Love

You get to almost 40, and you think you know stuff. If you're a shrink raised by shrinks, you think you know the capacity of human emotion. Yet, there's always room for humility and growth. I find myself there with Neat Guy. I really, truly, had no idea love was like this. It's similar to the love I have for my children in its naturalness and depth. Yet also a passionate and abiding love like that modeled by my mom and stepdad. To experience it myself...I search for words. "Wonderful" barely covers it. It's this great mix of wonderous, comfortable, warm, heady, exciting, tender, safe, natural, inspiring, and joyous. I feel lucky, blessed, fortunate. I feel loved.

Neat Guy and I are going on 10 months together. I'm thrilled to say that he's all the things I've written previously, and a few extra. Exhilerating top notes of infatuation have lifted to reveal the comforting heartbeat of a relationship that both nurtures and stimulates. That's a fancy way of saying the new has worn off and what's underneath is even better. This is different than what I've known before.

I think this might even be normal.

Our daughters were talking marriage 8 months ago. We call that "Disney Princess Speed". In fact, I think it was on the second meeting that my oldest told Neat Guy, "We're gonna need a bigger house." She wasn't joking. There are 5 kids between us.

Asking if there is a future for us is like asking if we plan to keep breathing.  The big picture requires a good balance of pragmatism and romance. I think of how good this journey with him has been. And that it has been healthy because we've been honest, laughed, and taken our time. The result is a relationship that is "comfy and joyful" [his words :-) ] and better than I ever imagined.

10 Great Things About My Relationship with Neat Guy:
1) He is always himself.
2) I can see how much he loves me in his eyes.
3) We laugh together.
4) His family is a wonderful bunch of people. You can see how he got that way.
5) My family adores him. My mom brags about him to other people.
6) Our kids get along.
7) Our kids want us together.
8) We have common goals.
9) We have mutual respect and appreciation.
10) I trust him.

Birthday

Today I am 39. Its already the best bithday in a decade. Today I have peace, friendship, and love. Nothing tops that. Last weekend my parents worked with my daughters to throw a family party. All day long they worked on steak, presents, and KitKat(my 11 y/o)baked our favorite chocolate cake from scratch. KitKat and my parents got me tickets to see Cake Boss on Tuesday, which also gave KK and I much needed bonding time. Throughout the week I received handmade cards full of touching poetry from my sensitive 9 year old and carefully formed letters spelling "I love mom" from my adorable 6 year old. I love my family.
Wednesday Neat Guy asked what I wanted to do on my birthday. Thursday and Friday he counted down via text. I'm not used to having my significant other do that...which made it all the sweeter. Last night I enjoyed laughing through dinner with his daughter (Miss M)and son (H) then snuggling with Miss M in our new matching fleece jackets. And best of all, they gave me a framed photo of the 3 of them smiling and talking. I love my man, and his kids.
Later I logged onto FaceBook to find a birthday tribute from my best friend Miss Daisy (yeahisaidit@blogspot.com). With humor and insight she beautifully described our 11 year friendship. I love my bff.
It's my birthday and I am blessed.

Single Parenting: It Takes a Village (and caffeine)

There is not enough of me to go around.  Any past concept I had of "spread thin" is now laughable. I am a divorced working mom who has sole custody of 3 "boisterous" girls, owns her own home, has animals, and a litigious and antagonistic ex husband. The saving grace is that I have a lot of support in the form of wonderful parents, morale boosting extended family, a awesome best friend who lives 7 houses down, and a really Neat Guy for a boyfriend. I also happen to be damn resilient. Otherwise, I'd be inpatient somewhere.

Seriously.

If you know a single parent who does 90% of the parenting alone, hug them for me. Because it's HARD. Really hard. Rough and exhausting like I had no concept of before. I have an army of support behind me, but no one can replace me on the front lines. That's kind of panic inducing all by itself. Throw in the general kid stuff like doctor and dental appointments and illnesses. Add to that all of the girls go to therapy--we average 2 therapy appointments a week. Meals. Homework. Class projects. School clothes. Overnights. Laundry. Puberty. And being as involved as possible at their schools, PTA, parent night, holiday parties. Our theme song is the William Tell Overture. The middle schooler has recently been asked to join 2 groups and honor choir, which means more schedule juggling and driving but dang, she needs that right now. And they ought to be in sports, or so I'm told frequently by the professionals I've hired to keep us all from falling apart.

And that's just the kids. There's the house: It's a great little house, brand new, and I enjoy it. It's mine. ALL mine. The mortgage, the bills, the things that grow, the things that break, the things that need maintenance, the things that wear out, the things that need cleaning. I edge the lawn with scissors. It's somewhat meditative. Neat Guy has been known to come over and use the correct machine to do the job. Nature Guy (Miss Daisy's husband) looked at me the other day as I was absentmindedly snipping away and said, "Seriously? I can get my weed eater." I mow a great lawn, but apparently weed eating requires depth perception I do not possess. Apartment? No thanks. My kids are, um, boisterous.  And I'm just too much of a worrywart to let them roam in an apartment complex. Here I can see the neighborhood park from my back porch.

Those awesome people in my life need my attention also. And I need theirs. Which is why Miss Daisy drinks so much coffee at my house. And why I spend long hours cocooned from the world with Neat Guy on weekends my girls are gone, . And why my mom and I talk pretty much every day, and see each other several times a week. I help them wherever I can, you know, to reciprocate. It's a pride thing. I can tell you now, in my mind I owe my parents forever.

These are listed in order of importance...next would be that thing called "work". It's a flexible job. Fee for service. There are days I'm panicking because I'm not putting in the hours I had in mind. Never mind the money even. The panic is because a client is freaking out and needs more of my time. Or I have a goal to see someone twice a week and I've only seen them once for 2 weeks in a row. Or I forgot the next day billing is due and my printer decides to go offline and run out of ink. (WHY is it that only happens on a deadline?)

So then there's me, right? Gotta take care of number....4? Well, to keep the things above running is also to care for myself to some extent. If I could get more of anything it would be: rest and massages. That's a crap shoot though, with kids that crawl into bed at night and a puppy alarm clock, and no live-in masseuse. I manage pretty well given the task. Nowhere near perfect, but what the heck would that even look like? Imperfectly it is: prayer, great relationships, dishes in the sink, hugging my kids, laughing, appreciating the eye candy of nature, reminding myself to breathe, strange lawn habits, posted schedules, creating, time managment via iPhone reminders, shared meals, long walks, coffee, and gratitude.

Balto P. Coltrane

Gentle readers, let me introduce you to our new canine addition, Balto. Also known as "Carl" (Neat Guy), "Balto P. Coltrane" (Me), and "Balto Pickle Train" (the 6 year old).  Other name suggestions were "Sparkles" and "S'More". The rescue vet named him after her favorite movie. Men under 45 snicker and ask if I'm going to change his name. I would, if we could agree on anything.
Like his namesake, Balto appears to be part Husky. And perhaps Boxer, with a smidge of Pit Bull Terrier. He likes to chew things. Most recently he ate 2" of fringe tethered by 4 feet of string to a throw pillow. All the fighting and gagging in the world wasn't going to break that string or help him swallow that pillow. Finally Miss Daisy hand over hand pulled the lump of fringe out of the dog. It looked like she fished up a dead wet mouse. My best friend ROCKS.

Beware the Walking Wounded

It's the vulnerability of the wounded soul that is attractive. The hint that we can help and will reap the reward of this fantastic individual's greatness that is, we are told, momentairily overshadowed by a deep unhealed rend. For in every other way they are okay--maybe even fantastic. They are charming, beautiful, intelligent and a whole host of outstanding qualities that make the wound seem out of place.

We learn to love the person around the wound. Sometimes it is as though they are whole, and those are wonderful moments. Moments that keep us going for days, months, years, decades to come. Moments recalled as we sit dumbfounded in pain. How could someone who loves us so much hurt us so badly? So intentionally? So maliciously?

"What did I do?" becomes the question. Surely we must have caused this, inadvertantly salted the wound. And they are quick to agree, "It's not me, it's you", sometimes said so smoothly we hardly notice the prick. We walk upon eggshells, we cater, we go above, we go beyond, we get angry, and sometimes we go mad. Crazy. Trying to reignite the warmth of the lover, for the cold and barren place within their wound is such that most of us have never experienced.

There is a vampire like quality to this love. They are cold. We are warm. They draw the life out of us and into themselves. We emerge anemic, disoriented, harmed. They are energized, full of vitality (our vitality). Temporairily. For it is not theirs to keep, only consume. And that is how they survive.

When this person wants you, you are both prey and muse. A symbol of what they want and want to be, elevated above all others. But you are never "you". They have an infantile view of loved ones as extensions of themselves and they react to your departure as a betrayal.

Sometimes it takes a while to understand the dynamic. Our soul was not meant to sustain two. And the wound that they alternately hide and flaunt is not a wound, but a void. Like a black hole, it draws into itself and obliterates what it consumes. To feed it is to make it hungrier. To feed it is to waste the precious gift of our own soul.

Once you have transfused with this person a trace of them stays with you forever--To your benefit, because the memory will act as your alarm system. You will feel it in your gut, perhaps taste it as bile in your mouth. They will see the door of opportunity shut and move on as if you suddenly blended completely into the landscape. Neutrality is repellant.

Because what you know is that wounds don't heal from the outside in but from the inside out. And no amount of love, sex, money, religion, or adulation packed into that wound will ever do--such things will only become contaminated by the festering underneath. To heal a physical wound, nurture the body. To heal a psychological wound, nurture the soul. Take it into you, chew it, process it, let it become a part of you and rebuke the infection. Go forth whole.

originally written Wednesday, July 1, 2009 at 10:21pm

Parenting, Puberty, and the Autism Spectrum

My precious, precocious, oldest daughter has a diagnosis of PDD-NOS, Pervasive Developmental Disorder Not Otherwise Specified. "The pervasive developmental disorders, or autism spectrum disorders, range from a severe form, called autistic disorder, to a milder form, Asperger syndrome. If a child has symptoms of either of these disorders, but does not meet the specific criteria for either, the diagnosis is called pervasive developmental disorder not otherwise specified (PDD-NOS)." Which, diagnostically, trumps her ADHD diagnosis although the two conditions can co-exist.

Just to look at her you'd not expect much different from your typical preteen. Her IQ is a little above average and she makes good grades in school. She's friendly and polite. She is healthy. She has very few "glaring" symptoms. Rather she has a range of symptoms that, depending how stressed she is, present as behavior that is quirky, odd, immature, or uncooperative. I do not mind my child being quirky. That runs in the family. The challenge for me is to keep in mind that she isn't "just" odd, immature, or uncooperative--important to remember especially when she's driving me nuts. She percieves the world a little differently. Traditional guidance/discipline (such as the universal "parental glare of disapproval") often doesn't have the desired result.
At age 11 1/2, she is very tall and clearly entering puberty with all of the usual hormonal repercussions. I had allowed myself to put the PDD-NOS on the back burner. With a high conflict divorce there was always some fire to put out in therapy. Plus there has been a social skills ebb and flow; she will be noticeably behind peers, then the gap will almost close to within normal range (as it did for most of 5th grade). A few months ago my daughter expressed her fears of managing socially in middle school--concerns echoed by her therapist--and PDD-NOS was back on the radar. Social issues are a hallmark of this disorder, as if middle school wasn't already social torture. And I realized we had been cruising along on my understanding of autism in young children. Adolescence is a different racket. And I have some homework to do.


One of the BEST information sites for Autism Spectrum disorders that I have found is from the National Institute of Mental Health. Click here to view.

A Weekend With Dad

This past weekend Neat Guy and I traveled to IL to see my father. The guys wanted to meet each other. When your father is 82 and having memory issues you feel a sense of urgency about these things. Dad recieved a provisional diagnosis of Vascular Dementia last month. At the time of diagnosis he was in pretty bad shape. Now he's been on medications for about a month and has stabilized...fairly well...Well enough to refuse to attend the neurology and psychiatry appointments his PCP arranged. "I worked in neurology for 5 years!" bellows my father, a retired neuropsychologist/farmer. "What are they going to tell me about myself that I don't already know? And they want money up front!"
Dad and Neat Guy hit it off. We talked and laughed for the entire 3 days. Neat Guy enjoyed the fatherly Q&A thus earning himself the honor of being the only man my sister or I have dated that my father has actually liked.
The first day we went to the family farm. Dad tinkered with his riding lawn mower, then used the wiley old farmer tactic of asking Neat Guy to test it out. Next thing I knew my boyfriend had mowed the entire property and Dad was grinning from ear to ear. We ate at Dairy Queen every day. DQ is Dad's favorite restaruant, perhaps because he is diabetic. One day he ate 2 large Blizzards and an ice cream cone. Another day Dad shuffled to the Walmart checkout with his prescriptions and beer. He swore it was non-alcoholic. It wasn't. He attempted to look surprised, then elected to make the best of things and enjoy a couple anyway. Damn the Rx warning labels! This is classic Dad. And this is why I fondly refer to him as "the Geriatric Delinquent".
Aphasia was his most obvious symptom. Second to that was apathy. He said several times he has "no ambition". He struggles to recall how to operate convenience machines: his computer, the tv remotes, the air conditioning thermostat. He forgot I was there last month. He doesn't feel safe behind the wheel of a car. He feels physically weak. But he answers phone calls with his characteristic deep "HELLO!!". And he still tells stories that have me laughing until I can barely breathe. He remembers back country roads spanning multiple counties. He worries about his farm cat. He bitches about my habit of placing a hand inside the steering wheel to make turns. He hangs his laundry out to dry because he likes the smell of the sun in his clothes. With a contemplative look and a wave of his hand he says, "As long as I can look around me and see beautiful things in nature, people enjoying themselves, I'm okay. I want to be here."

Falling in Love With A Neat Guy

WARNING: I'm going to gush a little.

A Dozen Reasons Why I'm Head Over Heels for Neat Guy:
1. We're friends. He is intelligent, humble, funny, genuine, and respectful. I like him and I like sharing him. Seeing how much other people like him too will never get old.
2. We have great communication. We talk. Deep stuff, childhoods, current events, parenting, work, Lady Gaga...and that was just at breakfast one morning.
3. Neat Guy has an amazing sense of humor: Keen observation skills, a knack for comedic interpretation, and talent for honing in on absurdities and nuance.
4. We smile when we kiss. Kissing a wonderful person who you adore is happy business. And, he's a really terrific kisser.
5. His love is cozy, happy, gentle, protective, exciting, fun, and totally legit. Like skinny dipping in your own pool. With love like that the rest of the world doesn't seem as harsh.
6. He's wise. Intelligence paired with common sense and insight.  That's up a notch from smart. He attributes his wisdom to great parents.
7. He has really neat kids. His kids are "good people".
8. He is inventive, creative, and resourceful. I call him the Lawn McGyver: Waste not want not...he uses practical application to make outdoor life more comfortable and entertaining.
9. He's good with money. He has a fabulous budget that he shared with me. I admire it as a thing of beauty, with awe and lack of comprehension. Much the same way I looked at high school trigonometry before I withdrew and switched to a sculpture class.
10. He treats people with kindness, consideration, and patience. That's just how he is.
11. He has the manly ability to fix things and use tools. He fixed my bicycle, the AC in his car, my laptop...and he digs great holes for trees too.
12. He's humble. So he'll get all squirmy about this list.

ADD, Part 1

ADD: Attention Deficit Disorder
Code Word: SQUIRREL!

At age 7 my oldest daughter lit up an qEEG brainscan and was dubbed the "posterchild" for a female with ADHD. She gets it honest. Since childhood I've been empathic, creative, anxious, and prone to getting lost in thought. Both parents share a lot of these traits beginning in their own childhoods. In our family, ADD/ADHD traits are "normal". We have a lot of fun with it, actually.

ADDer's of my generation grew up with report cards that said things like:

• Does Not Pay Attention in Class
• Disruptive in Class
• Does Not Turn In Assignments on Time
• Talks Too Much
• Does Not Read Directions
• Not Working Up to Potential
• Will Not Sit Still

The traditional classroom is not ADD/ADHD friendly.

At this time ADD has 3 classifications: Primarily Inattentive, Hyperactive/Impulsive, and Mixed. From what is understood now, it is genetic and there is a lot of overlap with symptoms on the Autism Spectrum and Anxiety Disorders. My diagnosis is Primarily Inattentive type (and paired with an above average IQ, which masks some symptoms and amplifies others).

First off, "Primarily Inattentive" is a misnomer. The issue is actually noticing everything. All at once. I call it "buckshot thinking". Picture the path of a regular bullet: straight, one hole in the target. Picture buckshot: straightish, yet resulting in multiple holes, a "spray" in the target.  It's not so much an issue of "paying attention" as it is a struggle to focus attention on one thing. And what that one thing ought to be. Following are some pros and cons of Primarily Inattentive type.

The Pros:

• Out of the Box Thinking: There's a saying: "When you hear hoof beats, think horses." (Obviously an American saying vs. an African one-lol-Squirrel!) Faced with a dilemma the ADD brain immediately thinks: "any hoofed animal". Then it goes to weeding them out through abstract deductive reasoning.
• Automatically seeing the "big picture". Literally. A lot of ADD "thinking" can best be described as impressions derived from micro processing vs. intentional thought.
• Creativity: artistic, dramatic, you name it
• Original ideas or solutions
• Curiosity: Finding nuances to explore
• Hyper focusing: the awesome power of "the zone".
• Empathy

The Cons:

• Linear thought is often painful. Excruciating. Frustrating. Organizing is highly challenging and takes a lot of concentration and persistence. It wears us out.
• Ditto for paperwork. Especially that with multiple steps.
• Multiple steps, period. Kids with ADD often struggle more once they begin changing classes in school and do better on a block schedule or in college where there are fewer classes at a time.
• Noticing everything can be overwhelming. Hence the overlap with anxiety issues.
• Out of sight, out of mind. What progress report? Car keys? Homework? Bills? Huh? (I create paper stacks with the theory of "If I can see it I will be more likely to do it".  Do NOT touch my paper stacks. I will have a panic attack.)
• A tendency to start several things at once, resulting in multiple half finished projects (i.e. more to notice and be overwhelmed about) OR...
• Procrastinating/inertia triggered by anxiety.
• Tendency to get lost in thought, i.e. "daydreaming"
• Trouble delegating. If prioritizing for oneself is a challenge imagine the added step of prioritizing for someone else.
• Shame.

Recently a client in group therapy said, "People outgrow ADD, right?". Uh, no. Ty Pennington hawking Adderall? Seen that? Course I did not say this in group. The appropriate answer is, "No. We just manage it better." Some essentials to managing ADD/ADHD: self acceptance, finding a profession that utilizes your strengths and minimally engages your weaknesses, good support, organizational tools, structure, and a sense of humor.

Long Goodbyes

Dad and I have said many goodbyes, having lived in separate states for 31 years. We liked to keep them short. It hurt less that way. Tonight I am sitting on the sofa at my father's home, with my laptop on a TV tray, keeping vigil. Across from me is the most brilliant, complex, and fortunate man I've ever met. My father. Five minutes ago he did not know where he was or why friends weren't coming to get him. Now he is asleep sitting in his chair. My daughters and I had planned an end of school visit. The day we were to arrive Dad went into the hospital suffering from vivid hallucinations.
He needed to be on a geriatric/psychiatric unit for observation. Professionally, I knew that was the absolute best option. The doctor agreed. All but one family member agreed. My father refused. He is a neuropsychologist who, at 82, remembers some very horrible things about 1960's psych wards. He obtained his postdoctorate after surviving a major traumatic brain injury from a motor vehicle accident. The recovery was horrendous. He hates hospitals. He was furious with me for suggesting he go.
The doctor discharged him with instructions that my father not be alone until his follow up appointment. My father is very private and introverted, yet charming and social. His idea of "a visit" is that my girls and I come and go so he gets his alone time. In fact, Dad and I have pretty much survived this way for years. We give each other a lot of space and have each other's back when the chips are down.
Dad is struggling to accept the gravity of this situation. Intellectually he knows far more than I do about what is happening to him and what to expect. It's his greatest fear. Several years ago he supported his mother through dementia, so he's experienced my side of it too. For several days he was in denial, short tempered about being watched. This morning at his follow up visit the doctor reiterated that my father needs supervision, especially at night when symptoms worsen. He also told him not to drive. And that he wants Dad to see a neurologist and psychiatrist.
On the way home Dad became agitated about being "babysat". Finally I just looked at him and said, "Dad, there's nothing good about this. It sucks. It sucks that you are hallucinating. It sucks that your balance is off. It sucks that you are on so many meds. We just have to get through it." His response was to fall asleep. Or maybe he was just thinking. Either way, he became quiet and calmer. Later he stated this had "been a long time coming".
We--Dad, me, my sister, his grand kids, his friends--will whether this long goodbye.

Meaning Amongst Ashes

Somewhere along the way I became fond of the idea that life eventually slides into place. That at various points it might jolt us, and we regroup, but that there are periods of peaceful existence. Times where the mechanics of life are clicking along so smoothly that higher thought is easily accessible and flourishes.

Idealism of the immature mind. Fairytales. Yet not nearly as magical as reality.

The actuality is that life, yours and mine, is more akin to the tectonic plates. Always moving. Changing. Sometimes nearly unnoticeable, sometimes dramatic. We slide against one another, we grate, we clash, we separate, we join. We create beauty, drama, disaster, and vistas. The mirage of peaceful existence is superficial. Below the surface, in any of us, at any time, there exists movement that moment to moment changes the landscape of our lives and those around us.

Genius takes root not in the placidity of smooth soil, but as a result of chaos. The ultimate resiliency. We flourish, we extend ourselves, we reach. Hardship provides ideal conditions for ingenuity. That is the difference between the green and well meaning student with an IQ of 135 and the one who has life experience. Life is our best classroom. It will hone you. The truly resilient find meaning amongst ashes.

I'd like to stop and collect my thoughts; Present them in a tidy package. Yet there is no "pause" button. At best there is the lull between crests. The trick is to capture the calm and use it wisely. Amazing things happen when this is mastered. One of my favorite examples of this is the pioneer of existentialism, Viktor Frankl.

If you are waiting for life to slow down, realize it may not. Functioning through life means functioning through change. Meaning, motivation, inspiration, opportunity, and courage so often flourish in the soil of disaster. The question is, will we look?

Relapse...not just for clients

Amazing how one little thing has such extensive consequences. I have Hashimoto's Thyroiditis. It's a genetic autoimmune condition. In layman's terms, a type of hypothyroidism. It was diagnosed around age 24 when my cholesterol levels came back deathly high after donating blood to the Red Cross.

Symptoms include: fatigue, depression, anxiety, cold intolerance, sleepiness, poor concentration, achiness, constipation, muscle cramps, brittleness/thinning of hair and nails, dry skin, swelling of the legs, moderate weight gain, and high cholesterol.

Recently I changed jobs and have had a delay in insurance coverage. I had an appointment to get my thyroid (TSH) blood test before the insurance ran out...was busy, chose not too, slid into denial until the symptoms began kicking my butt. Haven't taken medicine for over a month now and am fully symptomatic. Yet, I knew better. That, my friends, is called a "relapse"*.

Ironic, the therapist having a relapse. But believe me, we do. We're just as squirrely as the general population (perhaps moreso). It's just that we tend to hide it better, to try to fix it ourselves, and smack ourselves harder because we "should" have known better. On the bright side: it builds empathy. I know the self talk/thinking that goes along with denial. I get the self annoyance. I also get trying to function day to day when you feel like crap...yet I have NO room to complain because a $15 non addictive prescription solves my ills.  And believe me, I suggest anyone having the symptoms I listed to have the test. Amazing how many "mental health" symptoms are actually physical.

I am cold, exhausted, moody, frustrated with myself, and my entire body hurts. Oddly, blissfully, I have little spurts of energy off and on. Pretty sure my boyfriend thinks I'm the exorcist. My friends are wondering where I am. Mom says I look tired. Tonight I told my kids they're just going to have have mercy...and they were happy because that meant fast food. Now that I'm  properly motivated, I've spent a week trying to get the doctor to write the damn lab order. A lesson in patience.

Overall though, it's a lesson in humility.

*relapse - to fall back into a former mood, state, or way of life, especially a bad or undesirable one, after coming out of it for a while

It's That Easy

About 20 years ago I asked my stepdad how I would know a relationship was meant to be. He replied, "Because it will be easy."

He's a very phlegmatic guy, so keeping that in mind let's define "easy". He explained that it would not just be the "easy" of a personality click, but that there would be a simplicity to it, a lack of strife. It would recharge you, encourage you, empower you. Inspire reciprocation. An "easy" relationship would be a soft place to fall, a breath of fresh air, what you would want to seek out at the end of a day. And fun.

I thought he was nuts. What a fairytale! Nothing was that simple! So, I held onto my belief that relationships were challenging. That belief led me right into that experience.

It wasn't until about 6 years ago that I realized the really great relationships and most meaningful choices in my life had a common purity much like my stepdad described: they were clear, felt "right", nourished my soul, inspired me to give back. Some outstanding examples: meeting/getting to know my stepdad and stepsiblings, my best friend in high school, the choice to perservere getting a Masters Degree, to have and love my kids, and meeting/getting to know my best friend in the universe Miss Daisy.

So what did that say about romantic relationships? That was still elusive to me until about 2 weeks ago as Neat Guy and I sat out on his deck one evening laughing and talking. We carry on like we've known eachother for years. It just flows, it's so comfortable, so fun, so healthy. Out of the blue I realized:

Daddy was right.

People try to bottle what he described. Psychology buffs try to explain it, replicate it.What it boils down to is that many truly solid relationships and choices are beneficent, harmonious, and reciprocal on what I can only think to term as the "soul" level. They recharge, encourage, and empower. Life will still swarm around you...yet with these people, in these decisions there is clarity and security...Your soul can rest. Which is the kind of "easy" he meant.

It's that easy.

On Dating a Neat Guy

10 random things I like about Neat Guy:
1) We laugh. A lot. And both have a strong history of laughing in very serious moments, like meetings and funerals. I can't believe I did not get pulled over today for laughing so hard while driving.
2) He carries the "go boxes" out of restaurants. Not sure why I like this so much. I just do.
3) He's conscientious and responsible. I like his morals, and I especially like that he applies them to himself first--like oxygen on an airplane. Isn't that how it ought to be, really?
4) He's forthright. By which I mean he has limited ability to filter his comments. But I admire that in a person.
5) We're each smart, in ways that overlap just enough so we learn a lot from each other.
5) He's both cute and ornery. Seems to have started this way as a little brother and just stuck with it.
6) Despite #5, he's really grounded. Almost AR. Which is good b/c I can be both a space cadet and OCD. Which leads to...
7) He accepts me as is. Yay!
8) He builds interesting stuff like strobe light water fountains.
9) He makes great coffee.
10) His dog. She's a riot. And I think she's put a good word in for me.

Malfunction Junction

In the past week: garage door confirmed it is indeed possessed, water line to icemaker launched sneak attack into my bedroom, and cell phone jumped into the toilet. Now none of them work. NONE!!! The prima donna garage door demanded a new electronic board thingy. Free, luckily, but don't tell her that. Just gotta call her fairy godmother to install it. The water...well, that's in progress with big fans and carpet pulled up in  1/4 of my bedroom and a hole in the kitchen wall. The phone is in the equivalent of ICU--a container of rice. I think it was suicidal in the first place, launching into a body of water like that and unable to swim. I don't blame myself. Obviously it had issues.
And something is on fire in Wagoner County. Not sure what. Probably grass--and who knows, it could be the fun kind. (Feds burn that stuff, right?)  Probably not a big deal. But the haze yesterday was unlike any I've seen since my last visit to L.A. and any kind of smoke sends my sinuses into lockdown. Ya. As a matter of fact I WOULD like some cheese with my whine.
The silver lining is...and I promised I would fess up...I met a very neat guy.

I Hate Dating

Never liked dating. Never. Not even when I was young and kinda hot. I believe it was my best guy friend who coined the term "wolves". That made me...prey. And that's how it felt. Having a boyfriend, on the other hand, was kinda fun.
16 years and one scrapped marriage later I am on the dating scene again. I won't address the "hot" issue; you've seen the curlers. Dating as a divorcee is just as stupid and awkward as dating in highschool. Maybe worse. Because now the internet is involved. You've been working the married/monogmous circuit for a decade...you don't know where single people hide. Log on to Match.com to find the answer: they are hiding in a dark room in their house tapping away on their lap top. Like you. Thousands of them. Millions, maybe. They all have sparkling personalities and the bestest of intentions, so their profiles say. It's like reading a resume wearing beer goggles. Everybody looks like a "10".
AND there is a post-divorce pattern. It goes something like this:
1) Create profile, don't post any personal info or pictures. Log on as the opposite sex to eyeball your local competition.
2) Post a vague picture. I posted one of my eyeball, which solicited the comment, "Hey. Nice eyeball. What does the rest of you look like?"
3) Post an essay about how glorious you are, along with a Glamour Shot. Feel very flattered by the cyber attention as your profile is viewed by 150 people in one day.
4) Freak out and hide your profile.
5) Realize no potential date would be able to find you in public based on that photo (some folks skip this step). 
6) Take 1 million photos, post 3. 
7) Get the bright idea to do a general scan of your local cyberpopulations. Find 5 people you know in real life and block them. No real people allowed!
8) Get an email from a funny, cool, and intelligent guy. Find out he was in your highschool Trig class. Go out, have a great time. It's just like a date with...your brother. Keep in touch.
9) Congratulate yourself for going on a date. Hide profile.
10) Your favorite bank lady runs off to Kansas to marry a guy she met on Match.
11) Get bored, unhide profile, rewrite profile. Enjoy the attention as it validates your plagarizing and photo shop skills ability to flirt and attract admirers.
12) Recieve a message from your lawn guy warning you to proceed with caution 'cause there are a lot of guys online only after "one thing" (and btw, he met the most wonderful gal on here!),
13) Email back and forth with a few guys, no dates. Lots of winks from the AARP crowd. Perverts.
14) Meet--in no particular order--The Player, The Guilty Neurotic, The Midlife Crisis Neurotic, The Jet Setter, The Con, and Edward Scissor Hands. Start to take it personally.
15) Let best friend look at profile, who immediately finds the most compatible individual in the state for you and promptly blogs the experience. 
16) THE Match--the highly compatible one who actually comes across like a real life person--just isn't ready. Which is fine. That's how I felt last year. Hence all the profile hiding.
Bitter? No. Exasperated? Yes. "But I'm busy! I don't have time to get out there." Nah. What a cop out. I'm not too busy to tweak the wording on the profile 500 times or check the website. "But I have kids...it's hard to meet people when you have kids!" Seriously? Kids are like puppies. They're cute and provide fodder for conversations. There's lots of hunky single dads out there at those kid functions. Why don't we have a local chapter of "Parents Without Partners"? Oh, because in 2011 that's fodder for an SNL skit. In the end, my lesson is exactly what I tell my 11 year old about the DSi: "Put the electronics down and go play." I'll keep y'all posted. Note the irony.

Salt & Light

Yesterday the preacher talked about salt and light. The man knows his science and his history. And his bible, of course. He was referring to The Sermon on the Mount, which states, "You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men." (Matthew 5:13) To really "get" this it helps to understand that salt was a highly prized commodity in biblical times...valuable like gold, only perhaps more useful. People used it as currency. It cured meat, seasoned food, made fires hotter (chemistry!)...According to the Salt Institute, it has more than 14,000 known uses.
Jesus is telling us, "You are the most valuable and useful on this earth." As Pastor Scott put it, He is calling us to be salty, and to maintain our saltiness lest we be trampled by our own humanity. What a switch of focus for most Christians. We focus on giving, helping others. Jesus is reminding us that as His vessels, we can't give away what we don't have.
He continues,  “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. ¹⁵ Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. ¹⁶ In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." (Matthew 14-16). So we're called to be useful, and to maintain that usefulness, also to be openly good on purpose and with purpose. It reminds me of a parenting concept called "living out loud", in which we go about our daily tasks with narration so our children can hear the thought processes that go into our choices. It's not ostentatious or glamerous. But boy will it keep you accountable.
My oldest (affectionately called Thing 1) volunteers helping at Children's Church. Yesterday she said, "Mom, what did you learn in big people church today?" I summarized. She responded, "We learned that sometimes you are supposed to give even when it's hard. But then you feel so good about it." She gave away her gold dollar coin to help the poor. "At first I didn't want to, but I did anyway. I'm proud of myself," said my daughter. She didn't even mention that as the "helper" she set an example for all the little ones. She gets it.

Theme of the day: JIVE

Yizzall bizzetter mizzove! The snow days are getting to me. Right now 5 kids (for real, just counted) are in my kitchen. I am hiding. FIVE kids, at least 4 of which have high IQs. Which means although they cannot individually best me ('cause I ain't no dummy), they can gang up on me. They just made lunch. With menus. And coffee. Seriously. No way I could make that up.

SO, I turn to Jive. Yes, Jive. Yes, I'm a white girl--or at least so far no blood relative has fessed up otherwise--but I was raised in the South and...yeah. Oran Juice Jones, "Walking in the Rain", now posted on my Facebook via YouTube. My step sister, "Ro" (we all get nicknames in blogland) is the ONLY other person in my universe who knows that song. And has it on her phone! Along with Double Dutch Bus by Frankie Smith...which also got linked on my FB. Izzokizzay! ADD then led my mind to the Jive scene from Airplane. What a hoot! (Translation: Wizzat a hizzoot!). Barbara Billingsly, may her "soul" RIP, nailed it.

I went into the kitchen and talked some Jive, sang a little, danced a little. My oldest asked to dance the polka, 'cause she is cool like that. I stole a sandwich from the sandwich tray. The Fab 5 trotted out the door with Walmart bags and a hammer. Yes, I gave the safety speech: "Don't put the bags on your heads 'cause you could DIE." and "Nobody plays with the hammer but Nature Boy." (Well it IS his hammer. File any complaints at YeahIsaiditblog.blogspot.com.

Just our version of a normal afternoon here in Dysfunction Junction.

Welcome to Dysfunction Junction!

Sometimes it's laughter that keeps us going. Crying is cathartic and cleansing; a good chuckle brings energy. And then there's this entire spectrum of emotions between. I'm Marti, aka Mama Shrink, a mom of 3 boisterous girls, psychotherapist and artist who also flies the flag of ADD.  Newly divorced, reconfiguring life, learning how to be myself again...the list goes on. Life goes on. Really. Whatever you've been through,  know you have the choice of how to react. I choose this.