Sorry--to you and my Ex's

So apparently when I write things that I don't want anyone else to know, they all come out negative. Ugh. The problem is, it's hard to find a time to write when no one is around to snoop over my shoulder (remember? This is a secret release?) so the only time I have squeezed it in so far is when I am compelled to get the thoughts down so that they don't overwhelm me into outer darkness (i.e., negative.) I'll try to be better.

Remember how I said that I may have to write about dreams that I have about ex-boyfriends? Well, here comes the first installment.

I always dream. My husband doesn't. It would be one thing if he didn't really remember them, or they were a little weird. But just never to dream?! I guess that was one of the ways that we attracted oppositely. Because I DREAM. Very vivid. Very realistic. I often wake up and have to convince myself that what happened is not something to worry about because it was only happening in the confines of my elaborate brain. That sneaky brain. Always messin' me up. Why is it that it won't recall where I put my keys when I am late for a doctor's appointment (whose secretaries--I'm positive--punish me for being 1.5 minutes late by making me wait an extra HOUR for my appointment.) but it will go on and on about stressful minutia when I sleep? Is it crazy to think your brain is taunting you? But I digress...

As I was saying, I dreamt about a boyfriend again. It was Jersey. Jersey who was the nicest guy in the world and, at one point, I thought I would marry. Jersey who worked the summer slaving away at two jobs so he could save up enough to fly out and produce a ring. Jersey who didn't see it coming. Jersey who still loved me even though I was the biggest jerk in universe and spurned his every attempt to reconcile. Jersey. I've felt a lot of regret about Jersey.

So, as follows the pattern of my dreams, I dreamt about him. I often dream about boyfriends who I felt I did a disservice to. Like somehow I can make it right or something. And I can't tell The Spouse about these dreams anymore because he still feels some kind of wierd jealousy about it. I try to explain it's because I was so LAME that I dream about them--not because I still yearn for them or desire them--it's just that subconsciously I still feel like I need to make things right. But he gets threatened. So I don't bring them up. So here comes the writing therapy.

My dream this time had strange elements as usual (so maybe I should say "normal" elements?): for example, Michael Baryshnikov directing a movie with one of my love interests in it...?! But in the end, there was Jersey. He came up and put his arm around me, his hand a little lower than it should be for just an old friend. I was surprised and a little uncomfortable with it. I sort of shrugged away subtely, turned to him and remembered that he was married and had a family. So I tried to be all light and asked him about them. I said, "You're married! And I know you have at least two kids--tell me about your family!" He said he had a wife and four kids, actually. To which I replied, "Four kids--that's great! I know you wanted to have a big family. What are your kids names and ages?" He looked down and said, "Only one of them's mine."

Huh?

Then, as only dreams can do, I saw his life play out as he told me about how his wife was a theatre major in school and so when he first found the ticket stubs for events, he just assumed she'd been going with friends. And then he found that he'd been paying for an extra cell phone and other random things...and he realized that she'd been cheating on him and he was convinced that the last 3 kids were the other guys'.

AHHHHHHHHH!

And suddenly I realized that he looked on me as someone to help heal his pain...and I wasn't going to. Again. I was happily married, with a family of my own. And I was trying to find a way to make it not awkward and yet still make him feel better...when I woke up. Ah! Another frustrating dream! Why can't I just dream that these guys are happy and well-adjusted now and we can be friends and have our kids play together under sun-shady trees, with the ex's palling around with The Spouse by the barbie...?!

Well, I guess even my brain realizes that The Spouse wouldn't let it get that far. But I would like to think that one of these days I'll dream about them in a benign way--like in passing, or something. I do have a lot to regret from the dating days--but I've tried to repent and forget. Why can't my brain let it go?

Disturbia

Politics. I am disturbed by it. All these allegations and slander...I'm tired of choosing the lesser evil instead of choosing someone I can really believe in. Is it really impossible to be completely honest AND be a successful politician? I feel sick to my stomach after spending the last hour reading more junk about both candidates on the internet. I've been waiting to decide the whole campaign--thinking by this time I would be sure. Nope. I still don't like either one. But I tell you one thing. Smooth talkers don't usually win me over in every day life, and they probably won't in this big decision either. Talk is cheap.

Hold on a Minute

I don't know if I can play on this team anymore.

I consider myself athletic. I've played sports all my life--focusing on one sport, but dabbling here and there with pretty successful results. I'm competitive for sure, but not agro. I know where to draw the line.

But WOW. If you are not at least COMPETENT in one skill in a sport, you should not be allowed to play. If I don't have even one consistent skill down, I'm not interested in playing. You don't see me out there on the hockey rink or running around playing tennis (seriously, it would be bad). Messin' around with friends, ok. Competitively? I know my limits.

Some girls on my church volleyball team don't. I'll pony up right now and admit that I am the worst offender as far as encouraging everyone to play. Up until now, I thought that was for the best. That's the awkward thing about church sports--finding a balance between being competitive and being Christ-like. Everyone should feel the bonding that occurs in any church activity. It should be a place to meet, socialize, exercise, whatever.

But I realized tonight that as far a sports are concerned, the only way that you can achieve that balance is if everyone is truly on the same playing level. Sure, you tell people to, "No one cares if you're good! Just come--the more the merrier." But really, is it? Because if she is just a warm body on the court and the rest of your team is genuinely trying to succeed, and she is actually worse than just a warm body because a warm body wouldn't shank the ball off into Neverland over and over and over, and then just keep chuckling over how crazy it went. We all send the ball into orbit now and then, but seriously, every time?!

I believe in playing for fun, that's not what I'm saying. Chuckle now and then. Get a little crazy. Play even if volleyball isn't your first sport, or second or third. I don't believe in hurtling verbal abuse at the other team or getting upset with your team or yourself to the point of being no fun to be around. People who get angry and stalk off the court or throw tantrums are ridiculous and should also have a rule made banning them. I'm talking about people who have no athletic bone in their bodies. Not a one.

So here's my solution. If only we could do it! Make this announcement:

"So, ladies, we have our next sport starting up next month--basketball! We know a lot of you are interested in playing, so to make it fair, we are going to host a basketball clinic on this day. If you feel like you need some pointers or just want to brush up, attend the clinic. Then, when basketball comes around, those who have mastered the basic skills of the clinic will be assigned to teams."

Something like that. I mean, the church hosts events of all kinds throughout the year. I'm not going to the Girls Night that goes to see High School Musical because I wouldn't make it fun. I'm not into it. Should I still go because they tell me it doesn't matter? No. Because I don't get it. I just don't get it. And I never will. So I'm not going to go and ruin their fun, when they all do get it and--without a wet blanket along for the ride--they'll have a giddy, great time.

It's like Cloris Leechman on Dancing with the Stars. Or Sanjaya on American Idol. You've made a valiant effort. People love that you're trying but fact: you can't do it. The show is about DANCING/SINGING. Know when to say goodbye. Or in this case, if you really want to come along for the social aspect--great! Just save your team the agony by recognizing your limitations: keep the score.

Baby

I'm not sure what to write. I'm still in shock. A little.

When we got married, I said I wanted 6 kids. That number has dwindled since having 2, but it is still in the back of my mind to have a passel of kids. (Can 3 count as a passel?) Anyway, The Spouse has been very negative about having any more than 2. Really. He has made some pretty lame comments which I will not repeat for fear of not getting past them and on to the happiness of later news.

I tried to reconcile myself to 2. At times, I was in fact quite convinced that having any more than 2 would surely upset the fragile balance of my mental state and that it would be completely irresponsible of me to do that to the world.

It probably still is.

But there is this undeniable call to motherhood that I am finding impossible to ignore. I think about it day and night. I have really tried SO HARD not to talk to The Spouse about it at all because I know it's not fair of me to pressure him. I certainly don't want a baby with anyone who doesn't want one with me. I wouldn't do that to any child. And yet, I don't think it's fair that he pressure me not to have a baby either. I've been agonizing over it for months.

Last night, after finally breaking my vow of silence on the subject because my emotions were completely bubbling over and I was compelled to give them a voice--he rolled over and said, "Fine! Let's have a kid! Now can I get some sleep?!"

...

Not exactly the response I'd been looking for, but a move in the right direction. I'll spare the details of the next half hour of figuring things out, but suffice it to say, we are going to try for another baby. And I am stoked.

cats and kids

As we were driving home tonight, I had to stop to change Mr. B's diaper. I pulled into some obscure parking lot, intending to get in and out before Lil Jr broke out of his almost-bedtime stupor.

Didn't happen.

As I was getting Mr. B out of his carseat, I felt something brush up against my leg. My first thought was that it was exhaust. (?) Then I thought I was paranoid (not a bad assumption). But when I felt it again, I looked down to find a cat breezing in and out of my legs. I shuddered. I just wanted to get Mr. B outta his seat, changed, and back in as quickly as possible so that I could get away from the probably-flea-infested animal. I told it to leave. It didn't. I stopped mid-change to take the time to tell it again, then hissed, and then barked.

It took that as an open invitation to jump into the car.

I freaked. I dropped Mr. B back into his chair and grabbed for the lithe thing. Took me a couple tries, and all the while I was completely grossed out that I was touching it at all and it had come from who knows where?! I tossed it a few feet away, grabbed Mr. B and ran around to the driver's seat to finish the changing process--just managing to get the door closed before the cat pounced again.

I awkwardly changed Mr. B around the steering wheel, all the while cursing the cat for his role in my tardiness. Then I put Mr. B back into his seat, again completely awkwardly, without getting out of the car. Just in case.

As I was about to drive away, I realized that my coat was sticking out of the door. I thought about leaving it like that all the way home. Just in case.

But I like that coat, so I opened the door, yanked the coat in, and closed the door as quickly as humanly possible. Just in case.

And in that tiny moment I saw the cat right there. Waiting to come in. And that is the image I had in my head all the way home. And as I put my kids to bed. And right now. And I feel completely GUILTY.

That poor little cat was probably lost and scared and cold (the wind was relentless today) and I shoved it out of my life like a contagious pariah--afraid of the possibility what--fleas? Dirt? That my kids might take a liking to it? I don't know. I feel sick about it. When did I get so cold?

Seriously, the most disturbing thing about it is that it reminded me of a small child--looking up at me with those big, innocent eyes. Why couldn't I have had more compassion? It's one of God's creatures and I left it in the dust. As I drove home I thought of all the possible scenarios of if I would have been nice to it. It wouldnt' have left me alone, that was for sure. If I had put it in the car, where would it go? My brother got fleas from our cat growing up and they got everywhere--it's tainted me--and all I could think about were those nasty little red bites all over Mr. B or Lil Jr. Ugh.

But then I thought about how there was a roaming dog in our neighborhood recently and my neighbors were really good about calling someone to come get it and waiting with it until the Sheriff showed up HOURS later. Should I have done something like that? Was Animal Control even open at that hour? Or should I have brought it home, asked The Spouse to pick up some litter, and kept it until I could get it to a shelter? But then that brings up the attachment issue with the kids, not to mention the inevitable flea shampoo.

Ok. So I'm not sorry that I didn't bring it home. But I AM really sorry that I wasn't a better example of loving animals to my boys. I tried to make up for my hasty negativity on the way home by telling Lil Jr that it was probably just lonely and we should have been nicer to it. But that didn't really ease my conscience. I don't like cats. Never have. But I don't want to influence my kids one way or the other. So next time I'll be nicer. And I won't leave my coat in the door.

Finally

I started to write this post as if I were writing it to someone else. Then I realized that that's exactly what I DON'T want. I want to write as if it were my journal. My diary. But even more personal, because I'm not secretly afraid that my husband or kids or MIL-when-she's-here-visiting will get a hold of it and find a page that they shouldn't find until I am dead and gone and they are much older and more forgiving. Not that I plan to write terrible things about them. Or even about them at all, necessarily. I just want to write what I want to write when I want to write it, completely free of social consequences. If I want to write about funny things I think about that other people would think are weird, I will. Or if I want to write about the fact that I am convinced that my neighbor hates me and I have absolutely no idea why and puzzle over each minute interaction we have, well I will. And I won't be afraid that she will find out about it, thus heightening her mystifyingly intense dislike. Or if I want to write freely about dreams of ex-boyfriends that are romantic and warm and sweet and have ABSOLUTELY no bearing on my wonderful relationship with my husband, then I can. And I will. Finally! Because I tell my husband just about everything. But there really are some things, like said dreams, that I have learned are just not cathartic to tell him. So I'll tell you. You are my new journal. My diary. My innermost thoughts. And I really hope my computer-hacking brother doesn't find you in 10 minutes and spoil it all. :)