At every meal we sit down to eat, my kids and I sing a grace. A grace that would surely make my mother bristle, for it is sung, and it is silly, and it is rote. But boy do we mean it every single time. You may know it, but I put a little spin on it, and it makes the girls smile every single time:
OooooOOh,
The Lord is good to me,
And so I thank the Lord
For giving me the things I need:
The Boo and The Bean
And the appleseed.
The Lord is good to me,
Johnny Appleseed,
Amen.
Thursday 11 December 2014
Tuesday 9 December 2014
open heart
I've been struggling with whether or not I should write about this topic. It feels, in a sense, like an invasion of my ex-husband's privacy. On the other hand, our lives are still so bound up because of the children, that major milestones in his life are milestones in mine. And they affect me, whether I want them to or not.
***
Over a year ago, The Bean was heartbroken and crying; it was the divorce, again. I know that it was over a year ago because it was in our little rental house, that house that brought us through so much, that kept us warm in the coldest, darkest hours. It was in that house, on one of those cold, dark nights that she said to me: if your marriage was a mistake, then I was a mistake, too.
And I was knocked out, emotionally. How could I explain to her that at that point, she and her sister were the only things that made sense in my life anymore?
Oh, no. No, no. Sweetie, you ARE NOT a mistake.
But I know that how we had talked about her conception, that we'd loved each other so much that she was born, had set us up for this very moment. If that love was gone, or if it had been false all along (it wasn't), then her very raison d'être had vanished.
I was telling a wise friend of mine about this conversation a few days after it happened, and she flipped the situation on its head and suggested that perhaps The Bean and Boo were destined to exist, and that Dad and I had married precisely so that they could be conceived and born. I liked this version so much better.
The problem that I bump up against, almost constantly, is one of expectations. I grew up expecting to get married, have kids, and grow old with the father of my children. I would have a house with a backyard. My expectations were basic, so I never imagined that they couldn't be fulfilled. It's not like I was asking for a mansion and a private jet, after all.
So when my reality has not matched up with my expectations, I have had to adjust. I sometimes have the help of friends to turn things on their head, to make new sense of it all. The adjustments have still been painful, though. Unbearable at times, like my heart has been ripped out of my chest. But I am getting used to the incremental changes. I have come to accept that Dad was meant to be in my life as a co-parent. My best friend is someone else. And there are other people around me, to love me and support me.
I've adjusted to these realities, even though tears pour down my face as I write this. It is good; life continues to be good.
I hadn't prepared for the latest, however. He has met someone new. He was good enough to give me a heads up that he was going to tell the kids about her. They've been dating for a year. A year. His reasons for waiting so long to tell the kids are his own, and I am sure they come from a good place. It hit me harder than I expected, but because I am on a different path now, the looking back was short lived, and I continued on my road.
The girls, The Bean in particular, found the news to be a bit of a shock. There were tears. There were hugs. We talked through it, and I hope they got the clear message that Dad still loves them, and that nothing will change that.
The girls met her a couple of weeks ago. They told me the instant they saw me. It was over brunch, and she seemed nice, they said. I told you she'd be nice, I said. Have you met her? asked The Bean. No. So how could you know? The answer was simple: I know your Dad would pick someone good. I meant it, in my head, but my heart sunk a little. I am trying so very hard to make this good for them, healthy and happy for them.
The next milestone, I'm sure, will be a change in living arrangements, whether marriage is involved or not. This is hard. This will be another adjustment. I read this letter this morning and fell apart.
I fell apart because of the deepest conflict in my heart. I (selfishly, I know) want my girls to love me more than anything - until they move on and have their own grown up lives, of course. So when I imagine them loving another woman, turning to her for advice, talking to her in confidence, it tears me up inside. At the same time, I want this woman to be someone who loves my children and only wants the best for them. My girls deserve as much. And they deserve to be surrounded by good women they can trust.
I never pictured this. She was never part of the plan. All I can do is hope and pray that she is good to them, and they to her. Perhaps turning this on its head means realizing that my girls have so much love to give, and deserve so much love in return, that it couldn't be contained between two people. Maybe there needed to be three. Or four. And there are at least a half dozen more, from our church family, who play huge roles in their lives. Opening my heart to this is difficult, but perhaps it's exactly what needed to happen.
***
Over a year ago, The Bean was heartbroken and crying; it was the divorce, again. I know that it was over a year ago because it was in our little rental house, that house that brought us through so much, that kept us warm in the coldest, darkest hours. It was in that house, on one of those cold, dark nights that she said to me: if your marriage was a mistake, then I was a mistake, too.
And I was knocked out, emotionally. How could I explain to her that at that point, she and her sister were the only things that made sense in my life anymore?
Oh, no. No, no. Sweetie, you ARE NOT a mistake.
But I know that how we had talked about her conception, that we'd loved each other so much that she was born, had set us up for this very moment. If that love was gone, or if it had been false all along (it wasn't), then her very raison d'être had vanished.
I was telling a wise friend of mine about this conversation a few days after it happened, and she flipped the situation on its head and suggested that perhaps The Bean and Boo were destined to exist, and that Dad and I had married precisely so that they could be conceived and born. I liked this version so much better.
The problem that I bump up against, almost constantly, is one of expectations. I grew up expecting to get married, have kids, and grow old with the father of my children. I would have a house with a backyard. My expectations were basic, so I never imagined that they couldn't be fulfilled. It's not like I was asking for a mansion and a private jet, after all.
So when my reality has not matched up with my expectations, I have had to adjust. I sometimes have the help of friends to turn things on their head, to make new sense of it all. The adjustments have still been painful, though. Unbearable at times, like my heart has been ripped out of my chest. But I am getting used to the incremental changes. I have come to accept that Dad was meant to be in my life as a co-parent. My best friend is someone else. And there are other people around me, to love me and support me.
I've adjusted to these realities, even though tears pour down my face as I write this. It is good; life continues to be good.
I hadn't prepared for the latest, however. He has met someone new. He was good enough to give me a heads up that he was going to tell the kids about her. They've been dating for a year. A year. His reasons for waiting so long to tell the kids are his own, and I am sure they come from a good place. It hit me harder than I expected, but because I am on a different path now, the looking back was short lived, and I continued on my road.
The girls, The Bean in particular, found the news to be a bit of a shock. There were tears. There were hugs. We talked through it, and I hope they got the clear message that Dad still loves them, and that nothing will change that.
The girls met her a couple of weeks ago. They told me the instant they saw me. It was over brunch, and she seemed nice, they said. I told you she'd be nice, I said. Have you met her? asked The Bean. No. So how could you know? The answer was simple: I know your Dad would pick someone good. I meant it, in my head, but my heart sunk a little. I am trying so very hard to make this good for them, healthy and happy for them.
The next milestone, I'm sure, will be a change in living arrangements, whether marriage is involved or not. This is hard. This will be another adjustment. I read this letter this morning and fell apart.
I fell apart because of the deepest conflict in my heart. I (selfishly, I know) want my girls to love me more than anything - until they move on and have their own grown up lives, of course. So when I imagine them loving another woman, turning to her for advice, talking to her in confidence, it tears me up inside. At the same time, I want this woman to be someone who loves my children and only wants the best for them. My girls deserve as much. And they deserve to be surrounded by good women they can trust.
I never pictured this. She was never part of the plan. All I can do is hope and pray that she is good to them, and they to her. Perhaps turning this on its head means realizing that my girls have so much love to give, and deserve so much love in return, that it couldn't be contained between two people. Maybe there needed to be three. Or four. And there are at least a half dozen more, from our church family, who play huge roles in their lives. Opening my heart to this is difficult, but perhaps it's exactly what needed to happen.
Tuesday 2 December 2014
the practice of saying No
Bedtime is always a moment of sharing for my girls. If there is something that's bothering them, I can almost count on it being discussed at bedtime. I try not to be too skeptical and choose to believe that it's not a delay tactic, but rather a moment when we can avoid eye contact, since we're cuddled in the dark. It's also a moment of intimacy and of withdrawal from the hubbub of everyday life.
With Boo, I can usually guess what she'll bring up - it's something that got her upset in the day and that caused her to shut down on me. With The Bean, it's always a big surprise.
Tonight, The Bean announced, "I find it really hard to say no."
Man. Not the words I want to hear from my 12-year-old daughter.
I have never had to worry about Boo saying no - she practices on me and her Dad and her sister all the time. I have a pretty good sense that as she grows up, she'll be able to hold her own against friends who want to do something she thinks is stupid (though we're all in trouble if she's the one who comes up with the idea - but that's another matter). But The Bean is a pleaser. I've always known that. Yet to have her voice it in such a direct way was, well, a shock. At least she's self-aware, I guess.
She noticed it this evening when my mom called. Grandma had been dispatched to find a pair of black slacks for The Bean for her choir outfit. Grandma called from the store, announcing she'd found a pair, "not quite leggings," she said, "they are these new things they call jeggings." (Have I mentioned how cute my mom is?) The Bean couldn't even bring herself to tell her grandmother that she was on the wrong track; she handed the phone over to me. I set my mom straight, and she offered to go to another store. Easy peasy.
The thing is this: I can't possibly blame my kid for finding the word no so difficult. I spent the first 35 years of my life saying yes, to everyone, to everything (mostly). It nearly drove me mad, quite literally. I had to learn to say no so that I could keep my self intact.
As The Bean's mom, I could have, of course, gone through the deep philosophical and psychological reasons one must learn to say no. Instead, I focused on the practical, since this child is both pragmatic and logical. We talked through the fact that she wouldn't have ended up with what she needed, and that grandma would have spent money for nothing, and we'd still need to go out and buy something else. That struck a chord. So we're on the right track.
I've asked her to practice saying no. Not just for its own sake, of course, but when she means it. Hopefully she'll have some practice by the time the stakes are higher. Maybe I'll also help her develop a sneer and an are-you-kidding-me side glance. I know she has it in her.
With Boo, I can usually guess what she'll bring up - it's something that got her upset in the day and that caused her to shut down on me. With The Bean, it's always a big surprise.
Tonight, The Bean announced, "I find it really hard to say no."
Man. Not the words I want to hear from my 12-year-old daughter.
I have never had to worry about Boo saying no - she practices on me and her Dad and her sister all the time. I have a pretty good sense that as she grows up, she'll be able to hold her own against friends who want to do something she thinks is stupid (though we're all in trouble if she's the one who comes up with the idea - but that's another matter). But The Bean is a pleaser. I've always known that. Yet to have her voice it in such a direct way was, well, a shock. At least she's self-aware, I guess.
She noticed it this evening when my mom called. Grandma had been dispatched to find a pair of black slacks for The Bean for her choir outfit. Grandma called from the store, announcing she'd found a pair, "not quite leggings," she said, "they are these new things they call jeggings." (Have I mentioned how cute my mom is?) The Bean couldn't even bring herself to tell her grandmother that she was on the wrong track; she handed the phone over to me. I set my mom straight, and she offered to go to another store. Easy peasy.
The thing is this: I can't possibly blame my kid for finding the word no so difficult. I spent the first 35 years of my life saying yes, to everyone, to everything (mostly). It nearly drove me mad, quite literally. I had to learn to say no so that I could keep my self intact.
As The Bean's mom, I could have, of course, gone through the deep philosophical and psychological reasons one must learn to say no. Instead, I focused on the practical, since this child is both pragmatic and logical. We talked through the fact that she wouldn't have ended up with what she needed, and that grandma would have spent money for nothing, and we'd still need to go out and buy something else. That struck a chord. So we're on the right track.
I've asked her to practice saying no. Not just for its own sake, of course, but when she means it. Hopefully she'll have some practice by the time the stakes are higher. Maybe I'll also help her develop a sneer and an are-you-kidding-me side glance. I know she has it in her.
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