A Life in Crisis

We have two simultaneous crises happening at once in our world. Our increasing brokeness would be the first part of that, and then, of course, is our separation.

This month, I feel like we have rallied against the brokeness of it all more than we have been able to deal with our separation (and perhaps that is how God works, knowing that if i had it all together, if I was able to be independent of him that it is unlikely that we would have spent much time trying to repair a marriage that is now 3 times broken).

I hate feeling like I am dependent on anyone, especially someone who I have convinced to be dependent on me for so long. It makes me feel trapped sometimes, suffocated, like I have nowhere to turn except to this person who I am still not certain that I will be able to forgive.

What if I were able to forgive (again)?

What would that look like?

Does forgiveness mean that I have to squash the anger, the hurt, the betrayal? Forget every intense wave of nausea that overtakes me when I think about the injustice, the selfishness of his actions?

Does it mean that we just go back to how things were in the past? When I was overlooked, neglected, disrespected, and made to feel unworthy of love, companionship, warmth, or care?

What if he was right when he said that I was using my hobbies, my interests as a wall to keep him out, away?

Who's to say who started neglecting who first? It happened. I'll admit that I recognize that walls were built, but I always felt like I was building mine as a reaction to being so lonely for so long that I needed a distraction, a way of taking away the pain of no longer being important.

Why do people think that this is all so sudden? That it just happened a month ago? There is nothing sudden about this and perhaps that's why I wasn't as destroyed as I thought I would (should?) be.

For the last week or so, I haven't been able to write, so confused and sad and caught up in this mess I've been. I focus in on song lyrics like a 13 year old girl rather than being able to focus on much else.

I am glad to say that he is in therapy, that he has made a few small steps. I think my biggest fear is that if I should forget, no more steps will be made.

And that we will be right back here again in a year and a half.

I Am Not A Translator

I present to you today, the latest installment of this blog's only feature - Shit My Kid Needs To Learn.

I almost majored in English in college.

Until I realized that the only thing that you can do in life with an English degree is teach or work a dead-end job until you come up with some other lame-ass graduate degree major to go back to school for. 

So I quit school.

Which really has nothing to do with what I came here to blog about today, it just shows you how my mind works. You see, I couldn't think of anything else that I liked enough to occupy me for the next 2 (or more years of school), my thought process started becoming too big, too overwhelming, I couldn't declare and under the (perceived) pressure of it all I just quit. 

I will go back, and again that has nothing to with why I am here today.

I love the English language. I love to write, I love to read, I love to hear people speak (which is why the TV always seems to be on in the background, at least I am claiming that that is the reason).

During my 4 year history with the Supergirl, there was a 4 month period somewhere between 18 months and 2 years old that her vocabulary exploded, except that most people didn't know it, because they couldn't understand her. I became her translator. I could tell people the amazingly insightful things that my little one could say! I was smart, I was needed! I again existed in the Universe that was Supergirl-land. Adults would have to talk to me to talk to the cute kid, they would be forced to make eye contact with me while I explained her political views and observations, grandparents actually realized my purpose in life was more than to just drive the kid to event A or B! I had function, I had purpose - I was Supergirl's translator!

And then it ended, just as abruptly as it started.

Sigh.

Recently, a new language has entered our home. A language that I do not understand. A language I will not ever understand.

It usually starts with a very high pitched "MOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAA, IIIIIIIIIWAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSNNNNNNNAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCKKKKK...."

I stare in utter confusion at the half-me standing in the center of the room. "What?"

She looks at me in disbelief and then does it again, louder like I am hard of hearing, "MOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAA, IIIIIIIIIWAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSNNNNNNNAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCKKKKK...."
I am not getting it, so I head to the kitchen. "This, do you want this?" much like I did when she was 9 months old and just crying for no real reason.

Louder and louder it gets, my head is throbbing, I am panicked because I cannot understand this irritating  and loud new language. "MOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAA, IIIIIIIIIWAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSNNNNNNNAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCKKKKK...."
She is following me now, repeating herself like a zombie. I don't get it. I just don't get it. Why must she be so loud, so irritating, so, so, so...WHINY?

Had she hurt herself, fallen down, been even a little tired, I might understand the whine a bit more, but she now whines as her NORMAL voice. I have to beg for her to slow herself down just to understand any of the words that she forms.

I know it's another phase, but, oh my goodness, this could lead to some serious therapy later on down the road.

Quick Notes on Time with Supergirl

Z came into my office the other day while the Hubs went to an appointment.

"Is this your assistant?", the elderly security guard asked. I kind of nodded, but Supergirl had other plans.

Hand on hip, she spun around to face him.

"I am not an assistant, I am a child. If I was an assistant, would she have to do my hair?"

And with that she turned around and stormed up the stairs with her arms crossed in front of her.
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At night when Supergirl says her prayers, we always start with the Lord's Prayer. Here is her version:

Our Father, you aren't in Heaven.

Hallowed be your name

Thigh and ink done come

Your will be done

On Earf and in Heaven

Give us this day, our daily bread (Momma, I don't like bread, can He give me something else instead?)

Forgive us our trespasses

But don't let anyone trespass against us

Lead us not into temptation

But deliver us from evil (EVIL, EVIL, EVIL!!!)

In Jesus's name, Amen.

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Supergirl has recently learned to buckle her seatbelt, but you have to check her and make sure it is really done. If not she yells, ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! as loud as possible from the backseat while you are attempting to drive down the street. 

It's a miracle that I have not crashed into a tree. Or a deer. 

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While watching TV the other evening (Bizarre Foods, ya'll!), she turns to me and asks, "What's a penis?". I asked her what she thought it might be, while slowly dying inside that my 4 year old needs to know what a penis is. Where, oh where, has the time gone?

She points to the side of her tummy. "I think it's somewhere over here." I shake my head and whisper her in her ear. 

"It's a boy's stringy bottom."

Her eyes light up. 

The Hubs has given her new found knowledge extraordinary power, so she is using it increasingly often. It angers him and flusters him and she uses it more and more when she gets a reaction. 

Whatever. 

So last night, she looks at me as she is changing into pajamas. "Don't look at my penis, Momma." I remind her again that she does not have a penis and I do not flinch when she begins to laugh.

"I did when I was born, Momma. All babies do." I looked at her confused when I realized what she was talking about. 

The umbilical cord. 

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She likes to have notebooks that she "writes" things in. Kind of like a journal or diary of scribbles. The other morning I found it lying open and the entire page had one word written over and over and over down the page. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. Perfectly in line, perfectly spelled, not backwards or scrawled the way she does most of her writing. 

"Supergirl? Where did you learn to write this?"

"Oh, Momma, that's just a poem about you." {Sniff}

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My Name's Not Wonka, This Ain't A Chocolate Factory, Quit Licking Me

I present to you today, the next installment of this blog's only feature - Shit My Kid Needs To Learn.

Much like Brad Pitt in anything*, my child has an oral fixation. Sight, touch, smell - none of these are as important to Supergirl as her sense of taste. 

She explores the world around her through her tongue. And in times of stress (i.e. now), her licking escalates to proportions previously unknown to man. 

Apparently, I taste really friggin' good. 

Every night before she goes to sleep, we have snuggle time on the couch. We lay there snuggling, talking quietly about our day when suddenly I feel the warm wet tongue running up and down my arm. Or my face. Or my hand. 

And that is when the snuggling ends. 

It does not end with me though, she licks doors, counter tops, the floor, door handles (oh my goodness, does she love the cool metallic surface of a door handle). If there is nothing left to explore, she will lick the palm of her hand and smear it on the closest window. I have given up on cleaning the window next to her car seat. It will be smeared, grungy, and sticky until this phase ends. 

If it ever does. 

She likes to chew on the inside collar of the neck of her shirt. Or, if the shirt is long enough, the bottom hem. When she plays "puppy" (the most obnoxious game I can think of, because she only wants to do it when we are trying to leave the house and she goes all non-verbal on me and is on all fours, giving her gravitational advantage against me picking her up and getting her to the car) she will pick up shoes, socks, even toys with her mouth. Her commitment to character is strong, 

This is most likely my least favorite stage. It is also the one that has lasted the longest, she started doing this around age two. Perhaps I should have listened to the pacifier advocates (she never used one), perhaps I let her nurse too long. 

This may be just her way of trying to cling on to a babydom that seemed to end too fast, of hanging on to every last second of getting to be a baby instead of growing little girl.

Or another of her attempts to kill me faster. 

*By the way, now that you have clicked over to that link to read that article, you will never be able to unsee it. I tried to watch Moneyball this past weekend and all I could focus on was the sheer amount of stuff that he was cramming into his face. That man is a machine! 

I can only guess how much you have to exercise to be able to constantly eat like that and still be allowed into Angie's domain. Maybe he is only allowed to eat on movie sets. Maybe she prohibits food from even entering their house. Although, I saw pictures of her once buying a bunch of Happy Meals for the children at a McDonald's. I wonder if they had to eat them outside of the house while she sat in the bathroom and cried. I wonder if George Clooney is smuggling food to the kids and Brad on movie sets, since he always seems to be there, even when he is not in the movie. 

In case you are wondering, the mystery behind them completely sucks me in. I know that they are supposed to be real people, but didn't he seem more real when he was married to Jen and smoking pot all day? Maybe that was just me and my codependent issues. 
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Diary of a Mad Fat Girl - Book Review

It is Spring Break time again here in good ole College Town, USA, which really just means that the students have evacuated to parts unknown leaving the streets a bit easier to navigate and restaurants to close super-early because what business is going to stay open when there are no students to buy their over-priced beers and sandwiches? 

Or, if you don't work or live close to either campus, it's just another week at home. 

Sometimes a girl just needs a book that doesn't require a lot of brainpower, a book that is just a fun distraction. Stephanie McAfee's Diary of a Mad Fat Girl is just that. A silly book about a small country town where your business is everyone's business, breakups, and the girlfriends that will help you through anything. To me, this is the epitome of what a Spring Break/Summer at the beach book should be. 

The main character, Ace Jones, grew up in Bugtussle, Mississippi. It's there where she found out that her parents had died, there that she met her true love Mason McKenzie , and there that she feels imprisoned to. While she dreams of painting in Paris, of opening her own art studio, of running away to a new town somewhere, anywhere she just cannot find the courage to leave Bugtussle behind. Instead, she is the art teacher at the same high school that she graduated from, lives in the house that she grew up in, and bristles at the idea of change. 

While there are a lot of funny high moments in the book, the ending of the book is too quickly wrapped in a  pretty bow and delivered on a silver platter. There are just too many moments where there are no repercussions for any of the actions for Ace or her friends. Which, again, is why it is a great book for Spring Break or Summer vacation, but not a book that I take too seriously. 

I would definitely say that if you are looking for light reading over Spring Break or while sunning yourself on a beach, Diary of a Mad Fat Girl is the book you are looking for. If you are looking for a quick, easy distraction from a life gone way too crazy, this is a good book to take your mind off of your woes. 

I also think that this book would be fine for older teenage girls. There are some moments where the subject matter starts to get a little steamy, but nothing so bad that a 15 or 16 year old has not already heard or seen something way worse. 

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This is a paid review for the BlogHer Book Club. All opinions and statements in this review are my own.  

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And, today, I am doing something a bit different! Leave a comment below telling me what your favorite guilty pleasure distraction book is and you will be entered to win my copy of Diary of a Mad Fat Girl! 

Here are  the rules:

1. You must like Momma's Time Out on Facebook to enter. 

2. You must leave a comment below.

3. You must live in the U.S. I can't afford to ship out of the country right now. 

4. Extra entry if you comment on Blogher's post regarding Diary of a Mad Fat Girl pertaining to the post and come back here to tell me about it. 

I will draw a name randomly (actually Supergirl will draw a name randomly) on St. Patrick's Day, March 17, 2012 and announce the winner on March 18, 2012.

Good luck!

Broken

On the downswing from last week's up of being done, washing my hands of the past, focusing on the future is today.

Today, where I am broken and weak.

It started with Monday, finding out things that I didn't want to know, having them (and the images in my head) confirmed. Then there was yesterday, where as I sat at my desk feeling fine the sinus pressure built and built and built until I could not stand anymore. The Hubs had Supergirl for the night. I went home and immediately passed out (after taking Advil Cold & Sinus and changing into pajamas). I slept hard until around 9:30, but then couldn't sleep much more after that.

And then, I was just alone. In the dark and the quiet, left with my own venomous thoughts until the wee hours of the morning.

Which brings me back to today.

Today, where I am looking at my phone ring as bill collector after bill collector calls wanting to know when and where their money is.

The truth is, I don't know.

You see, before the Hubs left he lost his job. His unemployment has been denied. There is no money coming in from that side of this equation (with the exception of the plasma he sold this afternoon to help us out with gas and groceries).

Which leaves me about $1,000 short for the month.

You read that right, one thousand dollars short.

And that's not even including things like the gas and the groceries and the crazy little things that come up over and over and over again, every single month.

For me, I understand that he should be chipping in his fair share. He is trying to find work (remember, not too long ago all of those applications and only two interviews? That's where he is now.) His attempts to find work will not stop the phone calls, the bills, the letters, and e-mails.

So I am broke and broken.

There is no assistance when you are in my position with a good job and only one kid. I know that there are people in much worse circumstances. And while I tell myself to not worry, to just pray, the phone keeps chirping it's happy little song at me.

Could you all just pray for me? For my broken family?

If you aren't much of a prayer, could you send happy thoughts into the universe to me, to us?

Because I am really struggling right now.

And I just feel so darn broken.

The Trials of a Tuesday

As the Scare Bear wisely pointed out this morning, no matter how much I keep telling myself that I am done, that it is over, I guess I am not making those boundaries, those cuts as clear and concise as they should be. I can see that there is  possibly some grey area, some confusion in this situation.

You see, since we separated, the Hubs spent Friday night at my house after watching Z so that I could go out with friends (first time out in 5 years!). He also had breakfast and hung out with us for most of the day on Saturday until Z and I left to go see a movie with Blade and Scare Bear's mom. On Sunday, after attending church with us, and a meeting after church, he came over for dinner and spent the night then as well.

And he spent the night again last night.

All of this time together could  did lead me to believe him when he said that he would like to restore our family, that he would like to try to fix things, that he is willing to do the work and get the help and get us back. I had started to believe his words again and was starting to think that maybe we could really make this work.

I could feel myself giving in little bit by little bit.

And then, as if by some miraculous sign, information appeared to me out of nowhere. And when confronted with the information, the Hubs confirmed it's truth. Everything I ever needed to know was all right there.

And my heart broke all over again.

I guess what I am getting at here, is that this is new territory for me. I have never been in this place before and I am unsure how to navigate from the skewed and blurred edges to a clean break. My fear wonders if a clean break is even what I really want.

Supergirl praying at church.

Dear God,


I have prayed for truth, I have prayed for vision and for clarity, I have prayed for peace and wisdom. I know that you are giving me all of this information that I cannot unsee for a reason. I know that it seems like I am still too blind to see the reason. 


I know that you value marriage and family, Lord. I know that you are the giver of all things great and good. I feel like I have failed you because for as many as I have brought to you, the very one that you have bound me to seems to have gotten lost again. 


Lord, restoration seems so far away, so very, very impossible but if it is your will to build back this family, I will obey. If it is your will that I walk away, I will obey. I will trust in what you decide.


I know that ultimately you want, you need, me to forgive this. I am really struggling with that, God. Whatever happened to an eye for an eye, a broken heart for a broken heart? You know the full picture, the entire story, how can you still expect me to forgive?


I am going to mull this over for a few more days, just to make sure that I've got this straight. I'll let you know what I came up with you.


Love you, Lord. In Jesus' name, I pray.


Amen. 

There's Some Things You Should Know...

My family is not contagious. Talking to us, smiling at us, hugging our necks will not cause your family to fall apart. Supporting us, letting us cry on your shoulder, or giving us space to grieve will not cause your marriage to dissolve.

Judging my decisions to blog about my feelings about our separation, questioning whether I really ever cared about my marriage, placing doubt upon my ability to make these decisions, or my relationship with God will not help you to understand this situation any better. This is how I deal with my life, I have been more than fair when discussing the after-effects of a life interrupted. The Hubs has read every word that I have printed here and several of you are more upset with what I have written than he is.

If you see me in public and I am smiling and talking to people and holding it together, do not get all up in my face with puppy dog eyes with the sole intent to make me cry. Especially if I am with my kid or preparing to teach a room full of two year olds. Do you want to know what happens to a dozen two year olds when their teacher starts crying? Do you want to take a guess?

When I say that I am fine and you keep pushing me for more information, you really just succeed in making me angry. Unfortunately for me, I cry when I get angry. You think we are having a heart to heart emotional conversation, I really just want to run away. I don't keep things in. When I want to discuss the things that are going on in my life I will. It will probably not happen on your timetable, it may not even happen when it is convenient for me. I will talk when I feel like something needs to be said.

My kid is not "acting out". She knows that her parents love her and she doesn't need you to affirm that for her. This is the way she always acts. She is just a little crazy and loud, perhaps you should meet her parents.

I am not bitter, resentful, or angry. Do not assume that if I am talking to the Hubs in public (i.e. church, a restaurant, etc.) that we are going to fight. We do not hate each other, we just can't live together anymore. Also, please do not make assumptions about our status as a couple. We will let every one know if we reconcile when and if that happens, for right now, we are separated and living in different locations. That does not mean that we will not be in the same places at the same time. I am encouraging him to join Z and I in our adventures, primarily because he has missed out on doing so much with she and I in the past. Now that he realizes how much he has missed, I want him to take advantage of as many opportunities with her as he can.

As I said, I am not bitter, resentful, or angry. I am not going to join the "Bash the Hubs" bandwagon and neither should you. He has been a part of my life for 18 years, he is the father of my daughter. He can be a good man. I know that once he gets help, he could be a great man. I hope and pray that that happens for him.

Finally, do not assume that you know what we are going through or what my next steps should be. I pray that as time goes on, the answers to a lot of the questions that I have been surrounded by will become more apparent. Right now, we are the doing the best possible things that we can for our daughter and ourselves. That's honestly the only answer that we have right now.

People Don't Play in the Bathroom

Since it seems that I have neglected telling you tales of my munchkin's exploits lately, I introduce to you a new feature - Shit My Kid Needs To Learn. 


Dear Supergirl,

When you first came on the scene, things went rather well for us. You were a happy baby, complacent to accompany me anywhere and everywhere that I should need to go. You rarely fussed or fought me, and I was hopeful that this behavior would continue throughout your childhood.

As you can guess, it didn't.

I think it all started around the time that you were two. Up until then, you would do your deeds in your diaper and you were content to never explore the contents or remove it on your own. On your second birthday, I expanded your rights in our house and introduced you to two new rooms.

The bathroom and your room.

Maybe I introduced them both too early or should have given you time to acclimate to the bathroom before showing you your room. Perhaps you have somehow confused the two. I'm not sure how that could have happened considering one features a bed, 5 million toys that you have scattered hither and yon, your clothes, and books while the other contains a toilet and a sink. That's it. One toilet, one sink. There is nothing new, exciting, or fun in the bathroom.

People do not play in the bathroom. You have never seen me in a bathroom having the time of my life, smiling, laughing, happy. You have never seen any other person playing in the bathroom. So, what are you doing in there? What is in there that holds so much mystery that you find yourself drawn to going in there when you don't have to potty? Please, please tell me because I just don't see it.

There is nothing fun about a bathroom.

The first time I heard a flush and a "uh, oh", I let it slide. I didn't care what it was, this was a ritual of childhood. Every kid goes through that cause and effect of the flushing toilet at some point, right? So, I just let it go. Until it happened again. And again.

For awhile, I was able to keep the door to the bathroom closed and that would deter you from playing in there. Then, one day, Blade taught you how to open doors. Sigh. I LOVE Blade, don't you?

In the two years since I have introduced you to the bathroom, I have cleaned poo from the floor, the walls, the countertops, the inside of a bucket, and the inside of a pitcher. I have cleaned toothpaste out of the bathtub and from the floor. I have been shocked and amazed at how often you feel you should wash your hands when I remember to refill the soap dispenser. I have had to throw away numerous kitchen sponges that have miraculously arrived (sopping wet) on the bathroom floor.

I have explained to you on more than one occasion that people don't play in the bathroom but I feel that you have chosen to ignore this command. Where are the tablets written in lightning by the hand of God when you need them? How is playing in the bathroom not a sin? Why is this lesson so hard?

Supergirl, you are amazingly smart. I know that you will go far one day, perhaps you will  even be able to play in the some of the most famous bathrooms in the world.

Wait.

Bathrooms only get famous when people die in them.

And that should be the final reason you need to stop playing in the bathroom.

I love you.

Momma

Enough

I woke up yesterday morning, feeling considerably better about things than I have in a week. I know this may seem weird (believe me, I am kind of amazed myself) but I think I have just had enough.

I don't hate the Hubs for wanting to be happy. I don't hate him for leaving. I don't hate him for any of this. I am not angry or bitter or brokenhearted. I have had enough and now I am done.

I wish him the best, I really do. I hope that he gets the help that he needs to become a better father to our daughter. I hope that their relationship can be awesome and wonderful, because that is what she deserves. I hope that he allows her to vent her frustration and anger in this situation towards him because that's how she needs to heal.

But I am done.

I am done trying to make someone love me that never really could.

I am done trying to build a life with someone who was never going to really submit to our marriage and our life.

I am done holding my tongue and walking on eggshells to not offend sensitive egos.

I am done trying to make him just be happy, because, until he gets the help he needs he won't ever really be happy.

I am done wishing and hoping that one day I can be more important than his addictions.

This person, this man, has been my world for 18 years. He has always been the only one I have ever fantasized or dreamed of, he has always been my person. But I was never that for him, and no matter how hard I worked, no matter how hard I tried, I never could be.

For a long time, it killed me. It made me feel crazy. It made me feel like I was the one with an issue, that I was the one that had a problem.

But yesterday morning, I woke up and realized that I don't have to wait for him to love me, I don't have to try to chase after something that was already supposed to be mine, I don't have to walk on eggshells or hold my tongue, I don't have to live in the cycle of addiction anymore.

Yesterday morning, I woke up and realized I had had enough. It's a pretty good place to be right now.

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