What Am I For Halloween? Apparently a Mad Scientist. Or Martha Stewart.

Don’t mind me, I’ll be over here in the kitchen whipping up a batch of fake blood for two teenage daughters (plus the neighbor) who decided at the last-minute they wanted to trick or treat tonight.  Just for that, they will tolerate my camera in their faces all night.

Happy Halloween Everyone!!

Seven Years

I found my divorce papers this past week.  I was cleaning out closets and desks and stuff that had been, well, just stuffed, when we moved in a year ago.  I looked at the dates on the papers.

July 2004.

We were legally married for exactly 5 years, 1 month, and a few days.

That’s not the point.

July 2004 means I have been doing this parenting gig by myself over 7 years now.  Four of those years have been here, 2 hours away from my family, and theirs.

Seven years.  That’s half of Meredith’s life, and more than half of Megan’s.  The girls have known us in separate houses, as long as they knew us in the same house.  They remember the former more clearly than the latter.

Seven years.

I wonder though, if I would have been a different parent if I hadn’t had to do it alone.  If I’m honest, I would tell you our house is a strange but working mixture of sorority house (without the boys and mostly without the alcohol) and boot camp.  A lot of the decisions in this house are made by joint committee.  There are arguments, there is a lot of stealing of my sharing of the clothes.  We keep a huge desk calendar hung on our fridge to keep track of everyone’s schedules.  And we shower in shifts.  At the end of the day, though, I am the disciplinarian.  I am the one who makes the rules, enforces the rules, and doles out the punishment.  Sometimes that’s hard for the girls to reconcile in their heads.  Sure they *know* it, but when you’ve just been laughing and playing around with mom, for her to switch gears and actually BE MOM, wow, I forgot you were in charge here.  I get to be good guy, but I also have to be the bad guy.

Being a single parent means you have to be there, for all of it.  The good and the bad.  You get to be there when things go right in their life, and when things go wrong.  I get the luxury of being the only parent in the house, so I don’t have distractions.  I get to focus my attention on them, whenever they need me.  And sometimes when they don’t.  The good news for me is I know what’s going on in their life.  The bad news for them is I know what’s going on in their life.  At least for now, I haven’t crossed that line that separates the cool concerned mom from the control freak stalker mom.

I have an edge their father doesn’t have.  I have a vagina. I understand female hormones. I remember what junior and senior high were like.  I can help navigate their journey. Also, I now know what bipolar was like, and I watch ever so closely for signs that maybe, they need to talk to a doctor.  I don’t want them to suffer like I have.  But I also don’t want to jump the gun.  So I watch what they do, how they act. I listen to what they tell me, and sometimes to what they don’t.  I talk to them about school, and friends, and boys, and teachers, and classes and homework, and practice and games. I pretend I don’t hear what they are telling their friends when they think I’m not listening. I let them live their life and experience all there is to experience, all while standing in the not so far off background.

Their dad has an edge I don’t have.  He has a penis, and he can tell them exactly what those stupid boys are thinking and why they are acting like total idiots.  He can tell them “Tell that numb nuts to back off or I will drive the 2 hours it takes to get there to have a talk with him.  And if I have to drive 2 hours, it won’t be to have a coke and a smile.”  He can tell them to be aware, to be careful, but not too careful.  He can teach them how to be safe.

I wonder if we would parent the girls as well together as we seem to have managed separately?  I wonder if we would have been able to play to each other’s strengths, and compensate for each other’s weaknesses or if it would have always been a power struggle between us leaving the girls lost, confused, and unguided.  I give them city life, I give them excitement and opportunities and entertainment and fun and flash and pizzazz.  He gives them small town country life, he teaches them loyalty, and family, and hard honest with your hands kind of work.  He teaches them to give to others what you can when you can’t give anything but yourself.  We both have taught them it is possible to provide a safe, warm, full of love home, as single parents.  We both have taught them “You are enough on your own”.

My Our girls both have a strong sense of self, they have moral compasses that they trust and believe in and stand for.  They know exactly who they are, probably better than I do today, and definitely better than I did at their age.  Their looks, their brains, their sense of humor? their father and I have long ago agreed they got those from Target.  But the rest? I’m not sure.

I want to hope it was from both of us.  Separately.  And together.

There are no Cliff Notes for Life Lessons

When my brother got married, his bride was younger than him.  Well, I guess she’s still younger than him.  By younger, I’m not talking a year or two, it was by several years.  (I don’t remember the number, although I think it’s safe to say it’s more than five. The actual age difference isn’t relevant to this story. Oh but he’s not a cradle robber, at least I don’t think he is.)

Ok so anyway, my brother married someone younger than him.  I did too, once upon a time.  But I remember a phone conversation we had, where he was telling me she was doing things he didn’t like.  Such as, when he would be on a trip (for his job) she would go out to the bars with her friends.  He thought it was a waste of money, and she could get into trouble, or hurt.  Why can’t she just stop because I told her it was dangerous and she could get hurt?!?

Because she has to learn that lesson for herself.

And so it is with my girls.

Their lives have been full of the drama these past few weeks.  I am sure they have caused their fair share of it. The story goes something like this….

So and so wrote this about me!

Ok why?

Because I wrote this about her BUT It’s because she said something to them about me.

Somebody says or does something they know the other will react to.  And they do.  And then it’s back and forth all day long until my kid comes home yelling, screaming, crying, slamming doors, pissed off and hurt.

And that hurt part.  That tears at me.  I can allow them to be mad, and vent and rage, although I do have to protect my doors, but when you hurt my girl?

That’s more than my mother heart can take.

Any more, then confronted with hurt feelings, the one who did the hurting always says “I was just kidding!”

What they haven’t learned yet is that “Just Kidding” doesn’t negate the hurt feelings they have caused by their words or their actions. Just kidding doesn’t take the sting away. Just kidding doesn’t undo the mad.  Just kidding isn’t a do over, or a rewind button, or an eraser.  Just kidding is just two words that kids use to absolve themselves of responsibility for their actions, and their guilt.

And letting them learn that on their own?

Is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.