A Mother's Musings and Mumblings

Thing 1 is really gone now. She’s been in Norway for weeks but has been checking in by phone pretty much daily. But now she and WF are on a boat on their way to Svalbard. Look it up. It’s half way to the North Pole. Needless to say, I think the prospects of a phone call are pretty much nil until they get back to Oslo and are ready to board the plane home.

Thing 1 is loving the trip. Her vacation responder reads:

Hello, i am very sorry that i cannot reply to your messages seeing that i am in Norway, today i will be at the hotel and MIGHT be able to get access to the hotel computer but until then I cannot respond. Also the next 2 weeks I will be in Svalbard (look it up it is a really cool place.) and i will not have access to a computer, but i will reply as soon as i return…assuming i am not eaten by ice bears (they are so cute!!) well i shall try to respond a.s.a.p. bye bye (also look up the Besseggen, a hike i did, the ridge was really hard)
–
\~/   My NORWEGIAN glass looks half full to me!

She’s having a blast. But back home, not so much.

Thing 2 has developed several sudden, unexplained fears of things that go bump that cause her to turn to flypaper and cling to me. I’ve tried talking to her about why this might be the case, but she shuts down.

My best guess? She’s feeding off of me again. Because I’m stressed.

The original plan was for WF and Thing 1 to do some hiking by themselves for a week. That lasted a day. They had to scale back because the weather wasn’t cooperating and the hiking was longer and harder than they anticipated. This tells me a couple of things. First is that WF is being reasonable and not pushing too hard. This is a good thing. Second is that there is the potential for more trouble ahead. The temperature in Svalbard is going to be at least as cold as what they bailed out on so they have to face that weather eventually. But what about the hiking?

The last phone call was from the boat so Thing 1 had already met up with the group they’d be hiking with and had survived their first hike together. It was a short hike but with some fairly steep vertical and Thing 1 was the youngest member of the 15 person team by at least a decade. She hiked right up front with the leader – on purpose – to prove herself. That’s my girl! But when I asked where her father was I was informed that he was bringing up the rear.

He confirmed that, as well as informed me that he was using medication for motion sickness and had been paying attention to his medication. He’s been very good about my overt intrusions into his privacy recently regarding medical matters. In fact, he’s called me promptly every time he’s received his PSA results this year. He gets that checked every month. And yet, I haven’t heard a test result since summer started.

I know I’ve been traveling and that I tend toward “borrowing” trouble. But with my eldest above the Arctic Circle out of contact for over a week, it’s easy to think of things that might go wrong under the best of circumstances. And these are NOT the best of circumstances. Throw in a bit of uncertainty about who I’m most worried about and there’s plenty of trouble to borrow.

So if Thing 2 has random fears of things that go bump I guess I have to accept that she may have come by this naturally. I seem to share those fears.

Flypaper it is.

I’m back in school this week. For those of you who care to split hairs with me I’ll gladly confess that I’ve never really left school (actually) at least not in any sort of lasting way. Sure, I’ll graduate. But I always relapse.

So this week is a summer course. You read that correctly. This week. One week, one course, three semester hours. AND it’s on a topic that is mentioned frequently at work. It seemed like a good way to get some course credit toward my Ph.D. and learn something that might be helpful at work all while not burning too much precious time. So far, so good.

The class has 13 people in it – a nice, comfortable number for dancing in the moonlight. Being a summer course the demographic is just exactly what you would predict. Twelve public school teachers of everything from grade-school math to high school Spanish all working toward a Master’s or Ed.D. in Administration. And me.

Adult learning theory figures into this course and as an adult learner I’ll take responsibility for my own experience. I’ll also take a moment to acknowledge individual differences and say that I’m an introvert. <insert “Duh”>¬† I don’t like to participate in group discussions (15% of our grade) but I will. The trouble is, how?

Other student comments sound like I’ve found my way into a foreign language immersion course. K-12 education administration is not my forte. I’ve talked to the Witchlets’ school Principal. Does that count? Not so much.

Then there’s the self-consciousness factor. There’s a phenomenon that I’ve seen in the last two classes I’ve taken and it’s heavily at play here today. Education is being compared to Medicine. Education delivery is compared to Health care Delivery. It’s all standards, it’s all evidence-based, it’s all professional practice. And I have to wonder: Are these comparisons made when I’m not in the room? Does health care get mentioned this much in classes where the professor doesn’t have one particular student’s name to associate with it? Introverted minds want to know.

Because if this comparison is made in all the classes that I’m not sitting in but these other 12 students are, then why do I feel a pause after my comments? I’m required to participate in the discussions and yet, 12 people can play off of each others stories and I chime in with my favorite story and the discussion stalls. If I give context, I sound like I’m bragging. If I don’t give context, my comments make no sense. Either way, my comments always leave me sitting here feeling like the odd man out.

Now to put this into context for those who would read into this that my head is in some awful space, it isn’t. I’m outside my zone of comfort but it never lasts for long.¬† I wouldn’t have made it this far as a student if I let my introversion shut me down. I’ll chime in, I’ll let the conversation stall and while I sit in my discomfort I’ll reflect on the fact that the other 12 are reflecting on their own discomfort. We all have our own unique experiences, some of us just end up in situations where we’re more unique than others.

Kinda like being a Pagan in Virginia.

I’ve told this story before, generally when speaking to people about the trials and tribulations of co-parenting. Recent events have prompted a desire to tell it here in writing for all to see. Like all things that turn up on my blog, I don’t question why, I just write.

My parents didn’t have custody of me when I was growing up. I won’t get into the whys or hows (what if you held a custody hearing and no one showed up?) but my grandparents had custody while my parents each had visitation. Four days a month with no overnights.

By the time I was six, taking visitation was too burdensome for my Momster and she stopped showing up consistently. She’d drop by when it worked for her and leave me when there was something better to do. For the better part of a year the only time I had visitation with her is when she could take me to work with her (as a waitress at a truck stop) because it didn’t impact on her other plans. This post is not about her. I have other plans.

My Dad faithfully took his visitation. Every single week. Without fail. But as I grew up, things changed. I had friends, I had plans, I had a life. Stopping what I was doing every week to spend a day with my Dad was a drag and, like all tweens/teens, I didn’t want to do things that weren’t fun, interesting and of my own choosing. So I began to complain.

I was 12 at the time. My grandparents decided that 12 was old enough to make the choice of where I wanted to spend my time. My Dad decided that he didn’t want to force a kid to spend time with him if I didn’t want to. So at the mature age of 12, I got my weekends back.

When I was 15 I had the year from Hell. Seriously. I’m still hard pressed to think of other things that could have gone wrong that year. Among the highlights was finding myself essentially unwanted/unwelcome at Momster’s house after my Grandma had decided that she should raise me. Grandpa was dead. And where was my Dad? He’d moved out of town. Because I wasn’t spending time with him anyway so why would he stay?

When I was 21 my Dad died. Now, it’s never easy when a parent dies. My Grandpa died when I was 15 and I remember how hard that was. But the feeling that overwhelmed me when my Dad died was Guilt. Pure, unadulterated Guilt. Guilt for rejecting him. Guilt for choosing to watch stupid movies that I couldn’t even remember with friends I no longer saw rather than to spend the day with him. Guilt for telling him that of all the things in my life, sleeping in was more important than seeing him.

Another therapist sent her child to private school with the fees from that!

But what did I learn from all of this? One thing I learned is that teens/tweens are inherently selfish creatures. That’s just the developmental stage that they are in – their zone of proximal development. I also learned that this episode was as much a failure in parenting as it was a failure of my own – maybe more-so. The adults in my life, by virtue of being parents, had an obligation to teach me how to be a good person. They taught me not to lie or cheat or steal. Why couldn’t they also have taken the time to teach me (better) how to treat people?

It isn’t that my grandparents didn’t treat people well, just that they didn’t like my Dad. So they allowed me to treat him poorly. The result was I suffered – not just him.

This is a lesson I carry with me as I parent the Witchlets. I don’t allow them to beg me to skip family time at either house in favor of friends. I won’t allow them to incur that kind of Karmic debt. And yet I see it happen time and time again – other parents who think that their children know best where they want to spend their time. Parents who allow kids to make the decision to cut out their other parent. Because the so-called adult doesn’t value the other parent and doesn’t see why their child should either.

I’m sure there are plenty of therapists who need the income.

You may have noticed that my ramblings aren’t where they used to be. If you haven’t noticed that then you’re more disoriented than I am or you’re new here. Either way, allow me to introduce you to my new blogspace. I’ve moved over to WordPress and migrated to a different server and while I’m sure that there are still kinks to work out, the blog is up and running in a new location.

Your comments, however, are not. They went into full-scale mutany and refused to be moved from their very comfortable surroundings on the old site. Telling them that the site was going to the Digital Summerlands did nothing to sway them, they stayed. May they long be remembered. Further, may I take this opportunity to implore each of you not to take this personally and to please continue to give me the rich and wonderful feedback that I’ve come to rely on you for.

Trust me, I have no intention of migrating this blog again anytime soon!

Two weeks of vacation flew by as fast as an airplane over the north Atlantic. I’m home and have been for a couple of days now. No, I haven’t forgotten to update y’all on the trip – that entry is being drafted/crafted slowly. But there’s something else on my mind today that needs to get out of my head.

When traveling, Pagan Queens and others should remember to take their medications as directed. A six hour time shift really messes with that and when you’re dealing with a drug that causes fatigue when the dose is adjusted then it can be tricky. The end result of this exercise in mental mathematics is that I’m off on my Diamox dose and have been for at least a week. My head is KILLING me. Throw in some jet lag, a little PMS and eye of newt and I don’t think my current mood requires much explanation. So take that as the backdrop for the little drama that unfolds in the rest of this post.

I’m still getting settled into the routine of being home. Thing 1 leaves this week for a month so I have her for less than a week – and that’s after not having seen her for a month. She’s grown. Seriously. And I hate that I missed it. Thing 2 has oral surgery tomorrow. My baby has four teeth that will be coming out including one that is impacted. I’m scared for her and I keep acting like this is no big deal just so that she’ll not freak out. We’re going shopping today for mushy foods and ice cream. I don’t know which one of us is going to feel worse!

Of course, drama started before we ever got home. We were in the airport still when we found out that Iggy’s girls weren’t sure they wanted to be here for all of their scheduled visitation.¬† So Iggy’s mood isn’t all that great either. The difference between how he’s taking it and how I’m taking it is that I blame Stepford for this. She didn’t want Iggy to have this much time with his daughters to begin with and so here we are with the girls telling him that they don’t think they can stand to be away from Stepford that long. Coincidence?

We’ve now put the scenery on the stage. Let’s add the action.

There’s a family wedding in Iggy’s family next weekend that we’re supposed to attend. “We” in this case being defined as Iggy and his girls, me and Thing 2. We’re driving 16 hours up and 16 hours back and going to the wedding on the day in between. Why might this be less than fun?

1. It’s a wedding. Weddings and I have a long history given that I’ve had a few. The trouble is that in recent years my feelings toward weddings has become rather, well, fractured. On the one hand, I look at the happy couple and want to scream “RUN” at the top of my lungs. On the other hand, I look at the happy couple and see two people who are happy and content and will have the kind of life that I will never have. The kind of life that I apparently don’t deserve. So I cry at weddings.
2. This isn’t just any wedding. The wedding will have me dealing with Iggy’s family. They’re a good bunch – big, close Midwestern family. With pictures of Stepford up all over the place. Iggy and Stepford’s wedding, Iggy and Stepford dating, Stepford all decked out for a night out. The photos of Stepford and their girls I understand. But the others, I don’t get for so many reasons. Why has Iggy never had a problem with these? If my family had photos of WF and I up, I’d have asked them to take them down before I was even dating again. But Iggy doesn’t care. His love life with Stepford is documented on the walls for all to see and he’s fine with that.
3. They’re a Midwestern Family. Some of you know that I’m from one of those. One that is within an hour of Iggy’s family. I’ve asked Iggy before for details of the wedding weekend and haven’t gotten them. I’ve asked Iggy for details of when his girls are here this summer and haven’t gotten those either. This makes it hard for me to plan anything that I’d like to do – say, see my sister after a 16 hours drive.

But at the end of it all, what had me crying myself to sleep is something my mother said years ago when I was divorcing Chuckles. She pointed out that he “doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink and doesn’t beat you” so she didn’t understand the need for a divorce. At the time, that seemed silly. Death threats aside, I was young and wanted to believe that there was more to life and relationships that not being beaten by a sober guy with clean breath.

Times have changed. I’m 42 years old. I’m not getting any younger. Or prettier. Insert a refrain from “That Girl” and you’ve got my mood. I’m not the girl that anyone has ever looked at and said “I see forever in your eyes” – at least not and still meant it the next morning. At this point in my life, no one is ever going to have my wedding pictures hanging in their home to remind them of how happy their son had been. I have no realistic chance of ever being first in anyone’s life other than my own. So when looking for a partner, maybe the bar I’ve set is a bit too high. And maybe, just maybe, I’m holding myself to a higher standard than I need to as well.

Or maybe this is all just a really bad headache with overtones of PMS and I just need a little TLC once in a while.