Soul Music

When the problems with my marriage started to become more reality than paranoia, I began to get fearful that it would affect my music.  Weird statement? Perhaps, but read on, true believer…
I love music.  I love to listen to it.  I love to sing it.  Many a concert has been given for none but me in my living room.  I believe songs are the placeholders in our lives.  As we go through significant periods in our life, the music we listened to during those times become associated with the memories.  A sound track, if you will. 


For me, I’ll hear a song from the early 80’s and instantly be transported back to my high school days.  I think this probably happens to everyone.  You have songs associated with each girlfriend (or boyfriend), proms you went to, break-ups you’ve had, even new jobs. 


So I was afraid of two things:  new music I was listening to during my divorce becoming associated (and forever tainted) by the divorce and music I listened to when my wife and I were first falling in love becoming too painful to listen to now. 


For today’s music, that isn’t too hard because there have only been two new albums I’ve listened to since this started:  Counting Crows Underwater Sunshine and Train’s California 37.  I was more concerned about Train because that’s been a band both my wife and I have liked and listened to together quite often.   I guess only time will tell if I associate the songs from those albums with my divorce but there is one off California 37 that will probably touch me in the future,  When the Fog Rolls In:

I take a deep breath with my hand on the door
Afraid 'cause I'm not gonna see you anymore
These were our tender years, this was our street
All of our stoplights and all our concrete
Now it's all somebody else's to take
Until the fog rolls in

Oo oo oo and now we're through

I am happy to report that, so far, the songs I was listening to when my wife and I got together haven’t been impacted by the divorce…well, almost.  There are two songs that I cannot listen to yet but hope to in time.  One was our wedding song, Don Henley’s For My Wedding.  As I have expressed before, Don Henley is one of my all-time favorite artists and having to avoid something from his body of work will be a crime.  I’m sure I’ll be able to listen to it again as some point but for now, I’ll leave it as a blog quote (from Open Letter to My Niece).  

The second song I won’t name here but it was a special one my wife and I shared and I really don’t think I will ever be able to listen to that one again.  That’s sad because it’s a good song but there are too many memories wrapped up in it from the time we were falling in love.  The song even has lyrics that apply to our current situation, which taints it even more.  In some ways, I feel like I’m losing just a little bit of my soul by not having that song in my life anymore.  Yes, it held that much weight. 


There are others that make me pause when they start playing but I’ve been able to listen to them.  One I mentioned in The Discord of the Ring, The Heart of the Matter, also by Don Henley.  Since the divorce, I haven’t been able to get through that one without tearing up.  It’s been a while since it’s come back up on my shuffle playlist and I’m hoping I’ll be okay when it does rotate through again.


Even though I thought it would be tough to listen to my music for fear of dredging up sad emotions or tainting it, I forced myself to do it and I’m glad I did.  Albert Schweitzer wrote:  “The only escape from the miseries of life are music and cats…”  I don’t own a cat (yet…potential blog topic, btw) but I do own music.  The music did help me escape and at the same time cope with what was going on. 


I’ll end this with yet another quote from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K Rowling : 

“Ah, music!  A magic far beyond all we do here!”


Magic indeed.

Next time: What’s the emotional 5 day forecast?

The Two of Me

For me,  the idea of divorce at first was a hope that the threat of it would bring out counseling and therapy to help save the marriage.  You see, I was the one who asked for the divorce, not my wife.  This may not have been clear in my previous blogs.  As I have written before (most notably in Why? and Relationship Update), I could tell she no longer loved me.  We already had one incident some months back where we said we would work on what we were doing wrong in the marriage.  From my perspective, that really turned out to be just me working on what I was doing wrong (working too much, traveling too much, not being there for her and the girls).  I’m not sure what she did during that time but truth is she was already gone by that point. 

Anyway, I popped the question of divorce hoping it would kind of slap her into the reality that she was letting her marriage slip away. 

By the way, you never see videos of people asking for a divorce.  Once again, we are inundated with videos of men asking their girlfriends to be their wife but I don’t remember seeing one where a couple is at a game and on the Jumbotron the husband asks his wife to not be that anymore (or vice versa).  Another service for the Divorce Shower, perhaps.

Back to me asking for the divorce:  Maybe if I had done it a year earlier, it would have helped, I really don’t know.  When I did ask, she was initially shocked but never fought it.  She basically said OK and off we went.  It was at this point, the “First Me” came out.

First Me was a sniveling, selfish, whiney, “Why me?” wreck of a man.  For the first two weeks after, there wasn’t a day he didn’t cry.  He spent time shouting at his wife wondering how she could have done this.  It wasn’t his fault they were where they were, it was hers.  There was one time First Me was on the phone with his wife and insisted she tell him what he did wrong even though she was with their youngest daughter at the time. “So what?” First Me shouted and was, rightly so, hung up on. 

First Me was also the one who came up with the brilliant idea to just move away.  Again, this was all the wife’s fault.  She didn’t want to work on the marriage so naturally, he had to move back to Texas where he used to live because he moved to NEPA for her and the girls and now that was all gone so why stay?  He had friends back in Texas.  He needed those friends.  He was leaving and it was her fault he would never see his kids again.

Sigh.

I deeply regret ever becoming First Me and I would apologize to my wife for the way I behaved but she has told me she doesn't read this blog, so instead, I will apologize to myself.

<Side Note>  If I knew my wife was writing a blog about her divorce experience, I would be reading every last word of that thing and trying to read in between the lines to find a hidden message.  I would even read it backwards to see if there was something subliminal in it just like they did back in the day with record albums. </Side Note>

I suppose, though, when faced with this type of life changing event, it’s somewhat natural to lash out.  Perhaps it’s even healthy to a point.  Still, it bothers me that I fell so low.  But when you reach such a low point, all you can do is go up and that’s when Second Me came out. 

Second Me was the much more thoughtful and reflective side of my post-divorce persona.  Second Me realized that while she had a fair share of blame, he also had responsibility for things getting as bad as they did.  The divorce wasn't this one thing or that one thing, it was a combination of different things that wrapped itself around the marriage until it choked the life out of it.

Second Me also spent time not as much wondering why but wondering what’s next?  The Second Me started this blog to help cope with what was going on in his head.  He tried to be as civil as he could when around his wife and also tried to spend as much time as he could with his children since he knew that time would end up being limited very soon.

Confident that his life wasn’t over was another trait of Second Me.  Finding a house, knowing that he will still be a father to his girls in the best possible way he could, and establishing a new life as a single man helped get Second Me through each day.

Unfortunately, there were times when First Me made an appearance and took down Second Me (one such time detailed in The Healing Walk).   I think back to the Incredible Hulk TV series from the late 70’s/early 80’s.  First Me was my Hulk and I needed to find a way to control the raging spirit that dwelled within me. 

So far, I think Second Me is maintaining control.  Even if First Me comes out, I know how to deal with it to put him back inside.  I don’t begrudge First Me.  He was a part of the process but he was the first part…I’m now in the second part and looking forward to the third, and hopefully last, part of the ordeal where First Me is but a memory, Second Me is a comforting friend and Third Me is the one the world sees. 

I look forward to meeting the Third Me.  Hope everyone else will too.

Next time:  I didn’t have to throw away my iPod

Packing It In

I really hate to pack.

If only I had come up with my Pre-Boxtial agreement (as described in Storage Wars: The Divorce) before we moved into our house.  The packing wouldn’t be so bad.  Alas, I did not so hand me that bubble wrap, would you?

Who came up with bubble wrap anyway?  I have this giant roll that I paid $15 for and once I’m done unpacking, I will no doubt throw it away (okay, maybe after I spend 45 minutes popping the bubbles).  Is that a good deal?  I guess if all of my stuff makes it over to my new place without being broken; it will be a good deal.  I think the items I am wrapping in the $15 bubble wrap are worth more than that…collectively at any rate.

When I bought the bubble wrap I was hit once again with the “consumer choice” dilemma:  Do I get the small bubbles or the big bubbles?  Do I buy the small roll or the big roll?  Do I want it clear or  green or blue or red?  Although now that I think of it, having the color coded bubble wrap would fit in nicely with having the husband’s stuff separated from the wife’s stuff.  I must make a note to update my legal document.

Armed with bubble wrap, boxes (which also aren’t cheap) and tape, I started taking down pictures, getting stuff out of closets and cabinets and drawers and from the various places we put stuff.  The late, great George Carlin once said: “A house is just a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff.”  That is no more apparent than when packing your stuff.   We did a darn good job in going out and getting more stuff.  I wonder how many more times I can stuff the word “stuff” into this paragraph?

The other part of this particular packing event was the fact that I was only moving 20 minutes away.  My wife was moving less than 2 minutes away.  Did we really need to go crazy with all the packing?  Experience says yes.  My luck travels along the path of whatever can go wrong will go wrong…I think it’s like a law or something.  So while I may think I can stack up all my framed pictures, put them in the back of my truck and get to my new house without any problem, the truth is I will get to my new house with a million shards of class and ruined pictures.

Thinking I was making things easier, I got one of those tape dispensers that allows you to apply the tape in one deft motion across the box and then cuts the tape cleanly and quickly when you are done.  Yeah, right.  That works about once every three attempts.  Most of the time, the tape doesn’t cut and you have a rolled up, stuck together tail of tape hanging onto the side of the box.  Either that or the tape sticks to the metal guide.  And when I say “sticks” I mean bonds like a leech to the soft underbelly of one of the stars of “Swap People.” 

Since I’m not physically moving for another couple weeks, I have been storing my boxes and some of the furniture I’m taking in the garage.  This meant I parked my truck out on the driveway and my side of the garage slowly filled up with possessions being moved from one stage of my life to the next stage.  Actually, it’s interesting because a good portion of what I am taking away from the marriage is stuff I brought into this marriage. 

I guess that’s somewhat fitting, isn’t it?  I’m traveling this highway of life with certain possessions and even though I may take an exit that diverts me for a while, I return carrying much of the same stuff I had before. 

Except for the bubble wrap.  Always get new bubble wrap because if you don’t and it becomes a while in between exits, you’ll essentially have only wrap with no bubble.

Next time:  Two Face

Parents, Inc.

Parenting gets put into a different light when a divorce comes around.  Yes, once again, I have released news that has never been considered before.  I would say “Stop the presses” but that would technically mean shutting down the Internet .  I, however, am in the middle of a Words with Friends game and I need that connection to figure out how to spell a word with 4 E’s, 2 A’s, and a J.

Regardless of the newsworthiness of what I said in the previous paragraph, parenting plans are altered when the mother and father no longer want to live together.  The original plan was to raise the children as a byproduct of the parents love for each other and the desire to bring the kids up in that love (at least that’s what it was for me…we may explore this particular topic in a later blog).  Since that love no longer exists, the rules of parenting have to change.  Marriage is supposed to be this great partnership but when divorce happens and children are involved, the partnership still has to be there, but it must become more business-like.  And the business is raising your kids in the best possible manner despite the unusual circumstances.

Let’s take a look at the roles of this new partnership.  The kids are easy:  they are the product we want to put out into the world.  If we are successful with our planning, development, testing and implementation, we will have two finely tuned and environment ready people that will go into the world and hopefully be something even more than what we initially rolled out.

My wife (or the primary caregiver as she is referred to in all the legal documents produced from the divorce) also has a clearly defined role.  Hers is handling the everyday maintenance of the children: get them up, get them dressed, care for their teeth, hair and skin, properly feed them at the appropriate times, make sure they go to bed, also at the appropriate times, and, most importantly, love them.

Ongoing discipline for when the “product” misbehaves is also under her umbrella of responsibility.  When they talk back or get into fights or lie or cheat in Candy Land, she will need to take corrective action to ensure they don’t hit the streets as liars or cheaters or worse, both.

The mother has to run the project plan and make sure every minor and major milestone of the children’s development is met. 

For me, the divorced father or secondary care-giver … which has a less than desirable connotation to it … the role is a bit different.  Yes, I am still responsible for maintaining the proper development of the child in the same manner as the primary care-giver but since my time with them is limited (essentially, a little more than a third of a year), I’m playing more the role of a consultant.  I have this background in raising and loving my daughters but since I have a limited engagement with them, I need to pass on as much as I can in that short amount of time. 

I’ve heard the term “Disney Dad” which is a part time father who compensates on the time missed with his children by giving them what they want, taking them to all kinds of fun places and basically spoiling the heck out of them.  In reading the definition, I didn’t want to do that but I completely understood it.  The desire to show the kids that Daddy is the "Fun Parent" is incredibly strong and will be hard not to do when you only see them every other weekend.  Since I have such limited time with them I want to make the most of that time but not to the detriment of the child.  Spoiling them is not making them ready for the world … it’s putting them at a disadvantage. 

So what do I do? I don’t want them to come over for the weekend and then spend all the time watching TV while I mow the lawn which may have been a typical way we would spend a Saturday when we all lived under the same roof all the time.  But I also don’t want every weekend to be full of Chuck E Cheese and amusement part visits.  I want that to happen some of the time, but not all of the time.  I need to balance the fun stuff with the… well, with the what?   I think that’s the question. 

And unfortunately, it’s a question I do not currently have the answer to.  I need to spend more time in R&D developing the right combination of fun and time well spent.  I’ll need to conduct several SCRUM sessions to discover where I am in this process.  If I apply an agile methodology to my development process, I’ll be able to see the effects of my current plan, tinker as needed, and then reapply.  As I come up with my proof of concepts, I’ll report back here so you can provide some market analysis on my methods. 

Aw shoot.  I guess I could just love them.  That’s been a tried and true business model for developing people for a very long time.  Why mess with that?

Next time: I wrap about bubbles.

House Hunters: NEPA

Completely unwanted and definitely unprepared for, I found myself searching for a new house.   Neither my wife nor I could afford to stay in our existing house so we had to sell it and get new places for ourselves.  Truth is, even if I could have afforded to stay in our house, I would not have.  Walking through the hallways that was once filled with love, now brimming with the stark coldness of a failed marriage would be pretty depressing.  Just writing that sentence was pretty depressing.

In my quest for new living arrangements, I immediately discounted the notion of moving into an apartment.  When we moved into the Northeast Pennsylvania area (NEPA), we lived in an apartment for about a year while our house was being built.  I told myself that was the last time I would do that and even thrust into a situation I never expected to be in; I intended to remain true to that vow.

So, the search for my own house began.  I’ll explore the “Two of Me” that came out during the divorce in a later blog, but part of the “First Me” wanted to move back to Texas where we lived before moving to NEPA.  I figured getting a house there would be easy, I knew the area well, and I had friends and family there.  It was a natural fit.  It was also the stupidest idea I ever pondered.  I would have missed my daughters within ten minutes of setting foot on Texas soil.

And seriously, did I really want to experience 40+ days of 100+ degrees in the summer again?  No offense to my Texas brethren, but no thank you. In NEPA, a heat wave is two days in a row over 90 degrees.  The area experienced a definitive change in the seasons and I actually enjoyed snow, so why would I want to move away?  Just so I wouldn’t have the rare chance encounter with my ex-wife in a grocery store?  Ridiculous.  I loved the area and it was my new home.  Plus, my kids were here.  Did I really need any other reasons?  I think not.

So, the search for my own house began…wait…did I already say that?  I think I did but this time I mean it.  I knew I wanted to get something with woods around it.  I wanted to be closer to nature so I looked into houses in the more mountainous areas of NEPA, specifically the Poconos.  Unfortunately, that area was about an hour away from where my daughters would be living.  I didn’t want to be on top of them but I didn’t want to be too far either. 

Funny how I even considered moving to Texas, a 3 hour plane ride away, and here I was being bothered by an hour drive away.  I am an enigma wrapped in a mystery and deep fried in season 3 of Murder, She Wrote. 

Luckily, I discovered an area about 20 minutes away from my girls and was in a lake community.  This meant activities to help me get my new life started on the right foot.  There was hiking, an indoor pool, a beach by the lake, kayaking, racquetball (yes, racquetball…hey, the 1980’s called.  They want their sport back), and other things to keep me and my girls (when they were with me) occupied. 

I had found the perfect location as far as scenery and recreation but what about the homes?  Since it had been a while since I looked for a house, I forgot what a hassle it can be.  With listings online, you’d think it would be easier, but I don’t know how many houses I browsed that had very few pictures posted with the listing or had none at all.  Why would you even bother putting it on line if you are not going to add pictures?  I don’t believe it costs any extra. On the other hand, you can’t judge it solely on the pictures because a lot of times the room looks huge in the picture but when you go see it “live” you discover you almost thought about buying a house with a living room the size of Mr. Rogers' sweater closet.

Speaking of pictures, one thing that bothered me while looking through what felt like hundreds of houses on line: why, when taking pictures of the bedroom, is the camera mainly focused on the bed?  I’m not buying the bed, I’m buying the room it’s in.  I know it can be hard to get the whole room in a single shot but most of these shots had the bed centered in the photograph. Is the thought, “Look, we got a bed in here. What more do you want to know about the room?”

The other problem was that I had no idea what type of house I wanted.  Obviously not too big but not too small either.  Even though the wife will have primary custody of the girls, they were still going to come over and I wanted to have room for them to grow. I liked the looks of the chalet style house (think ski lodge) and there were plenty to choose from in the area I was looking in.  Unfortunately, they were either too old, too dirty, too hot (no A/C...we don't have days on days of extreme heat but we still need that conditioned air in mid-summer) or too boastful (one said it was a three bedroom but the third bedroom was a loft with a closet no wider than a hallway).  I was also very keen on the resale value.  I didn’t know what the future held (and history was telling me I never would) so I didn’t want to settle on something that would be hard to sell later. 

I finally found what I think is just about the perfect house.  It came with an empty lot next to it and nothing is behind me except for a slowly escalating slope with hiking trails.  There is plenty of room for me and the girls, the resale potential is great and … well, to be honest, I can’t wait to move in.  I believe this to be the greatest feature of this house:  the ability to see that there is still a life to be lived after divorce.  It’s not like I didn’t know that but it’s hard to get excited about something when you haven’t felt even remotely happy for the past few months.  Then something like this comes along and restores a little faith.

Maybe this should be part of the selling description:  "3 bedroom, two story house with office and hopes for a better tomorrow."  Then show a picture of the master bedroom but only show the bed.  That seems to be important as well.

Next time: The business of parenting

The Healing Walk

Blogger’s Note:  Inserting a different blog here from what I promised at the end of the last blog.  Oh and if you enjoy reading my blogs and don’t want to miss a single one, enter your email address in the box to the right and you will get notified when a new one comes up!  I should’ve had that on day one but I’m just learning the tricks of the Blog World.  Now, on with my whining!  :) 

I think I jinxed myself.

In my previous blog, Anything But Normal, I “bragged” about being able to control and put up on a cabinet shelf the deluge of questions that frequently came up about what went wrong between me and my wife.  Well, I apparently don’t have that much control.  I woke up around 11:30 last night (after going to bed at 10:30) and did not go back to sleep until around 2:30 because of the constant buzzing in my head. 

The buzzing continued when I woke up at 6:30 and proceeded to get worse until I was practically incapacitated by around 10ish.  I know I lose man points when I admit to crying but I’m confident enough in the points I have left to take that chance.  Yes, after probably a couple week dry spell, I broke down.  Why?  I don’t know.  That’s the problem with the buzzing…it never has any real answers just questions.  I decided, however, instead of just sitting there wondering when the tears would stop, I would do something about it.  So, I took the advice of a good friend and went for a walk.

Prior to all this divorce stuff, I was pretty active in the P90X circuit.  I was about two months into the program and had lost about 10 pounds and starting to notice the weight coming off.  I store my fat in my face and in my belly.   That’s it.  Nothing else seems to get the attention of my fat cells.  I, however, had a better weight loss plan than Tony Horton and P90X.  I had … the Divorce Diet!  Yes, in just one month, I lost 15 pounds.  It’s amazing what simply not eating will do to your waistline.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t been doing P90X since finding out that I was getting a divorce.  I just didn’t have the desire or time to fit it in.  I was spending a lot of time just staring into space or working on divorce papers or finding another house and that time took away from work so I need to catch up.  To do that, something had to give and it was the exercise.

This morning, however, I needed the exercise.  I needed the activity to help me battle the buzzing.

So, I walked and walked hard.

I thought about when I started exercising in earnest.  More specifically when I started training for my first and only 5K.  I did it because I sensed a gap forming between me and my wife as she was and is an active runner.  I thought maybe we could bridge that gap by running together.  I hate running, though.  Hurts my knees and I could never sustain enough stamina to keep running. I constantly started and stopped.  I sucked on my 5K and the truth was, she didn't need me as a running partner.  She had other friends who could keep up with her.  I did keep up with the exercise, though.  I worked out each morning.  I got a good sweat going and sent her pictures to prove I was doing it.  I thought it would make a difference.  It didn’t.   Well, it didn’t in our relationship but it did for me and my health.  I am probably in the best shape I’ve been in years and that’s a good thing…especially when you have kids that are MUCH younger than you. 

I kept walking.

I wished I knew how to turn off my brain or at least how to stop the buzzing.  I don’t know if it takes drugs or drinking…those probably aren’t good options but I sure would be up for something.  I thought I was through all this…all the staying up at night thinking about what could have been or what was.  Maybe I was still on Prague time since I just came back from a week there or maybe I was simply not as far along in the healing process as I thought I was.  Whatever the reason, the walk was definitely helping.

So, I kept walking.

I thought about the stuff that was buzzing in my head.  It was all the usual questions of “Why” and “How did this happen?”  The stuff I really will never have any answers to but they kept coming up.  I think I was focusing this time on what my wife was thinking.  Did she have the same type of feelings?  Did she also have a constant pit in her stomach?  Did she lose sleep?  Was she even upset about it at all?  These questions are generally unfair and I really don’t like speculating on what’s going on in her head.  I do think that she has better reign on her emotions, though.  Still, I wonder if she ever thinks about how she let it get this way.  I know that sounds like I’m placing blame on her but I’m not trying to do that.  I know I missed out on opportunities to recognize problems and to work on them but I can’t take all the responsibility and that’s where I'm asking (in my head) what responsibility was she taking.  She has admitted she should have talked about her unhappiness but that’s the extent of it.  I get mad at her because I don’t see her in the same moods I get into.  She doesn’t seem to be as remorseful or guilt ridden or sad about these things.  I suppose,  again, is that she’s better at hiding it and me getting mad about it isn't helping anyone...least of all me.

What about me?  Can I hide my emotions?  No.  No way.  When I was younger, I used to think I was Mr. Cool.  Mr. Emotionless.  No one could read me, man.  Right.  I was actually Mr. Heart On My Sleeve.  I was and am blatantly obvious with my emotions.  So much so Stevie Wonder could read me.  If I’m sad, people know.  If I’m mad, people know.  I would have made a terrible spy.  I wish had my wife’s emotional control.

I kept on walking.

My brain was starting to get as tired as my legs.  I realized I had been walking for about two hours.  The sweat was pouring out of me…stinging my eyes.  This was all good although I wished I had planned my walk better.  I would have chosen running shorts and a lighter t-shirt but it was a spontaneous thing.  It won’t be the next time…which will be tomorrow.  I need to keep going on these walks or getting back into P90X.  I think the sweat that is leaving my body is also washing out each “worry” or “question” or “wonder” or “what if” that makes up the buzzing. 

Leaving those things in the cabinet I was storing them in was wrong.  These questions don’t need to be stored away.

They need to be let go.

Next time:  The hunt for the house

Anything but Normal

This probably won’t come as a big surprise to most of you but I really wasn’t prepared to go through a separation and divorce.  While I sensed there were problems, I didn’t think we were at DEFCON 1.  I certainly wasn’t prepared for the toll they were going to take on my emotions.   I may have been strong one day but the next I was as weak as Superman in a room made out of Kryptonite. 

Since I wasn’t able to move into my own place (as told in Making the Spare Bedroom Your Bedroom, Spare), I had to reside with a woman who no longer loved me and try to get on with my everyday routine.  Truth was, I just wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there; away from her, the situation, the routine, everything.  Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) I couldn’t do that…I suppose I could have but there is no way that would have been healthy.  Making McDonald’s my breakfast, lunch, dinner and late night snack for a year would have been healthier than that.

What struck me the most is how it wasn’t the big things that got me thinking about that rock.  I handled issues about visitations rights, custody, child support, the separation of our stuff and filing all the divorce papers with a relative amount of sanity. 

But when it came to the small stuff…

The everyday stuff…

The normal stuff…

…well, that’s when it got to me.  “Hey, how about we grill some steaks tonight?” or “Do you want a cup of coffee?”   The normal talk two married people have would make me go dark and silent.  I kept thinking we shouldn’t have this type of conversation.  Our situation was not normal and thus normal conversation should be banned.  We should be feeling sad or mad or guilty or embarrassed…anything but normal.

Why would I have a problem with the normal stuff?  I had to think about this one for a bit but I believe it comes down to the fact that talking normal led to feeling like things WERE normal.  For example, a few Saturdays ago, our daughters were in a dance recital.  We drove separate cars, mainly because I planned on going to a local home improvement warehouse afterwards, but, if I’m being honest, it’s just more comfortable that way.  My wife’s mom and step-dad came and it brought great joy to us to see our daughters dancing up on stage. 

Afterwards (and this is a three hour afterwards…dance recitals can be long), my wife asked if I wanted to go to dinner with her and the girls.  My initial reaction was to say no but I was hungry and decided to go.  While having dinner, the subject of going to the movies came up and the next thing you know, we all went to the movies.

The worst possible thing happened that night:  We had a good time. (insert dramatic music here..something like "Da-da-duummmmmmmm")

Having a good time leads to those ever familiar and dreaded questions:  “Why did we let it get so bad?  Doesn’t she like times like these?  Won’t she miss these times?  What the hell happened?”  The buzzing crept back into my head.

Fortunately, I had a lot of practice with these questions.  I was getting pretty good at controlling them, putting them on the shelf and shutting the cabinet door on them.  I realized whatever we were experiencing at the time was a momentary thing.  The way we were was no longer and we had to deal with the way it was.  Early on in the situation, I would have been considerably depressed for a few days over something like this but I guess I was starting to heal.  It was still sad but it was no longer devastating. 

I also avoided talking about events outside of us, the children or the divorce.  I needed to stop sharing that type of personal stuff because, again, it would make our situation feel normal.  My dad had back surgery while we were in the middle of finalizing the divorce agreement and I was worried about him.  I sent my wife an email about it and I regretted it the second I clicked the Send button.  I was reaching out to her for comfort and I realized I had to stop doing that.  I either needed to turn to other sources for that type of comfort or just comfort myself. 

In addition to bad news, I also didn’t like to share good news or just regular, everyday “news.”  As anyone would do, I spent time chatting with my neighbors.  Normally, after having conversations like this, I would talk to my wife about some of the things “the guys” and I talked about but not anymore.  Why?  Well, it’s that word again: “normal.”  I just couldn’t talk about anything other than the divorce and child matters because I didn’t want things to feel normal. 

Were my wife and I still friends?  It’s a question I still wonder about.  I wouldn’t say we were enemies but “friends” didn’t seem right either.  There’s a certain air of normalcy to being friends…we were more “very familiar acquaintances.”  I think that best sums it up. 

I do wonder if we’ll ever get back to having “normal talk.”  We still have the job of raising our children so we must communicate at some level but will we be able to conduct normal talk?  If we do, then I know it will a sign of healing.  One that means a step closer towards forgiveness and starting over has been taken with the person I was once “one” with. We’ll never be that “one” again but maybe we can be that “two.”  Two people who can simply talk.

What could be more normal than that?

Next time:  The hunt for the house

Storage Wars: The Divorce

Since we were splitting up, I began the process of separating my stuff from her stuff.  This was by no means an easy task although either by accident or some precognitive moment, I started cleaning out the basement a few months earlier.  I went through all the boxes to get the stuff out of the rotting cardboard they were in and put them in plastic bins.  While doing this a LOT of items were thrown out.

It is truly amazing the amount of crap one tends to keep especially when its stuff you are simply carting from the storage area of one house (whether it be an attic, garage, closet or basement) to another house (whether it be an attic, garage, closet or basement).  I came across a small box of 45 rpm records that I used to “spin” back when I did D.J. work about a million years ago.  Such great hits like “Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car” by Billy Ocean and “Cruel Summer” by Bananarama.  I probably D.J.’d for about two years before I realized there was no way I could afford to be a D.J.. Keeping up with the latest music was an expensive endeavor.  For the few gigs I got as a D.J., I doubt I was coming close to breaking even since I had to spend so much just to have a decent selection of music. Plus, I had these huge speakers that would blow the fuses out of my equipment if I played them too loud.  Not to mention what a bitch they were to haul around.   Nowadays, all you need is a laptop, iTunes, and desktop speakers that produce more sound than the giant ones I had.  What you really don’t need is someone to play them.  The iPod “Shuffle” feature probably put a lot of D.J.’s out of business.  Maybe if I had fancy disco lights and Village People props I could have stayed in business.

Anyway…where was I?  Oh yeah, the records.  I did my DJ thing for about two years back in the late 80’s and here I was still hanging onto these records. Did I think I would listen to them again?  I didn’t own a cassette player much less a record player.  Did I think they were going to be valuable? A quick check on eBay proved that to be a false hope and thus they were trashed…at least I think they were trashed…did I keep them?  Maybe I’ll find out in the next divorce.

I have to admit as I was digging through our stuff, I kept thinking, “Wow!  I can’t believe we just stored this away!” and then I would put the cherished, rediscovered item into its new storage bin and back on the shelf.  You always think that the junk you have might be worth something.  I’m sure it’s the very rare occasion that what you have is like something found on “Storage Wars” or “Antiques Roadshow.”  You know, the item that was unusual enough to get appraised and turns out it’s worth several thousand dollars.  I’m sure that Spider-Man coin I have from 1973 is only worth a few bucks (although I did find someone hawking one on eBay for $125.00…zero bids so far). 

But aside from treasure hunting through my stuff, another idea hit me.  I already have the Divorce Shower idea from the award winning blog, Bed, Bath and Bothered and now here’s the next winner:  A Pre-Boxtial Agreement!  Yes, you can still have your Pre-Nuptial agreement but I think we should start adding in the Pre-Boxtial Agreement.  It's simple.  The husband keeps his stuff in his own boxes and the wife in hers.  Allow me to elaborate in my best lawyerese:

  
 

Hereby and set forth upon this day and onward for the entirety of the marriage between the Husband and the Wife, all possessions that clearly and unequivocally belong to said Husband or Wife shall be stored separately and unequivocally from the other.

Said containment units shall also be color coded to be properly, quickly and unequivocally identified in the event that the aforementioned marriage between the aforementioned Husband and Wife is utterly and unequivocally terminated. 

A third uniquely identified containment unit shall be used to hold “marital property” that cannot be unequivocally declared to be the sole possession of the aforementioned Husband or the aforementioned Wife.  Said items shall include but not be limited to:  gravy boats, Christmas decorations, casserole dishes, vacuum cleaners, lazy susans, placemats, photo albums, small appliances no longer in use, doilies, and various bric-a-brac, doo-dads, and other weird names to describe decorative items that generally do no more than unequivocally gather dust.

For those readers who have been through the heartache of divorce, wouldn’t this have been a great help?  Heck, throw out heartache and put in backache!  Everything you owned ready to go at the first sign of unhappiness…or three years after the first sign of unhappiness…however it happens to fall.  Divorce is tough enough emotionally, does it have to be physically as well? 

I, unequivocally, say thee nay.

 

Next time: Breaking the routine

 

Hey, Girls? We Need To Talk...

After much deliberation, thought, and constant changing of plans, the time came for my wife and me to tell our two daughters that we were getting a divorce.  Originally, we thought we would tell them shortly before I left…not like the night before and then by morning I was gone.  More like a week or so before to let them get used to the idea.

As I told you in a previous “episode” (Making the Spare Bedroom Your Bedroom, Spare), it was an expensive proposition for me to move into temporary housing while I found something more permanent and because of that, I stayed in our house.  As if things weren’t tense enough, trying to keep our separation a secret from the girls was making it that much more tense.  Tense like a kid twisting a balloon and you’re just waiting for it to pop.   Getting the news out in the open could only make things a little bit better.  Like not getting first degree burns, just second degree ones.

Our girls were ages 5 and 7 at the time.  They were young enough so that long term, if we as parents handled it right, the divorce shouldn’t completely mess up their lives.  We decided that maybe it would be a good move (well, at least A move…I’m not sure there were any good moves in any of this) to tell them about the divorce and maybe get them engaged in it. 

Now by “engaged in it,” I don’t mean the girls choosing sides or watching me cry into my Keurig brewed cup of coffee each morning.  More like having them pick out their furniture and bedding for their rooms in my new place or driving by the house that they will be living in with Mommy.  We felt putting this out in the open and letting it sink in before Daddy left in about 30-40 days was better preparation.  Like I said earlier, there really aren’t any good ways to tell your kids news like this but there sure the hell is a lot of wrong ways to do it.  Despite what we were going through, neither my wife nor I wanted that.  “As unscathed as possible” was my mantra.

We sat them down and tried to relate our breaking up to the “break-up” our 7 year old had with her practically lifelong “boyfriend.”  This was a boy she went to day care with when they were three or so and they were together so much they decided they would get married. It was few months prior when she told us she no longer wanted to marry him and that they were just friends now.  When I asked why, she replied, “It just happens that way sometimes.” It seemed like a good angle to take with them and for the most part, it worked, but not as well as when we told them Daddy would be living in his own house where they would have their own room.

“YAY!  We get two bedrooms!”  The screams could be heard in the next county.  Perhaps we should have opened with that.

To say we were surprised at their reaction is the understatement of the century.  This was the moment we were dreading the most and here they were high-fiving each other because they’ll get two bedrooms.  There really wasn’t much more to say.  We couldn’t force them to cry over the news and we were sure tears would fall once we actually moved apart.  We either had the most well-adjusted kids in the world or ones still too naïve to the notion of divorce or a combination of both, which worked for me.

As of this writing, I am still living at home and it does appear that the girls understand that I will not be living with them for much longer.  I get questions like “Daddy, when you move into your new house, will there be a pool?” or “Daddy, what are you going to do when it snows at your new house and we come to visit?  You don’t have four wheel drive.” (My wife had the vehicle with four wheel drive and there were occasions where she came to the rescue because my truck got stuck). Those questions tell me that they understand what is going to happen but then there are situations like this:

I’m showing my youngest pictures of my new house and pointing out the living room, my bedroom and their bedroom.  When I get to the picture of the guest bedroom, she states, “And that’s Mommy’s room!” 

Okay, so she understands that Mommy and Daddy won’t be sharing a room but still had the notion that she would be under the same roof.  I calmly explained that I didn’t envision a scenario where Mommy would ever be sleeping in that room…although in my head, I was thinking if Mommy’s house, her mom’s house, all of her friend’s houses, and every hotel suddenly blew up simultaneously and it was the middle of winter so sleeping in her car wouldn’t work, that might be one scenario.  I wasn’t keeping my fingers crossed.

We are keeping a close eye on the situation…looking for signs that they may not be taking this as well as we think they are.  So far, the only sign we see is the for sale sign in our front yard and our girls anxiously awaiting their new bedrooms…two new bedrooms. 

Ugh…there go the screams of joy again.

Next time: A new type of pre-nuptial agreement

The Discord of the Ring

About two weeks after the decision to get divorced, I took off my wedding ring. It just didn’t seem right to wear it and I really wanted to work on removing the tan line.

Let me just say up front that I LOVED wearing my wedding ring. I only took it off to shower because I was worried I would lose it and as it was soap built up underneath it and gave me a rash. I felt naked without it on, though (which was okay when I was in the shower as I typically am naked whilst showering). I would constantly play with the ring while I was working or doing a lot of thinking about whatever happened to be noodling around my brain at the time. I would use my thumb and just turn or flick at the ring…I always knew it was there and it was a comfort to me.

I think using a ring as the symbol of marriage is one of the perfect things in life. Its round so it’s eternal which is what the love in the marriage is supposed to be. It fits nicely on one finger of your hand so it’s incredibly convenient. I mean just think if the symbol for marriage was a nose stud or a fifty pound ankle bracelet.

Because the ring is prominent on the hand, it is also the best method to convey to others that you have committed yourself to another person. That alone should be enough to keep people from hitting on your spouse or at least make you think twice about doing the same. It’s unfortunate in many cases the ring is not enough to prevent that. Maybe if it was a fifty pound ankle bracelet people would be more aware of it.

I loved wearing my ring and it was a difficult decision for me to take it off because I knew that once I took it off, it could never go back on. This was the final proof other than signing all the paperwork that my marriage was over. It was sad and I hated doing it but it no longer held any meaning for me anymore. My marriage was not eternal. I no longer needed the ring to ward off others and while I would like to think it was the ring keeping the ladies from hitting on me, I imagine the real truth is somewhere between “That was never going to happen” and “There was never a chance that was going to happen.”

The ring was no longer responsible for reminding me to be faithful and committed to the vows I made over 8 years ago either. Those vows no longer mattered. They no longer mattered to my wife and thus, they no longer mattered to me. So off the ring went from my hand and into the bathroom drawer. I wasn’t really sure what to do with it and I still don’t know what to do with it. Do I keep it as a reminder of what used to be and of what ultimately became a failure? Or do I throw it into the nearest lake?

As I write this, I’m reminded of one of my favorite songs by Don Henley, The Heart of the Matter. With all due acknowledgements and copyright nods toward Don Henley, the following lyrics have played inside my head for quite some time:

“The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I knew, I’m learning again.
I’ve been tryin’ to get down
To the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
And my thoughts seem to scatter
But I think it’s about … forgiveness
Forgiveness…
Even if, even if you don’t love me anymore.”

I do think that once you get past the anger, denial, and sadness, divorce is about forgiveness. You make the vows and you try to uphold them but if one no longer wants to follow them, part of those vows should be for the other to forgive. You cared enough about them at one point to start a life together. That same caring should be used when you part as well. I’m not saying I was perfect in doing that and in truth, there are still times where anger or sadness overpowers the forgiveness, but at the heart of it all…at the heart of the matter... I knew it’s what I needed to do.

So, I kept my ring. I won’t wear it obviously but I’ll put it aside somewhere, forget about it, and then find it again at some point in the future. I hope that it will bring back the good memories of what my wife and I once shared and not the bad ones. It will forever be a symbol of what we had and that’s probably something I should cherish.

Now, does anyone know what the rates are at a salon for tanning just the left hand?

Next time: We told the girls

Making the Spare Bedroom Your Bedroom, Spare

Before I left the house but after my wife and I decided to separate, there was a period of time where I used the spare bedroom as my bedroom.  There really wasn’t any other choice.  For the financial outlay of a staying at a hotel for the length of time it would take for me to find a new place, I could have bought a small car and lived in that.  I also couldn’t get an apartment for a month and a half.  Plus, really?  Moving TWICE?  Moving once was going to be bad enough.   Staying in our house until I found my new house was the only viable option regardless of how uncomfortable it was (although, upon reflection, I would suggest against staying in the same house.  Do whatever you can...including the purchase of small automobiles).

First of all, let’s take a look at the name: SPARE bedroom.  I was pretty much feeling like a spare in my marriage so why not use my namesake bedroom?  When I was asking my wife to try to work things out, her attitude was “Spare me…”  As I sat in the other room while my wife and daughters watched TV together mainly because I couldn’t stand the tension of being in the same room with my wife, I felt like a spare tire…just there in case they needed me.  Certainly, the room fit my mood at the time.  

The act of going to bed was interesting when you were banished to the spare room but your kids didn’t know about the divorce yet.  I had to wait until the girls were asleep before I went to bed just so they wouldn’t find out.  Truth is, when I was travelling a lot for my job, the girls would end up sleeping with their mom anyway, so I’m not sure they would have connected any dots. 

Speaking of when I was traveling, the girls got so used to sleeping with their mom, they would come into our bed even when I was home.  We had a king size bed, but I had a hard time sleeping with three other people. If they were unrelated super models, maybe not so much, but they weren’t.  They were a) my wife who was probably glad to have the girls between us considering the outcome of our marriage and b) my girls who could be in the Cirque du Soleil with some of the sleeping positions they got in…and every single one of them involved poking me in the back.  (Again, though, if they were super models and not my daughters, Cirque du Soleil positions wouldn’t be so bad.  It’s amazing how every bad story can turn good with the addition of super models.  Get some today!)

So, it was off to the spare bedroom for the spare member of the household.  Allow me to paint a picture of the spare bedroom although I probably don’t have to since a lot of households have them.  To start off, you have the bed and it’s never the most comfortable bed in the house.  Let’s face it; the couch is a better option than the spare room bed.  The bed was usually owned by one of the spouses prior to marriage that was too good to give up but not good enough to play in the big league bedroom (i.e. the master bedroom).  Let the relatives sleep on it when they come over.  Serves them right for not paying for a hotel (just kidding!  Love my relatives!  Don’t forget my birthday!  I need a flour sifter). 

Next up is the pathetic single dresser stuck in the corner that is full of somebody else’s clothes…and I don’t mean somebody else in the household, somebody ELSE completely.  Hand me downs for my daughters from the neighbors, clothes bought and brought over by grandparents that were still too big for the girls, various blankets, sheets and baby clothes that we were keeping for…um…what reason?  There wasn’t any room for my stuff not that I really went that far anyway.  I was still able to use my own closet and drawers in the master bedroom, thank you very much.  I just couldn’t use my wife’s closet and drawers, if you know what I mean!  Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. 

Ahem. Too soon?  Yeah, I think so.

A lonely little nightstand with an equally lonely little lamp sat next to the bed.  In the drawers there was absolutely nothing…except dust which I’m sure we were saving for the girls for when they got older.  I used the nightstand mainly to put my phone (aka my alarm clock) on and have it charge overnight.  I was at a point where I didn’t want to read…my mind was pretty much tuned to only one channel and couldn’t spare the focus-osity for reading.  Instead I used “Words With Friends”, “Draw Something”, and good ol’ Facebook to lull me to sleep. 

Yes, I would sneak into the spare bedroom once they were asleep so I could go to sleep myself.  A lot of the times I would sit there in the dark, only the luminance of my iPhone shedding any light, breathed in the fresh air flowing in from the open windows where it was nicely circulated by the ceiling fan above me, and think about how much it sucked to be sleeping there. 

I’ll bet super models would have made it less sucky.

Next time:  Let’s not put a ring on it.