New Boundaries

Somewhere I remember reading that Single friends and dating friends have a basic conflict. Though the goal of most singles is to get into a dating relationship, their behavior often tears at those who are dating.

On Saturday I found out exactly how true that is. Saturday a girlfriend, a fellow single mother and I decided to get together. First we were going to go to her place, and things changed last minute, and we went to my place. Four kids, two Mom’s, we cooked dinner and then went swimming. We were cooking and my girlfriend got a call, a guy that’s new to the area. He attends my ward, so I’ve wanted to reach out, and befriend him, just never had the chance. My girlfriend asked, can we invite him over? Great I thought! A chance to meet this guy, and get to know him.

So, we have two girlfriends, and one guy.

I can’t explain it, but it was wrong. The group was too small and intimate. I felt too exposed. I’m not single. I’m in a relationship that means a lot to me. They were behaving like regular singles, which they are, and expecting me to do the same. I’m not. And I couldn’t tell you exactly what behaviors it was.

Meanwhile our FHE group has fallen apart, with the host moving to San Antonio. For a while we had talked about having it at my place. I now realize, as a single woman, I really don’t want to go opening my private space up to a bunch of people I don’t know well. Especially since I’m dating. It feels so totally wrong to have other people that close to me.

This relationship is new. And the boundaries that define it still need to be rigorously enforced.

Little scratch on the heart

“I’ve told my kids, point blank, that when I marry, I marry a husband, not to get them a Daddy.” This is a standing conversation between my children and I. They’ve got a Daddy, and any possible future husband of Mommy’s is not going to be their Daddy. Nope, I’m not marrying a Daddy. Not marrying for the sake of my kids.

I could hear my boyfriend nodding to himself. I went on to explain the conversations with my kids, explaining that their Daddy was their Daddy, and would never be replaced. I can’t go get them another Daddy. Can’t go to the store and pick out the next model, can’t go online to the Daddys’R’Us website. They’ve got a Daddy, and that’s all they get. Not replaceable. Best they’ll get is people who will help set good role models for them. My son has a man at Church who takes him out about once a month for “boy time.” The best they can hope for is people like that who will do things with them, and show them how a man should behave.

“I’m only Daddy to my daughter,” my boyfriend explained. He told me a story about a former girlfriend who put her daughter on the phone. The eight-year-old child asked in a plaintive voice, why don’t you want to be my Daddy? His response was to ask for the mother back. You can’t date, and make a meaningful relationship with those sorts of obligations. No, dating is about two people, and how you get along.

In spite of the fact that I know psychologically, that I’ve prepared myself, and my children with the most secure foundation, I still had a fantasy in the back of my mind. And last night it got destroyed. I know what he said is actually what’s healthiest. It will give the strongest foundation, and allow a very healthy relationship to be built between the two of us.

But still, in the back of my mind . . . I heard the voice of an older woman I know. Her children were raised mostly by her second husband. She told me, her second husband said, Look, I married you, and the kids are a package deal; they’re my kids now! I had a fantasy that we would each take responsibility for each other’s children.

Truth be told, I don’t want to take responsibility for his daughter. I did that in my previous marriage, to the detriment of our relationship. My boyfriend's daughter is a two-year-old handful, like any normal two year old! My daughter is enough of a handful for me. At least with my own daughter I know her history. I’ve seen where all her neurosis came from. I have legitimate authority with this child, and can tell her what to do. His daughter?!? NO! His daughter is his job to handle. I really don’t want to have to lay down the line with that kid. She has a mother, and a father, who can keep her in line. Why should I have to take on that job? Nope, don’t want it, thank you very much!

So, today I’m dealing with a little scratch on my heart. The final loss of a fantasy that really wasn’t healthy in the first place. A fantasy that I’m trying to get my kids to let go of, too.

Mother's Wisdom

I hate it when I go and prove my mother right. And she's going to read this and tease me about it.

Back in March she came out to spend three weeks with us. My kids were struggling, and I was too. For three weeks she helped the kids stablize, and helped me get a few things going. It was a wonderful bandaid that helped us get thru to some more peace.

But she told me, I haven't been playing with the kids, I've been making them work! She cleaned house with the kids, and they had a blast! Imagine that, spending the day scrubbing kitchen counters, and thinking it just the most awesome thing.

Okay you get the idea where this is going. A fellow single mother is coming over this evening with her two kids. Twins as a matter of fact, right in between my two. The house is decent, but the kids bedroom, and bathroom . . . well, they look like a bomb went off in there.

I sent one kid into the bathroom, and one into the bedroom. Each had orders to pick up five things. And then they switched places. In about half an hour, both were semi-picked up. There are still toys on the floor of the bedroom, but it's ten times better.

Most surprising was during a break section my daughter came and asked me, Mom, can I go finish swiffering the bathroom.

For a few minutes I didn't have any arguments from the kids. They weren't getting on each other's nerves.

Biology Lesson

Our lizard Daniel has been quite the living biology lesson. He is thriving in his tank, eating insects.

The first lesson we had was on the food chain. Daniel the lizard is an insectivore. We buy a steady supply of crickets for him. And they have to be moving before he'll eat them. The kids have been fascinated with what we feed the crickets. Crickets eat carrots, and grain. So Daniel is a secondary predator. We sometimes talk about what do carrots, corn, and wheat eat? Soil, water, and Sun are the standard answer.

Last night we introduced meal worms to Daniel's diet. He was fascinated. As we watched Daniel, he kept a very close eye on the meal worms. Daniel is a very attentive lizard. Normally when we gather round his tank he keeps a good eye on us. But he's relaxed about that realizing that we mean him no harm. And those meal worms were wriggling in the dish. His little head bobbed up and down, turning to the side to keep them in view. We never saw him eat his dinner, but this morning there are no more meal worms in the tank.

My daughter spotted the fact that Daniel was shedding. Around his legs we could see the white patches of skin peeling off. Fresh green skin was visible underneath. A white patch on his back soon peeled off as he crawled between the leaves of his palm tree. I thought it would be really neat to look at the skin once it was completely peeled off. Later though all the loose skin was gone, and no where to be seen. I had to assume that he had eaten the skin.

Daniel the lizard is quite the biology lesson. Food chain, reptile habitat, and life cycle, even insect life cycles as we feed him.

Yesterday was a very busy day for our house. We just had a lot of activities on the calender. It started out with a kids activity at church, and went from there.

In the afternoon I was getting us ready to go over to Dallas. We had a skating trip planned, followed by a potluck dinner. As I was pulling up maps, and directions, a child came to the door to ask my son to play. Paying more attention to the maps, I reminded him, we'll be leaving in a few minutes. The door shut, and I wrote down the last of the directions. I looked up and realized that he had left the house. Oh well, he's outside. I grabbed my purse, and a few other things, and went out to the car.

He wasn't easily visible. I yelled a few times to no avail. Finally I got in the car, expecting him to come running when he saw us getting ready to go. I started the car, and still no sign of him. Now I was starting to get mad. He's done this so many times already, run off. I drove around our complex, looking for him. But he was no where to be seen.

My mind was racing, trying to think. I pulled out my phone, an idea half formed in my mind. Maye someone could come over and stay at the house until my son decided to come home. I called a few friends, and no one picked up. Finally I reached one of my friends. She set me straight, we'll come look with you, and we'll take him to your place, but you do have to stay there until he shows his face. True. I was too upset to be thinking rationally. I was too angry, scared, anxious and everything else. But that was exactly what we needed to do. She promised, I'll make it boring, he can come over here as his consequence, instead of having a fun evening with Mom.

As this was going on, my neighbor, the people I've had tons of problems with, came home. As they came in they asked me, is everything okay. I guess the tears streaming down my face kind of gave it away that I was a touch upset. I explained the issue, and the grandfather went out to look and see if he could locate my son.

I paced my apartment, emotions sky rocketing, muttering to myself. My son burst thru the door, a look of concern on his face. I latched onto him, and began to cry. For a few minutes nothing was said as I simply held him close to me. The child has no idea of the dangers of this world. In between crying myself I explained to him the consequences of his actions.

"Baby, you don't get to come skating with us. You weren't here when we were ready to go."

His face fell, and he began to cry in earnest now.

Shortly my friend's husband arrived. My son realized this wasn't just talk, but real. He curled himself into a tiny ball underneath the stairs. I had to pry him off, dragging him to the car. I put him in the car, and had to simply walk away.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I cried.



As I was typing this, his friend knocked on the door. He opened the door, and vacillated on accepting her offer to come play. He explained to her, we can't go play so far from my house, I have to stay close to my house. Maybe he has learned something.

Freecycle

I've been participating in Freecycle for just over two weeks. And I got my second major blessing tonight.

Freecycle is an e-mail network of people who believe in Recycle/Reuse/Reduce. We also believe that someones trash is another person's treasure.

My first experience with Feecycle was getting an aquarium for my son's pet lizard. Someone I had never met happily gave it to me. She even went as far as to say Thank You because it got it out of her garage. She gave us an aquarium with a fake palm tree, and heat lamps for our little guy. And the lizard has been a happy camper since then.

Today it was shoes. A young woman moved into our Ward right around Thanksgiving. She's a Congolese immigrant who speaks only French. Along with a few other people I've been acting as one of her translators. I'm not the best French speaker, by far, but I do try. This poor woman went into labor with her second child 2 weeks ago. She was afraid to go to the hospital because she felt she didn't have everything for the baby. And she was in labor for 2 days with her first. Finally we convinced her to go. I staid at church and communicated to the right people her need for supplies. And of course, those needs were met.

But today I noticed she was wearing very light weight sandals. With night time temperatures plummeting to the 30's I guessed that she was very cold. African people do not have the body fat that we do, and feel the winter temperatures worse than we can imagine. Until they've been here a few years and their body's adjust the fat levels. I asked her, aren't you cold with those shoes? Yes, very cold, was the answer. So I pressed on, what size shoe do you wear? Size 40. I had to stop and think for a bit about that one. I knew it was the European size. I nodded storing that bit of information away.

Tonight I put a posting on Freecycle for shoes in size 7 1/2 to 8, equivalent to her size 40. Within just a few hours I had a response. I've got a bag of shoes, if you would like them. I bundled my son up in a jacket and we rushed for the shoes.

I found a huge garbage bag full of shoes, and purses sitting on a strangers doorstep for me. I checked the address again to make sure this was right. I struggled to bring the bag back to my car. Once in my car I reached in. I pulled out a tennis shoe, brand new. In the car I started to cry. A stranger, who doesn't know us, doesn't even know why I needed shoes gave me these. I felt such an outpouring of love to this unknown woman who would offer such a gift to me. All she knew was that I needed shoes size 7 1/2 to 8, preferably warm winter shoes.

At home I took them all out. In all 9 pairs of shoes and 6 purses. I don't quite know what to do with a Ralph Lauren, and Dooney Bourke purse. Tomorrow the shoes will go to my dear friend in need.

Inferno

At 6am my alarm clock went off on a Sunday morning. I rolled over, contemplating how many times I could hit the snooze button. The kids were with Grandma and Grandpa, so I didn't need as much time as usual. But I was singing in choir and had to be there early. My eyes fluttered open as a slapped the alarm clock.

My room was bathed in orange light. Outside I could hear something. A car pulling out of the parking lot I thought. But the light was moving in the wrong way. I rolled back to the window and peaked open a blind.

It was a fireball. Total fireball. Flames were licking up out of burning vehicle into the trees. The trees framed the apartment building across from mine. And all the apartments faced in such a way that those people couldn't see the fire.

Took me two tries to dial 911. The dispatcher told me that her co-worker was on the phone with someone else about the fire. I hung up the phone and grabbed clothes.

I ran across the street. The elderly couple in the closest apartment was already awake. They were just coming out to their patio from where they could actually see the apartment.

"Do you know who's cars these are?" I shouted at them.

We looked at each other in stunned silence. The wife looked at the vehicles and shook her head.

"I think they belong to people on the back side of the building," the husband finally said.

"Okay, I'll take care of the people on the back. You wake up the people on this side. It looks like it could set the tree on fire."

The wife looked up at the trees that shade her apartment. She nodded, and moved back into the apartment building.

I ran for the back of the apartment building. I had to run very close to the heat of the fire. I tried not to look at it, not thinking about what it meant to someone. As I ran, a shoe fell off. I thought about leaving it there. But then I would be running barefoot, so I went back for it.

I banged on the first set of doors. Banged, loud, like the police do. I paced in between the doors, worrying that it was taking the people so long, worrying that the firefighters weren't there yet.

Finally two sleepy heads popped out of the doors.

"There's a fire in the parking lot. You need to move your car if it's parked close."

Eyes opened wide in fear. Each head nodded, and went back inside to pull on clothes.

Suddenly I heard a loud hissing. It was a tire, I realized. The fire had burned thru the rubber. Other things were falling and shattering. Glass fell out of the car.

I ran to more doors, banging and delivering the message. People ran out. One man walked back in. He looked at me.

"Thanks man. Wasn't mine." Such a look of relief on his face.

As the firetruck sped into the parking lot, I ran to the parking lot. Their long hoses sprayed into the inferno. It seemed to have no affect on the blaze.

"My car!" One woman walked over to me. "My lovely little Jetta!"

The car on fire was large, a van probably. I looked trying to figure out what she was saying. Then I realized her car was parked right next to the burning vehicle.

I grabbed her, and we held on to each other, crying. Strangers, but it didn't matter. She sobbed, "My car!" I held her.

Finally she asked me how I had known to wake her up. I explained that I had seen the fire from my window, and come running. She told me thank you. What reason was there to thank me. I had done nothing to save her car.

After that, things are a bit mixed up in my memory. The burning van, with the flames going sky high is seared in my brain. The awful smell of burning rubber, and so many other things. The woman, sagging in my arms as she cried that her car was damaged.

I am so thankful that no one was hurt. No lives were taken in that fire. But two single mothers lost their cars to the fire. One single mother had her car melted on the side. Hard working women, just like me.

Later someone pointed out to me that it was 22 degrees outside, and I ran around in sweats, no gloves for over a half an hour. Adrenalin. Pure Adrenalin. I never felt the cold. All I knew was someone had to do something.

All that was left of the vehicle were the bones. Metal bones of seats, wires were the dashboard once was. It is gone. And the tree above is scorched, blackened. Thank goodness it was greenwood and didn't catch fire.