Hindsight: Parenting the Second Time Around--Hilltown Column

Damn!  I'm doing it again!  Anyone else ever go through this?  Any suggestions would be appreciated!  Click the link below to read this week's Hilltown Column.   




http://www.hilltownfamilies.org/2012/04/03/fisher-37/

Problems Bring Gifts

Richard Bach once said that "Every problem has a gift for you in its hands."  A year ago, 6 months ago, 1 week ago I would have rolled my ever-luvin eyes at that quote.  I would have made some sort of disgusted grunt noise that came from way in the back of my throat.  I would pushed Richard with a scoot of my hand so that he could step aside and let me get to the solvin'....because that is all a problem was to me something to endure until it got fixed.

But then I experienced something that perhaps Richard Bach had at one time experienced as well; a problem that couldn't be solved, one that couldn't be fixed--at least not in anyway that would feel entirely satisfying.  Swimming in the mire of the in-between I was unable to reach either shore--the one where I stood before the levy broke and the one ahead of me that would provide me some sturdy foundation with which to stand upon again..  The exhaustion, the constant thinking, the anger, the sorrow, the bewilderment dangled from me like iron anchors and pulled me into the deep, dark abyss. I was drowning.

One night, while in full self-pitying mode, I decided to distract the running reel of "woe is me" by visiting Pinterest.  (If you don't know what that is...I will warn you that it is HIGHLY addictive, but please do visit.  Of course, visit AFTER you read today's post.)   While working on my "Quote" board (so very original...I know) I came across Richard's quote.  It stopped me in my tracks.  My immediate reaction was scoffing, eye rolling, throaty grunts, but then...but then....something made me stop.  Something made me read it again, and again, and then once more.  Something made me look at each word strung together like a strand of Christmas lights, and in a moment of illumination it occurred to me that perhaps--perhaps--I could begin to look within my current conundrum for the gift it might be offering me.

Starting the next morning, I began to live differently.  The problem didn't go away (it still hasn't), but what did go away was some of the anger, the helplessness, the groping-around-in-the-dark-for-a-path kind of blindness. It was replaced by a curiosity.  If this Bach fellow was right, then somewhere, somehow, some gift would reveal itself through the chaos, above the noise, around the walls built high. The search was in itself a  distraction from the wallowing, however, the gift didn't reveal itself right away.

As it turns out this gift, my problem's gift, had been here right from the beginning, but I was too overwhelmed with despair to recognize it, to greet it, to experience it.  I am thankful to Richard Bach and his wise words that I was able to open my heart's door to welcome it.   It finally became obvious to me in the midst of a compassionate "talking-to" by a long time friend.  She had come into my classroom to drop off a letter of recommendation that I had asked her to write and to inquire about my state of mind.  She heard--through the grapevine--of the things that had been heaped upon my family plate as of late.  I tearfully recalled details and answered her questions, and then after listening to each word, she showed her typical tenderheartedness and declared that she was sure that I'd feel better if I could just go on a well-needed vacation.  In the next breath, she mercifully offered her parents' condo in Florida for a place of respite.  I was stunned, silenced, humbled by her kindness and friendship, and it was then that my dilemma's gift dropped out of the sky and clunked me over the head.  My offering?  The realization that throughout this whole ordeal, I wasn't alone.

Problems have been plentiful these last few years.  That goes without saying, and I knew from experience that even the best people have a limit for the amount of times they listen, commiserate, dispense advice or prop up.  I mean there's a reason that nobody is Eeyore's BEST friend in those Winnie the Pooh stories.  So even before this latest round of rain, I had vowed to be more positive, to enjoy life in moments-moment by moment.  So when the bomb dropped here a few months ago, I was determined to speak very little of it except to perhaps a couple of my nearest, dearest and most trusted.  I would face the latest a solitary figure.

But despite my silence--despite my solitude--companionship, empathy, love came.  They came.   They came. I was not alone, in spite of the problem plague I had been living through.  I was not alone.

I was not alone when that friend took pity upon me and offered me an escape, but there were so many other times in which that gift played out over and over and over.  I was not alone when a friend in California was willing to "chat" with me for strung-together hours, even in the midst of studying for the Bar.  I was not alone when he offered several solutions to ease my worry and dread.  I was not alone when out of the blue I'd receive a motivational essay from a favorite website in an email from a woman hundreds of miles away who has become a kindred spirit.  I was not alone when strangers, STRANGERS! heard of my plight and offered me unnecessary benevolence.   I was not alone when a friend messaged "I'll be here when you are ready. Ok?"  Or the next day when a new message came from the same person simply stating, "Hope you are doing ok."  I was not alone, never alone, when the closest, most trusted and dear woman in my life hugged me close and whispered that we'd take on this problem together.  No matter what happened, I'd have her.  I was not alone.

 I was not alone.  I am not alone.  This problem, this mystifying mess, as difficult as it seems, as heavy as it is draped across my shoulders and across my back has offered to me a truly transcendent treasure: the gift of knowing that I am worthy of love no matter the situation, no matter my mistakes, no matter how many times I ask and even when I don't--there are people who will be there.  I am loved.  I am not alone.  And dear readers neither are you.  What are the problems that you are facing?   Please remember, no matter how complicated no matter how hopeless, that problem "holds a gift for you in it's hand."  Go on, do yourself a favor...Open it.

Positively Positive

The other afternoon I decided to be a rebel and take a bubble bath in the middle of the day with a glass of wine, candlelight and a book on writing recommended by a friend, Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott.  After luxuriating for approximately 2 minutes, a recently potty trained Ila came in needing to "go tinkle".  She sat down and did her business, but I could tell by the look on her face that she was quite perplexed by the bath scene before her.  After getting help washing her hands and with her clothes, she stepped towards the tub.  She set her elbows down and placed her chin in her hands.  "Hi Ila."  I said.  "I'm taking a bath."  She furrowed her brow which wrinkled that uber cute nose.  Her head cocked to the side and the following discussion took place:

Ila:  You are doing it wrong, mommy.

Me:  I am doing it wrong?

Ila:  Yes!  Sit up.  Sit up! 

Me:  No.  I am relaxing, Ila.  This is how I try to relax in a bath.  I lay down and read a book.

Ila:  It's dark in here, mama.

Me:  Yes, that helps me relax too.  (A major pause ensued here.  Still  the perplexed toddler with the cocked head, chin in hands, and then...)

Ila: That's OK mommy.  Keep trying.  Just keep trying.  Don't give up.  Then you will do a good job!"  

I had to stifle a giggle as the two-foot-philosopher left the bathroom satisfied that she had figured it all out.  Mommy wasn't taking a bath the way that she takes a bath.  Mommy  must be doing it wrong.  Problem solved.  But what pleased me the most about that small moment was the glimmer I got into the way that Ila's brain works, into the way she thinks.  The words she spoke to me about trying and not giving up were extremely reassuring.  Stick-to-it-iv-ness and hard work are two personality qualities that are essential for success.  After teaching for more than two decades and raising children for almost as long, I am absolutely sure that more than smarts, or athletic ability, or humor or any other personality characteristic, having a positive attitude and not being afraid of hard work are two catalysts that propel children as far down that road to success as they can go.   

So how does a mom foster this type of attitude in a child.  Well, I am certainly not an expert, but am determined to learn.  Here are some of the things that I have read about and devised on my own in order to try with Ila, and it seems to be making a difference in the way she looks at life:

1.  Establish words and phrases that you can repeat over and over especially during times of trial.  One we use religiously is a song from Yo Gabba Gabba that encourages kids to "Keep trying, keep trying.  Don't give up.  Never give up."  

2.  Another (probably obvious) suggestion is to catch them having a positive attitude.  Ila with her neurological disorder is constantly falling...hard.  Hard enough that most toddlers would cry as a result.  Many times, instead of crying Ila will stand up and say to herself, "I'm fine. I'm okay. Not a biggie." And while most of the time that she self-talks this way I want to smother the little thing with hugs, no matter how many times a day she says those phrases I always try and tell her how special it is that she faces her falls that way. She puffs up like a freshly washed baby chick when we praise her.  Connecting a positive attitude with pride will hopefully foster a lifelong decision to not drown in bad, but swim with the good. 

The above two examples I am sure makes it seem that Ila never has moments where frustration takes over her.  On the contrary, she most definitely does...just ask my frayed nerves.  One particular time that stands out in my mind is our recent attempt to potty train her.  After holding it all day (and I mean ALL day 6:30 am to about 4 pm), Ila began to throw a tantrum as I tried to sit her on the potty once again.  When I told her she didn't have to sit on the toilet, she cried.  When I said I'd help her sit, she cried.  When I tried to leave the bathroom, she cried.  When I entered the bathroom, she cried.  She became quite agitated and it was clear that she was highly aware that she shouldn't pee in her underwear, but just didn't want to go in the potty.  She was getting more and more frantic.  She wasn't the only one that was panicking.  While she knew that it wasn't right to wet her underwear, but was considering it, I knew it wasn't right to put her back into pull ups but was considering it.  Just then, as it often does, Dr. Speed Dial's voice came from...well...whatever divine universal place that it resides...and whispered..."It is a parent's job to try and help his or her child problem solve."  And so that is what I did.  In a calm quiet voice I said, "Ila, if you could just calm down, mommy can help you fix this.  Let's start by taking a deep breath."  To my astonishment, she did just that.  So I continued, "All problems can be fixed.  Let mommy try and help.  Can you tell me why you are upset?"  

"You gonna fix it?"  she said in such a pathetic sad way that my heart broke in two.  "Yes," I said soothingly.  "could you try and tell me why you don't want to pee on the potty?"  She thought.  She thought and thought and I could almost see that brain of hers reaching for words that would explain the problem.  This is what she came up with--"I stand up to go pee."  And though it took me a while to figure out what she was trying to say, I realized (thankfully) that she was having trouble because when she went in the pull up it was usually in a standing position and probably on the go...not at all like conditions of going on a potty.  

So, embracing my role as problem-solver-in-chief I flipped quickly through possible solutions and decided on one that may or may not work.  It was risky but I said, "Do you want to stand up and start to pee and then, I'll sit you down once you get started?"  Surprisingly, a very relieved Ila said, "Yes...YES.  I stand up to pee." And so that is what we did...I stood her up with the potty at her heels and gave her permission to start peeing, which she did instantly.  As soon as the stream started, I sat her down.  As she filled (FILLED!! ) the potty (who knew a 26 inch child could have such a large bladder???) I cheered and hooted and high-fived her.  When we were finished with all the numerous steps (wipe, dump, flush, pull up pants, wash hands) I sat her on my lap and told her how proud of her I was.  I also gently reminded her that all problems could be fixed if we could just stay calm enough to figure them out.  At that moment daddy came in and asked Ila how she finally did it.  Ila answered, "The problem got fixed, daddy."

And perhaps, that idea that all problems have solutions is the most important thing we can teach our young children.  Nowadays the world seems to be full of problems that need clear and focused thinking.  It is also a world that has plenty of negative that we could focus on if we choose.  Unfortunately, before parenting Ila, negativity was my best friend and Eeyore was my nickname.  But I am learning, for the sake of my daughter, to have a positive attitude.  I stumble often, but when I do, I am sure that Ila will be there to say, "That's OK mommy.  Keep trying.  Just keep trying.  Don't give up.  Then you will do a good job!"  

The Decision to Have Children

Last August an old friend asked me to write about the decision to have children or not to have children.  He and his wife do not have offspring yet and had spent several weeks living at a friend's house who had a toddler.  Needless to say they came away from that experience exasperated, anxious, annoyed and just plain old exhausted and it wasn't even their child.  This harrowing time made them question whether or not they should be procreating.  After watching the beloved friend wrangle with a strong-willed human who stood two feet high, they had some serious misgivings about the whole process.

When he first asked me to write a blog post about this subject, I dove right in.  Asking for input from friends who chose not to have children as well as input from friends who chose to be parents.  But when I sat down to actually put words to screen...I fizzled.  I fizzled a whole giant bunch.  Each time I tried, I'd find a way to avoid, stop, or just forget all about the post.  Something was stopping me.  It was as if a black writing cloud hung over my head every time I opened this particular file and I couldn't quite put my finger on why.  

Yesterday, as I was showering, (I do a lot of planning for my writing there...it is a rare moment of uninterrupted time) it came to me why I was avoiding the simple request from a friend who is very much the thinker that I am.  I realized that I wasn't sure I could write an unbiased post, and I didn't want to be the one to sway this couple (who would just be the coolest parents) either way.  Recently I've been sucked up into the center of the teenage tornado and well...all that spinning might make this writer a tad cynical and bitter...(just a tad).  But parenthood couldn't have been ALL bad.  Could it? So while rinsing the conditioner from my hair I made a pact with myself, for the sake of this couple, that I would wander back and look at all sides of having children...the good, the bad, the ugly AND the beautiful.

Parenthood is like being a participant in an Iron Man competition.  You start off swimming with this infant, and there are obstacles that you have heard about and semi prepared for like constant breast feeding, diaper changes, piercing cries and sleepless nights.  But there are also treacherous waves that you don't expect that no one tells you about.  As a woman not only are you swimming against a current of being a new mother, you are also trying not to drown underneath massive physical changes like dropping and rising hormones, hair loss, breasts that are so hard and swollen it is difficult to put your arms down to your sides, leaking milk, and a sore whoo whoo that needs about as much attention that a brand new baby needs.  As a man, you have to learn to navigate the dangerous seas of a hormonal woman who may be experiencing postpartum depression. You'll need the patience of Job and a depth of understanding that rarely a man finds quickly (sorry...that is a sexist comment...but a true one in my experience.) You will find that you have a sense of urgency and responsiblity for this child and his or her well being that is so all consuming you could possibly lose what used to make you YOU in the process. You will have trouble adjusting to the realization that the woman who was just a year ago prancing around in Victoria's Secret lingerie and going out dancing with you on Friday nights, the one who lived to please you and only you has now replaced you with this small helpless human that she will forever feel responsible for.  Men, you will now be an after thought, in second place when before the child, you were in first.  Will you be able to adjust or do you have to be the winner?  Most of the time, each parent will keep their minds on their strokes and kicking legs in order to propel themselves forward toward the shore.  You will be tired, always tired.  Swimming the waters of new parenthood isn't anywhere near the dog-paddle days at your local lake.  You'll suck in mouthfuls of water when what you really need is air.  You'll be sure that all that kicking is getting you nowhere.  You'll spend nights and days just treading water waiting for the crying to stop, getting swimmers' ear from the noise and stomach cramps from the tension.

But if you are a smart swimmer, if you have the wherewithal to stop, you may look up from that frantic breast stroke and take in your surroundings.  You are a parent now.  Responsible for this teeny tiny angelic human.  You will undoubtly be feeling a kind of fierce love that will scare you.  A love that I am absolutely sure one doesn't feel when looking upon any other human.  Oh sure there is best friend love and romantic love and love for sisters and brothers and parents.  But love for an offspring, that is a love like no other, and one I am sure changes who we are.  This little one that you check on 70 times a night to make sure he or she is breathing, this little one whose chin quivers make you giddy, whose chest rising and falling on your shoulder bringing you a peace and calmness that is new and welcome, this child made by you will seep its way into your consciousness and stay there...forever.  And you will be happy that he or she is here.  You will learn the meaning of sacrifice for this tiny human.  You will come to know what all parents know that THIS kind of sacrifice, giving of your WHOLE self for the sake of another human doesn't feel bothersome, but in fact feels wonderful and wise. 

Soon, just like in that Iron Man Competition, the swimming part is over, your infant will grow into a toddler, preschooler, elementary age KID!  You'll look back upon your journey in the water as one that was difficult, but you will feel exhilarated that you survived, that you swam the whole length and didn't drown, and perhaps, perhaps if you tried really hard, you'll even come out of the water a better athlete, ready to take on the next challenge.  And so you hop on that bike. But be sure to tighten your helmet because the course is riddled with potholes and hills.

As a parent to a school aged child, I will guarantee that you will have to navigate many bumps in the road, and that they'll bring about a briared agony and worry that latch on to every moment of the day.  You'll have to give in to things out of your control...things that may happen to your child or children that will tear your to shreds. You'll learn what it feels like to have your thoughts hijacked by these two persistent emotions. Worry and agony can be useful however because they'll propel you to pedal up that particular hill with all the gusto you can give it. You'll seek the advice of those who have come before you.  You'll read books, blogs, magazines, heck you may even listen to Doctor Phil a few times.  But what you'll find is that with all that advice, who your child becomes really happens by watching you--who you are will shape who your child is, and it is for that reason that a parent finds out that they have a fortitude that perhaps would have never been developed if not for the necessity of a child.  So many times on this journey you will feel like you don't have the strength to reach the top of that bleepin' hill.  But you must.  You have someone who is counting on you, and somehow that knowledge keeps you going up the steepest hill even in a driving hail storm.

But the wonderful thing about climbing a hill is that at some point you must travel down.  And these are the moments that are to be treasured...when you coast and sail with the wind on your face. During the school years you get to experience something that only a parent gets to experience--finding yourself--the essence of you--in a child that you have created.  It may be the way they worry and fret-just like you.  It may be how much they love to read--just like you.  It may be in the way they twirl their hair, or chew their lip or love to sing.  It is those moments of recognition that are omnipotent and surreal, and  bond you even more to this being who you thought you couldn't be any closer to.  As you take it easy on the downhill parts of your journey, you'll have the time to learn something new, to laugh, to talk, to eat lively dinners, to cheer on your little athlete-dancer-singer-piano recital giver, to help with homework, to soothe and coo when they are sick, to tuck in with bedtime stories and kisses, and giggles and doodley-dos (a private joke).  You will have moments of such immense contentedness and when all is said and done, those moments...those amazing, crazy, blissful moments are why we became parents in the first place and what we'd miss out on if we didn't.  Enjoy those downhill, coasting, laid back, wind on your face times.  They will give you energy for the hills and more trying events that are just around the bend.

Marathon runner, Jerome Drayton, said once "to describe the agony of a marathon to someone who's never run it is like trying to explain color to someone who was born blind."  Being the wife to a former marathon runner, I agree with this statement.  My first experience watching him run one will forever stick in my mind.  My beloved sister-in-law, Sandy and I drove together as my husband and his brothers ran the course.  We'd get in the car and drive frantically so that every three miles or so we could get out and cheer them on.  I hand Jeffrey a "goo" or a bottle of water and watch as he disappeared around the bend.  Then Sandy and I raced to her car and traveled to the next stop.  This process we repeated over and over.  At mile marker 18 I remember remarking to Sandy that I marveled at Jeff's and Bill's (her husband) fortitude.  They didn't act at all in a way that I had imagined. They were not the serious and focused runners who mentally had to prepare themselves for the grueling task at hand.  Each time we saw them, they were jovial and energetic. That is until mile marker 22.  At mile marker 22, the runners, all of the runners who passed, seemed delirious.  Looked as if they'd been through a war.  No smiles, just gritted teeth and furrowed brows.  Their limbs were rubber and sweat poured down them as if a cascading waterfall.  They clearly had hit a wall...their bodies straining not to give out.  I worried for them.  The last four miles of that marathon would clearly be one of the toughest athletic challenges of my husband's life.

Much the same can be said about the last leg of your direct parenting journey--the never ending marathon of raising teenagers.  For me and many other parents that I speak to THIS part of the journey is the toughest.  It has been difficult for me to put into words the feelings one gets sometimes as a parent of an adolescent.  To tell you the truth, it might be difficult because well you just don't hear parents talk like this. I am sure it is considered to be extremely taboo and yet, and yet...It is how I feel sometimes.  It is how many parents feel sometimes, and so, and so...since I have never been one to mix words...Parenting teens makes me weary, as weary as...well...a marathon runner at the 22nd mile.  And why not?  I mean it gets so exhausting being so uncool, embarrassing, stupid, ridiculous and "totally lame".  Somehow, having a teen directly correlates with the moment that a parent loses all knowledge and wisdom.  We suddenly know nothing about the world or life or really ANYTHING.  Our voices, requests, and simple hellos become reasons for deep and disdainful reactions from beings whose existence on Earth is BECAUSE of us.  And I guess, that is the hardest part for me.  (Here comes the TABOO...Leave your judgment at the door.  Thank you in advance.) It absolutely ticks me off, makes me feel completely incredulous...makes me want to pull my hair out that sometimes...heck...MOST of the time teenage offspring have absolutely no respect for the hard work, sacrifices, time and thought we've put into raising them.

If I was following the format of the rest of this blog, this is where I'd be telling you about the multitude of reasons that one SHOULD enjoy parenting those pesky teens.  But.I am sorry dear readers that glimpses are all I can give you when it comes to the pros.  Perhaps it is because I am in the thick of it that I can't see the forest for the trees.   I imagine that it is this way with the marathon runner as well.  While he's running, in the thick of the race itself, the runner must  use every bit of his mental and physical ability to keep running...to keep his or her legs and arms and breath and motivation all in working order.  Perhaps after the run--hours, days, weeks even years after, the athlete will be able to tell you with pride in their voices the amazing moments that he or she experienced while completing one of the hardest athletic tasks ever.  And I suppose it will be the same with me someday...years down the road when the marathon of raising those teens is over, I'll be able to look back and say...oh yes...oh yes...there was this and there was that.  And it was good.  So good.  However, right now dear readers, right now I am in the thick of it and well, it takes all my effort just to keep on runnin' just looking for a glimpse of the finish line.

Glimpses of the finish line--you know its coming when your children speak of college, or when they sit against the teddy bear wallpaper at his or her pediatrician's office looking like some out of place giant.  You know its coming when you stroll along with them at their first college visit.  You know its coming when they come out of the front door of their high school holding hands with a significant other who has substance not just looks.  Those glimpses, glimpses of the possible adult that he or she could be--like when your son sings to a packed house with the certitude and power of a man surprising even you with his confidence.  Or when he or she sits the bench the entire season, but never quits and happily cheers for teammates.  Yes, there are glimpses.  Like when the busy dinner tables, the full-of-kids-backyard, the streets when spring has sprung filled with screeching voices, bouncing basketballs and the sounds of bicycles whizzing by are suddenly replaced with revving engines driving away from the house, tomb-like quiet dinner tables, and an empty home for hours upon end.  Glimpses of the finish line.  Yes, you'll feel it coming and so you press forward, ever forward towards it.  And when you reach that, (which you will...I promise) you'll look backwards down that lonely running road, to the bumpy and thrilling bike path, and way out over the horizon to the treacherous but beautiful ocean waters where you began your journey and you'll feel as the Iron Man athletes feel; that you've accomplished something great and magnanimous.  You may be a little tired, a little haggard, but happy and proud to be standing erect.

Dear friend, only you and your wife know if you are up for the challenge.  The decision has to be yours.  My only firm advice is to choose wisely, because unlike an Iron Man competition where the finish line means that you never have to do it again, the parenting finish line I spoke of is metaphorical.  Your role as parent will be a lifetime commitment.  Are you up for the job?  

Next to Normal

Last night I attended a benefit for our local professional theater. I smiled and laughed at dinner with my sister, her husband and friends. I rocked back and forth, even danced a little in my chair to the INCREDIBLE live music coming from the talented Cabin 3 at the front of the bar. (Okay…a shameless plug for a talented friend.) But if truth be told in the very center of my solar plexus there was an all too common sphere of sadness, dread, rage, anxiety–perhaps it’s a psychotic being–as it seems to be living and breathing. You see, life with the teens, with the hubby, heck—life with the family has not been a picnic lately and the weight of all that disappointment, frustration…resignation pulled upon my limbs as I crossed the street to the theatre making my legs feel like they were wading through thigh-deep mud.

I continued wading through the wine and cheese and small talk of the local elite. I pressed on with my persona of the dutiful mother and happy wife. I rallied hard to ignore the sadness that engulfed me, and refused to listen to the continuous worry reel that was rolling through my mind. Like a Chinese acrobat, I kept spinning those plates high above me and hoped that they wouldn’t come crashing down on some unsuspecting head—forging forward in my familial fog feeling utterly and completely alone with my thoughts.

A writing acquaintance of mine, Katrina Anne Willis (okay okay another shameless plug) recently wrote a blog post in which she stated,

“My marriage, my children — those are the relationships I’ve vowed to hold onto forever. Those are the people, no matter how much they change, to whom I’ll always hold fiercely, always fight for. Those core family relationships are different — at least to me.”

I adore this woman and her incredible writing, but I gotta tell you that sometimes lines like the ones above make me feel utterly inadequate as a mom and as a wife because if I was being truthful,

Read the rest of the post at Hilltownfamilies.org.  Click the link:  http://hilltownfamilies.wordpress.com/2012/01/17/fisher-33/#respond

For the Love of a Son

I spent the afternoon yesterday at my ex husband's house.  Okay.  Stop reading the line over and over again.  You heard what I said.  I spent the afternoon at my ex husband's house with our two boys, my new daughter, his step-daughter and wife.  I spent the afternoon at my ex husband's house and it was beautiful.

Beautiful--and I am not talking about the decor, although the cottage-like feel was warm and inviting, and the little touches and openness of design made it a welcoming place.  But that isn't the kind of beauty of which I speak.  The kind of beauty I experienced yesterday is hard to put into words, and yet I've been compelled to write about it since I arrived home.  And so, I will try to convey to you dear readers the mystical happening that took place for a brief moment in what sometimes has seemed to be a very long, arduous journey of a contentious, resentful and good old fashioned divorced couple.

Gannan's dog, Vixen, has a special place in his heart.  With all that he has been through, the poor decisions he's made, the animosity, the changes, the pushing of boundaries, that dog's love has been the one constant in his year of upheaval. Although he tries not to show it, Ganny's heart is full of that pooch.  When he comes home, after a brief kiss to his sister, he bee lines it to that black hair ball, lays down on the floor with her and...well...loves all over her.  His most treasured Christmas present from last year was a framed picture of Vixxy's face.  Back then moving to dad's house was still new and his conflicted feelings about it he wore like the buttons on the outside of his shirts.  I will never forget his face as the torn wrapping paper fell to the floor that morning.  The corners of his mouth turned down and his chin tightened.  He swallowed the boulder of emotion that instantly welled up in his throat and nodded a slight nod, as if it was just right.  It was clear at that moment that what he missed the most about our little house on Reservoir Dr. was that sweet, lovable dog.

That's why when Vixen's vet suggested that the fist-sized sore that wouldn't heal on her hip might be cancerous, I instantly worried about Ganny's reaction. Lately he has found a sort of rhythm in his life, a easy sort of groove that he's settled into.  It is clear it seems to me that he is beginning to mature.  While certainly not perfect, some of the "in-your-face" stuff, especially in school, seems to have dissipated.  (Anyone have any wood I can knock on?)  And so I didn't want Vixen's impending death to put a crater in the somewhat smooth road he'd been traveling down.  His father felt the same way and called me to express his concern.  I told him of our plans to put his dog to sleep if she indeed did have cancer, that we didn't want her to suffer.  He again expressed his worry in how that would affect Ganny.  Which, as Gannan's father, was of course expected.  But, I will tell you what he did next was completely and utterly UNexpected...The ex's step daughter, Ashley and her boyfriend, just happen to be newly graduated veterinarians, and he offered his step-daughter's services..free of charge.

So that is how I found myself at his home yesterday afternoon.  Jeff was working.   Aidan helped me lift the feeble dog into my SUV, I strapped Ila into her car seat and admittedly, with trepidation, we were off.  I have mentioned in previous posts my fondness for my sons' stepmother, Jackie, and so it wasn't a surprise to see her kind face coming down the front steps and toward the car to welcome us.  Ganny came out with his step-sister, Dr. Ashley, and her boyfriend, Dr. James.  They immediately went to the rear of the car to retrieve Vixen.  She didn't come easily and I began to consider what I'd do with Ila while I tried to assist in getting the dog out of the car, but just as I was about to strap her back in the car seat, my ex husband came out to help.  He smiled cordially and went straight to the back, whispered sweetly to the dog and reached in to lift her out.  I suppose I stood there staring as someone does when looking upon a new sort of something never seen before.  I suppose that my face had that look many times over the next hour and half.

Ashley set up an area of plastic for Vixen to lay on and dove right into her very thorough work.  Gannan knelt by the dog's head, but it quickly became apparent that help would be needed to keep her still.  Since my job was to keep Ila busy in the small space and distracted from the distress her beloved dog was experiencing, I couldn't be the one to assist in steadying the dog.  (Not to mention that there isn't anyone as squeamish as me and being close to all the cutting and draining and shots and tissue sample removal would have had me fainting and retching all over.)

Once again, surprising me, my sons' father knelt along side of Gannan grasping Vixen firmly but lovingly and assured Gannan at the same time by smiling confidently.  But even that wasn't enough to keep the 80 pound black ball of hair still enough for Dr. Ashley to do the delicate cutting and snipping that she needed to do.  So true to her nature, Jackie joined in to lend her support.   They worked there, the four of them, for quite sometime.  Each gently soothing a very quiet Gannan every once in a while with a reassuring phrase or by telling a joke.  At one point, overwhelmed Gannan ran out the front door, leaving Jackie and Scott with the dog.  Aidan's instinct was to run after him, and just as I was about to tell him "no", Jackie said, "Let him be, Aidan.  When Gannan gets like this it is best to leave him alone."  She said just what I was about to say.  At that moment, my sons' father looked at Jackie in agreement, and I realized that they knew Gannan the way that I knew him, that they loved him the way that I loved him.  That all of this...they did FOR Gannan, and in that moment I experienced overwhelming emotion.  

After the major work was done on the dog, (it turned out to be an abscess not cancer...good news...but the draining and blood will be the death of this weak stomached woman), the boys got tired of holding onto her and so I knelt beside her (on the side without the blood...sheesh) while also trying to keep Ila away from the red river that was running  out of her opened wound.  Jackie did her best to entertain my daughter as well, but she was determined to hug and play with Vixen.  That is until the ex surprised me once again and came out with Natalie, their Teacup Yorkie, for Ila to play with.  Up until that point he had tried extremely hard not to be a casualty of Ila's sheer cuteness.  But it seems he had succumbed to it, even putting her on the kitchen counter to keep her away from Vixen and entertained.  From the living room, holding Vixen, I could see the three of them, Gannan, the ex and Ila enjoying one another and the tiny Teacup Yorkie in my daughter's lap.

Driving home (after the ex placed the dog into my car on a pillow and one of his sheets) it hit me...it all hit me. The surrealism of it, what had just taken place was both cause for joy and massive guilt all rolled into one, and I cried.  I cried the cry of a mother, a mother who may not have always made the right choices when it came to her sons and their father, but one who finally got it.  I cried the cry of a woman who was reminded that the man who she created her two sons with may not be 100% the demon she had made him out to be in her mind perhaps to protect her from admitting her own wrong-doings.  I cried the cry of a mama who experienced for the first time in the 18 years what it felt like to work together with the father of her sons for the good of them.   I cried the cry of a mom who realized how many of those times had slipped through her fingers over the years.      I cried a good and healing cry.

This morning Gannan came to irrigate the cut on Vixen's hip and leg and afterwards I drove him to school.  "Mom, I feel so much better about Vixen," Gannan said relieved.  I answered, "Me too.  It looks like she'll be fine Gan."  And then, "Gan, what did you think about your father yesterday?"
   "What do you mean?"  he asked.
    "Well babe, if you know your dad, you have to be amazed that he dealt so well with all the blood on his floors and all that chaos.  I mean he even played with your little sister."
    "Yeah.  You are right.  He was great." he answered.
     "Do me a favor Gannan will you?  Your dad isn't perfect and lord knows neither am I.  But the next time you get mad at him try and remember what he did for you on Sunday.  Having me in his house, having the mess," (He can be a bit of a--shall we say--neat freak.) "all that chaos he doesn't do well with, but he did it for you.  Try and remember that the next time you get mad at him okay?"
   "Yeah.  Okay mom."  And then..."And mom, you do that too, okay?"  Mentally hanging my head, I replied, "I'll try Gan.  I'll try."

So that's it.  Yesterday I spent the afternoon at my ex husband's house, and it was beautiful.  That doesn't mean that all is forgotten.  It doesn't mean that all is forgiven.  It doesn't mean that I won't drive him crazy.  It doesn't mean that in the future he won't make me curse like a trucker.  What it does mean, is that I am capable, as is he, of parenting our children together...if we can only remember that we do it for the love of a son.

The Hallow of Hell!

Before you read today's post, please put on your HAZMAT uniform.  After you read, please DECONTAMINATE and then leave a comment at the bottome of the post underneath the bio!  Oh1  And don't forget the clothespins for your nose...you'll need them!  http://hilltownfamilies.wordpress.com/2011/10/04/fisher-28/#more-14385