The Dented Car

I’m driving a dented car, and proud of it. The dents don’t affect how it runs. It’s just something to get me from point A to point B. It doesn’t look as good as it used to, but it still runs.

No, really I’m not. It’s an allusion I ran across that just fits.

I don’t often talk about my boyfriend. He’s a very private individual, and I respect that.

We suffered quite a mighty dent to our relationship this week. At this point, we are taking things day by day, evaluating. Again and again, we have given each other an exit clause. No guilt, it may be more than we can each handle.

I don’t know where things are going from here, but I see in him a man I respect. This may not be the time and place for us as a couple to continue. That decision has to be made each day. But I have a wonderful vision of what sort of man I want to be with. And if I have to go thru some major dents to see the truth, then that’s what has to be done.

1) I will only accept a man who is as strong as me. A man who has the will power, and assertive nature that can be equally yoked with mine. A man who knows himself, and knows his value. A man who knows what he wants, and isn’t afraid to ask for exactly that.

2) A man at my side must be willing to accept full responsibility for his actions. Never shirking from what he leaves in his wake.

3) I insist that anyone involved in my life have compassion. Compassion enough to cry for the people who hurt you. To ache for the people who want to track you down and do bad things to you. Compassion to understand their pain, and sympathize with it as if it were your own.

4) I must have a man who will give me my right to choose. Over and over, trust me. Give me my freedom, and let me be safe in his arms. Free to choose him, or free to walk away, knowing his opinion of me hasn’t changed. Free to be myself.

It takes a village

These are the days when I think, there is no way I could do this Single Parent thing on my own. What you see are two different projects my son had to do. For cub scouts, build something with hammer and wood. For school, make a Viking Longship.

Personally, I've never made a Viking Longship. Or done any sort of ship building, if you ask me! And I don't have any wood laying around for him to take a wack at. Maybe some cloth, and yarn, but no wood.

What I do have is an amazing amount of resources. My mother was the project designer behind the Viking Longship. My long time HomeTeacher was the woodworking specialist. And my son felt like super kid by the end of the day.

I don't know if I could ever move from where I am right now. I have so many people who support me, and help me. Should I need a babysitter at a moments notice, I know exactly who to start calling. In this case, when my son needed to do woodworking, I knew who to turn to.

I am so blessed to have a wonderful village that does help me raise my children.

Queen Noor

Light of Hussein. Queen Noor. Lisa Halaby.

When I grow up, and fall in love, I want to be just like her.

I want to go thru that life altering trust. To give up everything, and gain everything back. To trust my personhood, my safety and my life from henceforth into the hands of a man who can be trusted. A man who is worthy of power, and authority. A man who is true to his word. A man who doesn’t take no for an answer, but quietly, and politely keeps on working to change the world.

I want to loose my name, my culture, my language, my social position. I want to trust someone who is worthy of that trust. To see his eyes light up. To know that my trust in him is richly rewarded, is well founded. To know that he is my rock. To know that he knows me better than I know myself sometimes, and he will protect and treasure me. He will make me a Queen. Thru his love and care, I will be able to be myself better than I ever knew how.

And blessings of all blessings, my relationship with my boyfriend is slowly growing to be exactly what my heart desires.

Heightened State of Alert

My ex husband was abusive. What that means sometimes defies description. But today I was flooded by the memory of one thing that happened.

Our apartment complex was after him because one of the cars wasn’t up to date on all its registration. He decided to drive the car over to his work, and park it there for a few days until he could get it resolved. Late at night, with my two toddlers in the back seat, I followed him.

He pulled into one parking spot, and motioned me to a spot. I didn’t like the spot, and so pulled the car around to the other side. With the radio playing, and heater running, I watched him get out of the car. He was nearly obsessive compulsive, check this on the car, and check that. In the dark, hardly lit parking lot, I couldn’t see what he was doing, but assumed he was checking something on the car.

Then I realized he had walked away. He was walking out of the parking lot, away from us.

I turned the car on, and drove over to him.

“You didn’t do what I asked you to do.”

He walked home that night, refusing to get in the car.

My young children asked the bewildered questions I was feeling. What’s Daddy doing? Why won’t he get in the car?

Two hours later he got home. He would hardly speak. I walked on eggshells.

Abuse is never knowing when you’re going to get blamed. And never knowing what you’re going to get blamed for. It’s always being ready to deal with someone who won’t get in the car. It’s always being on standby to protect yourself, and the kids from strange, weird and totally nonsensical actions.

Heightened state of alert. It teaches you to guard at all times.

My reputation

“So, you’re saying we could move this number from 3.5% to 11%?” my director brushed her hair out of her face, staring at my computer screen.

“How can we do it?” she turned her eyes upon my face, ready to hear what I’ve been trying to say for 2 months.

Five months ago when she came on board to the account I was simply another agent. My polite comments were brushed aside. The many suggestions I made at the onset were hardly even heard. After working with me, she has come to learn my reputation.

My reputation is something I’ve never cared about. I don’t control it. I can’t predict how people will view me.

A while back a co-worker accused me of gossiping about her. My jaw dropped. I nearly busted out laughing it seemed too ridiculous to me. Instead I pulled myself together and apologize profusely. What does it matter if she thinks I’m a gossip? The people who matter, who know me, they know the truth. If she needed my apology to help her go on, I’ll give it to her. She can say what ever she wants about me. She can tarnish my reputation as much as she needs to. Because people for the most part figure out the truth. And those who never figure out the truth, well, they were never going to figure it out in the first place.

Instead of worrying about what people think of me, I do what is right. I bury my head deep in my work.

By not worrying about what people think of me, I’ve made a reputation of being knowledgeable, dedicated, and very dependable. Didn’t do it by talking about myself. Didn’t do it by defending my actions and myself.

Did it by apologizing for every toe I step on. Did it by not complaining. Did it by working hard even when other people weren’t looking.

My reputation is not my own. The only thing I can control is how hard I work, and how I treat people.

The good times

There is a Country Western song I’ve heard a few times now. A young mother is complaining about the kids screaming, her busy hectic life. And someone steps in to say “These are the good times, these are the times you’re going to want back.”

These are my good times.

I’m secure in my boyfriend’s affection. He’s been on the road now for close to a month. We haven’t had a real date since mid-August. I get whiny, and complain, clingy. And he doesn’t complain once about my less than stellar attitude. Instead he understands, and does everything he can to reassure me, to help me to find my center again. These are the good times.

My children are secure, and support Mommy dating. This guy puts a smile on Mom’s face. They don’t see him much. To be honest, they don’t even have to deal with him. All they know is that since he’s been around Mommy has become a lot more peaceful. Mommy has better routines at home. Mommy is secure, and happy, and so their lives are secure and happy. And once in a while (a great while lately) Mommy schedules a play date for them with a friend so Mommy can go out and have fun. Yes, these are the good times.

There are so many things that I could say are wrong right now. But some day I’ll look back on these days and I’ll realize, these were the good times. I’ll count these days as easy, peaceful, and happy. I’ll count myself as secure. I’ll see that my boyfriend did so much to show me his affection. I’ll see that our relationship was so simple, easy, and took nearly no effort. I’ll see that we had no problems, no big disagreements. I’ll look back at the kids, and realize they were pleasant, loving, and their problems were so manageable. So, since I’m going to look back and think that, why don’t I just hurry up and think it today.

These are the good times.

Art

My daughter has always said that she wants to be an artist when she grows up.

Today she got to work with me on an art project. A few weeks ago I shot some wonderful Temple pictures. Today I had her write out the words to a Children's song, to go with the picture. When I asked her, do you want to help with Mommy's art project, she popped straight up into her chair. She was excited. Her first real art project. Real life, not for school, really for art, for the walls, meant to be framed.

Unfortunatly, the paper I had was not meant for ink. As I blue inked over her handwritting, the ink bled into the paper. Under my breath I muttered. After doing as many projects as I have done I have learned to do practice runs. Something always goes wrong. This time it was the paper. Good thing I learned because I've got another ink project that I was planning on doing on this paper.