Welcome to the beaver show

I am always astounded by my children's intense love of being out in the wilderness when we are camping.

Not because there is anything about being out in the wilderness that isn't great, but because these are children who definitely enjoy their creature comforts, particularly when it comes to electronic entertainment.  Nooks, Wii, DVDs, Netflix, TV-on-demand -- they're down with it all.  Ours is a household in which I try to carefully monitor screen time, and when the ease of letting them be entertained by electronics wins out so that I can do the dishes or the laundry to even read my own book, I feel like a bad mother.

But then I see how happy they are splashing in a lake or looking for bugs or sitting by the fire, and I realize that I'm doing OK by them.

We went back up to Steamboat Lake State Park this weekend. The drive up through north-central Colorado was, as ever, breathtakingly beautiful.

We set up camp in the dark and in the rain. (I want to give a shout-out to the mountain dwellers of Colorado: if you are having issues with precipitation or drought, invite me to come pitch a tent on your land.  You will be deluged with water in no time.)  We woke up, once again, in a field of wildflowers, next to a lake.

The kids busied themselves finding little pieces of wood and throwing them in the fire.

When the morning clouds burned off and it warmed up, we made friends with our camp neighbors and swam.

In the background is Hahn's Peak, which last year we dubbed "Boob Mountain."  The name stuck.

Consistent with our camping history, the trip was not without its share of drama and adventure.  The people at the next campsite over had their dogs with them - two very sweet, slobbery, friendly Bernese mountain dogs.  Josie loves dogs, but these dogs were big and she's very little and when they started chasing her and jumping around and barking, wanting to play, she misunderstood their intentions and lost her shit.  J scooped her up and brought her to me, and it took about 10 minutes of holding her tightly and soothing her to get her to stop shaking.

Then we headed into town to go tubing on the Yampa River.  We went last year, and it's a fun, mellow float in shallow water, but at one point Zeke went down some very gentle rapids, leaned forward in his tube to get a better look at the water, and fell out.  The water was deeper than normal at that point, and a little bit churn-y, and he got pushed under water and had to grab his tube and make his way out of the churn.  He got himself over to the shallow water on the side of the river, but not without swallowing a bunch of water and being terrified by the experience.

But everyone survived their ordeals.  After tubing, we headed back to camp to chill out.  There was a presentation by one of the rangers about beavers, so we sat in on that and learned about the differences between muskrats and beavers, the way beavers build their dams and lodges, the benefits they provide to riparian systems, and all kinds of other interesting facts.  Of course, because I am twelve, the entire time I was thinking about this:

After the seminar, we went for a drive at dusk to look for wildlife - we saw two moose, sixteen deer, and one beaver lodge.  We then headed back to eat, build a fire, roast marshmallows, and gaze in wonder at the Milky Way.

At one point, I took Josie over to the campsite toilet so she could go potty.  While we were waiting to use it, she saw a family that had also been at the ranger's presentation.

She yelled, loudly, "Mama!!  I know that kid!  We saw him at the beaver show!"

I got some weird looks and raised eyebrows from some of the other people in line.

I just shrugged, smiled at them and said, "that's right, sweetie.  We sure did."

About face

At first, when everything was happening so fast and I realized it was really and truly over, I was sad.  Weepy, even.

But then I wept in front of him, and let him know that even though it was what we both wanted, I still mourned the loss of the relationship - the life - I thought we were going to have.

And his reaction was to shrug.

The familiar behaviors and tendencies resurface, and I remember that this is what I want.  I look up at the sky and remind myself that life is wide open to me now.

The lease is signed, and boxes are filled and moved to the place across the street.

My closet has so much room!  The piles of clutter -- tools, little bits of paper that are his organizing system, worn down pencil stubs that are apparently de rigeur in the construction industry, books about the electrical code -- are replaced with clean spaces.

I look around the house and everything looks like a blank slate.  I can get rid of the enormous bed that takes up too much room in the bedroom alcove, so that I have to squeeze between it and the wall to get into bed.  I can paint the walls in the bright colors that remind me of India.  With the refinancing money, I can fix the 120-year-old brick work, and repaint, and recarpet, and update the kitchen.

I'm filling out forms and making arrangements and it's all happening.

Suddenly it feels really, really good.

Goodbye sunshine, take care of yourself

Since deciding to separate, J and I have settled into a relatively comfortable, peaceful co-existence of living in the house (in separate bedrooms) and sharing the duties of the household and the children.  Outwardly, it wasn't much different from the way we had been living before, but emotionally, it was somewhat easier because we knew where we stood with each other instead of just feeling shitty about being in an unhappy marriage.

Life went on.  We go to the pool with the kids together.  He came with for my family's annual July beach vacation.  We're going to a birthday party tomorrow and camping in Steamboat (the real one) next weekend.

Still, I've felt like I'm in limbo.

Well, it's amazing how quickly things happen.

A few weeks ago I was walking to the bus stop to go to work and I noticed an "apartment for rent" sign in front of a house.  The house is maybe 100 yards from my house, catty-cornered across the street.  I took a picture of the sign (with the phone number) and texted it to J.  Turns out it's a large 1-bedroom, with room for a bunk bed for the kids, in a layout that's similar to the upstairs of our house.  J went to look at it and then submitted an application for the apartment.

He was worried about being able to afford the rent, because the company he worked for were a bunch of cheap assholes who didn't pay him anything close to what he's worth.  But it was looking like a viable option - I'll be buying J out of his share of our house, so he'll have a little bit of money to get himself set up, and he had been studying for his journeyman electrician licensing exam, in the hopes that if he passed, he'd be able to command a higher income.

But he was super-nervous about passing.  He knows the stuff cold, but has awful, horrible test taking anxiety, and has failed three times before.  He's been studying his ass off for months and months, but still had no confidence in himself, notwithstanding my efforts to reassure him.

In the meantime, the beach vacation was coming up, and the plane tickets were paid for.  He notified the boss months in advance that he was going to be taking that week off.  The boss said nothing...

...until a few weeks ago, when he told J that he couldn't go on vacation and that if he did, he'd be fired.

J took a look at Craigslist and found an enormous number of employers looking for electricians.  He figured that if he were canned, it would take him about a day and a half to secure another job, especially if he passed the exam, which he was taking two days before coming to the beach.  So he decided to (figuratively) tell the boss to go piss up a rope.

He took the exam and passed with flying colors (he got 100%, actually).  The next day, he dropped the company van and phone at his employer's building, and the day after that he joined us in North Carolina.  The day after that he went on Craigslist and submitted his updated resume to four different companies that were looking for licensed journeymen.  He got call-backs from all four, interviewed with all four when he returned to Denver, and got four job offers, including one from an established, highly reputable company that offers great pay and benefits - the guy that offered the job told him that if he got a better offer, he'd match it.

So he took the great offer.  He'll be making approximately 60% more than his previous company was paying him, plus amazing benefits.  Between his new salary, the money from the house, and the money he'll eventually get from his dad's estate, he'll be comfortable and able to buy a place of his own.

And he got the apartment across the street for the time being.  He signed a lease today and will have the place on Sunday.

Gulp.

On one hand, it's what we've both been working towards.  It provides the actual separation that will lead the way to us getting on with our lives and finalizing a divorce.

On the other, it still makes me sad.  It's really over.  I mourn the loss of the marriage I thought I was going to have. I'm a statistic.  I failed.

Even though the marriage is done, and we both agree it's done, and I want it to be done ... I feel like my heart is breaking all over again.

I will be fine, I know.  But for now, I'm sad.

Wendy from the block. But which block?

I often miss my family.

I had what felt to me like an idyllic childhood.  Many people I know give me a confused look at the idea of a life spent moving around the world - with the requisite changes of schools every three or four years - as idyllic, but it really was amazing.  I have an extremely close relationship with my parents and my brothers, and with so many of the friends I made growing up, including college and law school.

The problem is, most of them are on the East Coast, and I'm in Colorado.

I have soooo many close friends, from all of my various stages of life, who live in either the DC area, Charlottesville, Virginia, or Richmond, Virginia.  My parents are in northern Virginia, as are a number of my closest high school and college friends.  Plus my brothers are just up the coast, in New York and New Hampshire.  Easy train or plane rides.

I would love to live closer to my parents.  I would love for my children to live closer to my parents, who adore my kids and spoil them beyond all sense, in the wonderful way that grandparents do.  It would be amazing to have my close high school and college friends - people who are incredibly important to me and whom I really adore -- be a real presence in my life, instead of seeing them once a year when I go home for Thanksgiving, or at infrequent reunions, which leave me an emotional mess.

I think about moving back there.  I've thought about it for years.

But increasingly, I have a hard time with the idea of leaving Colorado.  I really, really love it here.

I love the climate, the intense beauty of the physical setting (and the ease with which we can take advantage of it), the proximity to the mountains and the abundance of activities like hiking, skiing, biking, and camping. The culture and the vibe of Denver.  My neighborhood.  My job.

This past weekend my neighbors arranged a block party.  There was amazing barbecue, kegs of beer, a bouncy house that the kids jumped in for seven hours, games of cornhole.  Music that takes me back to college and law school - the Grateful Dead, Widespread Panic, bluegrass, older stuff like The Band.

It kind of made me feel like I was back in Charlottesville.  We used to hang out like that during second semester of my 4th year - we'd go to Chris Greene Lake and sunbathe, listen to music, play music, toss a frisbee.  There was no bouncy house because there were no kids, but other than that, the vibe was remarkably similar.  People of different ages and backgrounds, all just happy to be together.

It felt so incredible, and incredibly familiar.

But do I keep that feeling by staying here, or by going back to what still feels like home?

The one negative byproduct of my upbringing, and one that I think a lot of "third culture kids" feel, is a difficulty with ever putting down roots anywhere.  We always feel the need to move on.  We're always looking forward to that new place, that new adventure.  Even places that we like -- there's a sense of, "yeah, this place is great, but there's new stuff to see and do!  Time to move on."

So is this my natural wanderlust talking, always seeking out change?

As well as I can usually read myself, I'm having a hell of a time figuring it out.

Technological and scientific advances will continue apace, professional soccer will be THE big money-making sport, Michael Jackson will still be popular, and there will be no fire

Zeke had his kindergarten "continuation" ceremony.  It's the term the school uses instead of "graduation," because I guess even they recognize how absurd the notion of "graduating" from kindergarten is.

And when I think about it, I really do find it ridiculous.  I mean, Colorado doesn't even have compulsory school attendance for kids in kindergarten.  You get to go to first grade solely by virtue of being 6 years old by October 1.

But, I have to admit it's really cute.  Zeke was SO excited about it.  The kids learned poems and dances and songs (including one set to Taio Cruz's Dynamite) and all week he's been asking me, "Mama, do you want to see the dance moves?  Do you want to hear me sing?"

"Of course!" I respond every time.

He even wanted Josie in on it.  I had planned to drop Josie at her school before heading over to Zeke's, but this morning he said, "Josie, do you want to come see my continuation ceremony?"

"Of course!"

So she came along as well.

My favorite part was when each kid gets to walk across the stage, get a "diploma" from the school principal, and then tell the audience what they want to be when they grow up.

I didn't take a specific count, but here's the general breakdown:

• Fully one third of the kids want to be scientists;
• About one fifth want to be teachers (including a couple who said they want to be science teachers);
• A smattering want to be moms or dads;
• Five boys want to be professional soccer players.  By contrast, only one wants to be a pro basketball player, and nobody wants to play pro football or baseball.  One girl wants to be a swimmer, and another wants to be a swim teacher;
• There were a couple of doctors and vets, including a kid who wants to be an army medic;
• There were at least 10 firefighters, plus one boy who wants to be both a firefighter and a policeman;
• Three boys want to be "Michael Jackson dancers," about five want to be ninjas, one wants to be Batman, and another wants to be a spy.

As for Zeke, he walked up to the microphone and announced his intention to become a "shark doctor."  So he can help sharks out when they get hurt.

Ok, then.

Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof

I woke up this morning feeling inexplicably happy.  "Inexplicably" not because my life sucks and I have nothing to be happy about, but because I've been really agitated and vibrate-y the past few days, and the change in how I felt this morning was marked.  And as with depression, which manifests itself physically as a feeling of cold, heavy tension in my chest and gut, the feeling of happiness is physical as well - kind of a zingy lightness that makes it difficult to stop smiling.

It's kind of pathetic that I'm so used to being stressed out and nervous and worried about what's coming next that when I'm actually in the moment and feeling good, I don't quite know what to do with myself. I kept trying to analyze what was going on - why am I feeling this way?  What's going on?

I kept waiting for the feeling to abate.

But it didn't.  So I decided to just acknowledge the things I should be happy about.

I slept well and had good dreams, including one in which I was kissing a hot guy.  Sleep is good, and I've been sleeping better lately than I have in years.  And kissing hot guys doesn't suck either.

I had a great workout - lifted really heavy weights and felt energized afterwards.  Physically, I'm healthy and I feel fantastic.  I've been back on the slow carb eating plan, which I should really do all the time because it makes me feel so good - I have energy and I'm losing my layer of winter chub. And it's so clearly what my body needs - when I'm not eating starchy carbs and sugar, I don't feel lethargic or bloated and I don't crave junk.

It was a spectacularly beautiful, bluebird Colorado day.  I sat outside and enjoyed lunch with a friend from work whom I really like.  I've been reconnecting with old friends and making new ones, and it has made me appreciate how many smart, interesting, funny, wonderful people I am privileged to know.

My kids woke up chirpy and behaved themselves perfectly as we got dressed and got out the door -- no fights, no dawdling, no complaints.  I almost wanted to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming that part as well.

I spent some time playing the banjo and singing, which always makes life a little better.

I enjoy my job and the people I work with.  It's interesting and it makes a real difference in people's lives.

I have a family who adores me and whom I will see at the beach in 4 weeks.  Ten days of sun and sand and swimming and reading and being with people with whom I can be myself and who love me for it.

There is so much to be happy about every day.

Of course, I can't compete with the utter joy that my ghetto children get to experience when their daddy takes them to Cheesman Park after school and lets them prance around in the fountains in their underwear.

But I'll take what I can get.

I want you to love me like my dog does, baby

Occasionally, the children's interactions with each other sound like this:

"ZEKE! Give it back!"

"You weren't using it."

"It's MINE!"

"I don't care."

"You're stupid."

"No, you're stupid."

"Mama, Zeke called me 'stupid!'"

"MAMAAAAAA!!!"

It's annoying as hell.

But most of the time, I hear a lot of giggling and sounds of things crashing followed by "don't tell Mama!" and happy chatter.

I grew up with two younger brothers, and the age difference between Josh and me is the same as that between Zeke and Josie, but I don't remember playing with him as much as Josie and Zeke play together. I remember being more solitary in my playtime pursuits as a kid, though I could be totally misremembering some of the earlier years.

In any event, I love that they get to go through these years together, entertaining each other endlessly.  They even still want to marry each other.

Reading a book together (naked, of course)

Here are some of their favorite activities:

• playing "mamas and babies."  Zeke is usually the baby.
• bouncing on my bed, which for some reason also involves pulling all of the blankets and pillows from elsewhere in the house into my room.  They work flips in when they jump from the arm of the sofa in my bedroom onto the bed, and then have enough momentum to flip over or go crashing into the headboard (which is padded, thank goodness).  Lately they've added the stability ball into the mix, so they're bouncing on the stability ball on the bed.  Sometimes I feel like I should put a stop to this on the grounds that someone could get hurt, but I guess they'll figure it out.
• throwing things off the second floor balcony into the front yard (they get in trouble for this, but they do it anyway). 
• pushing each other around the house in laundry baskets
• playing "roly poly," a game in which they sit on opposite ends of the hallway, set up obstacles between them, and roll a little blue ball back and forth between them
• going outside to look for worms and slugs in the garden
• going around the block, either walking or on their bikes (they're allowed to do this by themselves)
• playing hide and go seek, or as Josie now calls it, "hide and go Zeke"

They're getting more creative.  The other night I was reading and they came into the room, naked from the waist down, holding ice packs (the kind you stick in a cooler) on their butts.  

"Hi, Mama."

"Hi.  What are you doing?" I asked.

"We're putting ice packs on our butts," Zeke explained.

"Yes, I can see that.  Why?"

"We want to see whose butt gets redder."

"Ah."

"Do you want me to get you an ice pack, Mama?"

"No, thanks.  I'm good."

I went back to my book.

Recently I heard Zeke say, "hey, Josie, want to play 'dog?'"

"Sure!"

Turns out the game consists of Josie pretending to be a dog while Zeke throws things down the hallway for her to fetch.

"Aw, girl," I thought to myself.  "Grow some self respect."

"Josie, don't act like a dog.  You don't want to be treated like a dog," I implored.

"I like dogs, Mama!"  she responded.

OK, then.

Too many thoughts at the top of my head

A friend of mine who recently went through a divorce told me that when she was first separated, her therapist told her she needed to do three things.  She needed to spend time outside, looking up at the sky. She needed to take a two week vacation by herself.  And she needed skin-on-skin contact.

I've thought about that a lot lately.  When I'm outside, I make a point of looking up.  I see beauty, or turbulent weather, or birds.  Stars and clouds.  Possibilities.  I like it.

The two week vacation thing struck me as excessive, partly because the idea of being able to get away for two weeks feels impossible.  But lately I think I get why that was the recommendation.  

Because when you're going through all of these major changes in your relationship and your life, it's incredibly difficult to process it all when you're mired down in the day-to-day of regular existence.

It's so weird right now, because we made the decision to separate 5 months ago, and we're totally fine with it and taking steps to make the physical separation happen.  But we're still living in the same house, the same way we have for years.  And living this way was what made us want to split up in the first place, so sometimes I'll come home from work and everything feels exactly like it always has, and it makes me want to scream because all I want is for everything to be different RIGHTNOW.

Even as I'm having these feelings, I'm saying to myself, "Wendy, what the fuck is your problem?  Things are moving along and J is looking for a place and it's all going on the schedule we agreed to and everything is FINE.  Calm down."  

But I can't help it.

I'm impatient with the kids, even though they generally have done nothing to annoy me except to act their ages.

Or I'll alternately feel incredibly hopeful and then a minute later incredibly despondent, because who the hell am I to think that I can start over at 44 and I'm old and ugly and no one will ever want me and waaaaaaah. 

I know that's not rational. But it's still taking up space in my head and my heart.

I'm like a tuning fork.  I'm vibrating.  My senses are heightened.  My emotions are incredibly close to the surface.  I overanalyze every interaction with everyone.  

It's like that scene towards the end of Thelma and Louise when the women are driving through the southwest, and Thelma says that she's never felt so awake. That everything looks different.

I'm assuming this is a normal aspect of trying to process the end of a marriage, and the start of a new, potentially exciting, but also somewhat scary, phase of life.  But feeling all of the feels while also trying to maintain a household and transition everyone from the school-year to the summer activities and lawyer and do fitness coaching and everything else is really, really difficult.  

The vast majority of my waking time is spent taking care of other people.  My children, and even my husband, still -- I'm the one who's finding apartments on Craigslist, and figuring out the financial stuff.  I'm still making dinner for everyone every night.  And as much as J is a great dad, the kids are still at ages when they attach themselves to me at virtually every opportunity.  There's no let-up.

Wine helps, though I rarely drink more than three-quarters of a glass. Exercise and eating well helps.  

But I definitely have a much better understanding of, and appreciation for, the "two weeks alone" recommendation.  I don't even have two weeks' worth of leave right now (especially after going to the beach for 10 days with my family next month).  But after J sets up his own household, I am going to try to take at least a 3-day weekend away sometime later this summer so I can just think, and be, and not take care of anyone but myself.

As for the skin-on-skin contact...

Hmm.  That would be nice, too.

Fitness Friday - It's not (just) about losing weight. It's about feeling better.

Sometimes I'll speak to groups of people (mostly women) about fitness, and I always start off by asking questions.  I usually bypass questions/discussion about whether people want to lose weight or if there is something about their body they could change if they could.  The answer to that one is usually "yes," and yet even with that powerful motivator, large portions of the population have a hard time adopting the habits that will bring about those results.

Instead, I'll ask people if they ever feel like they're too tired to do the things they want to do in life.  If they ever feel like they need more energy.  If they have a hard time getting motivated.  If they feel like they need an easy, no-brainer of a way to get a solid dose of really powerful nutrition every day.

And that's where people start to respond and ask me about how to join one of my challenges, or if I can help them.  Because as much as everyone wants to look good in that little black dress, what they want even more is to feel good.

I'm constantly astounded at how many people go through life feeling tired and crappy.  And far beyond my ability to help people look like swimsuit models, what I really can do through my fitness coaching is to help people feel better.

I saw this e-card on my Facebook feed the other day.  I follow a lot of trainers and fitness types, so my feed can be chock-full of stuff like this, but this one really spoke to me.

I make no secret of the fact that I struggle with clinical depression, and that I have ever since I was about 28.  And as much as I still work out to have a better body (let's be honest, right?), a huge reason that I work out and am so disciplined about it is because has virtually eliminated my depression symptoms and made it possible for me to go on the lowest possible dose of medication.*

It makes me feel good, and feeling good is everything.  It makes everything in life better and easier.  A friend of mine and I were talking about this, and she said something that really resonated -- that if you're not taking care of your health, then you can't be fully present in your life, whether it's for your job or your family or whatever.  

You can't plan your country's 500th anniversary and your wedding and then murder your wife and frame Guilder for it.

So for this Fitness Friday, think about how you feel.  Are you tired all the time?  Do you feel sluggish and unmotivated?  Do you crave crappy food that you know you shouldn't eat?  Are you unsure about how to eat properly?

If the answer to any of these questions is "yes," I would love to help.  Join one of my challenge groups and get healthier in a positive, supportive attitude.  Whatever your level of fitness, whatever type of exercise you like to do, I've got something for you.  I can be there every step of the way.

All you have to do is decide to make a change.  

Are you ready to feel good?  Contact me and let me know what's going on, and we'll figure out a way to get you where you want to go.

________________________

*Yes, I still get upset or depressed about stuff -- this past winter was rough because I was unhappy and dealing with stuff in my personal life -- but I don't have a problem with being depressed about shit that's depressing.  The problem is when the chemicals in my brain make me feel hopeless and worthless when there isn't depressing shit going on.  

The lows and the highs

The worst times are when they're tired and constantly bickering, or, for some reason, on weekday mornings, right when I announce that it's time to put on socks and shoes and get in the car so I can take them to school.

Without fail, even on days when they have woken up in good moods and have fully cooperated in the eating-breakfast-getting-dressed process -- which is not a given -- as soon as I announce it's time to get in the car, all hell breaks loose.  Josie will announce that the outfit she has been cheerfully wearing for half an hour is no longer acceptable, or she will insist on putting on the one pair of shoes that I can't find.  Zeke will hem and haw and dawdle, or demand that we wait until he can find a particular book or stuffed animal, which no one has seen in months, to take with him in his backpack. I will explain, with a vocal level that rises along with that of my annoyance, that we don't have time and you're not allowed to bring toys to school anyway and you can't wear sandals when it's snowing and we need to get moving and we're going to be late and GET IN THE CAR THIS INSTANT!  RIGHT NOW!!  MOVE IT!

It is so. fucking. frustrating.

And the messes.  The endless, unyielding messes that always seem to grow no matter how much time J and I spend cleaning.  Going upstairs and finding little spots of baby powder at various places along the hallway carpet.  Or "I love momma" written in black sharpie on the bright glossy white door to the kids' bedroom.  Or the entire contents of the linen closet piled at the foot of my bed, which they use as cushioning when they're jumping.  An entire box of colored drinking straws inexplicably emptied into the bathtub.  Toilets constantly full of little turds because they never remember to flush.

And I'm not a particularly neat person.  I try to be, but it doesn't come to me naturally.  I am naturally cluttery (but clean).  But even my tolerance for clutter is tested by the constant chaotic state of my house.  When the kids are bickering (and lately, it's pretty often - a function of their ages, I guess) and the piles of dishes and laundry feel endless and I'm discovering yet another stick figure drawn in pen on the wall of the dining room, my level of agita gets to the point that all I want to do is go check into a hotel (anywhere - it could be in the middle of nowhere and I'd be happy if there was free wi-fi) and be by myself and not talk to anyone.

But then there are the moments when Zeke and I are up late on a weekend watching a movie after everyone has gone to sleep.  He's standing there naked, coloring a picture for me while telling me about all the words he can spell.  Every once in a while, he'll look at me and smile and say, "I love you, Mama."

And he's such a beautiful kid - twinkly blue eyes, spray of freckles across his nose, the same funky point at the base of his hairline that I have. That dimple.  His muscle-y little body.

He's got a hilarious sense of humor, and loves to tell me jokes to try to make me laugh.  He's sweet to his friends and to his sister (some of the time).  He's interested in the world.  He's incredibly social - much more so than I am - and is friendly and open with everyone.

And Josie is similarly delightful.  Impossibly cute, with a penchant for knock-knock jokes that make no sense but are nonetheless hysterical.  She has my bizarre memory for all things aural - she can remember songs, movie lines, books that she has heard only once, and recite them back.  I'll take her in my arms like a baby and tell her about the day she was born, and talk about how when she was born, I made a wish that she would be smart and funny and brave and beautiful and sweet, and that she has surpassed my wildest dreams.

They both have.

I was thinking about our upcoming beach trip with my family, and about how much they both love those vacations, when they spend all day running and playing the sand and swimming, and we go every night to get ice cream after dinner, and do puzzles and read books and watch movies.  And then they collapse, happy and tan and exhausted.

Beautiful children, made more beautiful by being asleep after a long, fun day at the beach.

Those times sustain me.  Because right now, I could use a hotel room to myself.  But I can wait for the beach.

Now I need to reread Catch-22

I read Catch-22 on a glorious boondoggle of a high school senior trip to Mahabalipuram, India, on the southern east coast near Chennai.  I remember our faculty chaperones being utterly uninterested in doing anything more than hanging out on the beach or relaxing with a cigarette and a drink at the hotel bar, and they were happy to leave us to do the same.  We might have had an "educational" excursion or two just to save face, but for the most part we partied and hung out on the beach and hooked up with our significant others.

And I read Catch-22, which I adored, from the very first line ("It was love at first sight.").

I only mention this because I was thinking about what Catch-22 means -- a paradoxical situation from which a person cannot escape because of contradictory rules.  In the book, the Catch-22 was the fact that the only way to get out of flying more missions was to claim insanity, but the very act of doing so was evidence of sanity.

This is all a very long and pretentious segue into telling you about how I was finally given medication, but only after being sick for 11 days first.

A little over a week and a half ago, I woke up with a sore throat.  Later that day, I realized it was nasal drip from my sinuses down to the top of my trachea.  Then my trachea would become irritated and I would start to cough.  Soon I had constant runny nose, runny back-of-the-throat, rasping cough, and resulting sore windpipe.  It was painful and seriously fucking annoying.

I called in to my doctor and talked to one of the nurse practitioners to see if I needed to come in.  I described my symptoms and the nurse said, "well, it sounds like a viral cold, and those can take up to 10 days to clear up.  So I would wait a little more [at that point it had only been 7 days] and if it's not clearing up, then give us a call back."

It didn't get better.  The cough persisted, the congestion in my head increased, I was exhausted the time, and I had a low grade fever that wasn't enough to send me to the hospital, but enough to leave me feeling like crap.

Finally, this morning, I had had enough.  I went to my doctor's after care place and was told that what had started as a viral cold had been festering long enough that it had become a bacterial infection.

"That tends to happen if it hasn't gotten better after 7 days."

So there's the rub.  They won't give out antibiotics if they think it's viral, but the time it takes to wait it out virtually guarantees it will become bacterial, so you eventually get the meds, but not until you've already been coughing up a lung for 11 days.

In any event, I now have super-strong antibiotics (for which they also gave me yeast infection medication, "because it's bound to happen with the strength of this medication" -- whee!!), prescription nasal spray, and prescription cough drops (which I didn't even know existed).

I will recuperate by digging up my copy of one of my favorite books.

Put your pitchforks down.

When I got home today, J informed me that his phone had been lighting up with text messages and calls from various people who have read my recent blog posts. I'm not sure why today was the day everyone chose to get in touch - what I've been writing about the past few days is recurring dreams and me going back to my family's last name, neither of which really have any bearing on him.

In any event, everyone is very concerned that my posts are an indication that things have gone south and that our amicable separation has hit the skids.  People want to make sure he's OK, and have suggested he tell me to stop writing.

We both had a good chuckle.

Because everything is fine.  Really and truly.  All is well.  We hang out when we're home, we take care of the kids, we do things with them on the weekend.  He'll be coming to the Outer Banks when the kids and I are there with my family.  We have a camping trip planned for the end of July.  We're working out the terms of the separation amicably, making sure that the kids will be OK and that we will be OK.

Seriously.  It's all good.

A couple of points:

• J knows I write this blog, and can read it any time he wishes.  He doesn't usually, but any time I write about him, I always write it as if he were going to read it.  Additionally, whenever I write about anything that might be sensitive, I tell him about it, just so he has a heads up.  I did that with both the Out of the Darkness and the Gonna Build a Mountain posts.  He trusts me to be fair and to protect his interests.

• Though some may feel like I am "airing dirty laundry" or violating J's privacy, I have to point out that I've been writing this blog for 8 years, and I've written extensively about our marriage.  I have never revealed anything through this space that he hasn't revealed to our friends.  He does not hide the fact that his childhood sucked and that he suffered abuse, and he doesn't have a problem with me mentioning it here. I have never gone into the details, as those are not my details to tell, where he doesn't share them with others. But in terms of the fact that it happened, he knows that I have written about it.  He doesn't have a problem with it.

• When I write, I choose my words carefully and deliberately.  If you have read my recent posts and interpreted them as either a denigration of J or a sign that our separation has become hateful and contentious, then you're ignoring the actual words I wrote.  I repeatedly and unequivocally stated that my posts were expressions and explanations of my emotional state and my thoughts about what was going on, but not a criticism of J, and that I have nothing but high regard for him as a friend and a father to my children.  I have stated that we were so different in so many ways that it made it impossible to find common ground to build a life, but I have never said that his differences make him somehow inferior (and I didn't say that because I don't believe it).  Nowhere have I written, hinted, or suggested that we aren't getting along or that there is any acrimony between us, because there isn't.  

• Don't ask me to take down my posts.  I won't.

J is heartened by the expressions of concern for him.  It's always nice to know that people care about you and worry about you.  But truly, everything's fine.

Say my name, say my name

In response to my dream post, a friend of mine with whom I went to school in Israel offered the following interpretation:

The first dream was that you, in real life, needed to get past something you felt unprepared to move past.  The realization in the dream that you have your degrees and don't need to take the test is your subconscious realizing you are ready to take that step, or have taken it and now need to reassure yourself you can do it.

The second dream is connected and I wonder if it started after the first dream changed [It did.]  The rooms and hallways going on and on IS a representation of limitless possibilities in reality and the fact that you find it delightful rather than daunting is another sign you are read to take the steps you realized you are ready for in the first dream. 

Gee, I wonder what steps I'm ready to take that I previously felt unprepared for?  Duh.

J and I have been maintaining the status quo, living together while we wait to refinance the house (so I can buy him out) and have a little extra cash to make the separation easier, but this feeling of being in limbo is beginning to bug. We've taken the initial step - the decision to split up - but I want to keep going, and there are steps I can take to keep the momentum going:  start separating our finances to make the eventual total separation easier, start drafting a separation agreement setting out custody, division of property, etc., and go back to using my own name.

The truth is, before we got married, I had no intention of taking J's last name - I like the last name I was born with, I identified with my family roots, and I was already practicing law and a number of the federal court cases I had litigated were published with that name.  Most of my married friends didn't take their husbands' names, and I just didn't see the point.

But then after we were married, I changed my mind, for reasons I don't really remember now.

And it's a good, strong name with a solid "all American" feel to it (even though J's an Aussie).  There's nothing wrong with his name.

Except that it isn't mine.  It isn't me.

It's much easier to do the name change in conjunction with a divorce decree, so I'm going to wait until we make it official.  But in any unofficial capacity, I'm going to go back to my given family name (I hate the expression "maiden" name - it sounds antiquated and stupid to me).  I already changed it on Facebook (and if it's on Facebook, it's really real, amirite?), I'm going to change my email and my Beachbody coaching profile and everything else that doesn't require a court order or a social security card.

I'm going to keep walking through those hallways and those doors, taking all the steps I'm ready to take.

I've got dreams, dreams to remember...

I've noticed people talking or writing lately about their recurring dreams, which is something that has always fascinated me.  There's a great old movie with Gregory Peck and Ingrid Bergman called "Spellbound," which I think I saw when I was at summer camp, about an amnesiac accused of murder (Peck) who is protected by a psychiatrist (Bergman) - the mystery of the murder and the guy's identity is unraveled by psychoanalysis of the guy's dreams.  It's been 30 years and I only saw it that one time, but I still remember the movie vividly because I was so fascinated by the dream analysis part.

Image from the movie Spellbound - the dream sequences depicted in the film
were designed by Salvador Dali.  Image from Selznick/United Artists/The Kobal Collection

For whatever reason, notwithstanding all the therapy I've had, no one has ever asked me about my dreams.  And maybe dream analysis is bullshit, who knows?  Plus any therapist probably would have considered my recurring dreams to be utterly prosaic - standard anxiety dreams (taking a test when you didn't realize you were enrolled in the class and haven't studied; realizing you're in public and not wearing any pants) that everybody has.

But lately they've gotten more interesting, at least to me.  Now I'll have the dream that I'm in high school or college and taking tests that I haven't studied for/didn't realize I was enrolled in, but during the dream I realize that I've actually finished school and don't have to be there at all if I don't want to.  I'll think, "for god's sake, I don't have to take this shit.  Not only do I already have my high school and college diplomas, but I have a juris doctor degree as well."  So I start out anxious, but then within the body of the dream, make myself realize that I have no reason to be.

Another one that I have ALL THE TIME now, and cannot figure out at all, is what I call the space dream (physical space, not outer space).  In the dream, I'm in a house - sometimes it's mine, sometimes it belongs to someone else - that just goes on and on.  Every hallway leads to another room, another space, and it's kind of delightful - I'm filled with a sense of limitless possibilities.

Or maybe it's my brain's way of telling me I should take out a home equity loan and build out my attic.

What are your recurring dreams?  What do you think they mean? 

Gonna build a mountain and a daydream, gonna make 'em both come true

Ever since J and I made the decision to split up (and indeed, well before then, when I knew I wanted it to happen), there have been two things that I think about a lot.  What will it be like getting back into the dating world?  And what will it be like having so much more time to myself, when the kids are with J?

The first question makes me nervous.  On the one hand, I definitely would like to meet someone that I can have a healthy relationship with.  I'm ready for romance, for conversation with someone with common interests, for the empathy and understanding that someone with common life experiences and background can bring.

One of the most fundamental problems J and I have is that, except for the children, we have nothing in common.  Our cultures, the type and manner of education we received, our family upbringings, our basic interests and desires, could not be more dissimilar.* We had great chemistry when we met, and I guess I was seduced by the notion that opposites attract and that we could overcome our differences.  That the love and happiness I had grown up with could fix the fact that his upbringing was so unhappy, filled with the kind of violence and fear and fucked-up family dynamics that I can't even comprehend.

In the end, our differences, and his demons, were too much to overcome.

Which is not to say that I will seek out only Jewish intellectuals who enjoy opera, bluegrass, literature and the outdoors.  Some differences are good - differences keep things interesting and allow for growth.  But for a relationship to work, there have to be some common frames of reference.

But I'm scared.  As exciting and fun as it can be to meet new people, it also means the risk of hurt feelings and unrequited attraction.  Worrying about whether he'll call.

It plays into the most basic insecurities - what if nobody likes me?  what if I really am a bitch-faced asshole troll?  what if the reason it didn't work out with J is that I'm unlovable and unworthy?

As for having more time to myself, I'm actually really excited about that part.  I love spending time with my children - I'm a responsible and attentive mother.  But I'm also excited about having time to spend with friends, or to go to happy hours or museums that the kids wouldn't be interested in.  Taking impromptu weekend trips with friends, or by myself.

I'm still in limbo.  It will probably be late summer before J moves out of the house and we separate for real.  Once again, I'm living two lives - the one I'm in, and the one in my head, when all of this new and exciting stuff gets to happen.  But it will happen, and when it does, I'll be ready.

*Again, I want to reiterate that I am not talking J down.  My point is simply that we are so fundamentally different in so many ways that it made finding common ground upon which to build a life exceedingly difficult.

Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song, and I'll try not to sing out of key

An interesting - and wonderful - thing about talking (or writing) about things that are difficult and that people don't often open up about, is that when you do, others who have been or are going through the same thing feel a kinship.  They realize they aren't alone.  They realize it's OK to talk about it.  They want the catharsis of talking about it.

Since I wrote my "Out of the Dark" post, so many friends, from all different walks of life, have reached out to me to offer their love and support.  And some also say, "oh my god, you are exactly describing what it was like for me.  It's like you're inside my head."

I've got dinner dates and phone dates and extensive email exchanges, all just from talking about what the past year or so in an unhealthy relationship was like for me.  It makes me feel like people have my back, and it makes me feel gratified that other people know that I have theirs.

I love that this blog has created another form of community for me, and is strengthening the community I already have.

The truth is, everybody's dealing with their shit.  Everyone has demons.  Everyone feels inadequate and lonely sometimes.  We all just want to love and be loved, and wish it weren't so hard.

In the last year, I've had a hard time blogging regularly - I was depressed and overwhelmed and feeling like I couldn't organize my thoughts to write about them.

Now that I'm feeling like my head is clearer and my mojo is returning, I can write again.  And I'm so, so glad. I love this little space on the interwebs, and the love it gives me in return.

Next!

I know a lot of people who are very much into always being present and in the moment, and to not dwell on the past or the future.  To just be.

It's all very Crash Davis.

And I do try to enjoy individual moments of life - when I'm standing at the bus stop, I'll put my face up to the sun and enjoy the beauty of the day.  When I'm goofing off and giggling with my kids, I try to take a mental snapshot, because I know that all too soon they'll be surly teenagers who will be embarrassed to be seen with me.  When I'm working out, instead of thinking about how I wish the workout were over, I try to focus on the muscles I'm working, imagining them getting stronger, and I appreciate how physically alive and vital I feel at that moment.

But I can't do that all the time.  Not every moment is that memorable or noteworthy.  Trying too hard to be in the moment all the time is a lot of work, and more fundamentally, it doesn't always ring true.  The past happened, and takes up space in my brain.  Future events will happen, and to go along as if they won't, or as if they don't matter, a) seems silly, and b) doesn't seem like much fun.  Looking forward to something good that is going to happen is one of life's joys, as far as I'm concerned.

It's been a good year in this regard.  So far, I've been able to look forward to our spring break trip to Nicaragua (which was wonderful and relaxing).

the Nicaragua beach house - view from the balcony

Then there was my brother Sam's wedding (which I officiated - it was incredible to be involved like that) in Houston.

My dad, the kids and me in our wedding finery

Then there was my reunion in D.C., which was amazing.

*sniff*  I love these people.

Then I immediately went to my legal conference in Orlando, which I don't have pictures of because it's gross. I have many, many friends who love taking their families to Disney World for vacation, and all I can say is, I'm glad you had fun, but I truly don't get it.  

Next up is the beach with my parents in early July.  Ten days on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, hanging out with family and friends, reading lots of books, surfing, playing with the kids, getting a tan, relaxing.

And when that's done, I'll have to plan something else.  I'm thinking about climbing another Fourteener.

Things to do in Denver when you're snowed in

As is typical of a Denver spring, on Saturday it was 70 degrees and lovely, if increasingly overcast in the afternoon.  J was doing some side work, so the kids and I hung out with two friends of theirs, a brother and sister the same (relative) ages as Zeke and Josie.  Zeke and his friend Cole utterly fucking destroyed the upstairs of our house.  I'm talking, holes in the walls, entire linen closets emptied onto the floor, toys and blankets and shoes everywhere.  I keep waiting for Zeke's destructive tendencies, often fueled by an overwhelming case of "what will happen if..." (i.e., what will happen if I stick a fork in Mama's rubber inflatable stability ball? what will happen if I poke this pen into this stuffed bear? what will happen if I peel the picture part off the cardboard backing on these puzzle pieces), to abate.

Meanwhile, Josie and Maddie played with her stuffed animals, colored, and brushed my hair.

Gender stereotyping doesn't occur in a vacuum, y'all.

As is also typical of a Denver spring, the following day it started snowing at 9 in the morning and didn't stop for 24 hours. I would have been perfectly happy to spend a grey, wet, snowy day on the couch watching movies and eating popcorn, but the kids had energy to burn so we took them to the Denver Children's Museum.

They spent most of their time in this room that is kind of like a giant pinball machine.  You put plastic orange balls into contraptions and then guide them with levers and gears through a system of ramps and tunnels, until they are returned to this clear plastic bin that hangs over a carpeted area.  Every 5 minutes or so, an alarm sounds and the balls drop onto the floor for the kids to gather and play with again.

My kids decided to buck the system, bypass the pinball-game-like contraptions, throw the balls overhead into the clear receptacle, and wait for the balls to fall on them.

This strikes me as insanely fun.  I need one of these in my house.

Happy Mother's Day

Dear Mom,

Last Sunday when Dad was driving me to the airport after my reunion, we were talking about our family and he said, "you sure do have a wonderful mother."

"I sure do," I agreed.  "And you really lucked out to have married her."

And even including the year I was fourteen and a total hormonal bitch, I don't remember a time when I haven't appreciated how extravagantly I hit the jackpot to have you as my mom.

In addition to all of the mom stuff that you did so well - taking care of us, making us feel loved and safe, keeping our worlds spinning with school, sports, plays, and all of that - you were always fun and funny and interesting and compassionate and reasonable.  You're bubbly and positive and smart.  You read to us and encouraged us to explore the world.  You played "duck duck goose" with us in airports when our flights were delayed and our toddler selves were getting antsy and bored.

Mommy with baby Wendy

Ours was the house that our friends wanted to come to to hang out.  I remember when we lived in Israel, I would get home from whatever I did after school and classmates of mine, who didn't have such good relationships with their parents, would be in the kitchen with you, keeping you company while you made dinner.

When I went away to college, I missed you so much.  Back then, there was no internet or email or even cheap, easy international calling.  Calling you in India meant shitty, crackly connections and 3 minute phone calls that cost 10 dollars.  When I went home for Christmas break that first year, I remember flying into your arms at the baggage claim at the Delhi airport, and hugging you and hugging you and hugging you.  Even now, I still choke up a bit whenever we say goodbye after a visit.

You remain my strongest role model.  I try to raise my children the way you raised Josh and Sam and me, being loving and consistent. I try not to worry about things that I can't control, as you always taught me.  In my professional life, now that I supervise employees, I think about you have always treated your employees with fairness and compassion, and use that as my guide.

You have that wonderful exuberant laugh that everyone can pick out of a crowd.

I love that we still talk every day, about everything and nothing.  I love that when we're together, we have such a lovely easy time together - cooking, going for walks, exercising, whatever.  I love that when we are together, I still like to crawl into bed with you first thing in the morning to snuggle and talk.

Whatever you did and continue to do, it works.  People LOVE you.  Every time I've met a friend or coworker of yours, they've pulled me aside and said, "I just adore your mom.  She's the greatest."

All I can do is agree.

You're my favorite mom.

Love,
Wendy

The fundamentals

Yesterday Zeke came with me and kept me company while I did my hunting and gathering at the grocery store.  I forget how the topic came up, but we started talking about friends and friendship.

"Jackson and I have a lot in common," he told me.  "That's why we're good friends."

I chuckled at how grown-up he sounded talking about having a lot in common with someone.  "What do you and Jackson have in common that makes you such good friends?" I asked.

"Well, we both have bunk beds.  And we like chalk."

"That's good stuff.  Anything else?"

"We have the same rug in our bedrooms."

It's the little things, really.