I'm just your average, everyday, divorced 38 year old girl -- overweight, tragically unhip,
and trying to make a life for myself. I live with two furry beasts, Dave and Abby, whose
feline mission in life is to choke me with their fur. Nothing special.
Friday evening. Wow, what a day! The picture is of our governor signing a series of six bills relating to foster care including AB2488, a bill assigned to me for tracking (and lobbying) on behalf of the State Public Affairs Committee of the Junior League. I just can't describe how it felt to stand there and watch something I'd spoken of and written about so often in the last four months become law. Just wow.
And then I got a call to tell me that Alcott broke his collarbone at the football game I couldn't make because I'm in Sacramento on behalf of foster children. Like Alcott. Very strange feeling. Good news is that at least I won't have to worry about whether he's going to get hurt at one of his games because there won't be any more of those for this season, not for Alcott. Poor darling boy!
Thursday afternoon. In my session with Gloria last night, we talked about forgiveness - for myself and for others. She told me that the uncontrollable crying and rage that I felt on Sunday with TCB is a good thing because it's bringing up (and out) all of the really nasty stuff that I've been repressing. Bringing it up in a constructive instead of destructive way is always a good thing and, hey!, at least I wasn't destructive to anyone in my latest explosion of emotion. What she told me was that there are creative and destructive ways to express anger and the only creative way is to ask a question. The question has to be based on genuine curiosity and not be a jab at the other person disguised as a question, i.e., "Are you aware that you're the stupidest person currently in this room???" So, my homework for this week is, when I feel anger, to find a question to ask in response to the anger. I think this sounds like fun, frankly, so we'll see how I go.
Gloria also told me that TCB's response to my mini-breakdown was very encouraging. He didn't try to make me stop crying, he just asked me questions that helped me open up as I was ready to do so and made me feel that it was safe to let the emotions out. She asked if his response had surprised me and I think it did in some way, although it shouldn't have. He's a very gentle, very caring man, and he understands emotions well even if he's not the best at expressing them verbally.
Yay for cute boys who don't freak out when you cry!
Monday evening. I had a little meltdown with TCB yesterday. (And when I say "little", I mean a complete sobbing episode where I couldn't control my breathing.) I won't bore you with what led up to it and, honestly, I'm not sure that I know everything that led up to it. Alcott was terribly banged up after his football game on Friday and it physically hurt me to watch him out there on the field, still playing, when I could just tell he wasn't right. He was still hurting Saturday when we went out for lunch. So there's that. TCB and I had been dealing with getting my old living room furniture to Goodwill and getting to IKEA to get the new sofa and chaise. It was hot, there was a stupid Chargers football game next door to IKEA so there was no parking, the items were heavy, the traffic was horrible, and, well, I just couldn't handle it any more.
What scared me was that I couldn't talk to him. I couldn't find words for how I felt. I know there were words just behind the tears, and I guess it was fear that held them back, but I'm pretty sure that was a good thing. If I'd spewed all over him just because he was the last one to push one of my buttons, that wouldn't have been right, either. I kept refusing to talk except to say that I needed to get him to his condo so that I could come home and be alone, and that's really what I wanted, but San Diego's traffic had other ideas.
The drive that normally takes about 45 minutes took about double that, leaving us plenty of time alone in the car together. He kept gently asking questions, such as when my next appointment with Gloria is scheduled for (smart man) and what he could do to help. I kept putting him off but slowly very small pieces of information floated up and were clear to me, and I shared them with him. And then he put his hand in mine and I felt my heart just crack. He doesn't do that, not ever, but he did just then and it was what I needed. I began to sob a little but it was a cleansing sort of cry, not the desperate, out of control kind I'd been doing earlier. I asked if he was hungry (he was) and we went to dinner at one of our favorite seafood places because it's relaxing and that's what I wanted.
On our way there, he mentioned that "if we were married, you could come to Guantanamo(sp?) with me." Stopped. My. Heart. I think he might have been serious. Marriage. Yikes. Omigosh. Wow. No, it wasn't a proposal, but I never even thought he would consider it. We've talked about his fear of getting married again and my refusal to shack up without a marriage certificate (I'm not giving up the wonderful freedom of living alone unless it's forever), but what if he's had a change of heart? Doh, I hadn't thought about what I'd do if he ever called my bluff.
p.s. I could write more about Alcott and how horrible it was for me on Friday, but I'm just not rational about it. Seriously, my heart just shattered when they hit him and I sat there, powerless, watching him struggle to his feet and shake his head and stagger like a drunkard. I cried silent tears and screamed silent prayers and hoped no one noticed that I was shaking like a leaf. And I watched him play for another 25 excrutiating minutes and just knew he was in pain. His foster family and I have talked and I will be downloading the application for admission to one of our finer parochial high schools this week and we will be sending it in immediately after Christmas. Better academics, better reputation, and athletic coaches who will be able to teach him more than just how to hang on to the ball as you're being sacked for the 15th time. No more!
