Pancakes Taste Like Poverty: And Other Post-Divorce Revelations (15 page)

I was so pissed I spent almost six hours at the
movie theater just to be away.

It does not appear that my kids will have a good
father. My ex is not meeting any of the requirements for being a
parent. He is not here physically, emotionally or financially. My
eyes are wide open now. With clarity and emotional detachment I can
see that no amount of empathy or cooperation is going to change his
behavior.

His family couldn't do it. I couldn't do it. His
kids can't do it and there isn't a crunchy, bendy, granola yoga girl
in the world who can do it. Only he can do it. And I hope for
his
sake he does it earlier rather than later. Kids grow up fast and he's
missing all of it.

I will not allow him to affect my life. I will
not use my mind or breath on him any longer. He showed me who he is.
I believe him. I am taking action and I am done.

You really do measure a
year in love

In evaluating this year to myself I tried to
figure out exactly how to convey how much my life has changed.

Yes, I have moved into a house I never thought I
could ever be in as a single mom with three kids. But so much more
has changed, and it's intangible. What is it?
What
has
changed?

Love.

I am drowning in it. It's everywhere.
Sure
enough this Christmas, CBL came in the night and deposited toys and
books into my garage for me to sneak under the tree “from
Santa.”
There was no way I was going to make those gifts
from Santa. I wrote CBL and her husband's name on all of them. I
wanted my kids to know how much the people around us loved us.
Love
is all around us.

My mom, my sister, my grandma, my aunt, my uncle,
my friends, my dad, my step-mom, my brothers, and you.

Reading my words, whether in this book or on the
blog. You are invested in me, even if it's just to see if I've fallen
off the edge yet or to judge my parenting or to hate me because you
like to do that sort of thing. But, I'd like to think that most of
you are cheering me on like the fantasy crowd at the end of
Big
Fish
. I can feel that investment and it may not always be love
but it's
something.
It's more anything than I ever got
before.

It's December of 2012 and I gotta be honest I was
hoping to be a light body by now, or dead from some Illuminati
population-control tactic, or fighting zombies, or reunited with my
alien family ('tis family lore that I creepily requested to be
reunited with my
real
family on my "home planet"
when I was about two) and none of that happened.

So if I'm
here,
I'm gonna be all over
the place. I'm going to do everything I can. I couldn't have done it
before because the healing hadn't happened. I still don't wear red
lipstick. I didn't revolutionize the education system as was my brief
goal upon moving home. I wanted to create an educational resource
center as an alternative for all the kids who drop out of high
school. It was to be a centrally located place, rich in resources and
access to information. We'd do life skills classes, career shadowing,
small classes and other sorts of amazing things. I got sidetracked by
my own needs. I can't revolutionize all the things while I'm still
unable to provide for myself, y'know?

I didn't learn how to play guitar, either. I
didn't re-learn French.

But I did find myself – my
real
self. And I got the tiniest taste of what I'm made of. And I got to
see myself through the eyes of people who actually care to
see
me.

And all of that is better than some silly old
lipstick.

I will end with my friend, Ella's Facebook
status. It is fitting.

"I resolve to live my life in such a way
that future-me will be pleased with what I've done."

When I decided to leave my ex it was because I
was ashamed of my life's work. I was ashamed of the impression I'd
left on my friends and family. If I got hit by a bus, I didn't want
my last days or years or months to have been steeped in resentment,
hate, shame, guilt.

One year erased
all
of that.

One.

Year.

I may not have accomplished much on paper.

I have no degree to flaunt. My vocabulary is
average. I have no idea what is happening in the world most of the
time.

But there is so much love, and so much good in my
small world that I
must
be doing something right.
Be
a man – January 2013

My son is very
skilled at articulating his pain.

The day after his father left town I found him
crying to himself. When I asked him what was wrong he said to me,
"Daddy's never going to act like a grown up and now how will I
learn how to be a man?"

My throat closed. I have no idea.

I had always been sensitive to the messages sent
by the media to young girls.

Despite little change in the sexualization of
women and girls in advertising, people seem to be at least
aware
that it is a problem. Much more now than when I was little. Against
the backdrop of the "Bad Girls Club"-loving America is, at
the very least, a constant conversation about how the collective "we"
is influencing a generation of young girls and perhaps confusing them
about what it means to be a woman.

I come from a long line of independent women who
can walk the fine line between lady and face-melting ninja assassin.
I do not worry much about how my girls will know how to be women.

But strangely, as a single mom, I have become
more
acutely aware of the lack of positive
male
influences for my son. Or rather, the constant barrage of "life
is too hard for the poor, stupid men" messages in commercials
and television.

Last night, while watching some random prime time
TV, I saw one commercial selling something. I can't remember what
because I was so stricken with annoyance at the stereotypes.
Mom
leaves home to run errands and then comes home to the dad trying to
change the baby's diaper on the kitchen island. The kitchen is
destroyed because HA! Men are so stupid! They don't know
anything
about babies! Sigh, I guess mom's know everything. Chuckle chuckle.

Jack immediately catches on.

"Oh yeah, I guess men are idiots who can't
be dads,” he spits out sarcastically.

The very next commercial features a man trying to
show his wife the new juicer he bought. He was too stupid to buy a
decent one so when the juicer made a mess all over the counter, he
was also too stupid to know how to clean it up. Thank goodness women
are born with the cleaning gene and know how to handle all the
problems because all men are such giant dummy-head babies, right?

I am not simple-minded enough to think that the
media is to be blamed for
all
the world's problems. However, I
am perceptive enough to see that the "bumbling dad" trope,
what was once a well-timed counter move to the "authoritative
dad" of the 1950s, has become one of our culture's backfiring
jokes. And since there are currently no men around for my son to see,
I have to be especially vigilant in discussing these obnoxious ideas
at length with my son
and
with my girls.

After all, this trope is a double-edged sword.

I am not comfortable with my daughters growing up
and accepting that "lovable incompetence" is a typical male
trait the way me and many of my peers did. And men, by capitalizing
on this new societal norm don't realize they are only making their
lives more complicated. What woman can
respect
a giant baby?
What woman wants to sleep with a man she has to
parent
?

Then lo and behold, baby-man isn't feeling
respected. Why is his wife
expecting
things from him?
Doesn't she watch sitcoms? She's supposed to be hot. He's supposed to
be fat and he shouldn't be expected to actually parent. Life is too
hard. He quits.

I see it constantly.

Constantly.

On TV, in my life, in my friends' lives...

In a perfect world, I'd have lots of male friends
who would pop in and visit with us, and my kids could build a perfect
"composite" man in their minds to create a standard of
behavior for them to model and understand.

But I don't have that.

And yes, yes, yes, I know there are plenty of
good men "out there" but they are not
here
right now
so it's really irrelevant.

So it stands.

I don't know how to show them what a strong man
is because I can't find him anywhere. He's become as elusive as a
chupacabra.

I like Adam Braverman on
Parenthood
. I
think he's an excellent husband and father, but the subject matter on
that show is so heavy that if I'm watching and they happen to watch
with me I spend an hour discussing the complications of having a
child with Asperger's, or having cancer, or being the parent of an
adopted child or whatever.

I just worry.

I don't know how a boy becomes a man in a
man-less world.

Dear Married Mom
Whose Husband is Away on Business A Lot of the Time

You
are NOT "practically a single mom."
If
there is someone, resentful or not, who you can call or count on when
the kids won't go to sleep, or your car is making a funny sound, or
you need to kill that spider, or move the couch or hold your hand,
you are not like a single mom.

If you can "run to the store"...ever...you
are not like a single mom.

If there is someone who created your children
with you, who calls you to see how you are doing, even if it's a
chore, even if it's an obligation. If that someone who pays attention
to you, at all, then you are not like a single mom.

If there is someone who you can bounce parenting
ideas off of, right there in real time then you are not like a single
mom.

If there is someone listening to you rattle off
the details of your mundane selfless day, you are not like a single
mom.

Listen, bad marriages are bad. Lonely marriages
are lonely. But humans need companionship and despite how lonely and
how bad your marriage is, it's not as lonely as
being
alone.
I remember, during marriage, when the day nearly took the
air out of my lungs, and I was near tears and near collapse but I
still knew there would be relief
eventually
because
I had a husband.

Now I don't even allow myself the opportunity to
feel
the pressure because I already know there will
be
no
relief.

There is no one to catch, or soothe, or react to
my feelings. My feelings cannot exist.

And trust, the peace of mind and freedom and
Self-ness of being single is a succulent luxury compared to the
choking, stifling, emptiness of a loveless marriage. I am not
minimizing that pain.

But when well-meaning women think they are going
to find common ground with me by saying "my husband works
offshore/travels on business so I'm practically a single mom" I
want to sit them down, pat them on the head and say "no,
honey...no."

If you can giggle about how you can't wait until
your husband gets home so he can fix your AC/car/garbage disposal
then you've already lost me.

My stuff breaks and I just...stand there...and
know there is no option but to fix it.
And every time it happens
I have a moment when I look around the room waiting for someone to
walk in and help but there's no one there.

Yes, I learn, every day how strong and smart and
capable I am.

Every time I have to paint a room, or diagnose a
funky smell or sound from my crappy minivan, or take the panel off
the back of my dryer so I can figure out why the heating element
isn't getting hot, or assemble a three piece bedroom set on my own I
am reminded how brilliant and strong I am.

But what about when I don't want to have to be?

Me Time

I
know I'm supposed to have it.

I know.

I know.

I KNOW!
Again, I don't.know.what.it.means.

I don't need drunken nights out and can't afford
them anyway.

I don't get my nails done. I don't get my hair
done.

I don't want to walk around nonchalantly through
a library or *shudder* the mall. That is not my idea of fun. I would
be bored and itchy from idleness.

I have an amazing group of friends.

And they all volunteer and say "let me watch
your kids so you can – "

So I can what?

SO I can WHAT!?!?!?

Go do...what?

What is there for me to do?

Comfort

Generally, I don't miss marriage but today I do
because I really need to be comforted.

The last few days have been poo.
I'll
elaborate when my head is clear and I'm not full of Pinot Noir and
Pecan Sandies but trust that I went on a parenting roller coaster.

Today I got poo news about a childhood friend.

And poo news about a girlfriend.

And poo news about a new friend.

And I don't feel like I can hold it all.

And it's days like this that despite the "likes,"
and the well-wishing, and commenting, and "I'm here for yous,"
I just don't feel supported. I have no place to lay all of this down.
There is no human there to nod or rub my back with concern and look
at me while I ramble and say "mmhmm" or "aw, babe"
or "I'm sorry to hear that" and it sucks.

I have been so enveloped in love. I have been so
humbled and inspired by the powerful circle of friends I have
cultivated.

But none of that is a substitute for arms around
you, and a chest to lean on, and the ability to exhale and melt into
someone, even if it's someone you hated the previous day.