He loves me Intimately...and not the sexual kind

It was one of the few times I felt heard...and valued by a man.  He asked questions.  He was curious about my life, my broken heart, my boys, my business.  He wasn't looking at me with lust.  He was looking at me with curiosity and kindness.

It is apparent I have been hurt by men.

My colleague has a daughter who is behaving in ways that scream trauma.  Her therapist said it was likely sexual trauma that triggered her behavior.  She lies.  To everyone all the time.  She hurts herself.  She is superbly insecure though she is stunning, smart, and successful for her age.  She has parents who adore her.  But she finds trouble.  Often.  And the dangerous kind. 

She may be 21, but I get her.

I've often wondered if something sexually traumatizing happened to me when I was younger.  If it did, I have no memory of it.  But I act in ways similar to those who do have a memory of it.  So I suppose it's a moot point.

Sexual trauma wreaks havoc.  It's like buying a bulldozer to drive.  She has her whole life ahead of her, and she is choosing to destroy it as best she can.  She isn't comfortable proceeding until she knows she has wrecked everything around her. 

Simply because someone along the way devalued her.

The women before us have fought long and hard to drag our gender out of the pit of sex and slavery.   Our value as individuals was lost, and we were simply a vessel for heirs and food...

...and sexual gratification.

I feel it when I get gas.  When I'm at the grocery store.  When I'm at the pool with my boys.  With or without makeup.  With or without having showered.  The eyes of men on me likely having inappropriate thoughts as I pay for Gogurt and string cheese and juice boxes...my two boys watching.

I have been objectified.  More than once.  I will continue to be.  I know that I'm not unfortunate in the looks department as my parents are two good looking people, but this fact makes it more frustrating.

I've often had the thought that if I shaved my head, perhaps I could find a man that didn't just want me for my appearance.  Perhaps then I could have an intelligent conversation with the opposite sex and feel valued.

Graham put a bag over his head the other day, and my thought was, "I get it, son.  I really do."

I don't believe it's the fault of men.  I believe it is the fault of our culture...and our fallen nature.

Women are still slaves in a sense.  Serving the whims and fantasies of the opposite sex. 

With or without our consent.

I'm afraid for my boys. I'm afraid that they will grow up learning also to objectify women.  I'm afraid that they will be bewitched by a woman simply because of her appearance and will forget to find her heart in the midst of it.  I'm afraid they will treat women as I have often been treated.

As an object.

God, however, knows me.  He can listen to me drone on for days about how happy I am with my new cleaning product, or how amazingly smart my boys are, or how I love literature.  He sits with me when I watch YouTube music videos.  He loves my brain, my heart, my soul.  He looks at me with kindness and grace and giggles at my jokes.  He LOVES me intimately.  And not the sexual kind.

So if you see me with a shaved head, please tell me how big my brain looks...not how good my hair (or lack thereof) looks.

And He is jealous for me,

Love's like a hurricane, I am a tree,

Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy.

When all of a sudden

I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory.

And I realize just how beautiful You are,

And how great Your affections are for me.

And, oh, how He loves us, oh,

Oh, how He loves us,

How He loves us all

https://youtu.be/TCunuL58odQ

Rumors and Bunny Slippers

Rumor: definition

1 : talk or opinion widely disseminated with no discernible source

2 : a statement or report current without known authority for its truth

"I heard you and [insert random man's name] .... [insert scandalous act]."
"I hear you're dissolving your business."
"I thought you were getting back together with your ex."
"I heard you guys aren't friends anymore."
"I heard you paid for everything for her."

If I had a quarter for every time I heard a rumor that wasn't true, I'd be rich.  I'm sure most of us would.

Rumors have a way of threatening temporary insanity.  You're just having a normal conversation with someone when supposed information comes up and immediately poisons your psyche.  You get hot in the face and short of breath.  And you want to stand up and scream at the injustice of the falsehood.  And you do this mentally, but you keep the crazy inside so more rumors aren't started.  Instead, you just chuckle and shake your head pretending that your interior temperature did not just skyrocket.

I wish sometimes I could stand up in a public place and cry out about all the injustices against me.  I'm pretty sure there are people who do this.  They are likely in a padded room with bunny slippers on.

I want some bunny slippers.

If I had the bunny slippers then I could remind myself that I am one step away from being in a padded room.  And to keep it together already, Rebekah.

But truthfully, a fevered response to the insanity of untruth shouldn't be labeled "crazy."

But we are all too ridiculously reserved to act in a way that would be considered too emotional.

I have the personality that causes people to talk.  I laugh loudly.  I say too much.  I ask pointed questions and am curious about everything.  I'm not shy and have never met a stranger.  If I see someone in need, I insert myself into the situation to help.  Try as I may, me and the wall flower will never be pals.

There are many situations like this that present themselves.  So I can either choose to run home and put on my bunny slippers and get my mega phone out, ready to be the town crier.  Or I can laugh loudly and continue to give them fodder for rumor.

As much as I love bunny slippers, I love laughter more.

Country Road Lined with Opinions

Nothing is more conducive to peace of mind than not having any opinions at all. 

Georg Christoph Lichtenberg (1742 - 1799)

This dude was a physicist.  I'm pretty sure he was smart enough to have lots of opinions about lots of things.  People probably would have been better off if they listened to him.  But he discovered peace of mind means not having any.

I bombard myself with the opinions of others.  I allow them to give me feedback simply by sharing with them everything.  When you open your life up to someone else, this is a normal part of the relationship.  Hearing their opinion on the matter.

I am, unfortunately, in a position where few of my trusted group has been.  Both my siblings are in stable marriages.  My parents also.  Nothing like adding this to the already cumbersome Middle Child Syndrome.  

Pause for dramatic effect....and a little chuckle.

Such is life.  Finding your own path.  No one can walk it for you.  You have to simply know who you are, what your strengths are, what your weaknesses are.  You can't will yourself to have a different personality.  You can, I suppose, change your weaknesses to become strengths.  But this is a long road that most likely lasts your entire life.  And I'm 41.  I still have years ahead of me of decisions, career, watching my children grow.  I have years of living with what I've been given and who I am.  The possibility that I MIGHT change can't determine my now actions.

Walking your own path sometimes means being lonely.  Because there are places your loved ones can't go with you.  It's just you and the road.  The windows are down to let in the air, but you are driving solo.  The wind, road and radio your only friend.

A man that I dated for a minute said we were on different paths.   I don't know what his path is, but mine is to live honestly, love hard, laugh often, and be the very best mom and person I can be.  I'm just on a country road while he's walking on a sidewalk maybe.  But the living honestly part is probably what separates us from others.  Because our honest looks different from anyone else.  

My friend said it best....just live your life as honestly as possible and your people will come alongside you who are living in the same way.

Part of my honest path is going to the gym....gotta honestly lift some seriously honest weights.  Alone or not.

What about Bob ... Rebekah?

I took a trip to see my sister, planning a quick detour to see my BFF in Georgia.  My parents let me drive their car since theirs is newer and has a DVD player.  We broke down.

When on the phone with the dealership and realizing that I would be here through the weekend in Georgia, I chuckled to myself at the irony of the whole situation.  I almost stopped at my sister's because it was closer and I was exhausted.  I would have been broken down at her house had that happened.  I almost took my own car, but decided it would be safer to drive my mom's.  I left a day later than I was planning to.  So many little decisions went into this crazy happening, that it seemed like I was supposed to break down at my friend's house.

Small?  Maybe.  But it meant that I got to rest...REALLY rest.  I got to reconnect with a girl I've known for years who now lives a life that I'm not a part of...and vice versa.  Our boys got to play together more.  They got to see dolphins in their habitat, crabs in traps, explore a small island, hunt Easter eggs on a huge estate.  I got to love on her teenage daughter that I've known since she was in utero.   I got to know her husband better.  I got to have the most fantastic meal I have ever eaten, perhaps.  And meet the owner who was masquerading as a waiter in one of the coolest restaurants in Savannah.  And get the recipe to a soup that may just be one of my signature dishes.

Small...

We go to a party we're dreading and discover that the man we will fall in love with is also there grudgingly.  We fail a class and it changes the course of our education.  We have unprotected sex and make a beautiful baby.  We lease an apartment to a girl who will be your friend for life.  We find ourselves sitting in a waiting room in the ICU being told our baby may die when an hour previous, we were just washing our car in the driveway. 

Cars, parties, passion, classes, jobs...all small things...

Clearly EVERY SINGLE MOVE WE MAKE, no matter how "small," matters.

I have often said this to people.  And it makes them really uncomfortable...like REALLY uncomfortable.

"I know we're not great friends, but your actions mattered to me."
"I know we're not dating, but how you responded mattered to me."
"I know I don't reciprocate your feelings, but your words mattered to me."

Or worse...
"What you did CHANGED me."

My 5 yr. old and I were walking on the beach yesterday...this abandoned beach that inhabited just our little posse of people for the afternoon.  So we were exploring, picking up shells and marveling at other untouched signs of life.  He paused when he saw footprints and insisted they were those of a wild animal...when we were just a few feet behind my friend and the other two boys.  The footprints obviously belonged to them.   But Graham's little inquisitive look was priceless.  He was convinced that the prints did in fact belong to some unknown creature, though they matched his own in every way but size.  He was a little detective faced with a big mystery.

What is it about wanting to live a life that is incognito?  Where we aren't recognized?  Where our footprints don't show up in the sand as belonging to us but to some unknown subject?  Or so we hope...

Are we really that scared of owning our lives as ours?  Of being tied to our actions and our words?  Of declaring the consequences of our actions as ours alone?  Of them being important?  Of affecting other people??

I believe we are incredibly quick to dismiss our actions as unimportant, our words as stupid or meaningless.  We have a habit of divorcing ourselves from our own lives.

Being with a teenage girl that I love like my own niece has been an interesting adventure.  I'm able to see how she interacts with her parents, her brother, her friends, her possible romantic interests.  I'm able to get a glimpse into what I was like at her age.  Was I kind to strangers?  Did I understand that the small acts of being fully engaged mattered to anyone?  Or was I just on autopilot, hoping no one was really seeing me?  All the while hoping to be seen?

We are desperate to be seen...while simultaneously desperately afraid of being seen. 

We are little detectives in a great mystery.  This mystery of unveiling ourselves...our thoughts and feelings.  Of owning our actions and words.  Of staying married to ourselves despite the tragedy of poor decisions and misplaced words and missed opportunities.

If we do, however, want to fully engage we must  be brave enough to take ownership of our lives.  We must accept that we do, in fact, MATTER.  We must be able to revel in the fact that we are going to get it wrong sometimes.  That we are going to also get it right sometimes.  We are going to cause other people pain.  And joy.  And anger.  And humiliation.  And happiness.  We must fully embrace the heaviness that comes with living life fully engaged...understanding that wherever we go, whatever we do, MATTERS.  We must believe that life is a combination of heightened senses and awareness.  We must be willing to live life with a brain fully sober and active so that we are present in our own lives.  We must wrap ourselves up in the reality that every connection with every person we come in contact with is full of meaning and consequences. 

Eating a meal with me is like eating one with Bill Murray in "What About Bob?"  I moan with each bite.  I am fully engaged and aware.  My senses are heightened and there is no other place I'd rather be in that moment.

If I could translate that to every part of my life, perhaps I wouldn't feel so small and unseen.

Because our "little" actions and words change the course of our lives...and the lives of others.  Our lack, therefore, of being engaged robs us of joy and fulfillment.

All I know is that I am a small person in a huge world.

And I, Rebekah Rose Crosby Deris, matter.  (And I eat loudly.)


 

I'm a New Orleans Girl....?

The older I get, the more I become reticent to stay in the city.  Perhaps it is because my parents will soon be gone and residing in wide, open spaces.  And when they go, they'll be taking a piece of me.  Perhaps it is the level of noise and stress my soul is able to absorb.  Maybe it's because I have boys who are loud and messy and need room to run.  Maybe it's because deep down I have always been a country girl.  Whatever the reason, I have grown tired of the hustle and frequent unecesaary bustle.

I love New Orleans.  I moved here when I was 19 with my family and stayed for a semester to be with my brother in his senior year in high school.  For the first year, I hated it.  It was dirty.  And loud.  And inefficient.  Not like Texas at all.  But after that first year, I must've left a small crack open in my heart for something crept into my personality and injected it with an intense love for the city.  And when I was deciding where to land after my many adventures post-college, this place called me persistently.

Chris Rose said of New Orleanians, "We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much & laugh too loud & live too large, and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't."

This is a part of my personality.  You can always count on Rebekah to make the party lively.  I live hard and loudly.  And yes, I am highly suspicious of those who don't.

I am dating a man who is through and through Cajun country.  He drives like a grandpa and naps frequently (granted, the man works long and hard).  He is the equivalent of a Texas country boy sans boots (though he is the owner of a very large, Texas-sized belt buckle).  He behaves like a Texas man...quick to care for all the women in his life and slow to care for himself.

This discovery about my personality was a bit of a shock.  As much as I love being the independent woman who can live alone and take care of her damn self, I am just a bit exhausted of the scene.  It's been shot.  I have done the re-takes and the edits.  I have lived life on my own, explored all avenues of the many possibilities that could be my life as a single mom.  I've done it.  And still, I crave to just play the role of wife/mom/daughter/sister/friend/school volunteer/sunday school teacher (ok, maybe not the last one...that was my most hopeful self writing that).  I may be the life of the party, but I crave the stillness.  I just went outside to bask in the day ahead and instead was greeted with cars speeding by, electricity poles and wires, street lights, and no stars.  Needless to say, the basking did not take place.

I suppose the two reside within me...the need to be still and the need to live loudly.  The need to be independent and the need to be taken care of.  The need to see stars and the need to see people.

The older I get, the more that independent, live life loudly girl is fading.  New Orleans doesn't quite have the same appeal it used to.

I'm not too sad to see her go.  She's had a good run.

Lifeless or Forgiveness?

Matthew 18:32-35 21At that point Peter got up the nerve to ask, “Master, how many times do I forgive a brother or sister who hurts me? Seven?”22Jesus replied, “Seven! Hardly. Try seventy times seven...
...32-35The king summoned the man and said, ‘You evil servant! I forgave your entire debt when you begged me for mercy. Shouldn’t you be compelled to be merciful to your fellow servant who asked for mercy?’ The king was furious and put the screws to the man until he paid back his entire debt. And that’s exactly what my Father in heaven is going to do to each one of you who doesn’t forgive unconditionally anyone who asks for mercy.”

She responded with harshness and coldness.  I was confiding in her about something that I had been struggling with.  It was not the first time she dismissed me.  But I continued to let her into my closed circle where few reside.  And as was typical of her behavior, instead of feeling encouraged I felt beaten down and ashamed.  We had been friends for 20 years.  Twenty years of treading lightly.  Twenty years of bracing myself for her reactions to my behaviors.  I was the definition of insanity in our friendship...I did the same thing and expected a different result.  

She had to "break up" with me in order for us to part ways.  The break up was painful and came at a time when I could have used her wisdom, albeit harsh.  She had the guts to do what I didn't.

An old flame did much the same.  I stayed with him despite his persistent attempts to
break up with me.  I was loyal like the Golden Retriever I am (I'm Golden Retriever/Otter personality type).  I had many reasons to leave him.  But like my friend, I put him in the awkward position of ending it in an abrupt and cold way.  Unfortunately, that was what was needed in order to get me to really move on.


I have a hard time "being done" with people.  Friends, family, pets (lol), men, co-workers...you name it.  I allow people (and animals...sometimes one and the same) back into my good graces without much thought about what they have done to me.  I have hung in there when friends have taken advantage of me over and over again. I have stayed close to people who habitually make me cry.  I wouldn't say this is a positive trait because it has brought with it unnecessary pain most likely.  

But...

Forgive your debtors as you have been forgiven.  Forgive UNCONDITIONALLY anyone who asks for mercy.  Forgive them seventy times seven times.

So what is the balance between the two?  The world both secular and religious tells you to establish boundaries.  To be wary of people who have trespassed against you multiple times because the reality is they will probably repeat the behavior.  This requires you building a sort of wall between the two of you.  Making intimacy damn near impossible.

In marriage, forgiveness is key to making it last.  Which is partially why so many marriages fail...we are simply not great at forgiving.  We don't believe in having to forgive people that truly love us.  If they did, how could they treat us so poorly?  Choose alcohol over us?  Cheat on us?  Lie?  Gamble?  Not communicate?  Is it possible to have a spouse that acts terribly and still believe they love you?  Why is forgiveness even necessary in a close relationship?  If they claim to love you, then surely their actions will line up with that.

This is simply not the state of the human condition.  We are selfish beings.  This fact, however, doesn't make us incapable of love.  It doesn't diminish the fact that we do indeed love.  

I've often thought that we are a bit extreme as people.  We expect forgiveness when we mess up, and hate being called anything that lines up with our faults because we know we are not the summation of those faults.  We criticize people who speak ill of someone and then turn around and are nice to them.  Why can't the two reside within us equally?  Can we, in fact, love intensely and have equal disgust with the same person?  I believe we can.

We are quick to judge others for this, but we behave in the same extreme manner.

We are universal hypocrites.

I asked my ex to forgive me for my contribution of the demise of our marriage.  I forgave him for his part in it.  He, however, could not.

Without forgiveness, there are no relationships.  Lasting ones, at least.  We are doomed to be loveless and essentially lifeless dolls without it.  If we can't embrace the dichotomy of the human condition, we are dooming ourselves to a life without intimate relationships.

My friends of many years are my friends because they have forgiven me as I have them.  We love each other intensely.  We accept that we aren't perfect and will continue to wreak havoc at times.  We have nodded at the darkness and decided to embrace anyways.


So despite the pain of being a seeming door mat, I'll continue to forgive.  The alternative is way too empty for me.

The Woman my Younger Self would be Proud Of

I got to spend time with my best friend since 5th grade this weekend.  It was precious time.  She gets me since we've known each other so long.  And she loves me.  Despite all my flaws.  Seeing someone that you've known that long makes you take mental account of your life.  What have I been doing since we first met?  Have I changed for the better?  Who was I?  Who am I now?  But mostly...have I become the woman that little girl would be proud of?

I snuggled up to my mom in church yesterday.  Something I used to do often before I had kids.  I was crying a bit harder than I was comfortable with during one of the songs and she never lets me cry alone in her presence.  I knew it was safe to make her aware of my tears.

My mom doesn't love to be in the limelight.  She would rather just help out behind the scenes ... assisting her family to succeed in the world. She is amazing.

She is someone I would be proud to have become.

Unfortunately, I've not done well with developing into someone like my mom.  I've taken my stress and turned it into instability.  I'm hard on my kids.  They have seen me at my very worst...despite my attempts to hide it.  (There are just times you can't quite hide the fact that you are crying loud enough for the neighbors to hear even though you're in the bathroom with the door shut and the bath water running...though I like to pretend that is enough noise to distract them.)  They have seen me be irrational.  They've overheard conversations they should not have about their father.  They've heard their dad and I argue.  They've seen me lose it because they spilled something.  I've not been a stellar single parent.

The beauty of life is that every morning when the sun rises, you get a re-do.  Today I get to choose whether I allow life to pee in my cereal or whether I allow it to serve me with a piece of buttery toast w/ jam.  I get to choose.  I get the chance to snuggle my mom often like I used to.  I get the chance to speak softly to my kids instead of yell.  I get the chance to praise them instead of criticize them.  I get the chance to bring joy into the house I'm cleaning instead of anxiety.  I get another chance to speak kindly to strangers, to listen to music that uplifts my soul instead of songs that dampen my spirit.  I can choose to be hopeful instead of jaded.

My dad preached on the woman at the well yesterday.  With her 5 husbands and current, live-in boyfriend.  I get her.  She was obviously a "sinner" in her village...as am I.  She was going to the well at a time when no one else goes so she can hide her shameful presence.  But Jesus saw through it and spoke directly to her pain.  Though it doesn't say so in scripture, I would assume she was not without tears during this conversation.

My friend/bartender asked if I was OK when I was picking up food from my favorite bar.  She saw something in my face after I interacted with someone that made her question my peace of mind and had the wherewithal to ask me.  "No, I'm not OK," I replied.  And the tears came and I quickly left.
Her simple question about my well being was a little piece of heaven in an unlikely place.  But she was intuitive and kind enough to see my pain and check on me.

She is someone I would be proud to become.

I want to be like my mom and like my friend... like Jesus.  I want to be able to live in a way that causes me to tune in to others and their needs instead of focusing on my own.  I want to be able to show my boys what it means to care for others instead of worry about yourself so much so that you can't see your own feet, you're so pregnant with worry.

Thankfully, today is a new day.  And it is beautiful outside.  And I have another chance to become the woman my 10 yr. old self would be proud of.  I have the chance to become like my mom.  Like my friend.  Ultimately, like Jesus.  Thank you, God for another chance to get it right.   Even if for just today...

We sang this song in church.  My Aunt Becky sings it beautifully.  All around appropriate.

FILL MY CUP, LORD
Like the woman at the well, I was seeking

For things that could not satisfy.

And then I heard my Savior speaking—

“Draw from My well that never shall run dry.”

 

Fill my cup, Lord;

I lift it up Lord;

Come and quench this thirsting of my soul.

Bread of Heaven, feed me till I want no more.

Fill my cup, fill it up and make me whole....

I Could Use a Love Song

I grind my teeth.  I grind them so badly my dentist had to make a thicker mouth guard than what he normally has to make.  I am currently breaking that one also... at his horror.  He prescribed a muscle relaxer for me so that I can give my poor jaw a break.  Last night was day one of the prescription and yuck.  Just yuck.

I feel awful.  I have felt superbly emotional for a bit so I'm guessing it's a combination of running out of my Plexus supplements, getting off all my anti-anxiety & thyroid meds, and trying to cope with my stress au-naturale.  I didn't choose to do it, it just kind of snuck up on me.  I got busy.  My debit card expired so all my auto ships were cancelled, and things just kind of spiraled and led me here.  To feeling like a complete mess with a mouth guard that is obnoxiously thick and breaking.

And wreaking of stress.

Stress is sneaky.  I think I underestimate his sneakiness often.  It's like being smacked in the butt by one of my boys when I'm bending over to get the laundry out of the dryer.  I'm just all in the get 'er done mode, and wham!  Out of nowhere my buns start stinging.  Or walking outside expecting a certain temperature only to rush back inside to don more clothes.

It's totally unexpected and a bit unnerving.

My doc told me long ago that some people had brains that were capable of handling quite a bit of stress without physical manifestations.  Others had a different threshold and therefore needed to approach with caution.

I am, unfortunately, in the latter category.  As my teeth can testify to.  I have a history of not coping well with stress.  I get by like most do, but sometimes the natural coping solutions are not enough.  When I'm in that state of being completely unable to function without being a walking Medusa, nothing that is good for me is appealing.  In fact, healthy things get my middle finger often.  Working out?  Screw you.  Vegetables?  No thanks, Whole Foods.  Now binging on Netflix, wine and pizza...that always sounds appealing when my brain is stressed.

And of course, that solution backfires on me.  Like a smack on the butt.  Or a crack in my mouth guard.

I am a Ted Talk addict.  I heard one the other day that talked about why we screw ourselves out of the lives we want.  It's all about doing things when you don't feel like doing them.  Because, let's just be real, ain't nobody ever FEEL like achieving greatness when your ass is begging you to stay in bed.

And of course being my solidly single SOUTHERN woman self, I yearn for someone ELSE to achieve the greatness.  I'd like to just assist in HIS greatness.  That feels like the right answer.  Surely my stress will diminish if I had someone to take care of me.  And vice versa.  I'd like to just stay in bed.  All warm and cozy.

But that answer also makes me laugh out loud.  LOL.  LMAO.  ROTFL.

I sure could use a love song.  One that doesn't make me grind my teeth like Pac-Man and alleviates the need to binge on things that are generally bad for me.  And for the sake of my teeth.  Let's get this stress thing resolved.

But the reality is, I'm the problem....and the solution.

Bad TMJ and all...this Southern homegirl just needs a break from believing in things that won't come true.


https://youtu.be/9UcyrWn5uAw

I Could Use a Love Song

Maren Morris

Usually a drink will do the trick

Take the edge off quick, sitting in the dark

With a shared cigarette

Seeing eye-to-eye, and heart-to-heart

But maybe I’m just getting old

Used to work but now it don’t

A long gone drive

You know the kind where you take a turn and you don’t know why

But it clears your mind, a surefire cure

I need something stronger

That’ll last a little longer

I could use a love song

That takes me back, just like that

When it comes on

To a time when I wouldn’t roll my eyes

At a guy and a girl

Who make it work in a world

That for me so far just seems to go so wrong

Yeah I could use, I could use a love song

I wish I didn’t know so much

I peeked behind the curtain

Now that magic rush

Feels like a trick that isn’t working

But I haven’t lost all hope yet

Yeah it’s hurting but it ain’t dead

I could use a love song

That takes me back, just like that

When it comes on

To a time when I wouldn’t roll my eyes

At a guy and a girl

Who make it work in a world

That for me so far just seems to go so wrong

Yeah I could use, I could use a love song

Give me a sign or a rhyme or a reason

Just something that I can believe in

Unintentional Viewings

I'm a Texas girl.  I love New Orleans, but my soul craves wide, open spaces.  I drive across the lake sometimes just to breathe.  The city wears on me.  I can hear my neighbor yelling at her kid.  She can hear me yelling at mine.  I can hear my other neighbor rustling around late at night.  He can hear my kettle whistle early in the morning.  I can't go outside without someone seeing me.  (I forget this fact often and end up running inside to put on more clothes.)  When I took a dumpster dive to retrieve my keys, word spread to my friend whose daughter goes to the school across the street from me.  I may  publish my life in a blog, but these are manipulated words and thought out topics.  Being seen without the intention of being seen is quite different. 

I have lived in many different cities.  But somehow I escaped the crowds.  Houston was by far the biggest city I lived in, but my little corner of the world, although it was busy, still afforded me space.  We had a huge lot, a pool, and a horse.  I lived on Long Island as a nanny in an estate with no neighbors that I could see.  I lived in Winnetka, IL outside of Chicago in a large house also as a nanny, in a quiet neighborhood with sprawling houses.  My apartment in Austin was on the outskirts of the city.  You could see for miles in the landscape that was my back porch.

I'm not generally a fan of such tight quarters as the ones I live in here.

I have thought about moving to a house in the country that would provide more space.  But then I remember the lady in the movie Misery and decide maybe that would be a bad idea.  I could be her.  Woman turned psycho because she had too much room to think. (maybe that's not at all what made her psycho but for my purpose, we'll go with that theory.)

And truthfully, when my boys aren't with me I'm not home much.  I can only take quiet in my house in small doses.  Isolation may sound great when I find myself in awkwardly tight quarters, but my sanity needs people.   Awkward or not.  I shouldn't be left alone to my own devices.

I am unintentionally seen in the city.  I sing loudly with the windows rolled down only to find an amused onlooker watching me.  I run into the grocery store early in the morning before I've brushed my teeth (ok, let's be real...this could be anytime of day because I often forget to brush) and run into a client.  I take a jaunt at the lake and get a text from a friend who's just seen me.  I go to my favorite bar and someone stops in because they see my car.  There is no hiding in this city of close quarters.

And with the rate I'm going as a single mom, I can't afford to lose my sanity in the woods.  I have two little boys watching me at all times.  Their eyes are much more precious than anyone else's.  And my guess is the amount of insanity versus sanity in a country house would outweigh any benefit it may provide.  So for now, I'll happily run to the store in inappropriate clothing with stinky breath and smelling of garbage from my recent dumpster dive and sing loudly with my boys while onlookers gawk. 

Unintentional or not, it's good to be seen.

Online Dating - Yeah or Nah?

Like most singles, I have taken a dip in the online dating world.   I met both my husbands on Match.com.  You would think I would run in the opposite direction now, but I'm obnoxiously persistent sometimes.  Nah, I'm more likely just daft.

The online dating world is all around funky.  I do it mostly for entertainment when I'm bored.  When they message me, I then realize they are actual, real life people.  This realization is both shocking and amusing.  I no longer cater my responses to the profiles of who is messaging me.  My favorite is when they ask immediately if I work out.  I really, really, REALLY want to say, "no, my hobbies are eating pizza, chips and ice cream, and spending hours on the couch watching reality TV with my five cats."  It would be a lie, but the entertainment value of seeing how fast he unmatches me...priceless.

I used to answer in my most hopeful self...
"Yes!  I love to work out!  I swim, bike, run, lift weights, do yoga....you name it!"

My profile pic

All of which are true, but like once a year for the cardio exercises.  Weights I do often.  But that honest answer to a fitness fanatic doesn't get me anywhere.  So in the past I lied because I just really wanted him to like me.  Regardless of whether I liked him.  Yes, I was that sad.

The real answer is: "yes, I do work out but am not a fanatic and do not enjoy spending more than an hour a day on it.  I have other crap to do."

This answer is appealing only to a certain group of people.  But headliner:  I should personally appeal to only a handful of people.  And vice versa.

Honest answers usually weed out the ones who aren't a good fit or genuinely interested.  As interested as you can be with a few pics and a few words on your phone screen.  Honesty is always the best policy with someone you haven't met yet.  As long as they're not asking anything intimate and inappropriate.  Which unfortunately happens.  Often.  No, I do not want to share my favorite position.  No, I will not show you what undergarments reside under my clothes.  Firm. Eye. Roll.

(Pandora just played the score to the Cinderella movie.  Dear Pandora: if I wanted to listen to sappy movie music, I would have created a station for such.  But I chose Chopin which is the opposite of sappy and romantic...epic fail.)

I annoy even myself these days.  I can't watch romantic movies.  I quickly change the channel if a country song is about love.  I am the epitome of the disgruntled woman who has been burned one too many times.  I actually told my friend that her husband is going to mess their 9 yr. old up by being too sweet to her because she will have a skewed perspective of what men are like.

Pause for dramatic effect.

Check on the old, crotchety woman now taking over my body.

I've often thought that maybe my dad is to blame for my failure at romance.  It doesn't get better than him.  Even when I was young and wounded by seeming daddy issues, I knew how amazing he was.  He didn't quite set the stage correctly for picking a mate.  He was too good.  Is too good.  I should have allowed him to pick my mate.  Maybe I would still be happily married if we had gone this route.

As it is, I'm stuck in a world where lasting love is everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  We can do romance.  Temporarily.  But most of us can't keep that candle burning for long before we tire or run far away because the reality of loving someone through thick and thin causes us to drown.

People, including my lovely non-fanatic fitness self, are hard to love.  We desperately want love, but our instinct is to push everyone away.

Or maybe we are genuinely happy with our couches, N
etflix, and online dating apps.

For now, this is where I am camping out.

Matriarchal Momma?

Brady woke up and said, "Momma, we need to go to Nina and Papa's for breakfast before they leave."  I grabbed him and held him tight knowing his little heart was hurting and his mind was going a million miles.  Like his momma's.

"Why can't we move to Texas with them?" he asked.
"Your daddy lives here, honey.  We can't move away from him."
Silence.
"How much am I going to see Nina and Papa?"
"Hopefully once every two months." I reply.
Tears.

I wasn't prepared for their sadness.  I wasn't even ready for my own.  Theirs is far worse.

The beauty of having a son who is emotionally intelligent is sometimes hard to absorb.  I love this about him, but man is it ripe.  Brady doesn't have your typical, childish temper tantrums.  He has the cold reality of life moments of overwhelming feelings.  He is able to express how he feels better than I at times.  And he is no longer able to be placated with empty words or promises.  He is too aware of reality for this.  It is challenging for this momma to speak truth when I just want to soothe him with false hope.

Most of the time all I'm able to do is hold him. Tightly.

Graham, however, will be the one who has temper tantrums without the understanding as to why he's upset.  His tears are intense and center stage in whatever scene he is in.  And most of the time, I'm not even sure he knows why he's crying.

I'm not sure which end I'd rather be on...the one in which my emotions spill out without understanding or they sit inside and affect everything else because I am fully aware of the reason for my sadness.  And I know I'll just have to work with it because it's not going away.

I guess they both have a place.

What has happened since fully understanding that our lives will radically change soon is that we are closer than we have been to my parents.  If that is even possible.   What used to be mundane moments are now too precious to waste on robotic behavior. 

It's also affected my prone to play.  Instead of spending time on unproductive tasks, I find that I am more focused on what has to be done.  I actually return phone calls the same day lately.  Shoot, sometimes I get a wild hair and actually ANSWER the phone.  My friend AKA financial pimp Philip can testify to how poorly I return phone calls.  He knows when he calls it will be at least a week until he gets ahold of me.  And that is the hopeful time table.  It's typically a month.  Hi, my name is Rebekah and I am an I Don't Return Phone Calls Addict.

But lately, the adulting is taking over and homegirl is acting all grown up.  I think perhaps my parents have been a security blanket for me.  They are there, always in the background ready and available when I have issues.  This mental removal of them is making my responsible brain kick in.  I don't have the patriarch/matriarch of my family to fall back on in my brain anymore.  I'm the matriarch.  With or without a husband.

Who knew single women could be matriarchs?

I admit to feeling pathetic that I'm a grown woman with a fear of living in a city without her parents.  The thought of this when I was in my 20s would have been ridiculous.  I never would have believed that I would have a hard time living away from them.  In fact, the more miles between us the better.  But that 20 year old wasn't a momma.  Her concerns were more about where she was going on a Friday night and what shoes to wear.  Or what mascara to buy. (OK, maybe I am still concerned about these things.  Is L'Oreal as good as expensive mascara?? After 25 years of donning makeup I still don't know the answer to this mystical question).

Matriarchal duties require a woman with her head firmly on her shoulders.  She has food in the fridge always and bandaids.  She remembers to stop and get donuts for the class.  She spends an hour after the kids go to bed preparing herself and her kids for the next day.  She remembers to order her Plexus so she and her kids don't run out.  (I have recently failed at this and we are all a little unhappy.)  She wakes up before everyone and mentally prepares for her day.   She finishes her errands before she takes a day off.

She is a badass.

I have done most of these things for years.  But I didn't fully own it.  It was like I was playing house.  I was pretending to be a matriarch.  It wasn't deeply rooted in my persona.  I actually resented the responsibilities, I am ashamed to report. 

Our brains are simply baffling.  Now that I fully believe that I am the matriarch,  my choices are reflecting such belief.  My brain has alerted me to the dangers of not fully owning this responsibility and I am adjusting my behavior accordingly.  I see less and less of people who have been my playmates.  I am spending more time with those who understand fully the difficulty and complexity of being a mom.  Single or not.  I see myself more as a single MOM than a single WOMAN these days.

I'll be visiting my therapist again to get me through this transition to matriarch. 

So while Graham throws his temper tantrums and Brady ponders the sadness, I'll be in the kitchen baking some gluten-free/sugar-free cookies.

I think to complete the transformation, I will buy myself an apron. 

Poser with a Flashing Habit

Crazy: adj. kooky, insane, screwball, nutty, silly; senseless, impractical, unsound.

He said, "do I make them crazy or do I just attract crazy?"  My good friend and I were having a phone conversation about behaviors of
exes that were particularly odd while I was cooking dinner for my boys.  Knowing him well, I responded with, "I'm pretty sure most women are a bit crazy so don't blame yourself for their erratic behavior.  You were just the catalyst for their crazy."

I have often felt this sentiment in my life.  People often behave in ways that are unbecoming or "crazy".  If you don't know them well, it causes a panic response in you that makes you run away from them.  Quickly.  If you do know them well, it becomes an intense process of trying to understand why one would act in such a way.

But the truth is, we all hold this trait closely.  Some just hide it better.

I have been resisting the reality that I'm a bit "crazy" for a while.  Perhaps my whole life.  I feel like a poser.  I'm hard on other people and how they respond when in fact I get it because that would be my response if I just let it all hang out.

So maybe I'm a bit of a poser.

Poser: n. pretender, hypocrite, imposter

There are few people who see my crazy daily.  I'm comfortable enough with their love for me to not hide that part.  I know our bond is strong enough to defeat the vulnerability and irrationality that comes with being human.

And then there are those who I show it to accidentally.  I'm like a flasher, unexpectedly exposing myself and catching them totally off guard.  That mental picture makes me giggle.  Their response is not as forgiving and my response is to close it up tightly, buttoning the top button on my jacket that was previously unbuttoned.  Now that I've shown it and received a negative response, I'll do my damnedest to conceal it.

When we do behave irrationally, shame is our first response.

"I'm crazy."
"I can't keep it together."
"Everyone does life better than me."
"I need to get on some meds."
"I will just stop confiding in people."

These thoughts are prevalent in conversations with even my best friends and family.  Though they see my crazy more than most, I temper my actual thoughts and actions even with them.  I hide.

One of my soul sisters and I were chatting about a man that appears to have it all.  Looks, success, personality, love of Jesus, stability.  "That is who I want to be with," I said.

Then I laughed heartily because the chances of a man like that wanting me is ridiculous.  (Like my "R" necklace that my sister in law bought me.  It stands for Ridiculous, not Rebekah.)   I said, "If I do get a man like that we will all know it's God because that would be a miracle."

I'm a crazy poser.

Crazy people generally don't make good decisions consistently.  Their go-to is decision first, repairs later.

God, however, is not frightened off my by bouts of insanity.  He knows my thoughts.  Spoken and unspoken.  He knows them before I do.  He invades my soul in a way that no one else can.  He sees my hurts.  He sees my reactions.  He sees my brain and the reason it functions the way it does.  He knows it all.  He is a necessity to this poser.

He doesn't run when I expose myself.  He holds me tight.

Thankfully because I have two little people relying on His strength to keep me together.

Hold me Tight this Girl gonna be Alone

I left to take Brady to school and said goodbye to Graham.  I was coming right back to get him.  When I came back, my parents said Graham was upset that I left.  "Not even Nina and Papa could make him feel better about his mom being gone." 

Thank goodness for that because soon they will understand what it means to be without their grandparents.

Months ago my aunt began asking how I would be when my parents moved.  I was confused by her concern and thought to myself, "I'm a grown woman who has lived here for 20+ years.  Why wouldn't I be fine?"  But sitting by my parents this past Sunday knowing their decision would soon be made public verified that she should indeed be concerned.

Sometimes adults just know better.  (I say with a bit of irony as I am technically also Adult-ish.)

I have not quite been able to keep it together since their announcement.  I'm near tears most of the time.  Things that are not usually upsetting make me cry.  I'm thoroughly frightened of raising my boys without their grandparents around.  My parents.  I'm a bit of a mess these days.

Like Graham, no one can make me feel better about my parents being gone.

It is not atypical for us to be found at their breakfast table.  My boys gather the eggs, harass the chickens and play outside with their papa.  My mom and I drink coffee and argue jokingly over how much chocolate milk she gives my son and share stories about cleaning (she also did this as a job for a bit).  I share my daily life with them.  I see them at least three times a week and talk to them daily.  I steal groceries from them.  I use their washer to wash my king sized bedding.  When I tire of corralling my boys in my tiny apartment, I go to their house.  I steal their Plexus when I run out.  My mom often does my shopping for me.  My dad maintains my car for me.  If something goes wrong, I call them and they assist me in finding a solution.  They often are themselves the solution.

The ease and accessibility of our relationship has protected me.  I haven't felt a great amount of pressure to find a forever home because their home is that to us.

This sudden fear of being a single momma without my parents must be something that a great many single parents feel immediately.  You learn to be OK with not being there for your kids.  You learn to let other people who are not family help you.

Unbeknownst to me, God has been preparing me for their departure for a few months.  In the past, I have been the one to bring my boys to school and pick them up at 7:55 a.m. and 2:55 p.m.  Religiously.  My schedule and duties allowed this since I ran a business from home.  I volunteered at their schools.  If they had an early dismissal, I was the one to get them.  It was unusual for me to call on my parents.  But since I started doing the jobs myself, things have changed.  I'm not able to pick them up most days.  I have to use aftercare or sitters...or my parents.  I have been adjusting to being a full time working mom who has to call on help.

Help is usually available if you are able to pay for it.

But paid help is far from the ease and security of parents/grandparents.

My cousin took this picture of me and Graham and sent it to me in this sweet card almost four years ago.  My family was still intact.  I'm holding Graham like everything was going to be alright.  Little did I know that the following year, how I held my boys would be entirely different.

Knowing your kids are suffering because of something you inadvertently caused is rather intense.   In 2014 I had just started the healing process from almost losing my son.  The next year I would have another huge gash that would also require healing.

It is safe to say that I have been healing from something most of my adult life.  I'm sure I'm not alone in this.

It takes a second for your life to change.  I remember the moment when I knew I had lost my husband.  I remember the look on his face.  I remember what I was wearing.  I remember what he was wearing.

It took a second for my son to dive into a bucket.  A second that has changed him forever.  A second that has changed me and all who knew him forever.  A split second.

It took a second for me to realize while sitting in church that my life as I knew it soon would be completely turned upside down.  Again.  My friend texted me after she heard the announcement and said how sad she was.  My response to her was, "You got to hold me tight when they move.  I'm gonna be a mess."

You never set out to hurt...yourself and especially your kids.  It was never my intention when they were little to force them to deal with such loss at such a young age.  It was never my intention to turn their worlds upside down.  I never wanted them to understand the brokenness that comes with splitting up a family.    I never wanted them to learn the lingo.  To view the world with glasses that are just a bit off.  To understand the logistics of bouncing between two houses.

My parents didn't set out to hurt me by retiring.  It was not their intention to settle here and have me follow and start a family.  It wasn't their intention to leave me as a single mom.  But that reality is upon us.

And this single momma is terrified.

Just as how I held my boys changed when I made them kids of divorce, how my parents hold me will also change.  I'll just be found sitting at their breakfast table in a laptop instead of in person.

Masculine Momma and a Middle Finger

It was all I could do to contain my middle finger.  I could feel it aching to shoot up and say in one motion what my mouth could not speak.  But I refrained and just screamed it loudly when I got into my car.

I may be a southern woman, but sometimes a well placed curse word is necessary to keep the lava from spilling into your soul.

The gentleman (I hesitate to even call him that) was a nosy neighbor who degraded me in about five seconds.  It was his mission.  I think he seriously woke up that morning and decided that he was going to find a woman to belittle that day.  I was the chosen recipient.  He was a cop.  And I was a woman in distress.  He was not protecting me in that moment.  He was protecting his ego.

I have an amazing dad.  He blows most men out of the water.  But like most fathers, he was focused on providing for his family when I was younger and unintentionally left me feeling exposed and scared when I was a teen.  I didn't have the kind of dad who would open the door with a shotgun when I went on a date.  He was too kind for that.  Or he was gone.  I suppose because of this, I looked for men who I felt would beat up anyone for hurting me.  I succeeded a few times in finding that trait.  But mostly, I just felt alone and degraded.  Much like how I felt when I encountered the cop who was the recipient of my silent finger.

I told a man the other day that he shouldn't mess with single mothers.  We are a special breed of women.  We are heartily wary of almost everyone.  We don't trust easily.  We are feisty.  We are strong (simply because our situation calls for it, not because we necessarily love it).  We have kids who rely on our mental health and our financial stability.  We don't have the luxury that most married women do of falling apart.  Survival for our kids is always the driving force behind every decision.  We cannot afford to be lied to or played with.  We simply don't have the time or the emotion. 

I find that the longer I am single the more I am manifesting what are typically "masculine" traits.  

Traits traditionally viewed as masculine in Western society include courage, independence, violence, and assertiveness.  (Wikipedia)

Check on that.  I have become more confrontational.  I am not likely to empathize with people I consider to be weak.  I am not afraid of much aside from the many things that could hurt my boys or getting hurt again myself.  I am fiercely independent.  And check on the violence...road rage is creeping into my lovely array of personality traits.  Not to mention the urge I have to use my middle finger more often than I would care to admit.   

I don't expect men to protect me or care for me.  (Except my dad who is now brilliant at this in his old age.)  They don't seem to have the desire to exercise this ability.  Perhaps it's because I give off the FU vibe and they are aware of how often my middle finger twitches.  Or perhaps they are evolving into men who exhibit what are typically feminine traits.  

Traits traditionally cited as feminine are gentleness, empathy and sensitivity. (Wikipedia)

So if my situation calls for me to be the "man" of the household, then my chances of pairing with a protector are slim.

But how I would love the luxury of falling apart knowing someone has my back.

In the meantime, I have a middle finger and I'm not afraid to use it.  Unless you're a pompous cop.  Then I'll just yell it in the safety of my car.

Trashy Momma

I was quickly hurrying out of my house, pizza box in one hand and my keys in the other.  I rushed to the huge dumpster at my apartment complex, opened the lid, and chunked in....my keys.

After running through the different alternatives that would keep me from getting inside the dumpster to retrieve my mistakes, I found I had no choice but to climb in.  I live across from a school so there was a line of cars dropping their kids off for school.  A line of strangers that got to witness just how much of an airhead one person can be.

Had I not been on my way to scrub some toilets, I would have been more discombobulated.  But knowing it was OK to go to work smelling a little like trash, I sanitized myself and set out for my destination.

There are times when I feel a bit small in my chosen career.  I clean offices where women are wearing heels and skirts.  I pass people in high rise condos who clearly have desk jobs...it would not be so great if they came to work smelling a little like trash.

Those times of feeling small do not last thankfully.  I love my job.  I love cleaning the heck out of a house that is filthy.  I love making things smell good and creating beauty from chaos.  It suits me that I scrub toilets and take out the trash.

I often forget to brush my teeth or wear deodorant.  It is not unusual for me to have one eye with mascara and the other without.  I have holes in most of my clothes.  My socks rarely match.  My nails are long forgotten because I use them to scrub so polish doesn't last.  I have replaced my foundation with moisturizer.  I go weeks without waxing my lip/eyebrows.  My feet could use a pedicure.  I dye my own hair and cut my own bangs (you can definitely tell that this is DIY hair).  Compared to the woman I used to be who didn't miss her scheduled 2 week nail appointment, I'm a mess.

I suppose I'm a little trashy.

When I was first divorced, I was very conscious of my appearance.  I wouldn't go anywhere after I worked until I had showered and changed.  I wouldn't let anyone I was dating see me without makeup.  I was uber self conscious. (apparently, uber isn't a word according to this platform. Get with it, google.)

One of my favorite things to buy is toiletry products.  Makeup, hair products, skin care, facial scrubs....Sephora is my heaven.  I genuinely love all of that expensive junk.  I suppose that will never change. 

But what has changed is my lack of fear for being seen without makeup. 

I'm a full blown housekeeper sans makeup and a bit of a trash problem.

Oceans of Small Decisions

https://youtu.be/1m_sWJQm2fs







My sons and I went on the Global Wildlife tour with my friend and her son who is 3.  On the car ride there, I realized how close Graham and her son were in their communication and interactions.  Graham is 2 solid years older.  But they behaved in similar ways.  It affirmed my belief that Graham is his own special version of a 5 yr.old.

With this realization came the other realization...homeboy should NOT be in the church service with me.  I fought his inability to behave in church for a while.  I kept telling myself that he is capable of behaving in Mass at school, so surely he can sit still in the Baptist service.

This was a test that homeboy did not pass.

I'm sure my church is happy that I have conceded to the fact that he can't keep it together in church.  The many times he had to get up.  The many fits he has thrown.  All super disruptive.  So momma gave up.  This is a battle I will not win.

I took him to the nursery Sunday and almost didn't go back in with Brady.  But they were playing my song.  So in we went.

That 5 minutes was by far the best moment I spent with my oldest all week.  He snuggled up to me.  And then I heard him singing.

There are so many times I feel like I'm not doing anything right as a mom.  I get easily frustrated.  The boys jump.  Constantly.  Their feet do not stay long on the floor.  I do not handle this constant motion well.  They spill stuff.  Everywhere.  And look at me in fear to see if I saw.  I do not handle messes well either.  I skip reading time sometimes just because I'm being selfish and just want them to go to bed already.  I worry that my bad moments will exceed my good moments.

Like exposing them to good music.  Music about Jesus and love and fear and life.  They know good music.  They know who Michael Jackson is.  And Kenny Chesney.  And Pearl Jam.  And Aretha Franklin, Stevie Wonder, U2...and maybe Justin Bieber a little.  Ok, I may be slightly obsessed with the Biebs.  So they know him well.  But you know, whatever.

Hearing our voices together that day singing a song we both love about Jesus ... Visa cannot buy that crap.  That 5 minutes changed me.  And to think I almost hung in the lobby.  #smalldecisions

This is SO NOT Us

I'm not a huge crier these days...but This is Us brings all the tears to the yard.  Crybaby, crocodile tears where I'm really glad I'm watching it alone because I can Super cry.  Ugly cry.  Noisy cry.  It's delightful.

As much as I love the show, I know it's not reality.  For most.  We don't have meaningful conversations.  We don't communicate well.  We don't hug on cue or fight well.  We aren't cute when we have breakdowns.  We don't have well-timed, witty comebacks.  And mostly we experience our pain alone.

Life is more of a fumbled football or a missed goal.  Mostly we don't get it right.  Mostly we miss opportunities to say what we mean.  Mostly we miss out on genuine affection and timed humor.  Mostly we say awkward things and communicate poorly.

Mostly we miss out on connection.

On the rare occasion that we do get it right, our life seems made.  Sometimes we do connect with others.  Sometimes we do have a witty comeback timed just right.  Sometimes we do hug when we should.  Sometimes our conversations are meaningful and we're able to say exactly what we mean.  Sometimes we are able to be vulnerable and that vulnerability is well received.  Sometimes we aren't alone in our pain.

I have found that those rare moments are the moments which have defined my relationships.  It's what kept me from giving up.  Or holding on longer than I should. 

I can pinpoint moments in each of my romantic relationships that caused me to align my heart with theirs.  In one relationship, it was when I was walking away because I was ashamed of my tears and he chased me, grabbed my hand, and walked alongside me while I cried.  In another relationship, it was being held tight when I realized I was pregnant and scared.  It was a raw moment of genuine connection.  In another, I looked across the room at a social function and found he was staring at me in admiration and telling a colleague how amazing I was.  Another time, we napped on the couch, our faces within inches of each other and our hands intertwined.  One scared me by hiding when I opened the door to let him in my house.  We giggled unhinged. 

Each of these moments caused us to seek out genuine companionship in each other because we got a glimpse of what it was like.  Perhaps there is something more...or so we tell ourselves....so we explore deeper.  Only to be disappointed.  Typically.

When I was searching in earnest for a mate a year ago, I read all sorts of nonsensical material.  "How to Keep Your Man Committed for Life"
"How to Get Any Man you Want"
"How to Act like a Lady but Think Like a Man"
"Why Men Love Bitches"

......and the list goes on......and on.  Our modern society of lonely people is not short on books to read for how to get companionship.

In one of the trite books I read, I remember being baffled by a statement that at the time was something unfathomable for me.  It said, "the best way to make a man want you is to genuinely not care whether he is into you or not."

Duh.  I thought to myself.  Of course.  If I didn't care, why would I have bought this book?  What an asinine statement to make to women desperate enough to have this book as part of their collection. Firm Eye Roll.

But I vowed to work on it.  Like the desperate woman I was who had just purchased said book.

Sometimes, however, you are genuinely just NOT READY for change.  Your brain hasn't endured the necessary steps to get you to the place of wanted change.  Resources for said change haven't emerged.  Friends who are supposed to aid you along in this change are busy.  Experiences haven't yet come your way that would catapult you into said change.  You haven't met the one person that would push you to change.  You genuinely have no choice but to wait sometimes.

After a year, I finally get the statement.  Because I have changed.  I no longer care whether I "get" the guy.  Genuine connection should take more than just a moment.  It should be a string of moments that change how you feel about someone.  It shouldn't be easy.  According to google, the chance of you meeting someone you have a genuine connection with is 1%.  (Everything on the internet is true, just FYI).

It is just NOT us.

It makes complete sense to me why so many relationships fail.  We have settled for the mediocre connections.  We have settled for those who don't quite get us...don't quite respect us...don't quite love us.  And vice versa. 

What the show does portray very well is that life is difficult.  And connections have to be damn near indestructible to survive the difficulty.  Or you just have to be paired with someone who is equally as stubborn as you and will press on with or without connection. 

What it doesn't portray well is that each of the characters in their immediate family found their 1%...

Pause for dramatic effect.

What is fabulously sad is that we are an incredibly LONELY society of people who are FABULOUSLY afraid of genuine connection.  So even if your 1% has come across your path, the likelihood of you discovering this fact is slim because we hide behind walls and walls, GREAT FREAKIN' WALLS OF CHINA of false toughness and illusions of independence. 

And we have a ridiculously low tolerance for pain.

So we choose, instead, to forgo the connection and find it in what is convenient and non-threatening.  We choose, largely, to cry alone.  So we can Ugly Cry.  Super Cry.  And there is no one there to judge our weakness.

I found my 1%...they are 5 and 7...and they are SO Me.

Therapy Session ... at the Dentist?

I have a confession to make.  I am a wary uptown parade goer.

I have tried for years to enjoy them.  I go to a house right on St. Charles Avenue so I have a bathroom, food, and drinks, and a lovely home with a balcony and fenced in front yard to watch the parade from.  I get to watch them from what is essentially like a suite at a sporting event.  Every year I try to dip my foot in the pool of enjoyment along with everyone else.  But every year I leave irritated and exhausted.

I'm so UN-New Orleanian.

I live in Metry...a suburb.  I love that everything I do is within a five mile radius.  My grocery store.  The car wash.  My gym.  My church.  My bar.  I feel settled and at peace in my hood.  The parades here are easier to get to and more kid-friendly.  I can come and go as I like.  I don't have to sit in traffic forever trying to find a parking spot just to walk another ten blocks to get to my destination. 

Maybe it's the expansion of the crowds uptown that I don't love.  I don't know many people.  I'm in unfamiliar territory likely surrounded by people who are also in unfamiliar territory.  It's not my hood.  It's not their hood.

The older I get, the more content I am to stay in my place.  I used to love traveling.  I loved experiencing new things.  I was on a date recently and the dude was telling me all the places he had been recently, his upcoming trips, and all the events he had attended around the city.

"You don't have kids, do you?"  I asked.

The response was predictable.

Being a parent changes you in ways you can't anticipate.  One day you're a carefree, adventurous person who loves going to uptown parades and holding baby alligators.  Post kids, you find yourself in the bathroom at your favorite bar a few miles from your suburban apartment crying because you found out your son went to school without Valentines to distribute to his class and was the only one without.

I went to the dentist yesterday and caused my sweet dentist to worry.  He made me a mouth guard over a year ago and had to make it twice as thick as normal because I grind my teeth so badly at night.  I was destroying my teeth.  And jaw.  Unbeknownst to me, my jaw clicks every time I open it.  It has for a while but I just thought it was something that everyone had.  I finally addressed it on my last dental appointment thus causing my dentist to worry.

"How do you feel, Rebekah?  Like emotionally?"  He asked.

I stared at him blankly, feeling very unprepared to have a therapy session in a dentist's chair. 

"I feel fabulous!" I finally responded.

"And how do you sleep?" He asked.

"Like a freakin' baby."  I responded.

He looked puzzled.  Because the evidence of my stress was in my super, unusually thick mouth guard that will not withstand much more of my grinding at night.  And my TMJ will eventually cause me to be in a great amount of pain.  To him, it was amazing that I wasn't sleeping poorly and wasn't in a serious state of anxiety.  I guess I am that good at compartmentalizing.  I reserve my stress only for nighttime grinding, apparently.  And the occasional cry in the bathroom at the bar when I find out something distressing about my kids.

He prescribed me a muscle relaxer and neck/shoulder/head massages as often as I can afford them.  I clearly am a walking time bomb.  Who knew?  My mouth guard and my dentist, that's who.

So my life is kinda different since I became a momma.  I'm wary of uptown parades.  I grind the hell out of my teeth.  I receive unexpected therapy sessions from my dentist.  I cry in bathrooms when I think about my son being hurt. 

And if I do hold a baby alligator, I will be worrying about the diseases I am catching and whether he has brushed his teeth.