What to Amputate?

What to Amputate?   11/18/10   (Drawing by E Scott 11/05)

I went to see that movie, 127 Hours, the other night. About the guy, Aaron, stuck in a canyon in Bryce or Zion in Utah.  He hadn’t told anybody where he was going and he fell and a boulder pinned his hand in this secluded narrow canyon. Finally, the only way to live was to amputate his own arm. And then hike and climb down a cliff and ask for help.

It was the only way he was going to live.

When the rock first got stuck, he was yelling and screaming and trying to push the wedged boulder off his pinned hand. The hubris of thinking he could move it was impressive.

But we all feel that. I have. I have had the hubris that I will be able to muscle my way out of a tricky situation because I am smart and strong and charming.

No. Not so much.

I went to the is movie—alone—because I felt a kinship with this situation. I feel like I have blithely entered into single parenthood and now I really need help( and I do get plenty). And now I am stuck, alone in a canyon and I need to figure out what to amputate so I won’t die alone in this secluded canyon.

What do I need to sever so I can get back into the world of other people? I don’t quite know.

It might be the hope that I will find a wonderful mate and I will finally get help with the dishes. And someone who will love me even if I am messy and late. Several times in a row.

That’s a good possibility.

And just like the guy,Aaron who had to first snap the two forearm bones and then saw away at the flesh with a very, very dull blade, to let go of the possibility of a life partner will be excruciatingly painful. But. I will live.

Maybe I need to amputate the idea that I will be a famous writer novelist, making millions every year and thumbing my nose at everyone who says behind my back that I’ll never make it as a writer.

Maybe I need to cut away the dream that it will get easier to deal with a co-parent whom I don’t live with and who has a very separate life than mine.

That’s a good one too.

Maybe I need to forcefully separate from the dream that I will have a group of friends that will take the place of a life partner. It will hurt, but I might have to let go of that delusion.

When I can’t figure something out, I talk too much and daydream too much. Like right here and now on this blog. 
I have this aching worry that it is just unbearable to be around me too long. And soon, all my new friends and some old ones will just grow tired of all the unending stories, punctuated with some humor(I think I get the humor as a sort of party favor for making it to 45)and just want to be with other people who are not so high maintenance.

To ward off these cool people running away, I am constantly offering to help, to babysit when K has his weekends with his father. I offer playdates and rides everywhere. Partly because it’s fun to spend time with K and his friends  but truth to tell, I need to break up the QT one on one time. News flash: it's hard to do the single parenting thing for long stretches of time. You need breaks. I am forever worried that I haven’t done enough for my friends.

I have been a bit obsessed driving around and checking out the kindergartens. It’s a lottery in our city and I want to find the right fit for K and for me. Today, I totally lost track of time because I am friends with the principal of this super hip and down to earth school(my first choice) and he was giving me the rare treat of visiting all the classrooms. And then suddenly, I looked at my watch and I was sooo late. And I was supposed to bring K and my new friend’s daughter to soccer. And she ended up having to take them. The horror! The horror! Letting down a cool, new friend.She is NEVER going to invite me over before the dance. Shit.

I was mortified to the point of tears.

I didn’t want to screw up my new friendship! I am alone at home and I can’t be alienating these lovely, normal adult people who help me feel connected to the world.

But then all my embarrassment and my typical overemotion and multifarious apologies dumped out of my mouth.Shit again. The cat is out of the bag.Now she and the other mom's know for certain that I'm not only a freak, I'm a needy freak.Great. I'm just decimated my social life.

My mortifying reaction was giving away a very important secret.

( I can tell you because-well, for one, there is not such a very huge readership and two because we might possibly never meet)

The secret is this: I love these people. I haven’t known these moms and dads from my son’s preschool, but I truly, truly love them. (not lusty sex love, no. The deep, platonic love that we all need) I love them. And (part II of my secret) I am so grateful that they spend time with me, that I would do anything for them. I’m using this collective of people( the lovely ones, you know? absolutely no icky people) as my surrogate partner.

And, really, even I know as I write this, that that is a bit too much. It’s a tad icky. It’s too big a responsibility for a group of acquaintances.( I think I’m also grateful to this new crowd because all my old friends are a bit maxed out and exhausted from Darcy time and all my musings.)

Therefore, I know this secret must be buried. It must be buried in favors done over time and small presents of baked goods. No one can know how much I love and appreciate them. I can’t overwhelm them. I can’t scare the beautiful creatures I see before me. They are like rare butterflies with curative powers for us single parents.

Because, I know this about me, if I open the floodgates and actually show the extent of my feelings, it’s not pretty. It’s really too much. No one knows what to do.

It’s why I have only ever tried cocaine once. When I did, in college, I couldn’t stop hugging and adoring people. And someone could have been hurt. By the fervor of my affection. It’s true. I remember I couldn’t let go of my friend’s hand until he said: “Actually, Darc, you are hurting me.” And I looked down and his fingers were white because I was squeezing so hard.

Soooo…no more amphetamines for this girl.

Because if I declare my undying love to my new parent friends, they will all wince and try to be polite. But slowly there will be less play-date invitations. And then, the death blow: no more carpooling. And my life will be over. K will go on, live a rich and fulfilling life and I will be featured on “Horders.”

And all that makes me lonely. It’s funny how loneliness sneaks up on you. Like a nerdy kid in class who taps you on the shoulder at a party and doesn’t have much to say but who stays right next to you and doesn’t go away. Loneliness is so embarrassing and unrelenting. It’s like sweat stains in a party dress or getting your period in white pants(happened in 7th grade). When I’m lonely I talk too much and daydream—looking into the future when I am not lonely.

You can’t amputate loneliness. I don’t think.

Every now and then, (not all the time, most of the time I actually really love being a single parent,) I am sad that I have to make these landmark decisions alone.

Like where K is going to kindergarten. And I talk to any and every adult I know because K,at 4 years-old while still quite advanced, is still a bit young to help with a pedagogical pro/con list for schools. And, K’s dad-not to diss him in anyway, he’s very involved and loves K very much- he is not that interested and he trusts me with this process.

So I look at all the couples at these school tours.They are checking in comparing this school to the last one, showing each other cool art in the hallways, some are even holding hands(so cute, I want to vomit in my favorite purse.) And today, right now, I wish so much I had someone to turn to and marvel at the installations of ocean life or the biographies or the first grade self-portraits, or the very cool collage of the city block around the school. I want that too.

So, actually, maybe it’s not that I have to amputate a spiritual limb to survive.

Maybe I simply have to be at peace with the fact that I am in the canyon alone.

I am alone. And it’s not because I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. It’s not out of spite or stupidity that I am in the beautiful and forceful landscape of parenting by myself. I am just here by myself.

So I can scream and yell and talk too much and hand out Irish scones forever and a day.

But

Right at this moment

Nothing will change the fact that I am a single parent.

And yet, the best news is that I am a parent. Not just any parent, I’m K’s mom. It's a breath-taking landscape.

(forgive me another secret- as soppy and maudlin as it is to admit, I say to you that being K’s mom is the greatest joy of my life. With or without company on the kindergarten tours. I get to wake up everyday and play with and watch my beautiful son grow and thrive.)

And nothing but nothing can change that.

The Airlock

Oh Dear.

I’m having trouble going through the airlock.

By “Airlock” I mean going from the time and space of being responsible for no small children to the time and space of being constantly responsible for a small person.

My wagon is draggin’.

Trying to get my head around being ON with my adorable son 24/7.

And I know-I know I know I know because it’s part of the job description for a 4 year old to frequently Flip Out over completely random things because ‘they want to be able to control their world.’- that he will be an utter nightmare for 48 to 72 hours after several nights and days in his Dad’s world.

He will meltdown if

1. I don’t park the car in the place he wants me to park the car(that happened last week at the aquarium. He screamed bloody murder in the car for 14 minutes).

2. if I don’t take my hair out of the hair clip(“Take your hair clip out! PUT…YOUR…HAIR…DOOOOOOOWWWWN!). Last week, he started screaming

3. Or, along the similar strain of my physical appearance, crying because I wouldn’t take off my bathrobe.(“Take OFF that bathrobe! And put on a short-sleeved shirt! That bathrobe doesn’t look good!”)

4. Food Preparation is always good for a trigger:(“I want to put more cinnamon on my oatmeal! I don’t CARE if you put a lot on! I WANT MORE CINNAMON on my oatmeal. And I will not eat ANY of this until I have more cinnamon ON. I will NEVER eat oatmeal AGAIN, if I can’t put more cinnamon on this oatmeal. Give me that cinnamon!!”)

So, while I love my life and I love my son and I love love love being a mother, and while I wouldn’t want my life any other way, I’m not looking forward to the constant negotiations using a calm voice: “I’m cold, K. I’ll take off my bathrobe when I get dressed.[ K cries, screams, yells] Sometimes we wear clothes to look good and sometimes we wear clothes because they protect us from cold and weather…” [scream,yell,cry])

“Take one bite of the oatmeal and then we can decide if it needs more cinnamon. If you put too much on, it won’t taste good and you need a good breakfast.”

I am so lucky to have these breaks. K’s Dad, is such a great co-parent! He is very aware and grateful for all the frontline work that I do and organizes his busy schedule, so I can have nice chunks of time off. Also, I rest easy because I know he actually plays with K and plans cool adventures to visit new playgrounds and/or beaches. Last week, he took K to visit a lighthouse. K was thrilled. It’s not like he has K at his house, sitting in front of a huge TV all day and then feeds him McDonalds every visit.(I have a friend who is dealing with that. her daughter came home, and said :”At Dad’s I just watch TV all the time. At Suzie’s[Dad’s girlfriend]I play a bit and watch TV.)” However, even with the thought-out productive visits with his Dad, it takes a while to transition from Dad world to Mom world. Thus the tsumami of meltdowns.

Long and the short, I didn’t quite get enough of a break. Is that bad to say?

Also, my office closet is still not clean and the flotsam and jetsam on the kitchen counters that I SWORE I would organize on this weekend off, is no where near organized. There is still so much fucking crap on two of my kitchen counters that I literally don’t have space to put normal things on them. By normal things, I mean the dirty dishes. The dishes are balanced precariously on the edge of the counters. Please god let there not be an earthquake. I was be so embarrassed if rescue crews saw my house like this. It’s so bad this morning that while I was in the living room, two cup clattered down onto the floor.Plastic, luckily.

I swore, while I had three days off, I would organize and Love my kitchen.

Because, I actually hate my kitchen.

It is charm free.

I love our apartment. We have beautiful views of our sparkling, hip coastal city and it is spacious and light-filled.

But not the kitchen. The apartment was build in the 30s so, the people in the kitchen were different from the people enjoying the view. Even though I think the kitchen should be the most cozy, the most light-filled of any room since it is where you do the sacred work of food preparation.

So, add to the charm-free and no love feelings, my clutter bug tendencies and BOOM you have a nightmare that attacks any calm achieved after a good night’s sleep and a hike in the woods.

And, as earlier stated I had resolved, RESOLVED that I would Organize the cabinets and counters so that, going into a big week of work, I would feel better about the kitchen.

But.

But here I am, on the couch, wanting to put a blanket over my head. Not only is the kitchen a cataclysm(general clutter, afore-mentioned dirty dishes filling the sink, and ridiculously full, smelly frig) but there are books and dust and old magazines strew all over the living room( another Project to cull and throw out the no longer needed books and back issues of the New Yorker that I will never read and, therefore, remain ignorant in perpetuity.) there is a Mountain of laundry on K’s bed that needs to be folded. Oh, and there is a suitcase out and opened because I wanted to start packing for our trip.

In essence, my house is unbounded chaos and it’s 9 o’clock at night. I am picking K up in less than 12 hours. So I need to sleep and be rested for the big week of Being a Great Mom.

This house, however, NOT the house of a great mom. Throw a couple, three, four meowing grumpy cats in it and BAM it's the home of a crazy person. A booth cartoon. Or someone on that reality show, “Horders.” I shutter when I think of that show.

On my gorgeous hike today, in the woods, along a stream with waterfalls and huge trees, smelling everything fresh, green and real, it was so easy to be a Great Mom.

Because when you are in Heaven, everything is easy and beautiful. And n Heaven, you are not in the reality of your unorganized apartment. (Sometimes my apartment is Heaven. No matter how it looks. After a bad date for example. Or on a sunny morning with K building a space station out of magna-tiles. Not so much today, however.)

And all the clean up seemed so manageable in the woods with the babbling brook and the sun on the back of neck. I felt like a Super hero mom there in the green sparkling glory by myself.

I am not ready to go through the airlock! I’m not ready to put on my protective gear so I can catch all the curve balls and wild pitches that the world and a four year old throw at me.

Not ready! I want to feel like a super hero without doing anything except walking by myself for a little bit longer.

Covers are over my head so I can’t see the mess that I, not my four year old, created. (I know too that if I don’t clean this shit up, the apartment will remain an un-cleaned up nightmare until I have another break.)

I’m sure you feel this too.

I loved that scene in Date Night when the Steve Carell character asked the Tina Fey character if she fantasized about an affair with any one. And she said something like: “No. I don’t. If anything I have fantasies about being alone. Going to a hotel and being in the quiet hotel room by myself. Eating lunch slowly. And drinking a diet sprite.”

Exactly.

I have no wisdom about the airlock, dearly devoted parents. Just know that when you are there, needing to transition from alone time back to kid/parent time, and all you want to do is not pick up a single envelope or magna tile off the floor and just watch reruns of “Mad Men” and/or hours of “So you think you can dance,” I am with you in spirit.

Well, wait, I guess I have two tricks for angst of the airlock. But—fair warning—the second is emotionally manipulative.

Trick #1 taught to me by my grand Consigliore, G, single mom to two amazing grown up men and owner of her own business. When you are becoming slightly overcritical because you, for instance, went to the movies/went out with a friend/went on a date/went for a hike instead of tending to the backlog of housework and organization and you are starting to slip down the vortex of calling yourself a bad person/parent/teacher/artist/ fill-in-the-blank, ask yourself these questions:

-Did you manage to feed your child?

-Did you get clothes on your child?

-Did you read to your child or have an engaged conversation with your kid?(A nice thing about being a single parent is plenty of opportunities for quality time.)

-Did you get them to bed?

-Did you get them to school and pick them up?

If so, then the rest is gravy! You have earned a break!! Because doing all that completely by yourself is no joke. You have earned a free pass when you do have a break to do absolutely nothing.

Plus, beating yourself up wastes precious energy that you will need while with your kids 24/7.

Here’s the trick #2 for the transitioning through the airlock: I was late coming to parenting. By ‘late’ I mean I was 40 when my son was born. Well, forty and a half but who’s counting? So I thought I was going to have to prepare myself for not having kids. And dealing with THAT, dealing with the constant heartbreak of not being a mom and seeing all my friends and family with their kids, is much harder than going through the airlock once in a while and seeing my boy who is always, always happy to see me.

So, when I want to put that blanket over my head and just watch TV and then sleep under the unfolded laundry, I sit down and take a breath. Then I send light and love to the women and men who do have that constant, secret heartbreak of having no kids when they wanted them. That prayer gets me through the airlock and then, I do find I have more patience(most of the time) and more breath for curve balls and the flailing kicks. But, hey, I also get more hugs.

And actually if when melting down, K manages to clip me with a kick or a punch, he goes right over to his art table and make me a watercolor.

And that is worth all the mess and chaos.

The convenience of fame.

The Convenience of Fame

I would love to be famous.

Because. It would be soooo

Convenient.

Right?

It would be.

Like, for instance, if I was incensed about a friend who was being unjustly treated (Witness my friend, Eliza and her ordeal with the family court) I could use my fame and my well-written statement to Rally the Cry, fight injustice and root out judges who humiliate and make it difficult and sometimes impossible for devoted, single parents to do their already taxing jobs of raising kids on their own.(just a hypothetical situation.) And in moments, the biased, unfair cheating thieves are exposed and chased from there seats of power!

Ha ha ha! All because of my well used fame.

(I could be like a slightly dumpy, girl version of George Clooney.)

See? Convenient.

And helpful.

Who wants injustice in the world?

Not to mention,

You can wear whatever you want and you be accused of looking disheveled.

They would just say, “Darcy’s very Street, today.”

No make up? “Darcy’s natural look is luminous these days.”

It would also be relaxing to be famous.

Totally.

Because…

There would be sustained financial stability.

I wouldn’t have to worry about…rent or health insurance.(I have health insurance because my family would kill me if I didn’t have it. I eat zucchini and eggs for weeks so I can give my health care provider several hundred dollars every month) Because when you are famous, more people see your work and the work is good(that’s assumed) and so more people give you opportunities to make even more work and I could get so much work done.

And people

Would pay

Top dollar

For my work.

Hmm.

It would be amazing.

My Projects would be finished.

In my life time!

I think about the artists who made the gothic cathedrals who worked all their lives and never saw the project completed. No fame then. At least not for peasants and workers. The glass workers and the stone carvers weren’t talking about try-outs for American Idol. But, boy, did they know how to make a holy place! Who’s been to a Gothic Cathedral? (I suppose without the tug of individual fame, you can really get work DONE. Sometimes, I would like to time travel.)

Another handy thing about fame these days:

Your family has an excuse for your quirky behavior.

Person: “Is Darcy still making sculptures out of hair and roses? Because that’s sort of…out there”

Family member(said with veiled relief) : “Yes, she is but, you know, … with her TV series and the all the books... The public seem to LOVE the roses and hair.”

Person: “Really?”

Family member: “Really. They are making action figures holding hairy roses; the kids love ‘em. I saw two girls playing pretend in the park with them the other day. She’s famous, what can I say?”

Person: “Hmm. Maybe I need to rethink my snap judgments about quirky behavior and art work in general.”

But when you are not famous, or making money, or married with kids, you are only quirky. Quirky… like making valentines out of bent nails, wax, graphite and duct tape and then complaining because no one wants those valentines. And the family members have to go back to spin control.

Here’s some examples:

*“Darcy is really on to something.”( said with big smile. They don’t believe it.)

*“Darcy’s got quite an imagination.”(nodding; pursing lips; averting their eyes.)

*“Darcy is really very gifted with children. Creative types are great for that. I’m sure a full time teaching job will be along soon.”(said with a slight chuckling and clearing the throat.)

Oh, Important: Let’s define my kind of Famous. I already mentioned the financial component. I want fame for being intelligent, articulate, very funny, insightful, ground breaking.

(NOT Paris Hilton famous.

Because who IS Paris Hilton? I get her mixed up with Jessica Simpson. What about Ashley Simpson? Is she a real person?

And just like I’m not making the neural investment to remember what kind of laundry detergent my best friend uses, I don’t need to know the difference between a Simpson and a Hilton. NOT reality show famous. Or, for that matter, Sarah Palin Famous. I don’t want to be famous for being less than intelligent and downright incompetent. No thanks.

Famous like Tina Fey, Wangari Maathi, Adam Bock, Emma Thompson, Jane Austen, Jackson Pollack, Joan of Arc(Umm, I might skip the burning-at-the-stake part. Going against the grain, yes.),Helen Mirren,JK Rowling, William Kentridge, Chris Cooper, Kenneth Branaugh, Louise Bougeous famous.

Someone Terri Gross on Fresh Air would interview. Terri Gross is the gold standard. (15 years ago, an Oscar nomination was the gold standard famous but now, while I’ll take that, I’ll take the nomination and the Oscar, I really want to be Terri Gross famous.

Terri Gross literally can’t conduct an interview with someone who is not interesting. Monika Lewinski walked off her show. Because she had nothing to say. Monika L is not Terri Gross Famous. She is Paris Hilton Famous

When you are Terri Gross famous, you never look bad.

Never.

For example(this is completely hypothetical):

You find yourself in Borders (not even some cool, hip indie bookstore, but Borders) at 7:30 on a Saturday night. And lo and behold, you are in the Self Help section. And THEN you are in the check out line about to buy, to invest money in these books:

*“He’s just not that into you”

*“How to get unstuck”

*“Fostering Self-Esteem”

When you are TG Famous, you are not sad, lonely, depressed and, let’s face it, a BIT of a loser.

Nope. When you are famous, you are simply “doing research” for a fabulous new script, or a challenging role you are playing or a biography you have been commissioned to write. And you have a hefty advance so you can go hog wild in the self-help section of Borders.

Fame is the best beard for desperate behavior.

Anger, Cancer, Christ! dealing with dark thoughts...

Anger, Cancer, Christ!

Writing up Eliza's interview yesterday started me thinking--again about how to handle our are dark fantasies and ambivalent feelings. I found this meditation that I wrote when K was a baby. I'm so glad Eliza is my friend because her calmness and quiet sense of humor teach me how to move through the world without hurting myself or anyone else. Here is another approach, much less cool and philosophical than Liza's...

Yeah. I’m so angry, sometimes, I realize I’ve stopped breathing.

And, in terms of what makes me angry,

Take your pick!

-The fact that there are more than ten Americans that take Sarah Palin seriously; that just because she didn’t fall apart during her debate with Joe Biden means it was a SUCCESS, is unnerving and infuriating.

-Some people’s attitude toward breast-feeding and how they think I’m a hippy freak and I’m doing my son DAMAGE because I have nursed him longer than a year. Best quote from a family member:

“Maybe if you weaned him, you could pull yourself together.”

-My son who is two and a half still can’t quite sleep through the night. YEAH! Maybe a few days a week, he’ll only wake up once. But mostly, he wakes up two or three times. Last night, I was up with him five times.

*Even though I getting along really well with the father of my child, every now and then though, we disagree about parenting decisions and he will want a dossier submitted about why I introduced yogurt into the baby’s diet at 10 months.

And now I have to smile and be polite. Because I don’t want my son to have issues with his father. And I know I need to just stand back, hands up in the air so as not to touch or opinionate my son’s relationship with his father. Even if he asks bonehead questions about baby’s diet.

That said, there is a corner of my big Mama’s brain, that knows it is good that he asks because it means he cares.) Mostly, I’m salty that I have to explain myself when I would never do anything that doesn’t my child thriving everyday of his life. Yes, it’s the explanation that annoys and insults me. And, remember, I’m a tad overtired, so writing a cogent description of the benefits of local yogurt for babies, feels impossible and most likely I will have to skip a shower to write this.

And so… I give him updates on my baby as though I care what he thinks.

It’s the acting gig of my life.

Because of all this and much more,

I need another Chocolate Chip cookie the size of my head.

You see, if I eat enough cookies,I won’t lose the last 20 lbs from the high net gain of the pregnancy and I can be Invisible to men I might be attracted to.

This is good.

Because

I haven’t shown the very best judgment in terms of my choices of boyfriends.

So I’m dating cookies.

Even after the cookies and maybe some cookie dough, I'm still breathless and angry BUT

I can’t talk about it or act upon it. Because...

While Sarah Palin is a joke AND dumb( I think my favorite blooper was not knowing Africa was a continent), I can’t prevent her from running and, even writing about her here won’t prevent her from becoming a leader in our country. Because this is a DEMOCRACY.

I can’t say a thing to the family member who said: “maybe if you stopped nursing, you could pull yourself together.” Boy, every time I think of that one it blows my mind. Sort of a global insult. It means: you are too fat and you are making a scene nursing all the time and it's bad for the baby( maybe just like that strange white yogurt). Huh? But I can’t SAY anything to this person, because while she said this, she was folding my laundry, after just cleaning my kitchen and was about to go and do the marketing. Gotta keep my lips zipped.

I can’t tell K, my son, how I really feel because of aforementioned protection of his relationship with his father. AND because dad pitches in with child support with not a peep of complaints and when he sees his son, he is present and loving to him.

I can’t tell my son,for instance:

“ Your dad asks these questions about what I feed you to compensate for the fact that he doesn’t really want to be in the trenches with all the mess. For instance,once, when your father spent the night at our house, and in the morning, the toilet got blocked and flooded the bathroom and hallway and he didn’t get out of bed to help clean up. And when I said I didn’t have a plunger, he said, “Oh, well, I’m going to go home. Because I’m going to have to go to the bathroom soon. So. Bye.

Not so big on the helping-with-messy-messes, your dad. I hope when you grow up you pitch in and buy a plunger.”

But no way can I say that! Because that really would interrupt my kid getting to know his other parent. And, anyway, he will know soon enough.

And sometimes, with my friends, I give into the roiling, enraged monologues that run through my brain. And, the good people that my friends and family are, they listen. But very soon, their eyes glaze over. They have heard this before. And they sometimes, if they are tired too, they roll their eyes. Also it's a bit like describing in vivid detail the side-effects of chemo-therapy. People want to ask, to be polite, but they don't want the graphic detail of the color of your bile. Same with single parenting; people ask how it's going, to be polite but they don't want to hear how hard it is to be on taking care of a tiny human 24/7. They don't want to hear about the tears because the baby won't sleep for more than 3 hours at a time...for two years.

Because, they can’t take it in. And I don’t know where to put my ire.

So, I have to pretend that I’m not livid which is,

I am fairly certain,

HOW PEOPLE GET CANCER!

I’m not the one who is supposed to get cancer.

The bad people in the world are supposed to get cancer! The pedofiles, the murderers, the embezzlers, the people-who-consciously-make-other-people’s-lives-worse are the ones who should get cancer!

They can go through the fear and the assessment of their wasted lives; then they can go through the chemo alone and maybe make one real friend-maybe a saintly nurse-, and see they want to do GOOD with their life and whether they die or survive the cancer, they turn themselves around and no longer behave in a hurtful, selfish way.

Just like Darth Vader.( He saved Luke’s life. Died a good guy Jedi.)

THOSE are the people who should get ugly, nasty sick. Those bad, bad people who hurt others. They should nearly die or even die and leave the world a better place.

Whoa, those are some dark thought.

Yeah, I’m still full of dark thoughts.

(sigh)

And what if…

Having such dark thoughts…

Just thinking them( and writing them down)

Could give you…

CANCER!

Shit. I think you CAN get cancer like this!

Double shit.

I can't get cancer! Who would give my son his yogurt so the bacteria in his gut will be balanced when he tries new foods?

How do I get rid of the darkness?

Julia Cameron, author of “The Artists’ Way,” is right.

Anger IS fuel.

But what happens if you don’t or CAN’T burn that fuel?

Huh? What happens?

What happens if the fuel just sits there? In your gut, in your heart, in you spirit and isn’t combusted??

Exactly.

POISON!

Or, or, or, or…

That unused fuel, that un-combusted aggression, energy becomes…

A BOMB.

A bomb waiting to explode and kill innocent bystanders.

I don’t want to be a bomb.

I want to be a superlative mom.

(And a brilliant, successful, lucrative writer, but I don’t want to look greedy.)

And, so to avoid my inner bomb, exploding into the regular world,I need to…

I have to…

FORGIVE.

Oh my God! What a pain in my ass!

Like I don’t have ENOUGH to do!

-Being a mother AND a Father to my baby!

-Feeding both of us. And I’m the angry, stress eater, remember? so that’s a lot of food prep.

-Doing the laundry(NOT in my apartment; down four flights of stairs)(except when the nice family member does it; but she lives out of town, OK? So, back off.)

-Washing the dishes.

-Keeping the house picked up so that when K. grows up he won’t retaliate against my cluttered living and become anal retentive or OCD. And then blame me.

-And, from time to time, I have to bathe, not to mention wash my hair.

-And on TOP of All THAT I have to forgive Sarah Palin for being ignorant and a horrible role model for women. I have to forgive this do-gooding family member because they really just love me. (But they would love me more if I were thinner.and I didn't nurse my baby in public.) And I have to forgive K’s father for asking too many questions about YOGURT!

AHHH!

I know! I know. I know.

I can’t be FREEEEEE

Unless I forgive

Blah, Blah, Blah!

I’ll be able to run faster, breathe deeper, write better, find a kick-ass publisher quicker, lose 20 pounds in days—and keep it off, and LEAP tall buildings…

If I Forgivvvvvvve

OK, I need to go to a workshop on Forgiveness.

I’d love to chat with Pema Chödrön. She is a Tibetan Buddhist Nun who teaches stuff like this.

She teaches the practice of Tonglen:

What you do, (well, make sure you are breathing, for starters…) is you breathe in all the gross bad stuff

So, bad feelings, dark thoughts, murder plots, growling, drooling, inarticulate vitriol. BREATHE that IN! Take it IN. Rather than push it away. And don’t panic.

I KNOW! It’s really hard

and counterintuitive!

THEN when you exhale, you send out into the world the antidote, the remedy to the bile, the GOOD stuff.

So, happy thoughts, light, images of chocolate chip cookies, rainbows, images of books(even other people’s books) in bookstores, lavender fields, a paid mortgage, general good stuff.

So, in my case it would be sending out deep breaths, calmness, acceptance and

Not caring if the bad people are dead or alive…

Well… that last part’s not quite right.

It needs some tweeking.

Not so sure that would pass muster with Pema.

Who ELSE does workshops on Forgivness???

OH!

Well…obvious…

Jesus Christ.

Duh!!

The foundation of all Christian Doctrine is forgivness.

Right, Right, Right.

Poor guy. He preaches,‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you,’ and ‘turn the other cheek.’ All of those incredibly difficult and counter-intuitive forgiveness exercises. And then the guy is crucified. Do you know how it works? Slow motion suffocation!

Yeah, speaking of being breathless with anger....

That's got to be at the top of my list for most lonely and harrowing way to die. Yikes.

And then he supposedly now spends eternity forgiving people’s sins.

Yeah… Jesus Christ was a lunatic.

The Cautionary Tale of Eliza B in Family Court

The Cautionary Tale of Eliza B.

I have been trying to write Eliza’s true story that has new twists and turns everyday for weeks. Every time, though, I try to write a cogent, informative narrative, I get so whipped up that the writing goes all histrionic and spitting mad. Suddenly it’s a vitriolic diatribe against misogynists of all kinds. So, because I know that there are plenty of you parents that could benefit and learn from Eliza’s travails, I decided to simply interview her.

As a quick introduction: Eliza is a friend from childhood. We grew up dreaming and planning of being moms and (she) a teacher and (me) a writer. And, needless to say we dreamed of our perfect mates. All our dreams came true. Except the perfect mates. Now while the father of my child is not my soul mate we are good friends and are a great coparenting team. Eliza, on the other hand, does not have my luck. Without going into too much detail( because I will start spitting), the man she co-parents with is not helpful and, in a nutshell, does not have a child-centric thinking process. Eliza, since she is the diametric opposite, meaning she loves loves loves being a mom and is committed to building a life that will allow her daughter to thrive. One would think that someone like Eliza would have gobs of support from the courts. Not so.

Here is some of her advise from the crazy upside down hell that is the Family Court.

Action Points and Advise for Single Parents dealing with Famliy Court

1. Find a confidante advisor with whom you can blow off stream and be really angry.(Because funneling anger into legal dealings will only hurt you)

2. Research the judges and lawyers of your particular Family Court. See what their biases are.(Do this before you retain a lawyer.)

3. Bad judge? See if there is a escape clause.(In Eliza’s city the code is called CCP code 170.6. And you must invoke it moments after you are assigned a judge.) If you are assigned to a judge that has shown bias against people like you in the past, you can invoke this clause and get a different judge.

4. Always take the high road. Remember that all written communications(emails too!) are admissible in court so when you write an email to your co-parent, you are writing to the judge too. You are showing who you are as a parent.

5. Always take the high road in ALL communications. Save the dark thoughts for trusted friends, and family.

6. Step out of the way of your child’s relationship with their other parent. (This is hard to do but necessary. The pay-offs are immediate. It strengthens your relationship to your child.)Make sure there is a non-disparagement clause in the legal agreements.

7. Find the perfect lawyer.(It took Eliza three times to find the right person.) Someone who knows the fiefdome of your Family Court; someone who knows and respects your situation; someone who is sensitive to the difficulties but who does not mince words. Someone who listens. Someone who supports you.

8. Proceed as though you are your child’s only advocate. (If you discover that there are other parties that have your child’s interests as their first priority, rejoice.)

9. Child Support payments; Right of First Refusal; visitation schedules. Get them in place ASAP.

Darcy: Thanks for talking to me, Liza. I just couldn’t get this down by myself. I would alternate from disbelief to florid indignation when I think about what you are going through.

Eliza: Yeah. It’s too bad that all that anger doesn’t serve you in the situation but actually, I’ve learned, if you don’t watch out, it can hurt you. At least, in my situation, with my particular court, my particular judge.

Darcy: OK, so, tell what your situation is.

Eliza: A friend said something pretty astute the other day which, I think, explains the egregious behavior of Olivia’s father. She said: “He is just mad that you had the baby. So he is taking it out on you.”

Darcy: Oh. Wow. That makes so much sense because you weren’t…you weren’t married when you—

Eliza: Not even close. We were together for five weeks. We had just “broken up” because he was still ‘thinking’ about his ex-wife. Then five days later I found out I was pregnant.

Darcy: and then he sent the first of those horrid emails. What were some quotes?

Eliza: Umm. Well…this isn’t really relevant… to the legal stuff.

Darcy: I’m just trying to paint a picture. It’s not like you were working with a high quality individual. If you WERE working with someone cool, then you might not be shackled by all these legal proceedings, right?

Eliza: True. If he had been cool and great, we might even be married, but that’s too sad to think about.

Darcy: Well, but you will be married to someone fabulous. I SEE it. But how does this petulant behavior manifest?

Eliza: Umm—I’ll try to keep this short—OK. My daughter is four now and we still don’t have a set schedule for visits in place. Her father alternates from not showing up to his visits with her, to accusing me of keeping the child from him, to filing with the court for more visitation, to complaining that he does too much driving, to accusing me of hiding money[laughs]( I wish I was the Count of Monte Cristo, but no.) He has filed to impute me with income because I have decided to “stay home and not work” One big bomb he dropped was writing to my parents(whom he does not know) and saying that I am an incompetent mother among other things. He threatened to prevent Olivia from returning to her amazing preschool in the fall-with no alternate plan, no ideas for other preschools-- because he didn’t want to drive her one morning a week. But—wait-- in many ways, this guy’s moral fiber is not relevant--

Darcy: Wait, oh yeah. I remember that one. Boy, it takes a certain kind of someone to be tactical with a child’s education. But can he do that? Can he prevent her from going to that preschool?

Eliza: Absolutely. He is one of her legal guardians and if he doesn’t sign and/or refuses to sign, there is a problem. Now, you also have to look at the best interests of the child. And in this case, Olivia’s thriving at her preschool, he has been to the events and come to the parent teacher conferences. It would be an uphill battle for him to say that she should change schools.

Darcy: So…why does he do that? Why threaten you like that?

Eliza: Because he knows how important this preschool and education is to me. He is poking me. And, he wants what he wants. He lives 20 miles away from us. His girlfriend lives 40 miles from us. He is grumpy about the driving.

Darcy: And he is taking it out on you. That he has to drive. What a guy. It’s guys like him that make me want to change teams. I’m still not over that email he first sent you when you were pregnant.”If you loved me, you would not go through with this pregnancy.” Weren’t you broken up?

Eliza: Yep. And he was seeing someone else at the time. But, can we get back to the legal—

Darcy: Didn’t he say he felt like he was reverse raped?

Eliza: yes. But-- this is important-- I had said in my “I’m pregnant” email that I was going to have the baby and I released him of any responsibility to the child. I thought at the time that was all I had to do. but no way, no how do I have anything like that kind of power. In the eyes of the law, if the paternity is proven(which it was with a test) then the father has rock solid rights to be in the child’s life. With those rights comes rock solid responsibilities to help and support the child until they are an adult. Translation: Money.

Darcy: And…you didn’t know at the time that this guy has ISSUES with money, right? Like a fricken’ Moliére play. Enter, L’Avare/ “the Miser”.

Eliza: yeah. Pretty much. There is a lot I didn’t know about him when I was pregnant that would have scared the crap out of me. Probably good, while I was pregnant that I didn’t know what I know now.

Darcy: Like the girlfriend he had. Ugh. She was so mean with her Marsha Brady hair and, like, just venom dripping from nails. She practically pushed me at that ceremony for Olivia.

Eliza: Yeah, but now we know why. He didn’t tell her that I was I was having his kid until I was 8 months pregnant and the night he told his her, she told him SHE was pregnant. And he said I can’t deal with this. He said to her, “If you loved me, you’d get an abortion.” And she did.

Darcy: Just like he said to you! gross, gross, GROSS! Makes my skin crawl How do you know that?

Eliza: Because he told me.( for a while we were on good terms and we talking and getting along but since the letter he wrote to my parents, it is strictly business. Cordial but no longer friends.) That’s not even the end of the pregnant girlfriend story. She got pregnant again and miscarried and then he broke up with her.

Darcy: That. Is. Disgusting. Every time I hear all these stories…How does this progressive, forward-thinking world produce such disgusting men!?

Eliza: I don’t know. That’s not even the end of that sordid story but we are really off track. Mostly because none of this, and I mean NONE of these antics matter to the court. So.

Darcy: OK, fair enough. Let’s be productive and look at the list. Sorry. My head is a swirling mess of vitriol.

Eliza: And I love you for it, dear friend. But. when dealing with family court, you have to find another container for the vitriol. Because it won’t serve you in this setting. AND it won’t help your child. Legally. It will slow down the judicial process, gum up the works and you have to think straight and unemotionally when dealing with the law.

Darcy: So, you are saying “just don’t be angry”? Isn’t that a bit like saying “If you are swimming and see a shark, don’t be afraid because sharks can smell fear.”? I mean…

Eliza: No. I’m not saying that. Of course, you feel a panoply of things and there is enough anger to run a power station. But find some trusted confidantes that will listen and laugh and not try to fix things. It’s really good to find another single parent, preferably one whose kids are older. I am really lucky. I have a consigliore who has seen it all. I call her when I can’t see straight.

Darcy: OK! Good number one action point: find a consigliore. What is next?

Eliza: Get to know the players/judges of your particular Family Court. Go online and find a friend who is a lawyer or friends with a lawyer who can give you a tour. Figure out what the going definition of “progressive” and “reactionary” is in your particular court in your particular city. Now it’s very cool to support the dads(again, in my cool and hip coastal city). So, when paternity is established, if the dads want to be involved, my judge tends to fall over herself giving him what they want.

Darcy: Example? The name thing?

Eliza: Exactly. So Olivia’s father sued to have her name changed. He wanted her to have his last name. I did a spit take when I read that. And-everyone, EVERYONE- couldn’t imagine a judge finding in favor of a name change when the Dad had stated he didn’t want the baby. Because, and this was my thinking—how does this benefit the child? He didn’t offer any assistance during the pregnancy. By that I mean, writing abusive emails, no help with prenatal costs… or setting up the house…nothing. Anyway, you get it. We’ve painted the picture of this guy.

But. Not only did the judge find in his favor and call for the name change, this is what she said,(in a snide, sarcastic voice): “Well, this child HAS four names, I think ONE of them, could be the father’s surname. I am not in the habit of naming children but if you two can’t come up with a viable option with the father’s surname in it, I WILL NAME this child!”

Darcy: That’s just…it’s just breath-taking. Why would a woman judge in the FAMILY court speak to a new single mother like that? So disrespectful! Aghhh. OH, what did she say when you said you had to go home and nurse?

Eliza: She rolled her eyes and said, “OH, I don’t have time for THIS!” Yeah, and that was when Livvy was 5 months old. But, I didn’t know enough. And THAT day, my lawyer set me up because he didn’t tell me we needed to stay for an orientation. He was SO the wrong lawyer for me.

OH, that’s important: If when you interview a lawyer and they start talking trash about opposing counsel, which happened to me with lawyer #2, run away. My family court is a small playground. If you are going to survive and stay cool as a lawyer, you will get along with everyone.

Livvy’s father had much more knowledge about Family Court going in. He got one of the top family lawyers and, it just so happened that, his lawyer was best friends with…the judge.

Darcy: It’s such a nightmare. But, let’s make it productive: Action point #2 Learn about the playing field and all the players!

Eliza: Yes. I would say know the judge first. But find a source who works amongst these people. Do research or find a friend in the family court who knows all the players. In my city, Family Court is a tiny fiefdom everyone knows everyone. They all know the idosyncracies of the different judges and lawyers.

Darcy: And you can’t change judges?

Eliza: No. Not at this point. BUT had I known what I know now, I could have. There is a civil code (ccp 170.6) that states that you have reason to believe that this judge will be biased against your case, you can change. I found out about this, not from my lawyers, but from a friend just out of law school. I understand that a lawyer would never advise me to invoke that code because they would lose street cred with the judge.( Only two judges in this Family Court, even though it’s a big city.) So, it’s something critical for us, the clients, to know.

Darcy: so, you could have changed judges, but now it’s too late?

Eliza: Yes. But not too late for people reading this! It’s one of the main reasons I’m talking to you. So other people don’t have to go through this hell. (While at the same time, raise a child on my own.)

Darcy: It’s just sick that there is so little support out there for single parents! It makes me want to take to the streets.

Eliza: Me too. But, but that’s a lot of time. It’s also a lot of time thinking about people I don’t really respect or admire. And—and—I don’t want that to be all I do. My time with Livvy as a little girl have been interrupted enough by all these legal shenanigans. Protesting and fighting the good fight will require more babysitters and I’d rather do watercolors with my daughter.

Darcy: Such a good point.

Eliza: Although, according to my judge, if I’m not working a 50 hour work week, I’m a bad mother. She has it in for single mothers at home. It’s documented. (I googled her and I can not recommend it. Finding more reasons to be frustrated with the person with so much power over my and my daughter’s happiness was not productive.) I do see now, though that some of her rulings are really slapping me on the wrist. I can’t quite wrap my mind around a woman and a mother not supporting other mothers. But, my lawyer said that women who are in the work place can be weird about women who see mothering as their vocation. And that’s definitely the case here.

Darcy: Oh my god, she is from hell.

Eliza: I can’t disagree. But, that IS the hell of family court. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is geared toward the child’s best interest. Not in my case, anyway. My lawyer(I have the perfect lawyer now—took three times, but now he is great.) says that I have to always remember that there is the real world and the world of Family Court. And on many accounts never the twain shall meet.

Darcy:AGHHHH. The system is FLAWED!!

Eliza: Indeed it is, sister. But shouting that from the rooftops is not going to serve Olivia.

Darcy: OK. Good point. Good point. It’s a razors edge. Isn’t it? Dealing with the legal stuff, supporting your child and not…not stamping and shouting and crying and falling into a vortex of self-pity.

Eliza: At least do the last part in private; and preferably not for too long. With friends. You know like this.

Darcy: God. Every time I think of your story, and don’t, don’t—I hope this is OK to say—but it makes me feel so lucky about MY situation! I mean, K’s Dad, is so chill! He is on it! I mean, I wish he hadn’t shown K Star Wars, because there were some nightmares but. BUT for the big stuff…we agree. He helps me so much!

Eliza: Of COURSE, that’s cool to say! Another boon about talking about this is so people who have great parenting partners can, you know, appreciate them. And I’d say, tell him! Get him a present!

Darcy: I am going to. I’m going to get him some of his favorite coffee!

Eliza: You go. But, hey, I thought of something; about all the legal stuff: when I was circling the drain a bit ago, my super wise aunt Em gave me a quote that I keep close to my heart.

“What you pay attention to, becomes your life”

I think William James said that. And, there is no getting working on these legal matters(because Olivia’s father is just too selfish and doesn’t think enough about her). But I refuse to let this become my life. My life is about being a great mother to Olivia and being a strong artist and teacher. That’s my life. The rest is admin duties. So these interruptions will not get the real passions of my life.

Darcy: That’s a perfect note to end on today. We will pick up tomorrow with “Taking the High Road.” Ha.

Eliza: Thanks for doing this Darcy. I hope it helps.

Darcy: And just for grins I want to show everyone the image I found of your judge…

The agony of bathing suit shopping...

Here I am in a pink bathing suit.

And sure enough, while wearing this suit an 8 year old boy, whom K and I were traveling with, said(with no hint of malice or agenda): "Can I ask you a question? Are you pregnant?"

Yeah. Demoralizing to say the least. It's been a while since I've been asked that. But like chemotherapy, it feels more awful every time.

That said, I was not going to let my flops and drops/ jiggles and wiggles ruin my time in Paradise. ( It WAS paradise. Plus, K had a friend to play with and I had two other adults/friends to work with. I was thrilled and not a little grumpy to have to leave the velvet air, lapis ocean, sea turtles, whales and spinner dolphins...but I digress..) So I pulled out one of my tried and true tricks that I discovered when I was pregnant.

The Mirror Trick:

Back when I was pregnant and getting huge( K weighed 9.9 at birth so at 6 months I looked like I was going to deliver any minute. I got a lot of "you sure there's only one in there?" Why do people say that? Is it that they just can't find the self-edit button? Do they think ANYone will think that is funny?") I found that there was no one around to cheer me up when I wasn't feeling so pretty and channeling the Goddess. There was no fabulous partner who found pregnant women sexy and powerful and who would say just that. And go on to say how beautiful I was with specifics and conviction. No, that fabulous partner was/is still in the ether.I lived alone and I felt big and blotchy. But I refused to leave the house feeling pouty. Because in general it was a miracle I was going to get to have a baby.

So, when I was feeling blue and ugly, I would stand in front of the mirror and look and look and stand and stand until the only thing I saw was a beautiful, radiant mother to be. Invariably, after doing that I would get a compliment about how I looked.

Sometimes it takes a while. So, be patient. And I have found that it's more difficult when you are not pregnant. Maybe more noise and action with the kid running around. It is, however, worth it.

And sometimes it's simply an uphill battle(check out my other bathing suit). There are parts of my body that are sacred but unattractive. I refuse to circle the drain about being not magazine gorgeous.

Let's concentrate on the timeless beauty of our kids, the landscape, our health, our ideas, each other.

And when you look at all those people in their perfect suits, and their tri-athlete hard bodies... well, I don't know what to tell you about that. Maybe try not to be mad at them and realize they don't konw the mirror trick.