Suburban Goddess

“I think I might be going through The Change.”

“You’re not going through The Change.”

“I don’t know; I’m freaking hot right now.”

“You’re laying under an electric blanket.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Thank God. I’m too young to be that old already.”

We were playing with the doxies outside, when Pixel rolled over and displayed what doxie owners like to describe as “the lipstick issue.” This happens pretty frequently, so I casually pick him up and roll him back over before the Stepkid began with a barrage of curious questions. A moment passed, and I thought I was in the clear, until she made the following statement.

“I know how to tell a boy dog from a girl dog.”

I looked in terror at D. This is not a discussion I was prepared to have, and I SURE didn’t want to steal that moment from TBM. I could imagine how THAT conversation would go. I tried to dodge the question with silence, but she’s persistent.

“I said I know how to tell a boy dog from a girl dog.”

“Okay,” I mumbled awkwardly, casting another SAVE ME glance at D. Thankfully, he took over.

“How can you tell, baby?”

“Boy dogs have wet noses, and girl dogs don’t.”

And that was the moment when I realized just how bad my mind is.

At a recent benefit, we were listening to the soothing sounds of old Southern rock, when the inevitable happened.

“Ahhh, yes. Skynard.”

“The white trash anthem.”

“We prefer the term ‘redneck,’” I glared.

“You may ‘prefer’ it…”

The inevitable finally happened. TBM & I had to eventually be in the same place at the same time, and somehow, we had to deal with this.

I’ve been praying for this encounter for at least five years. To be honest, I’m really not sure how we avoided it, other than D’s careful separation of what I shall refer to as “church and state.” We KNOW how we’re supposed to act… however, emotion tends to rule with females. So I understand his hesitation, nay, trepidation, nay, PARALYZING FEAR of having the two fiercely opinionated and independent females of his life in the same place at the same time. After all, he must keep TBM happy to avoid the threat of losing valuable extra time with his daughter.

I like to point out that he will get that time anyway, and even if he didn’t, the WORST CASE SCENARIO is he will only have her HALF the time according to their decree. Ask plenty of dads out there who only get to see their kiddos four times a month how that feels. But I digress… he does the best he can, despite the manipulation tactics. He’s far more patient then I would ever be, but then, that’s why we work so well together. I’m the hot-head, he’s the reason.

I had a reasonable amount of reservations when he decided to enroll his daughter in the same Taekwondo school that Alex attends. It’s a great program that’s done wonders for Alex, but it was kind of her “thing.” So now she shares that with her stepsister, and I can see the rivalry forming. We do our absolute best to keep it as even as possible, and it’s been okay so far. But I knew TBM would want to watch her kid (rightfully so.)

So here’s the deal: I’m not the one with the issue. SHE hates ME. I’ve learned through my own experiences that this makes things pretty difficult when you deal with your ex. My burning hatred of TOW eventually waned to begrudging acceptance, especially when my daughter showed up in new clothes that I KNEW the X would never buy. TOW obviously took care of my daughter, and did a pretty good job. I can accept the fact that we’ll never be friends, but there’s no reason for nastiness, either.

Not that TBM has ever been nasty to me. She hasn’t. Even when I showed up at her doorstep to try to have a conversation with her to hash things out (probably a bad idea, I’ll admit). During the tug of war over D’s surgery, she never said anything hateful, other than that I should not be there.

The truth of the matter is, I don’t think she ever got over him. The actions of this woman have always been that of a woman deeply wounded by someone they truly believed in and loved. If anyone gets that, I do. To make matters worse, D’s non-confrontational demeanor and general niceness could be horribly misunderstood as leading someone on. (It could have been intentional, for all I know, as well. Point is, it doesn’t matter at this point. All that drama ended when he finally figured out what I truly meant to him.)

So that brings us to the moving forward part. Six years have passed with this man, that somehow, I’ve only been face-to-face with this woman ONE TIME. So the moment D decided to enroll the Stepkid in Taekwondo, I pointed out that this was going to change drastically. Because, as I pointed out rather childishly:

We were there first.

I’m not going to hide, or avoid, or God forbid, skip classes to keep this woman happy. He made his deal with that devil, not me, and I pay a small mint to keep my kid in these classes. So when she announced that she would be taking Stepkid to class on Monday, which is immediately followed by Alex’s leadership class, I began to mentally prepare.

I hate when your brain wastes valuable energy thinking out all the possible worst-case scenarios. I’ll admit, one of them ended with a full-on kung-fu riot where I win with a TKO (because, let’s face it, I have one HELL of a right hook). Another one ended with the staff siding with me and booting her out on the concrete outside. But I figured the reality would be something like, I come in and sit down, and we just ignore each other.

What was I supposed to do? Every other time I’ve reached out to this woman, she just wants to destroy my relationship in a bitter tirade about how horrible my fiancee is. At this point, I’m a little hesitant to strike up a conversation with that kind of negativity. Things didn’t work out; I got it. Try getting over it. Damn already. Shit, even I couldn’t hate my X that long, and he was WAY worse than D ever was.

So the day dawned, and I took a deep breath. As we pulled into the parking lot, I recognized her truck and realized, yes, this is going to happen, and I am going to pull every ounce of Christian good faith to do the right thing.

But if she pissed me off, the right hook was still on the table as an option.

There was no escaping the confrontation; she was sitting dead ahead in our line of sight. I calmly walked across the floor and sat down on the opposite side, thankful that Alex needed help putting on all of her sparring gear. I didn’t dare cast a glance in her direction. A few moments passed, and the Stepkid’s class ended. She immediately ran across the floor to grasp me in a bear hug.

Well, crap. Now what?

I hugged her back, and told her how well she did, and how awesome her form looked. Thankfully, she went back to her mother to remove her gear, and I focused all my attention back on Alex. A moment later, she hugged me again, and I turned to see TBM leaning over the chair next to me.

“So, yours does the stick fighting?”

I blinked for a moment then realized she was referring to Alex’s weapon. I don’t know why, but I stuck my hand out in a greeting, an offering of peace. She grasped it lightly for a second, then let go.

“Yes. Some days better than others,” I joked. She smiled. “We’ll probably see you around,” I said. She smiled in politely in return, and turned to leave.

And that was it.

No smackdown. No drama. No heated exchanges and no arguments. Of course, why would she do that in front of the children? No decent mother would. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as the door closed behind her.

Thank goodness that was over. So at least now, I know what to expect. Despite her personal feelings towards the death of her relationship with D, I hope they can continue to co-parent without the drama that has plagued us for the last six years. Finally, we are seeing progress.

It’s been my experience that if a child acts out with severe disrespect or violence, that is a HUGE red flag. When you’re walking down the street, and you mumble about the “hooligans” or “punks” that are cutting up, I can assure you that someone has failed that child in their life.

That’s hard for parents to hear. The failure isn’t necessarily that they weren’t there, either. Since I started teaching, I’ve discovered disrespect occurs at all socioeconomic levels. Poor kids are disrespectful because they have no positive role models. Well-off children are disrespectful because their parents have led them to believe they are the center of the universe.

Put both those kids together in an over-crowded classroom, and you just lit the fuse on a keg of gunpowder.

Now we have to look at the “corporal punishment” option, which is no longer on the table. I’ve heard several parents say, “bring it back!” Just as many parents threaten a lawsuit if you even BREATHE wrong on their precious sweetheart. I used to think that would help, but most of my kids get smacked at home… it’s not helping. If they’re used to getting thrown across the room at home, a smack with a paddle isn’t going to phase them.

Going to the principal’s office doesn’t have the same sting with these children, either. In-school suspension isn’t effective, and full suspension is rarely an option. Why? Because somewhere along the line, we tied attendance to dollar signs. You didn’t know that? I certainly didn’t. If the butt isn’t in the seat, the school doesn’t get paid. I don’t know if you heard, but schools are in a budget-crunch, so how do you think that plays out with the discipline factor? More troubled kids are right back in the middle of our over-crowded classrooms, causing more disturbances and distractions.

So why aren’t we writing tickets? Isn’t that what the school police systems are for? Because no superintendent wants to go to their community with a high ticket count; that makes it look like our teachers don’t know how to manage their classrooms. Plus, if you give out enough tickets, eventually all those ticked off parents show up at a board meeting, and the board fires you.

We scream for change, but we perpetuate the very system we claim is failing us. Why?

Because the solution is too hard. It requires time, effort & money, and we are a society of “fix it now.”

The solution is to get inside the head of that kid. You have to establish a relationship, and teach them what authority and respect looks like.

“Respect a punk,” you say, incredulously?

If you want to facilitate change, yes. We (parents) have produced a generation of children that are badly damaged from neglect and overcompensation. I know I’m polarizing the issue here; there are a lot of great, well-meaning parents out there. There are a lot of kids who are going to be just fine. But I’m talking about those “behavior problems.” I’ve discovered that many of my “behavior problems” come to me labeled and judged. Few people bother to just ask the kid, “Hey, why do you act like that?” I’m not talking in a sarcastic way, I mean in a caring, curious & honest way.

I am amazed at some of the answers.

“My mom left me here and went back to El Salvador.”

“My brother was shot in a drive-by last year. They said they gonna shoot me, too.”

“My dad got drunk again last night and sent my mom back to the hospital.”

“My mom had to work again last night, and me & my brother didn’t have anything to eat. I had to go find him some food. He’s two.”

“My mom is missing again, and my grandma’s pissed off because she don’t want me there.”

Story after story after story. My heart bleeds from the pain I witness on a daily basis. When a kid is starving, they are not worried about math. When a kid has been up all night taking care of a baby so their mom can work, they will probably fall asleep in your class. When a kid can’t sit because their legs are bruised from taking another beating, they will not be able to concentrate.

And another strange turn of events; when you show them you care, they will try. They will try to pay attention, even though they’re hurt or hungry. When they begin to act out, if you talk to them in a calm, quiet voice, and ask them “what’s really going on?”, they will stop acting out.

It takes time. A lot of time and more effort than most teachers can afford. And yet, we do the best that we can. Discipline becomes a work in progress, with successes and set-backs. You have to get creative. You have to use humor. Yelling at a kid may get you immediate results, but if you want long-term success, you have to get to know them. That’s really hard when you see 300 kids a year. It takes everything I have to remember all the names (oh! the names!).

So when a kid I don’t know bows up to me, or rolls their eyes, or smacks their teeth and walks away… I take a deep breath. Of course my first reaction is to yell; I was brought up to respect authority.

But they were not. And that is where I can make the difference.

Me: “I can’t believe in one week, I’m going to have an 8 year old!”

Alex: “I know. The years go by pretty fast.”

Enough time has passed that I can share with the world; TOW is on her way out. That whirlwind romance has run it’s course, or maybe it hasn’t, but either way, the end is exactly as predicted.

While I should feel a sick satisfaction, I’m actually saddened by the way things ended (okay, maybe a little satisfaction). Perhaps if I’d been more mature in my marriage, maybe if I’d been more honest and open, who knows? I finally understand what my X was trying to tell me when we were married; I lost myself. We were living HIS life, and I didn’t contribute much to it. It took me a long time to figure that out. I now realize that path was not my destiny, but just a pathway to where I am now.

I feel sorry for all the kids involved, and I hope that they will stay in touch. That’s the trouble with blending up all these families; kids become collateral damage, wrapped up in the nastiness that a break-up creates. I have no idea how they are approaching their break-up, but I hope for the kids’ sake, it stays cordial. I’ve thought about reaching out to her and telling her that I’d like our kids to stay in touch, but I don’t know if that’s appropriate or not. Probably not right now, anyway. I guess we’ll just see how that one plays out.

The X and I are in such a better place now. I doubt he’d ever want to hang out, but if the opportunity presented itself, I truly know that I wouldn’t have a problem with it. I sincerely want him to find a NICE girl, who will laugh at his jokes and make him feel special. He’s not a bad guy, despite what I call him when I’m angry.

Our relationship has settled into wonderful conversations about our daughter and the occasional safe small-talk. I actually WANT to share moments with him now; when Alex says something, or does something, or I have a great picture, it’s easy to just forward that along to him. It used to take every ounce of moral humanity to force myself to, and I failed often. Maybe it’s also because he’s finally doing the same thing openly. I don’t know. Either way, I’m happy. We’ve both made apologies, and that’s more than I ever thought possible in the heat of battle.

So, today marks the Death of TOW, a milestone in Suburban Goddess history. Even if they manage to work it out, she will no longer be called TOW.

She will be the “Woman Formerly Known As TOW.”

LOL. Just kidding. She is now simply “Dee.”

Of course, my life wouldn’t be my life without drama, so a new nemesis must be named. Yes, there is one. Yes, she is formidable. I’ve never met a woman with such steely resolve to hate my guts with such a deep, burning passion. At times, it’s really entertaining. She will hereto forth be referred as “The Baby’s Mama,” aka TBM. Our story is a twisted and tangled one, two lives whose pathways are parallel, but with very, very different scenery. I’ve remained silent on the topic for six years, but my tolerance for intolerance has expired. So pardon my hypocrisy as we move forward…

Because you know me… I just can’t ever keep my damn mouth shut.

In with the new!!!

“It’s cold in here.”

“You want me to turn the heater up?”

“Did you turn it down??”

“I didn’t turn it down.”

“Well, I never touch it, so you must have turned it down, because it’s freaking COLD IN HERE.”

“I’ll go check.” He climbs out of bed and patters down the hallway, returning a moment later. “It was set at 66.”

“66??? Why was it set at 66??? I would never set it to 66!!”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! The house should never be below 70 degrees; that is the state of happiness. Anything below 70 degrees is TOO cold! Sixes are the DEVIL!”

He walked away, shaking his head.

Is living with me all that difficult?

I’m making a few changes around here… I’ve started a couple of new blogs around the Interwebs, including one for Photoshop and one for teaching. I haven’t really been active here because I went from being a happily married new mom to a psycho-bitch for a few years. I’m easing back into happily married suburban housewife again, so perhaps I will find the motivation to write happy again.

I drove off most of my readers over the years, and I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. I left the Chronicle, basically because I just got sick of the trolls. The Internet sucks, guys. There’s so much negativity in blogging. But that’s the risk you take when you put your life out there for the world to judge, especially when your life is really not significant. I’m just your normal, everyday working mom. There are millions of us out there. We all have the same issues. Nothing special.

Coming to terms with the fact that you’re nothing special is hard. lol.

Life is good, and getting better. Sunshine on the horizon again.

Stepkid: “Are we going to New Orleans tomorrow?”
Dan: “Yes.”
Stepkid: “Can we get sopapillas?”
Dan: “You mean beignets?”
Stepkid: “They’re really just sopapillas.”
Me: *facepalm*