After my parent’s divorce, my sister and I were thrilled when my mother was able to find love again. And unlike her first choice for a partner, she chose a kind and gentle man who not only embraced her with unconditional love, but wished to extend the same to her two teenage daughters. I was fifteen years old when he became a permanent fixture in our lives.
So it was a relief to finally have some peace and stability, but I was caught up in the teen angst of self discovery and realization combined with lots of anger and bitterness from a volatile household that existed when my parents were still together. I didn’t want to fully embrace a healthy male role model because my trust in men had already been shattered. I caused a lot of problems for my mom and stepfather in high school. I fought with my mother constantly, had no interest in contact with my biological father, and challenged rules by constantly breaking them. You could say I was a problem kid.
The interesting thing is that I excelled academically, participated in extra-curricular activities, and had a great rapport with my friends and teachers. Graduated from high school sixth in my class of approximately four hundred. And didn’t touch drugs or alcohol. So I looked like a model teenager to the outside world, and drove my family nuts at home.
I can recognize now what I could not appreciate during those years. My mother’s partner would drive me religiously to and from my part time job so that I could make a little spending money. He would come to school events and tell me how proud he was of me. He always had patience, and interest in my well-being, and generous hugs to offer. In spite of my anger and acting out, his support stayed consistent and his love never wavered. He is an amazing man.
My parents have been together for twenty one years and married for the last four.
In April, my stepfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The news came as a complete shock. How could this man, who in his mid-seventies, played tennis with his buddies on a weekly basis, be faced with this health crisis?
Oh my god, I thought. I am not ready to lose him.
And the strangest thing happened. It was as if I was a small child submerged in a pool and someone yanked me out sputtering and choking. Sure, this divorce had been all consuming, but I had let it become that way. I was still walking around like a victim and had essentially shut out my family since March.
And it took a life crisis that would hit me harder than what I had been going through to get me out from under the water.
My Chinese mother used to describe an important life lesson to me and my sister from time to time. She would hold one wooden chopstick in her hand and say, “ One chopstick by itself, so easy to break in half.” Then she would add two or three more wooden chopsticks to the first and try to bend the bunch with both hands. “More chopsticks together, very hard to break. This is us. This is our family. We must stick together.”
No apologies had been exchanged since the blowout I had with my mother a few months ago. But it didn’t matter. I picked up the phone to check on my stepfather and offered my love and support. My sister, with her first baby due in six weeks, dedicated herself to internet research to learn as much as she could about his chances for survival depending on what type of pancreatic cancer he may have. My sister provided us with tons of information and calm strength while we waited several weeks for the biopsy results. The news was not good, and he would be scheduled for surgery quickly. I picked up the phone to reach out to my mother and she responded. And then there we were, three chopsticks in three separate states, combining to form a bond of wood that could not be broken. To be there for each other and this wonderful man who had come into our lives.
My sister could not travel at this point of her pregnancy and even with my insistence on going home to be present for my stepfather’s surgery, my mother counseled that with two small children, full time work, and legal bills, I needed to focus on the tasks at hand. “I will take care of what is happening here.” She said, “and you help us by taking care of yourself.” I know my mother had broken down several times with my sister about my stepfather’s condition, but with me, she showed no fear. I understood that was how she needed to insure that I stay strong. We may not be able to be together, but each of us must do our part to keep each chopstick intact, so that together, we are unbreakable.
I couldn’t believe her words. She is a unique woman, my mother. And I realized that she taught her daughters the skill sets needed to be survivors, to overcome any and every challenge in life. In the beginning of my divorce, I had forgotten I had these skills. It was in this moment, when I hung up the phone, that I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I am strong like my mother, I thought, and I am not afraid.
And then a miracle happened. My stepfather had his surgery in late May. The doctors were in shock that the cancer was contained in the tumor – slow growing, no evidence that it had spread. He is now currently recovering, waiting for the green light to hit the tennis court again.
My mother camped in the hospital for almost a week, never leaving his side. One of the first things my stepfather said to me when I called him after his surgery: “Your mother is one in a million.”
My father used to say “When they made your mother, they broke the mold.”
I agree. I’d like to also add that my mother has the strength of many chopsticks.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Carpe Diem
My last post was in April. Quite the writing hiatus, no? It got to a point where the raw nerve was tired of being hit, and needed to be left alone. And I think I just wanted to live a bit without analyzing and dissecting. And I ended up living a lot.
The last two months, I learned to exit that stage of paralysis that can occur during a divorce and remembered to seize the day. Carpe Diem. Because each one is a gift, not a guarantee.
I remember saying to my girlfriend M. back in early April that I just wanted a young boy toy. Some casual sex and fun. No strings. And I met him. Young and very successful, he told me that I was beautiful and enthusiastically courted me. During our first phone conversation, he asked me what my favorite dessert was. On our first date, he showed up with a box of gourmet cupcakes.
It was six weeks of great sex and when I started getting attached and suggested perhaps some light sewing thread (note: NOT chains or strings), the poor kid went running for the hills. Actually, while we were dating, he spent a lot of time driving me around the hills in the quest for a mack daddy bachelor pad to buy (note: early bad sign). So that stung a bit, but it was a good lesson learned. Be careful of what you ask for, because you just might get it.
But it was the first practice run since my break up, and for that, I am grateful. I'm taking the training wheels off and I got my money's worth out of that Brazilian bikini wax.
During this timeframe, three amazing events also occurred:
My stepfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
I stepped onto a plane and left this country to embark on a lifechanging trip.
My younger sister gave birth to her first child.
Each of these experiences have marked me in such a way that somehow, I have found strength and healing in them. So each deserves its own post.
Bear with me while I write them. And then join me. I'm looking forward to sharing with you.
The last two months, I learned to exit that stage of paralysis that can occur during a divorce and remembered to seize the day. Carpe Diem. Because each one is a gift, not a guarantee.
I remember saying to my girlfriend M. back in early April that I just wanted a young boy toy. Some casual sex and fun. No strings. And I met him. Young and very successful, he told me that I was beautiful and enthusiastically courted me. During our first phone conversation, he asked me what my favorite dessert was. On our first date, he showed up with a box of gourmet cupcakes.
It was six weeks of great sex and when I started getting attached and suggested perhaps some light sewing thread (note: NOT chains or strings), the poor kid went running for the hills. Actually, while we were dating, he spent a lot of time driving me around the hills in the quest for a mack daddy bachelor pad to buy (note: early bad sign). So that stung a bit, but it was a good lesson learned. Be careful of what you ask for, because you just might get it.
But it was the first practice run since my break up, and for that, I am grateful. I'm taking the training wheels off and I got my money's worth out of that Brazilian bikini wax.
During this timeframe, three amazing events also occurred:
My stepfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
I stepped onto a plane and left this country to embark on a lifechanging trip.
My younger sister gave birth to her first child.
Each of these experiences have marked me in such a way that somehow, I have found strength and healing in them. So each deserves its own post.
Bear with me while I write them. And then join me. I'm looking forward to sharing with you.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Coy Dancing Lessons
I've been on a few more outings since "Asian Persuasian" boy.
Let's face it, it's been only two years since I stopped nursing my youngest child. I don't feel particularly sexy when I look in the mirror. Hell, this divorce process has pretty much killed my libido. I've got bags under my eyes, and the gray roots are sprouting faster than a speeding bullet.
A friend suggested Match.com. I don't have the energy to even formulate a profile. The website itself gives you a tutorial on what to say and how to say it. You've got to be kidding me. Too involved and too time consuming. And what is up with those guys that post 75 photos where they are pursing their lips and offering come-hither eyes? Ugh.
And so I've let a few people set me up on dates. Hasn't been too bad testing the waters this way. And atleast I can be somewhat confident that I'm not going out with a serial killer.
Sometimes though, while sipping a cosmopolitan at the bar with my gentleman friend of the evening, I just want to say, "Look, I don't have the time for the coy dance bullshit. I really just need a good lay. And can you promise not to call afterwards? I don't have the energy to get to know you." Then throw back that first cocktail and bark, "Make yourself useful and order me another damn drink!"
My girlfriend handed me the book, "Why Men Marry Bitches" last month to provide me with some counsel as I enter the singles scene again. I laughed. I could have written that book myself today.
The last two dates have been really nice. On face value, great guys. Both were very attractive, very attentive. So instead of scary man-eater, I find that my feet start coy dancing.
I portray myself as the woman who has got it together (Xanax), exuding powerful strength (10 cups of coffee a day to combat sleep deprivation) and sexual mystery (forgot how to do it). I breezily jump from my children, to my work, to my current break-up (without giving too many details) in conversation as if I can juggle whatever life has to throw at me. I flip my hair (roots touched up the day before), laugh at their jokes, I am engaging, and offer the invite of only a quick "good night" peck on the lips (freshly glossed with lip plumper in the ladies room) before I say thank you for a lovely time and hop into my car to drive home.
If only they knew. I'm dealing with more baggage than a Louis Vuitton store.
According to the book, being slightly unavailable means the guys come back for more. This divorce has made me very unavailable. Certainly didn't have to try too hard here.
I've already gotten calls for second dates.
So, as a result of coy dancing, for the first time in years, I may have to schedule that long overdue Brazilian. Let the games begin!
Let's face it, it's been only two years since I stopped nursing my youngest child. I don't feel particularly sexy when I look in the mirror. Hell, this divorce process has pretty much killed my libido. I've got bags under my eyes, and the gray roots are sprouting faster than a speeding bullet.
A friend suggested Match.com. I don't have the energy to even formulate a profile. The website itself gives you a tutorial on what to say and how to say it. You've got to be kidding me. Too involved and too time consuming. And what is up with those guys that post 75 photos where they are pursing their lips and offering come-hither eyes? Ugh.
And so I've let a few people set me up on dates. Hasn't been too bad testing the waters this way. And atleast I can be somewhat confident that I'm not going out with a serial killer.
Sometimes though, while sipping a cosmopolitan at the bar with my gentleman friend of the evening, I just want to say, "Look, I don't have the time for the coy dance bullshit. I really just need a good lay. And can you promise not to call afterwards? I don't have the energy to get to know you." Then throw back that first cocktail and bark, "Make yourself useful and order me another damn drink!"
My girlfriend handed me the book, "Why Men Marry Bitches" last month to provide me with some counsel as I enter the singles scene again. I laughed. I could have written that book myself today.
The last two dates have been really nice. On face value, great guys. Both were very attractive, very attentive. So instead of scary man-eater, I find that my feet start coy dancing.
I portray myself as the woman who has got it together (Xanax), exuding powerful strength (10 cups of coffee a day to combat sleep deprivation) and sexual mystery (forgot how to do it). I breezily jump from my children, to my work, to my current break-up (without giving too many details) in conversation as if I can juggle whatever life has to throw at me. I flip my hair (roots touched up the day before), laugh at their jokes, I am engaging, and offer the invite of only a quick "good night" peck on the lips (freshly glossed with lip plumper in the ladies room) before I say thank you for a lovely time and hop into my car to drive home.
If only they knew. I'm dealing with more baggage than a Louis Vuitton store.
According to the book, being slightly unavailable means the guys come back for more. This divorce has made me very unavailable. Certainly didn't have to try too hard here.
I've already gotten calls for second dates.
So, as a result of coy dancing, for the first time in years, I may have to schedule that long overdue Brazilian. Let the games begin!
Monday, March 17, 2008
Biting the Hand That Loves You
My Chinese mother states she loves her daughters unconditionally. My sister and I might say that her unconditional love is actually conditional. And regardless of the conditions, we've certainly had to pay for it.
"Trapped" by my American father, she moved to the States (as she shares the story), against her will. Unfortunately, he was an angry alcoholic who didn't understand the concept of fidelity. And my mother, who barely spoke English, made the decision to kill herself and her two little girls that first lonely winter in this country in the suburban quiet town where she knew nobody and my father was out doing god knows what. We were both asleep in our beds when my mother put her hands around my little sister's neck - she must have been just under two. My sister woke up and said "I love you Mommy." And it was in that moment that my mother has told us that she decided to fight for a life for us in this country. I feel pain for her. But I also feel pain for the two little girls that survived that night. Because as long as I can remember, my sister and I have heard that story over and over again.
And we vividly remember the vicious tirades of an unhappy woman that came out of no where when my mother couldn't handle the stress. I remember her screaming at the top of her lungs because she couldn't cope with the mess in our playroom. And the wooden bamboo back scratcher that left welts on our little thighs, so bad that I remember my father wincing one day when he came home from work and saw my mother's handiwork on my body.
My mother has played the role of martyr my whole life. I don't remember a day when she hasn't shared how she has suffered at our expense. And in our desire to thank her, please her, and win her love, my sister and I did everything possible to obtain her approval, to make her proud. I learned to be an overachiever, a people pleaser, excel in sales careers, and never say no even at my own expense. I adopted and perfected a "can OVER-do" philosophy on life, and ultimately, translated that philosophy into how to deal with all relationships, especially those with men.
I think our spirits were broken when my sister and I, in our early twenties, within almost two years of each other, moved to other states to give our spirits a chance to soar again. As much as we loved our mother, staying with her was becoming the equivalent of a slow death. My mother insists that we abandoned her. Perhaps that wasn't too far from the truth. But leaving gave us a chance to celebrate our own dreams, and our hopes for a happy future.
My mother has always resented this decision that we made. My financial independence and success commanded respect, and the geographical distance created a buffer, save for a few heated traditional Sunday phone calls. As long as I didn't need her, my mother would mostly stay on her best behavior.
Last October, for the first time in over ten years of my adult life, I needed her. I needed my mother during the beginning of my divorce, when it felt as if I were being hit over and over again by a mack truck. That little girl in me needed to be hugged by a strong woman who has survived a painful marriage and divorce and told that all would be well. And given the opportunity, she came through with flying colors. Ten years has obviously dulled my memory. I forgot how much you have to pay for her love. During this time, my mother started "calling the shots" and didn't prevent herself from reminding me how I've continued to pick losers in life.
With no choice but to attend a sales meeting during which I had custody of my children last week, I asked my parents if they could come for a visit and watch my little ones. I paid for the plane tickets, the groceries, the amenities, and coordinated transportation for the children to and from their preschool with a sitter. All I needed was for my mommy to love my children while I was away so that I could have peace of mind and heart. And considering that the divorce process destroyed my work focus and sales numbers this year, knowing that the loves of my life were in good hands while I had some serious career discussions out of town helped to ease the grief.
Until I came home and watched my mom scold my four year old for pooping in his pants. A talk that included encouragement to try to use the potty next time would have been my preference. Unfortunately, she delivered the vicious admonition that I remembered all too well growing up. I informed her to stop - this was my territory. And in front of my son, she lost her cool, stating that the children were out of control and they needed better discipline. She used phrases that I choose not share in this post.
Later that night, in bed, my son asked me "Why is Grandma mad at me? Why doesn't she love me?" I held his face in my hands and fought back the tears as I kissed his forehead. "My sweet boy," I cooed, "Grandma loves you so very much. And mommy loves you so very much. Mommy and Grandma were mad with each other and we shouldn't have yelled. I am so sorry. You did nothing wrong. You did NOTHING wrong."
I bit my tongue that night. And again the next morning when I drove the children to see their father for the weekend. I had endured for thirty-six years. But not my children. Never. The cycle stops here.
Receiving help from my mother means she was given power. And absolute power corrupts absolutely. I had handed it to her on a silver platter.
As soon as I walked in the door, she started griping about how much trouble my children were while I was away and how exhausted she was catering to them.
It was as if someone lit a match to a stick of dynamite. She didn't even know what hit her. I couldn't believe my voice could reach those octives. " You fucking pathetic woman!" I screamed. " How dare you? These are MY babies, YOUR grandchildren." My mother offered a matyr tirade of her own, but I'm not sure she could even hear herself over me.
"All they wanted was your love! " I yelled, "and that's all I asked from you." Spit was flying out of my mouth now and it felt like I was throwing left hooks into the air. " Instead, you chose to kick all of us when we needed you the most. You still kick me when I'm down! Fuck you and get the fuck out of my house!"
It felt as if a 900 pound gorilla was lifted from my back. And it was strangely euphoric. So my mother and I aren't on speaking terms now. We said nothing to each other the rest of the day and they left early the next morning.
I'm sure she's throwing some nasty Chinese curse in my direction right now.
Doesn't matter. Little by little, step by step...road to happiness. And for the record, I am taking NO prisoners.
"Trapped" by my American father, she moved to the States (as she shares the story), against her will. Unfortunately, he was an angry alcoholic who didn't understand the concept of fidelity. And my mother, who barely spoke English, made the decision to kill herself and her two little girls that first lonely winter in this country in the suburban quiet town where she knew nobody and my father was out doing god knows what. We were both asleep in our beds when my mother put her hands around my little sister's neck - she must have been just under two. My sister woke up and said "I love you Mommy." And it was in that moment that my mother has told us that she decided to fight for a life for us in this country. I feel pain for her. But I also feel pain for the two little girls that survived that night. Because as long as I can remember, my sister and I have heard that story over and over again.
And we vividly remember the vicious tirades of an unhappy woman that came out of no where when my mother couldn't handle the stress. I remember her screaming at the top of her lungs because she couldn't cope with the mess in our playroom. And the wooden bamboo back scratcher that left welts on our little thighs, so bad that I remember my father wincing one day when he came home from work and saw my mother's handiwork on my body.
My mother has played the role of martyr my whole life. I don't remember a day when she hasn't shared how she has suffered at our expense. And in our desire to thank her, please her, and win her love, my sister and I did everything possible to obtain her approval, to make her proud. I learned to be an overachiever, a people pleaser, excel in sales careers, and never say no even at my own expense. I adopted and perfected a "can OVER-do" philosophy on life, and ultimately, translated that philosophy into how to deal with all relationships, especially those with men.
I think our spirits were broken when my sister and I, in our early twenties, within almost two years of each other, moved to other states to give our spirits a chance to soar again. As much as we loved our mother, staying with her was becoming the equivalent of a slow death. My mother insists that we abandoned her. Perhaps that wasn't too far from the truth. But leaving gave us a chance to celebrate our own dreams, and our hopes for a happy future.
My mother has always resented this decision that we made. My financial independence and success commanded respect, and the geographical distance created a buffer, save for a few heated traditional Sunday phone calls. As long as I didn't need her, my mother would mostly stay on her best behavior.
Last October, for the first time in over ten years of my adult life, I needed her. I needed my mother during the beginning of my divorce, when it felt as if I were being hit over and over again by a mack truck. That little girl in me needed to be hugged by a strong woman who has survived a painful marriage and divorce and told that all would be well. And given the opportunity, she came through with flying colors. Ten years has obviously dulled my memory. I forgot how much you have to pay for her love. During this time, my mother started "calling the shots" and didn't prevent herself from reminding me how I've continued to pick losers in life.
With no choice but to attend a sales meeting during which I had custody of my children last week, I asked my parents if they could come for a visit and watch my little ones. I paid for the plane tickets, the groceries, the amenities, and coordinated transportation for the children to and from their preschool with a sitter. All I needed was for my mommy to love my children while I was away so that I could have peace of mind and heart. And considering that the divorce process destroyed my work focus and sales numbers this year, knowing that the loves of my life were in good hands while I had some serious career discussions out of town helped to ease the grief.
Until I came home and watched my mom scold my four year old for pooping in his pants. A talk that included encouragement to try to use the potty next time would have been my preference. Unfortunately, she delivered the vicious admonition that I remembered all too well growing up. I informed her to stop - this was my territory. And in front of my son, she lost her cool, stating that the children were out of control and they needed better discipline. She used phrases that I choose not share in this post.
Later that night, in bed, my son asked me "Why is Grandma mad at me? Why doesn't she love me?" I held his face in my hands and fought back the tears as I kissed his forehead. "My sweet boy," I cooed, "Grandma loves you so very much. And mommy loves you so very much. Mommy and Grandma were mad with each other and we shouldn't have yelled. I am so sorry. You did nothing wrong. You did NOTHING wrong."
I bit my tongue that night. And again the next morning when I drove the children to see their father for the weekend. I had endured for thirty-six years. But not my children. Never. The cycle stops here.
Receiving help from my mother means she was given power. And absolute power corrupts absolutely. I had handed it to her on a silver platter.
As soon as I walked in the door, she started griping about how much trouble my children were while I was away and how exhausted she was catering to them.
It was as if someone lit a match to a stick of dynamite. She didn't even know what hit her. I couldn't believe my voice could reach those octives. " You fucking pathetic woman!" I screamed. " How dare you? These are MY babies, YOUR grandchildren." My mother offered a matyr tirade of her own, but I'm not sure she could even hear herself over me.
"All they wanted was your love! " I yelled, "and that's all I asked from you." Spit was flying out of my mouth now and it felt like I was throwing left hooks into the air. " Instead, you chose to kick all of us when we needed you the most. You still kick me when I'm down! Fuck you and get the fuck out of my house!"
It felt as if a 900 pound gorilla was lifted from my back. And it was strangely euphoric. So my mother and I aren't on speaking terms now. We said nothing to each other the rest of the day and they left early the next morning.
I'm sure she's throwing some nasty Chinese curse in my direction right now.
Doesn't matter. Little by little, step by step...road to happiness. And for the record, I am taking NO prisoners.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Happy Birthday Dad
February 19th is my father's birthday. It is on this day, and the anniversary of his passing in the month of August that I reflect on the dynamics of our father-daughter relationship.
I have spent my life searching for the loving, supportive, and stable man that my father never was. And in my quest for fulfilling love, I've found men that were like my father in so many ways since I've started dating (textbook psychology I'm sure). I found that I was always sacrificing and placing my needs last to secure my partner's approval, to win unconditional love. And then I would quickly move from one failed relationship to another, believing that the "honeymoon" stage with a new boyfriend meant sure success.
My college roommate was working towards her masters in social work. I remember her telling me from time to time that I needed to sort through the pain and anger of a horrible relationship with my father. "This will blow up in your face one day," she warned, "if you don't try counseling to understand your issues."
Interestingly enough, with the father of my children, I did just that. But we were too busy sorting through our mess as a couple, and I never sat down one-on-one with an expert to face the music as a individual that still needed to heal from the disappointment she experienced with the single most important male role model of her life.
I choose to be alone now. It would have been too easy to run into someone else's arms or bed while going through this divorce. I look in the mirror each morning and ask for the strength to learn how to be good to myself and focus on healing the little girl who had an angry alcoholic for a father.
It is terrifying as hell to make this decision. But it is also empowering. I've promised myself to pick up the phone this week and finally schedule some time with a therapist. One day there will be hope for a healthy relationship. In the meantime, I know I have a lot of work ahead of me.
Right before my father passed seven years ago, he wrote a letter to me and my younger sister. We talk about it often. In this letter, he tells us that he is sorry for all that he has done. He promises that when he leaves this world, he will always be watching over us, protecting us, loving us.
I have been searching for someone to fill those shoes. And for the first time in my life, I realize that person needs to be me.
I have a Merit cigarette and a Budweiser every year on February 19th as a tribute to him. Two of his favorite things in the world.
Happy birthday Daddy. I miss you.
I have spent my life searching for the loving, supportive, and stable man that my father never was. And in my quest for fulfilling love, I've found men that were like my father in so many ways since I've started dating (textbook psychology I'm sure). I found that I was always sacrificing and placing my needs last to secure my partner's approval, to win unconditional love. And then I would quickly move from one failed relationship to another, believing that the "honeymoon" stage with a new boyfriend meant sure success.
My college roommate was working towards her masters in social work. I remember her telling me from time to time that I needed to sort through the pain and anger of a horrible relationship with my father. "This will blow up in your face one day," she warned, "if you don't try counseling to understand your issues."
Interestingly enough, with the father of my children, I did just that. But we were too busy sorting through our mess as a couple, and I never sat down one-on-one with an expert to face the music as a individual that still needed to heal from the disappointment she experienced with the single most important male role model of her life.
I choose to be alone now. It would have been too easy to run into someone else's arms or bed while going through this divorce. I look in the mirror each morning and ask for the strength to learn how to be good to myself and focus on healing the little girl who had an angry alcoholic for a father.
It is terrifying as hell to make this decision. But it is also empowering. I've promised myself to pick up the phone this week and finally schedule some time with a therapist. One day there will be hope for a healthy relationship. In the meantime, I know I have a lot of work ahead of me.
Right before my father passed seven years ago, he wrote a letter to me and my younger sister. We talk about it often. In this letter, he tells us that he is sorry for all that he has done. He promises that when he leaves this world, he will always be watching over us, protecting us, loving us.
I have been searching for someone to fill those shoes. And for the first time in my life, I realize that person needs to be me.
I have a Merit cigarette and a Budweiser every year on February 19th as a tribute to him. Two of his favorite things in the world.
Happy birthday Daddy. I miss you.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Cougar or Puma?
I have been approached by men younger than 30 in the past few months. I have had no desire to date. I have not been advertising my single status. I do not walk around with a "MILF" t-shirt on. I am tired all the time. And I'm definitely looking my age with help from this exhausting divorce (regardless of what my mother keeps saying, "you young and purty...Elizabeth Taylor marry lotta men in her life...last husband was younger guy too - you keep trying). I'm not interested in younger men, and I don't hang around venues that cater to this male demographic - I'm running around the park and the grocery store!
I did accompany a friend to a small artshow downtown on a free Saturday night (while the children were with their father ) where my typical plans would have included Ben & Jerry's and American Idol on Tivo.
I met M. by accident. Literally bumped into him walking out of the restroom and making sure my skirt wasn't tucked into the back of my pantyhose. He immediately asked if I was one of the exhibitors. "No, " I replied, "I'm a guest." He asked if I was here with anyone and I pointed to my friend (he's an actor/personal trainer, and NO, I have not gone there). You could tell M. was intimidated by my friend's looks.
He seemed mature. Until I learned that he was a 31 year old investment banker that owned the loft next door. Five years younger. Not too bad. And he was actually very good looking. I gave him my number.
I almost backed out of this "first date" at the last minute. I fielded a call that afternoon from a client/friend right before my call to M. to cancel and blurted out my dilemma to her. "You need to break the seal." she insisted. "Just go."
He picked a Korean barbeque restaurant. Over dinner, he told me he was into Asian women. Business takes him to the Far East often. "You're totally my type" he shared. " I think it's almost an obsession how much I like Asian girls." I thought it would be good to change the subject and talk about his other interests. "I really like to go to the gym." he offered. Oh god. Check please.
I did accompany a friend to a small artshow downtown on a free Saturday night (while the children were with their father ) where my typical plans would have included Ben & Jerry's and American Idol on Tivo.
I met M. by accident. Literally bumped into him walking out of the restroom and making sure my skirt wasn't tucked into the back of my pantyhose. He immediately asked if I was one of the exhibitors. "No, " I replied, "I'm a guest." He asked if I was here with anyone and I pointed to my friend (he's an actor/personal trainer, and NO, I have not gone there). You could tell M. was intimidated by my friend's looks.
He seemed mature. Until I learned that he was a 31 year old investment banker that owned the loft next door. Five years younger. Not too bad. And he was actually very good looking. I gave him my number.
I almost backed out of this "first date" at the last minute. I fielded a call that afternoon from a client/friend right before my call to M. to cancel and blurted out my dilemma to her. "You need to break the seal." she insisted. "Just go."
He picked a Korean barbeque restaurant. Over dinner, he told me he was into Asian women. Business takes him to the Far East often. "You're totally my type" he shared. " I think it's almost an obsession how much I like Asian girls." I thought it would be good to change the subject and talk about his other interests. "I really like to go to the gym." he offered. Oh god. Check please.
I recounted this experience to another mom friend of mine. "You shouldn't write him off so quickly. It would be fun to have just kept this boy around as a sex buddy, but I think that would make you a puma." she laughed.
What the hell is that?
Apparently, it's the definition of a woman under 40 that goes out with younger men. Over 40 and you're a cougar. And I'm still not sure if that's the accurate consensus on the correct meaning.
Give me a break.
For reasons that have nothing to do with my feline status, I am not interested in getting involved with anyone right now, especially a younger man. I already have two small children and I'm in the process of trying to get rid of a big child that throws expensive temper tantrums at me through his lawyers. But these are my personal choices.
I am actually offended that women are even labeled this way. How about pointing to a woman walking around with a younger man and saying, "Good for her. And good for them." Who cares why they are together? There's a very good chance that they might have found the fulfilling companionship that has eluded many of us.
At the very least, she may be getting a hell of a lot more booty than I am. Meow.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Children - Love Medicine
My son makes me laugh when I serve them tilapia (a mild white fish) for dinner this week. Drowned in lemon and butter, they are happily digging in, and I high five myself that I am getting some Omega 3 into their bodies in between the nightly Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and hot dog dinners. "I love labia" says my four year old, "it tastes good." I wonder if he's taking English lessons from my Chinese mother when she comes to visit.
My daughter is developing into quite the character herself. Her favorite food is a raspberry/strawberry fruit bar treat, recently discovered from a local organic grocery store. She actually consumed two of these before check out during a recent shopping trip. This morning, she pushed her scrambled eggs and toast with cream cheese away (usual breakfast favorites). "I want a fruit bar mommy." I slide her plate back in front of her. "Fruit bars are for snack honey," I explain," let's eat our breakfast." She's contemplating a temper tantrum. And in the next moment, she cocks her head to the side and raises her eyebrows up and down several times, Groucho Marx style. This is a new trick that made me laugh the night before. "Please mommy? See my eyes?" She wins. I hand her a fruit bar.
I am madly in love with these two children. In those precious moments of connection, I am touched beyond emotional explanation. There's no time to feel sorry for yourself when you are in the middle of wiping noses and tushes. You do not have the luxury of worrying about the lawyer's phone call five minutes ago when your little one climbs into your lap with a book.
In some ways, I think my divorce has helped me to become a better mother. I am learning to slow down and savor the time I have with my babies. I was always racing against the clock as a full time working mom, on and off airplanes, in and out of meetings, and realized that in the midst of a failing relationship, my children had a sleep-deprived, stressed out, unfulfilled person who tended to look at parenting responsibilities as tasks instead of opportunities. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy my time with my children, but now I am learning to really live in the present.
In the morning, on our way to preschool, we now take a different approach. Instead of quickly throwing on jackets and shoes to get out the door, we have extra kisses and hugs as each arm slips into a sleeve or a foot into a shoe. I take a moment to sniff the warmth of the back of their necks or the tops of their heads. Instead of muttering to the children that we are running late, this has become an opportunity for extra physical contact. We may be a few minutes late for yard time or snack time, but who cares? They won't remember what it meant to be prompt at this age, but they will remember how much mommy wants to love them with kisses and hugs before we climb into the car for school.
When they are with their father, I miss them. Terribly. The melancholy of those evenings alone in my home without them still puts me in a lonely place. I think about how they each climb into to bed with me when they are here, and I miss the comfort of holding them. Hearing them breathe peacefully and softly. Two little angels that are safe in my mama bear care.
But when we are apart, I know I can focus on healing and changing. I can pick up a book again. I can take a hike or walk on the beach. Sip a coffee and sit for a while. I can write.
A wise woman recently shared something with me that gives me great comfort (thank you). She said that "...the only thing you can control is your own actions. And I think this is important in relation to our children because often times this is the only life-lesson we have left to teach them: life isn't about what happens to you; it is about how you deal with what happens to you. And that lesson will trump all the other worries and anxieties you have about the effects of divorce and custody battles on their young lives."
There are always challenges in life. How we address them makes all the difference. For my broken spirit, my children are the strongest medicine in the world. They change your whole perspective and outlook on life and how to live it. But most importantly, if you can keep this top of mind, you have a chance to look at the world again through their eyes. It can become a special, magical place - one that is full of new experiences, new lessons, new discoveries, and promise. For your children, and for you.
We used to rush through bed time routines (brush teeth, two books, lights out) so that I could clean the kitchen, pick up the toys, and work late crunching out sales proposals and spreadsheets. Last night, at 36 and in the middle of a divorce, I got down on knee level next to my children in the backyard and we looked up at the moon together in the night sky. They are both in footed pajamas, and I have a blanket wrapped around them. I agreed with them, it was indeed, a beautiful sight. And then we came inside and climbed into mommy's bed, and I told them about the Chinese fable of the beautiful Moon Lady.
My daughter is developing into quite the character herself. Her favorite food is a raspberry/strawberry fruit bar treat, recently discovered from a local organic grocery store. She actually consumed two of these before check out during a recent shopping trip. This morning, she pushed her scrambled eggs and toast with cream cheese away (usual breakfast favorites). "I want a fruit bar mommy." I slide her plate back in front of her. "Fruit bars are for snack honey," I explain," let's eat our breakfast." She's contemplating a temper tantrum. And in the next moment, she cocks her head to the side and raises her eyebrows up and down several times, Groucho Marx style. This is a new trick that made me laugh the night before. "Please mommy? See my eyes?" She wins. I hand her a fruit bar.
I am madly in love with these two children. In those precious moments of connection, I am touched beyond emotional explanation. There's no time to feel sorry for yourself when you are in the middle of wiping noses and tushes. You do not have the luxury of worrying about the lawyer's phone call five minutes ago when your little one climbs into your lap with a book.
In some ways, I think my divorce has helped me to become a better mother. I am learning to slow down and savor the time I have with my babies. I was always racing against the clock as a full time working mom, on and off airplanes, in and out of meetings, and realized that in the midst of a failing relationship, my children had a sleep-deprived, stressed out, unfulfilled person who tended to look at parenting responsibilities as tasks instead of opportunities. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy my time with my children, but now I am learning to really live in the present.
In the morning, on our way to preschool, we now take a different approach. Instead of quickly throwing on jackets and shoes to get out the door, we have extra kisses and hugs as each arm slips into a sleeve or a foot into a shoe. I take a moment to sniff the warmth of the back of their necks or the tops of their heads. Instead of muttering to the children that we are running late, this has become an opportunity for extra physical contact. We may be a few minutes late for yard time or snack time, but who cares? They won't remember what it meant to be prompt at this age, but they will remember how much mommy wants to love them with kisses and hugs before we climb into the car for school.
When they are with their father, I miss them. Terribly. The melancholy of those evenings alone in my home without them still puts me in a lonely place. I think about how they each climb into to bed with me when they are here, and I miss the comfort of holding them. Hearing them breathe peacefully and softly. Two little angels that are safe in my mama bear care.
But when we are apart, I know I can focus on healing and changing. I can pick up a book again. I can take a hike or walk on the beach. Sip a coffee and sit for a while. I can write.
A wise woman recently shared something with me that gives me great comfort (thank you). She said that "...the only thing you can control is your own actions. And I think this is important in relation to our children because often times this is the only life-lesson we have left to teach them: life isn't about what happens to you; it is about how you deal with what happens to you. And that lesson will trump all the other worries and anxieties you have about the effects of divorce and custody battles on their young lives."
There are always challenges in life. How we address them makes all the difference. For my broken spirit, my children are the strongest medicine in the world. They change your whole perspective and outlook on life and how to live it. But most importantly, if you can keep this top of mind, you have a chance to look at the world again through their eyes. It can become a special, magical place - one that is full of new experiences, new lessons, new discoveries, and promise. For your children, and for you.
We used to rush through bed time routines (brush teeth, two books, lights out) so that I could clean the kitchen, pick up the toys, and work late crunching out sales proposals and spreadsheets. Last night, at 36 and in the middle of a divorce, I got down on knee level next to my children in the backyard and we looked up at the moon together in the night sky. They are both in footed pajamas, and I have a blanket wrapped around them. I agreed with them, it was indeed, a beautiful sight. And then we came inside and climbed into mommy's bed, and I told them about the Chinese fable of the beautiful Moon Lady.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Setting the (Financial) Record Straight
I am truly hopeful that my ex loves his kids and will want to be a constant, positive, loving father to them for the rest of their lives. In case there's any confusion about the money thing, let's set the record straight:
1. Four months before my affair, this was the same man that left for a three day trip to Las Vegas and never called me or the kids while he was there.
2. Instead of conversation or even mediation, I was served two weeks after he left me for 50% custody of the children. I had no desire to sue my ex for child support (we were never legally married so spousal support was a non-issue) because I didn't want to fight over money. He was quick to sign the custodial plan because he had no interest in offering that money to me anyway (confirmed by legal counsel on both sides).
2. After a few months of dating, my ex moved in with me and lived rent and expense free for almost six months before I wrote the check from my funds to put a down payment on our family home. The loan was also secured in my name alone because his credit was destroyed when we met and he was broke. I believe he still owes several parties anywhere between $40,000 - $60,000 in defaulted debt today.
3. When his parents came here from another country (his mother needed colon surgery which then turned into multiple surgeries over the course of two years), at my encouragement, my ex allowed me to source the down payment and once again I took a loan in my name to buy a small apartment for them. My ex paid the mortgage to support his parents so that they wouldn't have anything to worry about. These expenses made my job even more of a necessity, but I didn't care. I was happy about this arrangement - my children would have the time and love of at least one set of grandparents living in the same city. I still have no regrets about this decision, and have offered to walk away from this property to keep their living situation intact. Their own son wants to sell the condo to split the equity.
3. While I worked full time in a demanding sales job that required weekly travel, my ex was able to build a flourishing web based business that can be valued today at approximately $5 to $6 million. He had a five minute commute to his office.
4. Only during the course of financial discovery, I learned that his reported income was equal to or greater than mine for the last three years. And as a business owner, you usually pocket much more than what you report. Sad to say, he became less transparent about his earnings as the money started rolling in. While I went back to work after 6 weeks of maternity leave and boarded planes with tears and a breastpump, he was happy to cry poverty. Oh, and he made sure that we contributed equally to household expenses. He never forgot to reimburse himself at the end of the month for half the groceries, the utilities, etc.
5. When he left, he demanded that I pay him half the equity of the home, along with half of all other assets I may have owned BEFORE we were even together. He even handed me an excel spreadsheet to review. When I told him coming up with this kind of cash was impossible and force me and the children out of the house, he told me that wasn't his problem. In fact, he enlisted lawyers to initiate a frivolous lawsuit based on the famous Lee Marvin case (unmarried cohabitants) or what I call the "psychological mind fuck" lawsuit which included:
a. Strangers (large men) serving you papers at your home when you are alone after hours when opposing counsel is fully aware that all correspondence needs to go to your lawyers.
b. Financial discovery (i.e. coming up with four huge file boxes of any and all possible financial records for the last seven years of your life that takes almost a week of your time organizing and photocopying at Kinkos) even though I was not asking for child support.
c. Leveraging the legal fees that are incurred when phone calls are made, documents faxed, and court dates scheduled. For the activities of the civil lawyer for the month of December 2007 alone, I had to write a $9000 check. This does not include the seperate fees of the estate lawyer (up until a week ago, if I got hit by a car and ended up on life support, my ex had the legal right to pull the plug and take everything if he wanted) and the family lawyer.
6. In the hopes of creating an opportunity to move forward, I formally offered to come up with half of what he was looking for in December. My family and friends said I was crazy to put myself in this financial duress. I told them I just wanted it all to be done, and this would give both of us a chance to move forward. His lawyers accepted the offer. Two weeks went by and we had not received any signed paperwork. Instead, my ex decided to fire the lawyers and find new counsel to continue the legal harassment.
I know that many of you out there can relate to what it is like to struggle growing up. I had a father that couldn't hold a job because of his drinking problem and subsequently, there wasn't much financial stability in my household. I put myself through college with an academic scholarship and juggling 2-3 part-time jobs. Immediately after graduation I started an entry level position with a media company while four of my best girlfriends toured Europe on an all expense paid graduation present from their parents. I ate a lot of Ramen noodles that first year just so I could pay rent.
At 24, I cashed out whatever savings I was able to scrape living in NYC and moved home to help my mother save her house. That next year, I accepted a promotion that required me to relocate 3000 miles away from family and friends to a city where I knew no one because it was an opportunity to improve my life. I built a life and a career on my own.
At 30, I met my ex and fell in love. I supported him emotionally, physically, and financially, but he never really returned the favor. And after six years of providing him with a financial safety net to help him build a business, he still wants to grab as much cash as he can before he goes. I have not requested one penny from him during this process.
I want to believe that my ex really loves his children, but his actions tell me that he loves money more, even if he hasn't earned it. So if it is selfish and indulgent to wonder if this is a father who has his children's best interests at heart, or someone who is purposely logging the hours to insure he doesn't have to part with the mighty dollar while leveraging the emotional strain he knows I'm feeling when I'm apart from my children, then so be it.
Remember that $9000 check I wrote in December for legal fees? Yeah...wouldn't a father who loves his kids prefer that to have gone into a college fund?
1. Four months before my affair, this was the same man that left for a three day trip to Las Vegas and never called me or the kids while he was there.
2. Instead of conversation or even mediation, I was served two weeks after he left me for 50% custody of the children. I had no desire to sue my ex for child support (we were never legally married so spousal support was a non-issue) because I didn't want to fight over money. He was quick to sign the custodial plan because he had no interest in offering that money to me anyway (confirmed by legal counsel on both sides).
2. After a few months of dating, my ex moved in with me and lived rent and expense free for almost six months before I wrote the check from my funds to put a down payment on our family home. The loan was also secured in my name alone because his credit was destroyed when we met and he was broke. I believe he still owes several parties anywhere between $40,000 - $60,000 in defaulted debt today.
3. When his parents came here from another country (his mother needed colon surgery which then turned into multiple surgeries over the course of two years), at my encouragement, my ex allowed me to source the down payment and once again I took a loan in my name to buy a small apartment for them. My ex paid the mortgage to support his parents so that they wouldn't have anything to worry about. These expenses made my job even more of a necessity, but I didn't care. I was happy about this arrangement - my children would have the time and love of at least one set of grandparents living in the same city. I still have no regrets about this decision, and have offered to walk away from this property to keep their living situation intact. Their own son wants to sell the condo to split the equity.
3. While I worked full time in a demanding sales job that required weekly travel, my ex was able to build a flourishing web based business that can be valued today at approximately $5 to $6 million. He had a five minute commute to his office.
4. Only during the course of financial discovery, I learned that his reported income was equal to or greater than mine for the last three years. And as a business owner, you usually pocket much more than what you report. Sad to say, he became less transparent about his earnings as the money started rolling in. While I went back to work after 6 weeks of maternity leave and boarded planes with tears and a breastpump, he was happy to cry poverty. Oh, and he made sure that we contributed equally to household expenses. He never forgot to reimburse himself at the end of the month for half the groceries, the utilities, etc.
5. When he left, he demanded that I pay him half the equity of the home, along with half of all other assets I may have owned BEFORE we were even together. He even handed me an excel spreadsheet to review. When I told him coming up with this kind of cash was impossible and force me and the children out of the house, he told me that wasn't his problem. In fact, he enlisted lawyers to initiate a frivolous lawsuit based on the famous Lee Marvin case (unmarried cohabitants) or what I call the "psychological mind fuck" lawsuit which included:
a. Strangers (large men) serving you papers at your home when you are alone after hours when opposing counsel is fully aware that all correspondence needs to go to your lawyers.
b. Financial discovery (i.e. coming up with four huge file boxes of any and all possible financial records for the last seven years of your life that takes almost a week of your time organizing and photocopying at Kinkos) even though I was not asking for child support.
c. Leveraging the legal fees that are incurred when phone calls are made, documents faxed, and court dates scheduled. For the activities of the civil lawyer for the month of December 2007 alone, I had to write a $9000 check. This does not include the seperate fees of the estate lawyer (up until a week ago, if I got hit by a car and ended up on life support, my ex had the legal right to pull the plug and take everything if he wanted) and the family lawyer.
6. In the hopes of creating an opportunity to move forward, I formally offered to come up with half of what he was looking for in December. My family and friends said I was crazy to put myself in this financial duress. I told them I just wanted it all to be done, and this would give both of us a chance to move forward. His lawyers accepted the offer. Two weeks went by and we had not received any signed paperwork. Instead, my ex decided to fire the lawyers and find new counsel to continue the legal harassment.
I know that many of you out there can relate to what it is like to struggle growing up. I had a father that couldn't hold a job because of his drinking problem and subsequently, there wasn't much financial stability in my household. I put myself through college with an academic scholarship and juggling 2-3 part-time jobs. Immediately after graduation I started an entry level position with a media company while four of my best girlfriends toured Europe on an all expense paid graduation present from their parents. I ate a lot of Ramen noodles that first year just so I could pay rent.
At 24, I cashed out whatever savings I was able to scrape living in NYC and moved home to help my mother save her house. That next year, I accepted a promotion that required me to relocate 3000 miles away from family and friends to a city where I knew no one because it was an opportunity to improve my life. I built a life and a career on my own.
At 30, I met my ex and fell in love. I supported him emotionally, physically, and financially, but he never really returned the favor. And after six years of providing him with a financial safety net to help him build a business, he still wants to grab as much cash as he can before he goes. I have not requested one penny from him during this process.
I want to believe that my ex really loves his children, but his actions tell me that he loves money more, even if he hasn't earned it. So if it is selfish and indulgent to wonder if this is a father who has his children's best interests at heart, or someone who is purposely logging the hours to insure he doesn't have to part with the mighty dollar while leveraging the emotional strain he knows I'm feeling when I'm apart from my children, then so be it.
Remember that $9000 check I wrote in December for legal fees? Yeah...wouldn't a father who loves his kids prefer that to have gone into a college fund?
Monday, January 28, 2008
"I'll send an S.O.S. to the world..."
"Just a castaway, an island lost at sea, oh
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh...
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world...
I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle"
At twelve years old I fell in love with Gordon Sumner, front man for The Police and have continued the school girl crush for the solo artist, most notably known as Sting, into my adult years. Funny thing, it wasn't really his voice or his looks that translated into the sex appeal for me at twelve. It was the poetry of his lyrics. Now, as a woman, I dig the yoga enthusiast, tantric love-making, environmentally conscious package he represents (looks and voice included). And I still love the poetry of his lyrics.
The first time a man ever wrote a poem for me, it was P. from the rooftop bar in NYC. It was shortly after our meeting last year when we decided to have the affair. It was a beautiful piece. It still sends chills down my back to read such powerful words, spoken from the heart.
I spent the first month after my ex, G., learned about the affair, in silent despair. With the exception of my best friend, my sister, and my mother, I did not share what was happening in my life with anyone else. I did not know how to reach out. I convinced myself that things were not over. We tried couples counseling to sort through the pain. How do you tell the world the truth if there was a chance that you and your partner might be able to work through the mess? The Chinese way is not to "lose face." You lose face when you have failed at a task, when you have disappointed another, when you have done something to warrant shame and it is known by others. You do not want to show this face. Thousands of years ago, it was not unheard of to choose death over this fate.
Business colleagues asked about my ex casually. "Any vacation plans coming up?" "How are things going with his business?" I would bump into neighbors while taking out the trash. "How is G. doing? I haven't seen you guys around much." I changed the subject, gave vague answers. As long as everything seemed status quo, I had not "lost face."
I thought I could handle this privately. Isolation was my answer. Let me function in a vacuum and fix everything and then come back out into civilization when I could stand tall and be proud again. But it was killing me. And ultimately, I realized I was not functioning at all. I sobbed in front of my children, lost focus on work, stopped sleeping and eating.
In July of last year, after she learned about what happened, my best friend raced to my house and let me crumble in hysterics in her arms. But I couldn't bombard her a hundred times a day anymore with my tearful phone calls. With a very full life of her own, my emotional roller coaster, left unchecked, would suck the life force out of her.
By September, I decided to share the separation with one more friend, and then another. How terrifying to admit failure, to reveal the shame, to tell people that the father of your children hates you so much that he has enlisted legal assistance to systematically dismantle you?
And then how amazing to form stronger bonds with these friends, some who have been through a divorce with children themselves and then later come to terms with their own true sexuality, some that are currently married or have children and confess that they are in the midst of similar relationship challenges, and some that are in loving, healthy relationships, but still offer open arms and hearts to you.
In October, I scheduled a meeting with my children's preschool director so that their teachers and school staff were aware of the changes in our family dynamics. She provided her expert counsel on how to insure that my kids could better process the break-up. But it also became a heart-to-heart that I didn't even expect. I learned that she went through a divorce herself, with three small children to take care of. And now she is the owner of one of the most well regarded and highly successful private preschools in my major metro. And her children are grown and wonderfully well adjusted in spite of the divorce (her youngest actually works at the school and she is lovely). "Make sure you are good to yourself." she smiled warmly. "Have a glass of wine with friends. Go see a movie." And then she added, "You may not see this now, but you will come out a winner."
In December, I had lunch with a client while on a business trip. I had always admired her drive, her tenacity, and her sense of humor. We talked about a few business issues, and then she shared that her mother had passed recently. I was amazed at how open and honest she was as she recounted the feelings leading up to her mother's death. It wasn't an ideal relationship - the one she shared with her mother - but it was real and raw. And the most personal discussion I had ever had with her. I wanted to connect with her in that same way, and so I told my client my story. "You know I'm a single mom," she shared, "and I went through a messy divorce too. You're a wonderful mother and a good person. And good things happen to good people. You're going to be fine - hang in there."
Last weekend, a friend of mine came into town and I suggested that we take a drive to a nearby coastal beach. It is a near pristine walk and a short hike to the top of one of the most beautiful views. When you stand there and listen to how peaceful and quiet it is, and see how blue and calm the ocean can be from this vantage point, it actually feels like it's cleansing your soul. Afterwards, we took a drive back into town for a coffee. While waiting in line behind a mom and two small children (they were about the same age as mine) for the one female restroom, I couldn't help but comment on how gorgeous and animated her little boy and little girl were, delivered with the amusement and interest of one mom to another.
"Twins?" I asked. The mom nodded and smiled "They are both three and a half. We're heading to a birthday party. Do you have kids?"
This was a complete stranger. "Yes, " I confessed, " but they are with their father this weekend. I've got a four year old and a two year old."
"Divorced?" she asked, and I nodded. "Me too." She winked at me. "It is actually so much better this way. I used to think I had three kids to take care of. Now I'm doing great." And then she ushered the children into the restroom.
When it was my turn, she walked out and took my hand. "It was really nice talking with you. You know, you look like you're doing great too. "
I watched her head towards the parking lot with her tots in tow, and then she turned around and smiled at me. I gave her a big grin of thanks in return. I realized that I had not "lost face" by reaching out. Instead, I have gained strength. My thanks to all of you. I intend to pass it forward.
"Walked out this morning, don't believe what I saw
Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore
Seems I'm not alone in being alone..."
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh...
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world...
I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle"
At twelve years old I fell in love with Gordon Sumner, front man for The Police and have continued the school girl crush for the solo artist, most notably known as Sting, into my adult years. Funny thing, it wasn't really his voice or his looks that translated into the sex appeal for me at twelve. It was the poetry of his lyrics. Now, as a woman, I dig the yoga enthusiast, tantric love-making, environmentally conscious package he represents (looks and voice included). And I still love the poetry of his lyrics.
The first time a man ever wrote a poem for me, it was P. from the rooftop bar in NYC. It was shortly after our meeting last year when we decided to have the affair. It was a beautiful piece. It still sends chills down my back to read such powerful words, spoken from the heart.
I spent the first month after my ex, G., learned about the affair, in silent despair. With the exception of my best friend, my sister, and my mother, I did not share what was happening in my life with anyone else. I did not know how to reach out. I convinced myself that things were not over. We tried couples counseling to sort through the pain. How do you tell the world the truth if there was a chance that you and your partner might be able to work through the mess? The Chinese way is not to "lose face." You lose face when you have failed at a task, when you have disappointed another, when you have done something to warrant shame and it is known by others. You do not want to show this face. Thousands of years ago, it was not unheard of to choose death over this fate.
Business colleagues asked about my ex casually. "Any vacation plans coming up?" "How are things going with his business?" I would bump into neighbors while taking out the trash. "How is G. doing? I haven't seen you guys around much." I changed the subject, gave vague answers. As long as everything seemed status quo, I had not "lost face."
I thought I could handle this privately. Isolation was my answer. Let me function in a vacuum and fix everything and then come back out into civilization when I could stand tall and be proud again. But it was killing me. And ultimately, I realized I was not functioning at all. I sobbed in front of my children, lost focus on work, stopped sleeping and eating.
In July of last year, after she learned about what happened, my best friend raced to my house and let me crumble in hysterics in her arms. But I couldn't bombard her a hundred times a day anymore with my tearful phone calls. With a very full life of her own, my emotional roller coaster, left unchecked, would suck the life force out of her.
By September, I decided to share the separation with one more friend, and then another. How terrifying to admit failure, to reveal the shame, to tell people that the father of your children hates you so much that he has enlisted legal assistance to systematically dismantle you?
And then how amazing to form stronger bonds with these friends, some who have been through a divorce with children themselves and then later come to terms with their own true sexuality, some that are currently married or have children and confess that they are in the midst of similar relationship challenges, and some that are in loving, healthy relationships, but still offer open arms and hearts to you.
In October, I scheduled a meeting with my children's preschool director so that their teachers and school staff were aware of the changes in our family dynamics. She provided her expert counsel on how to insure that my kids could better process the break-up. But it also became a heart-to-heart that I didn't even expect. I learned that she went through a divorce herself, with three small children to take care of. And now she is the owner of one of the most well regarded and highly successful private preschools in my major metro. And her children are grown and wonderfully well adjusted in spite of the divorce (her youngest actually works at the school and she is lovely). "Make sure you are good to yourself." she smiled warmly. "Have a glass of wine with friends. Go see a movie." And then she added, "You may not see this now, but you will come out a winner."
In December, I had lunch with a client while on a business trip. I had always admired her drive, her tenacity, and her sense of humor. We talked about a few business issues, and then she shared that her mother had passed recently. I was amazed at how open and honest she was as she recounted the feelings leading up to her mother's death. It wasn't an ideal relationship - the one she shared with her mother - but it was real and raw. And the most personal discussion I had ever had with her. I wanted to connect with her in that same way, and so I told my client my story. "You know I'm a single mom," she shared, "and I went through a messy divorce too. You're a wonderful mother and a good person. And good things happen to good people. You're going to be fine - hang in there."
Last weekend, a friend of mine came into town and I suggested that we take a drive to a nearby coastal beach. It is a near pristine walk and a short hike to the top of one of the most beautiful views. When you stand there and listen to how peaceful and quiet it is, and see how blue and calm the ocean can be from this vantage point, it actually feels like it's cleansing your soul. Afterwards, we took a drive back into town for a coffee. While waiting in line behind a mom and two small children (they were about the same age as mine) for the one female restroom, I couldn't help but comment on how gorgeous and animated her little boy and little girl were, delivered with the amusement and interest of one mom to another.
"Twins?" I asked. The mom nodded and smiled "They are both three and a half. We're heading to a birthday party. Do you have kids?"
This was a complete stranger. "Yes, " I confessed, " but they are with their father this weekend. I've got a four year old and a two year old."
"Divorced?" she asked, and I nodded. "Me too." She winked at me. "It is actually so much better this way. I used to think I had three kids to take care of. Now I'm doing great." And then she ushered the children into the restroom.
When it was my turn, she walked out and took my hand. "It was really nice talking with you. You know, you look like you're doing great too. "
I watched her head towards the parking lot with her tots in tow, and then she turned around and smiled at me. I gave her a big grin of thanks in return. I realized that I had not "lost face" by reaching out. Instead, I have gained strength. My thanks to all of you. I intend to pass it forward.
"Walked out this morning, don't believe what I saw
Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore
Seems I'm not alone in being alone..."
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
The Affair: "You make your bed, you lay in it."
It's an expression my Chinese mother would always use as I was growing up: "You make your bed, you lay in it." Translation: your choices determine your consequences. It's also what my Chinese grandmother said to my mom in anger when she decided to marry a Caucasion man. One that turned out to be a womanizer and an alcoholic. So it has been no surprise that my mother has used this phrase often during my lifetime when she knew I was about to make what she felt was a poor decision.
How ironic that this has became the metaphor for the affair I had last year. I'm certainly laying in the bed I've made.
It amazes me how we are so quick to pass judgment on someone who has cheated. My ex informed me that it is the "worst of betrayals" and "you should have left first if you were so unhappy." I have been cheated on too during my adulthood - the pain is horrible. So you might naturally assume, once someone has cheated on you, that it is definitely something you could never put another person through. But people, we are human, and whether it is anger or loneliness, sadness or fear, addiction or boredom, or even falling in love with another person, can we all agree that IT HAPPENS often? I'm not saying it makes cheating right, but it certainly, from my perspective, doesn't make it wrong. Instead, it is a choice, and it comes with consequences. When my ex found out, he threatened to walk up and down our neighborhood block and inform our neighbors, as well as family and friends, that I was a homewrecker and a liar. When I told my best friend of his intentions, she chuckled and said "Your neighbors are going to hear the news, shrug their shoulders, and say to someone else at the dinner table 'Can you please pass the potaotes?'"
Trust me, things were pretty awful in my relationship with my ex for two years before the affair happened. I didn't just wake up one morning, look at my life, and think "Hmmm....I want to go screw somebody else." Somewhere between trying to create a home for two children and the responsibilities of both parents working full time, we lost track of each other. I watched other people become my ex's first emotional and financial priority - his business partner, his friends, and even his parents. And I was still in denial, waiting for the recognition that I was yearning for as the mother of his children, as a significant income producer, as a home-maker, care-taker, laundry washing, dinner cooking, social coordinating water-buffalo attached to a thankless yoke.
Desperate to make this relationship a success, we found ourselves in and out of couples counseling for several years. I remember being pregnant and/or nursing our second child and sitting in the therapist's office in tears. Things would get a bit better for a week after the session, and then he would gravitate towards the same behavior. And after a productive hour with our therapist, he would be armed with new information to attack me with during our next argument. "You're the one with the issues" he would say, "you're the one who needs help."
Our home was full of the latest and greatest in technological advancements - a showcase to my ex's other interests. I stare at an obnoxiously huge flat screen television hanging from gravity-defying mechanics on the center of the living room wall with such resentment. We've got all the gadgets - overpriced and just released to market. I happen to love books and the theater. A hike in the mountains with a picnic basket. A walk on the beach. After almost six years together, he still doesn't know who my favorite author or muscial artist is.
For his 35th birthday, I threw a huge dinner party on my dime for almost twenty of his closest buddies and our mutual friends. My ex was just launching a business and flat broke at the time, and I remember how his friends would talk about weekend dirt bike excursions, and how he couldn't justify spending the money on one for himself so that he could join them. The look on his face when the brand new dirt bike was wheeled into the restaurant was priceless. It brought me so much joy to arrange that day and that gift for him.
That was five years ago. Last year, for my 35th birthday, I got a digital picture frame and a pat on the back.
In an effort to insure that my 35th received a bit of the fanfare it deserved, my east coast girlfriends encouraged me to book a ticket and fly to New York for a fun weekend. They treated me to a wonderful night on the town in NYC, and that was when I met P. on a rooftop bar. We talked about our respective families, our children, our work. And he told me that my ex was a lucky guy, that I was very special. He told me that I was beautiful. And when we said goodnight, we shared one kiss. There was no exchange of numbers, no running to hotel rooms for one-night stands. The honest truth is that we said good-bye. And there was no communication until I received that phone call almost a month later when he managed to find a way to track me down.
It took a few months (actually five) when the affair finally happened. But the wheels were already set in motion when we met and when we reconnected.
When my ex learned about the affair, it was the catalyst to hasten a process that was already well underway. But that's when things got ugly. Because in the course of our relationship, I had also learned that he would never take responsibility for his actions. He could never say, "That was my fault. I was wrong." He couldn't even say "I take my share of blame." And because, from his perspective, he needed to place the blame on me, how better to justify his position than to make sure I was punished in some way? So he left, with no desire for reconciliation. And hence, the legal battle over money.
It worried me more when my mother learned about the affair. I waited for her to say in disappointment "You make your bed, you lay in it." And you know what happened? Instead, with tears in her eyes, she held both of my hands in hers. She said, "I never want to see you suffer the way I did with your father. I was not happy with him and I stayed in that marriage for too long. You deserve your happiness in this life. You deserve to be loved. You did a good thing. You did a good thing."
So yes, I am dealing with the consequences of my actions. But they are not all bad. I have a chance at happiness again, and I do deserve it.
How ironic that this has became the metaphor for the affair I had last year. I'm certainly laying in the bed I've made.
It amazes me how we are so quick to pass judgment on someone who has cheated. My ex informed me that it is the "worst of betrayals" and "you should have left first if you were so unhappy." I have been cheated on too during my adulthood - the pain is horrible. So you might naturally assume, once someone has cheated on you, that it is definitely something you could never put another person through. But people, we are human, and whether it is anger or loneliness, sadness or fear, addiction or boredom, or even falling in love with another person, can we all agree that IT HAPPENS often? I'm not saying it makes cheating right, but it certainly, from my perspective, doesn't make it wrong. Instead, it is a choice, and it comes with consequences. When my ex found out, he threatened to walk up and down our neighborhood block and inform our neighbors, as well as family and friends, that I was a homewrecker and a liar. When I told my best friend of his intentions, she chuckled and said "Your neighbors are going to hear the news, shrug their shoulders, and say to someone else at the dinner table 'Can you please pass the potaotes?'"
Trust me, things were pretty awful in my relationship with my ex for two years before the affair happened. I didn't just wake up one morning, look at my life, and think "Hmmm....I want to go screw somebody else." Somewhere between trying to create a home for two children and the responsibilities of both parents working full time, we lost track of each other. I watched other people become my ex's first emotional and financial priority - his business partner, his friends, and even his parents. And I was still in denial, waiting for the recognition that I was yearning for as the mother of his children, as a significant income producer, as a home-maker, care-taker, laundry washing, dinner cooking, social coordinating water-buffalo attached to a thankless yoke.
Desperate to make this relationship a success, we found ourselves in and out of couples counseling for several years. I remember being pregnant and/or nursing our second child and sitting in the therapist's office in tears. Things would get a bit better for a week after the session, and then he would gravitate towards the same behavior. And after a productive hour with our therapist, he would be armed with new information to attack me with during our next argument. "You're the one with the issues" he would say, "you're the one who needs help."
Our home was full of the latest and greatest in technological advancements - a showcase to my ex's other interests. I stare at an obnoxiously huge flat screen television hanging from gravity-defying mechanics on the center of the living room wall with such resentment. We've got all the gadgets - overpriced and just released to market. I happen to love books and the theater. A hike in the mountains with a picnic basket. A walk on the beach. After almost six years together, he still doesn't know who my favorite author or muscial artist is.
For his 35th birthday, I threw a huge dinner party on my dime for almost twenty of his closest buddies and our mutual friends. My ex was just launching a business and flat broke at the time, and I remember how his friends would talk about weekend dirt bike excursions, and how he couldn't justify spending the money on one for himself so that he could join them. The look on his face when the brand new dirt bike was wheeled into the restaurant was priceless. It brought me so much joy to arrange that day and that gift for him.
That was five years ago. Last year, for my 35th birthday, I got a digital picture frame and a pat on the back.
In an effort to insure that my 35th received a bit of the fanfare it deserved, my east coast girlfriends encouraged me to book a ticket and fly to New York for a fun weekend. They treated me to a wonderful night on the town in NYC, and that was when I met P. on a rooftop bar. We talked about our respective families, our children, our work. And he told me that my ex was a lucky guy, that I was very special. He told me that I was beautiful. And when we said goodnight, we shared one kiss. There was no exchange of numbers, no running to hotel rooms for one-night stands. The honest truth is that we said good-bye. And there was no communication until I received that phone call almost a month later when he managed to find a way to track me down.
It took a few months (actually five) when the affair finally happened. But the wheels were already set in motion when we met and when we reconnected.
When my ex learned about the affair, it was the catalyst to hasten a process that was already well underway. But that's when things got ugly. Because in the course of our relationship, I had also learned that he would never take responsibility for his actions. He could never say, "That was my fault. I was wrong." He couldn't even say "I take my share of blame." And because, from his perspective, he needed to place the blame on me, how better to justify his position than to make sure I was punished in some way? So he left, with no desire for reconciliation. And hence, the legal battle over money.
It worried me more when my mother learned about the affair. I waited for her to say in disappointment "You make your bed, you lay in it." And you know what happened? Instead, with tears in her eyes, she held both of my hands in hers. She said, "I never want to see you suffer the way I did with your father. I was not happy with him and I stayed in that marriage for too long. You deserve your happiness in this life. You deserve to be loved. You did a good thing. You did a good thing."
So yes, I am dealing with the consequences of my actions. But they are not all bad. I have a chance at happiness again, and I do deserve it.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
The Custodial Plan
What a formal and almost benign phrase for "how to turn your children's world upside down." In my case, my ex didn't even bother to discuss this situation amicably. Instead, two weeks after he left, I was served with papers early in the morning, at my home, in front of my children, that stated I was being sued for 50% custody.
At first I was in denial. These are OUR children, for god's sake. He was there in the delivery room when each of them entered the world. We bathed and dressed them together. We changed their diapers together. Went grocery shopping as a family on weekends. Sat vigil in the hospital when our son needed surgery and when our daughter was in respiratory distress from bacterial pneumonia. Raced from work and attended every preschool tour as a couple. We were a united front in the care and welfare and the raising of our children since the day each of them were born. And now, he was using a legal hammer to crush that dynamic.
Although my heart was screaming for full custody of my kids, it wasn't a realistic option during this legal process to insist on a greater custodial share. Unless my ex was a drug dealer, child abuser, or a dead beat dad, the courts would protect his desired share requirements. Even if I could insist on a 60%/40% or 70%/30% time split in my favor, my income was too close to his to be able to sue for child support. This would translate into figuring out how to manage the additional expenses on my own. And with the demands of a full time sales job, the children would end up having more face-time with a nanny or sitter that I couldn't afford than with their father. And so we paid lawyers dearly to ink an arrangement that adds to the never-ending anxiety that I am unable to shake.
The children spend Mondays through Wednesdays with one parent, Wednesday evening through Saturday morning with the other parent, with weekends alternating between parents. Essentially the children are being shuttled back and forth every 2-3 days.
The schedule is tough. I can't help but wonder if this is causing unnecessary stress on these little minds and bodies. And to compensate, they get away with a bit more than they used to. I let them sleep in bed with me. I end up buying a few more toys or goodies than I really should.
I know that the boundaries and structure is what will help them feel secure. But how do I shake the overwhelming guilt? Friends with one school of thought say that a two year old and four year old will get used to this situation and are very resilient at this age. But I can't help but notice the extra "acting out" that has been happening these last few months and spending the first day of each chunk of time with my kids trying to undo behavior that didn't get the mommy seal of approval the last time it was displayed.
It's a struggle knowing that I have a limited amount of control over what happens with their father, and if he is maintaining boundaries and structure as well. We are forced to talk about topics that require communication (i.e. if the kids are sick), but since I'm involved in a bitter battle over money with my ex, I'm lucky if I can get a few one syllable words and grunts from this individual. No stories about new milestones that I'm missing or life's lessons that the children are learning, no tales of how these beautiful little people are growing or changing when I'm not with them. He has no interest in sharing any of it.
And of course, when you no longer have a say regarding your ex partner's personal life, you realize you have limited control over who comes in contact with your children. And it's a harsh reality to know that your ex may have a new girlfriend, someone that you pray will be a positive and loving influence. I have yet to meet a divorced couple that have been able to share a story about this truly happening.
Well, the law says he's got to contribute to medical expenses. He better choose wisely. Or I'll make sure he foots the bill for the therapy costs of my kids having to deal with a mean, jealous bitch.
At first I was in denial. These are OUR children, for god's sake. He was there in the delivery room when each of them entered the world. We bathed and dressed them together. We changed their diapers together. Went grocery shopping as a family on weekends. Sat vigil in the hospital when our son needed surgery and when our daughter was in respiratory distress from bacterial pneumonia. Raced from work and attended every preschool tour as a couple. We were a united front in the care and welfare and the raising of our children since the day each of them were born. And now, he was using a legal hammer to crush that dynamic.
Although my heart was screaming for full custody of my kids, it wasn't a realistic option during this legal process to insist on a greater custodial share. Unless my ex was a drug dealer, child abuser, or a dead beat dad, the courts would protect his desired share requirements. Even if I could insist on a 60%/40% or 70%/30% time split in my favor, my income was too close to his to be able to sue for child support. This would translate into figuring out how to manage the additional expenses on my own. And with the demands of a full time sales job, the children would end up having more face-time with a nanny or sitter that I couldn't afford than with their father. And so we paid lawyers dearly to ink an arrangement that adds to the never-ending anxiety that I am unable to shake.
The children spend Mondays through Wednesdays with one parent, Wednesday evening through Saturday morning with the other parent, with weekends alternating between parents. Essentially the children are being shuttled back and forth every 2-3 days.
The schedule is tough. I can't help but wonder if this is causing unnecessary stress on these little minds and bodies. And to compensate, they get away with a bit more than they used to. I let them sleep in bed with me. I end up buying a few more toys or goodies than I really should.
I know that the boundaries and structure is what will help them feel secure. But how do I shake the overwhelming guilt? Friends with one school of thought say that a two year old and four year old will get used to this situation and are very resilient at this age. But I can't help but notice the extra "acting out" that has been happening these last few months and spending the first day of each chunk of time with my kids trying to undo behavior that didn't get the mommy seal of approval the last time it was displayed.
It's a struggle knowing that I have a limited amount of control over what happens with their father, and if he is maintaining boundaries and structure as well. We are forced to talk about topics that require communication (i.e. if the kids are sick), but since I'm involved in a bitter battle over money with my ex, I'm lucky if I can get a few one syllable words and grunts from this individual. No stories about new milestones that I'm missing or life's lessons that the children are learning, no tales of how these beautiful little people are growing or changing when I'm not with them. He has no interest in sharing any of it.
And of course, when you no longer have a say regarding your ex partner's personal life, you realize you have limited control over who comes in contact with your children. And it's a harsh reality to know that your ex may have a new girlfriend, someone that you pray will be a positive and loving influence. I have yet to meet a divorced couple that have been able to share a story about this truly happening.
Well, the law says he's got to contribute to medical expenses. He better choose wisely. Or I'll make sure he foots the bill for the therapy costs of my kids having to deal with a mean, jealous bitch.
Monday, January 14, 2008
You really need some personal time
Let's just say that I am sick and tired of hearing that. The other day, I was on the phone with a well meaning business colleague that said that I needed to put on some lipstick, go out, and have a drink and a few laughs to help me feel better. This was while the phone was cradled between my ear and shoulder, my arms full of vomit covered towels and sheets during what must have been the tenth trip in the last twelve hours to my washer. While my two-year old was battling a stomach bug, and her four-year old brother was delivering a fabulous temper tantrum over being told that he would not be getting chocolate pudding for lunch, it was all I could do to keep up and not throw the phone in the toilet.
Lipstick? How about under-eye concealer in spackle strength? Right now, I look like someone has dragged me across the 405 Freeway face down. I need a complete overhaul before I can even begin to muster up the courage to venture out to a bar or restaurant and try to dress as if I'm back on the market. Because there's nothing better for the ego than to go out to a hip night spot in a major city dressed in the smelly sweats I've been sporting for the past 48 hours (covered in vomit). Let's not mention the roots (not the ethereal, Gwyneth Paltrow, fashionably darker roots that are beautifully complemented by the long golden blonde tresses that I read about in In Style magazine at the LAST hair appointment). These roots, that have suffered two missed appointments in the last month - cancelled because mommy duty calls- have evolved into the airport landing strip (this expression, borrowed from my lovely best friend), artistically delivered by the garish contrast of brown-black and premature gray that now covers about a third of my scalp. As my mom would say "NO so pretty. How come you don't try to get a permanent? Curly hair cover gray." With all due respect to my mother, I find that Asian women that sport salon-assisted curly hair should be placed in the same category as Asian women that think blonde is an attractive hair color option.
Sure I'd love to go out. For the last two months, I've been trying to hire a part-time sitter that will work on a consistently inconsistent schedule. Everyone who needs to pay rent and make a reliable wage is absolutely jumping through hoops to secure the some hours this week/no hours next week/maybe some hours the week after situation I can generously offer. That's the beauty of having a sales job that requires varied travel and coming up with a custodial share agreement with your ex that switches weekdays with the kids each week and alternates weekends. Let's not forget to mention what this is doing to the kids, but I will save that story for another time. And of course, I should also mention that I've got children that live in the "life is a petri-dish" age range and 'tis the season for for a viral circuit party. So on nights off, I've been staying in, taking care of sick little ones, regardless of who is supposed to have the kids. Because let's face it, when they are sick, who do they really want anyway?
Sure I'd love a drink. How about a swig of Pedialyte? And a few laughs? Someone call me when the lynch mob is finished with my ex.
Yeah...great suggestion regarding going out for a drink. I'll file that with "you need to get laid" and "you have to remember to take care of yourself" and "at the end of this, you're going to be ok." Because as much as you love the well-meaning family and friends that want to provide you with support and words of wisdom on how to feel better, sometimes just hearing someone say "This really sucks, I'm so sorry" does the trick. I promise that you don't have to rack your brains to come up with the appropriate comment.
Personal time is a wonderful idea to me. Kind of like winning the lottery right now. Keep dreaming. I'll save the dollar, since I really need it to pay the bills.
Lipstick? How about under-eye concealer in spackle strength? Right now, I look like someone has dragged me across the 405 Freeway face down. I need a complete overhaul before I can even begin to muster up the courage to venture out to a bar or restaurant and try to dress as if I'm back on the market. Because there's nothing better for the ego than to go out to a hip night spot in a major city dressed in the smelly sweats I've been sporting for the past 48 hours (covered in vomit). Let's not mention the roots (not the ethereal, Gwyneth Paltrow, fashionably darker roots that are beautifully complemented by the long golden blonde tresses that I read about in In Style magazine at the LAST hair appointment). These roots, that have suffered two missed appointments in the last month - cancelled because mommy duty calls- have evolved into the airport landing strip (this expression, borrowed from my lovely best friend), artistically delivered by the garish contrast of brown-black and premature gray that now covers about a third of my scalp. As my mom would say "NO so pretty. How come you don't try to get a permanent? Curly hair cover gray." With all due respect to my mother, I find that Asian women that sport salon-assisted curly hair should be placed in the same category as Asian women that think blonde is an attractive hair color option.
Sure I'd love to go out. For the last two months, I've been trying to hire a part-time sitter that will work on a consistently inconsistent schedule. Everyone who needs to pay rent and make a reliable wage is absolutely jumping through hoops to secure the some hours this week/no hours next week/maybe some hours the week after situation I can generously offer. That's the beauty of having a sales job that requires varied travel and coming up with a custodial share agreement with your ex that switches weekdays with the kids each week and alternates weekends. Let's not forget to mention what this is doing to the kids, but I will save that story for another time. And of course, I should also mention that I've got children that live in the "life is a petri-dish" age range and 'tis the season for for a viral circuit party. So on nights off, I've been staying in, taking care of sick little ones, regardless of who is supposed to have the kids. Because let's face it, when they are sick, who do they really want anyway?
Sure I'd love a drink. How about a swig of Pedialyte? And a few laughs? Someone call me when the lynch mob is finished with my ex.
Yeah...great suggestion regarding going out for a drink. I'll file that with "you need to get laid" and "you have to remember to take care of yourself" and "at the end of this, you're going to be ok." Because as much as you love the well-meaning family and friends that want to provide you with support and words of wisdom on how to feel better, sometimes just hearing someone say "This really sucks, I'm so sorry" does the trick. I promise that you don't have to rack your brains to come up with the appropriate comment.
Personal time is a wonderful idea to me. Kind of like winning the lottery right now. Keep dreaming. I'll save the dollar, since I really need it to pay the bills.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Forgive me for my trespasses...
New Year's Eve 2007 marked a turning point in my divorce. And divorce, in the very sense of the word, meaning the separation (or the physically gut-wrenching, heart ripping apart, emotional and mental roller coaster ride) from a relationship that was never formally legalized, but encompassed six years of my thirties, two beautiful children, a home full of memories, and truly - my heart and soul.
I had never spent a holiday season so pissed off in my life. My Chinese mother now refers to him as the "summa na bitch" and continues to advise me not to let the stress "eat me out." In the three months since the legal battle was initiated by my ex to start a methodical breakdown of my mental, emotional, and financial well-being, I had no choice but to throw away at least one year's worth of tuition at a private university for one child by today's standards. I am still in shock with this ugly, bitter, vicious man that has replaced the loving, giving, gentle person that I first fell in love with. If someone had bet me a million dollars six years ago that the father of my children would be attacking me this way, I would have doubled down and said they were smoking crack. I would have lost that bet big time. And with the help of several lawyers on both sides, I'm losing big right now.
I thought of the man that I met six years ago, who couldn't rub two nickels together while he decided to launch a business. I thought of the man whose passenger side door handle of his beat up old car that came off in my hands at the end of one of our very first dates, and how endearing this was to me when he gave me this goofy grin of embarassment. The same man that tripped on the walk home from a restaurant and almost threw both of us to the ground. I thought of the man that put me on a pedestal, that made me his number one priority, that showered me with love and affection and promises of what a future together would hold. This was the same man that I decided to have a child with when I learned I became pregnant by taking less precautions and taking more of a stake in the power of love.
This became the same man that I happily supported when my career was thriving, when I was making more money than I thought I ever could in my early thirties. I watched him build his business with pride and affection when I became pregnant with our second child, choosing not to recognize his conscious choices, small at first, to put others before me, to keep me separate from other parts of his life - his friends and his work, and then to watch in despair how numerous attempts to appeal to the man I fell love with would not or could not see me anymore, and instead, continued to let me down.
That was when I said yes to the affair.
I could not help thinking about all of the Christmases spent in this home, first with our newborn son, and soon after, our daughter with his extended family and friends. This year, I spent Christmas Day alone with my children and no matter how hard I tried, the pain and anger of it all sent me into a tailspin of depression. The icing on the cake was when I realized that I couldn't help my four year old put together the goddam Sponge Bob Lego Rocket. Whoever invented Legos is an evil person.
This New Year's Eve I decided to pray for the first time since G. left me in July. And it was not the Catholic upbringing palms pressed, rosary beads, on my knees begging God for something I thought I needed or wanted. It was a silent and peaceful request to forgive myself for my part in this process. And it was when I was brushing my teeth that evening, and looking in the bathroom mirror at the tired eyes that haven't stopped crying for months and the drawn face marked with stress and worry about the future, that is when I sent my prayer to God for the New Year. "Give me the ability to come to terms with the fact that I am alone, and give me the strength to take care of my children and a full time job and a house I don't know if I can afford anymore. Give me strength during this vicious legal battle. And God, please let me forgive myself too. I want to be happy." And for the first time that night, in almost six months, I slept like a baby while 2008 gently entered my life.
I had never spent a holiday season so pissed off in my life. My Chinese mother now refers to him as the "summa na bitch" and continues to advise me not to let the stress "eat me out." In the three months since the legal battle was initiated by my ex to start a methodical breakdown of my mental, emotional, and financial well-being, I had no choice but to throw away at least one year's worth of tuition at a private university for one child by today's standards. I am still in shock with this ugly, bitter, vicious man that has replaced the loving, giving, gentle person that I first fell in love with. If someone had bet me a million dollars six years ago that the father of my children would be attacking me this way, I would have doubled down and said they were smoking crack. I would have lost that bet big time. And with the help of several lawyers on both sides, I'm losing big right now.
I thought of the man that I met six years ago, who couldn't rub two nickels together while he decided to launch a business. I thought of the man whose passenger side door handle of his beat up old car that came off in my hands at the end of one of our very first dates, and how endearing this was to me when he gave me this goofy grin of embarassment. The same man that tripped on the walk home from a restaurant and almost threw both of us to the ground. I thought of the man that put me on a pedestal, that made me his number one priority, that showered me with love and affection and promises of what a future together would hold. This was the same man that I decided to have a child with when I learned I became pregnant by taking less precautions and taking more of a stake in the power of love.
This became the same man that I happily supported when my career was thriving, when I was making more money than I thought I ever could in my early thirties. I watched him build his business with pride and affection when I became pregnant with our second child, choosing not to recognize his conscious choices, small at first, to put others before me, to keep me separate from other parts of his life - his friends and his work, and then to watch in despair how numerous attempts to appeal to the man I fell love with would not or could not see me anymore, and instead, continued to let me down.
That was when I said yes to the affair.
I could not help thinking about all of the Christmases spent in this home, first with our newborn son, and soon after, our daughter with his extended family and friends. This year, I spent Christmas Day alone with my children and no matter how hard I tried, the pain and anger of it all sent me into a tailspin of depression. The icing on the cake was when I realized that I couldn't help my four year old put together the goddam Sponge Bob Lego Rocket. Whoever invented Legos is an evil person.
This New Year's Eve I decided to pray for the first time since G. left me in July. And it was not the Catholic upbringing palms pressed, rosary beads, on my knees begging God for something I thought I needed or wanted. It was a silent and peaceful request to forgive myself for my part in this process. And it was when I was brushing my teeth that evening, and looking in the bathroom mirror at the tired eyes that haven't stopped crying for months and the drawn face marked with stress and worry about the future, that is when I sent my prayer to God for the New Year. "Give me the ability to come to terms with the fact that I am alone, and give me the strength to take care of my children and a full time job and a house I don't know if I can afford anymore. Give me strength during this vicious legal battle. And God, please let me forgive myself too. I want to be happy." And for the first time that night, in almost six months, I slept like a baby while 2008 gently entered my life.
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