  Can any woman, no, mother in this day and age?  I specify mothers because as a woman, there is still hope.  There is still freedom to dream and fantasize about the possibility.  But with motherhood comes responsibility, the all powerful time suck.  When there are diapers and sleep deprivation and cooking and cleaning and laundry and school lunches and homework and activities and “mommy, mommy, mommy…” around the clock, there leaves little time, or energy for dreaming.  When you become a mother, there is just no room for being a princess.

Let’s look at Disney, the king of fairytale princesses, responsible for bringing them full-force into our hearts and minds today.  When “she” finally gets her “he,” that’s usually the end of the story.  If we are given a glimpse into their life together, it is just that.  A glimpse.  And then it’s with dogs.  You know, Perdita and Pongo meet, fall in true love, “marry,” and then they have kids (in the end 99 of them) but that’s it.  No follow up.  Lady and the Tramp have kids at the end of their “fairytale” romance.  End of movie.  What happens next?  Ah, but then Disney gives us the sequels, the not-quite-as-good-but-still-Disney-Magic follow-ups.  There is Scamp, Mr. and Mrs. Tramp’s little scoundrel who gets into an adventure all his own…but wait, where are the parents?  What happened to them?  Arial and her Mister get married and apparently have a little princess of their very own, who we meet in another wonderful sequel.  But wait.  Ariel is the princess (of the sea) and the queen (of the people-world), right?  Shouldn’t she be a little more than a side-note to this story?  Even in the great fairytale world of Disney, you become a mother and all that princess-ly wonder goes right out the window.  (Lady and Ariel are probably doing their very romantic laundry and making meatloaf filled with sweet songs of love.)

So even in the dawn of true love, there is no fairytale left for me.  It’s all rather disappointing isn’t it.  Well, at times, yes.  But not always.  While I may not have that fairytale whirlwind romance going on.  While I may not be able to let go and be totally wrapped up in the moment with my very own Mr. Wonderful.  While I may not live a care-free and glamorous life full of romance, there is still beauty.  I have two beautiful babies.  Just looking at them makes my heart leap and flutter.  I have a wonderful man.  He treats me like a princess whenever life allows, even when I’m not acting much like a princess.  And I have hope for our future, all of our futures.  In the still of the night, when the babies are sleeping and there is no laundry to do or lunches to make, I can sit back an dream about the possibility of a fairytale ending for us all…maybe.

Damn I’m a whiny bitch!  At least I feel that way right about now.  (And I wonder where the girl gets it)  Here I’ve been whining about my stresses and my problems when all the while there are much bigger issues in other people’s lives that my stuff doesn’t even touch.

A close friend just confided that her hubby is coming home from Iraq on Saturday after 9 months, 3 months short of his one-year contract.  He was there under a similar contract as Mr. W, but a month ago he was fully intending to stay two years instead of the originally planned one.  And now he’s coming home, out of the blue, and oh, did I mention he got fired?  My dear friend has five kids, a crappy job that she hates, and big dreams of pursuing a career she actually wants, which these one or two years apart (and the big paychecks that accompany them) were going to all but hand to her on a silver platter with sparkly jewels all around.  Now?  Not so much.  Now she’s stuck worrying about things like mortgages and bills and what activities she has to cut out of her kids’ lives to make ends meet on a single income in a very high cost of living area.  Did I mention she has five kids??  The kicker, she still loves the guy.  They have been married for like 15 years, and have had many of those “worse” times the preacher talks about when you get married and she’s stuck it out.  Besides that, he still makes her heart flutter and eyes light up.  He still makes her laugh, through all of this.  Love…WTF, man!

Then there is The Girl from the Ghetto.  She’s a simply fabulous human being.  She’s Mr. W’s life-long friend and my new bloggy/long distance friend.  She’s the one that needs that real life Dr. House for all the baffling health issues she struggles with.  I can’t even begin to list her pains and struggles, but you can read them here.  But even through all that, when I met her, and when I read her, she’s still positive.  She’s happy, she’s friendly, she’s bubbly and intelligent and hardworking, she’s multi-talented, she’s fabulous!  But now, now she’s been laid off.  She’s civil service, and has been laid off. (Yeah, I was totally under the apparent misconception that doesn’t happen, like, ever!)  After a (finally) trip to the Mayo clinic to shed some light for her.  After finding out she has to have a surgery hubby’s insurance doesn’t cover.  After Michigan’s crappy economy anyway, she got laid off!!  So I’m sending my love, hugs, and prayers and asking anyone who happens to read my blog to pay her a visit, offer some love, and even better, give her some hope.  (Or a job.  A job would be good!) 

Then there is the random crap that goes on the outskirts of my life.  A guy that works in my area (work area, not for the same facility, but the same overall company) stabbed his wife to death for no apparent reason this past weekend.  One of my neighbors’ house flooded last week from a frozen faucet.  In an attempt to fix it (not sure how) her dad set the insulation in the wall on fire.  Flood and fire.  How much does that suck?  (Ok, granted, not as much as being stabbed to death, but I’m just running the list here)  Two of the ladies I work with suffer from health issues that strike without warning and leave them beat down on the side of the road.  Alone.  In the desert.  The Mojave desert.  With bugs.  — ok, stopping there, but you get the idea.  My step-dad’s mother just found out she has Lupus.  And his sister who lives with her and is supposed to be taking care of her fell off the wagon not long ago and fell hard.   Hell, my dad just had cancersurgery, for the second time, and will be dealing with chemo next month-ish and he’ll be doing it pretty much alone since my step-mother is selfish, unhelpful, and living somewhere else, counting the days until she feels a divorce is appropriate rather than working on their marriage. 

How blessed am I!  I have my health, mostly.  I have a good paying job.  I have the love of a man whom I love in so many ways, for so many reasons.  I have two beautiful, healthy children.  I have a nice house to live in and a good car to drive.  I have nice clothes and nice things and eat well.  Who the hell am I to bitch?  Mr. W and I have life pretty damn good, and yet we are too busy whining and bitching and stressing about the little crap to notice all the good in our lives.  Hell, if Girlie and my other friend can manage to keep smiles on their faces, what right do I have to defile their air with my negativity and discontent?

I’m not the best at expressing my feelings.  The commonality in my various bouts with counselors has been that I 1) hold everything in too much, 2) desperately need to find a way to express those pent up feelings, and 3) if I don’t, I’m going to have a breakdown.  Mind you, this part-diagnosis has been steady since my first visit to a “professional” back when I was 14, for reasons having less to do with me and more to do with my parents’ concern with me after their (much needed) break-up. 

Last night I had an epiphany-like moment with Mr. W after a couple days of building on a fight.  And an explosion of emotion ensued.

I’m a cranky person at times.  Yesterday was particularly bad.  I had a rough day at work, entering conflicts with a couple of my resident assholes towards the end of the day.  Mr. W had plans with his kids, as he does every Wednesday, so I knew it was just me and mine after work.  And they started from the moment I picked them up. 

I’m the sort who needs a little downtime in the transition from work to home life.  Yesterday was a sore example of that.  I didn’t get it.  I tried, but it was Mommy-this, and Mommy-that from the moment I walked in the door of daycare, and it just multiplied from there.  By the time Mr. W got home, I had resigned to full on frustration and screaming (never a good moment for me) which of course led to guilt and more frustration over screaming.  He was at a loss at the situation, trying to avoid conflict, keep quiet, and help, although in the wrong way, but he tried. 

Kids in bed, the night went on fairly uneventfully, until we turned of LOST and decided to head to bed…and it started.  That tension.  That half-fighting thing we do so well.  The knowledge that he would not sleep, but instead creep out of bed once he thought I was asleep to head to the computer, leaving me to come find him at about 1130pm, pull a conversation out of him, and end up resolved and back to bed by 2am.  I wasn’t going to let that happen.  We climbed into bed and I made him talk.  And talk we did…and fight…and get frustrated and angry.  I tried to explain, he tried to explain, and we both spun up to  a place of no eye-contact and bitten tongues. 

He made a comment that I was punishing him for all the pent up anger that I don’t take out on the ex-men, and possibly a little for my dad.  He said it’s not fair, and I realized he was right on that note, but I wasn’t angry at anyone…or was I.

And then it happened, my epiphany.

I am angry.  I’m angry at the ex-men.  I’m angry at Mr. W.  I’m angry at just about everyone.  I’m angry because I am jealous.  It’s not fair.  I’m a mom.  I’m a single-mom and pretty much always have been.  Everything I do is for someone else.  My life is not my own.  I don’t get to make choices based on my wants or needs, it’s always about someone else.  First and foremost, my kids, then Mr. W, then my dad and my mom, then everyone else just falls in line.  I don’t get choices.  I don’t get to have anything that is just for me, just because that is what I want.  I don’t get a space, a thing that’s mine, an outlet, a time for me because all my spaces and things and times are wrapped up in someone else and it’s just not fair!  The ex-men have their parents to back them up at every turn, to support them and give them what they need when they need it, to give them whatever breaks they need or want whenever they may-possibly-in-th-sometime-near-future want it.  Mr. W gets his space in the basement, gets to go to the gym for his outlet, gets to work whenever he wants, gets to see his kids whenever he wants, or not hang out with them if that’s what he wants, to take classes and know he will have time to do his work.  No one else has to think of the kids first because it’s my responsibility to bear alone.  So, yes.  I am angry. 

In an effort to share my epiphany with Mr. W, the tears came like a torrent, wracking my body with forced words and ragged breathing.  The whole thing came spilling out of me, uncontrolled, like a volcanic eruption.  It’s like all that emotion and feeling I’d been holding in for however long all came rushing to the surface at once, unbridled and uncontrolled, leaving me struggling to even breathe. 

After my ragged explaination, he held me (the most perfect thing to do at that time…seriously, boys.  If she’s crying, don’t ever just sit there.  Hold her.  Even if she begins to push you away, hold her.) and the tears slowed.  My breath began to normalize again.  My tremors in my chest and body began to subside.  He loves me, completely, unconditionally, (even when I’m a little crazed with snot spewing from my nose) he loves me.

And I love him.  The night ended *ahem* nicely, twice.    And we slept, soundly.  This morning I felt refreshed, although physically a little tired.  My mind and my heart felt cleansed and new again.  Over coffee, he confirmed that he heard me, and that is good.  I love him, too.

I’m an only child.  My parents had intended to have more children, which in the end is probably better they didn’t.  (Pretty bad marriage, horribly divorce, etc, etc)  My mom is 4th oldest of 14 (why do poor families continue to have child after child after child??) and my dad is second youngest of 4, so they both came from big families.  Their hopes to continue that trend, at least in the form of one or two more children, were cut short when I was still a baby/toddler and my dad got testicular cancer.  He had seminoma, which if you are going to get cancer, that’s apparently the one to get.  He lost a testicle, and had massive radiation treatment, but came out in the end with only the inability to have more kids (and he lost his fantabulous metabolism that kept him hovering for most of his life way below average weight for his 6’1″ frame.)  I don’t remember any of it, the rush back to the states (we were living in England at the time), the months in the hospital, living with my grandfather in Colorado to be close to my dad, the sickness from the radiation treatment, none of it.  All I know is the stories.  And the fear that cancer will once again touch my life, although that fear was always centered on me.

25 years later, my dad has cancer again.  In the other testicle.

Blood tests and scans show that it hasn’t gone anywhere else (a good thing) and apparently it’s seminoma again (another apparently good thing).  His urologist is trying to schedule the removal asap, which apparently will be an outpatient procedure.  He may not be able to do any more radiation due to the amount he received the first time around, so chemo may, or may not, happen on a small scale.

The thing that worries me is my dad’s heart. (well, worries me more since I am worried about the cancer as well.)  My grandmother died of a heart attack in October of 2004.  While I was on the plane flying to LA for the funeral, my dad played a round of golf to calm his nerves, and had the first of 3 heart attacks he would suffer over the next 4 months.  He has been in and out of the emergency room (probably more than he will ever tell me about) over the years since, mostly due to stress brought on by his relationship with my step-mother.  (You can read all about her here) Apparently, he went to see his cardiologist last week because he wants to start working out again, a request to which his cardiologist quickly responded a resounding NO!  After some blood work, my dad’s levels are high.  I don’t know exactly what these “levels” are, all I know is what should be low is high and what should be high is low and that isn’t a good thing.  He is on the block for another stress test, and probably more blood work to determine what to do about these “levels.”

Now, I asked my dad if his cancer treatment would effect his heart, to which he responded, “no.”  But I can’t shake the feeling he’s keeping something from me.  I offered to come out for his surgery and take care of him, three times, to which he responded, “no.”  Normally my dad jumps at any opportunity for me to visit.  Normally my dad would have already had my tickets booked.  But in light of this, he’s saying, “no.”  I’m concerned.  He said his cardiologist and his urologist are talking and this is all no big deal, but I still have that feeling.  I’m worried and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.  I can’t stop my worrying.  I can’t make him better.  I’m useless in this, and helpless.

This is definitely not the conversation I was planning on having with him.  We haven’t talked in a while, and we were planning on chatting this weekend so I could fill him in on my stress/anxiety/possible up-coming battle over the girl (dozens of posts to detail this in the future, I’m sure), and also so I could finally tell him that I’m getting married, again. I did get those two tid-bits out in the end, with a follow-up conversation planned for Sunday.  He told me to fight for the girl, and he would help (primarily in the financial aspect) as much as possible, which is actually quite a bit.  He also seemed genuinely happy about my engagement, which was only heightened when I informed him it would be a long engagement.  The fact that he seemed happy worries me as well.  Mr. W proposed on our trip in February, and I’ve waited this long to tell my dad because I was worried about his reaction.  Is he really happy?  And if so, why?  I expected concern in his voice.  I expected disapproval, or at the least good-natured ribbing about me jumping into another one, or being taken advantage of, or something of that sort, laced with genuine concern about me jumping into another one, or being taken advantage of, or something of that sort.  But he was smiling, I could hear it.  Why?  He hasn’t even met Mr. W yet, and while I have talked extensively about him to my dad, he would normally take my swooning as my silly-girl-in-love-ness.  It’s hard to even say (type) it, but is he happy because he’s worried he won’t be around much longer to take care of me and he doesn’t want me to be alone?  I’m worried.

Maybe I will get some answers, or more information on Sunday…but knowing my dad…probably not.

I’m worried.

I have been a working adult for the last 10 years, beginning with the military, then background investigator, then on to my current job.  While I haven’t yet fully experienced my “dream job,” work has always been something I enjoyed.  An escape from my home life.  A place that I could find 8 hours of peace in the chaos that is my life.  That is until recently.

When I joined the military, I was going through a massive depression stage brought on primarily by my abortion.  It was my first real bout of depression, and while joining the military served as an escape just in itself, going to work provided me with a daily distraction that helped to get me through.  I lived in the dorms, hundreds of miles from my family and friends, so when I wasn’t at work, I was alone…not really a great thing for me.  So work was my escape. 

When I married my first husband, and the problems started, work became my escape from the stress of my home-life.  I could be me at work, something that was cause for conflict at home.  I could have adult conversations without fights.  I was important.  I was doing something.  This continued through my second marriage, with the added escape from my children and the massive responsibility of being a mom.  Don’t get me wrong, I love my children, and I love my time with them.  But I could never be a SAHM.  I need adult interaction.  I need logic and reason in my life.  I need things that fulfill the other parts of me not connected to being a mom in order to feel like a whole person.  Not that SAHMs aren’t whole people, this is just me I’m referring to here.  I have the utmost respect for SAHMs.  I envy their patience and overall mothering skills.  I just couldn’t handle it.

Towards the end of my second marriage, I landed my current job.  It was the intense distraction I so sorely needed in that end.  I was training.  I was working.  I had multiple adults around to talk to who liked to talk. (something that was missing from my investigator job)  And when that marriage ended, it was the escape from my failures.  It was the escape from the pain of possibly losing my son.  It was the escape from the pain of being alone once again when the kids were with their fathers.  It was the greatest escape.  Then Mr. W came into my life.

Mr. W became my escape, and the scales began to tip.  I began enjoying my time at home almost as much as my time at work.  Sure there was still a lot of stress and drama in my life, but he was making it seem less difficult.  He gave me a distraction, something to be happy about, thankful for.  I didn’t need work as fervently as I had for the last 8 years.  Then the on-again-off-again started with him and work became a less desirable place to be.   We worked together, our desks literally next to each other, so in the times we were split up work became the last place in the world I wanted to be.  The tides were turning.

Finally, we sorted it all out, and were happy again and work became more of a nuisance.  The assholes began to rear their ugly heads.  All I wanted was the peace of home.  The peace of being with him…but then he left for Iraq.  Once again, work was my escape despite the assholes and the frustrations involved with it.  Work wasn’t the big empty house I was now living in.  His house.  The house that so easily allowed me to wallow in my sadness of his departure. 

But now Mr. W’s back.  The boy is home almost full time.  We have a family.  We have a home.  We are whole again and work, well, work sucks!  The assholes are being worse than ever.  There is a giant cloud of negative energy that is parked in my office, fed by my co-workers, growing, pulsing, and raining down more negativity on us all.  None of us enjoy coming here anymore.  There is little conversation.  There is little laughter.  There are few smiles.  The office is filled with hate and discontent, and the cloud keeps growing. 

My friend, Y, and I were talking about it the other day, and we find ourselves physically tired from all the negativity.  It’s draining.  It’s painful.  It’s toxic.  We joked about getting some sage and smudging the space, but of course we have smoke detectors…so maybe not.  I want to help change the energy.  I want to bring peace back to our little group, but I often find myself caught up in the cloud and actually feeding it more.  It’s like a sickness we can’t escape.  It’s like a fast-moving plague overcoming us, ever worsening, ever growing, ever spreading.  I see a major storm coming.  I see myself being involved.  I have had to bite my tongue too often lately for fear of saying something I shouldn’t.  I’m worried about those who won’t bite their tongue.  What will come spilling out of their mouths, fueled by anger.  What the resulting backlash will be.  I see it coming, and I feel helpless to stop it, and all I want to do is crawl back in bed, at home, until the impending storm passes…

…at least I hope it passes…

*as in five-year-olds.  Ok, so that was pretty bad.

The boy has been taking us to hell and back with his mood swings lately.  I firmly believe it is a combination of a case of terrible -uh- fives, and a butt-ton of changes to his already topsy-turvy life.  Since the ripe old age of 10 months, he’s been shuffled back and forth between his dad and me, graduating to a two-week on/off schedule which began at about 2 years old.  Poor kid, although I must say he is always the most well behaved kid on the plane!  

My house and his dad’s house are very different environments to boot.  Polar opposites even.  I strive for peace in my home life.  Uncluttered (although not always succeeding at this one), respect of other’s speaking, listening, a generally lower noise level, organized schedules.  I think these things are important, especially when dealing with children, especially when dealing with my children who have far too much chaos in their lives as it is.  They need a place of calm, of comfort, of safety for their thoughts and emotions.  (Damn, I’m sounding very touchy-feely here…)  Both the ex-men’s houses are full of people, thus noise.  Plus, there is no respect for others’ talking.  I think this may be a side-effect to big families that I’ve never really experienced in my own childhood as I was an only child.  They all talk over one-another.  I guess the goal is to be louder so you are heard.  The result is just, well, noise.  The ex-men (and their parents…have I mentioned they are grown men, with kids, still living with mommy and daddy?)  don’t keep to any sort of schedule or basic structure.  Meals are whenever, however.  i.e. eat a bite, go play, come back for two more, etc, etc.  Naps may happen, or not.  Bedtime is whenever they a) pass out on the couch, or b) daddy wants to have some alone time with his girlfriend.  This bothers me to no end.

In recent months, the boy has started school, cut down severely on his back-and-forth between his now full-time home with me and his dad’s house, and Mr. W has come back into our lives, full time, in our home (Mr. W’s home, but you know what I mean).  It’s a lot for the boy’s 5-year old mind to process.  So he’s acting out.  A lot.  He goes from whiny and completely unable to do anything on his own, to absolutely beaming with happiness, giggling with that oh-so-cute giggle of his, to quiet boy playing his games, to constant talker boy, just aching for attention of any kind, which usually leads back to whiny if he doesn’t get the attention which is apparently vital to his very survival. 

It’s all very frustrating.  For him, for me, for Mr. W.  He’s trying to figure things out without even knowing what to figure out.  He’s trying to find his role and his safe spot in all the chaos.  He’s trying to ensure he is surrounded by the love we profess at all times, lest he be forgotten.  He’s trying our freaking patience!  I feel bad for him, but sometimes I want to just shake him and say, “LOOK!  I love you.  Mr. W loves you.  We know you are there.  We know what you are able to do and not do.  SO STOP MESSING AROUND!  Be strong, little padawan.  We are here for you, but you must find your own way to be a true Jedi.”  And he would totally get it…well, if he was actually listening at the time…because he is a total Star Wars fiend  (so proud of that, btw!).  But he won’t listen.  Can’t listen.  And the wheel keeps turning, threatening to spin our family happiness right into space (like the outer rim deep…like Tatooine deep…yeah).

So how do I reach him?  How do I make him feel secure enough to just be a happy 5-year old kid?  He has enough to deal with:  school, new friends, divorced parents, step-family (ex#2) side-stepping out of his life, new siblings (Mr. W’s kids), tying shoes, and just being 5.  I know phases happen.  I know testing happens.  I know change is inevitable, but this is more.  He’s insecure and confused, and worse, he doesn’t even know it.  Oh, and in two months, school is out and he goes to his dad’s for a good portion of the summer.  What then?

I am not a good future planner.  I don’t have a 401-k or an IRA or any other retirement thingy set up.  (I don’t even really know what they are, except that they are retirement thingies!)  I don’t have a college fund set up for my kids.  I don’t have any savings.  I don’t have any solid goals I’m working towards.  I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.  And I’ve recently discovered I don’t have a degree that will do anything at all for my career. 

My hastily made well laid plans to get a BSc have backfired.  I think I rushed into a program to finish my degree in something because I knew my marriage was on its last legs and I needed desperately to do something for myself.  Besides that, I do enjoy school and learning and it is one selfish thing I can do just for me that isn’t questioned or looked down on as such.  But my options were limited because I have two kids, and my marriage was on its last legs…my marriage to a man who had me take the kids to daycare on his days off so there was no possibility that he would help me out by taking care of them a couple nights a week so I could go to class.  I had to find a completely online school, which I did, and find a degree, which I did, and then finish it, which I will in June.  The only problem is that my interests and projected career path don’t lie in degree areas that can be attained by distance learning.  So I had to get creative…Interdisciplinary.  What a magic word.  Yes it sounds really cool when you say your degree is in Math, Physics, Computer Science, and Technical Writing.  Ok, maybe cool isn’t word so much as Oh my god! What are you thinking you super nerd you?!  But still, it’s impressive on some level, right?  But what does it mean?

Nothing.  It means I’m a jack of all trades, master of none.  It means I can better do the job I currently have, but can’t wave my piece of paper to anyone else with hopes of something better.  It means I can’t go into a Masters program.  Well, that is half true.  For the Masters program I want, I need a 3.0 or better (yeah, totally not happening right now), a specific BSc in Engineering (oops), and/or experience in the field as an Engineer (damn, that little “Tech” part at the end of my title screws me there).  *hrumph*

In the end, I have no retirement, no plan for my kids’ education, no career path (not even a muddy, slightly worn patch in the grass for me to follow), and a very pretty piece of paper to hang on my wall that basically says nothing more than, “yeah, this girl can learn something.”

I have control issues.  (Ok, I admitted it, now let’s move on and never again speak of my faults.)  In my work, in my life, in my kids’ lives, I have a need to be in control that is so deep seated that most of the time I don’t even realize it until well after my angry “type A” side has reared it’s ugly head, usually at the expense of someone near and dear.  I think the hardest thing by far about getting divorced with children has been dealing with my need for control.

I’ve finally come to terms with the idea that my way may not be the only way to do something, although I will continue to hold on to it being the best way.  When I was still married to ex#2, we discussed the kids’ upbringing, discipline, etc, etc.  Usually the discussion would end up on my side of the fence, and I was perfectly happy with that.  And if it didn’t, at least we had enough discussion for me to accept the other side being some form of my side anyway, so I could live with it.  As far as ex#1 (the boy’s father) was concerned, well, we didn’t really care what he thought, and I had back-up to my unfair discounting of the other father, so that was good enough for me.  But now things have changed and I have to give up control of my kids and their upbringing.  (Yes I do realize that they aren’t just my kids, but when the other half isn’t around, and you hate despise dislike don’t see eye to eye with them normally, it’s hard to want to share responsibility and decision making with someone else.)

Ex#1 and I are getting along better these days.  About 70% of the time, we are able to discuss the boy and come to some agreement.  The other 30% of our discussions end up in a fight, and end up being way more complicated and frustrating than the situation ever called for, but more often than not we live amicably in that 70%.  The boy helps too.  He understands that rules are different in the two houses, and as sad as it is, has developed the ability to switch seamlessly between his two behaviours depending on his surroundings.  He is also past a lot of those milestone stages, walking, eating grown-up food, potty training, using the potty by himself, sleep issues…

And then there is ex#2.  We fight about 70% of the time.  We fight over her daily schedule.  We fight over potty training.  We fight over her rules.  We fight over everything it seems.  And the girl, not having to deal with this her whole life, hasn’t figured out the differences between mommy’s house and daddy’s house yet.  My biggest issue with ex#2 is that we, we, together figured all this stuff out when we were still married.  We decided on daily schedules.  We came up with a discipline plan.  We agreed what was a good diet for the kids.  We agreed on how we were going to go about potty training and other milestones.  But now that he’s living with his parents, he is letting them decide most everything and totally disregarding my input, reasoning, or desires.  Not that his parents are bad people or bad parents for that matter.  They are very kind and giving and loving to their children.  But seriously, both ex#2 and his sister have some serious issues that I won’t go into here but I (with their parents’ own admitting way back when) believe are at least 85% due to their upbringing, and I just want my daughter to be…well…better.

Ok, done venting.  But control, it’s like crack.  It has this hold over me that, with massive amounts of self therapy, I’m sloooowly loosening the grip, but it looks like a long road ahead.  And with the recent (and totally unprepared for ) cohabitation with Mr. W, my control issues are ready for the pounce at every turn…and just when I started to get the co-parenting thing under control.  (see, there’s that control thing again!  I can’t escape!)  I had my world (semi-) under control.  My schedule, my space, my way of doing things, my order of doing things, my routines, my rules, my needs,  my wants, my kids and the way I treat/raise/deal with them (at least in my home), my way of dealing with my exes, my plans, my future, my world is now to be shared with another person.  EEEK!!  But he’s a person I love and want to/plan to spend the rest of my life with so I should probably work on the home edition of my control issues soon if I still want that to happen!  Bear with me, Mr. W!!  Please!!! 

And work…well work just better look out.  With no other outlet for that crazy angry “type A” side…I coming in with a vengeance!