Category Archives: Uncategorized

Family Ties To My Other Mother

My dad’s girlfriend is wonderful.  She’s been part of my life for more than five years and I can’t say enough about how much I appreciate her and how grateful I am that my father found someone so caring.

When my current personal crisis unfolded, I took Bully Girl and went to stay with my dad and Mary (not her real name, of course).  When I walked in the door, Mary was making dinner in the kitchen.  She asked how I was, and I burst into tears.  In that motherly way, she wrapped her arms around me, stroked my hair and held me while I sobbed on her shoulder (I should note here that hugging makes me a little uncomfortable.  Clearly, I was a mess!) .  Since then we’ve spent countless hours talking, listening, crying (that would be me doing the crying) and sharing stories of breakups past.  When I left their house and returned to my old abode (I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t sell it), she sent a Hallmark card and two containers of soup.

Last week, Mary’s father passed away and earlier this week I attended his memorial service.   As I pulled into the parking lot on Tuesday morning, an employee of the funeral home stopped me.

“Are you family?” he asked.

His question threw me for a loop and I hesitated.  “Um, kinda?” I replied.  “What counts as family?”

The attendant narrowed his eyes at me, shook his head a little and tried another approach.  “Are you going to the cemetery?”

That made it much easier!  I told him that I was not and he directed me to park at the far end of the lot.

I saw Mary right away when I entered the funeral home.  I gave her a hug and asked how she was doing.  She told me she was OK and immediately asked about my current state of mind.  I looked at her with a bit of confusion… she was the one who lost her father, and yet she was concerned about me?  She concluded that we were both going through similar emotions.  As we approached the casket together, tears filled her eyes and we embraced again.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.  “It means so much to me.”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” I told her.

“Well,” she sniffled.  “You’re my daughter.”

“And you’re one of my moms,” I finished.

(I’m lucky to have so many moms.  At present count, I have four including the one who grew me in her womb.)

When the service concluded, I stood with my dad and Mary as I explained that I couldn’t go to the cemetery because I needed to get back to work.  At the same time, some people around us began talking about my dad.

“That’s her fiancé,” one woman told another.

“I thought he was her husband,” someone else said.

Mary turned around to address the confusion.  She and my dad aren’t officially married, but they don’t shy away from the terminology.

“This is my husband,” she said with a gesture towards my dad.  As she put her hand on my shoulder, she further explained, “And this is our daughter, Tara.”

My heart swelled.  Those of us with divorced parents are seldom addressed with the phrase “our child”.  It’s always “my…” or “his…” or “her…”  It was a first for me and it felt good.  Like… totally, genuinely real.

Leaving the funeral, I had a lot to smile about.  How much weight do biology and marriage really carry?  Once again, life has proven:  love makes a family.

(That was a nice line to end the post with, wasn’t it?  Of course, as most of us know, love isn’t enough.  You also need respect, time, emotional investments, dedication, compromise…and all that other stuff.  But, hopefully you know what I’m trying to say here. ;) )

Thanksgiving, 2011

Today, I am so grateful for those of you who’ve reached out to me with your support and encouragement since Boyfriend and I broke up.  Thank you for the comments, phone calls, PMs, DMs, text messages and emails.  To those of you whom I’ve never met in person, who offered your phone numbers and space in your homes (in various parts of the country… I could totally go on a Depression Road Trip), I am overwhelmed by your kindness and cannot express my appreciation in mere words.

My broken heart has swelled with gratitude.  My “circle” is bigger than I ever imagined.  Thank you, friends and family.

Movie: An Unmarried Woman

Last weekend it snowed in my area.  Boyfriend and I had plans to go away for the weekend, but given the weather forecast we decided to stay home instead.  The unexpected down time afforded us several hours to lounge in front of the TV with lots of cookies and ice cream.

While scanning the menu for something to watch, we stumbled upon the movie An Unmarried Woman.  Naturally, I found the title to be intriguing, so Boyfriend pushed the play button.

The flick follows Erica Benton, a New Yorker, through the end of what she thought was a happy marriage.  Despite the age of the film (1978), the content remains relevant as Erica struggles with her identity, leans on her girlfriends, reaches out to a therapist, experiments with men and grapples with her role as a mother.  Some of my favorite quotes were:

  • “Depression has a way of making itself nice and comfortable.”
  • “[Daddy] left me, not you.”
  • “Do you think you’ll feel like this forever?”
That language might not be exact.  I typed from memory instead of rewinding and taking notes.  In any case, I thought it was a great divorce movie.  And I was lucky enough to find the trailer on YouTube so you can click below and see a few snippets for yourself.  Enjoy!

Free T Thanks!

I need to interrupt my regularly scheduled content for a special message…

“Thank you, Chopper Papa!”

Kyle over at ChopperPapa.com is selling some supercool “Chopper Couture” to benefit his local Big Brothers/Big Sisters organization.  I was lucky enough to win one of his Tshirts during a special promotion on the site and I wish I’d purchased one earlier (cuz my area of the country is now officially in Sweater Weather Season).  I love it!

Chopper Couture

Chopper Papa is one of my favorite sites- and I’m not just saying that because of the shirt, I promise!  I always enjoy hearing a male perspective and the site is a one-stop shop for topics ranging from relationships to daddyhood to sentimental music to, of course, choppers.  Kyle’s posts initiate as much laughter as they do thoughtful reflection.  His writing is engaging, his voice is genuine and his cycle is sick.

Check out the site and/or score some of your own Chopper Couture here.  You won’t regret it :)

New Name, New Look!

It’s been nearly a year since I started this blog and I thought it was time for a change…

New Name:  Because the topics I write about extend beyond divorce itself.

New Look:  Because I’m striving for a softer edge.  I’m not quite sure that I love it.  It’s a little too… brown.  And maybe too… fancy?

Feedback, as always, is welcome :)

 

Massage Day

Today was Massage Day.  Actually, it didn’t last all day… just an hour, after work.  But I looked forward to it all day.

Before I got divorced, “massage” to me meant that I would rub my husband’s feet (with lotion!) while we watched television.  Ah, but that was a long time ago- more than 4 years, in fact.

I got my first massage in October of 2007 and have been regularly treating myself ever since.  I’ve had the standard “relaxation” massage, the “therapeutic” massage, the “lomi lomi” massage, the mechanical kind that happens inside one of those egg-like capsules… and reflexology too.  For next time, I booked myself a “thai” massage.

While I recognize the importance of making monetary adjustments following a separation/divorce, I also realize how crucial it is to be good to yourself.  Which is why my monthly massage has taken the place of my monthly haircut (and I do my own mani/pedis).  The relaxing/rejuvenating effects of touch therapy make the split ends a little more tolerable (until they’re not tolerable. In which case, I take a trip to the salon).  IMO, it’s well worth the sacrifice.

Lesson #Q43:  Don’t forget to pamper yourself.  Just a little.

Fresh Paint: An Allegory

Last weekend, I stayed home alone while Boyfriend and the boys visited his parents. It was all very suspicious: Why didn’t I want to come along?  Had his mother offended me?  What was I planning to do in their absence?

The simple fact was that I wanted to sponge-paint a wall in the living room.  Since I moved in (and before), the wall was a deep, dark red. It was dramatic and classy.  But, in a room the size of a shoebox, it was also overpowering and made the space feel even smaller.  I’d been meaning to do something with it for a long time and didn’t because I was always engaged in something more fun (or I was just lazy).  But last weekend, the time seemed right and my sister was available to help me (we have a history of painting together).

Saturday morning I had breakfast alone in my favorite diner.  I explained my solitary status to the familiar waitress as I opened my copy of Ask Me About My Divorce and then dove in to savor a few stories and strips of bacon.  On the way home, I stopped to purchase supplies:  paper to cover the floor, tape to protect the molding, sponges, trays and color samples.

At the house, my sister and I prepped the area and analyzed the color samples.  When we found one we thought would work, we went back to the store and ordered a gallon of it.  The Project was underway.  (And I was hella nervous that this venture would be a colossal mistake and I’d end up having to paint the whole room white because I have zero sense of interior-decorative-know-how.)

Sponging was easier than I thought it would be.  It didn’t take long for us to fall into a rhythm.  It didn’t take long to finish the wall.  And, because we had so much paint left over, we decided to paint the dining room with it.  By that time, I was so inspired that I also polished the floor and rearranged the furniture.

I am terribly proud of myself!  I haven’t done anything this domestic in years. Half of my house looks completely different and it all cost less than $100. I can’t stop admiring it.

Between my ears, the sponged wall is evolving into a metaphor for living (and of course, divorce):

  • I waited too long to make a change that turned out to be easier than I’d anticipated.
  • The old wall didn’t completely disappear under the sponged-on paint.
  • The new wall is full of globs and smudges, but these imperfections work together for a cohesive expression of style.
  • The new wall prompted further change: to cover some things, to clarify others.
  • It was worth the risk.

Stepmother’s Day

Who else learned today that Stepmother’s Day is on Sunday?  This official (unofficial) holiday addresses some questions I posed in my last entry- about whether or not partners of parents wish to be recognized in the lives of their partner’s children.

Wednesday Martin, author of the book Stepmonster, wrote a good explanatory article for Psychology Today regarding the reasons why we should have a special day to recognize stepmoms.  A history of how this day came to be can be found here.

Now… I get it.  I understand why stepmothers should be/would want to be recognized for everything they do.  And I understand that having a separate day would make it easier for the kids because it removes any conflicts regarding parental loyalty.

But after thinking about this new holiday, I’m not sure how I feel about it.  Wouldn’t it set a better example if Mom and Stepmom learned to share?  If we’re going to have a separate day for stepmothers, what about mothers-in-law?  What about special aunts?  Foster moms?  What about those of us who are not-legally-recognized partners of parents ?  Do we really need another Greeting Card Holiday?  If we have too many of these days, doesn’t it cheapen the significance of all of them?  Aren’t we all important, every day?

Just thinking with my fingers…

Where To Bloom?

Four years ago, I was living in my newly-renovated Marital Home with Then-Husband.  We’d moved in at the end of March after purchasing the house the previous fall and spending months making everything The Way We Wanted It.  The house wasn’t huge, but it was plenty for the two of us and our dogs.  It came with a huge garage and there was an apartment above the garage which we planned to use as a little party hut.  There was a large porch off the side of the house which comfortably accommodated our patio furniture and grill and there were flower beds all around.  It was spring and the flowers were blooming….

And speaking of which, the house also came with a little sign peeking out from one of the flower beds.  It was a piece of slate on a stick and it read “Bloom where you are planted.”  Yes.  I’d thought to myself at the time.  I am going to bloom here.  Nevermind the fact that I’m not entirely happy with Greg.  We’re in this house now, business is picking up and it’s time to bloom.

But the “bloom” I was aiming for didn’t match the seed that was my essence.  And the appropriate nutrients weren’t available to grow that seed.  I was trying to bloom in a closet… and that just doesn’t work.  The result was an angry, morbid, mutant version of myself.

When I found out 2 months later that Greg was cheating on me, I left.  Somewhere in what should have been a humiliating and devastating experience, I caught a glimpse of the sun and I turned toward it.

Presently, I’m sitting on a couch a fraction of the size of the one I left in the Marital Home.  Outside, my car is parked on the street- I don’t even have a driveway, let alone a garage.   There are no custom-painted frogs on the walls surrounding me and I haven’t done much at all to make this place The Way I Want It.  But… it seems I’m blooming here anyway.

Little Words; Big Impact

…I was standing outside the day care center at my place of employment.  It was mid-May and the sun was shining.  I was talking to my co-worker about my Horrid Home Situation:  the screaming matches, the late-night drives to nowhere, the fact that I was sleeping on the couch.  She knew something was up, of course, because she’d observed the change in my demeanor.

She told me a story about an old relationship of hers and how she ended it.  And then she sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know…” she began.  “Honestly?  I think you’ll end up getting divorced.  And will suck because you’ll have to separate all your stuff and you’re gonna have to move….”

I nodded.  She wasn’t telling me anything my gut hadn’t said a thousand times.

“Really,” she continued.  “I’m not trying to be a downer.  It’s just that… I think you’re bigger than this.  You’re bigger than him.  And I think he knows it.”

Her words still echo in my mind as some of the most motivating motivators I heard during That Time Of My Life.