Family Dynamics

Human and family dynamics are a fascinating thing. My mom had issues with her mom for her entire life because she forever came in second to her brother simply because she was a girl. Was she did was fine, but could never once measure up to what he was able accomplish. In the actions and words of her mother, nothing she ever did was quite good enough. I have complained all of my life that she is exactly the same way and doesn’t see it. She was always very critical of my, and not so much of my brother. When I was old enough to understand the irony of this situation I chose to see the humor in it. My best laid plans were not going to measure up. I have long since stopped trying and really I’ve made as much peace with it as I can. She is blind to her tendencies, and nothing I do or say will ever change that.




Ever since the fire she has become very clingy and needy, asking more and more of me as time goes on. I cut grass, clean the house do the laundry, run the errands, take out the trash and take care of the dog and kids. She’s stopped driving after dark sp any evening errands fall on my shoulders as well. This is not a complaint, exactly, as I feel its my job to take care of her, since my dad is not here to do it. As time passes the list of what I handle gets longer and longer. That’s not to say she does not pitch in, we alternate weeks buying groceries, and last week it was her turn.



And this is where it starts to get funny: She comes home from the store and she bought some of the wrong things. I’m picky about my food; I’m the first to admit it. But there’s the wrong jelly, the wrong cream cheese, and so on. Nothing serious, but enough to irk me. I say nothing, of course because really is cream cheese worthy of hurting someone else’s feelings? It gets funny here because of the voice that piped up in my head when I saw the errors. All I could think was “Jeez, its one trip to the grocery store, couldn’t you even do that right?” Harsh, right? Which is why I silenced the voice. As hyper critical my grandmother was, (and she was, I can assure you), and growing up under a person who was also very critical, I have become the same way towards the person that created the behavior in the first place. That’s where I find the humor. I have become her only its directed towards her instead of my children. Funny thing is I swing the other way towards the boys. At least I hope I do. I tend to be a little more agreeable and a little more lenient than she was, because I want to break the cycle. I think the critical voice comes out towards her because she was the one that spawned it in the first place. She has become a fragile person who needs care. I know I will not ever be able to clear the air between us, ashes simply not ever going to be a place where we could without that critical voice coming out and really hurting her feelings. That voice makes itself known here and there, with little things, like asking me to take the dog out after I’m in bed. These requests usually come with the internal response of “What’s the matter, not strong enough to do it yourself?” Like I said this voice never sees the light of day. But even knowing the voice exists, knowing I have the freedom to think these things is like my internal retribution towards her. To know, I COULD say it, but I choose not to, is enough for me to feel like the scales are tipping to a more equitable balance. I’m not saying it’s the best solution, but at least for us for now, it seems to balance out.

who am I?

So I find myself forced to wonder, as I watch my son process the fact that we are away over night, that as I observe his process, I'm forced to wonder about my own. I have to ask a question of anyone who reads this post, my goal is for honesty, not an ego boost. Am I any different from the person I was before before my house had the nerve to catch fire? I don't really feel any different, yet I have to wonder if I am and I'm the only one who doesn't see it. Is it possible who I am, under the surface had chaged and I'm the only one who doesn't see it. I firmly believe if you do not acknowledge who you have bern you cannot really call where you want to go. I want to grow but if I don't accept who I was! Good and bad, that can't happen. I encourage responses that involve honesty, even if you think its something I don't want to hear. I need to know who I was and I can't until I know who I was. Can't wait for a response!

progress is slow and halting

So when it comes to Patrick and his recovery from the fire, I'm afraid I'd let my guard down. I really thought we'd made such progress, I could breathe and resume some semblance of a normal life. And then we went on vacation, and I was reminded how much distance we have yet to cover. This trip, although fun, it totally stressing him out. As I write this he's sleeping in my bed again after a day long attitude problem. This trip is hard for him, being away from home and in a strange place. I had forgotten where he is and where his head is. I'm proud of him for going, and I think the positive memories of coming to this same place last year help. He keeps trying to convince me to let him run off and do things on his own, I think he's running from his own anxiety. He know he wants to be here, but the reality of it is harder when you're there. I had forgotten how hard this was for him to be away from home. Once he quieted down and I asked, he admitted he was stressed. This is actually huge for him to be able to talk about what's in his head. I need to try and focus on getting him to talk about what he's thinking and feeling. The best example I can come up with is he talked the whole way here about how he couldn't wait to sleep in his top bunk bed, then refused to sleep there when the time came. He just needed to be near me and I can accept that. He's here and he's asleep. I remember how bad his first overnight trip after the fire was, and look at where he is now, and I can see he is going in the right direction. I only need to remember to be patient.

looking at old ghosts

Its funny, the role people who were once inportant in your life have when they are no longer there. The first guy I ever loved, I mean the kind of all encompassing, would lay down and die for you love, was John F Rambo. (Insert your appropriate jokes here, I've heard it all before.) I met him when I was 19 or so, and we were joined at the hip from then on. He understood and accepted me like no one else ever has, before or since. He was not perfect, with issues with drugs and violence and family issues that do not need to be detailed here. My parents hated him, and he loved me. Its been 20 years or so since we've dated and about 7 since we spoke. Our relationship was tumulous and rocky. We broke up, we got back together, we fought, but all in all, I loved him, and I loved being with him. He came to me in the lowest, darkest part of my life. I had been crushed and betrayed by my family. And then, just like that, he came to pick me up. He was there for me, to listen and support me, when I needed him. We were a month away from getting married when I called it off. To this day, for reasons I don't understand, I woke up one morning, and realized I couldn't go through with it.

I was looking back on him, and our relationship together, and I see now, we never would have worked. He and I lived and wanted different things from our lives. After we broke up, he found his way into the Philly music and Goth scene, something that never would have interested me. I finished college and went on with my life. We were just too young to understand that then.

And yet, the memory of him lives on even now. I still hold a part of him near me, perhaps as an example of what I think a relationship should be. But, what we had was not what should be. I, quite literally, did not exist without him with me. I almost dropped out of college to make him happy. I dyed my hair black (NOT a good look for me, trust me on this) and tried to fit in with his friends. He tried to be what my parents expected. He tried to maintain the facade they wanted to see. I really beleived I belonged with him. I have to wonder now, as I look back, why I loved him. I should not have. Every girl has their bad boy in their history, maybe he was mine. I don't know why I hang onto him, even now, considering how sick our relationship really was. But yet, there he is, my very own memory.

He's dead now. January of 2004 he died in a wreck in Cherry Hill NJ. I knew it almost right away, as my brother happened to see it in the obits. I'd seen him once or twice here and there, but I never thought someone who consumed me that completely sould be turned off just like that.

So here I am, a handful of memories and the distinct longing for something that really never existed in the first place. Maybe I'm just looking for someone who believes in me the way he did. Maybe I just want to find someone who makes me feel like I matter more than any other aspect of his life. I'm not certain that exists, but I know I want more than the recent sad excuses for men in my life have had to offer. Maybe that's what he was supposed to mean in my life, to show me what could be, if the right person comes along.

Good News!

My youngest son announced to me last night (that would be Gabe) that he is getting married! Her name is Lauren and shes a dark haired exotic girl with a charming smile. He has good tatse, what can I say? I asked him when he was going to get marrioed, he said he didn't know, he hadn't asked her yet. I then asked when he was going to ask her. He assured me he wasn't going to. As he put it, "She'll figure it out soon enough."

I should probably point out here that two weeks ago, he was marrying Marie. They were in love he said. I have proof of this from a gentle reminder from his teacher to explain to him why we do not kiss girls at recess. Before that it was Noelle and Alex. At the same time. I told him then you are not allowed to marry more than one girl at a time in this country, but somehow he didn't seem bothered by such trivalties.

In this particular intance, I asked him where they planned to live. His answer..."With you of course!" Of course. How could I be so foolish as to think otherwise?

By the time he gets home from school tomorrow (or perhaps as soon as today), I suspect his passionate fling with the lovely Lauren will have ended. Most likely he will have moved on to someone else already. But until then, anyone want to go to a wedding?

Therapy

Out of all the pictures I have in my files this is the only one I have of him. The loser with the black shirt. That's all the kids have to go with. Thats it. What does that tell you?

So my son admitted in Therapy tonight that he was pissed off at his Dad. This sounds little but really it's not. We've been trying to get him to this point for almost a year. To hear him say he's pissed off at his dad and his feelings are hurt by the way he acts towards him was huge for me. For several reasons. I have never stopped for any length of time to accept how I feel about the man who sired my children. I hate him, simply enough. He sold me a sack full of promises that he never meant to keep and lied to me repeatedly throughout our marriage. This, surprisingly enough, I can live with, Those are his choices, not mine and I cannot control the choices made so long ago. I can only control my reaction to those choices. I chose to walk away. This was the healthiest chioce for all of us by far. And for a while, we were able to move along our with our lives. He had a moderate amount of involvement with them, every few weeks or so, and I gave him a moderate amount of respect for still being involved with his kids even though our relationship had ended. Time passed, we found a mutual understanduing of each other, os so I thought. Then he met HER. Jen, the evil shrew who made his real personality show through. Even after he met her, things porogressed normally. Hell when the kids visited him now, they actually visited a clean house. This could work, I thought. she could be good for him, I started to wonder if maybe SHE could make him into a better person, hell maybe even a better dad! Then, they decided to have a baby. Thats where the story changes. He had baby number 5, and dropped his two kids like last years newspaper. Suddenly the boys were lucky if he saw them twice a year. As it stands now, when the boys saw him at chrsitmas, it was the first time he'd seen them since April. I really really hate him for this. I hate the fact that he hurt my children. He turned his back on his kids in the blink of an eye and it really pissed me off. I hate him for making a mess that I now have to love my kids through. I cannot say this enough, this is a price I'm willing to pay because I am getting the good end of this deal. I get the kids. I get the hugs and the kisses and the bed time stories and the snuggles and the snow days and the beach days and all the fun tings that come along with kids. But I am angry. I really fucking hate that man, and I'm ok with that. I hate that he is selfish and lazy and self centered and that he was able to drop them so easily. I really believe they never meant anything to him. They were a ticket to what he thohght was a better life. I really believe he doesnt care, and never did. I hate him for not seeing what those kids really are, how sweet and smart they are, and how special they are. I hate him for not wanting to be a part of their lives. I hate him for telling them although not in actual words that HER kids and the new baby matter, and they do not. I work every day to undo damage. I can only hope I can do enough. I dont want them growing up feeling less than what they are because that asshole couldnt be bothered to be involved. I love my kids, I can only hope that whaty I have to offer is enough.

What I'm afraid of

The last two days have been good ones with the boys. But there are hints, especially with Patrick of the issues that lie just beneath. I am afraid I'm not going to be able to fix him. I have worried that I will never get the boy I used to have back to where he was. Children change as they grow, and I'm not naieve enough to believe that Patrick would be immune to this. One of my favorite memories of him is laying on our backs watching the fourth of July fireworks, and as each one was launched into the sky and exploded above us he gave each one a voice and made they say things as the exploded. I can honestly say I have never laughed like that in my life. The boy I have now doesn't always want to leave the house. He wants to lose himself in computer games and the TV. With my other child, I worry that I'm not paying enough attention to him and he will grow up feeling neglected. I worry I will not be up to this challenge. I worry I will not be able to fix him, and get him to a place where he's comfortable with himself and confident in his abilites. I worry they will not live up to the potential I see in their eyes. I worry they will grow up like I did when I was a kid, never really finding a place where I fit. I was in college before that happened. It was there I finally found people just like me. I hope they don't have to wait that long. I am afraid I cannot fix this. I worry this is bigger than me. I believe I will get through this, I have to believe that, because without hope you have nothing.