Twinkle, Twinkle

Do you find that blogging helps you work through your emotions? asked my sister the other day, as I was venting to her in a long-overdue phone conversation.

Yes, yes I do. In fact, it was a crucial part of working through my depression and anguish and slow healing when my first marriage imploded, not to mention dealing (at long last) with a number of other issues that bubbled to the surface when I finally got help. Read my archives from 2009 and see what I mean.

Writing is a release for me, but I have discovered that I need an audience in order to write effectively. Private journals are worthless. Emails to a handful of people feel...insufficient. Blogging is a perfect solution, right?

Except that the anger and stress and anxiety with which I am dealing right now aren't mine to share with the world. Well, I mean, they're my emotions and whatnot, but they're about people and situations that leave me voiceless here. To write about what's going on would violate people's privacy and, quite possibly, make the situation worse.

So I'm usually silent. On here, at any rate. And Facebook.

(Because I'm not going to be one of Those People, that's why.)

***********************

Christmas is a shining light in the midst of this swirling darkness, let me tell you. Or, more aptly, an array of twinkling lights. We have pledged not to go so overboard financially this year (I got a little carried away last year), but there are ways (other than the obvious wallet-related one) in which that's better anyway. I am thinking more carefully about what to get for each person, and I'm making a few as well. I'm also working with the kids to choose gifts for MTL and each other, because I believe strongly that children should give and not just receive.

I love making gifts for Christmas. It takes me back to my own childhood, when my sister and I rarely had any money of our own to spend on gifts for our parents or each other. We would make a sign for our bedroom door declaring it official Santa's Workshop territory and denying entrance to everyone else. Then we'd take odds and ends of this and that, raiding our mother's extensive craft cupboard for much of what we needed, and we'd make all sorts of amazing gifts. Looking back, I'm rather astonished by our creativity. Two different years we created panoramas for our mother. The one I remember most was this extraordinarily detailed rendition of a market stall, with "bolts" of fabric on the walls, little drawers made from matchboxes containing bric a brac, and people made from twigs and clothes pegs and beads. There was a woman with braided hair trying on a shoe (a singleton from a Barbie pair), a male merchant displaying cloth, and a woman unmistakably meant to be our mother examining the fabric.

This, my friends, is what happens when kids have lots of free time and no real access to electronics of any kind. IMAGINATION. CREATIVITY. FUN. <insert cantankerous grumbling about "kids these days">

I'm fairly certain the month leading up to Christmas was the one time of year my sister and I actually worked or played together in Peace and Harmony.

So this year I'm making a few gifts, and I'm helping my little KlutzGirl, who is never so happy as when making or drawing something, to make a few as well. In those moments, looking at the work of my hands and knowing that I'm demonstrating my love for the recipients in a very tangible way--that's when those lights twinkle brightly enough to drive the shadows aside for a breath of time.

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Part of the challenge of blending families is blending holiday traditions. MTL and I have been fairly fortunate. We aren't in direct opposition with any of it, especially since his traditions are more general and mine more specific. Last year I introduced a number of Christmas traditions to my new family, including putting an angel on the top of the tree, making Christmas Eggs for breakfast, and forbidding the children to leave their bedrooms on Christmas morning until they hear Christmas music start playing. When they emerged at last, impatient and excited, they found the Christmas tree piled 'round with presents, candles lit, and hot chocolate waiting for them.

They seemed to enjoy it, but one never knows how kids will react to New Ideas. On Sunday as we were waiting in the car for MTL to join us, The Padawan asked if we were going to do Christmas morning the same way this year.

What do you mean? I asked.

Like the music, he replied. I liked waiting until I heard the music and then coming down. Oh, and are you going to make those egg things again?

You mean the Christmas Eggs? I asked.

Yeah! Those were awesome.

Yeah! I liked all that too! chimed in KlutzGirl. And the hot chocolate and the candles and stuff. Are we doing that again?

As if I'd miss the chance to see those smiles on their faces!

***********************

This morning I proctored the first half of the PLAN test, since it's being administered to all the sophomores today and my first class of the day was a sophomore class. As I wandered up and down the aisles in the gym, I felt a sudden surge of warmth wash over me. These kids, these teens...they're annoying and frustrating and obnoxious as hell on a daily basis, but I love working with them. It's hard to remember sometimes these days, surrounded as we are by such negativity and derision directed toward my profession. I'm even looking into a new career path, because realistically I may not be allowed to remain in my career for sheer financial and political reasons. It's an ugly time to be a public school teacher, people.

But this morning, as I looked at row after row of faces, many of which I know, I felt the warmth and worth of what I do (yes, even when proctoring a damn standardized test), of working with these children caught on the cusp of adulthood. They are worth the sweat and tears and stress and time we pour into them every day, every week, every year.

I don't know how much longer I'll be a teacher, and I won't feel those warm fuzzies every day, but no one can make me regret the years I spend here.

***********************

It's a rough road I travel, at times. As my dear friend Amy said a couple of weeks ago, we are not women destined for smooth and easy lives. It would be lovely to win the lottery and not have to worry about money or debt any more. It would be lovely for the politicians to all have epiphanies and start working for the regular people instead of the corporations. It would be lovely for certain individuals to either undergo miraculous personality transformations or just....disappear.

I don't think any of those are likely to happen, alas. Life is not that neat and tidy.

But there are compensations. There are rewards for the pain. Sometimes the twinkling lights and silver linings are dimmed by the shadows and mist, but they exist.

They shine in the moments when my students understand a new concept, get excited by a piece of literature, and find safe harbor in my classroom.

They shine in the smiles on my children and stepchildren's faces, can be heard in their laughter as they rough and tumble with each other each afternoon after school, siblings in action and deed rather than just name.

They shine in the touch and looks and words of my beloved husband, who laid his head against me last night and told me he had never dreamed he would ever find his Home.

Twinkle on, Life. Twinkle on.

...laugh, leaning back in my arms

for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

--e. e. cummings

How MTL Became My True Love (Part II)

A few days ago I wrote about how I met MTL through an online dating site. Our early courtship, to use an ancient term, took us right through Valentine's Day, but didn't involve meeting face to face until our first official date. Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of that date. Here's the rest of the story:

After a few days in Boston, I headed back to Michigan. MTL and I talked again on my trip home, and he asked me out on a real date--we agreed on Friday the 19th. That night we met at a Thai restaurant that is now just around the corner from where we live. He was not only on time, he was early. I was also early, but didn't want to come across too eager, so drove in circles until I could go in just a couple minutes after six, which is when we were to meet. Poor guy--he'd been waiting quite a while by then and (as he told me later) was becoming certain I had decided not to come! I walked in, he stood up, and apparently we both had private reactions along the lines of He/She is HOT! He had seen my pictures, but says I am far more gorgeous in real life.

*mushy sigh*

So we sat down to eat and started talking. And talking. And talking. We finally realized how long we'd been there when they started closing up the restaurant four hours later. Neither of us was ready to have the date end, so we headed over to a glow-in-the-dark miniature golf place nearby. He had been hesitant to suggest it, since it's a bit of a geeky thing, but it turns out I'm geeky enough to think it was a great idea. So we went and played mini-golf. I beat him soundly, though it was a bit unfair as he kept getting distracted every time I leaned over to line up my next shot.

*ahem*

I'll admit it: I kept sort of wanting him to pull me into one of the many many dark corners and kiss me soundly--and it turns out he very much wanted to as well--but he didn't push things. We finally finished the evening and hugged before climbing into our respective cars and heading to our respective homes. I didn't want to be a kiss-on-the-first-date kind of girl. But the chemistry? Oh yes. It was there.

It turned out later that we lived all of a mile and a half apart on the same road. We just took two different routes to get there, so we didn't realize we lived that close!

He asked me the very next day if I would go on another date, and I said yes. I had mentioned that there was a good comedy club that did comedic and partially improvised plays, linked with an Italian restaurant. So he called them up and ordered two dinner-and-show tickets for that next Wednesday.

Then on Monday (we had continued chatting and texting and emailing every day) I felt like seeing him again, so I dropped heavy and not very subtle hints about not having any plans that night and there being nothing much worth eating in the house (my boys were on a long trip down to Florida with their dad, so I had about two weeks with no kids during all this time). He picked up on the hints (I would have been worried about his intelligence if he hadn't) and invited me to meet him for dinner at his favorite Mexican restaurant.

We closed out the restaurant that night too. And there was some, um, lingering in the snowy parking lot before we got in our cars to drive home.

The date on Wednesday was excellent. Lots of laughter, lots of talking, and some more lingering in another snowy parking lot. After that I canceled a couple of dates that had been previously scheduled with a couple other men, because I realized that (1) I really wasn't up to dating multiple people at the same time, (2) if I wanted to continue to date MTL, I couldn't date multiple people, and (3) I only wanted to date MTL. I wasn't admitting it to myself, but I already knew that this was likely to become a serious thing.

We went on a couple more dates that weekend, including dinner and a movie on Friday and a full day of bowling and food and another movie on Saturday, and we never looked back.

It was only a matter of time before I finally admitted to myself (long after he'd already figured it out) that I was thoroughly and completely in love with him. Fortunately, he was in love with me too.

He's never been one to rush into things, but he knew before I did that This Was It. I wasn't expecting the love of my life to come along just then, much less through some dating site. But there he was. And who were we to argue, when so many details indicated we'd been brought together by something more than mere chance?

You see, he hadn't used his Yahoo! Personals account in quite a long time. In fact, he had forgotten he even had it. The account was linked with his spam email account, which he only checked every month or so. He happened to check it the day after I sent that icebreaker, and he saw the email notice. He signed in, checked out my profile, liked what he saw, and responded. If he hadn't checked just then, he wouldn't have seen the email because it would have been too far down on the list of "spam".

The reality was that he'd pretty much given up on the dating scene and was starting to think that he was going to be single for the rest of his life, and that was okay with him. He was fine with being alone. He was content.

Until I came along and he realized that I fit into this massive hole he didn't even know was there.

We've been together ever since. We've had a rough patch or two, mostly due to confronting and working through the baggage we brought with us into the relationship, but we work through it and are stronger for it. It's all very sappy and mushy, but I didn't really understand what love means until I met him.

So there's the story.

And if you're sitting there all disappointed because I've left out the more, um, salacious details--MY MOTHER READS THIS, PEOPLES!!!

(You can totally email me directly if you like. *Ahem*)

Happy Anniversary, my love.

How MTL Became My True Love (Part I)

Today is Valentine's Day, and because we're a holiday birthday family, it's also MTL's birthday. Happy birthday, oh love of my life!

(I got him a Kindle. Because we're soulmates like that.)

I have to admit I am generally cynical and snarky about Hallmark holidays. I think perhaps some of it has masked a quiet resolve not to care that I have not dated or been married to anyone who was much into romantic gestures. It's easier to just dismiss it all by saying it's all corporate broohaha and that romance should not be limited to a handful of days each year. Which is true, but that only really works if the person you love is romantic other times of the year.

Here's the mushy truth: romance isn't just in bouquets of flowers and boxes of chocolate, and my life has become full of romance ever since I met MTL. I can't remember a day when he has not told me, with full sincerity rather than rote habit, that he loves me. I can't remember a day when he hasn't at least once held me close, looked at me with that special look, made me aware of just how sexy and amazing and wonderful he thinks I am.

There's been some chocolate, too.

HOWEVER. Hallmark holiday or no, having that wonderful man say Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart! this morning as we climbed in our respective cars, and then discovering he'd beaten me to Facebook and posted on my Wall...

Yeah. Guess I'm just a big mushy-hearted sap after all.

ANYWAY. It occurs to me that I never did tell you, my bloggy readers, how MTL and I met.  So here you go. It's a long one, so grab a drink and get comfy:

Last year, a few weeks before Valentine's Day, I texted a few of my girlfriends about feeling like I could really use a compliment from some hot guy right then. You know, just for the ego boost. Shallow, yes, but honest. My friend Melissa suggested that I try out an online dating site just to do some casual dating, have some fun, get back out there. She suggested Yahoo! Personals, since her sister had tried that one.

So I decided what the heck and signed up--for free at first, just to check around. Then I did buy a brief membership, since I thought perhaps there was some potential. I created my profile and looked around at the profiles of men in my area who seemed interesting. On that site you can send little generic "icebreakers"--phrases like Your profile made me smile. I remember that one because it's the one I used when I saw MTL's profile. Anyhow, I got some responses from several men and we chatted a bit on that website. It was nice to be able to do that there, without all your super personal information on display (they know your first name and general location, plus photos and whatever you've written in your profile) and get a feel for someone before deciding even whether to exchange email addresses, much less phone numbers and whatnot.

At any rate, I connected with a few different men and went on some dates. I did the careful meeting in public, letting friends know where I was sort of thing. One guy, Scott, was very nice--but TOO nice, if you know what I mean. He just felt like a friend. He was rather into me, but I didn't feel the chemistry. But we went on a few dates. There were a few others with whom I only had one date. Nice, but not for me. And as much as I intended to keep things casual, I didn't feel right leading them on as if there was a future in the relationship. I also felt weird about juggling multiple dates, to be honest. Some women may enjoy that, and I'll admit that for a very brief time it was very flattering to have several men interested in me, but it's not for me.

So much for being a "playa". (Heh.)

I still didn't expect more than some confidence-boosting, companionable, casual dating. Little did I know that God had something else in mind.

MTL was one of the men I'd sent an icebreaker to. I thought he was cute and I very much liked what he said in his profile. He seemed to have a good sense of humor and be very "real", if that makes sense. He ended up responding a day or two later (more on that in Part II), we sent messages back and forth for a bit on the site, and then we exchanged email addresses. And we continued to communicate quite heavily. Lots of back-and-forth short messages. Our senses of humor clicked really well. We're both snarky and sarcastic, and we discovered that we "got" each other's humor even through email, which can be tricky.

Then we exchanged phone numbers, though we started out just texting. I found that he had a quick mind and sense of humor, and he wasn't so nicey-nice like Scott. How do I explain this? Scott was the kind of person where if I said something snarky about having a bad day or whatever, he'd be all super-comforting instead of being snarky back--which is what I want and need. MTL, on the other hand, gave back as good as I gave him. He was making me laugh, and I hadn't even talked to him directly yet.

I remember the first time I texted him, I was getting a mani-pedi. I wrote him that I was sitting in a massage chair getting my feet rubbed--so sad that he wasn't out of work yet. He retorted that some people have to actually work for a living.

And then we talked about science fiction.

(Fate, I'm telling you.)

The next day I started my solitary road trip to visit my dear friend DraftQueen and my sister in the Boston area. That night, February 12th, I had my first direct phone conversation with MTL. He even kicked his kids out of the house so he could have some privacy. Two days later, on Valentine's Day, I texted him Happy Birthday and he texted me with Not sure if this is inappropriate or not, but I don't care. Happy Valentine's Day!

I saved the text. I still have it.

(I told you. SAP.)

And five days later we went on our first official date.

Snowpocalypse No

Yesterday was a snow day, a snow day called the day before, something never done in the ten years I've taught in this district. (I think I may be growing fond of this new superintendent.) The weather portents were doom and gloom. Feet of snow. Sheets of ice. Plummeting temperatures. Winter storm to reach historic proportions! trumpeted every media outlet across the nation. Radar maps showed swirling masses of alarming reds and purples and blues.

So everything shut down.

The storm did not get truly underway until close to eleven Tuesday night, when MTL and I realized that what had been a delicate haze had turned into violent snow-delineated tempest. We snuggled more deeply under the blankets, chuckled evilly at the thought of our devil-cat banished to the garage for her crimes and misdemeanors, and fell asleep.

We woke to a world covered in white, but not nearly to the depth predicted. Sure, if we'd been facing the other direction, we would have had to shovel through three foot drifts against our door, but they had plowed. The children were still sound asleep, so we sneaked out to "test the roads" and get some breakfast at the new coney island up the street.

My Saturn Vue could make it out. MTL's car, not so much. Snowy? Definitely. Deep drifts? Oh yeah. Impassible roads? Not so much. The two snow days we had a month ago had far more treacherous surfaces than this one, with ice covering the roads and salt proving utterly useless. A snow day yesterday made sense purely because of all the back roads in the district. But snowpocalyse? Holofrost? Snowmageddon?

Not so much.

But I'm not complaining. The kids had fun lazing about (well, other than DramaBoy, who was grounded, but that's another story). A crockpot full of glorious beef stew tantalized our noses all day and filled our tummies that night. And as for me and MTL...

Well. There's a distinct advantage to having The Padawan and DorkMaster B in the house. MTL and I not only were able to get ourselves a delicious breakfast, we sneaked out again around noon to see a matinee of True Grit (which was excellent, by the way.) Because neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these theaters from the generous offerings of their appointed films. Then we went home and joined the kids in lazing about. I even crawled onto MTL's lap and napped for a while, head on his shoulder, his arms holding me tight, a blanket over both of us. Have I mentioned lately how much I love that man?

(No really. On his lap. Disgustingly mushy, isn't it? I know.)

We're back to work today. Reality has returned. I hear there's some big sports event on TV on Sunday, but I think we might be back at the movie theater, brood in tow, watching Tangled instead. We're awesome like that.

As for the storm--it may not have reached snowpocalyptic proportions, but I sure did love having the day off. Bring it on, Old Man Winter!

Death And A New Beginning

The end-of-year holidays are always a bit hard, really, what with all the chaos and extended family and children running around getting underfoot and underskin and more extended family and build up of HOLIDAY HOLIDAY HOLIDAY and then it's all over and everything's just a bit flattish.

Plus there's my birthday shoved in there, just wedged in anywhere it might fit, and here's the thing that sucks about having a Christmas birthday (it's not the present thing, because on the whole my people are quite good about realizing that if everyone else gets different presents for Christmas vs. birthday, then it's only fair that I do too, unless it's something Really Big that counts for both by the sheer Bigness of it all): even when people do acknowledge your birthday and even want to celebrate it, there's no point at all in celebrating it on the day itself, and what with all the exhaustion and business and familyness of the season, it's entirely too difficult to get your favorite people together to celebrate at all.

I'm thinking seriously of having my birthday celebration in June instead.

I've been anxious and on edge and horrifically tearful this last week. I did not cry on Christmas, thank God, because I've had too many Christmases spent in tears and I'm quite done with that, thankyouverymuch, but I have cried more in the last few days than I have over the entire last year. I'm not a very tearful person, really. I might get anxious or angry or melancholy or even suspiciously moist about the optical orbs, but actually tearful? Wet cheeks and reddened eyes? Crying into my pillow or a tissue? Not so much.

MTL has been patient and loving and comforting and rather alarmed. After all, when one climbs into bed at the end of a long day and wraps one's arms about one's beloved and then realizes that she's starting to gasp and shake with unexpected sobs, one does tend to become a little concerned. Well, at least he does. Rather than angry and shouty, like some people might be. He did remind me gently that I don't have to try to be strong all the time just because he's going through stressful times too--his shoulders are broad, after all.

It's what I'm here for, he said, and so I cried on those shoulders for a while, and then he made me laugh and I was finally able to fall asleep.

This time of year is a muddle of beginnings and endings, births and deaths. The last two years have been such a muddle of the same for me. And although I love so much of where life has brought me, the strain of the journey has taken its toll. There are new stresses in this new life as well: new family, new extended family, changing relationships, changing perspectives.

I think the bulk of my pain and rage (because those tears have been as much in anger as sorrow) lies in grieving the death of certain hopes and dreams that I've clung to for three long decades. Hopes that I would someday receive certain intangible things from extended family that, I now realize, I will never get. Dreams of a kind of acceptance and approval and pride that would, in reality, require the sacrifice of who I am, this person I've taken so long to be able to love.

A beloved cousin, one of my fellow Black Sheep, recently said to me that he knew from childhood that I would never fully fit into the parameters of expectation and acceptance in our Family. To do so would mean a rejection of who I actually am.

He's right. But facing that requires setting aside a lingering hope that somehow, someday, my Family (that huge, insane, ridiculously respected, secretly dysfunctional, looming, impossible Family) would actually be proud of me for exactly who and what I am, without a checklist of what must change for that to happen.

And realistically? That doesn't exist for anyone. It's not the human way.

Still...it's a death. So I'm grieving.

Apparently I'm currently stuck in the Anger stage.

But with each death comes a new beginning. Just like the passing of the old year gives birth to the new one.

Last night DMB helped the kids make pita pizzas while My True Love took me out for a steak dinner, just the two of us. Then we came home and played silly Wii games and watched a silly movie and ate chips n dip and drank sparkling juice and stayed up just long enough to watch the ball drop before crawling into bed like the old farts we are.

Today, we're all lazing about watching MTL rock Super Mario Bros on the Wii.

Just us. Just me and my family.

Grace Notes

This has been a hard week. You'd think that having two snow days to start out the week would make it Teh Awesome, and it kinda sorta did, but driving on the Worst Ever In People's Memory roads wasn't a great joy, and the last couple of weeks have tended to be full of Stress! Stress! Drama! while quite short on Sleep! Blessed Sleep! Also, imagine the fun of trying to cram five days' worth of work into three before the students flee for a two-week break. Fun Times.

So stomachs have been clenched, muscles have been knotted, and teeth have been gritted. Needless to say, tempers have also been short.

Yesterday, in fact, MTL arrived home in a horrible mood--the worst, he confessed, since we've been together. My mood wasn't sunshine and daisies either. At one point, while trying to convince the %&#()@ cabinet drawer to get back on its runner and slide back in dammit, I slid back against the opposing cabinet, lowered my head to my knees, and let the tears just flow for a little while. It's all just the buildup of everything that has been going on, especially with The Dark One, and work stress, and extended family stress, and reaching a point of Deep Core Stuff in therapy, and....yeah.

Fortunately for those around us, MTL and I are self-aware enough to clamp down on our tongues and do our damnedest to Think before we React when we're highly stressed. I won't say we didn't trip up a bit last night, but there weren't the rages or tempestuous fights or OMG EVERYONE JUST GO AWAY moments that could very well happen at times like that.

Thank God. Which I mean literally, because I believe He helped, even if it was just having our guardian angels lay a finger on our lips from time to time so they didn't open until we'd had a moment to think first. And I'm also thankful that He gave us each other, because being able to debrief with and vent to and comfort each other goes a long way toward making it all survivable.

Today...well, today is a new day. MTL didn't get much sleep again last night, but I did, so at least one of us has some renewed energy to deal with Stuff. And it's the last day of school before Winter Break. And my students are being very sweet.

You know, it tends to be elementary teachers who get the cache of holiday gifts (which reminds me--OOPS) more so than secondary, but sometimes we still get a little something here and there from kids who want to suck up love us. My kids know my weakness. Oh yes, they do. A dear former student who was very sad to discover she would  not have me for honors English 11 this year showed up a couple of days ago with an adorable frosted sugar cookie man. Today another student handed me a heavy gift bag that contains a massive box of fancy European cookies. Yet another gave me a box of six Godiva Truffle Bars and a $10 Godiva gift card. (The girl is GOOD.) And knowing my tenth graders, I'll most likely have another few gifts as the day goes on.

But you know what my favorite gift was today? The handwritten note that accompanied the Godiva. Inside, it reads:

Dear Ms. [TeacherMommy],
So I swear to god, I'm not just kissing ass when I say this, but, thanks for being the first teacher in 5 years to make me love English again.
It used to be my favorite subject and I'm not sure what happened, but I'm actually starting to enjoy it finally.
So thanks.

I really need to start scrapbooking all those kinds of notes and cards and emails and whatnot. That's the sort of thing to pull out on the rough days.

Life is messy and difficult and sometimes overwhelming, but it's the little things that matter. The notes of appreciation from students, the kisses and cuddles and You're so pretty, Mommy! from my kidlets, the teasing from my stepson that says he is comfortable and affectionate with me in his own way, the I love you! on the phone from my younger stepdaughter, walking out to a car scraped off and warming up each morning thanks to MTL, the look in his eyes when he sees me, the words of appreciation and love that he gives me for the things I do to keep this crazy family up and running, laughter around the table while we eat or play UNO...

And above all, the sense that as crazy as life can be, I am Home.

If I Had A Fireplace, This Would Be A Fireside Chat. Does An XBox 360 Count?

I'm sitting on the couch while Many Small Children run about eating toast with various toppings, which makes for interesting food art on their faces, waiting for The Blessed Elixir (otherwise known as coffee) to brew so that my mind can properly prepare for the day ahead. The MSC made it up and downstairs before I dragged myself from my warm, if solitary, bed and into the shower, so the TV shows evidence of The Padawan's adventures with Guitar Hero, and now he's moved on to computer games. When not smearing themselves with jelly, Nutella, and crumbs; DramaBoy, The Widget, and KlutzGirl are clustering around him to watch.

Ahhhh, Saturday mornings with The Dork Squad.

MTL is at work and has been for hours, as is usual for a Saturday morning, so I'm essentially on my own with the kidlets until later today. DMB is in bed still, as his biorhythms are those of the college kid he still is. He won't emerge for hours.

Today looms in a friendly way. Besides the usual loads of laundry, I also plan to take KlutzGirl on a quest to find more jeans at Sally's Boutique*, and all three younger kids are slated to get haircuts. Carnival Cuts at the mall should make that simple. I learned my lesson about trying to cut a child's hair long ago (it's a good thing DramaBoy was too young to care). I've tried to persuade The Padawan that the drapes covering his eyes should also get trimmed, but to no avail.

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*a.k.a. Salvation Army. The one down here is pretty awesome, especially for kids' clothes. Yay for savings and helping the less fortunate all at once!
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Later, when MTL gets home, we're having our family Christmas preparation day. The tree will go up, the decorations will--well, they'll decorate, and I fully intend to have Christmas music playing the entire time. It's two weeks until Christmas: I'm allowed. Cocoa will be made, and we have ambitious plans for a luscious dinner of turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole, and stuffing.

Because who said that sort of thing can only happen on holidays themselves?

Later The Padawan has a friend coming to stay the night. This makes me and MTL so very, very happy. He's a shy boy, and we were worried about him at a new school in a new district. We knew he had been making a few friends, but this makes it all very REAL. So when he asked if he could have a friend or two sleep over, we couldn't say yes fast enough.

Ahhh, coffee. I can feel my brain waking up already.

I know I haven't been here much lately. I've written a dozen posts in my head--always when I couldn't get to a computer, of course--and then when I do have my computer I'm blank. So much has been happening lately. Part of my problem is that there is so much I can't put out here, where it's public, because I can't do that to the people involved. Part of my problem is that, unlike a couple of years ago when I first got into this blog, I have outlets elsewhere. There have been times when I've felt that pressure building up that used to lead to a blog post, and instead it gets released in conversation with MTL or DraftQueen or Amy or Heidi or one of my several other beloved friends.

So--here are the Cliff Notes on what's been going on :

• I'm back in therapy for old, old stuff: it's going well, but it's hard work, and I'm finding it almost impossible to be around certain people until I work out things in my head. My therapist says it's wisest right now to be silent, until I know what words can and should be said--if at all--to those people.
• I love my students this year--well, except for some of the lazier seniors, but I'm working on kicking their asses into gear. My two sophomore classes are absolutely my favorite of all time, and I've had some amazing classes before. I feel like I'm finally succeeding in blending the personal with the academic, and I love that part of my job.
• I hate politics. I especially hate the politics that affect my job, and boy, do they affect my job right now. And that's all I even want to say, because the slightest THOUGHT of it makes my blood pressure rise.
• Things are....not good with The Dark One. It's not just me, or even mainly me, although she has to a certain extent decided to cast me in the role of Evil Stepmother. I suppose that makes me part of the matched set of Evil Mother, Evil Father, and Evil Stepfather, among others. I can't really talk about what's going on here, to protect all involved, but let's just say that her many deep issues are now being made everyone's issues. Fun Times. You won't be hearing about her much on this blog for a very long time.
• The Widget is going to be seeing a child therapist in order to deal with some of his emotional and attachment issues. It's a massive blog post of its own, that, and maybe I'll write it someday. He's not in crisis, but MTL and I have been concerned for some time about certain things, and The Ex agreed, and we decided that it would be better to deal with it now than later. Hopefully we'll come out of it with some better tools for helping him ourselves, and hopefully he'll also have some tools for self-expression.

So...stress.

Despite all that...life with MTL is so full and deep and rich with love and laughter. I find myself amazed, on a very frequent basis, that I am so incredibly blessed. And because it is, I'm finding myself less involved in my virtual life.

But I still love this blog and, of course, you. So that's why I'm sitting here on this Saturday morning in the hours before the day becomes crazy, having a bit of a chat.

I've missed you guys.

So. What's going on with you?

Checking Myself

I stood in the Self Check Out lane for far too long, growing increasingly impatient with the fumbling idiots who apparently couldn't handle a process that a monkey could figure out. Why do so many seniors choose that lane and then demand the undivided attention of the lane monitor to help them lift each item and scan it through? Don't they realize that completely negates the purpose of SELF Check Out?

I was fuming by the time I stepped up to a scanner to run through my five grocery items. As I quickly and competently sped through the process, I noticed that the woman at the scanner next to me had run into an issue. She had run through a dozen cans of Pringles under a misunderstanding about the sale price and wanted to void them out--but, as the monitor tried to explain several times with little success, could no longer void them because she had already run through her card as well.

Around this time I noticed that, having run my own debit card through, the machine was stalled in a "Please Wait..." status. I growled and jabbed the "Call for Assistance" button. Some use that would be, with Ms. Don't Know How To Understand Basic Explanations still mumbling about the Pringles over there. Why does this sort of technical snafu always happen when I'm in a hurry? And when someone else is monopolizing the monitor? The day was just getting worse and worse. It had been bad enough navigating the treacherous traffic getting there, since the roads were filled with idiot drivers who needed to lose their licenses. The store hadn't had the meat I needed for dinner in a couple of days. It had been a crazy day following a crazy weekend. My feet were killing me. Now this.

I tapped my feet, impatient, huffing just loudly enough to let the monitor know I was waiting. She glanced at me, then focused again on convincing the other shopper to let her void the entire purchase and just run everything through again.

Finally, she succeeded with Ms. What Do You Mean I Can't Do That? and came over to me. She was an older woman with short, curling grey hair. She showed no sign of impatience or exasperation, and instead greeted me with a pleasant smile and an apology for my wait. I curtly explained my problem, and she glanced at the screen.

Oh, well, have you pressed the End Order and Pay button yet, dear? You ran your card through, but it won't complete everything until you press that. She smiled at me again, no trace of sarcasm or impatience to be found in her voice or face.

My face flushed. I meekly extended my finger, pressed the button, and watched as the machine finished the process and spit out my receipt.

There you go, dear. I know, sometimes it's a little confusing! I'm sorry again you had to wait. Thank you for your patience! She patted me affectionately on my shoulders and moved toward her monitoring station.

I quietly picked up my bags and left the store, mumbling a sheepish Thank you! as I passed her.

You're welcome. Merry Christmas! she replied.

I've been bitching lately about the lack of basic human decency in the world around me, about all these ungrateful, impatient, rude people I encounter every day.

It took a trip to the grocery store to make me realize that I'm part of the problem.

Forget waiting for the New Year for a change of attitude. It's time to start now.

thanksgiving rain

i'll sit here a while
and breathe
patter of rain on sodden ground
window streaked
not yet chill enough for snow

i feel the miles tonight
between me and those for whom
i yearn
and still
cannot break through this barrier of silence
my words lie dormant
winter seeds untouched by autumn rain

holidays are mixed
always
joy and pain
love and loss
what is and what was and
what never shall be again

i would not go back
even to do childhood over again
i would not change
what led me to my now

and yet
and yet

i turn from the window
blink away my rain
and walk toward warmth
and love
and gratitude

A Sappy And Semi-Coherent Post (Sometimes I Just Can't Help Myself)

Today marks the eight-month anniversary of my first date with MTL and the first time I met him face-to-face, although we had been communicating through e-mail and text and phone conversations for a little while before.

Eight months. I know: I feel a little silly keeping track of each month's anniversary, and it's not like we're doing some big shindig for it (though I think we'll do something special for the one year mark), but I did notice the date this morning and its significance popped into my head and I said something about it to MTL.

(No, I didn't make him try to guess its significance, although he's pretty good at remembering these things anyhow, because those games feel too manipulative to me. I'm nice that way. Not in many other ways, but that way.)

Honestly, it always comes as a little surprise to me that it's only been that long, since it feels like we've known each other for years instead of months. It's all very sappy and mushy and I'm honestly a little embarrassed about it even though I shouldn't be.

Anywho, I've been feeling sentimental and I tried to write a poem and apparently the path between my brain and fingers/mouth is corrupted today because I can barely put one coherent sentence together, verbally or written. But there is a poem by the ever marvelous e. e. cummings that fits (and oh I wish I could write like him and Carl Sandburg and Ann Lamott and a host of other amazing people, but I'll just have to settle for what I have) and so here you go:

"I carry your heart"

I carry your heart
I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
my heart) I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear ;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

--e. e. cummings

I love you, MTL. Always will. Thank you for entrusting your heart with me. You know you have mine.

Where I Am

Once upon a time, lots of people were reading this blog and I was posting just about every day. Not so much these days. In fact, it's been a rare post lately around here.

I just haven't felt much like writing. And when post ideas DO pop into my head, I'm invariably in the car or shower, and by the time I'm where my computer is, all thought of posting has vanished.

Truth be told, there just isn't much going on that I feel like blogging. I stress enough about the politics of teaching without putting it out here and getting all sorts of comments on it that will make me feel more stabby than I already do. Despite nixing the emailing of posts (which did help, I will admit) there are still things I don't feel comfortable posting here for privacy's sake. And I've never really been the sort of mommyblogger to write post after post about how dang cute those kidlets are (even though they are.) I can't pull it off without just being boring as hell.

The biggest reason, though?

Life is different these days. Despite the occasional bit of angst over kidlets and stepkidlets and the whole merging of families bit, life is remarkably drama-free.

In fact, a major component in The Dark One's desire to live with her mother instead of us is because, according to her, we're boring. And by boring, she means drama-free. Whereas life at her mother's is full of chaos and drama and this, again according to her, is far more interesting.

We think we can live with being boring if that's what it takes.

Personally, I love where my life is now, crazy as it can be at times. But she's right about it being quite lacking in the Drama area. And that means that it is also quite lacking in the Fascinating Blog Fodder area as well.

There's no more angst over The Ex. No more agonizing over decisions and the relationship's disintegration. We're divorced, quite amicably in the end. We've become MUCH better at communicating and working through the occasional issue. We don't yell or argue any more. We're almost friendly. Remarkably, we are far more functional as ex-spouses and co-parents than we EVER were as a couple. And I mean EVER. It's a good place to be.

My depression has lifted remarkably. Not that my journey is over: in fact, I will be returning to therapy in a week or so to work through some other old issues that need addressing. It's not a major crisis, though, and it's not really depression. Just...stuff that I need to face and haven't for, oh, three decades or so. At this point, I'm not comfortable writing about it here, but maybe I will later. Maybe. This would also be a reason I haven't been writing much poetry on here--poetry has been a major form of catharsis for me, and there just isn't that much Stuff to work through that way lately.

And my home life? My home life is happy. I love MTL more deeply than I ever knew I could love anyone. I am loved, deeply and completely and thoroughly and without a doubt. We have our little spats from time to time, and then we work through them and learn from them and move on. We're learning how to parent together in a blended family. There are the obstacles that come with this sort of paradigm shift, but we're facing them together. It's a good life, an incredibly good life, and I feel blessed every day to have been given such a life. I feel blessed every day that after all the crap I went through and all the mistakes I made and all the pain and heartache, I got to meet the love of my life. And we get to grow old together, which is happening sooner rather than later with all our joint and back issues. We CREAK, people. We're going to be that old couple inching along with walkers and wheelchairs. But we'll be holding hands every chance we get.

(We'll also be the old couple who delights in embarrassing their kids and grandkids every chance we get. Trust me on that one. ANY WAY WE CAN.)

Isn't it strange how being happy dries up my blog posts? It does.

So maybe I am boring now. I'm certainly not bored.

Maybe it's just that life has become so much more worth living in real time, rather than online.

Dregs

I'm just too tired. Drained, really. It's not just the whole moving thing or school starting thing or occasional money thing or the fact that my car decided NOW NOW NOW when we have so many start-up costs to require ALL FOUR WHEEL BEARINGS AND THE ATTACHED TIRES to be replaced (though we're doing them in stages, for sanity's and wallets' sake).

Oh no. There has also been Angst and Drama of the sort that has me, MTL, and his ex running to our parents to sob out our apologies for everything we ever did to torment them back when we were teens.

Also, we're rather grateful that we somehow survived and weren't strangled in our sleep by enraged parents.

Not, mind you, because they weren't enraged. We're fairly sure they all were. Multiple times.

It's the not-strangling-us thing that has us grateful.

I can't really go into it all more than that. Not really. For privacy's sake. But I think you get my drift. Fill in the blank, peoples. Really, let your imaginations roam.

Chances are, if you have or have had teens, or were one of those particularly TEENISH teens yourself, your imaginations are getting somewhere around the mark.

I'll tell you this much, though. I chose this life. It may not always be remotely what I expected (MTL keeps shaking his head over my incurable optimism) (and then admits freely that it's one of the many reasons he loves me) but it is the life I chose. For better or worse. And even when there are these trials by fire, I keep choosing it. I wouldn't want another.

Hey. I always told you I'm crazy.

Sometimes Eventually Happens

How do you and MTL deal with real life so easily? she asked, and I sat there thinking how on earth to respond to that. It was a bit of a shocker, really. I don't view myself as someone who "deals" all that well, truth be told, considering the more or less daily soap opera playing out in my head for three decades. Days of My Life: now with more child actors.

But I think I know from whence her question came. She and her best friend, both former students, had called me up late at night in fear and anguish, and MTL and I had gathered them up, plunged into their drama, and been the safe haven they could not find elsewhere. She also knows a good bit about my own drama played out over the last two years. And because of their own sufferings, I had talked with them about what happened when I was five.

I suppose MTL and I have dealt with "real life" and its sorrows better than many. It's the "easily" part that struck me, because it has not been that, not for either of us. What seemed so easy to her?

It isn't really our own strength, I told her. We both have faith in God, not to take all the hardships away or make everything go right, but to give us the strength we need to deal with what comes. We've both had to lean on him pretty heavily at times. That's what makes it look easier than it is.

I've been reminded these last two weeks just how much I do need to rely on that strength and grace, because life has been messy and draining and complicated. Those friends' drama, with its unhappy and maddening and ongoing outcome. Learning the ins and outs of a blended family and providing for and monitoring and parenting five children (plus the occasional friend staying over, which makes us a full-blown Brady Bunch even without the kitten). Attempting to deal with an angst-ridden fourteen-year-old girl who does not want to go to a new school in a new district with new people on top of starting high school.

It's bringing back some awful memories, that last one. I'm remembering too well the anger and depression of being fourteen, coming back to Michigan for a one year furlough, going into my sophomore year with people I either did not know or who might remember me vaguely from fifth grade as that weird girl from Africa. And who wants to make friends with someone who doesn't have a clue about anything that is Important like the popular clothes and music and movies and TV shows, and will be leaving at the end of the year anyway?

I get it. All too well. Add all that drama to the natural angst of being female and fourteen...

It's been interesting around here.

So last weekend when The Dark One invited me and MTL to go with her to her church (she wanted us there! with her! in a public place!) we went. We were rather delighted with the service. And the pastor, who is an energetic young man with four kids and dreadlocks. We'll be going back.

Before his sermon, Pastor Devine (pronounced "Devin") talked about the need to hand over all our burdens and worries to God so that we could come freely before Him, and he asked us to bow our heads and then raise a hand if we were in a situation where we needed that strength and grace. My right hand shot up. I felt MTL's hand cover my other, and we held each other tight as we prayed. There's grace right there, I thought, this man standing beside me.

This week has been a testing of that prayer. Each day has gotten busier and crazier as I have performed the tasks of chauffeur, launderer, cook, maid, mother, stepmother, and teacher. Yesterday was the peak. I hadn't actually written out a list of everything I needed to accomplish (which might have helped my focus, really), but if I had, it would have covered at least two pages.

At one point I caught myself getting strident as I urged the children to get their chores done and rooms cleaned before I had to take the four oldest (MTL's three + The Dark One's BFF, who has adopted us as her parents and calls us Mommy and Daddy) the 50-minute drive out to their mother's place. One of the many, many things I've learned from this new family experience is that when I start getting strident, things get worse. The kids get sulky, resentment builds, and I end up feeling guilty and mean.

So I took a break. I went upstairs and closed myself away in the sanctuary of our bedroom, and I picked up the book I had grabbed at random off my bedside table the day before. It was a God-step, because in the pages of Anne Lamott's Grace (Eventually) I found the words I needed to bring me back to center, accompanied by the wry humor that appeals to me about her work. I even underlined some lines, the ones that spoke to me and reminded me that (1) we're all in this together and we're all a mess, (2) I'm not in charge, (3) yes, parenting is hard, but that's normal, and (4) God loves me and sometimes that's not a warm and fuzzy thing.

Let me share, because she puts it all so much better than I can (well, outside my head, where this blog post was ever so much more eloquent this morning, let me tell you):

We're invited more deeply into this mystery on a daily basis, to be here as one-of; a mess like everyone else, and not in charge. That's why we hate it. (125)

Why was he [her son Sam] sabotaging himself like this...and for what? Well, this is what teenagers have to do, because otherwise they would never be able to leave home and go off to become their own people. Kids who are very close to their parents often become the worst shits, and they have to make the parents the villains so they can break free without having it hurt too much. Otherwise, the parents would have to throw rocks at them to get them out of the house. (190)

It turns out that all kids have this one tiny inbred glitch: they have their own sin, their own stains, their own will. Putting aside for a moment the divine truth of their natures, all of them are wrecked, just like the rest of us. That is the fly in the ointment... (193-194)

I had behaved badly? It all started up in me again, but this time it didn't take over, because something got there first. You want to know how big God's love is? The answer is: It's very big. It's bigger than you're comfortable with. (125)

Then I said the stupidest thing to God: I said, "I'll do anything you say." Now this always gets Jesus' attention. I could feel him look over, sideways, and steeple his fingers. And smile, that pleased-with-himself smile. "Good," I heard him say. "Now you're talking. So go home already, and deal with it." (192)

So I took a deep breath and tossed a mute Help! and I'm sorry! and Thank You! up to God, girded my mental loins, and headed back into the fray. But I made sure to talk to The Padawan and apologize for my tone and thank him for all the help he's been giving and the good job he's been doing with his chores and the little kids. And I took the time to talk to KlutzGirl about how I know it's hard to suddenly be the only girl with a bunch of boys so much of the time. And I made sure to give DramaBoy and The Widget some hugs and cuddles, however brief, in between dashing about Getting Things Done. And when I picked The Dark One up from her orientation that she hadn't wanted to attend and over which she had actually cried, I took her to 7-11 to buy a Monster, and I told her how proud I was of her for going and trying even when she really really really didn't want to.

That's grace, really, in those small yet not-so-small moments: the strength and patience to do what needs to be done without losing track of the hearts and minds and souls of those God has placed in your life. It's stretching me, making me grow in ways I never dreamed, widening my capacity for love and patience. If you had given me the same sort of day with the same sort of To-Do list just a couple of months ago, I would have broken down. Instead, the day ended in smiles and laughter and connectedness.

It all has its rewards. Last night when MTL held me close and told me how much he loves me and how much he appreciates everything I do, I told him that I finally am starting to understand what some of my friends have been saying: these friends with big families and crazy lives who say that they find joy in the insanity, that they have a sense of fulfillment in parenting such large broods.

I feel the challenge, yes, but I'm also feeling the blessing.

Today they're all gone, all of these children small and large, off to their other homes and other parents. There's a part of me that relishes the silence and sanity and prospect of uninterrupted hours spent with MTL. And there is, against all logic, a large part of me that misses them and their noise and squabbling and laughter and craziness.

It's not easy, this life. But it's full of unexpected grace and joy.

--------------------------------------------------
All quotes taken from Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith, by Anne Lamott.

While I'm Waiting

Some days are more frustrating than others. I've had a couple lately. Today I'm stuck inside waiting for a repairman who is supposed to appear sometime between the hours of nine ay-em and six pee-em. Oh yes, peoples. I was given a NINE HOUR time span in which I must roam the rooms of my (fortunately wonderful) new home and wait for someone to show up and replace a hose on the washer that was installed incorrectly a week ago. And since we're renting the appliance from some national appliance company, we don't dare make the repairs ourselves in case they then decide that we have voided the rental agreement/warranty/whatever. They're only showing up today instead of next Tuesday because I begged.

I just love those impersonal national companies that don't even have a clue where you're really located when you call them. Oh, you're in Detroit? the representative asks after pulling up your account, not even using your own phone number or address because it's kind of through the rental complex.

No; West Bloomfield, Michigan, you reply.

Oh. Well, I have a lot of S---------- Villas listed here, he says, apparently unable to figure anything out for himself. And then switches you over to Customer Service where, you hope, they train the representatives to think for themselves marginally more.

The new representative assures you that there is someone coming, but no, she can't pinpoint the time span any more than the NINE HOUR one already given.

You can always just let the leasing office know and give them permission to let us in if you need to leave, the new representative tells you in a cheerful voice.

Because you're so comfortable with letting people in while you're gone so they can do who knows what and then feed you some bullsh*t about nothing being wrong and that leak being part of the service, isn't that lovely? It's a new feature! when you call to complain that you still can't run the clothes washer without flooding the utility room.

No thank you. I guess I'm stuck here.

It's been over four hours now. And we all know perfectly well he/she/it will show up at 5:55 this evening, right?

Face it, I'm grumpy. I'm feeling a bit guilty about that, because really I shouldn't be. I have so much to be not grumpy about.

The move went well, thanks to the invaluable assistance of ten other people, including five former students, who helped us move everything on Saturday and Sunday. I've been working steadily since then to unpack and organize everything, and overall it's gone quite well. There are only a few more boxes and smaller pieces of furniture to move out of the garage and into place, and I'll wait for MTL's help this weekend for most of that.

I love our new home. It's roomy--oh so very roomy!!!--and comfortable and feels like home already. The next door neighbor is very friendly and sweet and turned out to be the mother of one of my students who graduated last year. She and I have already exchanged numbers and spent time chatting, and it's lovely to feel a friendship developing.

At the same time, however, other stressors keep raising their uncomfortable heads. MTL started a new job last week, and although he's happier there and earning a bit more money and closer to home, he's coming home exhausted because it's more physically demanding than the last one. We've been very tight financially this week due to moving costs. We have a growing list of things we need to purchase, some more urgently than others.

With my personality, not being able to finish setting up the house and the kids' rooms bothers me. The fact that I don't have picture hangers so that I can spend my copious hours stuck inside by putting photos and art on the walls bothers me. Having to wait until next week to get the kids registered in school bothers me.

And not having had Just Us time with MTL in weeks bothers me. I've become a bit spoiled, I know. A bright, shiny silver lining in having Exes is getting fairly regular time to ourselves without kidlets around. Summer alters the schedule, and the various events of the last month have further mucked up arrangements. We haven't had real time to ourselves since we went out to Saugatuck the week after the Fourth of July.

Here's my confession: as much as I really do care about The Dark One and The Padawan and KlutzGirl, I'm still adjusting to becoming the stepmom, much less monitoring five kids. And reality alert! Working with teens in the classroom is a very different thing to working with them in the home. Especially when there isn't a bell that lets you kick them out the door after an hour or so.

What makes me feel rather small and petty are the occasional feelings of jealousy I have. Jealousy at having to share MTL with so many others, jealousy that their mother shares something with him that I can't, jealousy that my boys as well as his children sometimes would rather be with their other parents rather than us (and yes, I know how paradoxical that is considering my need for Just Us time with MTL).

I know this is pretty normal and that I need to get used to it and develop a thicker skin and all that, but yesterday was just Hard. My back was hurting and my allergies were so bad I felt cotton-headed and dizzy. I had KlutzGirl, DramaBoy, and The Widget with me all day. They play together quite well, but their noise level and the occasional need to referee quarrels were wearing me down. MTL arrived home exhausted. And then a minor difference in opinion between me and MTL on the issue of late-night snacking topped it all off, and I fell apart, leading to a rare argument between us.

The reality is that blending families is hard. We have it a lot easier than many, I know: both of us are amicable with our exes, our children like each other and us, and we generally have very good communication. But no road runs smoothly, and there are and will be issues that have to be worked out. Sometimes they seem to be minor, but the solutions aren't necessarily simple.

For example: I don't give my kids sugary snacks (or really, much in the way of snacks at all) later in the evening. They both tend to get a little hyper on sugar, especially DramaBoy. MTL's children don't react the same way, and he's never worried about their snacking, especially since he doesn't usually have much junk food around. But then we come up against situations, like last night, where I gave The Widget a graham cracker, but KlutzGirl wanted something else, and MTL gave her a little packet of Fruit Snacks (you know, the gummy thingies.) What do we do in these situations? Suddenly change the way things have always been for his kids and tell them they can't have what they've been allowed to have before? Deny my boys what the other kids are having?

It also goes to deeper issues, of course--and I'm not telling you the whole story, as there are aspects that are better left between me and MTL. But overall it does come down to blending two families into one, and we each are bringing in somewhat differing practices and expectations and parenting approaches. Sometimes that means we offer each other alternatives that are better than what we've done before individually; sometimes we don't see eye to eye. Add in two strong-willed individuals who have become used to doing things their own way, and we end up having to battle our own selves to find a way to compromise.

Our overall goals and desires for our children are essentially the same. What isn't always identical is the path we take to get there, and that is what makes the road a bumpy one. There are some very strong, solid foundations, however, that make it worth the work. We want to raise strong, independent children. We love our children, biological and not. And we love each other, enough to talk through the anger and the hurt and reach for the understanding on the other side.

Just...some days are a little tougher than others.

I'm not really asking for solutions here (and definitely not asking you to take sides on the stupid snack issue), though if you have practical experience in blended families, I wouldn't mind hearing what has worked--and what hasn't. I just needed to get it out, vent, throw the words out into the universe before girding my loins to return to the task at hand.

I think I need to go find that book on Stepcoupling I've been reading. I think it's still buried in a box somewhere.

And I still have four hours of waiting on that repairman to find it.

home

i wasn't looking for you
didn't know
for sure
that someone like you was even there
i hoped
dreamed
without even understanding what
might be possible

this collection of pieces that make up
you
yourself
ingredients combined to create
this man
whose being calls to mine with echoes
of self and not-self
complementing and contrasting

like the puzzle pieces
in that song
shaped by our lives
and the hand of God

you asked where i have been
and i made you laugh with my reply
but here's the reality behind the words:

God knew what He was doing
keeping us apart til now
i wasn't ready to meet you before
too broken
too lost
my edges were too rough
they would have snagged and caught against yours
rather than sliding smoothly into place
snugged tight
firm
like completion
like peace
like coming home

Ten Sensations

Sights I Love To See:

• all four children sitting on a green blanket sharing green grapes as their afternoon snack
• The Widget folding a blanket, however awkwardly, in his desire to Help
• chocolate pudding traces smeared around small mouths
• the stirring of wind through the leaves, a breeze alleviating the heavy heat of the day
• a grin on DramaBoy's face, frequent on a day when he has been Having Fun and Avoiding Trouble

Sounds I Love To Hear:

• the giggles of my Widget when I tackle him with kisses all over his neck and face
• the laughter of my children, biological and otherwise, as they play games of their own invention all over the living room and down the hall
• the beep of a text message arriving from DraftQueen or MTL
• the swooosh of the dish- and clothes-washers running, evidence of a reduction in the level of messiness about the place
• the click of the downstairs door signaling MTL's return home

One More Girl And It's The Brady Bunch

DraftQueen says I'm crazy and yeah, I probably am a bit (okay fine, more than a bit, but I OWN my crazy, peoples), but here's the thing: I'm kinda enjoying this multiple kids thing. You know, as in five all told.

Oh, didn't I mention? MTL has three kids. We finally agreed on appropriate blog names for them this last week. First there's The Dark One, his daughter who turns fourteen on Sunday. She's snarky and sarcastic and a touch emo and we get along quite well. Who woulda thunk, right? Then there's The Padawan, his almost-twelve son who is being trained in The Way of the Geek. He shows great promise. Finally there's KlutzGirl, who is seven and, well, an adorable klutz. The Padawan is delighted to have boys around, and DramaBoy and The Widget already treat him like a big brother, wrestling and teasing and emulating included. KlutzGirl already calls them her "almost brothers" and bosses them unmercifully. The Dark One tends to hold herself somewhat aloof, but thaws enough to play along when all seven of us get going in a rousing toy light saber battle.

(Yeah. We're the Dorks. Meet the Dorklings.)

Anywho, it turns out that I rather enjoy having five kids around. Well, other than the times when the whining and fighting escalates and mostly I just want to go huddle in a closet with a bottle or three of Raspberry Mike's Hard Lemonade. But really, it turns out that having older kids to help out makes things much easier, and this summer has been rather fun with visits to parks and shopping trips and whatnot. The logistics can be a bit tricky, since I don't have a vehicle large enough for them all, but we're making it work.

And it's the comments I get in public that have me giggling. Today I had KlutzGirl, DramaBoy, and The Widget with me grocery shopping for our holiday weekend camping trip (I told you we'd be braving it again). They were being active and cute and fairly well-behaved, and therefore we received many smiles and comments on how cute they are.

You have your hands full! said a few people.

And there are two older ones at home, I would reply with a grin.

My favorite response was from one woman who then exclaimed, And you have such a lovely figure!

I had to confess the truth at that point.

You're brave to take it all on! she said.

It's worth it, I replied.

And it is.

A Year Older and Wiser and All That Crap

It's back. Last year around this time the same thing happened. Post after post in my blog reader centered around the same topic: BlogHer Conference.

Last year, I was pretty much consumed with jealousy because there I was, fully steeped in all things bloggy, even tweeting away all day, and I WASN'T GOING. I even wrote a post about it. And then swore that in 2010 I'd find a way to go.

Here it is: Summer 2010, and BlogHer 2010 is about to begin, and guess what?

I'm not going.

And I couldn't care less.

No really. This isn't sour grapes talking. I truly have no desire to go to BlogHer this year.

You see, something has shifted over the last year. Last summer blogging and tweeting had center stage, pretty much top priority. I was trying to work out how to increase my readership, I was attending occasional blogger meetups and tweetups, I paid to have my blog redesigned (SO not regretting doing that, by the way--totally worth the money, which wasn't much), I was making plans that focused on my identity as a blogger.

That focus has shifted these days. I still enjoy blogging. It's an important way for me to lay out my thoughts and connect with peoples (that would be YOU!) and develop my voice. It just doesn't have center stage any longer.

I think the change is due to a crucial change in me. Last summer, despite tremendous growth and a good bit of healing, I was adrift. For years my identity as The Ex's significant other had been center stage. Suddenly that identity was threatened, then lost, and I needed to fill that void. Blogging was both safe and cathartic. So...I was a blogger. That identity was my life raft.

Now? Now I don't need a life raft. I've come to understand and know myself better. I'm happy in my own skin and no longer need to be defined according to someone else. Not that people have no significance in my life. Other relationships have flowered and taken more focus. I have friendships that are deeper than any I'd had in nearly two decades. I'm developing increasing confidence and peace as a mother. I found MTL.

So instead of heading to BlogHer, I'll be spending time with friends and family and kidlets and my beloved.

And I'll still show up here when inspiration strikes. Because I'm still awfully fond of you, peoples.

Not For Sale

A Cherry Coke, a Mountain Dew, and a bag of chocolate Donettes: $5.57 after tax, and he had four dollars cash in his pocket, his wallet left behind on the car seat. So I pulled out money from my purse, then realized I'd placed three dollars in the cashier's hand and snatched back one. I was about to replace it in my wallet when I stopped and put it in his hand instead.

I felt a bit odd about it--both the instinct to take it back and the decision to give it to him. I didn't look at his face, so couldn't tell if it struck him as odd or not. He did place the dollar in his pocket.

Three dollars. He paid for the pizza and salad and drinks we had for dinner, the movie tickets, the gas that powered his car. He generally does. I contribute financially in other ways. Grocery runs. A trip to McD's with our combined children. Helping out with the road trip costs. It's not like he carries the burden alone.

So why did I feel strange about placing that bill in his hand?

Perhaps because it was such a small amount. Perhaps because I was physically placing the money in his hand. Who knows? The moment passed and we moved on.

The memory revisits me tonight. The commerce of relationships. My mind flickers back to my brief flirtation with playing the field on casual dates. A few different men, a few different dates, all financed by them. I always carried my card and cash with me, just in case, as any wise woman would, but both parties went in assuming (as it turned out each time) that he would pay the costs of the evening.

So what did I contribute? The pleasure of my company? Some good conversation, a little light flirtation, a smile, a laugh? There wasn't physical "compensation" for their evening's investment, that's certain. If they anticipated such a thing, they hid their expectations well. And I? I didn't have to spend much on groceries for a little while.

Sounds cynical, doesn't it, put in those cold and impersonal words?

Romance is ancient enough, but relationships--particularly marriages--have long been based on commercial grounds, even when love was (and is) involved. Think back over the long history of human culture, all over the world. Examine contemporary practices, again all over the world. Dowries and marriage contracts, prenuptial agreements and insurance beneficiaries: the many and varied financial arrangements that wrap relationships in strings of silver and green and gold.

I taught Pride and Prejudice to my juniors this last year. We spent some time discussing the financial realities of marriage in that time period. "Gold digger" was the label many of the students attached to one character, Charlotte Lucas, who enters a marriage with the pompous, ridiculous Mr. Collins because she knows he will provide her with a solid financial and social position. In the (quite romanticized but rather excellent) film starring Keira Knightley, Charlotte tells Elizabeth Darcy that she "cannot afford to be romantic"--unlike Elizabeth, who refused Mr. Collin's proposal. And in the book, although Charlotte is not particularly fond of her husband (though quite good at making him obliviously happy), she is apparently quite pleased with her lot.

But she married him for money! one student protested. She doesn't even love him!

Well, yes, I responded. And when we see people, particularly women, who will be with someone just because they have money, we do call them "gold diggers". But let me put it in a different context. Keep in mind that women in that day and age were quite dependent upon men to provide them with stability, unless they had unusually excellent social rank and independent wealth. What if today we looked at a women who was widowed or abandoned, with several small children, and little ability to support them? What if she met a man who wanted to marry her and take care of her children, and although she did not love him, she was willing to do her best to make him happy in exchange? Would you call her a gold digger?

Well, no, they admitted. But that's different!

And it is, from a certain ethical standpoint. It still doesn't match our ideal of true love.

How many relationships do? And does the presence of that commercial aspect automatically contaminate the purity of the love that exists? What contracts do we create, on paper or in our minds, that govern our relationships? Are they financial? Physical? Emotional?

They vary for each situation, I know. There are the couples where one person contributes the money and the other contributes...well, that depends. Time spent raising children. Keeping house. Companionship. Sex. Other couples both contribute money and divvy other responsibilities between them. Others--well, others have their contracts people on the outside simply cannot comprehend.

If the couple is healthy, whatever arrangement is made works for them and they are content, happy, fulfilled.

If not...Well, we've all seen the many forms dysfunction can take and the varied roads those couples travel. Some of us have been there, walked that.

Too often the dysfunction lies with the calculations. What is the give; what is the take? What concepts do we have of what is obligated by each party? What are the expectations and how well do they match? How much do I have to give and how much can I get?

Ah, and there's the rub. There's the greedy, selfish, ugly-side-of-capitalism twist of relationship commerce. There's where "don't be a doormat" deforms into "don't let him/her get the better of me." There's where love distorts into manipulation.

A woman told me some time ago that the best advice she ever got on marriage came from the man installing the new carpet in her house.

How much do you think each person needs to put into the marriage to make it work? he asked her.

Fifty-fifty, she replied.

Nope, he said. It's one hundred - one hundred. Each person has to put in everything, without expecting the other person to meet them halfway. If you don't commit fully, it'll never work fully.

A relationship comes down to more than how many dollars we each put in. It has to go beyond whose turn it is to do the dishes or take out the garbage or pick up groceries or take the kids to appointments. When we start keeping our mental tallies and budgets, when we start begrudging little things like back rubs and bigger things like who's paying the bills, when we start looking for what we can get instead of seeking for what we can give...

...then we're holding back more than our "share." We're holding back our hearts.

Love isn't a contract. My heart isn't a commodity. It is a gift, and by giving it away I get far more in return than any sale could ever bring.

pieces

woman came from man's rib
so the story goes
created to be helpmeet and companion
but absent, left man with less armor
to protect his heart

plato proposed we were once octolimbed creatures
split by zeus's anger at our presumption
and defiance
now doomed to wander life in search
of our missing halves of soul

either way

one is part of the other and vice versa
and combined
create a larger whole
puzzle pieces from the clay

which do not always match
snug in some regards
rubbing raw in others
and when we are broken
as in this wounded world we often are
our edges catch and rupture

but sometimes
when fractures have healed
and lessons have steeped
and signs have led
and roads have met

we find the companions of our hearts
and finally come home