Suburban Goddess

I’ve been slowly relocating MacLaughlin Studios to my new home, and it’s gone relatively smoothly thus far. If you consider smoothly to be landing huge bruises and scrapes all over your body, that is. I have a big river trip planned in a few weeks, and I’ve been working hard on my appearance so that I won’t be the only person drifting down the river wrapped from head to toe in some sort of cloth. Kinda like Gidget meets The Mummy. Only more like the Mummy part. The Pudgy Mummy.

So anyway, I’ve been coloring the hair, taking my vitamins, doing the fake & bake thing, all so I can be the hottest MILF on the river, but foolishly, I planned the BIG MOVE before the trip, so now I’m a walking ad for Technicolor. Add in the lack of sleep that ensues with moving, and I am truly patriotic. Red, white & blue. (Red eyes, white skin, and blue bruises.)

The older I get, the more I realize how useless vanity is. I’m fighting a losing battle here. Mother Nature is KICKING MY ASS, and she’s not playing fair, because she’s using my own furniture against me…

No, the title has nothing to do with the post. But I need one. I feel cranky coming on… I know I’m not making any sense. This is what’s it’s like in my head all the time…

“What do you want for breakfast, baby?”

“CHEEZBURG.”

“No, we don’t eat cheeseburgers for breakfast. What do you want to eat?”

“CHICKIN NUGGIES.”

“No, Alex, you can’t have chicken nuggets for breakfast. We’re eating BREAKFAST. Do you want cereal or toast?”

“ISCREAM. DORA NACKS (Dora snacks) AND ISCREAM.”

(Sigh.)

“How are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess, circumstances considered.”

“Hanging in there?”

“Yeah.  I just feel like I’m caught between lives right now.”

“That’s a great place to be.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because that’s where your REAL friends are.”

I have a new hobby.

When I get irritated at certain people, I make a game of getting the most annoying songs stuck in their head. But it’s subtle… I’ll hum the tune quietly on the other side of the cubicle walls, or I’ll off-handedly drop a song lyric into our conversation… then I sit back and wait…’

“Oh, Mickey, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind… DAMN IT!!! How did this song get stuck in my head??”

(evil grin)

The bad thing about a divorce, is people inexplicably choose sides. In some cases, both parties actively recruit people, but I think in my case, that isn’t happening. I know Chip would never bad-mouth me (at least, I’d like to think so. But I’ve obviously been wrong about him before…) And I, in turn, am doing my best to remain neutral where we share friends.

Enter the entire neighborhood.

If one were keeping score, (and I’m not, so please don’t think that way), the tallies would definitely be leaning towards the opposing team. This honestly does not surprise me; Chip is the outgoing social type that everyone loves, whereas I am the cold, aloof bitch that everyone thinks is too stuck up to socialize. (Actually, nothing could be farther from the truth, I’m just cripplingly shy, but since I rarely come out of my shell, that information is kind of hard to share).

But over the past few weeks, I am disturbed by the fact that some people are just downright RUDE to me lately. And honestly, I don’t get it. HE left ME. I did not choose this path; it was chosen for me. So I have to wonder what the hell their perception of my situation is? I mean, I don’t expect anyone to chose sides, but to treat me like complete dirt for no apparent reason other than the fact that I’ll be moving shortly just doesn’t make sense. And it disapoints, angers, and frustrates me. No, I wasn’t the perfect wife. Yes, I made mistakes. But I would have given that man the rest of my life if he would have just changed his mind. So how come he’s coming out clean on the other side, and I’m the bad guy?

I know I only have myself to blame. I don’t actively participate in gossip. I’m not saying I don’t LISTEN, but I don’t pass things on. And I don’t really want to be fodder for others, so I keep a low profile and try to stay out of trouble. This annoys the gossip-mongers. Yet somehow, they still find their way into my business, and then when I run into them they give me those condescending, patronizing smiles… oh, poor Kristie…. did you hear? Her husband LEFT her…. I wonder what she did???

Let me tell you, this just sucks. You wait your entire teenage life to get away from the bullshit of high school, only to find that life outside is just a bigger, extended version of it. Now I understand; while I was in school, I wondered what the purpose was…. now I see, it had nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with survival in the fish pond….

(While looking through a children’s picture book)…

“What is that?”

“EFALANT!”

“Right! And what’s this?”

“MONKEE!”

“Good job! And what is this?”

“LION! ROAR!”

“Yes ma’am! Smart girl! And what about this one over here?”

“CHEE-TOE!”

Yesterday, on Mother’s Day, I had the worst experience I’ve had to date as a mother.

Alex & I went to a neighbor’s house for a Mother’s Day pool party. I’m always a little leary of Alex around water (thanks to the movie “Ray,” another piece of useless pop culture stuck in my head.) Yesterday was no different. The pool had two “beach entrances,” shallow areas that lead to a steep and sudden drop-off. I don’t allow Alex to go in the water if I’m not in it, so I made sure I was always within an arm’s reach of her.

She played for almost an hour without incident. One of the fathers who was there made a comment about “coddling” her, since I would hover around her obsessively. But a few moments later, the reason I hover became frighteningly clear when Alex slipped from the ledge and went under.

I can’t describe the feeling to you. If you’re a mother, you just KNOW it. But in that split second, time seemed to go into slow motion. I was sitting on the shallow part, and had to move to the ledge, maybe all of four feet. Within that second, she was completely underwater, her arms splayed out, and by the time I reached her (another second), her eyes were wide open, looking straight up from beneath the water as she sank quickly.

There was no dramatic splash. No moment where everyone panicked. Nobody else even saw it, and there were over a dozen people in the pool, kids RIGHT NEXT TO HER. I reached down and yanked her up quickly. It all happened so fast she didn’t even have time to breathe any water in her lungs. No sputtering or coughing. A few seconds later, she was perfectly fine, laughing and splashing again with the other children in the shallow part of the pool.

It took everything I had not to scoop her up and take her home RIGHT THEN. But I didn’t want to make a big scene and scare her. But I did make a mental resolution to NEVER bring her near the water without some kind of floaty thing attached to her body, but even then, I will NOT take my eyes off her. Nobody else was paying attention; what if I hadn’t?

If people are wondering why I’m putting my parental ineptitude on the Internet for the world to see, I’ll tell you; it happened in a split second. If I wasn’t such an obsessive mother, I don’t even want to THINK about what could have happened. Because the “what if’s” will drive you insane, and make you want to lock your child up in a padded room so nothing could ever happen to them. But it’s SO important, as a parent, that you realize how DANGEROUS a pool can be.

The image of my daughter beneath the water, her beautiful blue eyes looking up as her limbs weighed her down helplessly is forever burned into my brain. It makes me physically sick every time I think of it. I had nightmares about it. I am thankful that when I pulled her up, that she was able to wrap her tiny arms around my neck and hold me tightly. I cannot imagine what it must be like for parents who have to pull their lifeless children from a pool.

When we got home, she was throughly exhausted. I lay on the couch, and she climbed up next to me, putting her little head against my shoulder and falling sound asleep. As I watched her tiny chest rise & fall with each breath, I thanked God for making me a mother. She is the most incredible thing to ever enter my life. And I will never, ever take that for granted.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Going to bed early. I have a class tomorrow.”

“What??? You need to go OUT.”

“I have no desire to go OUT. I’ve been up since 5AM and I have to be up early tomorrow to go downtown.”

“Whatever happened to staying out all night? Partying until dawn? Going to class with a HANGOVER…”

“30 and a defective thyroid. And I think Dirty Dancing is on again….”

Some days are just harder than others. I wish I had a dollar every time somebody told me I was a strong woman. Because inside, I don’t feel like I am, and I’ve done a great job of fooling everyone.

I KNOW life will go on. I KNOW I’ll be okay. I KNOW there are other fish in the sea. I KNOW Alex will be fine. I KNOW Chip won’t leave me in a bad position. I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW.

But grief & depression are part of the recovery process. So if I want to wallow in self-pity for a couple of hours, I should be allowed to do so without someone trying to cheer me up. Seriously, I know it sounds sick, but it works. I cry for a little while, and then I’m okay. Really. I LIKE the lows. It gives me a reason to look for the highs.

So don’t worry about me if I sound down; I have the right to be. And soon, I’m sure I’ll take the advice that everyone has REALLY wanted to give, but been too kind to say:

GET OVER IT.

Last night I was forced to take a Workshop For Divorcing Parents as part of my wretched divorce decree. It’s mandatory for all divorcing parents in the county, and when I got there, there was an impressive display of all socio-economic groups in the county.

I immediately braced myself for a fight; mixing of the classes usually makes for some good entertainment. But this, this was different. Because we all had one major thing in common.

We currently despise our future ex-spouses.

The first rule of the evening, established by our counselor; no ex-spouse bashing. Immediately, the entire room fell silent. What ever will we talk about then? The answer; your children. The class was a mixture of bad 80’s government videos, support group, and lecture. I was afraid the overall goal of the class would be to try to deter you from getting a divorce (tried that already, didn’t work), and that the entire evening would be devoted to making you feel horrible for the hell you’re about to put your child through. I was only half-wrong; they didn’t say anything about not divorcing.

The videos were heart-wrenching, even though they were almost 30 years old. The gist of divorce is the same now as it is then; the kids are gonna suffer. It played into every single fear that I have and touched on every single insecurity. Now instead of wondering what the results will be, now I can be sure that statistically, there’s a 75% chance that it will happen to me. Great.

After listening to the stories around me, I realized I was actually doing much better than most people caught in the throes of a divorce. I listened to stories of custody battles, manipulation, withholding visitation, and fighting. After a while, the counselor got to the point. The overall message of the evening was basically this; don’t fight in front of your kids. Don’t use your kid as a pawn. Love them and reassure them that it’s NOT THEIR FAULT.

Well, I am quite proud to say that I have managed to do my very best at this. I’m not saying I haven’t had my moments, because there is an evil redneck that is DYING to get out (Sing it, Carrie!) and there are times I have to chew THROUGH my tongue to achieve it, but damn it, I do. Because at the end of the day, when I put Alex’s precious little face down on her pillow and kiss her good night, I know that no matter how angry I am at her father, he did manage to give me the greatest gift in the entire universe.

And that’s worth enduring a little stress and bullshit every now and then.