Altered by Fire

We have a routine.  In the morning, after the kids are off to school, I sit at the kitchen table and write.  M watches The Dan Patrick Show upstairs in the office.  If I hear the floor creak, I know M is coming downstairs.

He passes through the living room, opens the blinds, strolls by me at the table, and grabs some water from the sink.  As he retraces his steps through the kitchen, under his breath he asks me how I am doing.  I typically respond as I hear his footsteps returning him to his comfortable spot in front of  Dan Patrick, which turns into Colin Cowherd, which turns into the girls being home from school.

It was at that time yesterday, as I was in the ferocity of engagement that comes with the kids needing snacks, help with homework, and rides to practices, that M escaped the commotion by doing maintenance outside in the yard.  I was pleased because our lack of curb appeal was an item of embarrassment for my 13 year old.  What was more, it was good to see him going—plowing through months of depression with fervor and ease.  He seemed to possess the joy of a child outside for the first time since the thaw of winter.

In my distraction with the kids, I failed to keep watch over what was transpiring in the yard. 

As soon as I had the girls settled in their rooms for homework and while our dinner’s fresh green beans were steaming in the microwave, I heeded my instinct and looked out the back door.

M had moved a pile of sticks and branches from behind the dog house to the middle of the yard.  Only, it was no longer a mound of natural debris.  It was a carefully crafted sculpture of the picture-perfect bon fire—minus the fire.

I heard the microwave alert me to the fact that the green beans were done and ignored it.  I was too curious.

I said, “You aren’t going to light that on fire are you?”

M lifted his Budweiser-holding hand in my direction and waved it around as he replied, “I grew up in the country.  I know how to handle a fire.  I have the hose ready.”

My eyes scanned the tall grass for our garden hose to find it in a circular heap at the edge of the yard.

He pointed the beer can toward the hose and said, “I got it. Is dinner ready?”

Food was enough to give M motivation to set that wood on fire.

I could smell it as I was loading the dishes into the Maytag.

I could hear our neighbor's voice bellowing from the direction of the rusty chain-link fence.  He told M that it was against city code to have a fire in the yard.

M replied, “I got it. I grew up in the country.”

Responding to the urge to go out back and intervene, I closed the door to the dishwasher, shut off the faucet and grabbed the hand towel, drying my hands as I walked to the back door.

Instead of reaching for the knob, my hands remained in the towel.

M was using the garden hose to put out the fire.

This morning, as I sat at the table to write, I heard the creak in the floor upstairs but no television.  M got some water from the sink, retraced his steps through the kitchen, but stopped at the table.  He pulled out a chair and sat.  He asked, "How are you doing?"

His fire for life is returning.  I just hope it stays out of the back yard.

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10 Things in a Divorced Night Owl's Morning

My kids are at their dads' house during the weekends.  On Mondays, after dropping off the girls at school, my ex-husband brings their stuff to my house.

I am a night owl.  Night owls like the night.  Monday mornings are difficult for night owls.  Therefore, greeting my ex-husband on Monday mornings is difficult for me.

10 Point Excerpt of My Week's First Hour:

8:15 a.m.: Wake startled wondering why I didn’t choose to vacuum before going to bed at 3:30 am

8:20 a.m.: Go downstairs to the basement, retrieve dogs from their kennel, and let them outside.

8:22 a.m.: Light incense so that my ex-husband doesn’t realize I allow his kids to live in a house that smells like Chihuahuas.

8:25 a.m.: Girls’ dad pulls into my driveway, I frantically plug in the mini-shop-vac, turn it on, and begin to guide the machine in sucking up dog hair.

8:26 a.m.: He knocks at door, I can’t hear him due to the vacuuming.

8:27 a.m.: He knocks at window, it startles me, I jump and throw the hose of the vacuum down to the floor.

8:27:30 a.m.: I go to the door, open it, and he says, “Boy, you’re up early getting things done!”  He means this sincerely.  He really thinks I’ve been up cleaning.  He begins to tell me about the weekend and updates me on the schedule.  I nod, smile, and pretend like I understand what he's talking about.  I try not to think about the pile of dog hair in which I'm standing, or the fact I that I probably smell because I've had the same clothes on since Saturday morning.

8:35 a.m.: After dragging suitcases, bags, a clarinet, and softball equipment back to the girls' rooms, I go to the bathroom and relieve myself after holding it since 8:15 am.

8:37 am: I go to the refrigerator, grab a Monster Absolutely Zero, and head out back to sit with the dogs.

9:00 a.m.: I come inside, locate laptop, take it to the kitchen table and begin writing Monday Listicles.  (Do you really think I do this ahead of time?)

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Relationships, Weekends and My Blended Family

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Weekends are a bittersweet time for me.  On one hand they are a welcome respite to the weekday schedule.  I can tackle larger projects around the home, catch up on reading, and take time to assess scheduling and family management strategies that are in place during the week.  On the other hand, because we are a two household family and my daughters go to their dads on the weekends, I feel an underlying sadness due to missing my girls.  If I let it, the feeling can deplete my enthusiasm for all the things I like to accomplish during my two day hiatus from parenting.  

But typically, my motivation to have a house with groceries stocked in the kitchen, clean sheets on the beds, and promised tasks completed by Sunday night pushes uncomfortable feelings aside.  In my haste to create a welcoming environment for my daughters' Monday, I have overlooked an opportunity provided by the weekends without them—reconnecting with my significant other, M. 

This weekend, like any weekend, I had numerous personal and familial related tasks to complete.  M and I began painting the kitchen two weeks ago and I wanted to finish it.  There were shelves for the girls’ room to be painted and hung, groceries, meal planning, scheduling of activities, laundry and vacuuming.  In my obsessive quest for the home to seem “normal” and welcoming on Mondays, I wanted everything crossed off the to-do list. 

It’s 6:00 p.m. on Sunday evening and the shelves are not hung and the groceries are not purchased.  The house is not vacuumed and kitchen cabinet doors we removed for painting are still on the floor. But unlike my customary worry about how the girls will perceive their home upon Monday’s reentry, this evening I feel refreshed and calm.  You see, instead of tending to the typical, M and I tended to our relationship.   

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We reconnected through a marathon conversation that lasted over 24 hours beginning on Friday night and ending in the wee small hours of Sunday.  We talked about the things that we have been hiding away for months:  blended family parenting issues, adolescent parenting issues, personal issues, worries, hopes, dreams, and goals.  We cried, laughed, argued, and agreed.  We also talked news, friends, dogs, technology, exercise, music, food, places we’d like to visit, and whether or not we’ll ever make it official and marry.  I feel as if I reconnected with an old friend.  I feel less alone.  I feel loved.  There is no other bliss like knowing one is loved and if I wasn't so tired from staying up, I'd probably be singing.  Why the need for the all-nighter?

My main goal in life is to be a great parent.  This was not an ambition of mine when I was a child or even when I was a young adult.  This became my mission upon the birth of my first daughter--good timing.  And due to my guilt over my divorce, I have made it my sole purpose in life.  But I have failed to acknowledge that my relationship with M has a significant impact on my success as a parent. 

Newly remarried couples without children usually use their first months together to build on their relationship. Couples with children, on the other hand, are often more consumed with their own kids than with each other.

M and I are not married.  Maybe this is why I allowed parenting to be more important than our relationship.  And maybe I’m not married because I am afraid it will distract me from parenting.  Maybe M and I fail to take the plunge because we are unsure if the girls will like the idea.  But, the "maybes" do not matter.  He’s here.  It’s our house. We are a family.

You will no doubt focus a lot of energy on your children and their adjustment, but you also need to focus on building a strong marital bond. This will ultimately benefit everyone, including the children. If the children see love, respect, and open communication between you and your spouse, they will feel more secure and may even learn to model those qualities.

I do not recommend staying awake for more than a normal amount of time in order to reconnect.  I truly am a bit stressed about the groceries that are not purchased.  But for couples in blended families, whether your relationship status is married or living together, I strongly recommend you and your partner stay connected.  How the girls see M and I in our relationship is much more impactful to their development than if the refrigerator is fully stocked.  Peanut butter and jelly for dinner is always an option.

Quotes:  Guide to Step-parenting and Blended Families at Helpguide.org