Ho Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum!

Blending is not my favorite thing--unless of course it involves ice and lots and lots of tequilla....  The art of blending a family is complex and takes the finesse of a virtuoso combined with the hardiness of a pirate.  Usually I simply get that deer in the headlights look and freeze until just the right moment and then run.....smack dab into a Mack Truck!

Mateys.....We need Rum!!

Blending is much harder than I anticipated.  Teenagers love me.....my own kids typically love me.....well....typically..... I am fun....really.....I promise!!!  I cook!!  I listen....usually.  Blending is like living in a foreign country---everything I need, I have to go through my translator.....(Hubs) and everything they need, they go through the translator (dad).  I feel as if I must sit back and watch and wait for the pieces to connect----excruciatingly painful for a woman of action----and divest myself emotionally from the outcome.  I have to be the grown up....I can't get my feelings hurt....I have to keep waiting and waiting for that moment where I get some sort of "tada!" moment.  Did someone say Rum?!?!?!?

I am not sure what exactly I envisioned----maybe the Waltons.....or Little House on the Prairie when they adopted Albert.....or....  I just want to hit that little button that says Blend------I want to make it happen instantaneously!!!  I want them to be comfortable....I want me to be comfortable......I want The Man to be comfortable.....I want Junior and Chickadee to be comfortable......mostly I just want to have a family that loves each other and engages with each other....creating a new living breathing organism.....a beautiful blended family. 

The problem is that I get my feelings hurt......they get their feelings hurt.....The Man gets his feelings hurt.....and we all compartmentalize and talk to our translators.  Sometimes it feels as if I am on a reality tv show---negotiating back and forth....making alliances....and plans.....and super secret alliances....and super secret plans.... Rum!  We need more Rum!!!

At times, I feel caught in the middle in the fray between exes.....at times I feel left out...in my own home.....because this is a family that is not mine....they have a history I don't share.....I feel like an intruder....an interloper.....watching something beautiful from the outside.  It's a club I can't join......I'm not really even a step-mom.....I am simply Becky.  Some days I am okay with that.....and some days it just really sucks. 

It's time to re-evaluate......to step up to the plate......to risk something in order to gain something.  In my fears that they won't like me, I have become something that is not quite myself.  In the words of Ray Hunt, "If you do what you always do, you will get what you have always gotten."  It's time to return to me......learn the language......ditch the translator....and take a risk.  

Diary of an Angry Greek Woman

My first encounter with Medea was in the early days of dating The Man. He invited me to a movie, Medea Goes to Jail. He mentioned that this was a continuation of the Medea movie, Diary of an Angry Black Woman. I was *so* excited….I just love documentaries… the grit, the true life stories and this one sounded right up my alley. I pictured Africa…Johannesburg…women marching for equal treatment... When the first preview came on, my excitement came to a screeeeeching halt. *Oh* Tyler Perry is not an artsy indy filmmaker. Um…yeah… The Man kept glancing at me nervously at every punch line wondering, “why isn’t she laughing??” I kept subtly glancing at him, “did he just laugh at that?” Time moved in slow motion - the complete opposite of warp speed - I tried to smile and look cute…feign interest…wishing this movie theater served something a little more potent than milk duds…..

That was my first encounter with Medea. Imagine my surprise this semester when our assignment was to read Medea by Euripides. Tyler Perry just went up a notch in my mind. Medea? There is another Medea? I was instantly intrigued.

It’s an age-old story, really. Girl leaves her homeland…her family…her friends…to marry her hero - the celebrated Jason (as in Jason and the Argonauts). She helps him create his fortune by assisting him in his quest for the golden fleece. She is smart, beautiful, loyal…..he becomes her life….she has his children and is a devoted wife. They are the ultimate Power Couple--the Ken and Barbie of Ancient Greece. With her brains and his ambition, they can go places. That is…..until he traded her in for a new model….young, cute…..and a princess to boot. I can picture their conversation in my mind…..Medea: “But I got you where you are today - it was with my help that you succeeded.” Jason: “I would have succeeded with or without you…you really didn’t do that much to help…it was by MY hard work that I got where I am today.” I see Medea standing there….hearing those words that tore her heart….pleading with her husband to stay…not to abandon their long marriage. My heart starts to pound…my blood is reaching its boiling point…. Jason: “and just think…..it will be much better for the kids…..they will have little brothers and sisters who will be heirs to the throne….think of them for once…think of the opportunities it will give our children.” annnnnnd the Waterford crashes into the living room wall. I wonder - is he related to my X?? Early ancestor, maybe?? Jason: “I am sending you away - but you’ll have a nice house.” CRASH! Jason: “Why can’t you just accept this? You are so difficult!” CRASH- CRASH-CRASH-CRASH!!! Sister, I am there!! I am there in spades!!

Medea is devastated, hurt, angry, and alone. She has lost her husband, her friends, her house, and her lifestyle. She is one angry woman. She plots…plans….and manipulates her circumstances in order to bring him pain. She becomes a woman obsessed with showing the world how much he hurt her---to show the world what a bad father he is--to show the world that she is right and he is wrong. He was unfaithful not her….why is she being punished? She wanted to work on the relationship--he didn’t….the world needs to know that Jason…the revered Jason is a fraud. Medea looks for the way to cause him the most pain - - and she finds it….through his children.

In Euripides’ story, Medea plots to kill her children. I would be hard-pressed to find any woman willing to stoop to that level to cause their X’s that much pain. However, quite often I see women (and men) attempting to kill the relationship between their children and the other parent. It’s so subtle….a comment here and there about how unreliable they are, about their financial support, about their new girlfriend. I see them scheduling play dates, family outings, or girl scout meetings on the other parent’s weekend. She ignores simple, reasonable requests. She brings them late or picks them up early…..and visitation becomes a hassle in the children’s mind. Mom is happy because she feels vindicated because the kids chose to stay with her during Dad’s time.

I understand…..I am there sometimes….pick me not him….pick me not him!! Sometimes I just want to push the X off his pedestal like a kid playing King of the Mountain. Just one push…one quick hard push…. Why should he get to be the good guy?? It’s not fair!! I work hard to be a mom. I make the difficult decisions. I sacrificed for my family…stayed home to be a mom instead of finishing my degree and starting a career. But here’s the thing - kids need their dads and their moms. My new mantra is, “they are an X for a reason.” What he does now isn’t part of my current equation - he is my X-husband…..but he is not my kids’ X-father. He may not keep his house the way I would keep my house (holy cow, it would involve a bulldozer), he may not keep the children accountable like I would (just call him Mr. Cha-ching) and he may not date women I think are appropriate (I would prefer they be actual grown-ups) :)  but he is still their dad and I need to give their relationship the utmost respect.

Your kids may never see how he wronged you….how much he hurt you….how you are the superior parent. To be honest, although that is a gratifying thought, it’s not a healthy thought. Part of me wants my kids to see it, but part of me knows that if and when they do, they are going to experience my pain, feel my abandonment, and mourn the daddy they once knew who has now fallen off his pedestal. It’s not worth it. My vindication is not worth my child’s heart.

Just walk away knowing that he is an X for a reason…..and whistle a happy tune.

Grandma's Recipe Box

I just returned from spending ten days in Arkansas, my childhood home. It’s been a few years since I have been able to spend that much time with my family and it sure felt good! Being around my family is a reminder of my roots….not just with good southern home cookin’ but a reminder of the legacy of those who came before me…..who shaped me into the creative, complicated woman that I am. I got to spend a day with my Grandma Haley cooking up a storm…..purple hull peas, fried okra, fried corn, banana pudding, and, of course, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers. My childhood home is a place where neighbors, family, and friends bring over their extra produce….simply to share. Both of my grandmas looked first to what had they in their pantry and created dinner from there. I think that is where I developed my cooking style….one of creating dinner as I go after seeing what I have on hand and adding whatever seems beautiful.

One morning after Daddy and Darlene cooked breakfast (French toast, bacon, tomatoes, eggs….no wonder my clothes are a little snug right now), we set to looking for my Grandma Jean’s pickle recipe. We pulled her recipe boxes out onto the table and went through them one by one. Seeing my grandma’s handwriting took me back to a time where I sat on the red iron stool watching her cook. She would explain the how’s and why’s of what she was doing and I would write down her instructions one by one. Sitting next to Grandma Jean making biscuits, dumplings, pies, is where I learned cooking was not science but art. One has to “feel” the dough, taste the soup, and add a little bit here and there. Cooking never seemed to be a chore for her…..it was her art…..her contribution to her family…her place to be creative.

While going through those walnut stained boxes, I found a couple of writings. Grandma Jean wrote from her heart and (in my opinion) wrote to work things out in her head (much like I do now). I didn’t realize that she was a writer until I visited her as an adult several years back. Grandma Jean was nearing the latter stages of Alzheimer’s and I felt the need to come for a visit - just the two of us. Sometimes she recognized me and sometimes she didn’t…….we would sit on the porch and wait for Grandpa to get home (he had passed away several years before) and plan our dinner. She would rail about how her kids took away her car saying she was, “gonna take a switch to them,” when she saw them…..and then told me how much her children loved her. Jean had moments of great lucidity where she told me that she thought she was going crazy….that she knew she forgot things….tears would fill her beautiful blue eyes and she would look out the window for Grandpa to come back.....lucid moment gone. She had moments of playfulness when she said we needed to go shopping and spend all of my daddy’s money - which we did - the first shopping outing she had allowed in years. My Grandma was a wise woman….wise in the ways of the heart. As I child, my feelings would get hurt and I would run into another room, find a place on the floor and cry where no one would see me. No one followed me…..and in my little girl mind, it meant that nobody cared….and I would pout. Grandma would find me there hiding between the bed and the wall and tell me how much I was loved….that my daddy loved me and my aunts and uncles loved me…and that God loved me. She never once told me to stop crying…..to stop feeling….she just directed my thoughts to the true nature of things. I loved my Grandma!

Jean was the refuge for many a “problem” child. She would have distant cousins come live with her because (quite honestly) the parents (or the grandparents who were raising them) needed a break. Grandma Jean was firm...she would grab a flyswatter or a switch in a flash or even a glass of cold well water if needed - she could throw a shoe at a misbehaving dog and hit him from 20 yards away...but she would “love those kids like the dickens,” (as she used to say).

Sitting at that table with my Daddy last week, I came across this writing:

Why Fish bite the Worm on Your Fishing Hook


Father like mother loves their little children and little children loves father as well as mother.


Who? has the right to say no you can’t have them.


Both mother and father loves their children. If they, mother and father don’t, they are no parent at all.


But confusion can and will destroy a child’s faith in both mother and father if they are kept away from one or the other. Hate comes in. So in the end what you have is they grow up loving no one, believing in no one, believing that both parents did not care about them. So there, why bother? Sooner or later they will end up like mother and father, caring for no one, just about themselves. Maybe they will get a good job and maybe [meet] a nice person and learn to care about them. And maybe they will marry him or her. But take care and open your eyes and want & will to learn about love and caring-not only about the one you found, but about the mother and father and especially about the little children because they will be grown soon and need to learn to love and care for other people. We are all God’s children and He cares about you and me and every person.


Open your eyes and heart. You are needed. Open your arms.

Grandma had seen so many hurting people using their children as weapons - not allowing them to spend time with their X - not allowing their children to know that their X loves them. She saw the damage it did to the children…..how it shaped their ability to love and to care about anything. Children need to learn to love and learn to care about other people…..even when it is not easy….for us or for them.

Blending

So the topic on my mind today is family blending.  My girlfriends and I have spent many an hour talking about the successfully navigating having a relationship where children (even adult children) are involved.  I have learned through these discussions that everyone has different expectations in blending families.  Does anyone out there have success stories or even tips of what not to do that they learned the hard way?  What expectations do you have in blending?

The Impact of Words

Words….I just love words. I love the “feel” of some words…the image they project, the feelings they inspire, and even just the sound of them. I definitely have favorites….ones I use incessantly. There are also words I dislike, words that make me cringe inside, that hurt my feelings. Sometimes I think we forget the power that resides in words - - we forget how they affect those around us and even how they affect ourselves.

I am trying to get back into the habit of running. For me, running is just that - a habit. If I keep my momentum, I will run every day without much thought to it. If I start to blow it off…..it’s harder to lace up my Rykas and step outside the door. It’s important to me to keep on track - when I run, my clothes fit better and I am a more confident and stronger person. I got out of the habit of running during the recovery of my partial hysterectomy a year and a half ago. I tried to pick back up the habit last spring, but there were days where my insides jiggled too much, I would have pain, would freak out and stop (yes, I am a closet hypochondriac). I tried to pick the habit up last summer but I was too busy. I tried to pick up the habit last fall, but the weather did not cooperate and so on and so forth……hence……I gained 15 pounds and my clothes are a bit….well….tight.

Running is more of a mental exercise for me than anything else. I get bored….or more telling…I simply get mentally tired of running. I will tell myself, “don’t stop - don’t stop- DON’T STOP” and the second the words go through my brain, I stop. Recently, I have changed my mantra - I tell myself, “Go Becky…..just go!!” This changes things for me mentally. The power of a proactive word for me is incredible! Telling myself to “do” something instead of “don’t” do it pushes me to do the right thing.

Proactive words work for children as well. When I would tell my son not to have a “tone” when he spoke to me, a tense discussion ensued about whether or not he actually had a tone. However, when I requested that he speak to me respectfully, his tone would change. The words, “Don’t be late” changed to “remember to be on time.” Our relationship improved dramatically.

Words can do damage. When I’m angry, I sometimes say things I don’t mean. The next day, I’ve forgotten them because…..well….I didn’t mean them…so they were of no lasting consequence to me. However, my words of anger take root in the person on the receiving end. Those words become part of the hurtful “tape” that plays in their head. By flinging my words carelessly, I have caused another person to hurt…not just upon receipt…but over and over again.

When I am the recipient of hurtful words, more often than not, the old Becky arrives on the scene….batten down the hatches…..drop the sail….circle the wagons…..don’t be vulnerable….don’t care….focus on something else…..all because of a few words…..a few….little….bitty words. Words are powerful things.

Why Being a Single Parent is Hard……

This weekend, I overheard a conversation between two ladies speaking of a woman they knew who was divorced. The ladies commented on how sad it was that this woman was not the parent she was when she was married. The woman (I’ll call her Sue just to give her a name) used to be “all about the kids.” Sue was a great mom who doted on her children, was creative, fun, and an engaged parent. Now that Sue is divorced and dating, her life has changed a bit……..and her “poor, poor children” don’t understand why mom is not available 24/7. The ladies continued their observation with the *shocking* statement - Sue now wants to have her ex take the kids every other weekend so she can spend time with her new boyfriend instead of splitting every weekend with her ex.

As I eavesdropped on the conversation, I felt a surge of protection for Sue…..I’ve BEEN there….I’ve DONE that……and I wanted to jump in the conversation and give these ladies some perspective…..

I too am not the parent I once was. My divorced friends with children have admitted to the same. Although I was never the perfect parent, I always tried to be around my kids…to have dinner at the table most nights…..to make breakfast on the weekends…..to have food in the refrigerator (a complaint I hear often now). I stayed home with my kids, planned parties, built fires outside, made cookies, played games, had fun family vacations, went shopping…..and had THE best holiday experiences.

I miss those times….a lot…..and many times I wish I could turn back the clock and make things work just to have that life back……but I can’t.

If I were to be brave enough to butt into that conversation, I would have spoken of how lonely being a single parent is…….where you once had another adult to unwind with at day’s end, now you are a parent 24/7. Where you once had someone to share the load with….you are now exhausted. Being a single parent is hard because you are torn between parenting your child and wanting to build new relationships…..and that takes time….time to spend together…..it is such a tug-of-war. Although some people would say that raising the children comes first (and I do agree in principle that it does)….what happens when the kids leave and the parent is left with nothing? As a 40 year old woman, that is a scary thought. My friends who are the same age feel the same. Do we really want to be 45 or 50 years old and THEN looking for someone to build a relationship with….really??

Although I do realize that the totality of my life is not whether or not I have a man in my life…….it sure is nice when you find that person…..life starts to feel a little “normal” again…..

Dealing with the X factor is another difficult thing about being a single parent. Nevermind the typical miscommunications and differences of opinions----one of the hardest things for me to hear is, “well, Dad said I could…..” Lordy, lordy….my temperature starts to rise….blood starts to boil….and the kettle starts to sing….. Suddenly, I feel as if I am in a competition with the X and he is winning (I so hate to lose). Now that my kids are older, it has gotten very difficult to refrain from spilling my guts over how I really feel about that…..and I am embarrassed to say that there are times that in the heat of “competition” I have been too quick to point out the flaws of said father figure in order for myself to look better…….and….it has backfired every time.

Truth be told, every time I hear those words, I am ushered back to the end of my marriage and the feelings of rejection that I felt. When my children say those things, I desperately want them to see me in that good light….to have me be their hero…..to know how much I want to do the best thing for them….even if it isn’t the most popular. I want them to see how I struggle with being a good parent…..how I agonize over every decision…..how inexplicably tired I get (and therefore how grouchy I can be sometimes). But those things are hard to show your kids without sounding like a big nag and without sounding like a guilt trip.

Now that my kids are both adults, it has gotten even more difficult in some ways. They get to choose who they spend holidays…..weekends……..vacations with. Hearing, “I’m going to stay with Dad for my time off….” or “I am having Thanksgiving with Dad..” pierce my heart. Of COURSE I want them to spend time with the X, of course he needs holidays too (ish)……and I understand in my mind that this is a good thing…….but I want to be selfish and keep them all to myself. In truth……it is just hard.

So……I chickened out of my impulse to butt in to the conversation…..Sue will continue to be the fallen star of the parent world….but I resolved to once again be transparent in a place where I would rather keep private….and share (even in a small way) my personal struggles hoping that it is an encouragement to those on this same journey.

Would You Like Some Salsa with That Chip?

There is nothing I like more than a good Mexican restaurant…..it’s my little slice of heaven! I go because I can get my fill of chips and salsa (and then take my dinner home in a “to go” box). Normally, I am not a chip eater, but give me a little fresh, chunky salsa and I will eat basket after basket after basket.

What is it about those chips that keep me coming for more, even though I know they aren’t good for me?? Why don’t I just eat the salsa with a spoon for goodness sake?? There is just something about the crunchiness and the saltiness that relieves my stress - that conquers my frustration for the moment…..that just plain tastes good.

I am typically a happy person - my disposition is sunny 90% of the time…I smile…I bubble…..I laugh…..unless, of course, I have to deal with my X. Now, I try really hard to not have a chip on my shoulder about our marriage…..I really do. The X and I can be in the same room, we can sit by each other at Junior’s games, we can make polite conversation - - BUT if we need to work together in any capacity, my frustration hits Defcon 5 in a matter of minutes. I get defensive…..I get frustrated……I get impatient…..I want to throw my Blackberry across the room and jump up and down like a three year old. In short, the sunny disposition flies right out the window.

Last week, I spoke with the X about Junior’s visitation schedule…..well...he is older and we don’t really have a schedule….which is probably part of the problem…. My expectations were not being met (do you hear the chips crunching?)…. I was determined to have a polite conversation about the amount of time they were spending together. During the conversation, I felt he was not taking my concerns seriously (crunch)….to which he responded defensively…(crunch..crunch…crunch)….and my response was not much better (crunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunch)… Our conversation ended with him declaring, “Becky, you can no longer tell me what to do!”

Waitress…..could I have some more salsa please?????

Bitterness is like that - it changes your perspective - gives you funky glasses to look through (in my case funky glasses with rhinestones curving over the top)…. Bitterness changes everything. Just listen to people talk after an election….if their candidate didn’t win, the world is going to hell in a hand-basket. The newly elected official is second cousin to the devil once removed - nothing they ever do will be right. I have asked many a friend, “how can you hate someone you don’t even know?”

Marriage and Divorce can be like that, too. Expectations are not met and bitterness sets in……which turns in to gripiness and complaints….which turns into anger….and then even hate. But why? What does it solve? If I have a chip on my shoulder when I deal with my X, how does that improve my situation? Oh, it might feel good for a moment to “give him a piece of my mind..” but then what?? I have eroded any goodwill we may have created in the months past - I have set myself up for future failure. So why not just accept that he is human and has faults (oh does he ever)….just like I am human and have faults (very few I might add)…

Push the basket of chips aside….forgo the salsa…..and just enjoy life.

The Grande Pity Party

Now I have been known to throw a pretty good party. As a matter of fact, it could possibly be one of my favorite things…..it doesn’t matter if the party is at my house or a venue, thrown for a couple of people or for a hundred - it makes me happy. I have even been known to thrown a pretty darn good pity party when the mood strikes……these parties are the ones I try to keep on the QT……there is just no pretty dish to make what I am serving there more palatable.

Nothing puts me into full throttle pity party mode than guilt - single-divorced parent guilt to be exact. You know the kind - the guilt that starts will little Junior getting a bad report from a teacher and ends with the finely tuned orchestra in your head playing yet another rendition of, “If you were a better parent, Junior would be an angel…” I know that song well.

As a single parent, I often feel as if I am playing the role of both parents - being both cheerleader and disciplinarian…coach and line judge….windshield and bug. At times, I try to convince the world (and myself) that I am a good parent. The cycle is predictable - worry…guilt….defensiveness…..guilt….crabbiness…irritation…..more guilt…anger…..phone call to the X….more defensiveness….more anger…more guilt… emotional exhaustion

What I have learned in the last year is that I cannot coerce, manipulate or otherwise guilt my X into being the picture of what I consider a good and proper Charles Ingalls dad to be. He has his own picture (possibly of Fred Flintstone) that he is emulating. Any attempt to coerce, manipulate, guilt or even reason him into my “picture” is met with a resistance of grand proportion. Our vision of parenting was not the same in marriage…so I am not sure why in the world I would think that if I just talked long enough…and passionately enough, he would “buy into” my vision. Honestly, I am sure he is on the other side of the phone thinking…..just shut up…..but he is typically somewhat polite and waits for the opportune moment to flee.

Being a single parent is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. It’s not just the quiet house or the strain of being both household parent figures - - I feel alone on the journey. There is no one to brainstorm with, to be the voice of reason, to collaborate punishment options….. Although the X and I never really saw eye to eye in the parenting realm, I do miss our conversations about the kids - the sharing of dreams and disappointments….the feeling that we were Bonnie and Clyde…..going in no holds barred and then running for our lives in fear.

Looking back over the last year, there have been times where I have failed as a parent - I have been crabby out of sheer exhaustion, I have been too quick to mentally blame their father for their actions, I have both over-reacted and under-reacted. This year, I have been too busy….too needy….too tired. What I need to learn is to cut myself some slack - give myself a break - and then do likewise to my kids and my X. When there is slack in the rope, there is no push/pull….and then you have a partnership.