musings about Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is this weekend. The children will be with their father (until I choose to pick them up); my mother and aunt will be crowded in to my grandmother’s assisted living space, so I am imagining how I might like to spend this special Sunday morning by myself.

Ideally, I would receive flowers. Tulips, perhaps, something seasonable and bright, not too fussy. And I’d grab a latte to go and walk around one of the urban lakes with a friend. Of course, all my friends are likely to be either with their own children or with their mothers, so I’m not entirely convinced this plan will work. (When they’re older, I shall anticipate spa services.)

Might be nice if that friend who gave me flowers and took me for a walk were a gentleman…

Just sayin’.

post-feminist dating

I was a staunch feminist in college and beyond. My serious papers took on sexist language and such things. I’ve been called a femi-nazi on more than one occasion. So let’s relate this to dating…

If I don’t come across as particularly adept at dating now, you can imagine what an idealistic (in all the wrong ways) fool about it I was in my twenties. One of my more memorable boyfriends lived hand-to-mouth. Much of the time he didn’t have a dime to his name — but when he did, he was sure to buy me gifts or treat me to an amazing night out. I went dutch with lots of guys, too. I remember reading an article that promoted the notion that couples should contribute equally to relationships, and should strive to date at the level that the lower-earner of the two can afford. But let’s get real: very few couples are composed of equal earners or equally motivated partners.

Frankly, I now wonder whether not allowing a man to buy dinner when dating could have landed me in a decade-long relationship in which I supported an entire family. Perhaps there is such a thing as too much self-sufficiency. And I’m through supporting a perfectly capable man!

Contrast my past approach with a sassy widow I know. She recently revealed that she asks men who ask her out to pay her sitter.

Damn, girl! The last time I was in the dating game, it was common to split the tab. It was only the older, wealthier men who you knew with confidence were buying dinner. Either that, or I was just too dumb or too feminist. (And, no, I don’t believe they are the same thing.)

At this point in my life, I’ve developed an appreciation for receiving male attention in many of its forms, including gifts, meals, etc. In other words, it’s pretty unlikely that I’m going to pull out my wallet on the first couple of dates. Still, I’m not sure how that conversation goes…

He: “So, wanna go out for a drink sometime?”

She: “Sure, if you’re willing to pay for my babysitter.”

Which brings me back to my point: If we get what we expect, then I’m okay with expecting a lot. I’m a successful woman; I deserve a successful mate. But I have yet to master the language of high expectations — i.e. the language of asking or negotiating for something I know I can provide for myself.

My friend puts it this way: “We pay for the manicure, pedicure, brow wax, facial, we get made up and do our hair — look at the investment of time and money we’ll put into looking and feeling good for a date! And all he’s gotta do is pay for dinner and a movie?! No. I let him know that if he wants to go out with me, this is part of it. Maybe on the second and third dates, I’ll split the cost of the sitter and, if I like the guy after that, I may leave my children with my mom or sister. But my reality is that I have children, and he might as well understand that now.”

This woman has set the bar high. I can respect that. There are some dating experts out there who might refer to this as “Degree of Difficulty,” as in, a woman should have a high DoD in order to attract a guy who is willing to work hard to make her happy.

In any case, if she can rock it, I’m gonna learn to rock it, too!

reflections on the one-year milestone

My ex moved out a year ago today.

Thinking about that still hurts my heart just a little. There’s a tender spot as I reflect on the heartache and pain I suffered (and just as likely caused for another) in my marriage, as well as the failure to provide my children what I believed was so important to give them — a solid, secure and loving family environment.

(As I write this, Dusty Springfield has rotated into my iTunes playlist with I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself. Would you call that ironic?)

The melancholy in reflecting on this stems from two sources: First, that I loved so much and so deeply and yet didn’t know how to love, as surely causing pain to object of my love as he did to me. Second, that I chose so poorly in the first place. It’s difficult to accept that I knew so little about myself or was blind to so many signs that I picked a partner who would draw out so much pain and anger, forcing me to deal with them and grow (while he simply pointed fingers). I can’t help but believe there had to have been a kinder, gentler way to learn these lessons.

(And now Joan Armatrading’s Willow — “I said I’m strong, straight, willing to be your shelter in the storm…”)

I still remember the first day of it being just us: my two elementary-school-age children and me. I explained to them that, without Daddy here every day to do things for them, they would have to help out by making their own school lunches, among other things. I assured them I would step in to help when needed, and that we were all capable and would be fine taking responsibility for ourselves and helping each other.

This is when my son teared up, “I don’t know if I can do it, Mommy.” He is a tender-hearted young soul, and so generous with his empathy and feelings! He continued to stress through the evening and even as I tucked him in to bed. My daughter, on the other hand, was excited about being given more independence and responsibility.

The next morning, everyone got up just a little earlier and pushed through the morning tasks of dressing, eating breakfast, making lunch, etc. just a little more diligently. We all got out the door on time, successfully. My favorite moment was at the end of the day when my son remarked, “Mommy, I guess I didn’t even need to worry.”

These past twelve months have also brought a number of lessons and much growth. I recall feeling that taking out the trash and recycling wasn’t really adding to my workload. And I also remember discovering other areas where my ex picked up more slack than I ever realized or gave him credit for. It hasn’t always been easy, and there have been plenty of hiccups along the way — my ex appears to be declining to communicate with me right now, as an example. Yet I can’t help feeling that we’ve come a long way.

My children have gained patience, self-reliance, a greater understanding that their parents are merely human and the capacity to be more helpful and responsible than I might have thought possible for their ages. (And still I work to balance this with their need for innocence.)

As for me, I am gaining confidence in making the choices and life decisions that nurture me. I am seeing more clearly what happens when I neglect to do important things that I’d prefer to ignore (the banking, taxes and money management, for instance). I am growing stronger, more clear and determined in my life path. And I am learning how empowering it is to commit to my own happiness, even if it requires making choices that once seemed impossible.

(Citizen Cope If There’s Love)

So I keep going back to my son’s wise words: “I guess I didn’t need to worry.”

second date fail

I reported earlier in the week that I was to go on a second date with someone. We were to meet for brunch at a quaint bistro.

I drove there, parked and went into the restaurant. I thought I saw my date turn in to the lot as I gave the hostess my name, table for two. Strangely, my date did not come in for several minutes. Perhaps he was on the phone, I thought. When three minutes turned into five, I thought I must have been mistaken. At ten minutes, I ordered my breakfast and continued to read the newspaper.

Only after breakfast (remember, I quit my job and have yet to replace my mobile phone, and the restaurant did not have wi-fi) did I get the message that his ex had been called in to the hospital (hmm, a doctor?) and he had to rush back to pick up his children.

So…

What is a girl to do with this? We were about to have a second date. The first was an hour-long coffee two weeks ago, followed by some flirtatious emails. So let’s first establish that there is no relationship — it feels like a very low-stakes situation to me. And if my ex called and needed to be at the hospital, I would have done the same thing: gone home to fetch my children.

Still, because they could come to bear if ever a relationship were to grow, there are two rather critical questions that come up in a situation like this:

How hard would you work to communicate? Guy (not his actual name) knew I didn’t have a mobile phone, but he did know I’d have my laptop. Of course neither of us would have guessed the restaurant didn’t have wi-fi…doesn’t every coffee or breakfast place these days? There is also a city-wide wi-fi program here, but I don’t subscribe to the service. Guy sent me an email from his iPhone while in the restaurant parking lot (I later learned). He could have come in; he could have called the restaurant — in other words, he might have done more to ensure that I had truly received the message. As I said, the stakes were low…but hey Guy, how bad do you want it? Ultimately, if positions were reversed, I’d like to think that I would have had the courtesy to stop, walk into the restaurant and personally let my date know that something urgent had come up. The email wasn’t a total fail, but he could have done better…I say this not knowing whether his ex is an emergency surgeon or a nurse or an IT staffer or a PR person. Which leads me to…
How do you manage an ex? Among my wide network of friends, I’ve had several who are in the second wife / stepmother role. Having discussed these challenges before, the consensus has typically been that — more than being second wife or stepmother — the most difficult role is that which must deal with the ex-wife. The ex-wife can work to sabotage the relationships both between husband and new wife and with the children. If the man in this situation doesn’t have firm, well-defined boundaries with his ex, it’s hell on the entire family. But, according to my friends, the second wife / stepmother rarely gets very far when trying to address these dynamics — she’s often accused of being jealous, not wanting her husband to spend as much time with the children as he does or having other nefarious intentions. None of these are true, but they can appear true to a man who doesn’t see how manipulative his ex-wife is being or is generally unwilling to manage the situation. It sometimes seems that men respond with more empathy to an ex (perhaps out of guilt?) than to the current wife. In other words, ex-spousal management is critical to the health of any individual’s boundaries, and becomes even more important if one is to endeavor to have other relationships. Did my date manage his ex well? Not particularly. But there are still too many unknowns to determine how big a fail this is. First, let me say that Guy alluded to his children having some behavioral or development challenges, which may make it difficult for him and / or the ex to leave them with a neighbor or friend at the last minute. I have no idea how long Guy has been divorced. I have no idea whether the ex-wife wanted the divorce. I haven’t seen any history or patterns as it relates to this behavior.

So here’s what happened afterward:

I waited about a day before I responded to Guy’s emailed cancellation / apology. The tone appeared to have prioritized his “poor me” feelings over his “I am so sorry” apology, but it’s difficult to get a real read over email. My note to him said simply, “you missed a great breakfast — and even better company.”

He replied quickly, expressing his embarrassment over the situation and some suspicion that he had been manipulated or his plans had been sabotaged — along with a compliment or two.

I later replied, “perhaps you shouldn’t tell your ex when you make plans with a beautiful woman.”

Again he agreed and added compliments.

I clearly have the upper hand and can elect whether to see him again or not. In general, he seems decent enough, and flirts articulately. His profile shows cute personality. He is a sucker for The Sound of Music, as am I, and we seem to have a wide variety of shared eclectic interests. I have a mild interest in hanging out…yet I don’t like being yanked around. So I’m really on the fence here…

What would you do? One fail and he’s out? Or give him another chance?

a lesson in abundance

I was turned on to a recording by Dov Baron the other day, and one of the concepts he talked about was so simple, so memorable and so powerful that I felt compelled to share it with my children, and now with you:

Imagine you’re here with me in my living room. I’m pulling money out of my pocket. I take a bill and hold it up. You see that it’s a $100 bill.

“How much is this worth?” I ask you.

You say, “one hundred dollars.”

Right. So, I ask “How much would it be worth if I took it to the bank?”

You answer, “$100.”

And I ask: “How about if I took it to a restaurant? A clothing store? To Target? To a gas station?”

It’s still worth $100.

What if I threw it on the ground and stomped on it?

$100.

What if I crumpled it up? What if I cupped the crumpled mess in one hand and used my other fist to hit it? What if I yelled obscenities and insults at it?

It’s still worth $100. Its value hasn’t changed.

That’s how our self-worth must be. We are all worth every bit as much as that first moment we came into this world and our mother and/or father looked into our eyes with love and awe.

So, whether we’ve been hurt, called names, insulted, physically abused, verbally abused, no matter what our boss or co-workers or friends or enemies or neighbors or family members have said, our worth and our value in this world has not changed. We are still precious, miraculous and worthy…and to live with this knowledge is bliss!

Of course, at the end of this lesson, I asked my children how much they are worth.

My son replied knowingly, “Two thousand and three dollars,” for the year (“moment”) of his birth.

I assured him he and his sister are worth much, much more.

telling the children

about a year ago…

We sat down in the living room on a snowy Saturday morning to tell the children that we didn’t want to be together anymore, and that Daddy would be moving out. It should have been obvious to me that he would throw me under the bus: he clarified, “this is what Mommy wants.”

My younger was emotional; my older merely shrugged. The discussion was over almost before it began, and I later wondered why I had held so much fear about this moment. It was certainly something I had never wanted to do. I never wanted to have to tell my children that what they knew as a family could no longer remain intact. And yet somehow, at least my oldest, had known it was coming.

The children and I put on our wraps and went out to play in the snow. My older child, my daughter, was met at the playground by her best friend who, upon hearing the news, lamented, “That is so sad. My parents promised never to get a divorce.”

“Yes,” I said. “It is very sad.” I explained that I never would have wanted this for my children nor for myself. “You see the way your parents treat one another: they talk with each other, touch and laugh together. Your parents are best friends. I would have loved that kind of partnership. But, as you’ve seen, we didn’t have that.”

Children have such a beautiful and authentic way of expressing themselves. I did my best to match that authenticity in sharing with my daughter’s friend, and on a level that all three children might hear and understand. In so doing, I was immediately reassured that the three of us, my children and I, would be all right after all.

I knew there would be difficult conversations, hurt and pointed questions from my children. What I did not anticipate was my own confidence and clarity in speaking to them. My own honesty and directness in this and other teaching moments has been a pleasant door open to trust and dialogue.

opportunity

As in the popular sitcom, Will & Grace, I spent much of my college years and twenties in social circles that included gay men, several of whom are still my friends. I love hanging with this group of friends because they’re fun, successful, love to do the kinds of things I like to do (go dancing, stroll through art museums, have an occasional cocktail, watch romantic movies), etc. I had my “Will,” and we could talk about anything. Nothing is taboo between a straight woman and a gay man.

I also learned a critical life skill from my gay male friends. Every time they greeted me or another female friend among the group, they did so with amazing energy: “Gorgeous!,” my Will would call me, arms outstretched. And then he would add a comment about something I was wearing or my hair or choose something else positive to say.

There were times when I suspected a superficiality in this — it was a cultural norm, as is asking someone how they’re doing and not waiting for an answer — yet it never got old and it never failed to make me feel good about myself.

I came to see these behaviors as a powerful opportunity, a great way to make others feel good. I try to use these opportunities regularly — in business, in can be a great way to disarm someone otherwise intimidating or difficult and, especially in parenting, I’ve learned that it’s one of the great tools I can use to reinforce my children’s self-esteem, while noticing and encouraging positive behaviors. I also realized that it really wasn’t superficial at all. The positive things I find to say are very genuine, perhaps because I prefer to see the good in others.

It seems that few straight men have caught on to these behaviors. Perhaps it comes less naturally to heterosexual males. So guys, here’s a big opportunity for the new year:

Smile
Greet a woman by calling her a really nice name — e.g. Gorgeous, Beautiful, Pretty Girl…
Notice the positive and comment on it
Recognize the beauty in everyone

Trust me, it will work wonders!

death of a dream

The holidays can be a potent, emotionally charged time — especially among families that have suffered divorce. In fact, I’ve been so busy for the past week or so that the emotions of navigating all this family time by myself didn’t really hit me until it was all over.

Even if I don’t miss my ex, I do miss several of the traditions and memories we created and shared together. He’s Jewish; I come from a Christian background. We were blessed to celebrate Chanukah and Christmas. I miss sharing the season with him and his family. And while I’m in contact with some of the former in-laws, I’m no longer part of the family celebrations. I have to experience them through my children’s stories.

My ex missed this, too. When I dropped the children off to spend a few days of their break, he gave me a hug and told me he misses me. I’m smarter than to believe I should take this to mean anything of substance. I still love him. But I don’t miss living with him. And I doubt he misses living with me, aside from some of the happy memories we created together. After all, how can the holidays be recalled with anything but fondness?

So if we remember and reminisce about family celebrations, especially holidays, what is the impact of divorce? It’s the death of a dream. Certainly when we came together, vowed to love one another and brought children into the world, we did so believing that we would be together. We dreamt of a stable family life for our children and creating traditions of all kinds together.

And having failed at maintaining this, I can’t help but wonder what of our children’s dreams we have dashed?

Festivus for the ex of us

Happy Festivus, everyone! Today is the day Seinfeld followers honor with traditions including the Festivus pole, Feats of Strength and the Airing of Grievances.

What a great opportunity to send a back-handed holiday greeting to my ex, right?!

It would be easy to be bitter and place blame when you come out of a relationship like mine. In fact, I’ve spent much too much energy on these very behaviors. And I know damned well how unproductive that is!

Most of the time, I try to be conscious about the energy I’m putting out in the world, my language and my general outlook on life. I believe what we put out affects what we get back. (There are some excellent books on this topic by Michael Losier and John Assaraf, among others.) So I try to stay positive, express my gratitude and always view my cup as overflowing.

This can be difficult when, throughout most of my relationship, I was the primary or only breadwinner. I earn a healthy living. Nothing spectacular, but I’m able pay the mortgage, buy groceries and take my family on an occasional vacation. The designer clothes and handbags of my days as a single are no more, and my car has celebrated its 15th birthday. Still, I recognize that I am blessed. This is kind of a big thing for me…

You see, there have been times in my life when my outlook was not so bright, when I was incapable of feeling genuine happiness for a friend who met a great new guy, got engaged, had a baby or got a fabulous new job. I was jealous of those I perceived as having more or better. These were things that I wanted! Why weren’t they happening to me? Probably because I was focusing on the lack.

Going through a divorce, turning forty…I’ve felt a lot of lack these past many months, along with a powerful urge to place blame. It was easy to believe that I drove an old car and lived in a house with some urgent repairs needed and skimped on my wardrobe because my ex wasn’t contributing enough financially. I thought that if he loved me enough, he would work harder to help provide the things that were important to me and our family. But neither this belief nor my resentment has produced positive results.

For my birthday, a friend took me to a Michael Franti & Spearhead concert. If you’ve never been to one of these shows, I recommend it: it’s as much a spiritual experience as it is an opportunity to see a pretty cool live show. The band and the fans are happy, smiling and joyful. Everyone is dancing and waving their arms. I imagine it’s something like a revival.

There I was at the show, jumping up and down, smiling so hard that my face hurt, as Michael sung these lyrics: “Wise men count their blessings; fools count their problems…” I had an ah-ha moment, quickly recognizing that I was being a fool, counting my problems.

So now I’m focused on counting my blessings; I’m monitoring my thoughts, my words and the people with whom I choose to surround myself; I’m working to be conscious and deliberate about the energy I allow in my life. I’m noticing when good things happen, even small things, and I’m writing them down in a gratitude journal.

And I’m not indulging the ugly little urge to be petty. Today it felt good to send my ex a Festivus greeting with a positive wish for the future. I left out the long list of grievances altogether.

And, in case you were wondering, the very next line in that Michael Franti song is “…but you’re both of them to me.” How apropos!

on failure

I’ve had some interesting reactions from friends and followers as it relates to the title of this blog, failed at forty. Most — those who know me well — issue forth a quick guffaw and exclaim “awesome!” or “hilarious!” or some such. They know my quirky, cheeky sense of humor and ability to poke fun at myself.

Others sincerely tell me I shouldn’t think of or call myself a failure. It’s as though they believe failure is a bad thing.

For a time in my life, I had frequent occasion to downhill ski. I recall letting some of my friends know that I felt good, was getting in my groove, hadn’t wiped out in a long time. And then one of them piped up: “If you haven’t wiped out, you’re not pushing yourself hard enough.”

Let’s pause for a moment to look at the silver lining inherent in failure:

To fail means we’ve taken a risk, acted boldly, pushed forward out of our safety zone.
We’ve gained some clarity about what doesn’t work, and can now adjust course to create a more positive outcome.
We’re afforded a new beginning, an opportunity to confess that we didn’t really know it all anyway, made mistakes and are ready to move on.
We’re older, wiser and can choose to endeavor forth with much already gained.

As for me, I can point to some rather spectacular results of the past decade of my life:

I have two amazing, beautiful, loving children.
I have a home in a lovely neighborhood.
I’ve increased my income by more than 60% over this time.
I’ve met amazing new friends and colleagues, as well as continuing to nurture old friendships.
I’ve had some tremendous, remarkable, memorable experiences.
I’ve healed, matured and grown in more ways that I can recount.

Do I really think of myself as a failure? No. But I’ve had some pretty spectacular moments. You could say failure and I are on a first-name basis. So let’s raise a glass to failure. Failure, you haven’t beat me — I’ll always persevere. And I’m grateful for the lessons!