June 2019 – Sweat & Sparkle

Something Better

Once upon a time, I had a “what-was-I-thinking?” relationship. I cringe now at how many red flags I ignored, the dysfunction I danced around, the denial I embraced, all with the failed hope that it would get better…someday.

But it wasn’t always that way. Of course it wasn’t, or I would never have been with him in the first place. At first, we had fun. I laughed a lot when I was with him, and I looked forward to seeing him. It’s hard for me to superimpose Crazy Him on top of Normal Him, because they were so different to me. It was hard for me to let go of Normal Him, because I loved him, and I wanted him back.

Sometimes I need to remind myself that at one time, that is how my husband must have felt. At one time, he must have liked being with Psycho (his ex and my stalker), must have even had fun with her. It’s hard to imagine now. Actually, it’s downright impossible, but once, she either wasn’t like she is now, wasn’t as bad, or was putting on a good act. Who knows?

I don’t believe for one second that it’s just coincidence that both my husband and I had the worst relationships of our lives right before the happiest relationship of our lives. After putting up with the drama and stupidity and insanity of a selfish and toxic parasite, we were both ready for a real friend, stability, someone we could trust. We had both lost any tolerance for histrionic bitches of either gender. We both slammed the cellar door on the slobbering beast we had left and were ready to step into sunlight, happiness, laughter.

I didn’t want someone who was anything like the man-child I had just left, and my husband didn’t want anyone like his ex. (Luckily for him, I don’t have much penchant for lying, stealing, committing felonies, abusing kids, relying on Daddy to pay my bills, penning fake suicide notes, baying at the moon, etc.)

A lot of people just stay in septic relationships. I’m glad we didn’t. I’m glad both of us escaped those foul cages, those infected traps. I’m glad both of us never gave up on the idea that something better was possible. And I’m glad we eventually found each other.

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We moved on, and we are happier. One more thing we have in common is that our exes have not. They both wallow in their own dysfunction. They learn nothing. They don’t improve or grow. They fester and rot, rooted in their own waste, trying their damnedest to drag everyone down with them. Not surprisingly, both of them are miserable creatures who offer nothing but stress, unhappiness, and disgust to those around them.

It is what they choose. It’s not what I would ever choose, but to each their own. I am happy that my husband and I disentangled ourselves from noxious people and freed ourselves to find each other. I’m happy that our paths crossed so that we could finally discover what a truly loving relationship feels like. I’m proud that we can offer an example of a healthy relationship to the kids, who desperately need to see that relationships don’t need to involve screaming, fighting, threatening to leave, name-calling, or non-stop drama.

I only wish we had found each other sooner, but maybe walking through fire first just helps us to appreciate and value and adore each other even more. So if I have anything at all to say to my ex, I would say thank you for clearly showing me what I don’t want.

And to my husband’s ex, I would say thank you for showing me what I never want to be.

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Protected: Here I Am!

Sink or Swim

download I didn’t intend to neglect my blog for over a week. The kids were home for Father’s Day and for part of their summer with us, and I just sort of forgot about my blog for a while. I don’t like to miss out on time with them, plus I feel the need to compensate for other people in their lives (you can guess who I mean) who are permanently glued to their phone screens, no matter what the kids may need.

I’ve also just been crazy busy. Between the kids being home, work, projects at the house, my many hobbies, books to catch up on, co-workers with a million questions, etc., I haven’t even sat down much lately. But I thought I should check in so everyone knows I am still alive and kicking.

I keep trying to ease back into the working-out-and-eating-less routine, but I have concluded that that approach leaves me far too much wiggle room and just doesn’t work for me. My inner con artist finds every loophole and exploits every excuse to keep eating too much, to skip workouts here and there. So this week I’ve decided I need to do this cold turkey. I am 100% in, no excuses! I’m tossing myself straight into the deep end. Time to sink or swim.

This week is going to be just as busy, but I am determined to have a great week. I have two parties this week, plus a to-do list a mile long, but I need to just accept that life happens. I need to fit in workouts where I can, and I will plan my eating for those parties. There’s no law that says I need to pig out to have fun.

I will write a post later, catching up on life, when I have more time. Just wanted to say hello, I am still here, I will cruise around to everyone’s blogs as soon as I can, and I am ready for a really good week.

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Memories

Every year, I write a post about my husband for Father’s Day. Well, everything that needs to be said has been said, right?

No. Not by a long shot.

I love my husband for a million reasons, but Father’s Day is about honoring him and his relationship with his children. I am fortunate that I met him when the kids were so young, because I have been with him to watch them grow up, and I have been there to catch him in countless little moments that etched themselves into memory and my heart.

All four kids are much taller than me now, but I still can’t look at them without seeing them as small enough to fit onto their father’s lap (although they insist that they still fit there now), or climbing on him on the living room floor, impressing themselves with their herculean might as he let them pin him down. I see four tiny, innocent faces watching him intently as he read a book out loud, adding his own witty narrative and details, sometimes completely changing the story, as long as it made the kids laugh.

I am humbled by my husband at times too, and his ability to focus entirely on the kids and be the better person, no matter what. He is lied to, lied about, insulted, and put down endlessly, but he does not return fire. When offered the opportunity to take jabs at others who constantly stab at him, he won’t do it, saying simply that the kids don’t need to hear it or see it. That is all that matters to him, and that is what makes him a tremendous father.

Sorting through the closet one day, years ago, my husband came across a large tote box. Once the kids heard there were pictures inside, they instantly launched into a chorus of “Let me see! Let me see!” So my husband opened up the box and started passing around pictures and sharing the stories behind each one.

A lot of the pictures involved my husband’s ex-wife, naturally, seeing as how they once shared a life together. My husband could have shoved those pictures to the bottom of the box. He could have made a face, could have dropped nasty comments about her. But he didn’t. He showed the kids each picture, laughed as he told them what was going on in each one, adding things like “You were still in your mother’s tummy in this one” or describing what everyone was doing, including his ex-wife, to the kids, who gathered around that box and passed pictures to each other, carefully repeating the story he had just told them.

I watched them, smiling, and I knew that a similar scene was not likely at their other home. That’s sad to me. Creating those four little people together is something that should link them together, something special and unique that is shared just between them. Letting it become what it is now, what it’s been for a long, long time, is heartbreaking. It’s like smearing tar onto something once potentially beautiful, fouling it beyond repair. Why do that?

Maybe I’m just idealistic. Or naive. Or maybe I just remember the way the kids looked at those pictures, how my husband sounded as he shared the stories, how the kids laughed and smiled and wanted to know where they fit into that particular story.

I’m honored to be part of their stories now. I’m grateful they shared their stories from before I knew them. It’s a shame the kids can’t be that relaxed, that open, all the time, asking questions, free to just be kids with people who love them. Those happy memories shouldn’t have the lid slammed on them, squashed in darkness, ruined by anyone, especially by anyone who was lucky enough to be a part of them.

We have made our own memories, taken our own pictures, and we have years ahead of us to keep doing both. I am proud of my husband for being a father first and foremost, for knowing the pictures and the memories in that box meant something special to the kids, and not taking that away from them.

“Happy Father’s Day” just doesn’t seem like enough, but it will have to do for now. So…happy Father’s Day to my husband, the book reader, the monster slayer, the joke teller, the troublemaker, the hugger, the fixer, the tickler, the hide-and-seeker, the lecturer, the teacher…the one who is all of these and more for us.