Dear friends,
I want to write something positive. I want to inspire. I want to get my head above water. I need to regroup. I will write once I find a porthole.
In the meantime, my mom sent me something that is particularly appropriate. I hope you laugh. We can always make some room for a chuckle.
A Doctor was addressing a large audience in Tampa. ‘The material we put into our stomachs is enough to have killed most of us sitting here, years ago. Continue reading →
Dammit. I don’t really want to write about this. I so want to be done with all of this. It is more of what I’ve already written. It is more of what others have already written on the subject of narcissism. But I have made a commitment to myself, and ultimately, to anyone who takes the time to read this blog – that person who, in the middle of the night, when sleep won’t come, desperately searches the internet in hopes of finding answers. This is for those who still cling to the possibility that things could work out, that hope and goodness will prevail.
I have to write for them.
It started Sunday morning when the kids opened their in-boxes. Mark wrote them each an email. In Will’s email, he explained that I had indicated that Will would be calling. Mark twisted things around, again, and made it sound like we were wanting the dust to settle, and would get in touch when we were ready. He forgot the part about the kids expecting initiative and change on Mark’s part. Mark’s email to Jen sounded like he was picking up where he’d left off, and that nothing had ever happened.
So… the kids wrote emails saying they did not want to see him until he made it clear that he was ready to treat Jen like she’s seven years old, and that he demonstrates to Will that he is ready to make Jen and Will priorities. The kids were pretty agitated that Mark would expect that he wouldn’t have to do anything, and that everyone would pick up where things had been left.
We’ve seen this too many times. Continue reading →
“And that is another great example of how there are so many different ways to make a living.” My grandfather used to say that. He’d had his share of different careers – mechanic, draftsman, lumber yard manager and more that I can’t remember. We’d be playing Yahtzee, visiting about someone we both knew, and he’d marvel at how the world was changing and people were finding new and interesting ways to make a living.
Today the kids and I got to see a way of life that hasn’t changed much. A dear friend invited us to see what goes on during lambing. It was 39 degrees with low gray clouds that just started to release snow when we pulled up to the old barn. There were sheep everywhere, and lambs anywhere from two minutes old to a couple days old.
I wasn’t sure how Jen and Will would take to the whole thing. It was cold and muddy and smelly and wet.
They jumped right in.
They could hardly wait to scoop up these newborn lambs. They got to bottle feed the bum lambs – the ones that are rejected by their moms. It requires a thick skin to do this for a living – you can’t possibly save all the rejected lambs. I thought we’d end up with a car full of new pets. It can be cruel, but the process is so labor-intensive and exhausting, that it doesn’t leave much time for tears over the sickly ones. Continue reading →
Will looked at me and said, “I can’t get dis futtin’ thing open!” Stupidly, I said, “What did you just say?” Then his chubby little fingers handed me his juice pouch while his humongous brown eyes peered through his Harry Potter glasses, and he frustratedly said, “Mom! I can’t get dis futtin’ thing open!”
We were surrounded by little preschoolers, their adoring parents and the preschool teacher. It was just a few days after a couple parents approached me about the possibility of my taking the position of President of our little parent-run preschool. I grabbed Will’s juice pouch, muttered something under my breath while looking down so that none of them would notice that I was blushing, poked the straw in the pouch, and was squirted with a steady stream of sugary apple juice – my payment for being a ‘bad’ mommy.
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I try to work on my language. I think I’m making progress. I never have been convinced that saying bad words is any kind of an indication of a character flaw. However, with two little people that parrot everything I do and say, it behooves me to rein in on the language a bit.
While I do release the occasional f-bomb, I don’t direct it at others. Continue reading →
This is a picture of the cardboard iPod that Jenny made. She brought it skiing today. Her brother got one for Christmas, and she wants to be a ‘cool kid’, too, so she made her own. At lunch, in the lodge, she was playing with her ‘iPod’, and Will said, “Jen, some people are laughing at your iPod.” Jenny defiantly said, “So what!” I hope she’s able to maintain that attitude. Later, she asked if I wanted a pretend iPod. I wanted to say, “Nah. No thanks, honey. I’ve had a pretend boyfriend for almost 3 years. I’m done pretending for awhile.
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Speaking of pretending…
The kids emailed their dad in response to his lengthy email. Will’s email was about the way his feelings are hurt when his dad makes fun of the things he loves; when his dad doesn’t acknowledge Will’s interests; and how Mark’s always too busy with his business to have any time for them. Jenny’s email brought up the fact that Mark says he’s going to try – try to be interested, try to use an adult voice, try to spend time with her – and he doesn’t come through.
I insisted on reading the emails before they hit the ‘send’ button. I wasn’t concerned about grammar and spelling as much as I was concerned about… Continue reading →
Do you remember the classic “Far Side” cartoon by Gary Larson that has the funky woman talking a blue streak to her dog, and it shows what the dog hears? The dog only hears, “blah blah blah blah, Ginger. blah blah blah blah, Ginger.” It’s 2:30 and I can’t sleep. I got up to write and was greeted by a 1500 word email that was written by Mark.
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At the risk of further cementing my membership in the loosely knit Association of Homeschooling Weirdos, I have to tell you what I most love about this homeschooling business. There is nothing quite like being there when they first grasp a concept. I get to be there when that light bulb goes off, and they understand what’s in front of them, and they are filled with pride and possibility. It’s like the looks on their faces when they learn to tie their shoes or ride a bike. It’s something I don’t want to miss.
A few weeks ago, I was helping Will with fractions. I love math. I love the fluidity and fuzzy boundaries of dealing with people and relationships. But when I’m in over my head with that relationship crap, I like to turn to something certain, like math. Even Will says he likes math because, “There’s one right answer.” Sometimes it’s nice to know there is ONE right answer. So we were adding different fractions with different denominators and I was explaining that you have to “get the fractions speaking in the same language – in the same denominator.” I have a decent understanding of what their learning styles are, and what approaches work best for helping them learn. But, I was having a bit of a struggle with the fractions. I put my pencil down, walked out into the living room to take a deep breath, and figure out a new approach, and I came back with a new angle. Suddenly the light bulb went off, and he whizzed through the rest of the exercise. It was fun for both of us. We found a common language, and it was a thing of beauty.
NEWS FLASH: There is NO common language with a narcissist. Continue reading →
“Jenny will not go skiing with you tomorrow unless you promise to not talk to her in the baby voice. She asked me to call you and she needs you to promise. Can you do that for her?”
Tuesday afternoon found Mark over for another visit. The weather was nice. They threw the football and played on the swings at the park. They seemed to enjoy each other. Mark and Will came in the house to ask if it would be okay for the kids to go skiing with their dad on Wednesday. I knew I was staring at a potential disaster, but until the kids could tell me that they didn’t want to go, I wasn’t going to stand in the way. My only comment was that Mark would have to ski the gentler runs all day because of Jen’s ability. He said, “Well I haven’t been able to ski with my little girl all year, and I really want to see how she’s doing.” Of course that sounded like he’s been wanting to ski with her, but really the three of us know that he hasn’t skied with her because he prefers the more challenging stuff.
Jenny still remembers the one time we saw him up there this year. He asked if he could ski a run with us because he wanted to see how Jen was progressing. She got very excited. We got off the chair lift, waited for Mark, she made three turns and he yelled, “Good job, Honey. Don’t forget to lead with your toe. I’ll catch ya later.” And he found a cut off that led to a black diamond run. Jen asked me where he went. I was stuck telling her that he chose to go down a different run.
Just this week I read a post on Kelly Diels‘ blog about how you can’t teach people how to treat you. I never have had any luck with that. But when it comes to my kids, I have to do something. And since I can’t tie their dad up, and drag him behind my car down the nearest county road, I thought I’d try teaching him. One more time.
So I made the call, explained that Jen didn’t want to go skiing, but that if he could promise to talk to her like the grown up little girl that she is, she would reconsider. And he said, “Well, she’s my little girl and I love her.” Okay. I know that. I gave him some more time to think about it. He didn’t offer anything, so I said, “Do you think you can put aside the baby voice tomorrow?” He hesitated and said he would try. Continue reading →
I’ve been trying to find an emoticon that equals “heavy sigh”. Yesterday was a wicked day for Will and Jenny. After some serious triage; administering Cheetos and fudge bars and a large dose of junk TV; I tucked them in their beds. I will be spending the day focusing on repairing the damage to their egos and reminding them that life is also very funny even when it pisses you off.
However, I must tell you that I do have further proof that I AM NOT a narcissist. I just got out of the shower and accidentally caught a full glimpse of my naked back side. Trust me. I would not do that on purpose. And this flash went through my head, “That must be what my grandpa saw when my grandma got out of the shower.” And immediately I was filled with love, sympathy and compassion for my grandpa. That’s real empathy. A narcissist can’t do that.
I am going to tend to my bruised children now. And I’m going to squeeze in 37 walks up the hill at the park, in an effort to erase that vision of my grandma’s back side. Is it too early for a shot?
These prints belong to Nina, the world’s most patient cat. She left them on the front step while she patiently waited for one of us to remember to let her in.
I hope this last day of February finds you happy and healthy.
I hope you have let in those you love, and that those you love have let you in, too.
A wise woman once said, “narcissists suck.” I’ve spent some time on her blog. It’s a deep, dark, cavernous hole of information. I would caution you to be careful before spending much time there. You may learn more than you really want to know.
Tonight I am really thinking that narcissists suck. I have a little girl who hasn’t been feeling well. She will be fine. But for right now, she is depleted. She wants to cry and she can’t. She actually told me that she, “wants to let the tears out, but she can’t.” When I ask her why she can’t cry, she explains that she’s been practicing not crying in front of her dad. She doesn’t want to cry in front of him because he treats her like a baby. So now she thinks she’s forgotten how to cry.
In the meantime, Mark has not come by to check on Jenny. You see, he skied on Wednesday and Friday. And he’s leaving town after work tomorrow for a convention in the sunny Napa Valley. He can’t afford to come by and check on his daughter because he doesn’t have time, and because he wouldn’t want to risk catching her bug before he leaves town. (So how about calling to check on her?)
Narcissists suck.
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I was up all night with Jenny. I’ll spare you the gory details, but she was afraid of falling back to sleep for fear she’d get sick again. I held her pretty much all night long while she drifted in and out of sleep. I looked at her long lashes and perfectly arched eyebrows, her long delicate fingers and the wisps of hair around her forehead. She’s not a baby anymore, but when she’s not feeling well, she seems as fragile and vulnerable as when she lived in my arms.
I had a lot of time to think last night, and Jen’s being ill reminded me of the scary time she spent in the hospital with pneumonia. She was four years old. It was the last weekend of ski season. Jenny’s fever started Friday afternoon. Mark worked his usual Saturday shift, and by Saturday morning I was running out of the fever fighting duo – Tylenol and Motrin. I called him at the shop and asked if it would be possible for him to leave to bring us some medicine. He said that he could leave long enough to run and get it, but that I would have to come down to the shop and get it from there. So I got two kids out of bed, buckled them into their cold car seats and made the 20 minute drive to the shop to get the meds.
He did come out to the car to make a show of checking on his daughter, and then we zoomed back home.
That afternoon, he was able to get out of work early enough to head up to the ski hill.
When he got home from skiing, he found me sitting on the couch next to a lethargic Jenny. I was able to manage the fever, so at this point I felt we were just letting the bug run its course. Quite frankly, it was easier to care for an ill child if Mark wasn’t around demanding to be center stage. Continue reading →
There is still snow on the ground, but the days are getting longer. Will just informed me that Spring will arrive in 28 days. The angle of the sun makes things melt like crazy, even if the temperature doesn’t warrant it. And while eating lunch today, we marveled at the icicles and how they go from dripping slowly to dripping continuously, and then back to a slow drip. You can hear the birds chirping and almost smell the wet soil, where the sun has melted the snow and warmed the earth a bit.
Gardening season will soon be upon us. Okay, it’s not going to be here that soon, but it’s fun to plan. Last year, about this time, I was making plans for our little garden and flower beds. I always draw the garden out on paper so that I remember to rotate plants. That way I won’t keep planting things in the same place each year. I was sketching out where to put the Early Girls, the Sweet 100s and the Norland Reds, when it hit me. I don’t like potatoes. Baby reds are nice once in awhile, but I don’t like them enough to devote all that space in my tiny garden to just potatoes. I had been living in my own house, and I was still planting what Mark liked. It took me about three years to figure out that I didn’t have to plant potatoes anymore.
Just when I think I’m making all this progress, figuring out how to make my way after this bizarre relationship, I realize I’m still clinging to aspects of my old life. When I first moved into this little house, I remember walking around with nails between my teeth, a hammer in one hand, and ‘Frieda’s Dream’, by Monte Dolack under my arm. I was trying to figure out where it would look best. As I’m walking through the house, mumbling to myself, I caught myself thinking, “I wonder if Mark would like it there?” In the next instant, I realized I didn’t have to take Mark into consideration when decorating my own house. That realization was as sweet as the waking from a bad dream, when you realize it’s all just a bad dream, and that sense of relief washes over you.
There were a lot of delicious thoughts running through my head when we first moved to this address. “I get the remote. I’m going to watch Food Network, HGTV, Lifetime movies and whatever I darn well please. No one is going to make fun of me for reading Martha Stewart Living. I don’t have to eat waffles on Sunday mornings anymore. I can have a glass of wine (or two) while cooking dinner, and I’m not going to feel guilty.” Now that we’ve been living here for over three years, it’s interesting to see how things are shaking out. I haven’t picked up a Martha Stewart Living Magazine in probably five years. I have probably checked out the Food Channel a handful of times. Each time I watch, I think to myself, “Why was I desperate to watch this? It’s not like they are gonna do a whole show on the glories of peanut butter and jelly.” Lifetime Movies make me cry, so there’s no point in that. I haven’t had a waffle in almost four years. Yes! And I do enjoy a glass of wine while making those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. (That I also serve at dinner, not just lunch. Just so you know I’m not also sipping the vino at noon.)
But all this got me thinking about what it is I like and don’t like. What are my preferences? I thought I knew what my preferences were when I still lived with Mark. I seemed to want to steer toward the things that he didn’t like. Maybe I was trying to make a statement. It’s a lot like the child that is denied candy and cookies. They want those treats all the more when they are told they can’t have them. When there aren’t any limits put on the sweets, the child may or may not be interested. But they certainly aren’t feeling desperate to have the Tootsie Rolls. When my world was so limited, I found myself clinging to stuff that had been off-limits. Now there are no limits, the world is wide open, and I’m not obsessed with HGTV or romance movies. But I could watch, “You’ve Got Mail” every week. And now I can, if I want to. Continue reading →
His knees make this strangely hollow sound when he smacks them together. Imagine taking two 2×4’s wrapped in fleece, and hitting them against each other. Will is a thin 11 year old. He doesn’t have a lot of padding, especially around his knees. He’s gone through an interesting series of nervous ticks. I don’t think of the knee-knocking as a nervous tick, but I’ve noticed that he does this when he’s playing a game on the computer, or when he’s talking on the phone with his dad.
We went skiing with grandpa yesterday. It was another great day at the ski hill. As tired as I am of the snow, it has made for some amazing conditions this year. Jenny and I don’t feel the need to ski every single day. Will doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with skiing every single day. As we were driving home from the hill yesterday, we were talking about what to do on Sunday. Will has a standing invitation to ski on Sundays with Mark. (Jenny sort of has a standing invitation. That means that Mark has invited her to ski on Sundays, but has implied that it will really be more fun for her when she can ski the more challenging runs. “Daddy loves to ski with you on the days you go with mommy.” That means he makes an appearance on the green run, exclaims loudly how his little girl is skiing so beautifully, and then ditches her for the black diamond runs. We all know that Mark won’t sacrifice a full day of skiing to spend it with Jenny on the easy stuff. The only reason Will has a standing invite is because he can ski everything on the hill now.) Jenny and I had made plans to go to the library this Sunday. Will was saying that he felt like maybe he should stay home and go to the library with us. Grandpa couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he said, “What? You can’t decide between skiing and the library? Are you feeling okay?” Will knows that sounds ridiculous. You’ve heard the expressions: “A bad day of golf is better than…” “A bad day of fishing is better than…” We always say, “A bad day of skiing is better than a good day of staying at home.” It’s more than a little embarrassing for Will to weigh the prospect of skiing versus a trip to the library.
Will called his dad last night, knees knocking, and he couldn’t decide what to do. “I can go skiing with dad and the snow will be awesome. I can practice those jumps I’ve been working on. The moguls on Muley will have a fresh dusting of powder. I know it will be great. But dad will make fun of me and hurt my feelings. I don’t want to deal with that.”
Here’s where I say all the mumbo jumbo that I’m supposed to say to help my son deal with a narcissistic dad. “Try to develop a tougher skin. Let what he says ping off your coat of armor. You can’t limit the things you do in life because you are afraid that someone will say something that hurts your feelings. Focus on the good/fun part of the day. Let what he says role off your back. Or, better yet, actually come out and tell him that what he says really hurts your feelings. Stick up for yourself. Be tough. Be like Bode Miller. Be strong and ski like crazy and ignore your dad.”
In addition to the knocking knees, I’ve noticed that Will always asks his dad if anyone else will be going with them on Sundays. I don’t know if Mark has noticed that Will only likes to go with him if someone else bums a ride. Will doesn’t like to be alone with Mark. Will and I talked about how dad says his sarcastic, cutting comments when no one else is around. No one else hears those comments. That’s why it is hard from grandpa to believe that Will wouldn’t want to go skiing. That’s why the guys at the ski hill may be thinking that Mark is a pretty good guy. They don’t hear what Mark says to Will on the chair lift when no one else is around. Continue reading →
