Wednesday, November 11, 2009

The Things I Tell Myself that May or May or May Not Be True

UGH. I've been trying to write for a few hours, but I find that I'm just going on and on, veering off into these tangents that are only marginally related to what I really want to say, and I'm really just very frustrated and tired and unable to just say what I want to say.

I had to delete what I had, figuring that starting over was better than the mess I had going on.

The thing is this: I feel all this pain over the back-and-forth that is my son's life. Far beyond my own pain, it's him that I worry about. I see how sometimes he's anxious and unsettled, and how he acts out because of it. And while 95% of the time he is happy and well-adjusted, it still hurts. I don't want him to feel confused, or like he has to choose between his mom or dad, which is what I sense sometimes. However routine this has become, however civil his parents are in his presence, he's still just four years old and trying to figure it all out. And as he gets older, the questions are becoming more complex, with answers that I can't fully explain and he can't fully grasp.

And yet, the alternative to this was worse. One of the things that hits me quite hard is feeling like this boy of mine never stood a chance. Even if he had never had to know "mommy's house" and "daddy's house" and the back-and-forth, he still would have had it rough. Had his dad and I stayed together, then he would have grown up in a perpetually tense home, with a mom who was always pissy, and a dad who was always in a sour mood, and a mom and dad who couldn't go too long without a fight. It was because of this, when his father made it clear that he was not in a place where he could really work on the marriage, and when he said enough for me to understand his true feelings, that I chose to end my marriage. I did not want the alternative for my son. I didn't want him to feel tense and uncomfortable in his own house, to be fearful, to a know a mother who was only ever frustrated and short and snappy and just pretty damn awful all around.

So this - these two homes, this back-and-forth - this is actually better. My son now gets to enjoy a mom who still might yell, but who is so much funner and more patient and relaxed, and less stressed (waaaaay less stressed) and overwhelmed. He has a home with me that is peaceful and simple, and where he seems completely comfortable.

But I think that lately, these feelings are coming up and affecting me because my life seems ever more normal, and pretty routine and overall content - and these things all clash with the back-and-forth, with the part of my life that will forever be fractured, and it feels so painful and unfair that it kills me. I don't actually disagree with the back-and-forth; I fully support his dad's right to be with him as much as I'm with him. It's really more about the effects of the back-and-forth, the way he's here and then he's not, and my constant wondering of what that must feel like for him; if, because he's been doing it since he was two-and-a-half, this is his own kind of normal, or if it's confusing or sad or frustrating. Is he in limbo? Does he feel like he belongs anywhere, like any place is "home"?

And then I tell myself all these things that seem really rational, that support my general feeling that he is o.k. and this is o.k. and in the long-run he will not be all messed up and having awful relationships and spending half his life on the therapist's couch. But the more I tell myself these things, the more I'm beginning to wonder if I'm not just lying to myself. I'm completely convinced that the alternative would have been worse; but what about the rest of it? I tell myself that even under these circumstances, I can give him a true sense of home and belonging; I tell myself that as long as his dad and I cooperate on the important things, he will be o.k.; I tell myself that he is surrounded by people who love him and who shower him with affection; that it could all be so much worse, in so many ways; I tell myself that I'm a stable person who thinks things over really well, who examines things from all angles, and that these qualities help me make good decisions for him and myself and us; that I've come far in healing and dealing with a lot of personal stuff, and this makes me able to keep a lot of my own emotional, deep issues in perspective when it comes to making decisions for and about him; I tell myself that this is life, it just is, and that the attitude I take on about it will serve as an example to him, so I better choose wisely.

I'm scared of the fact that emotionally, I feel much calmer and more optimistic and healthier than I ever have, and that I won't be able to reconcile that with this other part, the part where my son has to pay some kind of price for all this. I can't describe how much it sucks to realize (and to repeatedly confirm whenever things with his father get problematic) that this was the right decision, and yet the right decision has made a victim out of my son. And yet, even without this decision, my son would have been a victim anyway.

Ay. F me. I'm exhausted.

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Posted by Tere @ 11/11/2009   | | | links to this post

Saturday, November 07, 2009

This is Not the Kind of Mother I Wanted to Be

Every other week, my son is mine. I have him with me, for a good chunk of days, until he goes to his father, and then every other week, I am without him. Without the boy who is my everything, he who is meant to be with me all the time, every single day, and not just every other week.

This is not the kind of mother I wanted to be. This is not how it was supposed to be for me, for him.

Before his father moved out and he was still all mine all the time, but after it was clear that the life I knew was ending, I cried every single night over what lay ahead. I missed him even as he lay right there next to me. I cried for all the nights that lay ahead that he would not be with me, for his confusion, for the way his father and I robbed him of having a normal life.

And I would rage. I would rage at the man who still lay in bed with me, wanting to tear him apart for giving up, for not looking back, for his indifference, for the nonchalant way he was dismantling our life.

But before I faced that first night alone without my son, before I became someone who was fractured, I resolved to not let myself sink into these feelings. I made myself stop crying and forbade myself to obsess on his absence and be consumed by the sadness and anger and guilt. I understood that we would never move forward, never know anything close to normal, if I did any of that. Cliche as it is, for his sake, I would have to be strong and normal.

And so, I have been. I don't cry. I don't think more than necessary about how I imagined motherhood would be, how his life would be. I don't wallow in the knowledge that I will never be able to mother this child as I was meant to, and as he needs. I don't allow myself to even think about the giant hole in my soul because he is not here all the time. I try instead to just offer him as much normalcy and stability as I can. I fight the constant desire to hold him and squeeze him within an inch of his life, to tell him how much I miss him, for fear that it will bring added anxiety. I am instead firm mommy and mean mommy and mommy who doesn't tolerate tantrums and who counts to three and who nags. He knows nothing of my grief, and I refuse to let him sense any sadness in me, because he will pick up on it and worry.

At night now, I just read to him and lie with him for a few minutes before leaving the room and continuing on with my night. I am fractured and I accept it and normally do a good job of handling it.

But then there are nights like tonight. Nights when he seems more vulnerable than usual, quieter, sadder. Nights when he's falling asleep pressed against my chest, his fingers trailing my cheek, my neck, my clavicle, while he repeatedly coos, "sweet, beautiful mommy." Nights when I cave, when the tears just pour out and drench the pillow, and all the feelings, the feelings that I normally push down well enough, rise up and devour me.

I go from being fractured to being broken.

This is not the kind of mother I wanted to be.

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Posted by Tere @ 11/07/2009   | | | links to this post

Friday, November 06, 2009

Things I Don't Like

The record needs to show that I seriously dislike the following things:

1. Hearts. Oh, how I dislike hearts! Anything with hearts on it (especially jewelry - gah!!), I want nothing to do with it. Keep it away from me. I won't wear clothing with hearts, or have any decorative knick knack with hearts, etc. I know at some point Max will be forced to make something heart-related for me at school, and that'll be o.k. I'll love that just because it's him, and really, a paper heart is kinda cute. Actually, a heart on a paper is about all I can stand. Otherwise, no - just, no.

2. Teddy bears. They're useless.

3. Snobby Hipsters. I'd love to be as cool as the next person; really, I'd love to be hip to all the latest trends, the in-the-know news, the "it" pop cultural things and the newest wave of cool, witty terms; I'd love to be even snarkier than I already am. But honestly? It's exhausting. I've got too much going on to stay on top of all that. And when you're on top of all that, and you're a jerk to those of us who aren't, I really just want to smack you. Because it doesn't make you cooler or hipper or snarkier. It just exposes you for the insecure tool you really are.

4. Stud earrings. I don't find them attractive. I'll wear them if they're the absolute best choice for the outfit, but thankfully, that's rarely the case.

5. Runny egg whites. I'm not one to easily get grossed out, but runny egg whites freak me the hell out. They're so gross I literally get nauseous. Gross. So, so gross.

6. Pearls. I'm just not a pearl person.

7. Figurines. I recently noticed that the only real decorative items in my house are pictures and candle holders. I have a couple of figurine-type things that have some kind of sentimental value (like a big seahorse! yeah!), but I have nothing like Precious Moments, or LLadró, or themed pieces like angels or cows or anything like that (oh wait, there's the mermaids, but that's a different thing altogether). I think that while figurines work well in other homes, they just don't in mine. They'd make me feel crowded.

8. Twitter. Oh, Twitter. My love/hate relationship with you continues. I've shared my feelings about Twitter before. Generally speaking, it's useless. I'm just not a fan (even though I've enjoyed the tweets from some things I follow and find useful, like NPR and NYTimesFood).

However, my attitude's changed a little. You see, I work from home now, and I spend the entire time in front of the computer. Being alone, at the computer, I find that I miss being around people, and that my mind races with random thought after random thought; I can barely keep up. It's too much to post here, because even though I like sharing silly little thoughts from time to time, it would just be too disorderly to do so. And since I've long felt that Twitter is a wasteland of random thoughts, well now, I've found my people and can spew away without actually bugging anyone I know and care about (and those friends who are regulars on Twitter clearly aren't annoyed by it or else they wouldn't be doing the same thing).

I joined Twitter way back in 2007 and have always kept my tweets private (mainly due to stalker-type issues). In dabbling with it now (and lord knows how long this will last anyway), I've decided to open up my tweets to the public, and will probably keep it that way until it gets too creepy for my comfort level, should that even happen.

You're a love as it is for reading this blog of mine, and I in no way expect anyone reading this to give a hoot about my tweets. But in case it means that much to you, here it is, then, my Twitter feed.

Next up: a list of things I do like.

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Posted by Tere @ 11/06/2009   | | | links to this post

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

Boot Plan

I was all prepared to declare something miraculous: I don't need boots this year! I have every style and color that I need!

And then.

I remembered that I don't have gray boots. And I want those. Gray suede, to be exact. I found this great pair, for a crazy $35 - perfect color, perfect style. But I wasted too much time agonizing over them, wondering if it was appropriate to get them, wondering it it would be too irresponsible, blah, blah, blah. And of course, they sold out.

So no pretty gray suede boots for me.

Yet. I won't be making that mistake again.

p.s. Speaking of things I want, I've been updating my wishlist lately, after having abandoned it for months. Looky here, all fresh and updated for you. Or me, really.

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Posted by Tere @ 11/03/2009   | | | links to this post

Friday, October 30, 2009

Halloweens Past

Happy Friday, and day-before-Halloween.

2002 (or, I wasn't feeling particularly creative)



2008 (or, mommy didn't even ask and imposed her will on costume choice)



1982 (or, check out the awesome costume my aunt made me)



2007 (or, my burst of creativity on a zero budget)



2007, also (or, what a thrilled little bat!)



1984 (or, one of my most favorite costumes ever. The other was my mermaid one.)



Happy Halloween!

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Posted by Tere @ 10/30/2009   | | | links to this post

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

New

Time is messing with me. On any given day, I'll forget that this new dimension of our relationship is quite young. I forget because before this - this tenderness and affection and deeper sharing - there was a friendship where we communicated a lot and regularly hung out. And while back then it was that and nothing more, with no idea that it would blossom into this - this so sweet, so exciting, so hopeful - the truth, it is clear now, is that we were building something that in this new stage of our relationship has given us a sense of comfort and knowing that makes it feel like "we" may be new, but we have some good roots sown beneath us.

My memory of him does not go back just a couple of months; it goes back further, to all the personal things we've shared, the fun nights grabbing some drinks, the meals we relished, the adventures we took together, the times when a simple idea (i.e., "dinner") turned into hours and hours and hours of us talking, talking, talking. There are hundreds of email exchanges, and - at last count - well over 4,000 text messages between us. There are words, so many words - covering the mundane, gossiping, expressing hurt and anger and uncertainty and wonder and shock and giddiness.

There all these things - things that ultimately can't be quantified even as I try to do so here - that give me this sense that we are solid and further along, from a closeness/knowing each other perspective, than might otherwise be true of people who have been dating a couple of months. As Boyfriend himself has told me, "we" did not begin that night when everything changed between us.

And yet, this aspect of us essentially is new, because we don't fully know each other in this way, and very little time has passed, and we must learn to be a couple even as we've each been touched by loss and failure and ruin. I can't lie: I struggle to fully see myself as a girlfriend, as a partner, and don't really know how to do this. I know commitment and trust and intimacy, but I no longer know it in the context of something new. And in this newness there is apprehension, because there are pieces of the damage that remain, that jump up at me at times and fill me with worry.

Ah, that blasted damage. I could easily tell myself a lot of rational stuff about that damage, and how it was central to one (very, very messed up) individual; but the thing about the damage is that it went deep. It was too many years of hearing the same shit over and over, of being treated a certain way - and after a while, the damage won. I was utterly defeated when my marriage ended. I didn't believe shit of what my ex had devoted so many years to drilling into me, but the effects of those words and his treatment of me broke me. I've been shadowed - even as I've felt better and stronger and less stressed and more hopeful than I have in many, many years (possibly ever) - by that damage, and by this big, scary question: what if everyone else will always see me as he did? From there, it expands: what if I'm silently being judged? what if I'm undesirable? what if I'm too talkative, too bossy, too boring? what if I'm unlovable because my house is a mess? what if I'm not interesting enough, or my interests are lame? what if my annoying habits are just too unbearable? etc., etc., etc...

This is the thing I've been able to conclude about the life that was mine: it was made clear, in every possible way, that every single thing about me was judged, and that I was rejected in various ways for those very things. I'm not even exaggerating that. I could give a list of specific examples, but honestly, it would be too humiliating. And if this bullshit that was rooted in my ex's own intense self-loathing fucked me up in any serious way, it was because I have always believed (and I still believe) that when you really love someone and are really committed to them and the life you build with them, then certain things, certain basic, elemental things, are not up for judgment, nor are you rejected because of them. Moreover, I believe that when you love someone, you love them despite their flaws, and that when you choose to be with someone, then you choose to accept those flaws and not let them eat at you or erode what you have with that person. And I have to tell you, in the end, I experienced none of those things. So is my theory just like the wrong one? Does it make no sense? Does it all always devolve to the shit I went through? Does no one ever get truly accepted for who they are; and is everyone seriously judged for every. damn. thing. - for choosing long hair over short, or for not obsessing about being thin, or for lavishing too much attention on a dog?

I gotta tell you, I'm wondering if I'm crazy right about now.

So to be in this position now, with someone with whom I have a very positive history but whom I now see, and more importantly, who now sees me, in a romantic light, I can't help but feel some of the rawness of the damage. It's not Boyfriend himself, not in any way, and I'm really aware of this. But these feelings, they are there. Will I disappoint and disillusion him? What will be the thing about me that would make him want to be here, to stay, and be happy? And I don't know what - except for time and for giving us a real chance to grow into this newness, into each other and the life that we're building together - will erase this. Time. A real chance. As we grow into our relationship, as our feelings deepen, I have faith that the damage will continue to diminish.

Because surely, I can't ask him to staple a sign to his forehead, assuring me that there's no judging going on, no intent to reject?

Or can I? Would that be too weird?

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Posted by Tere @ 10/28/2009   | | | links to this post

Monday, October 26, 2009

Somehow, This Turned Into a Rant About Housework

Hello. What's up? Oh yeah? Sweet!

Ahem.

I'm coming off two intense weeks, school-wise, and I'm extremely relieved and mildly stressed. My house looks like shit. I've been so wrapped up with two tests and a project (plus Max, natch), that the housekeeping's been ignored and now I have this crazy mess that I have to tackle.

Ugh.

I miss having a cleaning lady. Between hating housework and being pregnant then having a little one to run around after, it was easy to justify the cleaning lady and fork the money over to keep my home clean (and in all seriousness, I have a dust allergy so severe that I get quite sick if I touch or breathe it, and having someone take care of that was incredibly helpful). But now - now it seems like a waste, to pay someone to clean up after just Max and me (but I'm now in a never-ending cycle of not dusting because I get sick when I do, then getting sick anyway when it piles up in the bookshelves and hard-to-reach places).

But the truth is, while I manage the cleaning just fine (I've actually developed a pretty steady routine with the chores, and it's helped a great deal), my real problem is the junk. I try to toss mail out or put it away immediately; I get rid of magazines instead of letting them pile up; I've become much stricter with myself about what, among papers and mail and general paper-like stuff, I can keep and regularly sort through things to either put away or toss. And yet. Man, it's like I can't get rid of enough stuff. I do a thorough sweep pretty often, and I just can't get this place bare enough. It's always more mail, more notes and lists, more paperwork of some kind.

And I'm feeling all ranty about it right now because everything's piled up these last two weeks, and I'm mad at myself about it. You'd think I'd have enough time now to buckle down and get shit done, but no. I always manage to distract myself somehow, to find an excuse, to just sit and veg out because the thought of focusing on this seemingly huge task totally paralyzes me.

Oh, and on top of all that, my house is so old, and it so was not maintained prior to my moving in, that I'm also in this constant battle against counter surfaces and floors (wood, tile and linoleum) that just won't clean properly. It's impossible to get any of it sparkly clean, either because it all needs new grout, or because it's just old, or because past abuse has permanently damaged it. It's frustrating, to freaking scrub scrub scrub scrub and still nothing looks fresh and clean.

And I come full circle: this is why it's worth it to pay someone else to take over, because the money is worth the aggravation it would lift off my shoulders. Ah, maybe one day... I'll get a cleaning lady again, or I'll tackle everything I need to tackle, or I'll be able to get news floors and bathrooms... maybe... one day....

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Posted by Tere @ 10/26/2009   | | | links to this post

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Something About my Crappy Writing, and the Boyfriend, Too

Now that the cat's out of the bag, re: Boyfriend (or, "El Jevo", as I affectionately call him), it's way easier for me to admit the following: my blogging sucks lately, and I currently, at this moment, have nothing great to offer, because I've been too busy being giddy and happy and dreamy-eyed and sighing. Because of Boyfriend, of course.

I mean, don't get me wrong: I have plenty of stuff to write about, but it's all overshadowed by this very wonderful thing that's all but taken over my life. And if not my life, then definitely my brain. The thing I've noticed lately is that having such a smart, mature, level-headed person by my side has made my life seem way more manageable and way less overwhelming. There's a difference, in knowing you can handle anything that comes your way and riding your life roller coaster, and in having someone there to ride with you, and to back you up when you need that extra support.

Before things changed between us, we used to talk regularly about whatever challenges we were facing. And there were times when the challenges were really big, really emotional, and we each took time and attention to help the other break it down and handle it. We still do this, but I'm aware that there's this part of me now that looks at it all differently. Things that used to be about him, and about me, separately, now get classified as "us" in my brain. There is something about him, and us, that makes me - unconsciously - view us as a unit, and not so much as him in one corner and me in another.

It's very nice, but very new, strange even. I'm still getting used to this, to seeing someone as a part of me and my life and not just someone who's with me, but keeping a distance; or with me, but not with me.

I'm learning so much right now, and it's really great and really intimidating and really, really, really different from anything I've ever known. That's what sticks out to me: how unlike anything I've ever experienced this is.

Meanwhile, I'm thinking about my writing and it's sucky quality lately. I'm not very happy about that, but maybe now that it's front of mind, I'll work on it and make things right around here.

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Posted by Tere @ 10/22/2009   | | | links to this post

Monday, October 19, 2009

I Can Has Boyfriend?

Wow, it's so weird to use that word, "boyfriend." I didn't exactly plan on having one, and honestly, I haven't used this term in eons, not applied to myself, so, to use it now - to write it and tell others something as offhand as "my boyfriend and I are planning a trip" - feels strange as all hell.

And wonderful. Wonderful as all hell, because people? I have a boyfriend and he is awesome and the entire situation is funny and sweet and unbelievable. Over the last couple of months, my life has taken a very surprising (shocking, really) turn, and yet it has been such a wonderful surprise, such a sweet turn, that I just feel this powerful sense of gratitude for things developing the way they have.

You'll forgive me, I hope, for not deconstructing what happened, and how and why. On the one hand, I don't need to deconstruct it, and on the other, this is just so sweet (that really is a perfect word to describe all this) and personal that I want to keep it between him and me. But I'll share what I've shared with the people in my life: we never expected this to happen between us, never. We have known each other since high school, and only ever had a polite acquaintanceship, until very early this year when circumstances in both our lives brought us closer and we developed a very nice (but very platonic) friendship. We each valued the other - for the person they were, for the way we got along, for all that kind of stuff - but never related it to liking each other "that way."

And then one night, everything changed. We were stunned, a little freaked out and unsure of what to do next. Over the next weeks, it all sorted itself out to this: we wanted to be together. We didn't individually know that the other felt the same, but then one night, that too became quite clear, and the rest is history.

I'm happy. He is a good person, a great one, and we're really, really good together. We're lucky to have this incredible foundation beneath us, a friendship that we each valued and that allowed us to really get to know each other. There's no pretense between us, because we were friends first. I don't need to be anyone but myself, because that's who I've been all along, and that's who he fell for.

I didn't expect that something this special could come into my life. But it has, and already I cherish it so very much. Whatever lies ahead for us, I'm open, and excited, and willing.

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Posted by Tere @ 10/19/2009   | | | links to this post

Thursday, October 15, 2009

A Little Scatter from my Brains

1. School is stressing me out. Have a test this week, then a quiz, and a paper due at the end of next week, and I'm worried that I won't ace them all. I love, love, love the material and feel like I totally get it, like it all connects and makes perfect sense. But I'm struggling with how disconnected I feel, and am frustrated with my professors, and have not yet found a good, solid system to study and feel like a student. I don't at all feel like a student, and this sucks. I love what I'm studying but hate the way I'm studying it.

2. I smacked into my car door as I opened it yesterday, and I now have a gash on my forehead. It's small, but damn, it stings. And when I touch it, it's all sore and tender.

3. The gash incident happened minutes after I yelled at Max for disobeying me and dealing with the resulting tantrum. It's crappy to yell at the child, and crappier still to cut my forehead open in the heated aftermath of said yelling.

4. Meanwhile, I really need new glasses. I have one pair that looks awful on me, so I only wear at home, and my nicer pair that's all crooked now because of an accident (namely, legs got completely bent up.) Now the nose pads dig into me, and on top of that, the prescription's wrong because my vision's changed due to blood sugar issues. I've been hesitating on getting a new pair, feeling like it's a luxury I can't afford, but I don't know... maybe I need to just do it so I have the right pair that'll help me see better.

5. I spent all of yesterday convinced it was Thursday, and am mightily bummed that it was not.

6. However, despite the stress of school, I have some lovely days ahead of me, and I'm very excited and happy about that.

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Posted by Tere @ 10/15/2009   | | | links to this post

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

On the Cusp of Something Great

He is learning that letters come together to make words. He sounds them out now, deliberately pronouncing each letter, trying to make them into a word he knows and understands.

It's a slow process; he tries to string the individual letter sounds into words, but can't really do it just yet. His focus is more on nailing down each letter's pronunciation. "Tuh," he says for "T", "tuh, tuh, tuh, tuh."

He is learning, too, how to connect letters to the words they begin with. Rides in the car are now filled with him pointing things out and saying, "Look, mommy, house! H is for house!", or, "A car! C is for car!"

The most amazing moments, though, are when he figures one out on his own, when it's clear he's not just repeating what he's learned at school. On the drive home yesterday, he was sounding letters out to himself, mumbling, "mmmmm" and "buh buh buh", when he abruptly blurted out, "P, mommy! P is for Pete! Like Tio Pete!" Just like that, he'd figured out that P is the letter that goes with his uncle's name. It hit me then, the enormity of that moment, and how in reality it was so unexpected and so fleeting, so tiny, that I almost missed it. I choked up, feeling lucky to have witnessed this small miracle.

But then later at home, when he asks me to read him a book at an inopportune moment (I mean, seriously, I'm scrubbing the toilet) and I decline, telling him to enjoy the book by himself, he wails, "But I don't know how to reeeeaaaadddd!" He sounds so frustrated, so sad, that I ache a little for him.

He's frustrated because he can't read, because the words remain indecipherable. It's not enough for him anymore to just look at the pictures. He wants the words.

But he doesn't know how close he is, how in just months he'll be reading very basic books. He doesn't know how the world is about to open up for him, far beyond our daily reading sessions where he asks dozens of questions. Soon enough, his imagination will take over, and, with any luck (and all of my encouragement), my little boy will lose himself in the wonderful world of books.

I'm so excited for him that I could cry. In fact, I do.

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Posted by Tere @ 10/13/2009   | | | links to this post

Friday, October 09, 2009

This is How I Eat my Words

Like this: chomp, chomp, chomp, I'm a big ol' hypocrite.

I've spoken a bit here about how I loathe skinny jeans. Far beyond this blog, I've pontificated quite mightily to just about anyone who would listen about the evils of skinny jeans.

Except that now? I love skinny jeans. LOVE them. I look amazing in them. They're perfect for me. Tank tops, t-shirts, flirty tops, long flowy tops - they all work with skinny jeans. Worse, I tuck them into my boots and am all sexified. And pants-tucked-in-boots has long been another fashion peeve of mine!

I'm so ashamed, people. I spoke so badly of these jeans, and here I am, with like five pairs of them. They're so awesome. So very awesome.

Although, I still maintain that there are some unflattering skinny jeans styles out there and that some people have no business wearing them. Or rather, since I now believe these are easier to pull of that I originally thought, some people don't know how to properly dress themselves, and they need to stay away from the skinny jeans.

But man, the minute the temperature here dips enough for me to slap on some boots, I'm grabbing them, tucking my dark skinny jeans into them, and running off into the sunset in a blazing glory of fashion hawtness. I so am.

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Posted by Tere @ 10/09/2009   | | | links to this post

Wednesday, October 07, 2009

Things You Should Know

1. I'm suffering from a semi-minor bout of writer's block. It seems like I'm busy juggling all aspects of my life and can't find the time or space to write or really think about everything.

2. I'm no longer jobless, as I started a new job on Monday. It's nothing close to what I've done these last 12 years and honestly, that's what I like the most about it. It's different, I've got a lot to learn and I like it a lot, so all's good.

3. I'm going to be flying at least once in the next month and I'm totally freaking out about it already. Hold me.

4. My brain is stuck writing just this post. I mean, seriously, it's a list, an update of sorts. And I can't even get it down?

5. All right, so really? I don't think I can handle thinking too much (or over-analyzing) right now because my life is requiring more emotion from me than it has in a long time, and that makes me extremely vulnerable, and it's dangerous for a vulnerable Tere to over-analyze and obsess and tune in to her fears and worries. So, for the sake of, you know, my freaking sanity, I'm trying with all my might to be normal about this. Ay.

6. Mainly, though, my concern right now is this: I'm desperate to wear boots. Like, now. But it's still really hot here in Miami, and boots right now would look plain foolish. However, my desire gets more intense with every passing day. I need a cold front, stat.

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Posted by Tere @ 10/07/2009   | | | links to this post

Friday, October 02, 2009

Finding our Groove

We have a rhythm now, Max and I. Life has taken on a routine for us, and it's really nothing spectacular. We play after school, and as the afternoon leads to the evening, we do dinner, play a little more, and slip into a bedtime routine that now has him falling asleep on his own.

What's spectacular about this is how solid I feel in it. I lived for months with this fear - mainly, how this two-homes situation would affect him (or rather, mess him up) - that I never really thought I'd ever relax about it. But the thing is, I have to see what's right before me, and what that is is a boy who's happy. He's happy when he's with me, and he's happy when he's with his dad. The bumps - and there are some - are not awful, just... bumps. He is a mix of what he's always been - active and stubborn and challenging - with some added anxiety here and there. It's definitely something that needs to be addressed and taken care of, but it's not anything that has me freaked out. I have a boy who is cheerful and social and chatty and affectionate.

With life settling into this rhythm, with the evidence before my eyes that so far my child is not messed up, it's been easy to feel normal, to finally feel like this "Life, Part 2" is really all mine. I think now - because almost a year ago I was in the thick of the worst feelings about my marriage ending - how I'd just assumed that I'd never feel this, or not feel it for another five or ten years. It's like, you hope for this. You hope to be over everything and to feel good and to know in your bones that the book is firmly closed and done with. But you don't dare hope that it could really, really happen, or happen at such a good pace.

This post has been on my mind, because it was when I first really felt these things. The quote that starts it off plays a lot in my head, because I've been thinking a lot lately about the way we think we know what our lives are, and then shit happens and it turns out your life is not what you thought it was, or was going to be, and after the intense sense of devastation, you find that life is still full of some pretty awesome surprises. The key, though, is that willingness to let go and to stay open to what lies ahead.

I can't help but look at where I'm at right now. Broke, to be sure. About to lose my house. But my son - he is so sweet and quirky and not-fucked-up that I could care less about the other stuff. And I myself feel more emotionally healthy than I've ever felt. Seriously. Ever. I am what I wanted to be when I was married (before then, even) but couldn't be, no matter how hard I tried. I feel the mental and emotional strength that I suspected lurked somewhere inside me but could not exert itself.

I hate to jinx myself, but I am lucky. And I am grateful. For all that my life is right this second, I am grateful.

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Posted by Tere @ 10/02/2009   | | | links to this post

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Here is my Love and Anger

I'm making him a mix tape, and without really thinking about it, I add the Indigo Girls' Keeper of My Heart. It has to go in, some subconscious part of me reasons, because if he's to know me, then he needs to know this song.

And you see all my life
I've painted with anger's brush



And in looking over the song list and seeing that one song, one that I've long felt defined me, I stumble upon a roadblock on this journey of building a relationship at this point in my (our) life: the past, and the role it plays in this (new, fragile, thrilling) present.

Some things
I hold too tightly



How do you walk into something new at a point like this, when you have half a lifetime of loves, broken hearts, histories? I look at my music collection and think about all songs I've loved over the years and wonder how to share these - and how he can share his with me - when we've dedicated and been dedicated so many of them over the years, when some songs belong - consciously or not - to others. Neither one of us would be insincere in dedicating a song that didn't genuinely remind one of the other; but this sharing - for two people who love music so much, whose lives have been so defined by specific songs - it's bound to be a delicate matter. At least for me, because I will wonder about what form those songs took on for him in another life. Maybe it's good for me that while many songs have meaning to me, they're not attached to any one person, nor am I reminded of anyone in particular; songs in that category are few (and not anything I currently listen to).

But what's not good for me is the way that thinking about this music thing lately opens the door and makes my mind wander into the past, his past. This is really a good moment for my exes to pop up and vouch for me on this one, because "his past" is always a source of insecurity for me. It is no more complicated than this for me: the fear that his past - any part of it - was better (happier, more fulfilling, funner, more meaningful) than anything he could have with and feel for me. Early on, before anyone can reasonably make such an assessment, the fear is more that whatever it was he loved most, that is where his head and heart are permanently stuck. This worry doesn't, like, kill me, and certainly a person's actions can go very far in ameliorating that awful feeling in my stomach, but it's a quiet fear that stresses me out. And yes, I know it's silly, and I know that it's my vulnerability trying to best me, but there it is. It's a fear.

You see now
These are my gods
These are my scars



And bringing this fear into my present day, it's a strange feeling. I haven't felt this in so long, and even now, it's not like it used to be. Perhaps time, maturity and my own experiences (and certainly, knowing where this is rooted in me) have given it some perspective, so that I feel more understanding about our individual situations and understand the need for patience and openness and honesty and flexibility. Is it normal that in our conversations, sharing anecdotes, "we" comes up enough times that I take notice - and we are not speaking about each other? It makes my gut clench a bit even as I know that when you're over 30 and have left behind an entire lifetime, this is bound to happen.

Sigh.

In time, this fear will pass. I know better. And I know that what I have in front of me is too good and unique to leave in the hands of my fears, to hold back on sharing the songs I love so much.

I contemplate Keeper of My Heart. How much is it still me? A bit. Some. Most definitely, there is still some of this in me.

Well these arms are burning
But they're open wide

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Posted by Tere @ 9/30/2009   | | | links to this post