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Mar 20 2008

Get Up, Stand Up. Don’t Get Up A Fight.

Sarah of shutterbug mama kindly organized an outing last night to see Adele Faber. Adele Faber (if you don’t already know) is a parenting guru and author of the books, How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk, and Siblings Without Rivalry (amongst others). Since G and I already owned How to Talk…, we were eager to get out and see her. (Btw, you know that things are a’changin’ when you take a night out not to go on a romantic date, but to learn how to be a BETTER PARENT.)

Adele was totally engaging. I have read parts of her book, but I know it’s time to visit it again. I try not to be that parent who pushes my ideas on other parents (try being the operative word), but I truly do believe in her philosophy and have seen a difference in myself and the kids — when I can actually control myself enough to apply her methods.

One of my biggest fears is becoming a nagging parent. I know that nagging gets me nowhere except in the company of two annoyed kids and quite honestly, an annoyed parent as I completely annoy myself while doing it. One of Adele Faber’s suggestions is, instead of nagging your child about something you want them to do — e.g. “Pick your jacket up off the floor! How many times have I told you not to leave your jacket there?” — to instead use just one word. Firmly. “Jacket!”

Truly, it sounds so simplistic, but we have done this for the past year or so and the kids respond like freakin’ robots! We could be on our way out the door, late for something (as always) and they are yukking it up, taking their time. All I have to say is: “Bean, hat! …Buddy, shoes!” They will continue to talk while automatically reaching for their hat or shoes.

She also explained how bad threats can be, which shoots my post the other day out the window. Her point: your kids might learn to only do with threats, and when they are older, may try and achieve things by threatening things themselves. I knew that my threats went nowhere the other day, and feared that I was numbing them to my threats anyway, so I’m willing to try anything else.

Her message is to listen to your kids and their emotions, and to acknowledge their feelings; not to negate them or put them down. Example: “That hurts.” “Oh, that doesn’t hurt, don’t be a baby!”

Of course, there’s a limit to it all and sometimes what they do is just going to piss you off and you are going to react… all normal. You need them to feel comfortable expressing their emotions, but you need to be able to express your own too.

It’s all very Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus, to be honest (if you’re familiar with that one). And at times, a little too touchy-feely. But I suspect that is because I am not used to it, and my first instinct is to parent them the way I was parented: Get over it. Stop behaving like a baby. You are better than that. You need to be more responsible. Stop crying. You’re wrong and too young to understand.

Etc.

No wonder I have so many issues. Love my parents — they were wonderful and I had a normal, dysfunctional childhood just like everyone else — and I try not to blame my issues on them while taking responsibility for my insecurities, but I want to avoid as many therapy-inducing problems with my own kids as I can. Also, I know that I want them to be able to come to me when they are not only feeling happy, but sad, pissed off, angry, depressed, etc. and not worry that I will downplay their emotions.

Anyway, it’s a great book, easy to read (it has cartoons!), and is very, very helpful. I truly do think every parent can benefit from it.

(I swear I’m not benefiting at all from this write-up. Just offering up a helpful book to anyone who is looking for a different way to communicate with their child(ren). And she has a book for teens too!)

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In other news… from the mouths of babes: (I’m sure these will not be entertaining to everyone, but too bad. This is my blog and you can skip it if you want.)

Buddy: “Mom, you can pick out my underwear but I want to pick out my socks, okay?”
Me: “Okay, no problem.”
Buddy: “Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate it. I really appreciate you to let me pick out my socks.”

Either G or Me addressing Buddy on the toilet: “Are you done pooping?”
Buddy, holding up four fingers while pushing: “No, I have four left.” Lovely. Anyone else have this fantastic ability to predict the quantity of shit they have remaining? (Once, he told me he had something like 28 left! Yeah, we were waiting awhile for that episode to complete itself.)

Bean, coming out of her room after a nap with a headband on: “Mom, do I look beautiful?”
Bean, after trying on her ballet gear (yes, I caved, leave me alone and didn’t you just read what I wrote about consequences?): “Mom, I LOVE myself.”
Bean, looking at herself in the mirror and smiling: “I look great!”

As G said, at least she won’t be in therapy blaming us for her lack of self-esteem. LAWD.

Buddy, talking to Bean about who-knows-what: “Are you kidding me, Bean? ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME??” Bean, meanwhile, is nodding her head matter-of-factly. So curious to know what the hell this very serious subject was about. Alas, I shall never know…

Buddy: “S*X!… S*X!… Ssss… eeeee… xxxxx…” Trying to sound out six so he can write it in his little notepad while we wait outside of Bean’s ballet class WITH THE OTHER PARENTS. Somehow, he manages to spell it with an i instead of an e despite his phonetic misdirection, while I too-loudly pronounce, “Yes! I! Siiiix.… Iiih. Iiiiiiiiih…” lest anyone think I teach my kids to randomly yell out S*X in the company of strangers.

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We are lazy about changing the CDs in our car so we have The Beatles (and after American Idol lately, I’m seriously Beatled-out), Bob Marley, and other ever-so-mellow random artists (but no Old Macdonald singers) on constant rotation. Who knew kids could pick up lyrics so quickly? These are the lines I hear sung around the house at random times:

“Buf-fa-lo Shoul-der…”

“Stir It Up” has been sung as, “Syy-rup,” and “Ce-re-al.” Then Buddy and I had a debate about “Stir It Up.” He insisted it was, “STEER It Up.” And honestly, I had to give it up. How do you teach a 4-year-old about Jamaican accents?

“Get up, Stand up. Stand up for your rights. Get up, Stand up. Don’t get up a fight!”

“Iiiii… look at all the lonely people…”

“You say yes. I say no…”

“Why. She. Had to go, I don’t know, she wouldn’t say…”

“Get back, Jo Jo!”

“Come ToGETHer. Right now. Obuh dee.”

And suddenly, they know almost all the words to “Hey Jude” and “Yesterday.” One day, after “Hey Jude,” Buddy asked, “Why is he so sad?” Uhhhh…

They also like to ask us who sings what. There is nothing funnier to a 4-year-old than the fact that there’s a band called Cake and hey, they love Eminems! They ask all about U2, The Fugees, Guster (”That’s a silly name!”), Aimee Mann… “Who is this Cake? Aimee — is she a boy or a girl? Mom, what does Fugees mean? U2? Me too? This isn’t me, Mom! (In a 4-year-old version of, ‘Who’s On First?’) Who–? What–? Why–?…”

Ack! I don’t know! Just listen to the damn song.

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Apologies for the ALL CAPS situation in the comments. Apparently that was a PC Explorer thing. Should be all good now. Thanks for the heads up, Tracey!

Sorry about the long post too. And I thought I was doing so well…

Mar 17 2008

Timing

Bad timing is house-hunting when one of the largest and oldest financial institutions is about to go bankrupt, sending the market (and mortgage rates and loans) into a tailspin. Let’s hope the latest news stabilizes things in the near future. Otherwise we might be knocking on your door soon with a truckload of boxes behind us.

Good timing is spring right around the corner. Lazy days outside sound perfect right about now.

Edited to add: Sorry if the comments are in all caps on your end. Working on a fix…

Comments (11)
TOPICS: house | random thoughts

Mar 13 2008

Advice?

When do kids start understanding consequences for their actions?

Here’s the deal: the kids are currently signed up for a gymnastics class. With each passing week, they become less and less enthused during the class. However, they are ALWAYS excited about going.

Once there, they usually make it through about 20 minutes before they start complaining and telling me they want to sit down, go home, stop, have some water, go to the bathroom, etc. Now, I know it doesn’t help that the parents sit in on the class; I know that we are an easy distraction and an easy out. I also know it doesn’t help that the class is actually a little boring. The coach is perfectly nice, but a little lacking in energy or enthusiasm. (Hey, it’s a cheap Park District program, so I can hardly complain.) I would have no problem just dropping it, except that they ask me EVERY DAY if they are going to gymnastics that afternoon.

This week, on the way over, I told them (again) how I get very frustrated when they tell me they want to leave, or that their stomach hurts (and yes, I fell for that one until Buddy’s tummy miraculously healed itself once the coach pulled out some huge, thick mat to jump on), or that they just want to go home. So I wanted them to listen to the coach, because it isn’t nice when they don’t listen to him… blah blah blah. I told them if they both did it again, we were going home and there would be NO MORE gymnastics, or anything else for that matter. Meaning: no ballet or t-ball, which are upcoming classes. They seemed to understand it all, even enthusiastically assuring me that they would “not talk during class and listen to the coach!”

I thought this would be a surefire threat. Bean begged — BEGGED – us to let her take ballet. Buddy was unbelievably excited about taking up t-ball.

You can guess what happened.

This time, however, we didn’t make it even five minutes. One of the other kids in the class has an older brother who comes in and waits patiently while his sister takes her class. His mom pulled out a pen and some paper for him, and as soon as Bean saw these, she told me she wanted to go home and draw.

I asked her no less than ten times if she was SURE she wanted to leave, because if we did, that meant no ballet classes, and no coming back to gymnastics ever again. Was she SURE she wanted to do that? Yes.

Buddy, of course, soon followed suit and said he wanted to go home, and yes, he was willing to forego t-ball to go home.

Now. I’m not proud of it, but I went pretty apeshit crazy on them. I’ll spare the gory details. Which quite honestly, were apparently only for my own benefit because nothing I said to them seemed to faze them in the slightest anyway. They could care less.

After talking to them over and over again about it, we’re still not sure they understand it all. Do they want to go to ballet/t-ball classes? Yes. But they know now that we will not be going to ballet/t-ball? Yes. And how does that make them feel: happy or sad? Happy.

Huh?

I’m ripping my hair out with this one. They seem to understand so much now. Are we expecting them to comprehend too much? Are they just ridiculously spoiled kids? Is it some kind of defense mechanism? Buddy actually said he didn’t care if he went to t-ball or not. And honestly, they really are acting like they don’t care one way or another. And yet… they were so excited for these classes.

I’m so confused. We’re not sure what to do. Quite honestly, I don’t want to cancel the classes. I want them to have other things to do, especially things I am pretty sure they would enjoy. I just want them to understand that their actions have consequences. And they usually do understand this, but we’re not sure if it’s because they haven’t tried these activities yet, or that they are too far in the future, that they just don’t understand the entire situation.

I’m befuddled. And feel like an idiot parent. Because they totally called me on my threat, and now I’m the one affected by their actions. And yes, it was ridiculously stupid of me to make such a large threat. Parenting 101, I know. And now I should follow through, but… clearly I’ve painted myself into a corner.

What’s even more ridiculous is that I’m concerned that because we have always followed through on our threats in the past, we have conditioned them to become totally indifferent to normally disappointing situations; to tell themselves that they don’t care if they don’t get X, they’ll just make do with Y.

In theory, I thought our zero-tolerance parental regime was a good idea, but maybe we ended up creating emotionally-robotic kids! Scary Stepford Twins!

Okay, I’m losing it. These kids are going to kill me. Either they are winning the battle of the will and minds or they are not as developmentally mature as G and I thought.

G*d, I hope it’s the latter. Or I am seriously F*KKED from here on out.

Comments (16)
TOPICS: bad behavior | bean | buddy | parenting

Mar 11 2008

Observation Day

Recently, we had the opportunity to observe B&B in their classes. Since our experience with Montessori is so little, we were eager to see the inner workings of their classrooms — especially since, when we ask them what they did at school during dinner, we get the teenage shrug and the, “I dunno,” totally indifferent answers. (Seriously? Thirteen more years of this?)

Buddy is typically methodical and observant and proved to be this way in class as well. We watched him work on his Burlap Sewing (measuring, cutting, threading pieces of yarn and then weaving them through a patch of burlap) for over 30 minutes. He sat and listened and continued working while the class gathered to sing songs and talk about the ‘goals’ of the day (I guess if you are already working on something, you don’t need to join in). That kid has more focus than I have. His teacher told us later that he is normally in the mix of the morning chaos — helping put away dishes, preparing snacks, joining the group in its morning ‘meeting’ — but he had several things that he wanted to show us while we were there, so he was focused on his ‘work’ that morning. He kept looking up at us and giving us shy little smiles. Is it possible that a kid his age wants so badly to make his parents proud? It was the sweetest f’ing thing.

Bean was also very excited to have us in her classroom and to show off. She went to work right away washing her hands and preparing snacks for the class, cutting apple slices and putting crackers out. She joined the group during their morning meeting and was very into the singing portion. Afterwards she began preparing her snack. Two other kids were fighting over the other plate (two kids can snack at a time). She wagged her finger at them and said, “Hey, hey, HEY! You two,” pointing her finger back and forth, “You two need to WORK THIS OUT!” They stopped for a moment while she talked to them, then resumed yanking the plate from each other as soon as she walked off to get more apple slices.

G and I looked at each other and nearly fell out of our chairs laughing. In all honesty, I was also a little embarrassed. It was like listening to myself. Really — she had a cold and her voice was deeper than normal. Bos.Sy. Wow. And that is exactly what I say when I don’t want to listen to B&B fighting anymore and want to preempt any tattletaling.

Her teacher told me that Bean is often put in charge of things. I guess it’s natural for her to be bossy. So… I guess we just have to let their personalities fall where they may.

I fear for the other kids in her class.

Comments (10)
TOPICS: bean | buddy | school

Mar 7 2008

Lists of Split Personalities

When you have two kids in two different classrooms, you are exposed to twice as many germs. It has been one sickness after another here and I have finally fallen victim. So I’m sitting on the couch with the laptop right now and moaning like a big baby. Thankfully no one else is home to suffer through my whining. I promise I will send out those recipes as soon as I get my sorry ass up and scan them in.

In honor of NaNooNaNooBlowMe, I thought I would make a couple of lists today.

Things That Make Me Frown:

Anyone who thinks that prolly is the correct way to say and spell probably
Drivers who make a right turn from the middle lane (why do they always turn at 1 mph?)
Drivers who don’t move into the intersection to make a left turn
Drivers who suddenly stop in the middle of the road because they think they are the only people on the road (hmmm… road rage much?)
People who don’t know the true meaning of the word literally, and thus use it more often than they should
My glasses that broke after SIX MONTHS and the asshat shop from where I bought them
Our soon-to-be-extinct HD DVD player
This GD clogged block of bricks posing as my head right now
The medication I’m on that makes me hungry all day, all night

Things That Make Me Smile:

My Dad’s benign cyst!
Scramble (Facebook)
Making G laugh with my groaning and pathetic whining
Our beautiful, obnoxiously-large TV
The return of The Office, 30 Rock, and the rest of the non-reality shows
Food
Nyquil
The Hello Kitty face that Bean drew
Buddy’s insane attention to detail on car makes and models
Gems like these:
Buddy: “I have to brush my teeth, Dad. They’re all tangled.”
Bean, with a stuffy nose: “My stuff is all nosey.”

My stuff is all nosey too right now.

So, what’s making you frown/smile lately? Share, commiserate, and make me smile between my moaning, please.

Comments (8)
TOPICS: bean | bitching | buddy | random thoughts

Mar 5 2008

Scissor Siblings

For Valentine’s Day, the school requested that the kids make (MAKE!) cards for EACH CHILD IN THEIR CLASS. What??

We got to work, spending two days holding arts and crafts class in our dining room. We were so lazy about cleaning up after the first day, knowing we weren’t done yet, that we ate in the living room or went out to eat while the mountain of paper + glue + crap festered and reproduced (I swear it did!).

B&B cut out hearts and wrote names and glued shards of paper to anything not already glued to the table. Forty+ cards later, we were done. IN. SANE.

On Valentine’s Day, they were sent home with a bagful of cards from the other kids. One boy in Bean’s class (whom she constantly talks about and who apparently loves her) wrote on his card: “[Bean], You are my best friend. You are a real beauty. Love, [Boy].” (This would be the same boy who held her hand at the Halloween Party.)

One of the older girls often sends Buddy home with booklets that she makes for him. There are hearts or flowers on every page and on the cover, it always says: “[Buddy] Loves [Girl].” At first I thought that she made them for everyone, but nope. He told me that she only makes them for him. Hmmm…

Now that we have let them loose with the scissors and pens, they are cutting hearts out of everything and writing all over them. Buddy loves to sit and cut, sit and cut… I find little pieces of paper everywhere.

They also sound out words as they write. My name is spelled, JANIT, and parents is spelled, PARINS. They have a babysitter, Miss Debbie (their former camp counselor and they got used to calling her that). Buddy made her a Valentine and wrote on it: MES DEBE.

Love it. I suppose it won’t be as cute when they are filling out job applications and writing Address: SIKAGO, but man… hearing them sound out words and then seeing the letters that show up just makes me smile and makes me proud. So… they may not win any spelling bees. But it’s just amazing to witness them learning.

(By the way, I take no credit for any of it. Everything they have learned has been from Sesame Street, DVDs, or school. Yes, that’s right, I said TV. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Oh, I’ll take credit for buying the DVDs and turning on the TV. I mean, I’m no martyr.)

Comments (10)
TOPICS: bean | buddy | holidays | school

Mar 4 2008

Being Haive

Once you leave blogging for awhile, it is hard to come back. Or maybe that’s just my excuse for being lazy.

It’s also difficult to find anything significant to say when others are going through such rough times. Those are real problems. Me? Not so much.

Not to say that I don’t have anything real going on. But some of it is stuff that I just can’t write about here.

My other problem (one of many), is that I can’t be brief. So I’m going to try and write more, and keep them short (ER).

Let’s see how far I get.

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G and I were recently invited to a dinner party. It was one where a chef was hired and a class was held, and we were taught how to cook a fabulous meal. People. If you ever have a chance to do this, DO IT. My only complaint was that it took so long, and everything looked and smelled so good that it was difficult not to plow my face right into the boiling pots.

The theme was Indian Flavors. And while this is not a cooking blog, I thought I would offer up the menu. If anyone wants a recipe, email me and I’ll pay the delicious goodness forward. Chef Mark sent us home with all the recipes. I can’t stop thinking about the puffed lentil wafers with chutney/raita. KILLER.

Potato Patties Stuffed with Green Peas (aloo hari matar tikki)
Puffed Lentil Wafers filled with Sweet Tomato Chutney, Tamarind and Date Chutney, or Cucumber and Onion Raita (pana puris)

Eggplant w/Cilantro and Chickpea Flour Stuffing
Okra w/Red Onions

Lamb w/Onions and Mint
Basmati Rice

Crepes with Fennel and Cardamom

Our friend gave the class as a gift to his girlfriend, and we were graciously invited to partake. WHAT A GREAT GIFT IDEA. (I already told G that I would love a gift like this as soon as we move into a place with a credible kitchen, so that’s not even meant as a hint for him. I’m not good with hints. I’m blunt and rude like that.)

So, so fun. Chef Mark was incredibly nice and laid-back and relaxed and sociable. I highly recommend it. And highly recommend him: If anyone is in Chicago and wants his info, go to Chefs On Call.

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We often tell the kids, if they are whining or fake-crying about something, that they need to behave if they want X. (Yes, we are parents who threaten, and they are not empty. We are mean and follow through.)

Bean will perk up suddenly and through her fake tears, give a fake smile and say, “Mom, Dad, I’m being haive! See? I’m being haive!”

It took us awhile to realize that she thought we were telling her to be HAIVE. Is it wrong that we haven’t corrected her? Because I just find this so GD sweet and funny!

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I’ve got more B&B updates and their lives are usually much more exciting than ours. We did go to a birthday/dinner party last week which included too many drinks and even more unfortunate meetings with a karaoke mic. I think G made people cry. It was similar, I imagine, to watching bad American Idol auditions live. Luckily, I was not so far gone that I ever held that mic in my hand, other than to pull it out of my purse. Because yes, we come to parties with karaoke mics.

Our social lives are not usually this exciting. Two whole events in one post. It may account for us going a little overboard though, like we are caged animals set free for the night.

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Wow. This post is boring. And as I’m sure you noticed right away, not that short either. I need Cliff Notes for myself.

I’ll keep trying…

Comments (10)
TOPICS: G | bean | cooking

Feb 20 2008

Happy Eight

Love note #2 this week. I think someone poisoned me. I’m starting to itch.

Dear G,

If someone had told me ten years ago that in 2008 I would be living in Chicago (again), have almost 4-year-old twins, and be in my eighth year of marriage, I would have laughed my ass off and then slapped that person. Because that sounds far too normal for my crazy brain, and some days I still wake up thinking, Whose life am I living? And then I look over at you and think, From what normal planet do you hail?

The first few years of our lives together, I believed that I had much more influence than you to bring in the crazy than you had on me to bring in the normal. And somehow, you little turd, you subtly pulled me to the other side of normalcy. I guess crazy makes people believe they have more power than they really have. It would only make sense that normal makes people stealthy. You are a cunning fox, my friend.

When we first met, a certain lawyer friend of yours* advised you not to get involved with me. You know — since you were my manager. The advice was valid, albeit flawed (“Relationship? Lawsuit waiting to happen. Hookup? Dude… of course.”) but you ignored your friend and went for it all anyway. Not that you had a choice. I can be quite stealthy myself at times. (Plus, O had the under on that bet and you know that I can’t let my friends lose.)

And even though I tried to crazy my way out of it all on several occasions, two things hit me when BTT called me one day and said she had a horrible dream that I had, in fact, tried to crazy my way out of it and she dream-said to me, “What are you doing? Why are being crazy? Who’s going to take care of you?”

The two things were: 1. I was clearly so crazy that my friends thought I necessitated a handler. And 2. Goddammit, my friends were starting to like you more than they liked me.

And so I pushed aside my crazy, listened to my friends, and tried to make them like me more again. And eventually I realized that they were right.

You are more likable.

Given our propensity for competition, on a superficial level this is really f’ing annoying. But deep down, I am so proud. You are my little trophy husband. But older. And well… let’s face it, I’m so much hotter than you. But I digress.

What I really want to say is this: You are one of the most caring, most unfathomably loyal, most unselfish and giving people I know. You show me love that is so unconditional that at times I actually believe that you might be crazier than I am. You give me support that I know I don’t always deserve. You are my number one fan and have the enthusiasm of a hometown stadium for anything I do. Sometimes I picture myself literally presenting you with a handful of shit that I’ve molded into a G and wrapped with ribbon, and after thanking me enthusiastically, you would admire it and ask if it was a new font that I’ve recently designed. This level of support is not human. It’s abnormal.

I want to tell you today, because I know I don’t reciprocate to any equal or even acceptable level, that I am your number one fan as well. That I’m always so proud of you and proud to be your wife and proud to be a part of this family and life we have made together. That you are my hero, and that I admire your strength and dedication and smarts and talent. That I constantly learn from you and that you challenge me (in a good way). That I sometimes wonder how you can do so much for me and not be totally resentful of me, and that I’m waiting for the day when I wake up and, after thinking, Whose life am I living? that I will look over at you only to find you staring at me with vengeance in your eyes. That I am always thankful to you for introducing the normal into my life, no matter how much of the crazy I try to re-introduce. And that I hope you don’t kill me in my sleep one day, but I hope you know that it’s okay if you do; I’ll understand.

Okay, while I know I’m not crazy enough to justify Murder One, I also know you quite enjoy this self-deprecating humor and although I may not do it as well as some*, I live to make you laugh and entertain you. (And kick your ass in Scrabulous, but that’s neither here nor there.)

I know you could have chosen to walk away and lead a more normal life, but for some inexplicable reason you gravitated towards me. For that, I am grateful. I’ve witnessed some bad behavior from spouses lately, and I know of others who have lost wonderful husbands. I am lucky. Incredibly, ridiculously lucky.

Happy Eighth, my stealthy, gorgeous, cunning husband. You give me everything I need or want and more.

I wub.
And I promise always to give you the last bite.

Love,
Your Younger and Much Hotter Wife

*
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*You know who you are, my little self-deprecating lawyer friend

Comments (20)
TOPICS: G | holidays

Feb 18 2008

To: MN | xo, Mary Katherine Gallagher

I take a break from my irregularly scheduled blogging to partake in the lovefest for a certain Minnesota Mama Butterfly, one of the most reliable and sweetest and loyal of all blog friends.

As she knows by now, I don’t do well with love notes. Instead, I am going to channel me some Mary Katherine Gallagher:

I believe my feelings would be best expressed in a monologue from the movie, “Thelma & Louise,” starring Susan Sarandon and Geena Davis. And in this monologue, I will be playing the part of Louise, badass sister with a gun, as she addresses a certain Putrid Narcissist.

*ahem*

“Sounds like you got a real fucked up idea of fun. In the future, when a woman’s crying like that, she isn’t having any fun! Where do you get off behaving that way with women, huh? How’d you feel if someone treated your mother or your sister or your daughter that way? You let her go you fuckin’ asshole, or I’m gonna splatter your ugly face all over this nice car. Let her go! Let her go! LET HER GO!”

[If I had a stunt double, I would totally jump back, crash into a wall, and expose my underwear here.]

MN, you are supported all over the Internet. Whether it is through prayer or fantasized rage, know that we’re all pulling for you and LN. Karma, karma, karma… the good is coming your way.

Supahstah! You and LN, both superstars.

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*And a special GOOD LUCK holla to Kim. Can’t wait to virtually-meet Kiki Lilypad!

Comments (4)
TOPICS: bad behavior | bitching | friends

Jan 29 2008

Her Babies’ Daddy

This weekend I flew out to Philly to see my girlfriends. One of them, O, is going through a very difficult divorce (actually, trying to go to mediation to work towards a divorce). Our other friend, BTT (I know she wanted a blog moniker so there it is), flew out from SF so we could spend the weekend with O and give her a chance to temporarily escape the drama in her life. (Btw, KP, if you are reading this, there is a REASON I thought you weren’t coming this weekend, which I won’t get into here. But I’m so sorry for the confusion!)

I had such a fantastic time this weekend (even though I came home so f’ing tired), but I came home sadder then ever. Not only because I miss my friends severely, but because after hearing the drama in O’s life, I wish we lived closer so we could support her more.

The drama is intensely insane. Of course, I won’t share her personal history with the world here, but just trust me when I say it is IN. SANE. If one of them was reincarnated or had amnesia, they could slap a silly name on it and sell it to CBS for some good afternoon soap time; it is that crazy. Or maybe I just lead a very boring life, which is probably also true.

Towards the end of the weekend, her hopefully Eventual-Ex (let’s call him EE) called her and said that he hoped that the three of us have a horrible car accident and f’ing DIE. As BTT wryly put it, “You mean he didn’t send his regards?”

This man was in our wedding — he stood as a groomsman for G. I am godmother (granted, a horrifically bad one, but still — godmother) to his daughter. BTT is godmother to his son. BTT is also married to one of his closest friends. (Except for G, we all went to high school together.)

Part of me just laughs at his comment, because well… we have to. Part of me is sickened and saddened by his comment. Who the fuck says shit like that?

I guess people in the deepest of despair. Which apparently, he is.

After G and the kids picked me up at the airport, I shared with G what EE said and then watched his face get steely and his jaw clench. When I laughed at the insanity of the comment, he loosened up but HE. WAS. PISSED. And yeah, probably a little sad too.

As I said, we were all once friends. Really good friends.

As horrible as EE is making O’s life right now, I could never wish this upon him. He has two kids who love him. I just would like him to leave her the fuck alone. Be a good dad. Get his shit together — for O’s sake, for his kids’ sake, for his own sake. The man is one of the smartest I will ever know. Princeton, HBS, working his way up Wall Street… Now he’s broken and delusional and misguided and blaming everyone else but himself for his problems.

The phrase that I often hear when his name comes up: “What a waste of potential.”

I’m not sure how O is dealing with it all. But as I told her, I haven’t seen her this happy in a really long time. Years. Maybe a decade. Obviously not with the drama, but with her decision to leave. Her resolve is incredible.

When she first told us she was planning on leaving him, I had a party in my head for about a week. I felt HIGH. Do you know what that feeling is — when you are so ecstatic that your friend’s marriage is coming to an end that your own body is releasing crack? That’s fucking unconditional love, man. Either that or sick friendship. But dude, I had many years of sadness being witness to that marriage. I love this girl and now I WANT HER TO BE FREE.

When friends try to plan with your family an ‘Emancipation of O’ intervention; when friends from high school whom you haven’t spoken to in awhile are concerned about your well-being; when friends jump up and down at their desks after receiving your email that you are getting out of your toxic marriage… O, you should know how much fucking unconditional love you have. We’re on your side. You deserve so much more than the last ten years. And it’s finally your turn.

Please say a little prayer or cross your fingers or whatever the hell your religion or non-religion calls you to do, that O (and all the others around the blog world dealing with divorce — you know who you are) finally get the life that she/they deserve. And that life would most certainly be without EE… except, of course, as her babies’ daddy. Let’s hope he can at least get his shit together enough to be her babies’ daddy. Is it really too much to ask?

I think it isn’t. EE, GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.

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TOPICS: friends