survive « Surviving Narcissism

Posts Tagged: survive

Another One Last Try

“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 →

Lack of Empathy / The World Revolves Around Me / You Might Be a Narcissist If ... — 11 Comments
25
Mar 10

Proof That I’m Not a Narcissist

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?

Child of Narcissist / Opportunistic / You Might Be a Narcissist If ... — 7 Comments
24
Mar 10

The YCMTSU File

YCMTSU stands for You Can’t Make This Shit Up.

I just got off the phone with my dad. To be honest, he called yesterday and I didn’t pick up. I hear you gasping. A couple months ago when I did pick up he was having some financial problems, so I was a little gun-shy yesterday. But because I am a bad Catholic daughter, the guilt got the best of me today and I picked up.

He said he’d tried calling yesterday. I said I was skiing. That was a lie. (Told you I was a bad Catholic.) He said, “I didn’t know you were a skier.” I said, “Dad, I’ve skied with you. You know I’m a skier.” He said, “I don’t have any short term memory anymore.” I said, “Dad, I’ve been skiing for 37 years.”

He called to share a story with me. It seems that yesterday he’d decided to “end it all”. He’s sick of the weather, his car broke down, his renters aren’t paying and he’s done with the whole damn thing. (Please understand that I have heard the “end it all” talk my whole life. First, I heard it from my grandma, then my dad. This talk is attention-getting at it’s worst.) I reminded him that the Catholic Chrch wouldn’t really take too kindly to his committing suicide. He said, “Well, yes. I would go straight to hell.” I said, “What’s the point of being a good Catholic all those years only to end it with suicide and go straight to hell?” He said, “Well…….”

I said, “Geez, Dad, at least you could wait until the end of golf season. You’ve got at least one more good season in ya.” He said, “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve been swinging really well. I’ll rethink this thing in October.”

I said, “So did you call to give me the story of “Ending it all”? He said, “Oh yeah, that’s right. So I was walking to meet my buddies for lunch at Burger King. You know, since my car broke down. And as I was walking across the street I saw a big semi and some trucks heading for me and I thought, ‘I could do this right now.’ So I stopped in the middle of the road. And you know what happened? The truck in the front stopped and the semi stopped and everybody else stopped.” I said, “Well, Dad, I guess God put his big hand down to direct traffic, huh?” He said, “Guess who was driving the first truck that stopped.” I said, “I don’t know, Dad, tell me.” Continue reading →

Homekeeping — 4 Comments
24
Mar 10

homekeeping

spring-window Mark took the kids skiing today. A story is brewing. I’ll keep you posted. Literally.

Last night I made grand plans to concentrate on the book today. Kids would be gone the whole day and I’d have uninterrupted time to wrap up some loose ends. I’m hoping to have something to release before we head out on our cruise. I’ve been reading a lot about how, if you’ve been sharing all kinds of stuff on a blog for free, your followers/readers/sisters/tribe will squawk if you expect them to start paying for content. I haven’t done such a great job of following the advice of the ‘experts’ so far. This blazing my own new trail is too damn fun to start following some other proven path. I like to think that I’m being the responsible parent by setting up a counseling fund for Will and Jenny.

But before working on the book, and after checking out my favorite haunts on the web, I was going to go get some groceries before a girlfriend comes for lunch. I canceled with her last week because I was feeling like a bad mom for spending so much time at art shows and not doing “real” school work; because I was still in a funk about John; and because my ankles were swollen. I’m not kidding about the ankles. I just now came out of the bathroom after putting on some mascara and dragging my fingers through my hair. My mom would be proud of me for not leaving the house without mascara. And then I thought, “screw it. I’d rather write on this blog than get groceries.” ‘Course, I’d rather do just about anything than go get groceries.

Yesterday’s blog post was huge for me. I felt like it was taking a risk to write about God/prayer/chrch and all that icky (to me) stuff. I was actually in tears when I hit the ‘Publish’ button. There were huge tears of relief streaming down my cheeks. I know when I’ve written something powerful (powerful for me, and I hope for you) – I get teary during the process. Susan shared a tip with me about how to keep yourself from getting teary. Hold your index finger under your nose. Hold it perpendicular – like you are pointing in the direction of your ear – and apply a little pressure. It works! But I’ve yet to figure out how to type while pressing my finger below my nose. The acronym for finger under nose is f.u.n. Nice.

So while I was just getting ready to go to the store I was thinking about a new category for this blog. I was going to call it “housekeeping” but I can’t come up with any positive feelings when I hear that word. I’ve not kept it a secret that housekeeping is on the bottom of my list. In fact, my mom called the other day, and after I answered she said, “What’s going on? You’re out of breath.” While panting into the phone I said, “Don’t get your hopes up. I have my clothes on. I was dusting furniture. You know, blowing the dust off the tops of the furniture.” Only there was a lot of dust and I was running out of breath. Continue reading →

Child of Narcissist / Quotes — Comments Off
23
Mar 10

Enthusiasm

If you can give your son or daughter only one gift, let it be enthusiasm.

Bruce Barton

Child of Narcissist / Moving On / Recipes — 3 Comments
22
Mar 10

On Pancakes and Love

blueberry-pancakes 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 →

Moving On — 2 Comments
19
Mar 10

Good Signs

peely-paint “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 →

Moving On — Comments Off
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 →

Child of Narcissist / Lack of Empathy / You Might Be a Narcissist If ... — 6 Comments
17
Mar 10

I Am A Liar

st-paddys-day 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 →

Child of Narcissist / Moving On — 2 Comments
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 →

Child of Narcissist / Lack of Empathy / You Might Be a Narcissist If ... — 3 Comments
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 →

Quotes / You Might Be a Narcissist If ... — Comments Off
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

Lack of Empathy / Moving On / You Might Be a Narcissist If ... — 13 Comments
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 →

Child of Narcissist / Moving On — 5 Comments
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.”

Moving On / Recipes — 8 Comments
12
Mar 10

Survivor Chocolate

lucky-number-4 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

Continue reading →