For the past couple of days, I've been thinking about my brothers, sister, brother-in-law and sisters-in-law. What a wonderful time in our lives - we are passing on the torch for a new generation! We wake up now with aches in our backs, worries on our minds, and sometimes dark thoughts in our souls, and fail to realize that we are the new "Uncle Jim", the new "Aunt Carolyn", the new generation for our nieces and nephews to reflect upon when they hit our age. And we've done well. We've done really well! Keeping the family together, breaking windows and doors and toys, but keeping it all together in the process. Spending Easter at Mom and Dad's amidst all my playful nieces and nephews made me so proud - so proud to be the Aunt of these wonderful children! So proud to be the sister of such wonderful siblings. We've emerged from in-law vs. blood into a sometimes-cranky-sometimes-frustrated-always-ready-for-a-laugh-or-food-or-drinks-rolling-our-eyes-at-the-absurdity-of-certain-situations kind of family! How perfectly imperfect we really are, and I am writing because I appreciate it so much.
Yes, I am the little sister with some apparently skewed choices, but the choices I made were something we all had to get through. And we are all getting through this together - all of our judgments were skewed, in a way. I realized that this weekend - we loved and got burned. The little sister is going through a divorce! But it's just one more thing to teach the nieces and nephews, one more thing to get through together. Hell, we made it through Jake's surgery and through Corinne beating breast cancer, this is nothin'!
As the years pass us by, more quickly now than ever, I want to hold on to our youth, but at the same time revel in the gifts we have to pass on. Think, for one moment, think of the day Andrea was born; the day we all met Adam for the first time, and how we've grown since then! We are a family, a wonderful, perfectly imperfect family, and there isn't another family out there like us, although the Switala's are pretty kick-ass too! The Fuzzy's living on Shirley Road, ducking the flying plates of pasta, the mash potato food fights, the laughter, the laughter, the laughter...
May God Bless all of us - we are still young, still the same kids inside, reflecting it off ourselves and onto our nieces and nephews... pride, vitality, humor, wit and the occasional sophomoric slur.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Bitter Fruit
During all my philosophy classes in college and among some discussions I've had with my law school friends, there was always a few people who defended a man or woman's right to pay for sex, to be able without moral judgement against him or her, to pay for sex. After all, sex is enjoyable, and like massages or pedicures, or even gambling, it is up to the person who wants to enjoy the activity to pay for it. The fact that prostitution is illegal was never a factor, in fact, it was because it was illegal that many people defended it as a right, stating that "the man" should not put its head into it, especially when it is as "innocent" as a massage. Governor Spitzer's head was in both! As a government leader, he is a proponent of the laws, and prostitution is illegal. As a man, he was obviously a proponent of the act itself. And now, he is a hypocrite.
I don't think the argument one way or another has any affect on who I am in this society. If you want to pay for sex, go ahead, it doesn't bother me as long as you're using your own money and any diseases you pick up are left to rot on your privates and not on anyone else's.
What gets me about this is the betrayal. Take prostitution out of the picture - the fact that he paid for it is big, big news. But what if he hadn't paid for it? What if he had just been cheating on his wife and kids? Is cheating somehow less morally reprehensible than paying for sex? His wife has to go through all the emotions of the betrayal. His children have to consider the fact that daddy broke his vows to his wife so he could engage in sex with someone else! And the fact that he came home every day in his mask of hypocrisy is something that will haunt these girls for the rest of their lives. Do you think they're going to have trust issues? Damn straight.
Shame on him for putting his governmental/hypocritic head into something he should have stayed out of; and shame on him for being such a lousy husband and father. I think the fact that he paid for it is a non-issue, but the act itself in light of all the good things he had in his life is a direct affront to all of us - and it is disgusting.
"The seed of betrayal is bitter fruit - it's hard to swallow any time of day - the taste on your tongue don't easily slip away." {My best friend Bruce}.
I don't think the argument one way or another has any affect on who I am in this society. If you want to pay for sex, go ahead, it doesn't bother me as long as you're using your own money and any diseases you pick up are left to rot on your privates and not on anyone else's.
What gets me about this is the betrayal. Take prostitution out of the picture - the fact that he paid for it is big, big news. But what if he hadn't paid for it? What if he had just been cheating on his wife and kids? Is cheating somehow less morally reprehensible than paying for sex? His wife has to go through all the emotions of the betrayal. His children have to consider the fact that daddy broke his vows to his wife so he could engage in sex with someone else! And the fact that he came home every day in his mask of hypocrisy is something that will haunt these girls for the rest of their lives. Do you think they're going to have trust issues? Damn straight.
Shame on him for putting his governmental/hypocritic head into something he should have stayed out of; and shame on him for being such a lousy husband and father. I think the fact that he paid for it is a non-issue, but the act itself in light of all the good things he had in his life is a direct affront to all of us - and it is disgusting.
"The seed of betrayal is bitter fruit - it's hard to swallow any time of day - the taste on your tongue don't easily slip away." {My best friend Bruce}.
Flicking the Flickering Images
The daytime hours have been great lately. I wake up focused, usually a half hour or so before the kids. I make my coffee and sit on the back deck, when it's not raining, to drink it with nothing but the melody of nature surrounding me peripherally. When I hear little feet pattering upstairs right around the time I sense their awakening, my mind switches into mommy mode... big hugs and kisses, stroking the messed up hairdos, bartering cereals or breakfast choices with them. We sit down to eat and I tell them what to expect for the day. Then I shower while they watch Blues Clues and we all get dressed for school and work. We are out the door, and spend the ride to school chatting, talking about the low clouds, the buds on the trees, and the types of cars on the road - they love school buses and punch bugs, but when we see an El Camino they both exclaim, "An El Camino mommy! That's your car!" We go into the school and take their coats off and when I give them their good-bye hugs, my heart crumples in a little, and a wave of sadness rolls through me. Once out to the truck, I am sad, but elated with the thought of making Paige laugh one last time before we begin our respective days. I drive slowly past her classroom window, and there she is, standing and looking outside, her forehead to the glass. I roll down the window and cross my eyes and bob my head back and forth. And her laugh, although I cannot hear it, echoes throughout the day.
On the drive back home or to the office, I become the divorcee. It is the only time during every day - approximately 12 minutes - where I allow my thoughts to go over the details of this divorce. The thoughts are sometimes financially oriented, sometimes logistically oriented (kid pick-up times, contents of house exchanges, etc.), but mostly they are emotionally charged - anger, sadness, shock (still!). By the time I've reached an emotional climax, Springsteen is blaring on the I-pod and I am either wiping a way the trickle of a tear or I am pounding the steering wheel from complete giddiness.
After that, work is my focus, and I am balls to the wall into it... spinning off emails, reviewing and writing documents, or taking phone calls. Around late afternoon, I realize that although I have had two pots of coffee to drink, I have yet to eat. But I am suddenly happy because I know that in less than two or so hours, the kids will be back in my life. And I will not lie, I sometimes pick them up very early from school just so I can spend more than two hours with them before dinner, bath and bedtime rituals begin. As soon as they are in the car, I am "mommy" again. My boss once called me at 5:02pm and I told him he'd have to hold his questions for the morning, Carrie was unavailable. The joke went over, but part of me was serious!
By the time the kids are in bed, Mommy is exhausted, and the focus is a big blur. I slip into bed as they are still falling asleep, and I am out.
Two hours later, I wake up in a cold sweat, images of my husband on our wedding day or his left hand sporting his wedding ring jump into my head and I see them clear as day, and my heart starts to pound and I am in complete shock that this is my life now.
I went to my acupuncturist tonight and explained this to her. She worked on me for a while and as soon as I got relaxed, I saw his hand again, the meat of his thumb and it turned and the wedding ring was no longer on his finger but in the palm of his hand, and I was so mad. She walked into the room just as the image faded away and asked how I was doing. I said "I am mad, really mad." But then I started to cry because all this control, all this focus, all this power I feel in my conscious hours falls prey to the workings of my subconscious mind, and the cold sweats, the sweet images, the sneaky images are riding bareback across my mind, causing a great deal of havoc! She worked on me a little more, and after ten more minutes of treatment, I began seeing my fingers flicking the images like boogers from my hands. When one would come in, I flicked and the image fell from my fingertips like droplets of water. After several minutes, I opened the door and let the images come in faster and faster, and I kept flicking - waving good-bye to them, welcoming them so that they no longer had the shock-value. Yet, at the end of the session a random thought entered my head, "I should put our wedding video onto a cd so that we can keep it in better shape." Yeah. You see? What is the point of doing that? To share with the kids? If they want to see it badly enough, they'll find some old out-of-date VCR and play it.
My acupuncturist gave me a sympathetic smile and said the images would probably keeping coming but to just ride with it because they have to be discarded. Then she told me to go to the gym and run it off. And I did. I went to the gym and ran for 35 minutes straight, hard and fast, and when I stepped off the treadmill, the only thought on my mind was contemplating whether I should move toward the workout mats so I would have a softer landing when I passed out. But it worked! I haven't thought of his ring-less finger since.
Damn. I just did.
On the drive back home or to the office, I become the divorcee. It is the only time during every day - approximately 12 minutes - where I allow my thoughts to go over the details of this divorce. The thoughts are sometimes financially oriented, sometimes logistically oriented (kid pick-up times, contents of house exchanges, etc.), but mostly they are emotionally charged - anger, sadness, shock (still!). By the time I've reached an emotional climax, Springsteen is blaring on the I-pod and I am either wiping a way the trickle of a tear or I am pounding the steering wheel from complete giddiness.
After that, work is my focus, and I am balls to the wall into it... spinning off emails, reviewing and writing documents, or taking phone calls. Around late afternoon, I realize that although I have had two pots of coffee to drink, I have yet to eat. But I am suddenly happy because I know that in less than two or so hours, the kids will be back in my life. And I will not lie, I sometimes pick them up very early from school just so I can spend more than two hours with them before dinner, bath and bedtime rituals begin. As soon as they are in the car, I am "mommy" again. My boss once called me at 5:02pm and I told him he'd have to hold his questions for the morning, Carrie was unavailable. The joke went over, but part of me was serious!
By the time the kids are in bed, Mommy is exhausted, and the focus is a big blur. I slip into bed as they are still falling asleep, and I am out.
Two hours later, I wake up in a cold sweat, images of my husband on our wedding day or his left hand sporting his wedding ring jump into my head and I see them clear as day, and my heart starts to pound and I am in complete shock that this is my life now.
I went to my acupuncturist tonight and explained this to her. She worked on me for a while and as soon as I got relaxed, I saw his hand again, the meat of his thumb and it turned and the wedding ring was no longer on his finger but in the palm of his hand, and I was so mad. She walked into the room just as the image faded away and asked how I was doing. I said "I am mad, really mad." But then I started to cry because all this control, all this focus, all this power I feel in my conscious hours falls prey to the workings of my subconscious mind, and the cold sweats, the sweet images, the sneaky images are riding bareback across my mind, causing a great deal of havoc! She worked on me a little more, and after ten more minutes of treatment, I began seeing my fingers flicking the images like boogers from my hands. When one would come in, I flicked and the image fell from my fingertips like droplets of water. After several minutes, I opened the door and let the images come in faster and faster, and I kept flicking - waving good-bye to them, welcoming them so that they no longer had the shock-value. Yet, at the end of the session a random thought entered my head, "I should put our wedding video onto a cd so that we can keep it in better shape." Yeah. You see? What is the point of doing that? To share with the kids? If they want to see it badly enough, they'll find some old out-of-date VCR and play it.
My acupuncturist gave me a sympathetic smile and said the images would probably keeping coming but to just ride with it because they have to be discarded. Then she told me to go to the gym and run it off. And I did. I went to the gym and ran for 35 minutes straight, hard and fast, and when I stepped off the treadmill, the only thought on my mind was contemplating whether I should move toward the workout mats so I would have a softer landing when I passed out. But it worked! I haven't thought of his ring-less finger since.
Damn. I just did.
Bedtime Story
Every few nights before bedtime, Paige, Tony and I will sit on my bed and take turns telling stories. I usually begin with a short story like:
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Paige, and she went for a walk in the woods with Tony and Mommy. One day they came across a deer eating grass. They walked up to the deer and said, "Hi deer, how are you?" And the deer looked up at them and said, "Munch. Munch. Munch." The End."
Then Paige tells her story and hers is much like mine, except she'll have the deer say, "Munch, I'm fine, how are you? Munch."
Tony, however, is loving all the new words he's learning, so he elaborates and uses his hands, his eyes and his evolving vocabulary, and his stories go something like this:
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, beautiful sun (his arms are spread wide above his head) and big clouds in the thunder sky, and all the people felt warm and the clouds felt soft, and, and Lightning McQueen and Sebastian raced the fan on the ceiling (it is within his line of vision) and tripped over the curtains, and Mommy said, "awww..." And that's the end of the story."
Tonight we shared our stories. I told two, Paige told two and when it was time for Tony's second story, he didn't want to tell a story. I pushed out my lower lip and asked him to please tell his story because he's so darn cute (and I'm so self-indulgent). After a few seconds of my pleading at him with puppy dog eyes, he rolled his eyes like any good three year old, sat up in bed and said:
"Once upon a time, there was a book and the pages had no story. And that's the end of the story."
The End.
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Paige, and she went for a walk in the woods with Tony and Mommy. One day they came across a deer eating grass. They walked up to the deer and said, "Hi deer, how are you?" And the deer looked up at them and said, "Munch. Munch. Munch." The End."
Then Paige tells her story and hers is much like mine, except she'll have the deer say, "Munch, I'm fine, how are you? Munch."
Tony, however, is loving all the new words he's learning, so he elaborates and uses his hands, his eyes and his evolving vocabulary, and his stories go something like this:
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, beautiful sun (his arms are spread wide above his head) and big clouds in the thunder sky, and all the people felt warm and the clouds felt soft, and, and Lightning McQueen and Sebastian raced the fan on the ceiling (it is within his line of vision) and tripped over the curtains, and Mommy said, "awww..." And that's the end of the story."
Tonight we shared our stories. I told two, Paige told two and when it was time for Tony's second story, he didn't want to tell a story. I pushed out my lower lip and asked him to please tell his story because he's so darn cute (and I'm so self-indulgent). After a few seconds of my pleading at him with puppy dog eyes, he rolled his eyes like any good three year old, sat up in bed and said:
"Once upon a time, there was a book and the pages had no story. And that's the end of the story."
The End.
Just a Thought
I read this line this morning: "When you truly realize the miracle of the sunset, you will no longer cling to the remains of the day."
It's about endings... letting things end so that you can get on with a new beautiful beginning. Or maybe it's about letting the stress of the previous day melt away from the new day before you.
Maybe it's both. It's pretty. It's comforting. A miracle. A sunset. We know who helped me find this pretty, comforting thought... the same guy who made the sunset.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
An Attempt at a Poem
I am writing it off the top of my head... the only line I know is the last one.
The money gets sorted,
the kids do too,
pieces to me,
pieces to you.
A legal decree that says good-bye,
signed and initialed on the bold-faced line.
The laughter faded long ago,
the tears still crawling,
heaviness and sadness,
in the bags you're hauling.
What remains you ask,
the crowd silent and listening,
answers on the horizon,
and solitarily glistening.
Love remains...
Love remains...
Love remains...
The money gets sorted,
the kids do too,
pieces to me,
pieces to you.
A legal decree that says good-bye,
signed and initialed on the bold-faced line.
The laughter faded long ago,
the tears still crawling,
heaviness and sadness,
in the bags you're hauling.
What remains you ask,
the crowd silent and listening,
answers on the horizon,
and solitarily glistening.
Love remains...
Love remains...
Love remains...
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