The Other Woman

Well, I met my dad's "girlfriend" on Friday night. The dinner itself went okay (I'm pretty sure the two beers helped). But, as the weekend rolled on and I started to think about the dinner, I became very sad. I talked about my impressions with my husband to see if I was just reading into something being extra sensitive. However, he seemed to have the same impressions as I did. The result is the following letter to my dad (which I'll probably never send, but seems to sum up how I'm feeling).

Dear Daddy:

I've been thinking about what I'll say to you when you call about our dinner. I have to say the actual dinner went better then I thought. However, the result was the same.

Part of me feels like what I imagine a parent feels like when their child finds someone with whom to start their own family. That's what you've done with her. You've left and started a family with her and her family. Except there's a difference -- you're not supposed to leave me.

I know you're going to say you haven't done this, but I saw you with her. You have. It makes me sad because after everything that's happened with every divorce, this is the first time I've felt that you've actually left me. You do have a new family now in which I will never be apart. Please don't deny it and make me feel like you think I'm stupid.

I did feel reassured after our last talk, but now I know that was all it was -- talk. I've now witnessed reality; you can't talk your way out of that.

I really do want you to be happy and if this is where you find happiness, then I will have to learn to let go. Of course, we'll still be part of each other's life, but it will be different. I don't fin into this new life of yours. I don't want to and she doesn't want me to either. She'll never admit that to you, but, believe me, it's true. It was very clear to us on Friday.

I love you so much which just makes this harder. I've tried hard to make you happy, but I can't do it. You need to do that for yourself. I just wish you would stop looking elsewhere for it.

I feel foolish about all of this. I'm an adult with my own family. I guess I just wanted us to be your family, not other people. I guess I've never been enough. It's time for me to grow up!

I sort of know how you feel about your mom. You feel like you weren't enough to stop her from leaving. I feel the same way except you've just left me in a different way.

**NOTE: I realize that this does not shed me in the best light, but it is as honest as it comes.

OUTRAGE!!!

Last night, my MIL was able to shock me with her behavior again. I don't know how that is possible after everything I've seen and heard coming from her, but I'm enraged. And, this time she isn't even doing it to me.

I came home from a night out alone and my husband looked upset. I asked what was wrong and he started out that his mother called. I knew then, it was trouble. My MIL called to say that my husband's brother and his wife were pregnant, but that she was having a miscarriage. After having a miscarriage myself, I really felt for her and wanted to call, but she and my BIL are on the way to Italy to see her family. Anyway, my MIL went on to tell my husband that my SIL shouldn't have been doing work around the house and she drinks too much caffeine (to me implying that she blames her for the miscarriage). She told my husband that she was going to give my BIL a piece of her mind when he gets back from Italy. Are you kidding me??????

How dare she blame my SIL for the miscarriage!!!! First of all, like 1 in 4 pregnancies do end in miscarriage. Second of all, they haven't known she was pregnant that long, so her behavior probably has nothing to do with it. And, finally, it's NONE OF HER BUSINESS. Why would she want to try to cause problems between my BIL and his wife?

Now, I had a miscarriage. I wonder what she said when it happened to me. And, her own daughter had two miscarriages. I never heard such accusations then.

My MIL never ceases to amaze me (which is amazing in itself)!!!

What Would Freud Say?

My son doesn't have the typical security item like a blankie or special stuffed animal. He does use his pacifier to sleep, but not during the day. He seems to have to have a security item of some sort. It changes daily. However, the items seem to have something in common.

1. Any stick he can find outside he will want to carry for the rest of the day and even take it in the bath, to bed, etc.

2. On our trip to FL, my son insisited on taking the turkey baster with him on the plane. Boy, did I get some strange looks.

3. Other days, he enjoys carrying around a plastic screwdriver.

4. Another favorite item is one of the red music sticks that you bang together (they look like drum sticks).

Any similiarities here? I'm wondering what Dr. Freud would say.

Rejection

A few months ago I wrote a post about becoming a writer. Thank you for the encouragement.

I tried my hand at writing some stories, mostly about my experiences as a mom. I wrote one about how it felt to reenter the dating world in the form of playdates. I worked at it, reworked it, showed it to my mom for comments (English teacher) and then I revised it again. Then, I took a leap and submitted it to literarymama.com Just today, I heard back and this is what they said:

This is a subject on which we receive a lot of submissions--so it must be on many people's minds. Unfortunately, although we enjoyed reading your piece, we didn't feel it was the right fit. The story--about your daughter and you and playdates--takes a bit too long to get to, the writing feels a little unwieldy (I would recommend tightening it throughout), the dialogue needs to sound a little more dialogue-y, and it didn't hold the interest of our editors all the way through.

Sorry not to have better news.

Good luck placing it elsewhere.

I knew it was a long shot, but I really had high hopes. Ever since I thought of starting to write for real, I kind of felt like an imposter. Who did I think I was thinking I could be a writer? I feel like this has been validated. I know, I know -- all writers get rejected, but am I really a writer? I don't even know what they mean when they say unwieldy.

As I enjoy blogging, I will continue to write here and re-evaluate my plans.

Playground Lessons

I grew up in a small, middle-class town in New Jersey. We prided ourselves that we were so much nicer than our neighbor just over the bridge. We were told not to cross that bridge when we were out playing. As I got older and drove, I was not to drive through that neighboring town alone at night with my sunroof open. At that time, I was from the “right side of the tracks”(or bridge as the case may be). Of course, we were even more judgmental of the “rich” kids from up on the hill that we played in softball every year, envious that we didn’t have all that perceived wealth.

When I got married many years later, my husband and I settled in a beautiful town, voted in the state’s magazine as one the top 10 communities in which to live. We were so proud to tell our family and friends of the past that we’ve moved up. Many were duly impressed. We now lived in the town of McMansions, where developments of large homes were plentiful. Of course, we lived in a small raised ranch on the “wrong side” of the highway, but those from our life didn’t know that. They just knew we lived in that town, part of the “wealth belt.”

I, of course, was still judgmental of the wealthy of town, thinking they were snobby for looking down on me and my small house. I hadn’t encountered any of this snobbishness first hand, of course, but I just knew it existed. I was careful to find friends in houses that are the similar size of my own. We would all complain about the rich snobs together.

One day, I took my two kids to a park. I ventured out of our lovely community and into the neighboring town. Now, this town makes my town look like an inner city. The truly wealthy live where I was venturing. Therefore, they have the nicest parks, not that our parks are shabby. I loaded my dirty kids and took them to the nice park. I figured I could just stay away from all the snobby moms sitting together chatting while their perfect little children were being followed around by their nannies. Does anyone know the word stereotype?

Well, my little ones loved the park, but they didn’t feel content on me avoiding anyone. My little girl befriended a child on the playground. The little girl’s name was Kiley. When my daughter ran over to tell me that she met a girl named Kiley, I thought, the name says it all. I was hoping to avoid Kiley’s mom. No such luck. Next thing I know, my son, who doesn’t really talk yet (although he thinks he can) is yelling at a little boy. The little boy, who is wearing an Izod sweater with a collared shirt underneath with the collar turned up, runs over to his mother saying that some little boy hurt his feelings. I’m mortified. I go over and stop my son and apologize to the mother and her son dreading the confrontation I’m convinced is about to occur.

I imagine that this mother with have some condescending attitude towards me and my kids. I picture her putting her nose in the air and saying, “Son, just stay away from the riffraff” as she looks me up and down in my K-mart capris and stained T-shirt (I know, my imagination is wild). Instead, she smiles, says it’s okay, her son is too sensitive and she’s trying to toughen him up. She then turns to her son and says, “Ashby, the little boy is just learning to talk, he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

I think my eyes must have opened up like saucers and my jaw dropped open. First of all, his name was Ashby. Second, his mom was nice. The two didn’t fit together in my preconceived notions. Sure, she was dressed nicely in an outfit that matched and had manicured fingernails AND toenails, but she was nice and not snobby. She even tried to make small talk with me. I was flabbergasted.

I was feeling self-conscious. I had nail polish chipping away from a manicure my 3-year-old had given me. I was wearing army green Capri pants that had lost a button and I decided to wear anyway with a rust-colored T-shirt. My hair was in a pony tail, with strands sticking out all over. And, of course, I wasn’t wearing make-up (something I hadn’t done since I got pregnant with my first).

My children taught me what it’s like not to be affected by preconceived stereotypes. They befriended children on the playground without thinking they may be snobby or think they are better. And, I learned, stereotypes can’t be trusted. This woman was warm and friendly. She chatted with me, encouraged me with my two little ones, telling me it will get easier (as she had two who were close in age as well), and she monitored her children. She attempted to have her children play with my children, prompting her daughter to change activities in order to play with my daughter.

It was quite an educational experience at the park that day. I want to say I grew as a person and that I hope to be a little bit more like my kids. They see everyone equally. Why don’t we as adults? I’m going to try really hard not to ruin that for my kids.

Where Have the Mothers Gone?

After coming off a great Mother's Day and watching The Little Mermaid for the 100th time with my son (yes, that's right, my son loves Ariel), I started to wonder what Disney was trying to say. Where are all the mothers? In Cinderella and Snow White, the Disney classics, the only mothers are the step-mothers who are out to get the beautiful step-daughters (evil, jealous, b*^&ches). But, as the newer movies arrived (okay, not so new now, but for me they were), there are no moms at all. And, no explanation as to where they are. Ariel has no mom, just a dad and 7 sisters. Belle just has an eccentric father. Aladdin has no parents and Jasmine's only parent is her baffoon, sultan father. Now, I don't know the real Pocahantos story, but she doesn't have a mom in the movie. And yet, all the princesses turn out wonderfully, following their hearts and doing the right thing. All without the influence of a positive mother role model. Are moms really that dispensible and not needed? Shame on you Disney!!!

To Meet Her or Not?

I've shared bits and pieces about my dad's marriage disaster. Anyway, I'm still harping on it so I'd thought I'd share my latest dilemma.

To fill you in, my father left his 3rd wife recently and moved in with another woman and her 6-year-old daughter. He didn't tell me about it for about 1 month, during which time I still believed him to be at home. Anyway, that's besides the point. I haven't wanted to meet this woman for several reasons. Let me summarize:

1. I'm mad that he didn't tell me sooner
2. I don't like the way this all went down (I'm sure she's the "other woman")
3. I hate that she has a kid and my dad seems to be starting a new family (yes, I know, I'm an adult w/my own family, but I'm working on that in therapy).
4. Based on things my dad has told me about her, I don't think she's a very good person (I know, sounds terrible that I say that, but I'm baring my truest self)

Now, my father (to his credit) has not pressured me to meet her. She has sent some things to me, I guess trying to make a good impression (too late). But, I've been pressuring myself. It is awkward talking to my dad. It's like there is a huge purple elephant in the room neither of us wants to talk about. Plus, I have trouble reconciling that there is a whole part of my dad's life I know nothing about. So, I've told my dad I'll meet her (with several conditions).

I told my mother (my dad's first ex-wife) that I decided to meet her. Now, I know my mom has a unique perspective, but she thought I was letting my father off too easily. By meeting this woman, my mother feels like I'm saying my father and his girlfriend's behavior is okay (which I don't think it is). But, I feel like I'm doing it more for myself. I don't want to continue to worry about it and I just want to get it over with. Yet, I don't want to start a relationship with her (I don't think). So, I'm starting to have second thoughts.

I want to have a relationship with my father. I worry about this situation he's in (of his own accord, I know). Is it appropriate to meet her? Is it appropriate not to meet her? Oh the questions, the questions.......

Mother's Day "Surprises"

My daughter came home from school yesterday with two little gifts for me for Mother's Day. One was a Marigold flower she planted herself. Very cute idea. The other is a gift wrapped in pink tissue paper with a picture attached to it of my little one making a present. When she handed me the present she said, "You can't open this until Mother's Day." I agreed.

On the ride home, I did my obligatory questioning about what they did at school that day. I got my usual response, "I'll tell you later." Then, she started talking about her Mother's Day project. Again I was reminded I couldn't open it until Mother's Day. Here's how her talking unfolded:

"Mommy, you can't open that present until Mother's Day. When is Mother's Day?"
"It's Sunday."
"That's forver."
"Only a couple more days."
"Okay, you can't open it until Sunday. But I can tell you there's a candle in there!"

Who said my daughter can't keep a secret!?

Another surprise from the class was a list. The teachers asked each child what his/her mommy does that makes them smile. My daughter answered she likes it when her mommy lets her go outside. What?? I usually have to drag her outside screaming. She has fun once she's out, but she rarely goes out voluntarily. Interesting what they say when they aren't with us!

Happy Mother's Day to all!

Mommy Remembrances

I've been thinking alot lately about my mom. I don't always remember what a great mom she is and I often harp on the bad things. But, now that I'm a mom I realize it's impossible to be a perfect. But, my mom was great. Let me indulge in a little remembrance of growing up with my mom.

It was the summer before my freshman year in high school. A boy who was going to be a senior and I started to hang out together. At first, my mother was a little distraught about this and was not keen about me going in the car with him. But, he came around a lot and she got to know him. So, she relented. Now, things never went anywhere with this guy, really. He had a girlfriend that didn't know too much about us hanging out [yes, I was that girl (but, only once)]. Anyway, the two finally broke up and the boy took me to the movies. There was no first kiss that night, but I felt like something was starting. Anyway, my mother and I were leaving for a week trip to Atlantic City. I told the boy he could drive down and hang out on the beach with me one day. He said he'd like that and to give him a call. After a couple of days in AC, I started to call to have him come for a visit. Never got in touch with him. Very disappointed. When I did get home, I finally reached him. He proudly let me know that he was now dating a seventh grader. That's right, a seventh grader. Needless to say, I was hurt!

But, my mom came to the rescue. Here was what we did as a team. She would drive me past this girl's street once in awhile to see if the boy was there. I guess you could say she helped me stalk this guy. Then, she came up with the ultimate plan. We bought all kinds of rude, insulting greeting cards and anonymously mailed them to this boy from all different towns. We had a lot of fun doing this together.

Now, was this the healthiest thing for a mom to do with her 14-year-old girl? I don't know, but I do know I got over this guy pretty quickly. And, I had a great time with my mom. I'm not sure what other mother would be a partner in such a "crime."

The Beauty of ChitChat

I was never a big believer in small talk or chitchat. I know it has it purposes, but I was never very good at it, especially with people I didn't know very well. But, lately, I have found a very good use for chitchat. It has helped my husband and I reconnect on some level. We had stopped talking to each other. Our communications had become all about the kids and often occurred through them. For example, "I think Isabella needs help with that" or "Could you pass Chris his milk?" After the kids went to bed, we would sit like vegatables in front of the television, watching our shows or rented movies. We didn't even talk then. Then, we'd go to bed. We could barely squeak out a good night.

We went from that extreme to always talking, but talking about problem after problem after problem. That, too, has it's purpose, but how much talking about problems can one couple take without losing it? Let me tell you, we reached our limit. I know I was tired of talking and crying and talking and crying.

So, we've tried something else. At night, we head to bed a little earlier (which is a challenge for us because we go to bed so early anyway). But, we lay in bed and talk about stuff. Bill tells me funny things about his day, like how the 55-year-old secretary wears skirts that barely cover "her area" (as my husband puts it) or how the salesman's wife called and told the secretaries that Mrs. Smith called, instead of using her first name. Then we talk about our stupid shows: who's going to get fired on Apprentice, why isn't there more action of the Sopranos this season, etc. Maybe, if we're on a roll, we'll talk about the books we're reading (although I consider that more than chitchat).

Anyway, chitchat has brought my husband and me closer together. It's wonderful to laugh together again and NOT talk about the kids 24/7. And, it opens up other areas to talk about in a happy way. We're going on a date this weekend and, for once, I'm looking forward to it without any worries that we'll have nothing to say. We have tons of nothing to say! I recommend it to all!