Don’t be afraid to go out on a limb. That’s where the fruit is.
H. Jackson Browne
18
Jan 10
Take A Chance
This afternoon, on the way out the door, Jenny grabbed her giant tube of Watermelon Lip Smackers. She offered it to me. I have a thing for Watermelon Lip Smackers. I’ve had this “thing” since 7th grade. Why do you think my daughter was introduced to Lip Smackers in the first place? Watermelon Lip Smackers is slippery, sweet and slightly pink. Being an innocent teenager is all those same things. Or at least it used to be. I smeared some on my lips, and suddenly I’m wearing Hash jeans, my hair is really long and straight, I’m 13 and I’m staring at Greg Nickels.
I had a crush on Greg from 7th grade to, probably, my senior year. I have a hard time giving up — hence, the amount of time it took me to exit a crappy marriage. In 9th grade, Greg Nickels asked me to go to “The Dance”. I was beside myself. All the girls told me that he really liked me. I didn’t believe them. It was the night of “The Dance”, and he came to pick me up with this cute little corsage. We were standing on the deck of the apartment that my mom was renting at the time. I remember this vividly. There was a slight breeze, and the air smelled like a mix of carnation, watermelon, aftershave and exhaust from the refinery that wasn’t far from our apartment building. He helped me pin the flower on my sleeveless dress. High up at my shoulder, he reached beneath the strap, so as to keep the pin from piercing my skin. I remember a bit of fumbling and a lot of nerves and clumsiness, on both our parts. Then, he looked as if he might kiss me. He was actually bending toward me! No one else was around. This was it! I had been waiting for this moment since 7th grade! I panicked. Instead of leaning into the kiss, I turned my face, and his lips met with my cheek. That sent him a clear message that I was not interested, even though I had been interested since what seemed like forever.
The rest of the night was uncomfortable and awkward, to say the least. In fact, I don’t remember the night with the same detail that I remember the corsage-pinning part. On Monday, everybody kept asking me why I didn’t like Greg any more. What was I going to say? I wasn’t going to admit that I didn’t have a whole lot of experience in the kissing department, let alone all the stuff in the other departments. So instead of being honest, I played it cool. He never asked me out, again.
Now it’s not like I’m 47 years old and still kicking myself for not having made out with Greg Nichols when I was 15. I’m not going to my death bed wishing I had handled things differently. (I think.) In fact, if I was 15 right now, standing in front of him, I’d turn my cheek again. And, yes, I will expect Jenny to behave the same exact way when her Greg Nickels leans in for that kiss. (Like that will make any difference to Jenny, but I can hope.) But I am less inclined to let opportunities pass me by. I’m fine making a fool of myself if it means I have a chance at something fantastic. I made the difficult decision to end a miserable marriage so as to have a chance at an authentic, happy life.
I’m finding that the older I get, the less I’m willing to put up with crap. I can’t control how others act, but I can decide whether I want to remove myself from situations where I am treated poorly. I’m also finding that, with age, I care less about making a fool of myself — much to my kids’ chagrin. I will not be on my death bed wishing I had told the people I love how much I love them. I won’t be wishing I had stayed longer in a lousy job. I won’t be feeling like I should have spent more time with my kids. And I won’t be mad at myself for having stayed in a broken marriage. I may, however, ask to borrow Jenny’s Watermelon Lip Smackers.
14
Jan 10
The Insidiousness of Narcissism
I’m tired tonight. I’m that kind of tired where I tell myself, “It’s okay if you go to bed without brushing your teeth. No one will know. You never do that.” Except — I remember telling myself that one night last week, too.
Mark was here for a visit this afternoon. It drains the energy out of all three of us. After he leaves, we snip at each other. We lose patience with each other. We all know that it happens, and yet we have to tell each other to calm down.
On the second day of this new year, I had what I hoped would be a potentially relationship-changing conversation with Mark.
Okay, so I thought I’d had these with him in the past, but this was different. We were going to start the New Year off on the right foot.
The kids had ended a “Goodnight Call” with Mark, and after hanging up, they both started crying. Continue reading →
12
Jan 10
Toxic Narcissists
You do not have the right to quit trying. (The universe wobbles when you do.) You have the right to quit toxic people. (They’re contagious.)
Dr. Sun Wolf
11
Jan 10
Noxious Narcissism
The other day Will and I were riding home from the ski hill with grandpa. The subject of “Blooming where you’re planted” came up. I don’t think I’d find many people to disagree with the premise — be happy where you are planted. I asked grandpa what he thought about the fact that there might be a lot of weeds where we are planted. He responded by saying, “The best way to deal with weeds is to make sure the plant is healthy.” He is right, of course. The healthier the plant, the less chance the weeds have to take over.
I pretend to be a gardener. I love gardening and flowers and vegies and being outside playing in the dirt with the kids and the worms. I never use any kind of chemicals. That stuff scares me. In fact, for me it is therapeutic to pull weeds.
We have a lot of bind weed where we live. Circling our little garden is a four foot fence made of chicken coop wire. It is just about impossible to uncoil bind weed from that fencing, once it has a chance to get started. And actually, bind weed is kind of pretty when it blooms. Bind weed is part of the Morning Glory family. I usually ignore the bind weed that crawls up the fencing. It looks nice when it blooms, and it’s difficult to get rid of once it takes over. But bind weed needs to be pulled before it wraps its tendrils around young seedlings. I try to get Sweet Peas to climb that same chicken coop fencing. It does well if I can keep the bind weed away from it.
So back to the ride home from the ski hill.
I was enjoying that exquisite relaxation that comes from a day of exercising outside. I didn’t have to focus on driving. My mind was thinking about blooming and weeds and toxicity and narcissism. Suddenly I envisioned Mark wrapping his arms around Will and pulling him onto his lap — the way he has done since Will was a toddler. He always seemed to be restraining Will. He’d refuse to let him run around and play. He seemed to want to pin him down in an effort to control him. And then I envisioned the way bind weed wraps around a vulnerable little Sweet Pea seedling — choking it. The Sweet Pea seedling bends under the weight of the bind weed. It is helpless until someone comes along and pulls the bind weed. I could see my own little Sweet Peas struggling to stand tall, to catch a breath, to reach the sun, to grow and bloom. Continue reading →
09
Jan 10
Formula For Happiness
The grand essentials of happiness are: something to do, something to love, and something to hope for.
Allan K. Chalmers
09
Jan 10
Livin’ The Dream
I really don’t like grocery shopping. That’s a bit of an understatement. I always go to the same place, so I can put it on auto-pilot. I know where everything is. I look at my list. I get it done. But, the folks that work at the place where I shop are a nice bunch. They are quick to greet and say ‘hello’. There’s a new guy in the produce section. He’s young and enthusiastic, and he’s embracing the store’s obvious policy for placing emphasis on customer service. The first time I saw him, he was working with the apples and oranges, turning them to make them look more appealing. He glanced my way, and with a pleasant smile said, “Hi.” I asked him how he was doing, in that sometimes mindless way that I answer greetings. He chuckled a bit and said, “Livin’ the dream!” I was taken by surprise with that response. It wasn’t the usual, “Fine. How are you?” In fact, I remember thinking, “Really? You dreamed of being the produce guy?”
“Livin’ the dream” requires knowing what your dream is. Maybe he did dream of being the produce guy. There’s nothing wrong with that. He’s a lot further along than those of us who are still trying to figure out what our dream is. Could be he’s a wise old soul that has figured out that it doesn’t have a whole lot to do with a dream or a goal. It’s more about embracing good work, good friends and family, and keeping your mind open to learning new things. I’m secretly starting to think that all that stuff about ‘enjoying the journey and not the goal’ is really true. Plus, it takes the pressure off of me for still not having figured out what my dream is. Yikes. I can’t believe that enjoying the journey could even mean finding something positive about grocery shopping. Although, some of those chance encounters with others at the grocery store can be pretty fun.
I’ve been giving a lot of thought to that expression, “Bloom where you’re planted.” You can run from problems, and end up in a new neighborhood with different versions of the same problems. Or, you can stay where you are and develop the skills necessary to deal with whatever life puts in front of you. It seems the real trick is realizing that while the grass has a lot of weeds in my little yard, it’s still pretty green. Some days it may seem like the turf would be more lush some where else, but I’m betting there’s still going to be a few weeds. I’ve also noticed, however, that having narcissists to deal with on a regular basis is a lot like having some really wicked weeds in the yard. I’m not ready to pull out the Roundup, yet. But there are days when a hoe and a rake just don’t cut it.
I don’t know if the produce guy dreamed of sorting fruits and vegies. I suppose that one day I could strike up a conversation and ask him. Maybe I’ll do that on a day when Jen and Will aren’t with me. I don’t need to embarrass them any more than I already do. But, it’s sweeter thinking that maybe this pleasant young fellow has mastered the art of “Blooming where he’s planted.” Or maybe there’s some sort of natural high to be gained from working with produce all day.
06
Jan 10
To Be An Angel
We are, each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another.
Luciano de Crescenzo
06
Jan 10
You’ll Know Them By Their Biscotti
My aunt sent me an email a few days ago. Seems my brother had been reading my blog, was concerned about a couple posts, didn’t know how to help, and phoned my aunt. I’d been chatting with her more regularly lately, and she put his mind at ease.
Let me back up a little. About two months ago, I was reading something about Narcissism, and felt compelled to send my aunt an email. When thinking of warm, fuzzy memories from childhood, it seems that a lot of them took place at her house. I wanted to thank her.
That opened a door.
My aunt has been following along in my blog, and sometimes contacts me when she thinks I need a shoulder. She and my uncle have recently taken me under their wing.
Fast forward to today… Continue reading →
05
Jan 10
People As Holidays
People are like holidays. Do others see you as Christmas, or more like Tax Day?
Ward Elliot Hour
04
Jan 10
When Narcissists Cave
Peanut is home. Peanut is a Shetland Pony-sized mechanical horse that Santa brought for Jenny two Christmases ago. Santa should have known better than to deliver Peanut to Mark’s house.
You see, Mark has held Peanut hostage for two years. That’s one third of Jenny’s life. Mark actually told Jenny that he was not going to let her take the pony home to our house so as to guarantee regular visits at his house.
One of the greatest joys of parenting is watching your child get so excited over receiving a gift that they have been wanting so badly. That’s one of the few ways you can actually get close to re-living that excitement you felt as a child. It’s your chance to revisit that total elation over getting the gift that you hoped and dreamed for. Imagine watching that joy and elation on your beautiful little girl’s face.
Then imagine telling her that she can’t take her precious pony home.
It’s pretty difficult to remain self-centered once you have kids. You don’t even miss those self-absorbed days. Your focus is first on making sure they survive. Then you are wrapped up in the fun, the adventure, the craziness, the chaos and the bliss of watching these blessings turn into people. Continue reading →
01
Jan 10
Happy New Me
I’ve sort of made resolutions in the past. Mostly because that’s what everyone seems to do. You can’t really focus much energy on your own resolutions when you are so busy accommodating the Narcissists in your life. By the time you finish everything on their list, take care of the kids, clean the cat box and take out the garbage, there’s not a lot of energy left for the typical resolutions like getting more exercise, keeping in touch with friends, or learning Tai Chi.
I got an email from a girlfriend this morning. She was asking why everyone always says, “This will be the year. 2010 will be the year.” Then she said, “The year for what?” Why do they always say that every new year? I told her that I think that’s the tag line for procrastinators. We never seem to accomplish what we set out to do, so we approach each new year with the optimistic hope that we’ll do it this year. That’s not so bad, really. Those new beginnings are what keep us going.
At the risk of sounding Narcissistic, I’ve come up with a few personal mottos for a Happy New Me. I’m going with the word ‘motto’ because ‘resolution’ makes me think of failed attempts, sweaty exhaustion (I’m not speaking of the sweaty kind of exhaustion that usually involves sheets) and a complete lack of brownies. All of that is way too negative. Besides, mottos are suggestions. There’s no pressure to absolutely have to do them everyday. Here’s what I came up with. I’d love to hear your mottos, as long as they have nothing to do with weight loss, shoulds, or having to do more for others.
- Be funnier. Quit taking myself and everyone else so seriously. This is going to sound weird, but I’ve noticed that when the three of us are a little cranky, one of us will start speaking with an accent. I’m not kidding. It’s as if it gets us out of ourselves. We’re pretending to be other people and then we start laughing at each other, and the crabby moment passes. Then Jenny will usually say, “Can we be done with the accents, already?” She’ll say this with a proper English accent, too. Think Julie Andrews in “Mary Poppins”.
- Be kinder to myself. I spend all my energy being nice to everybody else. I need to spend a little of that on me. I’m going to occasionally remind myself that I am a likable, good person, with a kind heart. I deserve treats once in awhile, too. Dark chocolate, good wine, excellent coffee, pedicures and chick flicks are all acceptable pleasures as long as they can be enjoyed without guilt.
- Remember NMP. That stands for Not My Problem. It’s not my problem that Mark has a lousy relationship with his kids. It’s not my problem that my kids don’t want to spend time with him. I will focus on only those things that I can change, or not change, as the case may be.
That feels pretty good, and manageable. Now that I’ve allowed myself to be a little self-centered, I’ll end this post with a quote that my aunt sent. I like it. Continue reading →
30
Dec 09
Stress — It’s All In Your Head
I’ve been making a lot of choices and decisions that will ultimately lead to less stress in our lives. I hope. It’s too soon to tell, but most days it feels like we’re heading in the right direction. And here’s the weird thing about eliminating stressors — it’s stressful. I’m serious. Tonight I was manically walking through the kitchen ticking off this checklist in my head. Dinner – done. Kitchen – done. Laundry – done. Christmas decorations put away – done. (Told you I was a scrooge, didn’t I?) Bills – done. And instead of feeling like I had earned the right to head to the couch with a cup of tea and a magazine, I found myself pacing back and forth and feeling agitated. I was supposed to be busy. There should have been something else on the list. I felt guilty for being done early. I couldn’t justify couch time because certainly there was more that I should be doing.
What is the correct age for deciding that we’ve earned the right to relax? Do I have some kind of character flaw if I give myself permission to sit and read? Do we have to have a certain amount in the bank before we can give ourselves time to relax? We allow ourselves vacations, but how many of us have an even longer to-do list for vacation?
I remember the mom at school that was waiting for the bell to ring so she could shuttle her kids to soccer and piano lessons. She was sitting and reading a novel. We had 15 minutes before the bell was going to ring. I was helping Jenny with homework. Another mom walked by and said hello to the mom with the novel. They both exchanged exhausted “hellos” and apologized for not calling and explained how ridiculously busy they were. All this while the first mom held a novel in her hands. Why couldn’t the first mom say, “Isn’t this great? I’ve 15 whole minutes to enjoy this wonderful book before we run around like maniacs.” But if she were to admit that, then she must not be a very good mom. Because really good moms go all day long, without any breaks, without any time-outs, until they crash at the finish line. And guess what our kids think? They grow up to think that they have to go all day long, too. They grow up to think that they can’t sit and read or play cards or do absolutely nothing.
Mark was here tonight. No wonder I was pacing in the kitchen. I still have these voices in my head that say, “Don’t pour a glass of wine in front of him. Don’t let him see you sit down. Pick up the stuff in the living room. Get dinner on the table soon.” Heck, it’s not even like he was staying for dinner. Just what does it take to get those darned voices out of my head? He was playing Twister with Jenny, and I had to skirt around him to get to the other side. (In case you may be wondering if Mark is coming around and actually engaging with Jenny, you must know that he barely made it through one round.) As I made my way across the room, I really looked at him, and I was hit with a wave (make that a tsunami) of relief. And I thought to myself, “I am going to sit on my butt, watch T.V., read and have a glass of wine, and you can’t stop me. So there.”
Now that would be a great New Year’s Resolution: More Couch Time with Less Guilt. I’ve earned it.
27
Dec 09
The Height of Narcissism
A few days before Christmas, my kids received a letter from Santa Claus. I told you they were special. Actually, for about the last three years, Mark has been penning a letter, printing it in a flowery script, placing it in a manila envelope with a return address of “Office of Santa Claus, North Pole”, and leaving it at our door. The letters always talk about what is currently going on in their lives, like the fact that Will is into golf and Jenny is growing her bangs out. I think Mark is capitalizing on the “Santa watches everything” line, and he’s letting the kids know just what it is that Santa sees. Mark does not keep in mind the fact that kids are very perceptive. And he hasn’t factored in the inevitable conversations and reactions at school, when our kids ask other kids about their letters from Santa. Oops.
The night of the letter delivery, when Mark made his “goodnight” call, he asked to talk to me. When I got on the phone he said, “Hey, did the kids get a letter from Santa?” I said that they had gotten it. And there was a long pause. Mark said, “Well, they didn’t mention anything.” Another pause … Finally I said, “Ah, Mark… If I ask them about the letter right now, they will know that you had something to do with it.” “Oh, yes. Well, I just wanted to know if they got it and if they liked it.”
Will is 11 and he still believes. At least it sure seems like it. Could be that he’s faking it because he’s already discovered that fantasy is better than reality. He did ask a bunch of questions about this year’s letter. “Do all kids get letters? How does Santa have time to write all those letters? If all kids don’t get letters, why do we get ’em?”
The three of us were excited this year because Mark had made plans to be out of town for Christmas. Then, on the night of Christmas Eve, he asked when he could see the kids on Christmas Day. That sent us into a tailspin. Of course, in typical Narcissist fashion, he denied ever having made plans to be out of town. He said that he’d been asking the kids (all along) when they could come over. When I got off the phone, I asked them if their dad had attempted to make plans for Christmas Day. They denied ever having been asked. Then they asked if I was mad at them. Then we tried to re-create phone conversations with Mark. And once again, the three of us realized that we were caught up in his lies and contradictions. We got our bearings, set up a time for the kids to see him, and proceeded to grin and bear it.
On Christmas Day, after opening the gifts that Santa left at Mark’s house, Will gave me a call. He had an urgent question. “Mom? Did you talk to Santa on the phone this year?” I emphatically said, “No! Pal, he’s way too busy to be talking to every body’s parents this time of year.” Then Will says, “Well I was just checking.” Continue reading →
24
Dec 09
Ho Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum
I have got to lighten up. I seem to have misplaced my sense of humor. Perhaps I’ll discover it under the pile of gifts yet to be wrapped. Maybe it’s at the bottom of a mug of eggnog laced with rum. (Yuk. Why do people drink sweetened, pre-scrambled eggs? Just give me the rum.) Yesterday Jenny asked me why my eyes were purple. I said, “I was crying.” She said, “How come you were crying, Mommy?” I scooped her up, twirled her around, and excitedly told her, “Because it’s Christmas, Silly.” Doesn’t everybody cry at Christmas? She has watched me sniffle at Hallmark commercials. I’ll let her think that I’m crying for all the mushy reasons that people might get teary over, at this time of the year.
Ahhh… Christmas with a Narcissist. It’s a beautiful thing. For years, Mark told me that Christmas was his most favorite time of the year. He would actually get misty-eyed over the holidays. Then, as we started a family, he would still get all sappy about Christmas, and how magical it was. But we were never seeing him. His shop gets crazy busy during the Thanksgiving/Christmas season. I wasn’t sure what part of the holidays he enjoyed so much, because he wasn’t able to spend time with his family. Perhaps I just didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to know, in my heart, that the reason he loved Christmas so much was because of the money-making potential of the holidays. I saw the pattern — he would tear up when discussing the day’s proceeds, not how cute his kids were at their Christmas Programs. Actually, he’d fall asleep at their Christmas Programs due to exhaustion from putting in so many long hours trying to wrangle in those few extra dollars.
When I would suggest that he hire an extra person to help him with the load so that he might enjoy his favorite time of the year with our kids while they were young and believed in Santa, he’d scoff at me. He’d pontificate and say, “Well, you have the luxury of staying home, making the house pretty, and making caramels for Christmas because I slave away and put in the long hours to make that possible.” While I agreed that his working as hard as he did made it possible for me to stay home, I also saw that he enjoyed being on stage down at the shop. No matter the level of craziness or exhaustion, he would parade around Ho Ho Ho-ing the customers, cheerfully bagging the product and all the while exclaiming about how great it is to be one of Santa’s Elves. He would insist that the kids and I be down at the shop, so we could marvel at his performance.
Then, on Christmas Eve, he would collapse at 3 p.m. and begrudgingly wake on Christmas morning when the kids wanted to get up early to see what Santa had left. And, Oh! What Santa would leave! Mittens, ski socks, long underwear, toasty warm ski jackets, snow boots, and gloves, too. And another set of thinker long underwear, warmer than the first, and glove liners and ski tickets, and fleece jackets to layer under the other fleece jackets. And hats and neck warmers and liners for the ski socks. We didn’t work as a team on Christmas gift purchasing. I got what I thought the kids would have fun with. He got what he thought they needed. One year I said, “Mark, if we are going skiing anyway, why is a lift ticket a gift?” He would answer that he made it possible for us to go skiing, so that was a gift. I’ve often considered opening some kind of ski retail shop with all the mittens, gloves, ski socks and long underwear that still has not been worn. The other day, Mark asked Will where his heavy-duty long ski mittens were. I knew the mittens that Mark was referring to. He’d given them to Will three years ago. They are still too big for Will. In fact, they are too big for me to wear.
It seems there is a delicately fine line between the crying and the laughing. I think I’ve been on the wrong side of that line lately. I can either cry about the absurdities of the holidays with Narcissists, or I can laugh. They sure do give us a lot of material for laughter. I hope that if you find yourself crying during this Christmas Season, that you are crying for all the right reasons. Continue reading →
