Paths of Destruction

The New Testament speaks of the wide path of destruction we are offered in our lives versus the narrow path we should adhere to in order to reach the gates of heaven.

So simple, so clear, so much easier to walk along a wide path; though I tend to prefer narrow paths that prevent me from having to walk side by side or in large groups. I love the solitude of strolling along the edge of a beach, leaving friends behind while I drink in the sun, allow the wind to curl my hair and delight in the squish of the sand between my toes.

But gheez, we all know, I have not walked the narrow path as set forth in the book of Matthew.  I walk the path my mama always told me to walk.  She would say just start walking and if you find a bunch of big boulders and shit, nay stuff in your way, then turn around. But if the path opens up to you without a lot of obstacles, six-pronged forks, hairpin turns and perilous falls to your certain demise, then by all means, just keep on walkin'.  Didn't matter how wide or narrow.  Didn't matter if it appeared to be the high road or the low road, for deception lies in preconceived notions.  Just walk.

With that said, actually walking that narrow path between the vast, scary ocean and the solid ground beneath my feet literally summarizes my existence.  If I step too far into the water, then I am solidly screwed for I can't swim and I do not like sea creatures of any kind, not even the little Nemo clown fish.  I don't want to be there but once I'm in, it is very difficult for me to get myself out.  However, if I stay put, on the solid yet sandy side - I will prevail.  I may not last very long as we all know what happens with castles built in sand but I will remain on my journey and wake up each day to move closer to the purpose for which I am here.

First order of business then - figure out my purpose.

Last week, while in Oklahoma City, I was able to visit with a wonderful friend from my long ago past.  She and I started out in the corporate world together, both hired around the same time in our late twenties, both naive and green, both single mom's to little boys who were the same age and both ready to set the world on fire. 

We didn't realize it back then but we were smart.  Really, really smart.  During our visit, we remembered words we used to teach each other, plans we made to change the direction of our company (which never materialized) and choices we made to change the directions of our lives (which did materialize, in the seemingly most interesting and fascinating of ways.)

She married a wonderful man who had two boys of his own.  They built a life together, raised those boys, had financial security and did all they were supposed to do to be good parents.  She rose to the top of her industry and is close to retirement with her handsome man complete with a place in Arizona and a family chalet in the mountains of Santa Fe.

I married a wonderful man, later divorced him out of boredom then married another man, had three more kids, moved to Wisconsin, got another divorce and am now raising the whole brood while the ex is serving time at federal camp "good time" for felony fraud.  I rose to the top of my career as well but retirment is not a word I will entertain for many, many years to come.  I struggle with the burdens and sometimes I breakdown from the sheer load of it all. I told her of nearly losing my second son, The Commando, after his dad went to prison. And I have no handsome man or mountain chalet anywhere near or far, not even with a telescopic lens.

She understood the agonizing story I told her of watching as they took The Commando from me and she lauded my bravery in not stepping in to snatch him up and take him home.  She knew how deep I had to dig to go through with this measure of intervention on a child who was raging, creating his own rath of destruction.

Then she told me how her son, the one who is the same age as my #1Son is strung out on drugs, committing crime, jobless, nearly homeless and still hasn't hit rock bottom. All three of their boys went down the same path of destruction my brothers chose.  She knows, just as I knew with my brothers, this will likely end in death or jail for each of them.

One would think my son would have been the one to fall into the deep end with the crazy life I created for him. Instead he is centered and good, thoughtful, hard-working, loyal and kind.

One would think her son would have benefited from a loving relationship, financial security, all the trappings of a solid, centered life.

But one can never know how these things turn out.

Just as it has been for my life, the edge of that water is always so close at hand, or at foot as the case may be. It is quite easy to fall in, to fall out, to fall over until you find yourself going down the road too wide. Wrong choice of friends, basic wiring of the brain, just a tiny slip and you are cast out into the raging currant.  Especially when it comes to drugs.  Drugs are as vast as the ocean and every bit as deep.  The longer you try to keep your head above water, the more drugs you will need to stay above sea level. Then you are caught in a whirlpool of sharks, waves, wind and three-headed sea monsters from the deep that will pull your ass under and keep you there until you grow fins and gills and breath it in just to survive.

I drifted off, into the analogy of the deep as my friend was sharing her heartbreaking news. I asked all the questions I could ask from someone who had experienced this many times over. But there was one question remaining. One that had never been asked, not even of my parents.

I asked if she knew what happened to him?  Could she tell me what went wrong?

It was then this beautiful soul, who gifted me so often in our times of abandoned youth, deliberately placed the most powerful gift of all in my hands, in my heart and in my mind. It was wickedly deliberate, because she is brilliant enough to know exactly what I needed to hear. She lit her words and then set back to watch the fuse burn until she could see the shrapnel, tearing through my brain and systematically removing all of my fears of being a single parent with a crazy life.  She obliterated my doubts and uncertainty for what the Commando and I went through.

She told me she could look back and see the exact moment when she lost her son to drugs.  She said she hadn't been strong enough to do what I did when she had the opportunity, when he was young enough still, to save.

And just like that, I remembered my purpose.

The Dance of the Divine

As I enter the clearing at the top of the universe, I have to repeat to myself, you wanted this, you asked for it, you wanted this, you asked for it.  And yet, even in this moment, I still fear my own truth.

I love that word, not Truth as you might have expected, but the word, Still.

Still.

For I know I must sit still long enough to receive it, that which is my truth.

But sitting still is not easy for me.  I have a pattern, created very early in my years, of growing tired of things, places, people and circumstances.  My pattern is to let them go. Run Jenny Run.  Run like the wind.  Change is needed to fuel me and I am hungry for change.

Many friends, husbands, relationships, jobs, goals and dreams have succumbed to this dance of mine.  It is a ten year cycle.  For each, it is ten years - then done.  I only very recently stopped to count the number of instances in relationship to the number of years for each and I was duly startled.  It is clearly ten years. That's pretty much all I am good for.

Except for my children and a precious few who have survived, circumvented or otherwise put up with the faults known as my ten year limits.

I have always counted myself blessed with bountiful friends, more than any one person should deserve but this realization has awakened me to my truth.  I can be difficult, feisty, sometimes mean, but that is the armor I have used for all these years to drive the chafe from the wheat.

As I slide head first toward 50, I don't care for trivialities.  I don't cotton to a huggy, kissy kind of emailish, girlfriendy type of love. I need to know the people I carry with me into this last 50 years (God willing) of my life are the ones who will listen to my stories over and over again and wipe the shit off my ass-ignation when I've crossed yet another line. These people need to get me and most importantly, they need to know I get them. I've got them. I will hold them and wipe off their ass-ignations as well.

I have met or rekindled some relationships with true angels recently, and I have been awakened to the power of selfless love, sacrifice and bravery.

Robyn - meeting you in our girl's kindergarten class - how could I possibly have known you would reveal yourself to me in a time of my greatest need. You are the epitome of the belief that Australians are the nicest people on earth. Oprah said it, so it must be true and I love you - you are a divine Goddess.

Megan - strong, tough bitch, survivor, Amish in all the right ways, not Amish in all the right ways, loving and supportive. You are family and I am proud to be with you as we gather up our strength and conquer our worlds. Never lose touch with your power. Harness it and face your challenges head on but don't ever forget, I will always be here for you, as long as you let me borrow your cool jewelry.

Lacey - amazing mom, truly.  The best I have ever seen.  You let your brilliant son go off and sit with the big kids because that is where he finds his truth; yet you, like so many really good mothers, never lose sight of him. He is a challenge, just as I have experienced with my own but your calm balances him. You have risen to the top baby girl.  Stay the course. I love your man and your boys.  You have done well, your dad is proud of you too.  I can see his spirit in both of those boys.

Nick - So much to overcome but equal parts brilliant mind and loving heart to drive you through. Keep your eye or perhaps both eyes on the life you want. You are perfectly formed and made to be exactly who you are by God's own hands. So young still but so mature.  My kids all told me you reminded them of their dad's fiance's younger brother who is gay.  They don't know Ryan is gay.  Their dad would never allow them to know that. So essentially, their opinion was formed based on pure universal intuition. What that tells me is - fuck the conservative right wing, anti-gay, mostly closeted homosexual naysayers.  If kids can see it, then it is real. But you and I knew that already as does your dad.  You are loved.

Debbie - you are in my mind's eye, the utmost of the Divine Goddesses along with Betty Sue and yes, even your mom, my beloved Aunt Sarah.  I know there is bickering and a feeling that you are the one left to handle everything but I witnessed that legacy being passed down to you.  I remember your mom showing up to visit Granny every night on her way home from work. Then I remember you driving your mom to work every day and coming with her to visit Granny every night. Adding to that burden, I recall you picking me up and driving me to work at the age of 14, exposing me to the corporate environment and ensuring your employer I could run the front desk and handle the mail.  God, how I loved that summer. YOU made it all happen, you gave me the confidence at such a young age to know I could handle anything.

You have to face it, you are the one who stepped up to take responsibility when it was handed to you but you also have to remember, when it comes to those you cannot help, you need to let go. Calls from family who have gotten themselves into trouble are not your responsibility.  Don't feel as if it all falls on you because you must replace your mom. You can choose to tough love those people who may be taking advantage. Doing things that go against your judgment will make you bitter.  Helping people who struggle with addictions will only keep them addicted.  Be happy my beautiful cousin. You have done more than anyone else in our family can claim.  You have raised two children who will not go down those paths to destruction.  YOU did that. My mom always used to tell me how proud she was of you to raise your kids the way you did.

And trust me when I say, she never said that about anyone else, not even herself.

You are my hero. Yes, we have both made some bad choices in our lives, with respect to love and relationships but we seem to keep the ultimate prize in mind - that of the well being of our children.  So please be happy for all you have. Be grateful for Megan and Jeremy's goodness for that is the ultimate true test of a mom.  You have raised good people who will go on to raise good people. If you do nothing else in your life, that is enough for have broken a chain that was wrapped around your neck at birth and you have set free a new regime that will effect generation upon generation to come. As I said, my hero.

I hope you can visualize your burdens and blessings the same. My mom loved you and had a special place in her heart for you.  I obviously loved you, following you around in my childhood and cherishing every moment with you. Now I love Megan and Jeremy and I see my kids growing up to love them too. Megan opened her home to us and taught us to have conversation instead of TV.

And your son, who is preparing to welcome his first child, thought enough of us to sneak some money into my purse so I could spend a little more on the kids while in Oklahoma.  I found it, asked Megan about it, cried, made Megan cry but then believed her when she hugged me and told me how much all of you love all of us.

When I took the kids to Celebration Station, I told them this was money Jeremy gave us because he loves us, you all love us. It is hard for me to accept handouts.  I know that is why Jeremy secretly placed it in my purse, for my stubborn pride would have prevented accepting it.  He and Shelbi have a baby coming for goodness sakes. I can't believe I used to change that boy's diapers.

It is true in that the subtleties of love speak the loudest.

This is my truth. I know who I love. I know who loves me (us). And that is all I need.

To Amanda, Meghan, Cerese, Terese, Penny, Kim, Katt and countless others I wasn't able to see on this trip, please know I love you.

Standing at the top of the universe makes it so much easier to see. I love my Burt (Bird) and precious few others for it is not quantity but quality that makes up the Dance of the Divine.

And for those of you who have known me more than ten years and continue to dance in my circle, God bless you for I know my expectations are well beyond any reasonable divine expectation.  And for those I have driven away, please know this is not about you.  It is my truth and mine alone. But we shall dance nonetheless.

Shake shake shake, shake shake shake, shake your bootie, shake your bootie.

So much more to say about my trip back to Oklahoma City last week but for now, shaking by bootie seems to be an appropriate end.

She Let Go

I have had two serious loves since my divorce from Mr. Sunshine in 2005.  Both lasted between a year and a half to two years if you count that last four to five months of trying to reconcile before you decide it is really over.  Both broke my heart but in vastly different ways.  The first a man with a well thought out, pragmatic past, present and future meticulously planned. Not the sort of thing that would mesh with my, let's just go ahead and say it, somewhat unconventional, colorful past, present and most likely future.  Ironically, said colorful past made me who I was/am, the woman he fell in love with, but when it came to the ultimate decision, or shortly after I had met his entire family.....to this day, not sure which one tipped the scales, I was told he couldn't do it anymore.  His anguish was apparent, his tears were real and just like that, the man I had imagined to be "the one", was gone. 

The second was the brilliant Mr. S. who seduced me with a foreign accent, hot body and intellectual stimulation beyond my wildest imagination. So what if English was his fourth language, I could always take him when it came to grammar, syntax and stupid English figures of speech.  But hyperbole and sarcasm were his aces in the hole.  I stood at his feet in constant admiration of his ability to battle it out with me in the language I had bathed in my entire life, like an alcoholic, not ever fully satisfied until I had acquired more vocabulary, more uses of an oxymoron, more synonyms, more guide to picturesque speech. While he had breezed through French, Armenian, Arabic and oh by the way, English.  Bully for me.

But in the end, the one who wanted me for all of my crazy ideas, accepted me for all past indiscretions and proposed to love me forever, Mr. S., was more fucked up than anyone of my past loves (and if you've read this entire blog, you know that carries some significant weight).  He imagined himself to be someone he wasn't. For example, he prided himself on having not one jealous bone in his body, absolutely no issues with trust; yet I later discovered my computer was being monitored 24/7.  It was insidious, stealth-like deceit but unintentional; as honest to daisies, he believes he is what he claims to be.  Nonetheless, second big love, second heart break.

Why the reflux of past love on this, the dawn of a new year?  Good question. I believe it has to do with letting go.

In a time of reflection and transition such as the new year, what does one do?  Do we wipe the slate clean, let go and chart a new course or do we give thanks that life is just as it is, know that what we have is ours, understand it, claim it and then let the universe show us our own personal end result, that we ourselves brought to fruition?

I believe it is a combination of letting go and believing in your choices.  This year for me was defined by the loss of Mr.S- good riddance - and the gain of my children as their full time provider.  They amaze me, defy me, teach me how to be a better mother, get me outside to play in the snow, make me do the most unimaginable things to fight for them and ultimately convince me that my purpose, i.e., to write, has now been given a meaning beyond what I could have ever begun to imagine.  This is not just about me anymore, this is not just my journey, it's our story.

And from this point forward in my blog, I share their lessons with you.

I let some meatballs stay in the fridge a bit too long and mold started to develop.  My warrior princess lives for meatballs so it was with trepidation I decided to show her the Rubbermaid container with the moldy meatballs.  Honey, this is what happens when meatballs outlive their useful life.  Look, this one has eyeballs, furry eyeballs.  She was incensed, disgusted and appalled - questioning her belief in meatballs for ever after.

A few days later, we all sat down to watch the movie, Babe.  I told the kids it would be sad at times but they would feel good at the end.  When it ended, they questioned me, how could you let us watch a movie with so much sadness?

But didn't it end okay?  Sometimes life gives you sadness but the point of the movie is to believe in yourself, even if everyone else thinks you're crazy. If a thought nags at you, and won't go away then you MUST pursue it. You will be given hardships and obstacles along the way but you cannot let go, do you know why that is?

Yes, the Warrior Princess replied with the tone of a balloon losing its air, we get it mom, life is like a meatball, sometimes it gets moldy.

There is nothing more I can add to that other than to give credit to Robin Thomas, a/k/a Bert, a/k/a, my soul mate who has known me since the time we sat on her bed as young girls and rolled our hair together.  She sent me the card you see at the top of this post.  It is me with red, curly hair, saggy breasts and legs that can still stop a man in his tracks.

Forging a hole through this universe.  I WILL scream past my limitations and defy each and every furry meatball that comes my way.

Happy New Year.

xoxox

Love to all, Zen Mama

Before Monday

Monday is the day. Mr. Sunshine reports to his federal prison work camp a/k/a, jail. I have spent the past few weeks doing something that is quite uncomfortable for me. It is not in my nature, not a part of my DNA.  I have been asking for help.

The first and most important item of business was to find someone to watch my girls from the time they spill out of the bus to the time I get home from doing that which supports us all.  I sent out a broadcast email to the moms in my girls brownie troop.  I expected it to take a few days to shake out, perhaps even thought I might need to go to plan B, which was the suggestion of the school guidance counselor for us to take the request to the wider school community at large.

Within 20 minutes, all arrangements were made.  Not only that, I had extra people volunteer who had to be turned away.  The girls had people fighting over who could get to keep them. When I told them what was happening, my little Warrior Princess quickly calculated the number of people who volunteered and began to set up a schedule in her mind as to how we could accommodate them all.  I realized by the look in her eyes what she was up to.  Sweetie, I said, we can't have you bouncing all over the city to a different home everyday, don't you think that would be a bit much, perhaps too confusing? Wouldn't you forget where you are supposed to be on Wednesday? She knew I was going to logic her to death on this one so she agreed we should limit it, but added, maybe we could just arrange some play dates with our other friends on the weekends?  Yes honey, of course we will. Everything will work out, before Monday.

These dear friends, angels all of them - not only stepped up to provide the specific need I requested, but they went on to come up with additional things they could do for me on their own.  "Darling, why don't I feed them dinner and drive them back to your house so you won't have to worry about that on Tuesdays", my Australian friend said with her irresistible accent.  Then another mom who will have them on Thursdays realized we have brownie meetings twice a month on Thursdays.  "Let me feed them dinner on Thursdays then drop them off at the brownie meetings for you".

The offers poured in all day, with a few dads even stepping up to the plate to ask what they could do. Keep in mind, I haven't even begun to tap into the middle school network of support for my 12 year old son and I had dads from the girls school worrying about my son, asking me if he needed someone to spend "guy" time with. My mission is clear with my son.  I am excited for the opportunity to have these next two and a half years to stabilize him.  To give him one home, one safe place - where all his stuff is.  To hold him accountable and responsible for grades, chores, being a good big brother and being responsible to his community. But I can't go hunting with him or do other things guys like to do.  He has been begging me to go paint balling. Sorry, but no.  I take enough pelts with unexpected large balls being hurled at me in life.  I'm not going to volunteer for it.

My good friends in Green Bay have offered to have us up for ice fishing this year.  We've spent the summers with them fishing off the docks but never have I imagined the concept of ice fishing. Dave is one of those men that I want to be in my son's life. He's a retired fire fighter, tough as nails but funny and tender hearted  He can be a bit of a daredevil, tempting fate with his adventures but the twists and turns in life as well as the twists and turns in his neck have slowed him down. His most recent large toy purchase was an RV, that's a good indicator how far he's come.  (Sorry Dave, you know I love you.)

After all this love, after all this support.  After asking for help so uncomfortably and getting it so unconditionally, I cried. That's all I could really do.

Before Monday, I am spending this last weekend in a Tazmanian Devil-like organizing frenzy. I'm painting new shelves, making room for all the stuff the kids had at their dad's house, giving them some separate and clearly defined spaces of their own when they need that quiet time and in general, leaving not one thing undone as I begin this stage of full time, single mom.  Organization is my key to sanity. If you ever want to know when it's time to lock me up in the padded cell, just check to see if my house is messy.  If there are any remote signs of hoarding, or even an unorganized desktop - just put me away.  Yes, I know - it's a control issue, but it feels SO good.

I have remained stoic and strong in these weeks leading up to the day my children will lose their dad.  I have envisioned the life I will make for us as a magnificent journey. I have finally, fully dealt with the loss of Zen Boyfriend, who at first seemed to be ripped away from me like a lost limb, leaving me to bleed out until there was nothing left. Now I realize he was not the man I thought he was and most certainly not the influence I would want in my children's lives at this critical time. It seemed merciless but has ended up being merciful, a great blessing to not only have him gone but to have had five months to make sense of it before Monday.

The events leading up to Monday have stripped me down to the bone, raw and fresh, deeply gouged wounds inflicted by anger, hurt, loss, anxiety and fear.  I believe I waged a war with anger and hurt and I emerged victorious.  I will no longer stare into the detestable bitter face, that was my opponent.  If I am honest, I know fear and anxiety remain, but they are buried, like the layers of the earth somewhere around the transition region. What lies on top, on the upper mantle of my internal earth structure for now, is loss. The loss of my children's father. The loss of a little part of their innocence, the loss they will feel each time they look out into the audience from the stage of a school musical and realize their dad is gone. That cannot be processed before Monday.

Good Friends Will Go Anywhere

Even though she was slightly apprehensive, my friend Margaret agreed to come with me on my birthday outing to Ravinia, an outdoor music festival just north of Chicago. We were going to see the amazing guitar duo Rodrigo y Gabriela. That's her on the left.

Notice, she is wearing her St. Christopher pendant. I usually see her with a lovely diamond necklace. On this night, she felt she might need the patron saint of protection on her side.

And she was mostly correct.  I drove us down there with a large tumor sticking out from my tire and almost ran us out of gas by not paying attention to that big yellow light blinking on my dashboard.  That's Kris on the right.  Kris is not afraid of anything. Thank God she came because she kept us from getting lost at least 16 times and she solved the great, enduring mystery of why my chair wouldn't fit in its bag while her chair had loads of room left over. Duh.

Ravinia oversold this concert in a brutal, feeling like you're being herded to your death, kind of way. We parked off site and waited for our bus. While in line, we unfolded our chairs and started to snack on our picnic goods. Once we arrived, it was necessary to step over and sometimes on people to find a place to sit. We squeezed ourselves in, pulled out our wine, food and patchouli candle and commenced to enjoy the serene beauty of the last days of a Chicago summer.

The girls, of course, had the sense to tell me we needed to leave early to avoid the long bus lines but I wouldn't listen. I was the birthday girl and I was staying until the very last perfect chord had been played.  Big mistake.  Huge. We spent the better part of an hour chasing taxi cabs.  Actually, I chased them while on the phone trying to give the dispatcher our location. The girls just continued to walk in the direction of a main road, which is what one would typically do in Chicago if wanting a cab.  Finally, our Serbian cabbie arrived. He didn't understand a word of my broken Spanish or much of my English come to think of it.  He indulged us with something in Serbian. We understood the words crazy and taxi.

Even though it looks highly suspicious, I swear they were not holding me up here. I was doing my signature sexy side head tilt. We made it to my SUV and headed out for more fun in Chicago. Again, it was Kris who saved the day be finding us the perfect little club. Relaxed, older crowd - great dance band and pool table.

It was the kind of bar where you get to know everyone else there in an instant. I took notes from various couples, patrons, band members, bikers, golf pros - all telling them I was working on research for my book.  That was actually true. I think I even helped the golf pro to get over his ex-girlfriend and agree to start dating the girl he had just made out with the night before. They were a cute young couple.  They deserved a chance at love. I love the irony - here I am doling out relationship advice like Oprah while I'm sporting a hole in my heart the size of one tall Armenian.

Margaret and I played pool with some bikers. My partner let me sit on his bike as we were leaving. Those pictures will not be posted for your purview, nor do we need to see the ones with the enormous chess pieces in the hotel lobby. I think Margaret and I thought we were Vanna White, the way we were posing with them.  After all the activities, we talked, as girls will do, about the meaning of life and all - just before we passed out from exhaustion, exhilaration and the excitement of another year gone by for me.

Margaret has been divorced for a year now. It was a bad ten year run she had. She is free and just now starting to emerge from her shell. She is a great teacher for me in the divine art of being alone. She has built a warm, colorful existence with friends, family, career and travel.  And, she stepped out beyond her comfort zone with me to be there for my birthday, armed with St. Christopher, St. Kris and a picnic basket feast for the God's.

The next morning, she looked at me with her deadpan delivery and said, "yes well, happy birthday, I know I feel a year older today." That's okay, she's only 40 and truly, has the best years of her life waiting just around the corner. Thank you ladies - with all my heart, thank you.

Good Friends, Going the Distance

Tickled Pink

I received this card in the mail
from one of my good friends.

Thanks Susan.

I have it pinned to the wall in my office because it makes me smile.

And I need to keep smiling.

Either that, or I need a new purse.

Not sure.

Let There Be Light

When my baby girl was fighting for her life in the hospital, it came to me. It sought me out and it lifted me in perhaps what has been my darkest hour to date.  It, this mysterious force, gave me the strength to pull my sleep deprived self together and to hold her up. To look her in the eye and tell her I understood her pain but at the tender age of 7, she had no other choice but to face it the way a child faces a bad dream or a monster in the closet. I told her to kick its ass.  Note: I didn't use those exact words but the meaning was conveyed. I taught her how to breath the way I was taught when giving birth.  We did our labor breathing together. 

Breath with me baby, short breaths. She would do as I asked while her eyes locked upon mine, seemingly never blinking. Her expression was one of trust but it also conveyed a vulnerability that simply said, help me.

Out of this nightmare experience, she seemed to have a new sense of strength and confidence about her. She doesn't take any crap from her big brother anymore, she is deeply connected to her emotional side and she will speak up to any perceived tyranny or injustice in her world, even if it's defending one of her stuffed animals. Besides the courage that comes during times of crisis, we were also blessed by our many friends. My daughter and I walked out of that hospital knowing we had survived because we were hooked up to an IV that fed us more that nutrition or hydration, it fed our very souls.That's what I took from the love that surrounded us. Our friends came and they carefully weaved a tightly knit net underneath us and with that, we were safe.

One friend in particular came to see us nearly every day. We had been planning a ski trip together with our kids, the very week the ruptured appendix occurred. She had graciously booked our room, using her points in a time share plan. We obviously couldn't go. We were all bummed but there was no repercussion, no pettiness, just a constant flowing love. This same woman recently offered us a weekend at a water park resort. She wanted to gift us with something that would replace our worries with fun; taking away my heartache and substituting the laughter of my children, like music to my ears.

Off we went last weekend, the four of us at a Lake Geneva resort.  A mom, still slightly less than whole from heartbreak and kids who are living with the fear of their dad going to jail.  Add to that, the girls don't know about our breakup yet. They are asking about Michaela every day. They literally see her in everything, a bowl of noodles, a horse, a bird. I am hoping we can arrange for her to remain a part of our lives but if it doesn't work out, they have more disappointment, more suffering heading their way.

Thank goodness for our water park adventure. We played all day and night, ate pizza and ice cream, and went down one particular water slide that the kids loved but in my mind, it felt like I was on a death slide to hell.  It was narrow so you went sans a raft, mat or tube. Just you, in total darkness, for what seemed like five minutes of twisty, tormenting, torturous abyss. Did I mention it was pitch black? You don't know when you're going to turn and you don't know when it's going to end. I tried closing my eyes but that only made it scarier. I'm praying, please God - let there be light at the end of this thing and let it be soon.

Finally, I was unceremoniously dumped into the water the way a load of laundry get's pulled under during the rotation cycle. I emerged to see the smiles and thumbs up signs from the kids. It is symbolic of course. Many times in life, we are forced down these dark tunnels but if we keep moving and keep praying, there is always light at the end. I am blessed to have four children who are beacons of light. We may all be going down a new scary yellow tunnel soon but I will remind them to keep breathing, keep moving and keep praying until it doesn't hurt anymore.

The light will emerge from the darkness and we will go under a bit before we can poke our heads above the water and walk away stronger, more confident and able to face whatever twisty turn life has in store for us next.

Does This Wine Taste Campy to You?

Last week, my friends were doing everything in their considerable power to get me out of the house.  I had the most tempting invites. Beach parties, bands playing, festivals, promises of girl time - no boys allowed.  They knew what I needed.  They have been worried about me suffering so, refusing to let go of my pain - even some would say, wallowing in it.  On Wednesday, I spent hours getting ready to go out, not because I was carefully applying my makeup.  It took me hours because I kept changing my mind.

Finally, I walked out the door around 8pm. I arrived at the State Fairground venue where one of my favorite bands was playing but I couldn't find the stage. With my girlfriend trying to talk me there, I began to get frustrated, the hurt was bubbling up inside and I started to cry.  


What am I doing here? I'm not ready to be around actual people yet.

She then handed the phone to a security guard in the hopes of him giving me better directions.  That's all it took, one smug man's voice and I was on the way back home. I tried again on Thursday but never made it out the door. When Friday rolled around, the plan was to attend a lakefront festival, taste of the city event, with live music and a huge bonus, it was not too far from my house.

I can do this.  I just have to get there and if it sucks, I can come home early and still catch The Ghost Whisperer on TV, pathetic but true.

My most persistent friend, Jodes, would accompany me. She knew exactly how to handle things, letting me know I could talk about "him" if I chose but it was okay if I didn't want to talk.  She was there either way. We spent the first hour of our night on the phone with US Cellular tech support. Somehow, we had both inadvertently attached a speed dial to our ex-husbands and have been persistently purse dialing them. Neither one of us could figure out how to get it off.  To our credit, it took tech support the better part of that hour figuring it out themselves.

Finally, meandering into the festival, we walked up and down the beach, meeting old friends and new friends and elderly men who were retired military gentlemen, and married men who were misbehaving. Growing tired of that in a hurry, we decided to stop in a little winery on the outskirts of the festival. We spent the next hour in the company of two brothers, owners and proprietors of Two Brothers' Wine. They looked just like this picture from their business card, except you have to imagine them both with Hulk Hogan style blond mustaches.

They served up their unique blends from exceedingly peculiar grapes along with their stories.  Henry was the winemaker, brother Joe was a mess, somewhat akin to the Jim character from Taxi.  We were beguiled by them. They told us the story of their most popular wine, which comes out in the fall, just in time for hunting season. It's called Deer Camp wine and it is made from the tiny wild grapes that grow on their land up north. I'm certain we saw it fermenting in their homemade jugs lining the back wall of their storeroom.

When this wine was in the development phase, they mentioned it to one of their customers, we'll refer to her as one of those "ladies who lunch". Her disdain for everything related to hunting was immediately apparent when she supposed they were going to include a buck with a nice large rack on their label.  She went on to straight out call them chauvinistic pigs. Not ones to take such an insult, they utilized the services of Henry's son-in-law, a graphic designer, to come up with a label that would truly represent who they were.  The result is the label above, featuring a lovely doe, with a nice large rack, ever so gingerly balancing her glass of wine within her hooves.  After all Joe said, we are not chauvinistic pigs.  We're just pigs.

Jodes and I purchased a bottle of wine, then decided it was time to dance. We kicked off our shoes, buried our feet in the sand and made our way to the front of the stage, oh and did I mention, in the pouring rain. We danced and sang and hugged. I must have thanked her at least 236 times for getting me out of the house to have this experience. Two gorgeous young men started dancing with us while several others scooted in to make their plays.  We were drenched. Jodes asked me to let my hair down. It was wet and wild and I was free and without pain. There it was, this beautiful young man, the better looking of the two, and he was interested in me. But all I wanted to do was dance in the rain.

When the band finished, we excused ourselves from the opportunity in front of us. I would later be admonished for this when it was explained to me that younger men will give you great sex and expect nothing in return.  Why the hell didn't somebody tell me this before?  Oh yeah, I tried that already. Didn't work so well.

As we were making our way out, we said goodbye to one of our friends who was talking to a nice looking guy. He flirted with me and I flirted right back. He thought I was feisty, I told him he couldn't handle my feisty. As we left, he asked for my number - but I simply walked away, arm in arm with my good friend. I think we might have actually been skipping.

Later I found out this flirty guy who asked for my number is married, has cheated on his wife many times, been kicked out and now was back trying to make things "work" with her. Oh, there it is again - that familiar pain.  Not for me, not for him, but for her, the wife.

Yet how refreshing it was to spend a night fixing our phones, skipping arm in arm and meeting Henry and Joe who somehow managed to restore the reputation of men by being exactly who they are. Pigs who appreciate a nice large rack. It was every bit as refreshing as dancing in the pouring rain.

Here with are with the one and only, Joe.

A Word About Oklahoma

In spite of the excellent Mexican food, the last time I visited Oklahoma, I left with a bad taste in my mouth. It was last Thanksgiving and I was letting go of family. I felt disconnected and uncomfortable there and I couldn't wait to get home, here to Milwaukee, because this is my home now.

Or so I thought.

Spending this past weekend in Oklahoma City was like being in recovery. I submitted myself to the city and to my friends and family to let them heal me. I will be writing detailed posts about the friends and family part; but for now, let me tell you a little something about my home town.  For we have mended our fences.

It is amazing what a little oil money can do for a town. Do you know of any other downtown in the United States that is currently building a 50 floor skyscraper? I saw the cranes in action with my very own eyes. New retail developments are popping up like daisies. The Oklahoma City Thunder is the most beloved team in all of the NBA and a homeless man waved at me while crossing the street because even the homeless people are friendly in Oklahoma. Here's what the tower will look like when completed.

Or how about a $140 million dollar redesign of the downtown streets, plazas, sidewalks and parks?  They are even moving a part of I-40 to create a gateway to downtown via a large boulevard. If a major east to west thoroughfare is in your way, no problem, let's move it.  Is a river walk in a restored warehouse area enough for you?

The girls and I floated by Toby Keith's I Love This Bar & Grill, saw old Doc Blues singing on a patio, snapped a photo of Sonic's corporate headquarters, skipped right past Coyote Ugly, because well, you know we wouldn't have been able to keep Tina off the counters, and saw the most beautiful mosaic and waterfalls along the banks of the river walk.

Or perhaps sailing, rowing or kayaking is more your speed. Imagine a river so dry it had to be mowed twice a year. Dam it up, develop the hell out of it and viola, you have this.

 

Or you can drift away on Lake Hefner, found in the middle of the city with fully developed harbor frontage, restaurants, office buildings, walking trails and sail boats galore.

Did I mention housing is incredibly cheap, taxes are ridiculously low and the people are darn friendly? Oh and they have recently completed construction on not one but two state of the art Proton Therapy cancer treatment centers. Too bad they don't have a state of the art heartburn treatment center because here's an Oklahoma classic, chicken fried steak with fried okra, courtesy of Mr. Toby Keith. Pay no attention to the boob in the picture. It was there for proportion but it wasn't big enough so she had to use her hand as well.

My girlfriend Dolores escorted me on this whirlwind tour of all that Oklahoma City has to offer.  We drove around in her Saab convertible so I could pop up and snap photos. We stopped at this place and had a quick beer, which was free because, did I mention, people in Oklahoma are friendly.

We ended our morning at Big Truck Tacos where their motto is, "saving the world, one taco at time." It was so packed, they had to hang signs to remind people to be friendly. It can get a little pushy when a hungry mob is jonesing for one of those things. It was like Taco Crack or the best thing I've had in my mouth since, well since the last time I was in Oklahoma. Thank you Dolores for a wonderful morning; one that might very well change the course and direction of my life.

I guess it's safe to say I'm leaving this time around with only good tastes in my mouth. And good feelings for my hometown. My home. Where friends and family are plentiful and even the politicians aren't afraid to let it all hang out. Literally.

This did not leave a good taste in my mouth.  Sorry, had to go there, you knew I would.

Here's a little tease for my upcoming posts.  The Leaders of the Free World were in rare form during our "Night of the Iguana".

Bye for now ya'll.

Soak me in the Water Until I am Drenched

I am leaving on a jet plane later today my little lipscheins. For those of you that know me well enough to have been quite worried for me lately and for those of you who don't know me at all, trust me when I say, this girl needs her girls and I need them now. I'm Jonesing for the love and affection I receive from these particular 7 women who have shaped my life and who continue to prop me back up each time I stray off the path of the ordinary, expected life.

Come to think of it, I spend a lot of time there on that road less traveled.  So much so, one might be able to say it is my ordinary.

I fly in a day early to meet with another group of powerful women from my OKC days. We're having dinner, lots to catch up on, then I will stay with one them for the night. We will stay up late and drink red wine with really decadent chocolates. In the morning, she's going to show me all the wonderful new developments in my city. She's going to make me want to move back there, I can just feel it.

I will leave her around noon to have lunch with four of the most beautiful souls I know - my three nieces and my nephew. I'm forcing them to eat at my favorite Mexican food restaurant because you just can't get that shit here. Sayonara, or should I say hasta luego to Ms. Jenny Craig for the weekend because it's against vacation policy to diet when you're in the midst of the pure ecstasy that is Ted's.  Yes, it's a Mexican food restaurant named Ted's.  You got a problem with that?

After lunch with the young'ns, I'm off to the airport to pick up the Canadian doctor. She has flashy blond hair, will probably be wearing some killer stilettos and toting around an ostentatiously large piece of luggage to house all the well thought out ensembles she will don over the weekend. Erstwhile, I will be wearing my trademark flip flops and either a black or white tank top because I didn't want to have to think to hard to coordinate colors.

I told her I was going to pull up to the curb, roll down the window and yell, "Bitch, get your ass in the car before LeRoy catches you here again". She's cool with that.  It doesn't matter how big her bags are because she dropped the biggest piece of abusive pile of shit husband of hers and is on her way to living free of his maniacal control for the first time in decades.

Then one by one they will all arrive at our prestigious "Bricktown" hotel.  There's Babe, who is also known as Bert (the Bert to my Ernie) who will be responsible for at least three of us spontaneously peeing our pants within the first two hours of our stay. Sparkle will be there, also known as Sweetie Pie. She just lost her Memory so we have to be gentle and apply a little extra love to her. I think Gina and Lori are driving together and more importantly, bringing the booze. Gina is in charge of security for the weekend. Lori will be in charge of quietly observing us for a bit. Memorizing all of our fast talking rants then opening her mouth to say the most profound thing we've ever heard, rendering us all silent as we fall at her feet and beg for her to tell us more.

We are going to get to wrap our arms around Ms. P, not the Mrs. P we had last seen. She is free from a horrible man who tried to break her spirit. But you can't keep this woman down. I am excited at the thought of her new life and cannot wait to soak it all in while we sit poolside drinking cocktails. I love her laugh. I can hear it in my head right now.

Last but ever so entirely not least in any way is the person who has become our team cheerleader, tell it like it is sassy, happier than all get out, Tina Sue. She makes us smile each and every day and splatters us with love like a Jackson Pollock paintbrush. She flings it all over us until we lie back and realize we are masterpieces in her eyes. Then she will give each and everyone of us her personal smushing. It's her word.

And me, I have purchased a one-way ticket for a very large piece of me to remain behind there in that hotel room. I will cry it out. I will soak up strength from these women the way the spring thaw in Wisconsin soaks up twenty inches of snow. No more worries over ex husbands and jail.....I got it handled. No more broken heart....I am ready to start fresh. No more Jerry Maguire moral epiphanies where I seek to call into question the mission statement of the people who allow me to feed my children. I will reign all that in because by cup will runneth over and this gaping hole in my stomach will be filled with unconditional love, acceptance and really fucking good Mexican food made by a guy named Ted.

The Leaders of the Free World Unite

In just a few short weeks, I will be spending two days with a group of girls, most of which, I have known since kindergarten. Within our group we have a college professor, a dentist, a lawyer, two teachers, a deputy sheriff, a retired Air Force officer, a Physicians Assistant, an office manager, a barrel racer and a state champion baton twirler.

We are all mothers with 13 kids to watch over, most of which are mine. One of us has endured the loss of a child. We have all been married, some divorced, some divorced more than once - well, okay so only I have been divorced more than once but whose counting really. Damn, I counted.  There are thirteen current and ex husbands in our lives and again, most of those are mine.

We didn't think we would see each other this year though we do stay in touch on a near daily basis. Some of us have buried our mothers, fathers and brothers (spoiler alert: yes, most are mine) and one of us is presently watching over her mama as death has been lurking about, taking its time and taking its toll, as it always does.

Two of these women have recently broken free from long term marriages to 1) a crack head and 2) a crack pot. They are both doing well and we are awestruck as we watch their old spirit come back to us - the girls we remember from high school. All of their love and beauty popping back out like the first tulip of spring. We didn't stop loving them when they were in the midst of all that chaos and ugliness. We loved them right through it but we also told them exactly how we felt about it. See, when you have as much history as we do, we can say things like, "what the fuck are you still doing there?"

We are fiercely protective of each other, willing to cut a bitch who might dare to hurt one of us. And most importantly, we are all going through this thing called menopause - time and distance may vary - but we all feel it. We all understand what is happening to our bodies as we age. We joke about going through "the change". Exactly what are we changing into?

So the stars lined up for us, doors were opened that had previously been slammed shut and all eight of us will be there to laugh and cry, to expose our outer beauty and our inner demons. If you feel the earth shift a bit in mid-July, don't worry, it's just Tina giving everyone a good hard mushing.

I need these women like a horny dog needs a leg to hump. I want to grab on and never let go (figuratively of course). Don't worry girls, I'm not planning to hump your legs, that is, unless you ask.

I Am Enough

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, Zen Mama is back. I wanted to stay angry, to bathe underneath a waterfall of anguish and dive into a pool of pity. I wanted to swim in it until I could no longer feel anything. No pain, no worries; just a cool, dead, numbness.

But I’m not dead.

I am alive and I am enough.

I received this cute little package in the middle of my swim in the pity pool. It came from one of my dearest friends, Robin.  She’s the Bert to my Ernie, the yin to my yang, the sister I never had.  She’s creatively gifted, a non-stop virtual well spring of talent. The things those delicate little hands craft are nothing short of breathtaking.

Throughout my recent struggles, she has been the little birdie in my ear, softly chirping three words to me - “You are Enough”. Over and over and over again, she comes back with it each time I doubt myself, each time I express fear or worry or expose my anger. She comes back with it, those three words.

I suppose I didn’t really believe her or more appropriately, I chose not to believe her because I was safely wrapped up in my anger.



Not one to give up on getting a point across, she took matters into her crafty little hands and sent me this box. My girls wanted to hold it so they could show Robin how excited they were to see it. They know of her talent, it is practically legend in my household.   They love her dolls and her knits and they love that mommy has a friend like that.  A friend that had apparently picked up a new talent – soldering metal and cutting straight through my anger…..

 
…….slicing directly into my heart. I cried when I opened it. Then I had to explain to the girls that it had special meaning. That Robin was sending me a message and mommy finally got it. A rush of emotion flooded my heart and I emerged from the ugly, anger infested waters feeling clean, alive, whole and ready to take on anything that comes my way.



On that day in April when I was notified of a suspicious lump in my breast, Robin had sent me a text message. She told me she knew it was going to turn out okay because she had envisioned a picture of me with lovely roses covering my breast. As I waited for the results of the biopsy, she reminded me of her vision. She was, of course, correct about everything.  On the flip side of her pendant, she gifted me with this charming lady who, like me, is calm and clean of anger, delicate and perhaps even soft spoken but wearing her battle proven armor, a breast plate of roses.

And with that, just like that – I am enough.

Bigger Than Life – In Memory of Paul Sands

He truly was bigger than life and yet today -  he is gone. When I knew he had passed,  I pulled this photo from my personal album and it made me cry. I remembered how peaceful and happy he was with Jody sitting there on his lap. It was our last night together on this particular vacation and it was one of those photos that unbeknown at the time, became iconic; it was the photo that captured the essence of our time together.

But today, in this early April, Jody was there to be with him as he was preparing to die. She didn't hesitate to interrupt her busy career or all the obligations that come with life as a single mom.  She booked her flight and headed south. By the time she arrived, he had lost his senses and wasn't able to hear her carefully crafted words. He died without her being able to hold his hand, tell him to let go, or tell him how much she had truly loved him.

Paul was the only man she’s ever known who hasn’t broken her heart.

I told her if he had known how much you really loved him, he would have tried a lot harder to marry you, or to sleep with you, at a minimum.  He had asked and longed for both on more than one occasion.

But she didn’t want to mess up a 26 year friendship with the guy who never broke her heart. And she was right.

In our conversations this morning, Jody asked me if I had the photos from our trip. She said she was looking for one specific photo. She didn't need to describe it, I told her I already had it scanned and on its way to her.  They had been friends for over twenty years. They loved each other and this photo represented that love.

When she went on to question the injustice of his early departure from our world,  I told her the only thing I could think to say, which was that heaven just got a helluva lot more fun because big Pauley had arrived.

It was four years ago when Paul treated Jody, Janelle and I to a four day trip to Fort Myers. We had been feeling out of sorts; each one with a specific obstacle in our busy lives that was holding us back. Early April in Milwaukee can mess with a woman. We were all depressed and  we yearned for sunshine and answers to the great mysteries in our lives. Paul didn't hesitate, he was there for us.



He rented us a convertible.....Chrysler....Sebring, to be exact. We were free to roam about, have our girl time, ask young men to carry our groceries and  find our way back to the center of our lives.That’s Jody and I on the night where we spontaneously laughed ourselves back to healthy and happy. “The Bridge is right there”! (Inside joke).



He treated us to limos, yachts, a beach side hotel and nights on the town. He loved baseball, golf, boating, cigars wine and women, not necessarily in that order. If he could have them all at once, he would. He loved moments like these where he got to show off for his friends. We didn’t mind, he was like the biggest, friendliest, most harmless teddy bear we had ever met.



At the end of the night, when we were exhausted, he would sometimes have to wake us up to send us back to our hotel.  We couldn’t keep up with his boundless energy and non stop desire to live life to the fullest. Between the three of us girls, we were mothers of nine children. We weren’t used to that kind of life.



We will miss you here on this earth sharky. You touched so many lives. Hundreds of people came to your memorial to tell you what you meant to them and they weren't just casual acquaintances, they were bonafied friends.

Don’t we all wish we could live a life like that? Pauley left a legacy by living large and living well, with a big heart and an even bigger hug to embrace us all.

Darling Paul Sands, truly one of a kind.

My heart is with you Jody #2 as you must let go of this beautiful man. As I said to you earlier.....perhaps in the next life.

And This I Pray....

My eyes opened this morning and my heart hurt. Before the day began, before my feet touched the floor, I felt the excruciating pain of loss. I must have slept that way.
 
Spring did not return to me yesterday; in fact the temperature dropped to 38 degrees and there were snow flurries. Last week, I was enveloped in 84 degrees of daffodil blooming spring and yesterday I faced a stone-cold, unbending, bitterly cold day. The snow was light but angry. So much anger. It makes me cry, not a PMS cry but a broken heart cry. I needed spring to understand my vulnerabilities and to wrap me up in it's warmth. But it was unable to yield, unable to give, unable to express even the slightest amount of compassion.

My day continued to unfold with a tearful call from my girlfriend, telling me her friend Paul is nearing the end of his battle with cancer. She's going to fly out to Florida for a memorial next week. It was this very week in April four, or maybe five years ago when Paul hosted us for a long weekend in Fort Myers. He was bigger than life then, treating us to yachts and limos and a hotel right on the beach. And today, he is preparing to take his final breath here in this life. I will pray for him and all who knew him.

I had planned to spend this weekend with good friends at their lake house. I have described my girlfriend Vicki, many times as walking sunshine because you always feel such warmth in her presence. Her essense is positive energy. She is exactly what I needed today with my broken heart. The next call I took was from her. She and her brother are flying out to Utah first thing tomorrow as her mom, who has been in hospice care, has taken a turn for the worse. She, like Paul, is nearing the end. I will pray for her as well.

My little birdie friend is caring for her dying mother while navigating her way through all that comes with that. I've been there, I know what she's going through. She's reaching out to The Leaders of the Free World for encouragement. She usually sinks deep down into her pain and removes herself from us until she feels whole again. This time, she is calling for us and I want to be with her more than I want sunshine.

I've always found it interesting how the same word can have two immensely different meanings. I'm a writer so I pay attention to words and meaning; yet, I can write a post with one thing in mind and have it read by another who interprets it exactly contrary to my intent. For example, I was asking him to stay but he thought I was telling him to go.

It reminds me of the expression, a lump in your oatmeal is okay but a lump in your breast is not. I finish my day today and I wish for many things. I wish the radiologist hadn't told me he didn't like the look of the lump in my breast this morning. I wish I would not be facing another surgery. I wish my mom hadn't died of breast cancer. I've been through this three times now, each time has been okay, no cancer, just necessary precautions. Now I have a lump in my throat as well. 

I want to to take the pain away from all of us who are suffering these losses and I want to run away to a place where there are no ex-husbands going to jail, no painful break-ups and no lumps in my breast.  I want to get in my car and drive south until I find a spring that is real, a spring that is committed to stay. Then I want to get out of my car and lie in the grass on the side of the road for a while.

It's moments like these when I scream to the universe to take me away and soak me in your warm water with glistening bubbles and floral scent. Let me stay there until I'm ready to face this ugly world, where pain is inevitable.

Then the universe answers back when one of my friends reminds me not to get my cape wet. Suffering is optional.

You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, the encountering may be the very experience which creates the vitality and the power to endure ~Maya Angelou.

I will pray today, often and well. It's really all I can do.

Love and Marriage - Hope and Heartbreak

Writing about all the good guys my girlfriends have married has set my mind on a quest. Exactly how does one know when they’ve found a Cary Grant and are not instead being fooled by an Archibald Leach in costume? I’m also pondering how all these marriages last when we, as the human species, have our good qualities our not so good, rather ugly stuff that surfaces now and then.

I wrote my “good guy” post to offer hope to my girlfriend who has been struggling with defining the need for a man in her life. I wanted her to see all the good in the world and convince her she deserved the same. Instead, she read it and cried – and it wasn’t a good kind of cry, it was the other one. This is my second effort with a little more heartfelt honesty and a lot less spiritual, universal froo froo.

How do all of my happily married friends handle it when they have a bad fight or wake up each morning to the same guy with messy hair and bad breath? How does all this happily ever after fit into reality? In other words, how do they fucking do it?

I recently realized almost every couple I know who have been married for 25 plus years are of the Catholic faith. Is it religious belief that holds them together? I suppose fear of the Pope or burning in hell has saved quite a few marriages but I don’t think that’s the answer I’m seeking.

I was married to one of the good guys and I left him. I was bored out of my mind, dying on the vine and eager for more out of life. My good guy wasn’t good enough.

Before Seinfeld, we were all expected to stay with our partners for better or worse. Seinfeld spoofed the impetuous, relative ease with which we tend to hastily declare - NEXT. His character sacrificed a plethora of seemingly perfect love interests based upon trivial infractions such as not tasting his apple pie, being liked by his parents, laughing strangely, having man hands or the eternally classic, eating her peas one at a time.

I have to admit I turned down a second date with a guy once because I knew I could never live with that annoying laugh.

A little online research led me to find the following "official" list of reasons when it’s time to call it quits:

1. You can't be yourself with your partner.
2. You feel that the relationship is smothering you emotionally, socially, or spiritually.
3. You sense there are differences in values, beliefs, and life goals.
4. One of you is moving a distance away.
5. You find yourself outgrowing the person.
6. You're in an emotionally, physically, or sexually abusive relationship.

Thank heavens we have an official list but what happens when your boyfriend’s hot temper scares you but he’s not emotionally abusive or what do you do if your kids don’t get along? What if during a fight, one person is allowed to say enough is enough but when the other person doesn’t want to pick up the phone to talk, they are accused of immature behavior. Is this trivial, like eating your peas one at a time or is it more like peas and carrots, which contrary to Forest Gump, really don't belong together. In other words, is this enough to break-up?

Blended family issues are not discussed in the reasons to break up I found online. What happens when you’re asked to leave in the middle of a date because his daughter is having an issue; yet he refuses to sit in the back seat when she’s dealing with her emotionally distraught son. Or, he speaks up, telling her children what he thinks of their behavior while she has chosen to remain quiet and non confrontational about all the head games his kids are playing.

And what if we just don’t have enough patience to stay calm and work through contention, preferring instead to walk away from someone that may very well be one of the good ones? As for my girlfriend, I understand why she’s enduring such an arduous task, convincing herself of the need for a man in her life. When you live a life filled with work, kids and bouts of enormous stress, it is challenging to add someone to that. But it takes an effort of Herculean proportion to want them to stick around when their ugly stuff surfaces.

It begs the question, is it worth it? Does she want the better and the worse? What if the good guy she finds decides he doesn’t want the better if he has to deal with the worse? What if they are both too independent to really allow someone into their lives? And by “allow”, I mean willing to change behaviors that hurt them, drop the baggage being carried in from previous relationships and work together to achieve mutual goals.

That’s it. That’s what my successfully married friends have figured out.

It takes work.

And work takes desire.

Do those of us that are still single, dumping people in a Seinfeld-esque manner, want to remain carefree, fun-loving people who will never live the lives our parents lived?

Or do we desire a life-long relationship where work and a healthy dose of patience is required?

Well, my friend…do we?