Romance

I watched "Blue Valentine" the other night and it got the ol' cogs turning in my head. If you haven't watched it, I do recommend it. However, I recommend it with the caveat that you will probably be at least a little depressed by it. Oddly, it was refreshing for that very reason. The film industry (for the most part) has an annoying habit of taking the realness out of reality. The questions tend to not be difficult, the answers are absolute, and everyone walks away satisfied. "Blue Valentine" is definitely not that kind of movie. It's a movie about a relationship minus the fairy-tale romance aspect. It's honest and it's intimate and it really doesn't give a damn if anyone's terribly satisfied at the end. Watching the movie just brought up an age-old conversation I have with myself over the nature of romance. Yes, I have conversations with myself. Moving on...

I find that I am much more pragmatic than I was during my teenage years. This is by no means abnormal. At least, I hope it isn't. When I was a teenager, I believed in the idea of soul mates while simultaneously scoffing at the idea in public. My concept of love was intense, passionate, tragic, and certainly never anything short of dramatic. However, if that was truly the case in romantic relationships, we'd all be crying lines of eyeliner down our cheeks and writing terrible poetry 24/7. Reality has to creep in somewhere. And when it does creep in, that's when I think the true romance happens. It's easy to fall for an ideal. Ideals are shiny and beautiful and new all the time. They are what they are because you haven't obtained them, yet. The real work and the real love begins once you've obtained what you've idealized. For the purposes of this post, that ideal is your husband/wife/lover/partner.

The beginning of a relationship almost always has that butterflies-in-yer-stomach, gosh-everything's-magical aspect to it. You and the Object of Your Affection (OYA... like "oh yeahhhh"... heh) are still putting your best foot forward. You don't want your OYA to know that you snore or that you eat with your mouth open or that you save your toenails after you clip them or WHATEVER. You try to stifle the faults you're aware of and therefore present an ideal, and terribly untrue, version of yourself. However, the charade is awfully hard to keep up. Sooner of later, your OYA is going to see you picking your teeth or you're going to fart in his/her presence and the smoke and mirrors will vanish. When that happens, the real trial begins. This is when you find out what you're made of and you'd better hope there's a good foundation or you're toast.

To me, it is far more romantic to be able to look at your OYA when he/she has bed head and hasn't brushed his/her teeth and is wearing ratty old pajamas and you STILL think, "I really love this person." And the intense happiness that comes with knowing that your OYA feels the same way about you when you've spent the whole night snoring the house down and drooling all over your pillow is better than any Hollywood construct. The truth is, you will not be at your best all the time. Hell, I'm lucky if I'm at my best once a month. Scratch that and edit it to once a year. My husband is confronted with the worst of me often. He sees me when I'm hating myself and I just can't give a damn and he's still there, loving and accepting me. Screw Cinderella and Prince Charming and all of that other garbage. That love and that acceptance is what's going to see you through to your old age.

There will be drama and there will probably be tragedy in your lives but that's going to happen in between long stretches of the mundane and the routine. You will need something to sustain you through those long stretches. You will need to be able to laugh at yourselves, to recognize your faults, to be able to have arguments without falling apart, to be able to communicate and work together. You will need to be really damn good friends and have each other's backs. You will need to be able to look at your OYA at the end of a very difficult day and think to yourself that all that other bullshit isn't going to tear you apart because you have this person who will see you through it.

All of this is a far cry from my teenage perceptions of romance but it isn't unromantic, not to me. I think part of growing up is learning how to redefine things rather than abandoning them. I will never be a fairy princess or own a unicorn but I do have love in my life.

Did you know I like to whine?

I thought I would solve things. You see a problem, you search for solutions, apply them to the situation, and you fix it. If not A, then B. If not B, then C. Etcetera. It's not anything new to figure out that life is more complicated than that. However, some revelations have to be had over and over and over again. Even then they might not stick. It's not stupidity or naivete that makes the lesson hard (or impossible) to learn. I know that in my case, it's just a continued hope that keeps me making the same mistakes. I keep hoping that it'll be simpler this time and that the formula will work. Isn't there an exception to every rule, after all? I'm in the middle of the same of revelation for the umpteenth time and I know I'll find myself in the middle of it again.

What do you do when the problem is you? My problem isn't having a crappy job or having no job or having the wrong job. My problem is pretty fundamental - I am screwing up my life. It's me. Granted, I'm not doing drugs or drinking myself into oblivion. I'm not prostituting myself or robbing from people or killing people. I don't even pull the wings off of flies. There are far less dramatic yet equally damaging ways to screw up your own life. To paraphrase from a Mumford and Sons song, I haven't found an enemy bigger than my apathy. Or maybe it's fear. I suppose it's equal parts fear and apathy. I've never been ambitious out loud because I'm afraid of what I can't do. There's something about having potential that can ruin a person. As long as I never try to tap into my potential, I'll never have to find out that it's all just bullshit and I'm really not good enough. And at any given time when I could choose between making an effort or playing video games, I'll opt for the video games. That, more than anything, explains why I am splattering self-pity on the internet instead of... I don't know. Following my dreams? Pursuing my goals? Grabbing life by the balls?

I got a job because I'm a terrible stay at home mom. I wanted to be around other adults and feel like I was part of something and being productive. My job, though, has left me feeling either incompetent or enraged. I have always been a good employee. I've been able to get along with and befriend my coworkers. Here, though, I can't decide if I'm just out of my groove or if I'm working with crazy people. Am I really that awful? Are they really that awful? What the hell is going on here? My therapist told me I should quit and part of me agrees 100%, part of me is stubborn and feels like quitting would mean "they" had won, and part of me is oddly comfortable. Did you know that comfort isn't always a good thing? Now you do. Comfort keeps me in dead-end jobs. Comfort keeps me playing video games.

It's Thursday evening. I've worked 4 ten-hour days and I'm feeling a little drained. My kids are in their room, asleep. I have a glass of wine and I'm listening to music. Ironically, the song I'm listening to is "The Edge of Glory." That's funny, right? So I'm going to finish typing, finish my wine, maybe read a little or watch a little TV. Then, I'll go to bed and let myself think of who I wish I was until I fall asleep. Tomorrow, I'll start over again and hope that I can muster some enthusiasm. Yeah. I'm rolling my eyes, too.

Worst mom, ever.

Were you at the Big Dipper this afternoon at around 1? If so, you might have seen me. I was the lady who left her kids in the car while purchasing some ice cream. You sure gave me some nasty looks, I must say. You know what, though? You'd have been giving me nasty looks had I let them stand in line with me. Let me explain...

We awoke today to some gorgeous Spring weather. Sunshine! There's sunshine out there, for the love of all that's good and pure! Since you live in Missoula, too, you understand why that's such a big deal. We haven't seen the sun in weeks. At least, it certainly feels that way. Anyway, since there's an abundance of what we have been previously lacking, I knew it'd be damn near criminal not to take advantage. After breakfast, I grabbed some water bottles and readied the munchkins for a stroll along the river. As we headed out the door, Ethan noticed his pushable Thomas train and I thought "Why not? Let's take it along and Ethan can push his Thomas train to his heart's content! It'll be fun!" This is not the first time I've been horribly wrong about something similar. I should know by now. To be fair, though, the stroll started out well. The kids were smiling, Ethan was happily pushing the train along, Ben was skipping and dancing, birds were chirping, etc. How lovely!

When we got halfway to my target destination, things started turning sour. Ethan began to refuse to push the train any further but he didn't want anyone else to touch it, either. Neither did he want to leave it behind. I'm not sure exactly what he wanted to have happen but it was clearly something beyond my control or capabilities. Benjamin actually diffused the situation by inviting Ethan to sit and rest with him on a bench, where I took some pictures and stupidly thought that everything was going to be ok after all. That was when Ethan hopped off the bench and made a run for it. At first, I didn't see the harm since he was headed for an open and empty field that certainly posed no danger. As if he knew what I was thinking, he stopped his mad dash and started trying to eat rocks.

The details of everything that followed are fuzzy - just glimpses through a reddish haze and peppered with feelings of futility, humiliation, confusion, and desperation. The boys hit each other a lot, Ethan planted himself face down on the ground several times, Thomas was brutally thrown fairly often, and passing dogs were terrorized. I eventually ended up carrying Ethan - as he pinched, bit, scratched, slapped, and kicked me - while Ben dutifully pushed Thomas along side of me. Trust me, people at Big Dipper, yours were not the only pointed looks I endured this day. I walked through a gauntlet of judgment, avoiding eye contact, all the way back to my car where I strapped a still-shrieking Ethan into his car seat and thanked Ben for helping me with the stupid train. I told him he could have an ice cream for his troubles, which is how we came to be at Big Dipper this afternoon.

You see, Ethan was not going to get ice cream. There was no way I was going to reward his horrifying behavior by giving him a delicious treat. Also, whether or not the kid was going to get ice cream, I knew that standing in line with him would be an utter disaster. Have you experienced flailing toddler rage? It's nearly impossible to deal with when the parent to child ratio is 1 to 1, when the parent is outnumbered it's game over. No matter how dutiful and well-behaved the non-flailing child has been to that point, he or she will only register that Other Child is getting an awful lot of attention and will follow suit. No, thank you. So I parked the car in the shade. I rolled the windows down a bit and told them that I would be right back. I walked the 20 feet to the line and barely took my eyes off the munchkins. I saw you staring worriedly at my kids and I noted your disdainful glares as well as the shaking of your heads. I also noted how there were 5 of you to the two small children present in your group.

You got up from your table and dispersed, leaving behind one member of your party who happened to be the mother of the little girl present. And you, mother of little girl, took it upon yourself to "guard" my children until I closed the 20 feet between us and got back in my car. You thought you were noble, I'm sure, and you will tell the tale of the Evil Woman at Big Dipper to all your friends to caution them against such gross child neglect. Someday, mother of little girl, your daughter will throw an unholy tantrum in public and drive you to your wits' end. She will shatter every single illusion of parenthood that you ever had. If I'm standing there when it happens, I won't shake my head at you. I just want you to know that.

Around and around I go

Have I mentioned that I've gone back to work?

So, yes. That happened. I'm employed again. I tried being a stay at home mom, or SAHM as they are known in the blogging community, and it didn't turn out the way it was supposed to. Basically, I completely sucked at it. There were a few weeks when I think I was mostly on the right track; I took the kids places and kept us all active and away from our home. However, I ran out of ideas very quickly. I thought I was a creative person, and maybe I am, but my creativity doesn't translate well into actual day-to-day functioning. (I'm still not sure if anything I do translates well into day-to-day functioning.) Basically, I had no freaking idea what to do with these two little people 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Yes, sleeping factors in there somewhere but I was having really messed up dreams about Graboids eating my kids and reclusive old people kidnapping and murdering me so I have decided that my sleeping hours don't count. Something was stressing me out all the time.

So how is going back to work less stressful? Well, I get to talk to grownups again on a regular basis. As it turns out, that is really important for me. I started feeling both sorry for and resentful of Clyde when he came home at night because I would start babbling at him from the moment he walked in the door and I just couldn't understand why he wouldn't want to hear my stories about how many times Ethan pooped or the ferocious battle of wills that occurred between Ben and I at every mealtime. There was a small part of me that realized Clyde had just finished up a 12-16 hour day and the man needs at least a moment to unwind. But there was a larger part of me that just thought "OMG an adult! Must talk! BLAH BLAH BLAH CONVERSE WITH ME DAMNIT!!!!"

I also genuinely feel that my kids are better off at daycare. When they are there, they are interacting with other children, creating pictures, listening to stories, and just learning things that I lack the capacity and patience to teach. I tried to teach Ben how to write letters and numbers and just could not wrap my head around why he couldn't trace the dotted lines to make a letter "H" or number "9". After all, it's so easy for me to do it. Never mind that I'm 28 years old, have been through 17 years of school, and don't even have to think of how to hold a pencil correctly. My poor 4-year old son was frantically trying to live up to my insane expectations and we were both suffering for it. This is a HUGE failing on my part, I fully admit. Now, Ben is being taught by people who aren't crazy know how to guide a small child and he's doing wonderfully.

I was raised by a SAHM and until I myself became a parent, it never occurred to me that my own mother could have ever envisioned another direction for her life. What she did for me, I could never possibly repay. I don't fully know what sacrifices and compromises she made, but I'm grateful to her. She did something that I now know I can't do. This doesn't mean that I don't enjoy being with my children. I swear to you that the best part of my day is having them run to me and hug me when I pick them up. I just acknowledge that there are people in the world who can be amazing stay at home parents but I'm not one of them.

So I'm back to earning a wage and I feel better for it. The boys are also doing great. Ethan is getting better at playing with other kids rather than just near them and Ben always has something to show me, something that he's very proud of. I think that if I've learned anything through my experience thus far as a mom it's that parenting is even more complicated than anyone or anything makes it seem. Every parent has to figure out what works and that process involves going through a lot of things that simply don't.

My hat goes off to SAHMs (or SAHDs), but I've got a nod and knowing look for those of us in the (paid) work place.

The stumbling continues.

Dear Friend,

I had an interesting afternoon looking for you. In my pocket, I had a note with "Lot 35, block 42" written on it and I'll be damned if that note was even a little helpful. For some reason, I had the idea in my head that I'd get to the cemetery and just immediately know where to find your grave. This was a silly thought because I did not attend your funeral back in 2006 and had never before visited your grave site. Useless note in hand (or pocket), I hopped in my car and headed out to the Holy Cross Cemetery with every intention of finding closure. After a stop at Safeway to buy a dozen long stemmed red roses (of a quality that only Safeway could provide), I drove through the cemetery gates and instantly realized that this was going to be harder than I thought.

Several years ago, I went for a walk with my husband in one of the cemeteries in Sonora, CA. I took note of the fact that the cemetery had something like street signs for the crisscrossing paths. At the time, I probably thought it was quaint. This afternoon, however, I realized that those signs were terribly useful. There were no such signs to help me navigate Holy Cross Cemetery. There were no helpful markers, no directory to say "you are here" and give me an idea of where I might find you. There was just an expanse of very similar-looking graves, stretching off in front of me and to the left and right of me. I did not innately know where to find you and so I wandered.

As I was trudging through the crusty snow and the sucking mud, clutching the bouquet of mediocre roses and continuously going in circles, I cheered myself with the thought that you were watching me somehow and getting a laugh. I talked to you in my head and then began talking to you out loud, hoping that you would give me a sign of where to find you. I would have followed a squirrel at that point if I thought it looked like it knew where it was going. Alas, there were no squirrels or whispers from the afterlife. I did find the grave of a young boy who had been accidentally shot and killed when I was in elementary school. I left him a rose. As for the others, immediately before I gave up my search I came upon the grave of a baby boy who had only lived for less than a month. He has your roses. I knew you'd understand.

My dear friend, although it had been years since we last saw each other when I heard of your death, I hope that you somehow always knew that you touched my life. When we moved from Baker, OR to Butte, MT, the transition was frightening and difficult. Everything was different and unfamiliar but your friendship helped me to think of my new town as home. You will forever occupy places in my head and my heart. I can find you there, at least.

Humanity is (surprise!) Human

Natural disasters have a tendency to bring out the best and worst of humanity. This morning, I had the misfortune to click on a link which displays a list of Facebook status updates from people claiming that the earthquake and tsunami that hit Japan is somehow a karmic response to Pearl Harbor. If you are a thinking human being, you should not wonder why such a connection is not only mind-bogglingly stupid but also hateful. I'm bothered not just by these statements but also by the fact that this link is being tweeted and retweeted as evidence that people in the U.S. are all this stupid and hateful.

It's easy to look at these updates that are fueled by ignorance and an utter lack of compassion and then begin to despair the species. I'm guilty of travelling that downward spiral on many occasions and I'm sure I'll traverse it many more times before I die. However, something happened to my mindset once I had children: it occurred to me that I simply cannot afford to be (or more accurately, remain) nihilistic or hopeless about humanity. After all, I made the decision to bring two fresh little people into this world of ours and for me to have such a bleak outlook on life it would mean that I'm a complete asshole for having done so. I don't consider myself a complete asshole so that means I need to do a little soul-searching in order to figure out just how to feel about the people who inhabit this lil' green and blue dot with me.

When I saw the vitriolic and moronic postings, I was immediately outraged and wanted to vent my spleen in a similar way with these xenophobes as my target. What would be the point, though? Would I change their minds? Would I make them feel ashamed? Would they plumb the depths of their souls and find the compassion and empathy that they lack? No, probably not. All that would happen is that I would have stooped to their level and made a bad thing worse. Instead, I left that poisonous little webpage, opened my eyes a little wider, and saw outpourings of love and support, generosity of wealth and spirit, and a much louder voice crying above the hateful din a message that we are human beings who recognize a tragedy that could befall any one of us and we grieve with those who suffer. More importantly, we offer a hand up as well.

I find that when we are at our best it is during moments when we recognize our collective humanity. We forget about borders and politics and our myriad differences and instead see a much broader picture of All Of Us instead of Us and Them. Japan is not paying for an act of war nearly 70 years ago, just like Haiti was not paying for rising up against their oppressors when disaster struck there. When natural disasters strike within the U.S., it is not payback for the Trail of Tears, slavery, Guantanamo, or any other of our horrific failings. Earthquakes, tsunamis, floods, tornadoes, hurricanes, etc. happen because we inhabit a planet that shifts and moves with utter indifference to our presence. With that as our reality how else are we to find comfort if not with each other?

This is all easier said than done, of course, but if we say it enough it might just sink in. So I will tell my children that even though the worst of us might sometimes be the loudest, they are not necessarily the majority. Sometimes it is terribly hard to believe and it is during those moments that I have to search for the things to feel hopeful about. They're always there, though. At the very least, the whole world can't agree to be as awful as possible all the time because the whole world would never agree to anything entirely to begin with. There will always be someone to say "Now hang on a minute..." And with luck, education, and determination, I will have added two more of those someones to this world of ours.

You're welcome.

I think I might be irrelevant in the sense that I do not pertain to anything. In my head, I'm a fad that went out a decade ago or a piece of outmoded technology. The world is full of smaller, cuter, more efficient and desirable models. Mentally, I am collecting dust.