Sometimes I think that just not thinking of oneself is a form of prayer.
Barbara Grizzuti Harrison
23
Mar 10
Enthusiasm
If you can give your son or daughter only one gift, let it be enthusiasm.
Bruce Barton
22
Mar 10
On Pancakes and Love
We eat a lot of pancakes around here, and I never make any of them. I’m decent in the kitchen, but I’ve never been good at breakfast. I do make great toast. Will has been making pancakes since we moved to this house. First, he started with Bisquick, then it was Krusteaz and then some kind of fancy, healthy buckwheat mix, and now he makes pancakes from scratch.
From the beginning, I figured that he couldn’t do a lot of damage, so I didn’t give him many tips, other than, “Don’t burn yourself.” He likes the fact that he handles the whole project from start to finish. I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ a lot. I talk about how the caramelization on this batch is perfect. Mostly, I give him strokes, eat a couple pancakes, and clean up the mess. Jenny doesn’t like pancakes. Every time he makes a batch, Will asks Jen if she’d like one. She always politely declines. I like that Will always offers. I like that Jen politely declines. He isn’t bummed that she doesn’t want any; she doesn’t feel like she has to have one.
And because absolutely everything reminds me of relationships, I got to thinking about how Will’s pursuit of the perfect pancake is a lot like the work involved in a healthy relationship. I realize that, given my track record, I may know absolutely nothing about healthy relationships. With my complete lack of credibility in the relationship department, you may want to scroll down to the bottom for Will’s pancake recipe.
Bisquick makes a decent pancake. It’s quick and easy and it fills you up. Krusteaz may have a little more flavor. They are just as simple to make, so since they have more flavor, they seem like the logical choice. The buckwheat mix is a little harder to find, but they don’t require a lot more work, and they are healthier to eat. Throughout the experimentation with these different pancake mixes, Will has learned the constants. The batter shouldn’t be too thin nor too thick. The pan has to be hot. Butter the pan a bit before pouring in the batter. Wait until the bubbles start popping before you flip the cake. All of these constants apply to each type of mix.
After mastering these pre-made pancake mixes, he was ready for the big leagues. He asked if he could find a recipe and make some from scratch. He’d already learned that the wet things are added to the combined dry things. He just needed a listing of what those wet and dry things were. He’s been making scratch pancakes for over a year now. We all marvel at how much better the from-scratch pancakes are. They are more moist and tender. They have this delicate sweetness and a nice crust. There is an amazing difference, and we’re only talking pancakes here. The scratch cakes make you want to have more than one. Continue reading →
19
Mar 10
Good Signs
“When the moon hits your eye
Like a big-a pizza pie
That’s amore.”
Sung by a gray plastic, full moon face with lips that moved. Will had been given this as a gift. I believe the singing moon was some sort of yard decoration. When Will was four, he really got a kick out of that annoying thing. At one point, I had covered the sound holes with duct tape.
I put up with loud, obnoxious toys if those toys buy me 15 minutes to write an email, brush my teeth and go to the bathroom.
I think that moon sang for the last time at the city dump. Will had given me permission to get rid of it.
When I first saw this little house that we call home, I knew it was perfect. I had walked by it several times and assumed it was too small for the three of us, but the realtor talked me into taking a look. Continue reading →
18
Mar 10
Follow The Signs – Sometimes
I’d like to be able to tell you that I start my day with yoga, mediation, a run, or some other healthy thing. I don’t. I start my day by putting some water to boil on the stove, and then slouching in front of the laptop/big screen combo (the screen on my laptop died), and reading from all my favorite sites for inspiration and entertainment. I recently signed-up on Twitter, which I made fun of forever, and am thoroughly enjoying. Last night I read a piece where Havi Brooks described Twitter as a bar (think Cheers) where you hang with like-minded buddies, swap stories, and stay for as long or as little as you like. For a single mom, who is babysitter-averse, this is the next best thing to going to the bar for social time, and the drinks are way cheaper. Plus, I don’t like being a single person at a bar. Call me a chicken, go ahead.
By noon, yesterday, I already knew what today’s post would be. I love this writing so much. Sometimes I feel like ideas are wrestling each other in my mind. I find I have to coach them a bit on who gets to come out first, and how long they get to play. Often, I have to kick them off the mat before they are done, for fear I’ll bore you. (Thanks for reading, by the way.)
Yesterday I’d written about how I was pretty sure that my dad didn’t like me when I was growing up. That’s not a painful or difficult topic for me. I’ve dealt with it all my life. It’s just a statement of fact. Here’s where it gets interesting – at least to me. Not long after I’d finished my post, I returned a call to my uncle. My 30 year high school reunion is this summer (gag) and my uncle is helping an acquaintance of mine (from high school) track down classmates. My uncle wanted me to refer to my 1980 annual. So with cordless cradled against my shoulder, I’m standing in front of my closet, lifting these sort of antique-ish tin(?) cans up to access the yearbook. I can’t find the guy my uncle is talking about in the 1980 book, so I go back to dig for the ’79 annual. Now, I’m feeling like I’m holding up my uncle, I’m getting impatient with myself, I’m trying to lift the cans to get at the next, heavy book, and the bottom tin can falls. It’s shaped like a big cookie tin. My mom gave it to me probably three years ago. I remember looking in it when she gave it to me. I haven’t looked in it since. When the can hits the closet floor, the lid pops off and spills this loose desiccant stuff and rose petals and flower stems all over the closet floor. It’s in my shoes, sprinkled over the shoulders of my shirts and other weird clothing items. It’s in the grooves of the sliding doors of the closet.
The transitive property is one of the few things I remember from Algebra. I don’t know why that stuck in my head. If a=b, and b=c, then a=c. There are a lot of instances in life where I think to myself, “Hm… that’s just like the transitive property.” Although more times than not, the transitive property fails me. I like Susan. Susan like’s watching basketball games. I don’t like/can’t stand basketball. Yes, the transitive property applies to the tin can. See, my mom had placed some sentimental value on the contents of the tin can. I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t quite remember where the flowers came from, but I have a crumpled manila folder with info (in my brain’s over-stuffed filing cabinet) about my folks, that contains a slip of paper with my mom’s handwriting that says, “These were the flowers I carried when I married your dad.” I think. It seems like that should be a big deal to me, doesn’t it? But that’s where transitive property always fails me. My mom is important to me. X is important to my mom. Therefore, X should be important to me. And it has never been that way. I just don’t think that the transitive property can apply to sentimental objects. Or else, and this is very likely, I skipped class the day they were handing out the sentimental genes. But I know I was in class that day, because I am quite mushy about the things that I deem worthy of sentimentality.
So I see the scattered rose petals on my Keens, on my flip flops, and the desiccant sprinkled over everything, and I can’t be sad. Well, mostly, I had to finish the conversation with my uncle, but I couldn’t even make myself sad after ending the call. It just wasn’t there. Continue reading →
17
Mar 10
I Am A Liar
This morning we woke to broken shortbread cookie bites and green sugar sprinkles strewn across the kitchen counter and along the floor. A confused Barbie was standing erect in Will’s leprechaun trap. More cookie bites were laying around Jen’s upturned trap. No luck. They still haven’t managed to catch a real leprechaun.
Since Will was five, our home has been annually visited by Larry the Leprechaun. He leaves apples in Jen’s Crocs, stuffed animals in the fridge, bananas on the T.V., tips the furniture and generally wreaks havoc in a playful, good-spirited nature. A couple years ago, the kids collaborated on a pretty brilliant trap. The bait was a pile of coins. On the morning of the 17th, we could see that the money was gone, and all that was left was a pair of leprechaun shoes. That’s the closest they’ve ever gotten to actually catching Larry.
Will is a very literal fellow. He has a single-mindedness that drives him to excel at skateboarding, skiing and golf. It’s that same single-mindedness that makes it almost impossible for him to see the forest for the trees. Trees, hell, he pretty much focuses on the pine needles or the dust on the pine needles. Jenny has a pretty broad lens. She’s four years younger than her brother. She’s going to figure out that Santa and Larry aren’t real long before her brother does. I keep thinking Will is going to catch on and figure out that I’m really Larry, Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. But last night, we were getting ready for bed, and Will panicked. “Dang. Tomorrow’s the 17th and my trap isn’t done!” He scurried around, grabbed a decorated paint can, a gawdy St. Paddy’s Day necklace, a handful of coins and some duct tape. He definitely works better under pressure. Jenny’s trap was completed a week ago and has been hanging – in the middle of the walkway between kitchen and dining room – from a nail. She loaded it with a – now stale – slice of whole wheat bread and a piece of biscotti. I figure I’ll wait a few years before telling her that the better enticement for a leprechaun would be a mug of beer.
As I’m watching Will race around the house, scrambling to put his trap together, I was asking myself some serious parenting questions. Am I perpetuating a fun myth and prolonging the fantasies of childhood, or am I out-and-out lying? I think I have been assuming that he would figure these myths out on his own. At this point, I picture him looking in the mirror while shaving, and having the sudden realization that his mom is really the guy in the big red suit.
I think it’s safe to say that most parents lay awake at night contemplating their parenting skills. I have a tape running through my mind that asks, “How much money should I be setting aside for the inevitable counseling they will need? Was this a good idea to home school? When do we have the sex talk? Should I tell him about sex before I tell him about Santa?” Continue reading →
16
Mar 10
More Lemonade
“Hey, Big Brother, do ya need to use the potty so you don’t have an accident? I’m sure mom could run out and get some diapers that’d fit ya.” Jen and I have been having a grand time teasing Will about whether he’s actually potty trained or not.
I don’t know if my kids are developing thick skins or wicked senses of humor — probably both. They’re also learning to read moods. Jenny was careful to let the dust settle on Will’s story – about his dad asking him if he needed to use the bathroom at the ski hill. There is a narrow window, right after the telling of the story, where hurt feelings have to be acknowledged. Jen and I made a point of telling Will that we imagined how mortified he must have been. We allowed him enough time to kick rocks and say a few choice words. But after that, it’s no holds barred. We dish it out like crazy, make light of the situation, and have a bunch of good laughs, with Will laughing right along with us. I’ve said before that if we don’t laugh at the weirdness of this narcissism, we’ll be spending way too much time with upset stomachs.
As Paulo Coelho says, “ If someone hurts you, react. Forgiveness comes afterwards.” I have to think that humor has to come before forgiveness. Actually it’s probably something more like this:
- get hurt
- react
- swear a lot
- eat junk food
- laugh
- put forgiveness on the calendar
My kids tip-toed around me for a few days after the whole John thing. I’m making fun of myself, now, so they see that they can lighten up, too. I informed them that, “I am pretty fabulous. It’s just that I haven’t found anyone else who believes me.” They both jumped to my defense and said, “Well, we think you’re fabulous!” And then all the ‘excepts’ started. “You’re fab except for when you yell at us. Except for when you make me eat that stir-fry stuff. Except for when you don’t let us watch too much T.V.” And on and on. When they come up with more ‘excepts’, I remind them that we’ll be cruising in May. I’m going to get as much mileage out of that cruise as I possibly can.
Continue reading →
15
Mar 10
Just When You Think There’s a Glimmer of Hope…
“Ah, Dad… I’m actually 11 now. Yeah, I turned 11 on my birthday. In September? I’m not 10, I’m 11.” Mark and Will had gone to the sporting goods store to check out compound bows. Will and I had been in a couple days before, and Will wanted his dad’s opinion on the bows we had talked about. And since I’m completely clueless on the subject, it was a good idea to get another opinion, even if it was Mark’s. So they are talking to the sales guy, asking all the pertinent questions, and Mark says, “What type of bow would you recommend for a 10 year old?” Will later told me that even after he’d corrected his dad, Mark treated him like, “Geez, buddy, I’m your dad. You think I don’t know how old you are? Of course, I know how old my own son is.”
Will was pretty disgusted by the time he got home. So much so, in fact, that he fired off an email to his dad. The email said this:
“Today you were talking to the guy that was helping us with the archery and you said, ‘Do you have any compound bows for a ten yr old?’ By the way I’m eleven and since you are my dad I expect you to remember how old I am, and I especially do right now because I just had my birthday.”
I admit that I thought Will was overreacting a bit. I’m often asking the kids to give me a break. I explain that my ‘filing cabinets’ are jammed. The manila file folders are tattered and dog-eared, and covered with coffee stains. Some of the important papers are missing, some are filed in the wrong place, and some have yet to be filed. This is my way of telling them that I forget stuff. I’m old. Sue me. I do try really hard not to forget things, but it happens. Their dad is 12 years older than I am, so he forgets even more than I do. And, (don’t freak when you read this) I’ve suggested that they give their dad a break, once in awhile, too. It wouldn’t hurt for all of us to be a little more tolerant, right? (Said the accommodator.) Continue reading →
14
Mar 10
What Did You Mean By That?
If you do not even understand what words say, how can you expect to pass judgment on what words conceal.
Hilda Doolittle
14
Mar 10
Discarded By A Narcissist
This is a difficult post to write because it brings back so many feelings of inadequacy. Phyllis sent the following comment, and I feel compelled to respond in this post.
“My husband emailed me last night. He is planning to start the divorce after finishing the 2009 taxes. He still “loves me.” Yeah right!”
This comment clearly illustrates the confusing nature of a relationship with a narcissist. In one breath he says, “I’m filing for a divorce.” In the next breath, hell in the same breath, he says, “I love you.”
Huh?
This only makes sense to a narcissist. Continue reading →
14
Mar 10
Jenny As Dr. Phil
“So how are you? Really.” The three of us went for coffee and biscotti at my aunt and uncle’s a couple days ago. They had been out of town when things came to an end with John. She wanted an update. After I gave her the nutshell version, I had a question that I was apprehensive about asking. I wanted to know if my wanting to sometimes be a priority in a relationship made me a narcissist. I can trust her to be honest with me. She didn’t even hesitate and said, “I know that you understand that it is a balance. Once in awhile, you are the priority, and then it will be his turn to be the priority. But yes, you deserve to occasionally be the focus, and that doesn’t make you a narcissist.” Whew! And because I liked her answer, I will assume that she is right.
I explained that I have always felt like I hold up residence on the back burner in relationships. Jenny was partially listening in on this conversation. She jumped down from her chair, came over to me and intently looked at me with her big blue eyes. We were nose to nose and she said, “Mom! You should be the noodles, and he should be the water, and you should both be in the same pot on the front burner.”
12
Mar 10
Survivor Chocolate
So it’s one o’clock in the morning and I am sitting in front of my laptop, in my cat hair covered robe, with an Ocean Breeze scented candle burning, eating the best fudgy brownie cookies I’ve ever tasted.
I’m not really a scented candle person. I get tired of the same smell by the time the candle burns down. But, I’m on a very tight budget, and I wanted something, in addition to coffee and chocolate, to cheer me up. So we went to Pier 1 and I picked out some candles – Ocean Breeze, Patchouli (to remind me of my college days), Asian something or other, Vanilla and yada yada, and one other. I picture these folks in lab coats, in some white room full of beakers over burners with little flames mixing scents and one of them actually thinks they have put together the right chemicals to smell like an Ocean Breeze? I also bought this little round ceramic ball with my lucky number on it. It can’t hurt. Between the candles and the number four, and my cooperation with the rest of the universe, I’m sure to get my train headed in the right direction again. Maybe.
Jenny came in my bed again and then, as usual, I couldn’t get back to sleep. My head fills with thoughts of John. How is it that some people (mostly men) are so good at turning their brains off? I try to make myself think of things that I don’t like about him, but since that’s fruitless, I switched to thinking about Phyllis and Annie and this blog. Phyllis sent a comment that I want to write about, so I figured now is as good a time as any. Only I came out to write about her comment, and grabbed a cookie, and after one bite, I forgot what I was going to write, so I’ll share this recipe with you all instead. I changed the name of these cookies. Will was craving some kind of dark, fudgy brownie/cookie combo (he’s his mother’s son) and we discovered this recipe and tweaked it a bit. I’m calling them Survivor Crownies because we all deserve a crown for surviving, and because the ‘c’ is for cookies and the ‘rownies’ is for …. Nevermind. I think you get it.
Survivor Crownies
- 2/3 C butter – softened
- 1 1/2 C brown sugar – packed (have you ever come across a recipe where the brown sugar isn’t packed?)
- 1 T vanilla – it seems like a lot, but it’s right
- 2 eggs – room temperature
- 1 1/2 C flour
- 1/3 C cocoa powder
- 1/2 t salt
- 1/4 t soda
- 1 1/2 C semi-sweet chocolate chips
11
Mar 10
Lemonade, Rocks and Books
So now what? I know how I got into these relationships. I know what to do differently once I’m in one. I am learning new things about myself; what I want; what I don’t want, and what I will compromise on. I know the sweetness of the good parts, and I know the sour of the parts I won’t live with.
It’s time to come down from the roof. I can’t spend my whole day drinking coffee, no matter how good it is. (Although, it’s good to allow myself a couple days of spoiling, reflection, whimpering and chocolate.)
Got an email from a girlfriend last night. (Thanks, Kath — seriously.) She said, “Go out to dinner with the outdoorsy guy. What have you got to lose? You gotta keep the door open.” Yuk. I’m just fine with the door closed for now. And I’m not missing the emotional roller coaster one bit. (Guess she didn’t read the post about how much I don’t like shopping.) Even if I do drive a car with a stick, I’ve no desire to shift gears that quickly.
Jenny set up this cute little rock selling stand a couple days ago and it got me thinking. We are going to make lemonade from the lemons, sell the rocks from our shoes, and I’m going to seriously work on the book. And for the day-to-day survival, we are going to schedule a whole bunch of things to look forward to, otherwise known as distractions. Here’s my plan.
- Yesterday I booked the cruise for the second week of May. I’m lousy at keeping secrets, so I told the kids even before I booked it. Hell, by now I’ve figured out that the best part of any vacation is the anticipation of it, so now we can have fun anticipating together.
- Next week we will plant Sweet Pea seeds, prepare for the arrival of Larry the Leprechaun, and attend the Best Little Western Art Show in the World.
- Ski season is winding down, so we’ll hit the slopes a few more times.
- The kids and I will finish “The Great Tree of Avalon – Shadows On the Stars”. This fun book includes wonderful lessons about karma, tenacity, the struggle for good over evil, and a lot of humor, even if it’s a bit violent at times.
- I’m going to enjoy reading “The Girls from Ames”, “Do One Thing Different”, and “Marriage and Other Acts of Charity”. Never have been able to just read one book all the way through (unless it’s an Elizabeth Berg) because my mood changes from the time I wake until the time I hit the pillow again.
- We are still deciding on a dog. At this point, we’ll fall in love after the cruise.
- Kids are signed up for some art lessons.
- I am working on the book.
- Golf season overlaps with ski season. I have new divots in the front yard before the grass has had a chance to green up.
- And just yesterday, Jenny learned to ride a two-wheeler, so that opens up a whole summer of riding bikes along the river.
10
Mar 10
Understanding Ourselves
Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.
Carl Jung
10
Mar 10
Karma and Irony
My recipe for moving on includes a healthy dose of humor. It has to. Humor got me through, and out of, my relationship with Mark. Humor will do the same for me now. I have to share a funny observation with you.
During this time period, where I had all my hopes pinned on John, there have been a few other fellows who have tried to throw their hat in the ring. They are nice guys. One keeps calling and wants to take me out to dinner and has enthusiastically invited my kids. I saw him recently, when Jen and Will were in tow, and he said, “Hey, kids! How are you? What’s new?” He tries. He might want to try to remember their names next time. He’s funny, creative and outdoorsy.
Another has started writing letters. He is another long distance fellow. The red flags are obvious. I’m not cut out for the long distance stuff. This fellow is sensitive, thoughtful, smart, introspective, interesting and asks me about myself and my life. He doesn’t shy away from talking about kids and shares his own experiences with raising kids. We write back and forth without the pressure of worrying about whether we are liked by the other, or not. That really frees a person up to write whatever they feel or think.
I met another fellow through work. We have similar creative interests, speak the same language about work related stuff and communicate very easily. I remember in one of those conversations, he got sidetracked and asked me about how or when I decided to leave Mark. I felt the strangest sensation when he asked the question. I got the impression that when he asked, he really wanted to hear my answer. He wasn’t just making conversation. I think that must be what it feels like when someone really listens to you.
And the other fellow is someone I’ve known for awhile. We swap stories about kids, skiing, work and life. He’s a pleasant fellow – sensitive, thoughtful, considerate, funny, smart. We have a lot of things in common. Continue reading →
