Suburban Goddess

For years I’ve persecuted cheaters. I’ve run them through the ringer, cast my judgement, thrown my poison pen at them… called them out for the dogs they are, and spit venom on them at every chance I was given. Which is kind of funny, because that makes me a big, freaking hypocrite.

It’s not like I never cheated. I have. I’ve cheated little and I’ve cheated big. I’m guilty of the “harmless” emotional cheating, and I’ve physically fallen into the arms of other men. I always had an excuse; some well-crafted sob-story played out in my head so that when I was caught (and I ALWAYS got caught), I could play the victim. Sometimes, I even BELIEVED I was the victim. And it was all fun and games until it happened to me.

Your perspective changes when someone you believe in hurts you that way, especially when you never see it coming.  A candid conversation with an ex taught me how much damage you can truly do. His words hurt, cut me to the ore, but I deserved them. I wish I could take it back. I can’t. Our lives traveled in two different directions at that moment; there was no way for our paths to coincide after what I’d done. They’ve crossed many times since then… but that mistake still haunts us, and what could have been something truly special is nothing more than a Christmas card once a year and some happy memories of a life less complicated or a life that could have been.

It’s been on a mind a lot lately because so many lives close to me are touched by it. Cheating. It’s so easy these days. Emails, text messages, social networking. In Houston, it’s ridiculously easy; blame your tardiness on traffic. The moral fabric seems to be unraveling, one thread at a time.

“It’s just a harmless text.”  No, it’s not.

“Nothing’s going to happen, we’re both married.” Something IS happening. And people are watching.

“She’ll never find out.” God, I hope not.

Because once it’s broken, it’s broken forever. I remember Chip holding up a photograph of me, happy and laughing on our wedding day. “I want THIS girl back. Where did THIS girl go?”

“You KILLED her.”

There was no more true statement then that, and he’s not the first to say it to me; I could never go back to that happy, carefree, loving person after his level of betrayal. How could he expect me to? And the worst part is that he refused to take responsibility for his role; in his mind, he was justified in leaving me. I wasn’t the same girl; he didn’t sign up for a life with a girl who might change.

But she did.

I’ve been with people who have been cheated on, too. After a while, I began to understand why their girls cheated. It’s not that they weren’t truly great guys… but they were so disconnected that they emotionally starved those women to death. One in particular gave me a story about how his ex said hateful things to him constantly. Like, “I hate you.” There were times in our relationship that those words hovered on my lips as well, but I recognize them for what they are; a desperation tactic. Because nothing else seems to get through the wall….

You hit a point where you are so lonely, so desperate, that you give up hope of change and just start looking for a way to stop the pain. Maybe it’s simply bailing out; maybe it’s looking for comfort in another person’s arms. Maybe it’s pushing every button you can to evoke some response; rarely is the response the one you want. More often than not, it’s more damaging than the silence would have been. Certainly it’s easier to fall when someone else is there to catch you… and that’s easier than the alternative. Confrontation. Communication. Work, work, work…. Constantly working at something for the rest of your life…

I look for the happy endings. There are many, but not enough; people who have learned from their mistakes. People who truly respect their significant others. People who recognize that love takes a little effort, but it’s worth it. People who can fight the temptation.

Those people give me hope. Maybe, just maybe there’s a happy ending in it for me.

A man jumped out of the car and ran to the passenger side; with a grand flourish, he opened the door and a petite blonde stepped out with a giggle. He took her hand and pulled her close; the two of them oblivious to the traffic nearby on 290 as they locked together in a deep kiss. I watched with a tiny ray of hope.

Maybe they will make it.

There’s a point where so many bad things happen that you begin to just expect it. You steel your resolve and accept the inevitable… something bad is going to happen. It just does.

It’s a horrible way to live. You’re constantly dialed in to the bad, and you forget to experience the good because you’re too busy bracing yourself for the next blow. I could go down the laundry list of crappy things that have happened since the start of the year… but I stopped myself, because I discovered I was looking for things to add to the list.

“Oh, and this happened, and THIS, and don’t forget THIS…”

The sad thing is, I was so focused on that negative list, that I didn’t even stop to think about the good things. At the beginning of the year, I had a Good List; good things that were going to happen this year. Things to look forward to. Things that were going to make me happy.  Then it became a competition between the lists, and the Bad List started to grow longer, eclipsing the Good List and drowning out the hope that I started with. It’s so hard to pull yourself out of it, though, when you feel like you’re drowning but people keep handing you bricks. So many facets of life trying to pull me under, pull me down…. and I’m tired.

But what can you do? You can’t give up, it’s just not an option.

So something inside of you disconnects; it’s like an emotional plug has been pulled, temporarily turning out the lights until you can get back on track. You go through the motions, praying for the meaning to come back, praying for change, praying for something to believe in again. I need it to change. I need things to be different.

This is not the life I was meant to lead; there is something greater out there waiting for me to find the path that leads me to it. I just wish there was a damn map.

“Your little passive-aggressive barbs are duly noted, thank you.”

“Oh good. I was afraid they might be mistaken for kindness.”

B:  I’ve met more women who have been the victims of philandering husbands than I care to count. These are, like yourself, the walking wounded, and frankly they’d NEVER break up a happy family. They’re the poster children for Burn the Bastard. However, what men do, and you know this so darned well, is to somewhere point out how their relationship is missing something, and they’re just not happy. That gap, that single chink (and I declare it’s not sometimes even conscious on the part of the female), is more of an aphrodisiac than, well anything I can think of.  It’s the “My God, she understands me!”

Me: HA! DIRECT QUOTE FROM THE EX!!

B:  I’d say that most of the time there’s no intention to wreck anything that one or both parties didn’t think was ruined anyway.

Me:  Well there you go. You can convince yourself of anything if you’re selfish enough.

B: There are vixens out there who are looking for a better life. There are women who are miserable and are so tired of being alone, but let’s think about it, if we’re really looking at someone who’s a Good Man, and is unhappy, why wouldn’t we be sympathetic to his sad tale of woe.

Me:  HA! DIRECT QUOTE FROM THE HOMEWRECKER!

B: And guys LOVE to play the knight in shining armor. Hey, I’m there. I recognize that in myself.

Me: You’re scary, B.

B: It’s called having compassion. And if the focus of the compassion happens to be nicely built, well there you go! And once that train starts, even with two very principled people, it’s darned hard to get it off the tracks before you’ve hit the bedroom, and that’s just a stop before the station at Divorceville.

I went to pick up the remains of my cat yesterday at the vet. Alex was with me when I dropped her body off in a rather large box wrapped in a towel; needless to say, the box returned was substantially smaller.  Alex immediately began to ask questions.

“Mommy, is Kasha in that box?”

“Yes, baby.”

“How did they get her in there?”

This is the point I should have had some amazing Mommy answer, some magical and wonderful explanation that I’d researched for this very moment. I, however, am a procrastinator, and thereby failed miserably in trying to explain cremation to a four-year old.

“Well, when you die, your spirit goes to heaven, but your body stays here on earth and you have to do something with it or it starts to smell funny. Sometimes, you bury it in the ground, or sometimes you cremate it.”

“What’s cretate?”

“CreMATE. It’s when you burn the body and make ashes.”

“How do they do that?”

(Dear God, yes, I said this to a 4-year old.) “They put it in a big oven.”

“They put Kasha in an oven????”

“Yes baby, but she was gone already. Her spirit is in heaven. She didn’t feel anything, because she was gone already.”

“But I thought you said she was in the box?”

Abstract concepts such as spirituality and transcendence are probably best explained to a 4-year old after a bottle of wine, I think. A few moments passed before Alex spoke again.

“Mommy, is Bubby going to die, too?”

“Yes, sweatheart. Eventually, everything dies.”

“Are we going to put him in the oven, then?”

DOH.

Me:  Kill anybody yet?

J:  No, but I’m only halfway through my shift. Have you?

Me:  Isn’t this entrapment?

J:  Nope. That was a question. Totally legal. Read the definition of entrapment.

Me:  Then in that case, I plead the fifth.

J:  I’ll be watching the news. Any homicides, I’ll suspect you…

Me:  I am innocent until proven guilty.

J:  Well, you did warn the facebook world that you were taking up martial arts. Exhibit A.

Me:  Circumstantial!

J:  Exhibit B. You threatened me with bodily injury.

Me:  Heresey!

J:  Heresey my ass! You said it! I heard it! I think you’d make a lousy attorney!

Me:  I think you’re a hostile witness.

Another round of holidays successfully survived.  I must tell you, Internet, that if I have another round of holidays like the past one, someone must pull me outside and beat the living crap out of me.

It’s not that they were bad; they ended up pretty well despite many personal circumstances. Luckily I have wonderful friends who would not allow me to drown in my pit of self-pity on Thanksgiving…. and my father’s health changed our Christmas plans, but I was able to spend time with extended family again that I really, truly miss. On both Christmas and New Year, I was able to wake up next to the person that I loved, despite the fact that he had to bail on both fairly early to care for his kid. All in all, that equals a successful holiday season, right?

Maybe. But it’s not what I WANTED.

We have a way of wrapping so much sentiment into a date on a calender, but what about all the other days? The night in Austin with the man that I love and one of my Photoshop heroes, a successful class with new friends, an evening spent with my daughter that left me laughing… those are the moments that got me through 2009. And there were so many; so why do I still pine for them to coincide with a date?

I guess because I truly MISS that sense of family, that closeness of being around the ones you love during the holidays. It was noticeably absent this year; I could not have everyone I loved in the same place at the same time. It was frustrating and sad.

I wonder if those days are gone forever. I know things are always complicated when the kids are younger. Long distance families, divorce, and unforseen circumstances all play a factor in these early years… but I long for a time when my house becomes the gathering place once again; a table full of relatives & friends, new and old… a place where everyone is happy to come together and see one another.

I miss you, my old friends. I miss you, my family. You have all made a lasting and permanent impression in my life.  I love you, my new friends, who see me for more than a self-absorbed complainer. Your stories fascinate and intrigue me, and I wish I could write you all a happy ending, because you all deserve one.

It’s just a date on a calendar. It’s over-commercialized and uber-advertised… but it’s also a reminder to slow down and remember the ones you love and the impact they’ve had on your life. Don’t write it off as a hassle, or a financial burden. Your calls, your letters, your emails… those are the things that made my year, and carried me through the holidays when I felt lonely.

If I didn’t tell you then, I’m telling you now; thank you. It *did* make a difference.

I walked into the office kitchen to warm up a cup of hot water for my afternoon decaf tea. After standing patiently for the two minutes, the timer on the microwave went off. I looked in vain for another good two minutes for my mug…

… which was in the microwave….

…. with the water in it.

My best friend made the comment that one of the things she loved the most about presents from my family was my mom’s crazy present toppers. Mom would always affix some cheap but fun little toy to the bow of her gifts; to this day, it’s still a family tradition.  So of course, I decided to carry it on, and found various little knick-knacks for all of Alex’s gifts.

Alex has been with her father this week, but he was kind enough to give me last night with her to break up the (very long) week. Immediately upon entering the house, Alex noticed something had changed.

“Mommy!  There’s presents under the tree!”

“Yes, honey, I know.”

She moved quickly, and before I knew it, she had ripped a small tiger toy I’d taped carefully to one of her gifts and held it above her head in triumph.

“Look, Mommy! I always WANTED one of these! He’s so CUTE!”

“Alex! That’s not until Christmas day!!! You’re not supposed to take that off yet!”

Her little face dropped in disappointment as the tiger slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor. It couldn’t have gotten any worse if I’d shot the dog.

“You mean I can’t have it now?”

“No, baby… that’s part of the present,” I tried to explain, picking it up and taping it back to the gift it was taken from. “You have to wait until Christmas to play with it.”

She knelt down in front of the tree, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “But I really love him, Mommy.”

“I know, Alex… but this is for Christmas morning. You can play with him then.” My heart was hurting for her, but I knew if I caved, there wouldn’t be anything left to open by Christmas.

She sat in front of the tree for the next hour, pointing to each topper. “Is that mine, too?” “I have to wait until Christmas?”"I can’t play with it now?”

Maybe some family traditions need to be changed.