Suburban Goddess

I’m two days late with this post, but I have good reasons. One, I didn’t have her on her birthday, which totally bummed me out… luckily the BF was there to my rescue.  Two, I couldn’t post the picture because my new camera is SO new that I don’t have the right drivers.  So after getting all my ducks in a row, here is one of my favorite pics from her birthday weekend.

Happy birthday, Alex!  I love you!

“What shade of red were you shooting for?”

“You know that preconcieved notion that people have of redheads?”

“What, that they’re bitchy?”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s the shade I was going for. As in, don’t mess with me, I’m a redhead.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“What is that perfume you’re wearing?”

“I call it 87 Octane.”

“Oh, thank God… I didn’t want to have to tell you that you stink.”

Growing up in Louisiana is an experience I wouldn’t trade for the world. Weekends were spent at the river or the racetrack, at least, until I got older. Saturday nights in Slidell were pretty standard; the mall, cruising Gause Boulevard, Taco Bell, etc… Every clique had their hangout.

Mine was the graveyard.

Actually, it wasn’t like we hung out there all the time; we just went there when we were thrill-seeking.  A graveyard, you say?  Well, unless you’ve seen the raised tombs that are a staple of a Louisiana Catholic cemetary, then you wouldn’t understand. As they age, occasionally the marble will shift or crumble, exposing the remanants inside; depending on the age of the tomb, you may find a coffin, or you may find a pile of ashes. Rarely would you find a decomposing corpse; the Louisiana heat virtually disintegrates the remains inside… but there was always the possibility…. which is why we would go. At night.

There was a small graveyard a few blocks behind my house that was one of our favorites. Each time someone new would dare to come out with us, it became a “breaking in” ritual to go graveyard hopping.

My freshman year, I had a good friend named Joey.  Joey had a monstrous Ford LTD with so much bass that your heart would literally hurt when it played… I’m sure it induced quite a few arrhythmias that I can contribute to my brain damage and hearing loss now. Joey was our chauffeur, riding around picking up friends and boyfriends until we had nine people in the car. At the time, i was seeing a football player, a gorgeous blond Adonis of a boy who bore a striking resemblance to Vanilla Ice. He and I settled into the back seat with my two best friends and their boyfriends.

Vanilla Ice had yet to hang with me and my friends. I don’t think he knew what to expect. As we drove back to the graveyard, my friends would tell ghost stories, setting the stage for the ultimate setup. Little did we realize the joke would shortly be on us.

Around the perimeter of the graveyard there was a chainlink fence, but within that fince there was a low cable that poised about two feet off the ground.  One by one, we helped one another over the chainlink fence, each hoving close to it, shoving one another towards the tombs and squealing with teenage fear. No one was brave enough to step towards the tombs, until headlights shined in the distance.

“Cops!” someone screamed, and we all took off towards the tombs… but one by one, everyone tripped over the cable, falling down screaming. Most of them honestly forgot it was there, and when you’re running in pitch darkness and something grabs your shins, it’s your first instinct to scream bloody murder. I’d been there enough to know what they were tripping over, and I collapsed in a heap laughing at the ensuing hysteria… except Vanilla Ice was missing.  I turned to see him caught on the chainlink fence; he dove behind the LTD as the lights passed by and my friends slowly came up for air. He misunderstood our laughter as mocking his fear, and did not speak to me the rest of the evening.

After that night, he didn’t go out with me again.

Wuss.

“She’s about as deep as a kiddie pool.”

I got an interesting text Saturday morning. The X eloped with TOW ( who shall now be referred to as XW3, since that timer has now been set into motion.)

I struggled with this post all weekend. At first, it was like being kicked in the stomach. I knew it was inevitable, and the timeline mimicked ours almost exactly. His behavior is still the same, and nothing else appears to have changed concerning the kids either, so I KNEW this was coming.

It still doesn’t prepare you for the moment.

It’s not the X that I miss; it’s just the final nail in that dead dream coffin. Honestly, the two of them seem to be perfectly suited for one another, and it was no secret that I was never truly knew the real Chip. Something about this woman seems to have found a way to get inside, and I sincerely hope it’s genuine… The Chip I knew was empty, searching for something he could not find and I could not provide. I hope this is what he was looking for.

If this marriage succeeds, it will be good for the MANY children involved, and I’d much rather Alex have one other woman in her life as opposed to several. It also lends some stability to the situation; at least I know there won’t be any more giant upheavals without some sort of warning.

As the weekend wore on, I thought through this and realized, it really is a good thing. That final nail is the last bit of closure I needed… Yes, he left me for this woman. No, there is no comparison to be made; she is one type of personality where I am another (and quite honestly, I don’t know why Chip ever thought I was the right one for him when this woman seems to be his “soulmate.”) We are polar opposites.

I made the mistake for quite some time trying to compare myself, and figure out why he would leave me for her to begin with. The ultimate answer is pretty simple; I had expectations he could not live up to.

I imagine, for a man, that must be hard to live with.

The truth is, I still have those expectations of him, but not for me. I have certain expectations for him as a father, and he continues to disappoint me. It takes everything I have not to pass that disappointment to Alex; I truly do everything in my power to foster a positive relationship with her father. The fact is, I have to come to terms with the fact that my bar is simply too high. Her father does the very best that he knows how to do. In my eyes, he didn’t do enough as a husband, and he doesn’t do enough as a father.

That doesn’t mean I’m right. Maybe he did, and maybe he does. Either way, the only thing I can do is try to be the best mother I can be.

It’s hard not to make snarky comments, or judge their impulsiveness. I can hardly point out that neither of them understands the true meaning of a marriage; I an twice divorced myself. Perhaps they will beat the odds, perhaps it is real this time. I hope love is the true and total motive, not convenience, stability or God forbid, money. If it is all the right reasons, the love will shine in their faces, and Alex will witness her father treat a woman with love and respect. That is what I want for her; to see a loving, respectful relationship where material items are not the focus, but affection is. That is my goal in my own life as well; if her father found it first, then so be it. It’s not a race, and it doesn’t make me any less of a person because I move much slower. I can not, and will not, settle for less.

Strangely enough, the message this week at church seemed aimed straight at my heart. Watch your words… Pause, reflect, then speak. By doing so, I realize that this marriage, while I question the timeliness, is a very good thing for all parties involved.

Here’s hoping we all have finally figured out the way it’s supposed to be. I do wish them the best… I know people probably don’t believe that, but I do. If they fail, so many people get hurt… most importantly, my daughter.