Real Versus Normal Versus Me

I went over to Granny's last night.  My aunt, uncle, cousin, her husband and their adorable baby are in town for a few days, so I stopped to visit.  Granny was in a really bad mood.  (Full disclosure:  I haven't been feeling too stellar, so I may not have been a peach, either.)  To listen to Granny, I pretty much couldn't do anything right.  My hair was wrong (I just dyed it and it came out really dark), my dog is bad and I need to get rid of her (yes, she is bad but she's learning), my washer is broken and I need to do something about it (the part costs almost as much as a new washer and I can't afford either right now), but worst of all, and I quote, "Your taste is men is as bad as your taste in dogs."  Then she went on to lecture me on how I don't need to drag Joe through yet another relationship; he's seen enough and been hurt enough by the men I drag home; he doesn't need a dad he needs a friend.  I'm sure there was more in her fountain of opinion that I was too upset to hear.  I tuned her out partway through the mean speech.

Here is what Granny and pretty much everyone else doesn't realize: Yes, Joe has been through many failed relationships with me.  I am a failure in this area as a mother.  However, through all of this, I was trying to find Joe what he should have had at birth- a father and a "real" family.  I felt that he didn't have what he should have because I picked a crappy father that ran away when he was born and I needed to fix it.  I needed to find that for him and give him a "normal" family.  I was encouraged to start dating again when he was less than a year old.  Granny was the first to suggest it and she bugged me until I finally gave in to her fixing me up on a date when Joe was 14 months old.  It was disastrous.  The guy was a complete jerk.  I had begun on the road, though, and I was trying to come to terms with my life and fix what I perceived I did wrong.  I was only 23, and most men my age were really just adolescents in men bodies still.  I had two boyfriends that were more interested in race cars, toys and Saturday night more than being part of a family, but that was normal for the ages we were.  I was the abnormal one.

At 25, after joining eHarmony and being on there for several months, I met someone who also had a little boy.  I thought "Finally!  Someone who will understand where I am in life."  Almost a year before meeting this man, Joe has been diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder.  Had he been "normal" things may have been slightly different.  Had I not become clinically depressed things would definitely have been different.  This man wanted to have a family unit when it fit his parameters, but when it didn't he was pretty mean.  I was so intent on having the "real" family, though, that I kept hoping things would get better, that he and his child would stop being mean to Joe and I when things didn't go their way.  Mean became controlling also, and he wanted me to give Joe to my parents.  I couldn't do that- he was my child and my responsibility.  Yes, Joe could be difficult, but it was because he didn't understand and he couldn't explain that.  Later Joe told me that when I wasn't around, this man would hurt him.  The guilt that I feel because of trusting this man and now knowing I let him hurt Joe is insurmountable.  (I should also add that he proposed.  I thought I was doing something right.  Joe was going to have a real family.)

I was with that man for three years.  Six months after I left him, I met another man.  He had a quiet demeanor and had friends, two things which the last man did not have.  He was also nice to his mother, and the last man was not, so I thought I had met a winner.  He did not have children and was raised by a single mom in a situation very similar to my own.  At first he seemed like he would fit; like he might be the missing link.  What I didn't realize yet was that I was still on the rebound and desperately looking for a dad for Joe and any other children.  I still wanted more, but Joe was now seven and I was running out of time to give him siblings that he would be reasonably close in age to.  I overlooked that fact that this man was "self-employed" and bought the line of "It's just not a busy time for me right now."  Truth was, he wanted a mommy to take care of him so he didn't have to work.  He wanted to do what he wanted when he wanted, but he also wanted to be free of responsibility for himself.  He wasn't mean to Joe, he pretty much just ignored him.  I dealt with his immaturity for almost a year and then walked away weeks after he proposed.

By this point, my man-picking ability was the butt of many jokes.  I swore I was done to everyone I talked to, but secretly I hadn't let go of the hope I would have something close to normal, close to the nuclear family I grew up in.  I met a man who was exactly my age and was divorced.  He had a good job (on the surface).  He had very similar interests to my own.  I had an inkling he drank too much but I brushed it aside.  I should have listened to my gut.  As time went on, he became more controlling, but I was so beaten down by my search for normal that I pretty much gave up.  I let him be mean and berate Joe and I.  I'm not proud of it.  One evening he told me he wanted to get married.  I did not.  I told him that I didn't think I ever wanted to marry again.  I should have seen that my desire to stay unmarried was a sign of my backbone coming back, but I didn't yet.  Later that night, he beat me up and put me through my living room wall.  That was three months ago.  Joe has no idea I was assaulted.  He was not home.

I'm still healing from my last experience.  Physically I am healed, but mentally and emotionally I am not.  I have good days and bad days.  Some days I cannot believe I allowed myself to become so weary that I put up with the crap that I did, other days I am proud that I stood up and fought back as he was hitting and choking me.  I am embarrassed by the whole relationship and that I was willing to not only allow myself and Joe to be treated that way, but that I allowed the whole world to see it too.

The guilt over every crappy situation I have put Joe into in the last almost 10 years is crippling sometimes.  I don't need to have it pointed out; I worry about my suckiness as a mother almost daily.  I have done therapy on and off for six years.  I think I have gotten all I can out of it, but I still don't have the golden answer I have been seeking from the doctor.  I have come to realize that is isn't a succinct one-liner but rather an evolving book.  I have finally given myself permission to be a person and not just Joe's mom.  I don't need to find him a family- he has one.  A rather large, adopted one.  He has more people that treat him like a grandson than most kids have real grandparents, even if they get step-grandparents.  He has more "aunts" and "uncles" than he would have even if his father's family had been involved in his life.  He's happy.  He would like the mythical, fairy-tale version of a dad, but he doesn't really seem to miss having one in reality.  His real grandpa and his real uncle step in and do the "man things" when he needs it or when he says he wants to do "man things."  (Yes, he says "man things."  They involve chopping up trees and driving golf carts and grunting, I think.)  Sometimes his real uncle and some adopted uncles teach him the things moms don't want their kids to learn, but it's all in fun and it's good for him.  I am pretty proud of the family we have managed to accumulate while I was floundering trying to find him a "real" one.  I love all of them and I cannot express how grateful I am that they consider us family, too.

So where does Charlie fit into all of this?  I don't know.  He appeared out of nowhere.  I really, truly had decided to be single.  I turned a corner when I went through my wall, and I decided I was okay by myself.  I just wanted to enjoy my life for the first time since Joe was born.  I wanted to become a real person again, not just someone's employee and Joe's mom.  Not a worker drone or a robot.  I wanted to laugh.  I wanted to experience the things that other people do but I hadn't because of my state of mind and path I felt I needed to take.  I will admit that a lot of the crap was my doing.  I couldn't see at the time that I was trying to make up for something someone else did.  I felt that I had picked Joe's father and it was my fault he was gone.  It wasn't.  His father made the choice to leave.  I couldn't fix that, no matter how hard I tried.  Once I came to terms with that, I began to be a real person again.  I met Charlie while I was doing just that.  I was laughing, in fact.  It felt so liberating.  I allowed myself to be me, and I didn't care about what strangers thought.  Charlie says it was my smile he noticed first.  I find that ironic because it was missing for many years.

Joe has met Charlie twice, both times very briefly.  I'm not interested in the nuclear family anymore.  I'm not looking to fill a void anymore.  Joe and I are fine the way we are.  Charlie is a friend that I go to the movies with.  He holds my hand and kisses me goodnight.  I enjoy spending time with him, and it doesn't have to be anything more than that.  I tried explaining this to Granny once she finished lecturing me last night, but I don't think she understood.  I don't know that she ever will.  I just hope I can begin to not feel hurt when she points out my past mistakes.

Pass Me The Cashews Or I'll Punch You In The Nuts

Martha Focker.  This HAS NOT been a good night.  G is in the hospital.  She and the baby aren't doing so well.  Of course, consequently, those of us that care about them aren't doing so well, either.  I don't know how anyone else is dealing with this, but I can tell you what's up in here.


I want to eat.  I want carbs, sugar, grease, salt...  Anything but a raw or steamed veggie.  Deep fried cheddar cheese filled soft pretzels sound perfect.  So does pie.  Any pie.  And HoHos.  And chocolate covered pretzels, but only the thinner ones with lots of salt on them.  If I eat the way my stress is directing me to, by the time the baby is born G and I will BOTH have baby weight to lose FROM THE SAME BABY.  Hell, if he stays in there long enough, I may need gastric bypass by the time he sees daylight.  I certainly hope he's in there long enough for that.


There is nothing I can do to help her (or him, for that matter).  I have enough nervous energy to run to California and back, but I can't think of a way to make it useful because my brain is too scattered.  The only thing I know to do is pray.  I suppose it's the most powerful thing I can do, also, but it just seems like words right now.  I want to do something concrete; something I can see.  Something I can hear.  Something that puts this nervousness to good use.


Shit.  I'll probably just end up making elaborate cupcakes and then eating them.  Jenny Craig, I'll put you on speed dial.

A Letter To Lola

Dear Lola,

You've been my new roommate/project/supposed companion for almost five months now.  I knew that at first the rules would be difficult to follow, but you seemed to be very smart and I thought you would learn.  I'm not sure if you are at fault or I have supremely crappy puppy judgement.  All I know is that when we met, you were so calm and sweet.  You didn't run like your tail was on fire or chew up flip flops like they were Doritos.  You had bathroom accidents, but you were just a baby.  I know grown men that have bathroom accidents.

Was there some traumatic experience that I need to be made aware of?  Does a cat torture you when I am not looking and cause you to run like a horseman of the apocalypse through the house AT ALL TIMES?  Do you have some sort of rubber/plaster/book vitamin deficiency that causes you to eat my shoes/walls/reading material?  Can you not see people's faces and you only jump up to see who you are dealing with?  If that is the case, I am more than willing to get you doggy glasses.  And vitamins and cat repellent.  If none of those apply, can you please see fit to modify your abhorrent behavior?  I have cruised Amazon and found some "re-enforcement" that I am 100% sure you are not going to like, so I am asking you to reform your ways before they arrive.  Otherwise, well, you will receive presents you will not like.  None of them are chicken flavored, either.  And if they don't work, I do believe a bus ticket to San Jose will be in your future.

Love,

Joemama

Of Donuts and Dr Sous

Donuts.  I love them.  LOVE them.  If there were only two foods I could eat for the rest of my life, the first would be tomatoes and the second would be donuts.  My favorite is Dunkin' Donuts' strawberry frosted.  I could eat a dozen this second, with a cup of really strong black tea.  I'm slobbering all over my keyboard thinking about it.

It really is a wonder I don't weigh a thousand pounds.  Food is comfort to me.  When I'm happy, I eat something new and exciting.  When I'm sad, I eat comfort food.  Tomato soup or macaroni and cheese are two big go-to's.  When I'm stressed, I eat a lot of carbs.  When I have PMS, I eat everything in sight.  I cook to relax.  It's my hobby.  I don't stress about how something will turn out when I experiment; I can usually make even the worst mistakes edible.  There is something methodical and soothing about chopping vegetables to make a soup or watching as something sautes.  Recently I learned how to decorate cakes.  It's difficult to do well, and I practice a lot, but I'm getting better than your average amateur.  The repetition and the attention to detail make me temporarily forget whatever is weighing on my mind.  While I am creating something, be it a dinner or a dessert, I am completely immersed in making it the best I can make it be.  If it's a flop, no big deal.  Nothing was riding on it.

Ironically, my brother is a chef.  I used to work with him a lot, and I loved it.  He was the boss, but he didn't give me a hard time about anything.  He just told me what he wanted, answered my questions about how he wanted it done, and left me to do it.  I really liked doing wedding catering with him.  I never felt stressed while we were working.  I know he was, but I never felt it.  I just did what needed to be done, cooked what needed to be cooked and ate what I could.   And I looked snazzy in my black chef coat, of course.

I think the next food I will attempt to conquer is donuts.  Mom sometimes makes them, but I want to learn on my own.  I want to figure them out and then make my take on them.  After I'm done I will probably need to join Jenny Craig, but it will be fun.  Hopefully I don't burn my kitchen down.

#$^%*^!!!!!!‏

Just about everyone that knows me knows that when I have an opinion, it is usually a strong one.  Most of the time I use profanity in expressing my opinions.  I don't think that's necessarily a flaw; words are weighted and the dirty ones are like a ton of bricks in a conversation.  That being said, I don't have to be profane.  I can, and do, have intellectual conversations where I would never need to be censored.  In some ways I think that is a hallmark of intelligence.  I have a large and diverse vocabulary, and I understand when, where and with whom I can let it fly.  I would never tell my granny to kiss my sweet ass, but I would tell my cousin that in front of her.  I would never, ever swear in front of my other grandparents because they would probably pass out if I said it near either of their good ears.

My dabbling in bad words started very, very young.  My father has a cousin that always said "Hi Carrie!  How the hell are ya?" when she would see me.  She did this from the time I could utter any words on.  (She still does to this day.)  Well, how do you think I began greeting her?  Apparently at less than 18 months old, I did just that at the top of my lungs in Kmart.  My mom was slightly appalled.  She has a cousin that taught me to call boys "dickheads," among other things.  At age two, I went to Sunday School and called a little boy that.  (I remember it.)  I got into trouble.  Ironically, now, that little boy is a pastor.  He got a calling, I just ate a lot of soap.  A LOT of soap.  

I employ my extensive vernacular especially while driving.  I am also very adept at driving, eating and gesturing at the same time.  Recently, my son was riding in the car with my mom when she called some other driver an "asshole."  Then she must have said something to the effect of "Whoops, that slipped."  My adorable, not-so-little cherub said "Don't worry, Grandma.  My mom says that all the time.  Sometimes she gives them the middle finger, too."  He's so darling.  What he doesn't realize is how well-educated he is in the English language.  When he gets to college, he will impress many of his guy friends with the colorful words and phrases I have taught him.  I know that in my predominantly male field of work, my potty-mouth had garnered me much respect.  If I am talking to a rep and they ask me about repairing the latest and greatest doo-ma-flatchie their company has out, I pull no punches.  I will not hesitate to tell the boss if I think that new product is a piece of shit and why I think so.  I have also learned that when you are repairing something, as I make a living doing, the broken junk tends to respond better when you swear at it's resistance.  Several times a week I resort to calling things names that would make my former sailor Grandpa blink.  (I do think, though, that he spoke to the things he was fixing at work the same way I do.  He just didn't let any of us hear it.)   I refer to my self-censorship as my "filter."  One of my co-workers told me "I love it when your filter is turned of.  I've never heard a girl talk like that and it's hilarious."  I don't think of this as crude or unintelligent.  I am just using those words as a way of expressing my present emotional, physical or mental state, much as a painter paints or a composer writes music.  If there were a profanity hall of fame, I would be in it.   The picture would probably be me holding a bottle of that nasty soap Mom made me eat.

Wussy Chicken Goes On A Date (And Does Not Die)

I did go on a date with Charlie.  I was afraid that Kay and Linette would beat me up and I would chase off Charlie if I didn't.  I was completely scared out of my wits and wanted to hide under my bed, but Charlie seemed like a really nice guy and chasing him off would have been a shame.  (I didn't take into consideration that if he wasn't scared by the end of the weekend we met, maybe he was made of tougher stuff that I had given him credit for.  Or he was brain-damaged, in which case it made sense he would hang out with Bear, Ted, Jim and Waffle.)  To distract myself from being nervous, I made cupcakes.  Red velvet, which in hindsight wasn't the smartest move.  Cream cheese frosting does not like heat and we were going on a picnic.  Whoops.


Charlie picked me up and I was SO NERVOUS.  I'm pretty sure he was a little, too.  We drove out to Moraine, a state park about 20 mintues away.  It seemed like everyone in town decided to have a picnic there, too.  We drove around for another 20 minutes looking for a place to sit.  Charlie was very careful to find a place in the shade so my ghostly white skin did not turn crispy and red.  I thought that was really sweet and considerate of him, especially since he's tan and it's obvious the sun does not have a vendetta against him like it does me.  Once we found a place to go, he unloaded the car.  He had indeed brought everything we needed.  I will admit that I was impressed- most of the time when a man says he'll take care of everything, he means "I'll drive through somewhere and if it ain't in the bag, we don't need it."  He even had a blanket so my ass didn't get dirty from the bench.  I don't think I would have remembered that.


Charlie was so sweet and kind the entire time we were out.  I'm not used to that.  We ate, talked, people watched and walked the Frisbee golf trail just to see how far it went.  It was nice.  I wasn't nervous anymore- we were just being two people having a nice time.  I could handle that.  I tried my best not to be self-conscious and almost succeeded at that, too.  It was a good day.


Day turned to evening and we went to watch the fireworks at the local fair.  We parked outside the fairgrounds and he held my hand while we watched the colors shoot across the sky.  We could hear the kids behind us yelling and the parents chattering.  All seemed right for the moment.  I've learned that sometimes that's all it needs to be- moments where all is right.  No deeper meaning, no need for the moment to lead to another.  No need to look for longevity because longevity can come from good moments in succession.


I did invite Charlie in when we got back to my house.  I was slightly worried because the me-sized hole in the wall is still there from Nick beating me up, but Charlie didn't say anything about it.  I've decided that the hole is going to stay- it is a physical reminder of me turning a corner in my life.  I am going to turn it into a built-in bookshelf.  I am going to put meaningful things in that hole, just the same as I do in my mind and my heart.  I am also going to build it myself.  I can fix the holes in my heart and mend my spirit, and I can fix the hole in my wall and mend my mind.  I am beginning to see what happened to me as a blessing.  I needed to change paths to find happiness and peace of mind, but I didn't realize it.  The calendar page from my desk calender for April 21, 2011, the night I was beat up, is already in a frame hanging beside the hole.  It will be the first thing to go on my shelf.  The page has a lady on it saying "Life begins when you dump the damn psycho."  How true, how true.  And I am eternally grateful for the life-changing experience I have had.  I am stumbling down the road toward happiness, and I can see it.  It is the journey and the moments, especially the good ones.

I'm A Big, Fat, Wussy Chicken

My friend Aaron sent me a message regarding a blog post from a few weeks back.  I thought I should share it with you.  It is on of the most beautiful, sensible things I have ever even read, let alone have been written to me.  (Yes, I used his read name.  He deserves the credit.)


"Though my experience hasn't been exactly like yours, I've been through a bit of what you're talking about (plus I'm a man-child). After 10 years, and a daughter together, my spouse left us, and I've been single dad-ing it for over a year now. 

Perhaps what has improved my life so significantly is allowing myself a paradigm shift in what I expect in a relationship. After such severe heartache, and crushed dreams, I started to think of something one of my teachers said to me:
"We live in an age of serial monogamy... We're faithful to someone as long as we are happy, and then we move on to be faithful to someone else...and so on."

I guess after going through what I had, I have kind of taken comfort in that... and started to think of it as a solution to a problem in my thinking......"that I need to find someone to spend the rest of my life with." 

I suppose this might sound cruel, or indecent, but I really don't think it is. I think it has given me the chance to stand alone. To take a little bit more responsibility for myself, and yes, to enjoy myself a little bit more... I wouldn't presume that everyone would be fulfilled in taking my route, though.

Since then, I've started seeing this girl, and right away, expressed that I have no interest in ever marrying again. I told her that I am the type that will never cheat, and that I would expect the same. I also told her that I don't want to live together, and don't want her to be a mother to my daughter. I want to enjoy her company, be great friends, be great lovers, go on trips, have lunch together, watch movies, whatever we enjoy... without planting huge expectations on each other. I told her that I'd rather miss her once in a while, than wish she would go away once in a while... In short, that I want to be happy and I want her to be happy, being two separate people... who love each other. And I must say, this has been the most stress-free year of my life... partially because our relationship was not grown from a seed of expectations. It has NOT been perfect, but I did want to share my thoughts with you...

I don't see you leaving a trail of man-children in your wake, because you just don't seem that type. But who knows? Perhaps there's some young guy out there that you'd REALLY get along with. Someone that might start right out expecting to just have a ton of fun with you, and not be burdened with marriage, fathering, co-habitating? I know I would have!!! You're a gorgeous lady, and "sharp as a razor, soft as a prayer"... Hope this doesn't sound weird! I hope the best for you, and don't think you're done having fun OR experiencing romance...
-Aaron."

I'm sitting here tonight typing this instead of sleeping.  I have a wonderful friend who is here for a visit, but she is leaving in just a few short hours.  A few more hours after that, I have a date with Charlie.  I am scared shitless.  I don't know what to think or do.  I just know that he seems like a really decent guy and I don't know yet if I am in a place to deal with the opposite sex.  I believe that Aaron's approach is exactly what I need and will do regardless of what man I may date, but am I just going to be a jackass and screw things up anyway?  Am I even interesting enough to keep a decent guy's interest? I am excellent at learning new skills- it distracts me from problems.  I can fix things, cook things, bake things, write things...  But what do you do with a person?  How do you know if you are screwing a good thing up or propping up a bad one?  Am I okay after dealing with the Nick situation?  Should I just chicken out and not go?  I really like this guy.  I want to know him better, but I am afraid I can't handle a real, decent man.  I'm used to selfish, defective man-children and taking care of them and their messes.  The messes distract me from dealing with the truth- I am uncomfortable with better.  I feel unworthy of a decent man, but why?  I know all of the psycho-babble reasons, but what is the blood-and-guts reason?  I am still not completely sure.


I have been told by my two closest friends that I should go on this date; that I deserve this.  I deserve to have fun and be treated well by a nice guy.  They both pretty much gave me a little hell over being hesitant.  I think it was not because of being hesitant, it was over me being wussy.  A chicken.  It was pointed out to me that I could not ever be happy in a relationship if I didn't go out to eventually have one, and nice guys aren't exactly a dime a dozen.   I needed to seize the opportunity (and to be honest, the attraction.  He's cute).  I guess I will fill you in on the details of my date after I have it.  Cross your fingers that I don't do something to screw it up.