Quotable Sunday

After the game, the king and the pawn go into the same box.

ITALIAN PROVERB

Update: Facebook

I couldn't resist. Tuesday night, when those big hazel eyes looked up at me and exclaimed, "I just got a Facebook! Do you have a Facebook? Will you be my friend?!" I just couldn't say, "No, kid. I can't be your friend because even though I love you your mom is a nosy twat and will use your Facebook for recon missions." I couldn't do it. I am such a sucker.
So I took a deep breath and said, "Well I hardly ever check my Facebook." [lie]
"Oh, well next time you check it answer my friend request. I requested you!"
"Oh. No kidding. I didn't even know." [lie]
I let that friend request sit in there, glaring at me, for a few more days. I reviewed the comments y'all left for me. I thought about it.
I don't have anything compromising on Facebook. But I know The Ex was dying to see our wedding photos (of which I have about 5 on my profile)...to the degree of checking FB obsessively for weeks to see if I changed my profile pic (which I didn't...). It's childish but I just don't want her to have access to any part of my life other than what she hears from The Kid. None. Of. Her. Business. And I especially didn't want her putting him in uncomfortable situation so she can poke around on my profile.
So I created a Limited Profile friend list (thanks Lori G.!), which I didn't even know I could do, and I blocked that list from seeing my photos and, well, pretty much everything else. I'm hoping once she sees that there's nothing to see she won't bug The Kid about it. Anyone have a limited access friend list and have any feedback on how well it works? Does the security ever lapse?
Now I sit and wait, and hope that Mean Stepmom was right and he's just trying to build up his friend list (a whopping 12 now!) and once he realizes his Facebook is supervised, off the friends list I go!
However, at that point I may want to stay on for my own recon missions....
Thanks for all your help!!!

Mommified

In ancient Egypt, the dead were preserved by a process of:
1. Removing everything but the heart.
2. Yanking the brain out through the nose and tossing away.
3. Covering the body from head to toe in bandages.
4. Fitting with appropriate mask.

They were mummified.

Minus the, y'know, carcass, don't you think becoming a stepmom has many similarities?

Ladies, we've been mommified.

My Wedding Rings

There's been a considerable amount of stress in my own personal stepmomville lately. Nothing I can blog about, yet. Anyhoo, in the down time I have found myself twisting my wedding ring round and round. And it got me thinking about my wedding rings.
Last year, at about this time, The Husband and I went on a mini-vacation. As we were driving through one little town, we saw an antique shop and decided to check it out. I found a musical beer stein (!) and decided to buy it. As I was checking out, I noticed a small case of vintage jewelry. Now, I don't wear jewelry, ever. Well, I do wear a few earrings but they are the plain old surgical steel hoops I was pierced with years ago. Rings? Nope. Necklaces? Naah. Bracelets? For the birds!
But this one ring caught my eye. Two small emeralds, flanked by diamond chips, circa 1940. I asked the shop owner if I could see it. I held it up in the sunlight and the emeralds, though not high quality by any means, glowed an intense shade of green. The two emeralds sit next to each other, but not exactly side by side. The (then-boyfriend) Husband walked over to see what I was doing. I showed him the ring, and he encouraged me to try it on. I was a bit resistant, but he insisted and eventually just grabbed the damn thing and slid it onto my finger. It fit perfectly, and so it became mine.
At this point, we had already planned on getting married. The Husband didn't "ask" me to marry him, because that whole idea goes against my feminist principles. We discussed getting married and decided that, on our life path, it was a good choice . I always said I didn't want an engagement ring; however, something called me to this ring and from the moment it was on my finger I knew I had to have it. I like to imagine it belonged to some inspiring woman whose wisdom is passed on to me when I wear it.
My actual wedding ring is my grandfather's. I've written before about some of the crazy dynamics of my family. My grandfather is not my dad's biodad. He married my grandmother and adopted my dad when my father was eight. My dad sorta hated him, but also loved him, until the day he died.
And from the day my family met my husband, they were comparing us to my grandparents, whose marriage was dysfunctionally blissful. Their rings have their initials and their wedding date inscribed inside (which I'm sure will confuse the hell outta The Husband when he forgets our anniversary!) - DLV to JOF 10-19-63. My grandmother, a divorced woman with a son, gave this ring to my grandfather, a single WWII vet, nearly 46 years before my husband, a divorced man with a son, gave this ring to me. They were married for over thirty years before my grandmother died, prematurely, of pancreatic cancer in their home. Pop never really got over the loss.
After my grandmother died, my grandfather took off his wedding ring, joined it to hers with a red twist-tie and hid them in his sock drawer. I found them 14 years later, upon his death, just as he left them. I gave my grandmother's ring to my brother, whom Grandma, on her deathbed, requested receive the ring. I gave Grandma's diamond to my mother, who always wanted a diamond of her own. And I put Papa's ring in my jewelry box for safekeeping.
After we had set a date for our nuptials, we decided Papa's ring was perfect for my wedding ring. I brought it to our local jeweler and had it polished and resized for my ring finger. On our wedding day my husband slid it onto my finger and there it remains until it is faithfully twist-tied to it's mate some day long down the line.

I am super Type A in many ways, with my need for lists and routine and every thing in it's right place. I dig symmetry, love order and NEED things to fit together. So you can imagine that doing this whole stepfamily thing throws me for a wobbly on a daily basis. Likewise, my rings don't stack neatly on top of each other on my finger. They are not sautered together (I do several sports and need to remove the emerald ring often). They twist and turn and sometimes the damn emeralds stab me. This annoys the crap out of me, until I take a moment to look at my rings. The cool green of the emeralds calms me and, as they catch the light, I smile. I look at my wedding band and remember the love of my grandparents, a love I could physically feel when I was in the room with them.
I remember that not everything has to fit together perfectly to be wonderful.
From these two rings, recycled with a purpose, I gain resolve to stick to my vows and to make this marriage fulfilling for both of us, forever. The legacy of my grandparents gives me wisdom and strength, in marriage and, particularly in a second marriage.

Not So Friendly

A few weeks back, I was showing the kid some pictures on my Facebook account. He was "Awwwwwww"ing at a friend's new baby and laughing at an offroad expedition (4-wheeling) turned awry (someone's truck got stuck in the mud).
"Can I have a Facebook?" he asked.
"Well, sure you can. But I think you should ask your mom if she's okay with it," I replied. Because, I would not be comfortable with my twelve-year-old having a Facebook account. And I would likely be murderously angry if someone else, who was not his mom or dad, helped him to set it up. Nothing ever came of it, so I thought no more about it.
Until I logged into my Facebook account this evening.
One friend request. From: The Kid (mom did give him permission and helped him set up his account).
>insert anxiety attack< Not twenty minutes after I discovered this, erm, situation, the phone rang. "Dad, do you have a Facebook account?" The Husband does not dabble in computer-related things. (But he could build you one hell of a house!) "Oh. Too bad. Well does EWO?"
Shit.
The Husband said he didn't know. Though he does know, because we both use my account to keep in touch with certain people. And obviously The Kid knows, because he sent me a friend request.
Now, my FB profile pic is NOT my photo; it is one of my favorite paintings. And there are plenty of other people (well, 4) with my married name. But I also use my maiden name on FB. Which clearly narrows it down to ME.
Over a glass (or two) of wine, I seriously stressed about how to address this issue. As much as I love him, I do NOT want The Kid to be one of my Facebook friends.
I came to this conclusion: when The Kid is over tomorrow, I am going to politely decline his friend request. I am going to explain that I don't want him to be in a potentially awkward situation at home regarding his access to my profile, so I think it is better that we remain strictly real-life friends.
But mostly, I just don't want his mom to have access to my personal information. I don't use Facebook often, and I really only have a handful of pictures on it (a few from our wedding, a few funny family/friend pictures etc.). There's no nudity or drug use. Though I may or may not have been drinking in some of the photos, there are no "drunk shots," nothing that makes me look like an alchie. But you never know who is going to tag you in a photo, or what a friend is going to write on your wall. That is just a level of familiarity I do NOT want her to have access to. And, I truly don't want her putting The Kid in an uncomfortable situation in order to gain said access.
Has anyone else encountered this dilemma? Or does anyone who has not encountered this dilemma have any suggestions?
Mainly, I just don't want him to feel rejected or have his feelings hurt.
Oi, technology. A blessing and a curse.

Quotable Sunday

Live life fully while you're here. Experience everything. Take care of yourself and your friends. Have fun, be crazy, be weird. Go out and screw up! You're going to anyway, so you might as well enjoy the process. Take the opportunity to learn from your mistakes: find the cause of your problem and eliminate it. Don't try to be perfect; just be an excellent example of being human.

ANTHONY ROBBINS

Another Perspective On Marriage

I really think he's on to something:

"This Could Get Ugly"

Disappearing Act

It seems I've pulled a disappearing act on this here blogosphere, minus my regularly scheduled Quotable Sunday posts.

There have been a lot of goings-on, but that's for another post. Or, maybe not for the blogosphere at all.

An update:

Since starting school, The Kid has been sleeping regularly. He claims it is because when he closes his eyes every night, he sees Eva, the new girl in his class with whom he is madly in love (unbeknownst to her, of course). Whatever the reason, we're psyched at this whole sleeping thing. At least it broke his whole pattern of, "But I CAN'T sleep." He even said he was tired and put himself to bed before bedtime the other night!

I found out The Ex recently dated a man with three kids and a psycho ex wife. The ex wife terrorized her, blamed her for breaking up a marriage that was legally finished years before they met and tried to turn the kids against her. She couldn't deal and broke it off. Kar-ma. Oh yah, and hahahahaahaaa!

I need a butler and a maid. The butler to greet me at the door with a tray of premium cocktails and the maid to clean up after my drunk ass.

The Kid told me I was one of his best friends over dinner the other night. It was music to my ears.

He's been over a lot lately, which is awesome for him and his dad. And for me; I love having him here. This is the first time in the 5 years since the divorce that he's been allowed at our house during school nights. We're feeling pretty proud that we've proven ourselves to be responsible in the face of our worst critic. But seriously, do teenage boys eat anything besides spaghetti?



Now that things seems to be righting themselves on our front, I hope to be back to posting regularly.

Quotable Sunday

Having children makes you no more a parent than having a piano makes you a pianist.

MICHAEL LEVINE

Quotable Sunday

The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.

ISAK DINESEN

Karma Strikes Again

Yesterday, I wrote about our experience with what we now know was Parental Alienation Syndrome (PAS). Thinking about that time in our lives still raises my blood pressure to record highs. Ugh.
Anyhow, despite the shitshow that The Husband and I were put through, we have never ever uttered a bad word about The Ex to or in front of The Kid. I clearly remember the first time someone said something not-so-nice about my mom. I was in fifth grade, and I was complaining about how annoying she was. A fellow classmate agreed, and proceeded to rattle off a list of all the things that made my mom so weird. Suddenly, I was filled with rage. How dare she talk about my mom like that?! I completely forgot about my previous rant and proceeded to throw a fifth-grade girl tantrum and not speak to that classmate for a full three weeks. This memory is so clearly burned into my head that I relive it whenever I want to grab The Kid by his shoulders and tell him to stop talking about his godforsaken mother. Despite her shortcomings in my world, she is his world. So I bite my tongue.
As does The Husband, for he knows firsthand the pain that comes with being trash-talked by the other parent.

Last week we went on a mini-vacation, a sort-of last hurrah before another school year began. We had a fantastic time swimming in the lake, racing go karts, playing vintage arcade cames and eating lots of fried seafood. During one particularly delicious dinner, I was remembering an old apartment we lived in a few years back. The Kid looked at me, confused, and asked, "You lived with Dad before last year?"
I looked back at him, just as confused, and answered, "Of course. I've lived with Dad for five years," then, jokingly, "How did you not know that?"
I looked at The Husband and then it hit me. "Oh, it's because we didn't see you for a while then I wasn't allowed in the house when you were there!" I said this with an "A-HA!" tone, not vindictive or sad.
What followed was completely unexpected. The Kid slammed down his fork, shaking the whole table, and, with a look akin to a certain big green comic book character, he near-shouted, "Because of my freakin' mother! I don't know what the hell is wrong with her and I..."
At this point, The Husband and I stopped him. We were, after all, in a restaurant. Though I know he has a lot of stuff rolling around in his head that he needs to get out, he also needs to learn appropriate times and places to vent.
We immediately changed his focus to all the fun we have now that we get to spend time together (its been three years since visitation was restored, two years since I've been allowed to see him), because really that's all that matters.
What I found incredible was that no one ever told him that it was because of his mother and a bunch of backwoods-crooked-cop-politics that he didn't get to see his dad for two years. She said his dad didn't love him anymore. The grandparents said The Husband was a bad man and couldn't be around him anymore. Yet, as he grows and begins to think for himself, he sees it all.
That breakdown was only the beginning of what I assume is going to be a very difficult teenage period for The Kid. He's beginning to figure out how he was used as a pawn, how he was brainwashed and, above all, how he was lied to. He is full of anger. He's already ripped new assholes for his mom and her parents (who they live with) at two separate dinner occasions since then, one ending in tears and an asthma attack.
I'm so sorry for him and the pain he's experiencing with the realization of what he has been put through because of petty childishness from adults. Well, one adult in particular. I'm filled with an intense sinking feeling when I reflect on what this kid has been through. But the vindictive part of me was certainly doing a victory dance. And shouting, "See! You pretentious fucks! See what you did?!! BACKFIRED!"

Moral of the story: even if no one ever tells a child why things happened as they did in a high-conflict divorce, they can feel it in their bones. They will know. They will still love you, but they will not forgot what you did.

Parental Alienation Syndrome

I found this article (published in 2000 in The American Journal of Family Therapy) last night while I was killing some time. Overall, I thought it was really interesting, especially the part where the author talks about waiting too long to take action when PAS rears it's head.

We didn't know what to do when The Ex started alienating The Husband. I guess we didn't even know there was a term for what she was doing. It all started when The Husband and I went on vacation with my parents. No cell phone service, no nothing. It was a lovely week away.
Until we got back.
Apparently, one of The Husband's friends got beat up pretty badly. He was found unconscious and brought to the hospital. They did routine bloodwork and found high levels of cocaine in his blood. When he woke up, he claimed he was with The Husband.
The Ex's father was a cop. His cop friends illegally called him to tell him of The Husband's "involvement" with this situation. The Ex leaves several scathing voicemails (while we are away and can't access them). A detective (friend of ex's father) comes to our house upon our return and harasses the shit outta The Husband. The cops stop returning phone calls. The Ex refuses to let The Husband see his son.
Yes, I realize involvement with narcotics should cause concern. But all of this false information was obtained illegally. We weren't even in town that weekend and had witnesses (and credit card charges) to prove it! The Husband's mistake? "It'll blow over, she'll get over it."
After almost three months of not seeing his son and some serious depression, we moved into a bigger house with a big yard and a nice room specifically for The Kid. The Husband calls The Ex, asks her when he can see his son. She asks him to go to the movies with him ("or hang out or something") (?), he says that is not appropriate, she tells him never to call her at work again.
Two more months pass. We go to the local parade because we know his son is marching in it. The Husband walks up the The Kid during the parade to say hi. The Kid starts crying.
The following week, The Husband gets a letter in the mail. It is from The Kid (and obviously coached) that says he would rather see his father dead ($1,000 reward) than alive ever again. He says he doesn't want to come to a house full of stupidheads (me). He says, "Dad, stop this. You are a bad father. You SUCK! I hate you and I want you to die." We still have this letter, filed away in a dark place.
The Husband cries for days. I could see the hurt eminating from his soul. He truly thinks his child hates him and gives up trying to see him. He occasionally leaves gifts for him (back to school supplies, other favorite things they used to do together) in The Ex's car with notes. (We later find out she trashes the notes and gives the gifts as if she herself picked them out.)
It took several lawyers (the first one was chummy with The Ex's cop dad and acted unethically, I got him disbarred as a result), the involvement of Child and Family Services and TWO YEARS to gain four-hour visitation once a week. The Ex gave The Kid her cell phone and told him that when his dad tried to kidnap him to call her and she would stop him. The first day the saw each other after the two year gap, she called The Kid 23 times in those four hours. When she found out they had gone for ice-cream the next town over she started screaming through the phone, hung up and called the cops to press a kidnapping charge against The Husband.
The Kid's reaction to seeing his father again for the first time? An enthusiastic thumbs-up, bounding to the car and repeatedly saying, "I really missed you dad. How've you been?"
Incredible.

There were some areas of the article that I felt were a bit forcefully written and hinge on stereotypes, but overall it was a really good insight into the problem of PAS. I didn't realize how widespread the problem was until I got involved in the stepmom blogging community (thanks gals!) and I certainly think it's amazing that The Kid doesn't let that horrible time of his life affect his love of his father. I think every stepfamily should be aware of PAS and be able to recognize the symptoms, both in ourselves and in the other parent, immediately.

The references section is also a great resource list for a number of different stepfamily issues.

Check it out.