LeighMo's bit of heaven (or hell)

That is right. The Lord has told her that I need to come to him, accept Jesus as my personal savior, so that I shall get into heaven rather than burn in hell, as I am doomed to do. She dropped Connor off today, and the un-brainwashing commences tomorrow.

Oh, and she's happy that my son likes my boyfriend. Sweet. I guess she gave Connor the first degree (most likely to prove that I'm fornicating or something), and he told her about the trip to the lake where Mr. Inc accompanied us.

Back to the former....a little history. On the night my nephew was born ten weeks premature, I told God I was sorry for blaming him for the evils that plagued my childhood. I said I forgave him for taking my first baby away, because I knew that we weren't ready for it, and when He felt we were, we would be waiting. I plead for him to keep my new nephew safe, and to allow him to get stronger, and give his parents strength while they waited out the night (they weren't sure if the baby would make it.)

I was filled with such a peace at thinking those words, I began to cry. It was as if there was a warmth coming from me, that I had never felt before, and I knew that God had heard me. We understood each other, I believe, for the first time since I was little. He realized that I'd turned away because I thought he allowed people to hurt me, and I understood for the first time that he does not always have the power to stop evil people. I was saved that night, my nephew is now 11 years old, and about two weeks later I got pregnant with son the eldest.

I have explained this in great detail to the former in laws, on several occasions. They think I'm well intended, but still not getting it, because I didn't recite the exact prayer that was written in the Left Behind series. And, because I don't go to church with them. More specifically, I refuse to attend any church they do, and say that whatever they believe is absolutely correct where what I believe is pretty much bullshit.

I have gone so far as to say I have prayed over whether or not I should attend any church they attend, and usually when I consult the bible and do a random open and read, I get something to the effect of 'beware of wolves in sheeps clothing' and to be wary of teachings that fly in the face of what Jesus stood for. The ex inlaws like churches that tell their congregations that They are the only ones good enough to make it into heaven, that anyone who doesn't believe exactly as they do need to see the error of their ways and get with the program, or hear 'I told you so' while burning in a lake of fire for all eternity.

What really turned me off to even thinking about seeking spiritual enlightenment with them was when I found out the ex mom in law had formed a prayer group at one church, and the sole purpose of this group was to pray for bad things to keep happening to the ex-husband (her son, remember!) until he either married the girlfriend or stopped living with her (we weren't even divorced then). That literally made me nauseous when I heard about that; where did Jesus ever say 'pray for people to suffer until they do what you would like!' I stopped letting them take my kids to that church, as well, for the same reason.

I don't go to church because I have yet to find one that doesn't at some point start falling victim to the power struggles and getting caught up in the trappings of humankind. My own uncle is a minister, and I don't go to his church because most of the congregation make fun of him behind his back and argue out loud about how the place is decorated. WTF?? I'd rather take the kids on a nature walk, pointing out the wonderous things God created, and answering any questions they have as best I can. I don't think all churches are like this, just the ones I ask about and hear about and attempt to visit.

I long to point out the hypocrisy of the former in laws, that they are intolerant and judgmental and just as caught up in the world as I am, just in different ways (hello, they have like 1000 movies and DVDs! I love my computer, they love the boob tube.) That rather than help their son and his family, they sat by and charged us to fill water buckets from their taps when we didn't have running water. but I know it would do no good. I've thought about reciting the sinner's prayer in front of them, but then remember that it really isn't any of their business to determine whether I'm 'good enough' to get into heaven or not, or whether God and I have a good relationship. I'm not a kisser and a teller, never have been. Last I checked, that job fell to the big G in the sky, and according to him, I'm to stay as far away from these people as I can. He tells me by giving me a divine migraine whenever I must deal with them.

I am a firm subscriber to the theory of karma. It is one of those philosophies that I believe smudges the lines between the spiritual and the logical. You get what you give; do unto others and all that jazz. Some think its as full of shit as a donkey pasture; others, like myself, keep that in mind when we get up each day to remind us to be good to one another.

It takes longer to get the good back than it does to get the bad back. But, I wait patiently, knowing that someday all of my good deeds, attitude, and just plain goodness will indeed be rewarded. I thought it would be equally sweet when those who, shall we say, wronged me got theirs.

Well, its coming around, and I am taking little to no satisfaction in it. Frankly, its starting to give me a headache.

It seems life with the girlfriend is not all the ex thought it would be. She's helpless. She can't do anything unless he is right there beside her, cheering her on or holding her hand. She doesn't see the point in striving to better themselves, for its much easier to stay perpetually unemployed and qualify for the piddly little handouts that are offered (and I don't mean just until they are on their feet....she thinks its a lifestyle, which frees up time for video game playing and sleeping late). Her family is as whacked out as his, and she caters to hers much the same way he always catered to his. They've been together over a year now....and are no better off and aren't much more secure than they were a year ago.

I talked to him last night, and he said he misses me. I said I miss you, too (because I only talk to him once or twice per month now that they aren't living in town). He says no, I miss being with you. He thinks about me all the time. He can't get my voice out of his head, or forget how it felt to be beside me. I said its too bad you couldn't have realized all of this before you left to live with her. He knows that was the point of no return.

This isn't the first time we've had this conversation. It usually occurs when I start seeing someone new; I think he fears that someone will eventually make me happier than I ever was with him. It was different, though.

And, believe it or not, I feel a little sorry for the girlfriend. I know how she feels. I know she's probably getting that 'someone else is on my mind' vibe from him. She follows him around if I'm there (for the five minutes it takes to drop the kids off). She says she doesn't trust me. I know I don't need to feel empathy for her; she's the reason I understand how she feels. I think the ex is caught up in a vicious cycle of have someone/get bored/pine for someone else/cross the line/leave, rinse repeat just to keep things interesting. I've suggested a very good therapist to him on several occasions, but he's yet to do anything about it. He hates it when I'm right, and when it comes to him I usually am.

I got off the phone last night, questioning myself for a minute. Did I do the right thing, divorcing him? He's asked me no fewer than four times now if he left her could he come back? I say no; he'd just be running from one thing to another, and he needs time to sort out what he wants in life and take care of himself for awhile. So he stays, because he doesn't know how to be alone. I've told him the first three days are the worst; after that, its pretty pleasant.

I laid on my bed, remembering how much I despised myself when we were together. We bring out the worst in each other. When we are together, he becomes excessively dominating. I become excessively placating, because I have always had it in my head that when people are angry with me, they cease loving me. Totally irrational, for sure, but I've yet to be able to erase that belief from my psyche. We start resenting each other because we aren't happy with how we are each acting, and invariably push each other away. I did that roller coaster for almost twelve years, and I really don't want to get on it again.

So, karma. I try to be his friend when I can. I hope that one day he understands I am not just playing a game with him, that for once putting myself first is coming before him and his uber fragile ego. I really hope he understands that relationships are supposed to be more than matters of convenience, and you can't just tell people what they want to hear if it isn't sincere. My parents (particularly my mother) don't understand why it is important for me to get along with him or treat him as I would any other human walking the planet; they don't believe in karma.

I have always had a sort of irrational relationship with my mother. From an early age, I remember thinking she didn't like me much. She never did outwardly do anything to contradict this hypothesis of mine; instead, the way she went about treating my siblings reinforced this in my head.

I have spent most of the last decade or so, I believe, in a sort of denial. Since becoming a mother myself, I gained a new perspective on how a mother treats her child(ren). Looking back, I can see how difficult it was for her, with three on her own, and I understand now that she was simply unable to give me the attention and affection I wanted from her. I think it was during that time I learned to shut off the desire for closeness, true closeness and absolute understanding of the love of another.

Someone who observed us together recently described the relationship I have with my mother as that of 'mild acquaintances', who like each other fine but not enough to work diligently enough to build a closeness. I think that is a pretty accurate description. I have learned enough in the past that I am not going to be a priority in my mother's life; my children, yes, and through them me, but by myself, not so much. She doesn't understand the choices I make or from where the beliefs I hold come. I don't understand how she can hold on to such negativity, or hostility.

Over time, I have developed a thick skin when it comes to her. The comments about my heavier weight fall on deaf ears most of the time. The comments about 'trying hard, but not succeeding' at marriage don't bother me much anymore. I've learned to tune out the snide remarks about how I'll 'never find work as a web designer' and wasted money on going to school for it.

These days, her major and new gripe about me is the fact that I am dating again. I was telling her this afternoon about a dinner I had with Mr. Incredible yesterday, how nice it is to spend time with an actual grown up, yadda yadda. Her response was 'he can't be that great if he's going to get himself messed up with a woman with three kids. Can't he do better?' My mom (even when she was younger) viewed being single and having children as an impairment of the social realm, and figures anyone stupid enough to settle for it must have some sort of problem to prevent them from finding a 'better' person. The sad thing is, I didn't even bat an eye; I'm used to it.

The one time in my life where I felt completely at ease with myself, and like an adult all of the time, was when I lived four hours away from my parents, away from the constant criticisms and snide comments and just general attitude that I will, eventually, fuck up everything I attempt. I am beginning to think if I am ever going to make anything of myself, it is going to be far away, where her and my father's negativity isn't going to smother me anymore.

I love my mother; I just don't know how to show her that. I know she loves me; she just doesn't know how to show me that. I have been trying my entire life to do something to prove my worth as a human to her, and if she hasn't seen it in 31.5 years, it is highly unlikely she ever will. Which is unfortunate; I'd hoped after this past year she'd finally be proud of me.

'Those' being the term I'm using to describe the sort of day where my son numero dos decides to practice 'typical' autism behaviors. The quotes are there because he does not typically do things like blink morse code, wave his fingers before his eyes, jump off the counter, or have accidents of the bathroom nature much anymore.

But every now and then, just for the sake of maintaining his status as a disabled child, he likes to make sure those and other skills are honed, just in case someone should come a-calling to verify that he is, indeed, Autistic, and not just exceptionally quiet.

It is funny watching him hand flap, rock in time to a rhythm only he can hear, and finger paint with peanut butter on these occasions; he never does these things anymore. I haven't heard him utter a word all day. He's reverted for the moment back to the guttural clucking and clicking of his pre-diagnosis days. He won't quit poking the dog's eyes; he runs shrieking (and not in delight) when we attempt to hug him today.

These are the days that make me truly appreciate exactly how far he has come in the last few years. Every day could be this sort of day, and I know children for whom all of the things I've listed are par for the course. I am one of the lucky ones. He knows his name now, as well as his mom and dad's first and last names. He can brush his own teeth, sort of wash his own hair, and more days than not wears the same pair of underoos all day long. There are parents who have given up the hope of ever reaching those milestones, and others who allow their frustration to cloud the judgment when their children do accomplish things and make progress.

Tonight I am expecting a 'tuck him in' marathon, followed by a waking for the day at 2 a.m. His sleep habits get disturbed when the old behaviors rear their heads. It will pass within a day or so; it always does. Soon he will be back to his 'old' self, saying our names, singing songs, changing passwords on my computer and drawing masterpieces on the flat paint, stuccoed walls. No matter how he behaves, though, he is loved and accepted. I like to think he knows that.

So, the meeting of the kids went well. The kids loved Mr. Incredible. He had quite the time with them, tossing various child after another through the waves, carrying the daughter because she was 'too tired', and marveling after Jamie's lack of wearing out after four hours. He even sent me a message and called me a few days later; clearly, the live combat he faced prepared him for an afternoon of school children.

I met him today for a cup of coffee (we have that in common, a love of strong coffee) before I picked my kids up from their father's. He had some news; it is good news, but at the same time a little not so good. He is going to graduate this December instead of Next May. That is good, because between the missionary trips he took (he's an excommunicated Mormon), the army, the war, and other such things, he's been in school for almost eight years to get his bachelor's degree. He'll get a great job somewhere, perhaps civil engineering, or working for a company doing geomapping. Heck, he'll probably do both. I am happy for him in that regard.

Where is the not so good part? I had a plan (I always have a plan), and it was coming together rather nicely. First, we'd be friends. That was covered within, oh, five minutes of meeting. Next, we'd go out and enjoy ourselves whilst getting to know one another better. Check, check. Finally, with my feminine wiles (lol) and witty ways, I would captivate the heart of this person, who lives independently, works three jobs, still has time to volunteer lifeguard, and probably donates blood every three months. Happily ever after, and all that jazz. Shit, I'd even untie my tubes just to grant him the opportunity to be a father. This, of course, dependent upon his graduating in May. He's graduating in five months.

Five months?! Can that sort of deep, meaningful thing occur in five short months? After watching twelve years of marriage swirl down the shitter, I am truly clueless to how these these things work. Do I need someone in my life? No. Does he? No. Do we talk every few days just because? Yes. Do we enjoy each other's presence? Yes. Do we have similar goals, and views, objectives and enjoyments? Yes, and yes. Do we have a mutual admiration and respect for the other, and what each has accomplished? Yup. But five months?!?

Maybe I'm looking too far down the road again (I do that). I feel blessed to even have met him, and I truly do appreciate that he spends the small amount of free time he has with me. Vice versa. After we parted ways this afternoon, back to our drawing boards and domestic duties, though, I think for the first time I got an inkling as to how it feels to have the 'one that got away'. Usually its the other person thinking that about me. It sort of sucks, and I haven't really had a chance yet.

Tomorrow is the daughter's sixth birthday. She is getting some Daddy time in for the weekend, and they have all the goodies set up to have her a little shindig. Which I think is awesome; last year I had a fifth birthday party for her on my weekend, so it only seems fair they get a turn to shower her with girly finery and enjoyment.

They want me to stop by, too. I have an ongoing difference of opinion with the ex; I can talk to him just great. In fact, we are actually pretty good friends now. His girlfriend is not someone I want to know. I don't hate her (because hate is a bad thing, boys and girls, and I don't let myself buy into all that negativity.), but I have no desire to like her, either. She's good to my kids and she makes their father happy, and I'm grateful for those two and so when I am in her presence, I am respectful. Which I still maintain is more than was ever shown me on the few occasions I tried to befriend her while I was still married.

We are uncomfortable around each other, too. Five minutes and a quick "hi, how are you?' is about all we can handle before the tension takes over. I still look at her as a home wrecking whorebag; she looks at me now as a threat (Ironic, isn't it?) because ex and I do get along so well, and she remembers what happened when she got along so well with him. Her daughters call the ex daddy, and that irks me. So, while I am 'over' what went down, that does not mean I have forgotten it. Spending too much time in her presence is bad for my blood pressure, bad for my self-esteem, and is as dangerous as bungee jumping with a dry rotted cord. Something will break, and I always get blamed for the fallout.

Yet, I want to be there for my daughter. She desperately wants me to 'like' the girlfriend. I guess that would make it easier for her to like her, and I have told her I want her to like the girlfriend, if she is kind to her and helps take care of her. I want to see the smiles of a happy child, a genuinely happy smile and not the ones my kids wear sometimes because they feel they have to for my sake. I think my kids enjoy their time at their dad's so much because there is a more 'normal' family type setting there....dad figure, female figure, other kids. Its what they have known since birth. My house, is still foreign to them. They are happy with me, as well, but they feel that something is missing. I want her to see the situation with me, their dad, the girlfriend as stress free and supportive as possible.

I have two hours to decide if I'm going to stop by or not. I could use the gas money excuse (God knows I don't have any and I'm on empty), but it would be an excuse. The real reason for not going would be because I don't want to stomach watching the new happy family carry on while I feel like a fifth wheel again. I should get used to it, I suppose; the old fellow is pretty sure he actually wants to marry this one.

Today is 'Meet the Kids'. To be more specific, its 'hey, incredibly great guy I'm seeing, meet my children!' day.

There is a myth that any savvy single guy worth his salt will steer clear of us Solitary Parents (because I despise what the term 'single mom' has come to represent); this myth stems from the belief that all a woman blessed with children wants is someone to be stand in Dad--free babysitting, a breadwinner, yadda yadda. In the dating realm, I am completely selfish. I'm out for my own needs of companionship and a life of my own initially. Upon meeting a potential suitor, the last thing on my mind is how well the kids are going to fit into the equation. It changes as things progress (or do not). After a while, it becomes apparent which fellows are going to make the cut to get to meet mine; those who express no desire in ever laying eyes on my wee ones typically become 'oat sowing' flings; the ones who ask about them and extend invitations for them to join us (should no babysitter be available) get to stick around awhile longer.

I've known Mr. Incredible for over a month now. I've spent some time with him, getting to know the kind of person he is, his character, things like that. We met at work and had a lot of common ground right off the bat; he knew within five minutes of meeting me that I had children and was divorced. He extended the invitation for a 4th of july BBQ to my kids, saying I was welcome to bring them with me if they hadn't gone to their Dad's for the weekend yet. I didn't, but I genuinely appreciated the fact that he would rather have three little rugrats running underfoot to still have the chance to see me than not see me at all.

I guess a good thing is he grew up with four younger siblings. And an older one, so maybe small children don't frighten him as bad as most. He is responsible and mature, so he understands responsibility and what that entails (thanks, Army, for instilling that!) He's an engineering student, so problem solving is one of his strengths. He hasn't dated much since moving to Big Rapids because I am apparently the only female in town who doesn't bore him to tears within five minutes. Mom used to tell me looks wouldn't get me anywhere, have a brain to compensate for my lack of the former, and one of these days I will thank her for that.

At any rate, I invited him to join me and the kids on a jaunt to Lake Michigan; he accepted within about two nanoseconds. I figure that is a good way to keep the kids occupied, let them interact, and stay cool in this typical July heatwave of ours. (Oh, and I get to see him without a shirt on. Everybody wins!) I'm rooting for a great day for all, but if at the end of it something makes him say 'nice knowing you, but those kids are way more than I want to deal with', I'll chalk it up to his loss and carry on.

Men come and go, but my kids aren't going anywhere. Love em or leave em, that is the motto in my dating realm.

but when I do, it really comes in handy to have a guy be a best friend. Well, part of the best friend unit. He is married to the other half of the best friend unit, and betwixt the two of them, they have gotten me through the past year and a half relatively on top of things.

I've known the male half of this unit since I was 17 and he was 15. I was a teacher's aide in a class he was taking; later, he became a very good friend to my brother. Long time ago, he and the ex-hubby worked together and became best friends. Now, he is the big brother I never had, although he is younger.

He and the Mrs. accepted the offer to raise my children, should the ex and I perish in some sort of freak accident (or, should we kill each other. Which I know isn't a laughing matter, but seriously...I had twelve years to off the dude, I don't think I'd go to the trouble now. He gives me money now, and my momma didn't raise a fool!) He and the Mrs. are a never ending source of encouragement, reality, and many times, tell me the truth I don't want to hear, but must. I wouldn't have filed for divorce if Heather (the Mrs.) hadn't asked me why I thought I didn't deserve any better than what I'd been getting. That was an eye opening conversation for sure, and I know it wasn't easy for her to say that to me.

So, for what did I need the Mr. portion of the unit tonight? Ach, to change a tire for me. That is one thing I have yet to master, and must; the changing of the oil and tires. But, he doesn't mind. He's a lot like me, he lives to help people. And I make him coffee, so its good for everyone involved.

I have been in training to join the pro wrestling circuit. So far, I can put a human being that weighs 2/3 of my own weight into a headlock, pin his arm behind his back, and avert an attempt to toss me across the room (that one is tricky, for if I do not see it coming I go a-flying). For tonight's practice, I took him into the drugstore and did not haul his eighty pound ass into a cart; I was promptly rewarded (punished?) with the 'running bull' move, followed by the 'flop like a dead fish' maneuver. Needless to say, a two minute trip to pick up more reading glasses turned into a half an hour's worth of drag, haul, and silently plead with the Gods to make Jamie cooperate for five minutes, before I started screaming at the people gaping at us.

The older Jamie gets, the more weight he gains. Which means the stronger he gets. And since I have plateaued in terms of weight gain (I'm healthy! yay), I fear before his thirteenth birthday he will outweigh, out height, and out stamina me. Of course, these tests of wills could be completely avoided if I would just give him what he wants, every time, the second he wants it. Alas, I am determined to raise him as I raise the other two, for I am nothing if not fair.

This is merely venting. I do not have it bad, and I know this. Things could be much, much worse, and I am eternally grateful for how smart and loving and funny and capable he is. I just fear that a day will come when I can't hold my own against him.

I have a knack for repetition. No matter the song, I can sway along to the tempo, moving in predictable steps, twirling with a partner until the song breaks and we part ways. I do this all with no thought; Fred Astaire himself could be channeling himself into me for all I know.

It is a dance I have been doing my entire life, with various partners. Meet boy. Like boy. Make boy crazy. From there, we move from the calm and ethereal waltz to a more spazzoid dance form....paranoia sets in. The low self esteem takes over, and I become THAT girl. The one that starts to question every move, every word, until I become that which I detest....drama. The drama dance is best done solo, I've discovered. It is very hard for boys to do, I suppose.

My current partner and I are swaying quite nicely. He calls when he says he will; he is an endless supply of fascinating factoids, and proof that not all men are just looking for a mom to take over where the birth one left off. I honestly don't know his opinion of my physical presence, but I do know that he appreciates my mind, and my attitude, and my company. Should be smooth sailing, but yet, I hear the tempo of the drums picking up--maybe I'll just teach this one, rather than punching his dance card and sending him on his way.