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Monday, February 27, 2012

Words

The other night I was sitting with my husband, debriefing about the day. After the kids go to bed, the rhythm of our nights usually includes streaming some new episode (Sherlock is our latest addiction) or watching a repeat of 30 Rock for the tenth time.  Whenever one of us has something important to say, we pause the program (lots of stops and starts). One night last week I must have been fishing for a little validation. It turned out to be one of the nicest moments in my marriage to date. Brendan turned to me and said, “Your best is yet to come and you know it.” It's really amazing how many words people exchange, especially couples (married or not). And sometimes, words can really stick. Not only that, but they can have weight. I've smiled while reflecting on my husband's words a hundred times since he said them. You never know where those sticky, weighty words will come from next.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Can't Pick 'Em Anymore

Nora with her cousin Erin, a healthy relationship that
doesn't depend on me for much of anything.
I bet many of my peers can relate to what I've come to terms with recently. There was a time when the social lives of my children were almost completely orchestrated by me. I held the power position to pick and choose playmates on their behalf. And it all depended on whether or not I felt like picking up the telephone to arrange a meeting at the park. If I was really ambitious (ambitious enough to clean the whole house), I might ask someone I hardly knew into my home, replete with all the awkwardness generated by two strangers getting to know each other. 


When you are parenting very young children, this daily scheduling effort can be as much about your needs for social interaction as it is about theirs. And if you happen to be in the market for a new grown-up friend, with any luck and a little effort, you may find one (or two, or ten) - all this while playing matchmaker for your child. 


So now my oldest is in middle school and I realize that my reign as supreme wielder of friendships and play dates is over. Admittedly, I feel some relief. For one thing, the pressure is off. I no longer have to wonder if my motivations to have my child gravitate toward one friend or another are transparent. They can choose for themselves. And now I'm off the hook. I can celebrate much greater freedom by spending time with those whom I truly enjoy, without considering the impacts on my children. I no longer have to limp along through conversations in which I'm not vested. I can concentrate on myself a bit more these days, and it's nice. 

Monday, February 6, 2012

Alone on Christmas

My father, age 85.
My dad has been married twice. His first marriage to my mother lasted 32 years. His second marriage is barely limping along at the 22 year mark. Last spring, my oldest brother and I took my dad to lunch. During our time together, my father was quick to abandon his usual topics and began listing some unusual "new" behaviors that characterized his wife.


For our benefit, he enlisted a bold palette to color a vision of a woman who washed her towels and bed sheets every day, threw clothes away as fast as she could buy them and loitered by the clothes dryer late at night to drown the sounds of clandestine phone calls. He shared with us that his wife had recently refused to wash his clothes, shop for his groceries, prepare his dinner or clean the bathroom where he bathed. She had also become a fan of sending and receiving text messages, at all hours of the day.  The two had become room mates and one of them, apparently, had a secret. While my brother and I heard oral confirmation that his wife was indeed a crazy bat, a notion I had held since I met her, my father suspected infidelity.


My brother offered three words to our father: cell phone detail. The devil is in the details after all. Four days later, detail in hand, my dad telephoned me. He had highlighted a suspicious phone number, tallied the minutes, and noted the times of day. With minimal sleuthing, my dad had also identified the owner of the phone number. The next step was confrontation. Not prone to controversy of any kind, my father decided to leave the cell phone detail on the kitchen counter.


Since then, volatility has been the only accurate measure of their marriage and his wife has "left him" and returned on a number of occasions. Her abandonment pattern is unpredictable and ranges from just a few days to being gone for more than a month's time. This story is still unfolding.


What have I learned? I have learned that love dies slowly and deliberately.  I realize that loyalty enjoys a mystical place of honor that cannot always be rationalized or explained using words.  I know now that people cannot be talked out of love. There are more lessons here, but I'm not sure I'm ready to express them.


My dad spent this past Christmas alone. His wife was in abandonment mode, and despite my earnest invitation to include him in our holiday, he opted to go it alone.