Envy and Cheezits

So I went back to the well this weekend. Or the cave. Or where ever it is that you go when life's got you down and you need the love and support of those who love and support you. And I also realized that it sucks to be around happy people. Unless they are kids.

I have three adorable, yet challenging kids. My sister Krissy has the same. We've been pregnant simultaneously twice and have two sets of children that are only a month apart. If you can only imagine 6 kids and two dogs (mine at home soiling the carpets and leaving fabulous "Why'd ya go?" presents for me) running all over an enormous, happy house in Elmhurst, IL.

My sister is amazing. She's a size 2. She's gorgeous. Doesn't look a day over 26 (Actually she does, but she's the kind of woman that looks better in her 30's than she did at 21.) She has a huge house, a happy marriage, lots of money, kids who behave and dogs who don't bark at the mailman or pee on the carpet. Perfection. Oh, yeah and she is a great and giving person.

Which makes it hard to be me right now. Because I feel completely the opposite of that. I feel gray and small (and fat) and lumpy and bitter and shriveled and sad and pathetic. Next to her fabulousness, I'm just...bleh. And she'll read this and tell me, "No! You're awesome!" and give me a pep talk and offer to paint the world for me, all I'd have to do is name the color. Because that is the kind of person she is. Awesome. And I'm not. Not right now.

It's not envy exactly. I love my sister and wish her only happiness and the thought of myself being envious of her life is not true at all. I'm envious of everyone that is happy right now. People who have jobs that they can complain about. People who can buy things knowing that they will have paychecks coming in the next few months. People who can text on their cell phones. People who can decorate their houses for Halloween. People who can go to movies. People who can get their children haircuts without putting them on the charge card. People who can plan for Christmas. People who can sign up their kids for anything without wondering about the pricetag and whether or not you can afford it. People who can buy their kids a second pair of shoes. People who don't have to worry about someone they love lying to them over and over again. Envy.

So that is why I chose to focus on our children this weekend. Something about their exploits, innocent and new. I could sit and watch them envy-free. I could just enjoy their sweet spirits and their innocence. (Plus the wise sage Luke-who is my eldest nephew and who's brilliant mind who I cannot wait to see bloom, insisted that I write about them.)

Highlights of the weekend include:

1) Grant and his cousin Alec (both 9) coming upstairs from the play room with matching bloody noses. (?????) Both of them.

"What were you guys doing?" I query.

"Oh, nothing. We were just playing a game." Alec quips. Neither one was crying. No whining. No crying. Just bloody noses. And Grant looking a little green.

I could remember some crazy games of Twister growing up. Or maybe playing Barbies. Or an intense game of Monopoly with my brother. But nothing that would involve two bloody noses.

"Oh, in that case...." I handed them some tissues and sent them on their way.

2) If anyone can throw a party, it is my sister Krissy. She had the music pumping for the kids. Pepperoni pizza on these funky skull and cross bone plates. And she served sparkling apple cider in fun Halloween glasses. So festive!!!! I looked over at Mia (my 5-year old) and she looked horrified.

"What's the matter sweetie?" I ask.

"I don't want to drink....beer!" she cried. The look on her face was priceless. I plan on holding that one in my mind when she's 16 dresssed in a white tank top and miniskirt and out with some Nebraska corn-fed boys looking for the street dance. At least I know she doesn't like beer!

I assured her it was just apple cider. She took a tentative sip and loved it! (You better believe I am buying a shotgun with the first paycheck of any job I might get.)

3.) The kids were sitting at the table, playing with the new toys that Aunt Krissy had bought for them earlier in the day. When sweet little blue-eyed, blond-haired 5-year old Jack asks me, "So....when did'ya get a divorce?"

That one threw me. I've had conversations with my own kids. And conversations with grown-ups. With well thought-out and scripted reasons of why my marriage fell apart. But when a kindergartener just throws it out there in the middle of a "happy" day.....I just didn't know what to say. So I went in the pantry and cried. In the middle of single serving packets of chocolate chip cookies and Cheezits, I cried.

And then I realized, I am having a breakdown surrounded by Capri Suns and Enteneman's donuts. Small bags of fish crackers and pretzels. 5 oz bottles of water and granola bars. It was a little weird. Things in small packages. Little things to grab when you need that small something to get you to the next stage.

I have decided that even if my envy seems like it can consume me, even if the happy grown-ups are more than I can handle, I need to remember to look at my little somethings. (And the adorable little somethings around me.) Innocence. Purity. Easy nibble-ability. All in convienent self-serve packages.

Bumpers

The other day I got rear-ended. On 84th Street on my way to HyVee to buy some groceries. There were a bunch of people turning into Kohl's for some reason and the traffic was backed up and I had to stop and the guy behind me wasn't paying as much attention as I was. Bam!

I get out. He gets out. My rear bumper is already pretty messed up from the day I drove the minivan off the Honda lot. I got rear-ended that day within 5 minutes of driving off the lot. No kidding. But all she left was the imprint of the screws on her license plate. This guy left the imprint of the screws of his license plate and a little extra small dent just for good measure.

I look at the damage. The guy was young, but not too young. Maybe 5 years younger than I am. His car was some average white sedan made most likely in the late '90's. He worked hard for the little money he had and it showed. I am unemployed. I am a single mom. I have no money and very soon could go into some serious debt. A little ding on my back bumper is really no big deal. To drag police officers and lawsuits and tickets and deductibles seemed like a serious waste of negative energy. So I sent him on his way. And he was happy.

Saturday was the Husker game vs. Texas. Chris had the kids in the afternoon, so I thought it would be fun to join my friends watching the game at a bar in downtown Lincoln. If you've never captured the frenzied fan atmosphere of Game Day in Husker Nation, you are surely missing out. Thousands of people, not only descend upon Memorial Stadium to cheer the Big Red on, but thousands of ticketless souls also (myself included) love to just drink in the spirit (pun intended) and revel in the sport of fandom.

I didn't get downtown until 2 and the game started at 2:30, so officially, I couldn't even find a parking spot "downtown." It was a little more like....down, dowtown. Not in the safest neighborhood in Lincoln. But there I saw it.....a spot just big enough to fit the Honda! If I just nestled it in so carefully.....backing up just a little bit to get it in just right......easy, easy....and I just gently kissed the car in front of me. I was being as careful as I could be. There was a guy on his cellphone on the other side of the road and two scary looking ladies (using the term the kindest spirit) smoking cigarettes outside of their rundown apartment. I admit, I was bumper to bumper with the car ahead of me, but I was grateful to have found a spot at all with all the craziness of Game Day action.

And then there was the game. (Ouch) Head hanging low, I head back to my car. It was dark. I was a little scared. I had my keys in hand, just in case some psycho wanted to steal my purse with the 4 different shades of lipgloss I have inside. Most of the traffic had gone by this point. I think that most people just wanted to go home and stick their heads in cartons of ice cream. (Yes, the loss was that bad.) And then I saw the note.

"You parked into my car and damaged the back bumper. Your plate info was taken along with pictures. Expect to hear from my lawyer."

Really? Really? First of all, I remember back in the day, the entire purpose of bumpers was to allow for a little bumping and scraping from time to time. That was why they were called "bumpers." Second of all, if you are this un-used to "creative parking" at Husker games, you should take the shuttle in. And third of all, what lawyer has access to running license plate numbers? And why would you pay that lawyer the $85 an hour to fix a $25 scratch on your bumper?

But really what struck me is how irate someone had gotten over something so stupid. Would this guy have gotten so mad if I had been there? If he had gotten to see my "disheveled-unemployed-I-need-help" face? It's a car!!!! When did we get so possessive of our "things?" I didn't hurt him or any of his family members. I maybe (and just maybe) scratched the bumper of his car a little bit. Something he worked hard for, sure, but again, just a "thing." It wasn't like I plowed into him. I nestled my car up next to his. Going maybe .5 miles/hour. It's a "thing!" If I had caused any damage (or even thought I had), I would have popped a note on his car. (Remember, there were witnesses.) Again, it is just a thing.

One day, we'll all be going somewhere where posessions don't matter. What kind of cellphone we had. What kind of shoes we wore. What kind of car we drove and whether or not it had a teeny tiny scratch on the back end bumper. What is most important is how we treat other people, how we spread kindness and love and how we forgive even those whose names we don't know: people who trespass against us (and drive Honda Odyssey mini-vans.)

The Men in Blue and the Boy on the Red Bike

So they say that God only gives you what you can handle. Well, today I got tested.

I do think it is important for kids to start to develop a sense of independence. Play on their own. Make some mistakes. Scrape some knees. All without Mommy looking over their shoulder. Yesterday, I let my nine-year old ride with his friend to his friend's house after school with the promise that he would come right back. He followed directions and I was so proud. I was hoping that this could be a changing point. A sign of maturity. He did just get a new pair of glasses. Maybe the new spectacles gave him a new vision (pun intended) on how a mature, responsible 3rd grader should behave.

He asked to do the same thing today. He had homework, but since he was so responsible the day before, I told him to come right back and could get started on his homework later. He took off with his buddy at 3:45. I figured that they probably took the long way. They had been joking about going past not one, but two girls' houses on their special route. It was 4:25 and I started to get nervous. He was supposed to come right home and work on that homework. I went over to the friend's house where his dad told me that they hadn't seen Grant since 4:05 when they sent him home.

So now you know what starts racing through my mind. Of course there's the panic. The what-if. But I wouldn't let my mind go there. I just figured he must have stopped at a friends house on the way home. I took the route back looking for his tell-tale red bike in the front yard of his 3 possible stops. I went to each house and rang the doorbells. No one was home at any of the three houses. No parents, no kids, no one. I started to get even more nervous. I went to the school. There were lots of kids playing, but no Grant. I drove slowly through the neighborhood. Why couldn't I find that bike?

I'm friends with several police officers and I know the stats. The majority of child abduction cases involve a parental dispute or some other kind of family issue. And think of the times you even hear about those. I tried to think of the odds. But then I also thought about what else could be going on, could Grant be so upset about our changing family environment that he ran away? I called Chris and he told me to call the police.

They came to the house quickly. Took Grant's description and his new school picture. ( I had grumbled about having to spend $60 for school pictures. The cheapest/value package was $20 x 3 kids=expensive, but now totally worth it.) He told me what would happen if they didn't find him in an hour. They told me what would happen if they didn't find him in 4 more hours. By this time, Grant had been not seen for an hour and a half.

I asked him if this happens frequently. And he said, "All the time." Usually kids go over to play at a friend's house and never tell anyone. But this police officer said, "But we never take chances." He hopped back in his patrol car and worked on canvassing the neighborhood.

Some of my neighbors started coming home from work and had noticed the patrol car right outside of our house. And then I see him. Grant riding his bike back to our house. He had stopped at a friend's house, one of the houses that I had stopped by to see if he was there. There had been no bike in the driveway. No one had answered my knock at the door. Somehow he had been squirreled away inside playing video games with two of his buddies.

And I started to think about all of the things we tell our kids to keep them safe. Don't answer the door, if you don't know who is there. These boys had an older brother home, but he must not have seen or recognized me at the front door. Their bikes were all in the garage. (There has been a rash of bike burglaries in our neighborhood. Read my blog post Training Wheels.) They were trying to be safe and at the same time, scared me to death.

Grant is grounded. Big time. And I keep letting him know that I am not angry with him. I was just scared. And he needs to really, really learn a lesson. If you want respect, you have to give it. Independence isn't free, it is earned. Integrity. Trust. Responsibility. All traits that even we as adults struggle with every day. But really, it all boils down to this: Do what you say you are going to do. Be where you say you are going to be. And everything will be all right. (And no one will have to call the police. God bless them.)

New Chapter

I haven't exactly decided how to tackle this one. I am now starting a new chapter in my life and I haven't decided how to handle it or discuss it or write about it, but write about it I must.

One of my nephews doesn't understand why I talk about all of this personal stuff on my blog. "Why does she want everyone to know her business?" I don't know why. It does seem stupid. Private stuff should be private. Why does anyone feel the need to share feelings and private thoughts for potentially the whole world to see? Because if I didn't write about these things, I would go crazy. If I were an artist, I'd paint. If I were a sculptor, I'd sculpt. If I were a song writer, I'd sing and you better believe I've got the makings of an award-winning, heart-wrenching country song. (Might still work on that one). What I am is a story-teller. I tell stories. I have to. Otherwise my head would explode and (as I have already explained in multiple previous blogs) I don't like to clean. So that is a mess that just can't happen.

My next chapter is that of a single mom. Chris and I have decided to split and all I can say about it, is that it sucks. Everything sucks. I could write about details and pain and blame and hurt and confusion, but it can all be summed up in two words. It sucks. One day, maybe I'll write it all out, and they'll make a movie, and Julia Roberts will play me, and I'll make a gazillion dollars, but that is another day. Right now it sucks.

My parents divorced just before my fifth birthday. And I love both of my parents equally. My mother is there for me on the phone everyday, no matter what I might need. My dad suffers from a certain amount of wanderlust, loves to travel and somehow finds a way to make a pitstop in Lincoln on his way to wherever his Jeep and camera take him. He came here last week to be my shoulder and he will never know how much that means to me.

So I have proof that there is life for kids after divorce, and my own kids are handling things pretty well at this point. They all know that both mom and dad love them very much. That we are still a family, just a different kind of family.

So starts the new chapter. I'm not sure what is next. I know I really need to find a full-time job. I know I'll need to find childcare and someone to watch the dogs. I know I'll need to give extra kisses and hugs and snuggles. I know I'll have to figure out bills and finances and taxes and how to mow the lawn. And yes, I'll have to clean. It sucks, but when you're surrounded by people who love you, you can tackle anything.