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.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, March 16, 2012
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:
"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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