It's Time

It's time to make some serious changes in my life. I've been torn for the last few weeks, knowing what I need to do, unable to actually do it.

I came across something I wrote last year in Maine:


All I can hear is the rain lightly dropping on the leaves and the gulls on the water caw caw cawing at each other over some issue important to gulls.

I don’t understand their argument so it’s simply a sweet sound bouncing across the water, telling me I’m in Maine. Downeast Maine.

I love my family. I love my kids beyond anything in this world. And I love Walter and Allan, the kids’ dads, and the world we have created. Not easy, never simple but always beautiful.

I love my wife. I can’t believe, after all the trouble we’ve had in the last few years, I can say that now. I love her. Deeply. It’s not about how beautiful her eyes are- although she is still stunningly beautiful to me and was even when I didn’t like her very much- it’s about the connection we have.

The last few years, we did a total remodel of our relationship. Gutted the house, ripped out the foundation, and started over. Some have accused me of being restless, always restless, never happy with what I have. That may be true. I am easily bored and often move on.

I’m a control freak. I spent so much of my life not trusting anyone; I pack everything on my back and assume the captain’s chair.

Just like my mother, some might say. Not exactly like her, but similar. I don’t think my mother ever consciously thought, well, now, I am in control of this situation and I’m going to work it for all it’s worth. She simply wasn’t that aware of her surroundings and her emotional state.

You do what you have to do, she said all the time. As if life was a miserable trek to the dump to spend a day shoveling other people’s crap. And you were expected to smile about it, and say thank you.

I’m not very good at that. I’m not sure I ever want to be good at that.


And yet it is what I've continued to do. Why am I so clear when I'm next to the water, listening to the gulls? What gets lost when I come home, and sit at my desk?

I go pick up the shovel again.

Why does the rain feel like a treat there, an opportunity to build a fire, drink hot coffee and listen to all the thoughts running through my head?

Instead I'm pulled in so many directions, I can't see the forest for the trees. I don't make enough effort with friends who love me, spending time on connections that are hopeless.

Why? Why do I need love from people who do not love me? Is it because being pushed away is more familiar? Safer?

There are many people who only want my time. Why can't I make it all work?

The answer, I believe, lies in making the changes I know I need to make. Ending commitments that only drain me. Letting go of relationships that cannot and will not work.

I need to drop the shovel. It's my mother's shovel and she hated it, too. I cannot expect my kids to move through life without it if I continue to do it.

It's not going to be easy. But it's time.

Soup, Salad and Bread

I feel like I've been running through the poppy fields with Dorothy and Toto. I'm so tired.

It's the snow, again, and it's making me crazy. I've abandoned my office to sit next to the fire. I wish I could blink my eyes, have a fabulous soup on the stove for dinner, with a winter salad of walnuts, cranberries, mixed greens and a nice balsamic vinaigrette. Loaf of freshly baked sourdough bread and a nice, thick Irish butter.

That would require going outside in the cold and snow. Blah.

Lately, I've been panicked about money, panicked about the economy, panicked about whether or not my son will manage to bring his grades up enough to get a new cell phone or if we'll have to have yet another battle.

Watching the snow fall, again, I realize that my community is broke and more snow means more broke. I'm glad the plow guys and gals made their money this year but in a year of empty local coffers, it's hard to take. More programs will be cut from the school. More teachers let go. It's hitting hard in my affluent suburb- the effects on urban and rural schools will be devastating.

Jobless numbers have soared to record highs and a friend in the investment field told me today to look at the chart- the Dow's next resting level will be 4,000. That's a long way down still to go. My dream of soup and salad seem frivolous. "Nearly one in seven homeowners is underwater, owing more on their mortgages than their homes are worth."

And my son wants a new iPhone even if he gets C's and D's.

I read an article this weekend that discussed how kids of this generation will grow up, how the economic turmoil will effect them. I'm looking at my own and so far, they seem to not notice a great deal of the changes. I'm careful to talk about the economy in serious but not scary terms.

An eight year old does not need to worry yet about the debt being piled onto his head by his government.

I point out empty stores, places that have closed recently. They nod their heads but I'm not sure any of it gets in. I am reminded that my mother grew up in the Great Depression and often told stories about the poverty, the difficulties. Later in life, she admitted that her father, a candy salesman, actually did very well. Her family never went hungry. She was, however, at a friend's house once where they served squirrel stew. She took one bite and threw up all over the table.

Still, the stories and the reality seared into her being. The article spoke of children of that era wanting simple jobs, with life long guarantees. Gold watches and 40 years service at the same company. She never understood when I would leave a job to take another.

I'm a contractor, I'd explain. I'm not suppose to stay in one place long.

Seriously, I never thought I would work for a single company nor do I want my children to do that- I want them to experience several different careers. I want them to explore.

Will that be what they want? Will this economy turn around in time for them to remember little of the shuttered businesses and people losing their homes? Or will we sink lower, to the point where even if they get through unscathed, as their grandmother did, the stories will carve out their reality?

Nothing a little soup, salad and bread wouldn't help. It's about comfort, controlling what I can, finding a peace in simple things. A fire. The daily newspaper delivered- at least for now.

And trying to not move too far forward because the unknown ends up like the poppy field- overwhelming and exhausting.

Even with a thin veil of snow.

Really Lousy Day

What a lousy day. Awful.

I could list the obvious for having a bad day- the day to day struggle with a preteen was wearing hard on me, the people buying my mother’s condo have ‘issues’ that came up during inspection and my car doesn’t work.

The truth is, I’ve been triggered again by a piece I’m writing. “Triggered” for those of you who don’t know, is when something comes up in day to day life, could be fairly benign to everyone else, that sets off the abuse memories again. For me, it makes it hard to breathe, I feel pressure on my back, and I feel pain in my hip.

Nothing to be done about it, but see it for what it is, go through it, and get to the other side. It is less painful now than it was a year ago. It takes a while for me to realize what is happening, but once I get the pain in my hip I know.

I forget what I went through, on a daily basis. Not entirely, but it doesn’t consume me like it did. I feel as though I am done.

I’m not. I will always hold pieces of the abuse. I will always be triggered by different things. There is the smell of wet canvas, or the sound my father made, and before I understand what has happened, a series of memories and images have begun to unfold.

It leaves me unfocused and I blur the lines between today and long ago. I get edgy, very negative, and afraid. Hopeless. Cramped into a small tent, a tiny apartment and I am caged again today.

I’m not.

I start crying over anything that comes up, like a car not starting. Or the prospect of having to fix a water stain on a wood floor in Florida. Or my son’s anguish spilling out all over the rest of the family in painful waves.

His struggle with his own demons leaves him angry and mean. He shouted at Jake yesterday that Jake sucked at art. That he would always suck at it and he was stupid for trying.

Jake came running in, crying, I’m going to throw everything away…

Oh, I get it. Ben’s jealous of Jake, Jake’s getting Ben in trouble. I know. I see the weave, I understand the pattern. I simply feel helpless to change it.

Today. I need to remember it’s today. The nightmares for the last few nights, the tears, the hopelessness, will fade. It’s not forever. The piece I’m writing is worth it. I have to get through to the other side.

If I throw my hands up and say I can’t, then I am the one who loses. No one else.


The condo will sell. The car will start, eventually. Ben is going to be okay. Jake will never give up art; it’s in his blood, just as is tattling on his older brother. I might suck as a parent some days, but not every day, and I try to learn from my mistakes.

I will never be in a canvas tent again. No one is pushing me down, holding my face to the ground. I can breathe. The pain is from years and years ago.

I will not let the trigger rule my life.

AND… it was a really lousy day today.

Family is Family

I'm not a big fan of sappy stories on the Today Show. But when I saw this on pageoneq.com, it made me smile.




Gay families are not perfect. We live, love and sometimes get divorced or break up. Our kids struggle with an additional stigma of having gay parents but it's not because they wish they had a different family- it's because of the way others perceive what is normal to them.

My favorite part of this piece, though, is that Tiki Barber, big ol' football player that he is, was the one doing the interview.

Nice touch.

Chris Crocker and Gay Bashing Online

After playfully posting my son's YouTube video, I watched this, posted on Bilerico.com.

When I first started this blog, I talked to Jeanine, Walter and Allan. I said, this could potentially be somewhat dangerous. Showing our children, showing our lives, standing out and being proud.

We all agreed it was worth it. If some people changed their minds about families with gay parents, then it was worth it.

Watching Crocker's video was a reminder. I've been very lucky to have supportive folks comment on my blog.

Say what you want about his short, "Leave Britney Alone," he did not deserve to be threatened, over and over again.

One of THOSE days already...

I woke up to a clogged toilet.

My car would not start- one of the boys had left a door cracked open so the battery is now dead.

The dishwasher ran last night and having been packed by a child who will not be identified, a wine glass smashed, thus requiring picking up teeny tiny pieces of glass out.

My wife yelled at me because I dragged her out to help start the cars in her jammies, bathrobe and boots. Well, she yelled because I took a picture.

When we came back in the house, after not being able to jump start the car, I found Zachary making lunches for him and Jake. He was spreading Miracle Whip on cinnamon raisin bread, to be layered with baloney. I started to laugh and he did not like that.

Baloney and cinnamon raisin bread? Who can eat that?

He went on the scream on the top of his lungs the complete unfairness of having to brush his teeth.

Had he not made lunches? Had he not had breakfast? Had he not made his bed? Why did he have to brush his teeth? WHY???

I won't mention the additional meltdown over the required coat he had to wear as it is merely 20 degrees.

Back to bed. Right now. Quick, before something else breaks, won't start or starts on fire.

Slumber Party

I was up playing video games, watching YouTube and hanging out with the kids last night till midnight.

Double sleepover, both Ben and Zachary had a friend here. Jake was at Walter and Allan's.

Ever hear of Guitar Hero? Well, we have one for the Wii. Mind you, I am the only one in the house that actually plays guitar. A real one. The game consists of a small, plastic guitar with five differently colored pads on the neck that you push, following the highlighted buttons on the screen.

It's not guitar. On the way home from school yesterday, Jake said to me, Guitars have five strings. I rock at playing it.

No, guitars have six strings, I said, but you do rock at guitar hero.

Five, Mom.

Another mother was walking along side of us. Don't you love always being wrong? I often have my daughter say, but are you sure it's Tuesday? How are you sure?

I get more stupid as they get older, I sighed. Six strings, Jake.

Five.

I'll take mine out when we get home, okay?

Last night, after getting "booed" off the stage about eight times playing "Slow Ride," I finally started to rock. Seriously, that's what they say, in large letters, You Rock!

While waiting for other people's turns, I watched some YouTube video's with my girl. No, not Jeanine, I'm talking about Ben's friend who is also my honorary daughter. My boys treat her like a sister, no question, and complain wildly about my complete and total preferential treatment.

She's my girl, what can I say, I shrug to them.

She showed me this video and I laughed so hard, I could not help but think of my friend- you know who you are.

Sorry, but this makes me think of you. Can't shoot it back to me because I grew up around too many cows in too rural a place.



Word up, Tibbets!

Costa Rica

Still too much to sit and write in a single day.

But some pictures are ready...

We stayed at the Yellow Coco Lodge.



It was beautiful. Small, the twenty of us took it over and another bungalow next door, too.



The Main house is like a tree fort- the bedrooms are at the bottom but the kitchen and living area are on top, overlooking the trees, and the ocean. The kitchen was fabulous, designed to be able to cook in it, and the space comfortable for us all to gather in.



And gather we did. Often.



We ate in. We ate out. We drank margaritas, mango daiquiris, Imperial Cerveza (the beer of Costa Rica), gin and tonics and some not so good wine. Not so bad, but not so good.



I really wish I liked tequila or rum but I don't. My friend Libby can explain why I don't like tequila anymore- college memory still strong- and rum is just too sweet. But they were enjoyed and it didn't matter much because there was the food...



We had lunch at The Palms, in Puerta Jimenez, one day. The flautas, above, were exceptional. Crispy, great guacamole, and salsa. But the Tortilla Soup was above and beyond one of the best I've ever had.



Served with chunks of avocado on top, the soup had to have been made at least the day before, the spices, heat, and earthy cilantro all gathered together in amazing harmony. It was about 100 degrees that day and we had just stepped off a boat, scorched by the sun. The heat of the soup made me feel cool inside.

I loved the Corona served with a lime in it and rolled in salt around the mouth of the bottle. This is why you sleep after lunch, I believe. You cannot have just one...



The town is small and the roads are all dirt. Trucks, motorcycles and cars barely ever get out of second gear. The fastest mode of transportation is irrelevent. No one goes anywhere fast.

Ever.



But no one wants to, either. The national slogan is Pura Vida- Good Life. It means to be relaxed and enjoy. No hurry. No worry.



With the heat, humidity and the idea of air conditioning a silly joke, you do slow down.

And it feels so good.

Yes, there's more, much more...

Packing and Posting List

Let's see... deet, 4 tubes. 6 bottles of sunscreen, extra large lotion. eye cream, various hauschka products, celexa, claritin, probiotics, Imodium, Dramamine, Advil, neosporin, band aids, various tampon sizes but enough just in case...

WHERES THE VALIUM??

and about thirty hair ties. I can never be without a hair tie.

WHAT HAVE I MISSED???

I let the boys pick out their clothes. I have to be honest- I really want to go and make sure everything matches. I don't know why... they get dressed every day and I never say a word. why do I care if they have on a bright orange shirt and olive colored shorts?

Breathing...

I'm not allowed to put clothes into suitcases. I'm not a very good spacial relations person. Jeanine does that. But if we get there and are missing something important, like... bras, it's my fault. Or underwear. Or bathing suits.

I'm going to be fine. As soon as I hit the airport tomorrow morning? I'll be fine.

I had to shovel today. Run the snow blower. It better stop by 3AM tomorrow.

Upcoming schedule of posts...

Dec. 22- Toni's - my sister in law- piece
Dec. 23- my piece, part one. oh yes, it is depressing.
Dec. 24- Louise Kennedy's piece- I HOPE.
Dec. 25 my piece part two- please remember I'm in the warm sun.
Dec. 26- My sister's piece 1
Dec. 27- Donald's piece 1
Dec. 28- My sister, who has a name, Cathy- piece 2
Dec. 29- Kristen's piece
Dec. 30- Donald's piece 2
Dec. 31- Susan's piece

And then I'll be home.

PASSPORTS. Where the hell are the passports???

and that means I'm posting tomorrow. Catch me at 3am, live and ready to roll...