Two Roads to the Same Spot

I met Paul at our Senior Luau

in September of 1999.

I was 16 years old  and had a crush on another guy

but I still remember meeting him that night

and thinking that given his 6'5" stature

and my love of high heels
he'd be the perfect prom date.

By February of 2000 we were a couple.

High school sweethearts in a big way;

first loves and everythings.

Sitting next to one another

on the bench seats of his '83 Caprice Classic.

And we went to Prom

and he left for college

and it was la la la la love.

Prom 2000

But like most good, sweet,
and innocent things

it came to an end.

Because I needed fixing

and he tried but he couldn't.

Because I needed loving

and he tried but it wasn't enough.

Because I was a bottomless pit

convinced an 18 year old boy

could solve all my emptiness

and he tried but he finally gave up

when he knew I'd drown us both.

And it was sad and I was devastated.

And we tried to keep dancing

and stay friends

but it was too painful.

And our lives had become too different

and I threw myself into a lifestyle

that had no place for him.

And I sunk myself in a counterfeit place

where I could forget about him and he moved on.
He chose his own path in his own wood

and we didn't speak for about a year.

Until we did.

Until I found myself
wounded from my life and so very lost

and needing to speak to someone who knew

who I was before I was what I had become.

And he answered the call and he came,

because that is who he has always been.

And because sadness and loneliness

and being 20 is super confusing

and fraught with impulse and irresponsibility

I found myself pregnant.

And we had two different ideas

about what needed to happen

and I felt alone

and resentful

and angry

and rejected.

And it was so hard

and it was so painful

and I crucified him

in thought and action

to myself and to anyone who would listen

because the wound was so deep.

And it took me a million years

times a million years

to realize that I hadn't been the only one

having an experience.

That he had had plans and ideas too

and now they were changed.

And in April 2004
our beautiful boy was born and Paul was there.

 

And that baby came home to furniture

his dad had put together.

And the first time Lucas was sick,

Paul drove him around in his Suburban until 6am
 because the noise lulled him to sleep.

And we weren't together

but we managed to be parents.

We did birthday parties and doctors appointments.

Picked schools and insurance.

And it was still hard and it was still complicated

and we made mistakes aplenty

but we limped along.

Limped off into separate personal lives;

mine which lead to another child 4 years later

and his into his own story to tell.

And anyone who knows me can tell you

that I really never stopped loving him. 

And it was years of hating instead of hurting

and stabbing each other in the back and in the front.

And if you ask him,

(which I have)

he stopped loving me for a very long time.

Always the more logical one,

he had closed the door and moved on,

placing me comfortably in the category of "Lucas' Mom"

and getting on with his own life.

And so we traveled for years,

each on their own path

but still in the same forest.

Peeking out every so often

to make sure the other was still safe,

even when we weren't meaning to.

And I don't know what happened

but suddenly we were back in front of one another.

Totally different but still the same.

And we circled one another suspiciously for months

and it was still painful

and it was still complicated

and there was still baggage.

And I kept saying, "Come on!"

and he kept saying, "Hold on!",

and there was a lot of "Slow down!"

and "What do you want?!?!"

until one day

there wasn't.

Until one day we must have said,

"The hell with it!"

and got on with giving each other a chance.

Buried old hurts and old selves

and got on with a new history.

This last year has not been perfect

and it has not been painful.

We've stayed out of the highs and the lows

and remained pretty much camped out

in Quiet No Drama Land.

Even in the rough patches and the growth spurts

we've managed to behave like grown-ups most of the time.

I think I only stamped away twice

which I'm pretty sure is a record.

I cannot describe the precious gift it has been

to love someone in a new way.

To burn it all down and rebuild it,

to be with someone whose worst

you've already seen

and bring out the best in one another.

Turns out those two roads led to the same spot.

I didn't know

it could be this sweet.

The Elephant in the Room

It's the last picture

I have of them

on my phone.

I took it

at the Santa Ana Zoo

and it was

one of the last times

we were together 

as a family.

I don't talk about him

because there is

not much to say.

Or at least...

not much that is not

tainted by my anger,

sadness,

and resentment.

We were together

on and off for 

almost 5 years

and most of it

was horrible.

The only light...

our beautiful son.

I was my ugliest 

with him.

The most dishonest,

the most insecure,

the most demanding,

the most lost.

And our break-up

was long.

And it claimed 

more hearts

than our own.

I have not known

how to deal

with such 

consistent hostility.

He spews hateful words

in response to simple questions.

Continues to attack me

as a mother.

Fails to meet 

financial obligations.

And still blames me.

In his eyes

it's has always

been me.

And sometimes I wonder

if he even knows

why he hates me.

I took the bait

for so long.

Signed up

for every fight

he sent my way.

I don't do that anymore

but it's still zero fun.

I have asked

for co-parenting counseling.

Outside help to assist

our navigating 

this odd dynamic.

But he refuses.

I hate who we are

as parents.

Paul and I 

did not have

a custody order

until Lucas was 4.

Even then

most of it stated 

that decisions 

would be left to us 

to deal with

on a case by case basis.

The lawyer said

we were the easiest

custody case

she had ever seen.

Even when we

didn't like each other,

we were still able

to discuss and agree upon

schooling, vacations, sports,

and the like.

This is not 

the case with James.

With this round

I stay in bed at night

on the verge of a panic attack

worrying about

how we are failing our son.

He starts school in September,

and if we are not speaking,

how will his homework get checked 

and weekend projects completed?

How will we manage

any discipline issues?

How will we sit

in parent-teacher conferences?

James can be 

so sensitive

and so unsure of himself.

I worry that he

feels unstable

and insecure.

I want to fix it.

I want to love him enough.

I wish we were capable

of a friendly exchange.

An open dialogue.

Really the elephant in the room

is not James' dad,

it is my feeling of failing my son.

It is my awkward silence

when Lucas asks,

"Mom...

why can't my dad

be James' dad?"

What can I possibly say?

The Ex Files

I got a mad crush on one of the guys in this picture.

For those of you just joining us,

my children have different fathers.

To further add a twist,

I am currently dating

the father of my eldest son.

We were high school sweethearts in 2000,

broken up in 2002,

accidentally pregnant in 2003,

barely tolerant of each other in the subsequent years,

and for the last few months...

a couple.

Christina and Paul 2.0

In those 10ish years we were apart

we obviously dated other people.

I went on to have another son

and he went on to

not have any more children.

That...
has had it's own feelings to figure out.

We co-existed in a strange realm
where we would have been totally OK
with never, ever speaking again
but instead had to see one another
almost every day.

No matter how much of our non-child related lives

we tried to keep personal,
or how much we didn't want to be around one another,
we shared a son and were thus forced
to take somewhat front row seats to each other's lives.

That means he knows a lot about my ex
and I know a lot about his.

That also means he knows
a lot about the uglier sides of my sunny disposition.

And I his.

All new relationships
exist on the suspended belief that
your new guy or girl is pretty awesome
and almost perfect.

The days go on and you begin
to peel away layers,
uncovering this annoying trait
or that cumbersome piece of emotional baggage.

It is tricky business to already kind of know
what you're getting yourself into.

It is trickier business still
when his ex is a part
of an extended circle of friends

and my ex is the father of my other son.

Honestly tricky is not even the word.

It is getting to know someone
I already know

but don't really  know

all while our skeletons hang everywhere
except in the closet.

I exist in a sort of suspended state
where the past must be forgiven
and mostly forgotten,

and the long time future
is left unplanned and un-discussed

because it can be
terrifying and pressure filled

and really if we were a brand new couple

with only a few months behind us
no one would be asking me
about marriage and co-habitation.

Lay off folks.

And really the only one who
consistently asks me if we're getting married...

is our son.

This little man
who has only known us apart
is trying to reconcile
the latest developments.

And truthfully we've tried to
keep it all separate...

Paul and Christina
starring in

"Mom & Dad"

and

Paul & Christina
in

"Grown-Ups who Hang Out and Kiss and Stuff".

But honestly
when parents are under the impression

that they're keeping a secret from their kid

the only ones they're really fooling

are themselves.

'Twas blindingly apparent
a few months ago when
Lucas bounded into the kitchen and asked,

"Are you guys in loooooove?"

All while Paul and I stood
miles away from each other.

I dunno. Maybe.

Kids man.

I mean really I'm not much
of a believer in happily ever afters.

I think relationships are hard

and they take work

and there are no guarantees.

It's gritty, dirty, messy business.

Or so my jaded side believes.

My glitter-wearing,
unicorn-riding,
cotton-candy eating
lovely love self
believes that relationships
are sweetness and laughter
and wanting to be better
for myself and for him.

After all...
not everyone gets a do-over.

I mean if it's gonna be such messy work
I might as well have someone around
that I really, really like.

He is wearing a teeny, tiny pirate hat.  I am wearing the look of love.

Truth.

Sometimes the truth makes me uncomfortable.
Rattles a part of me that says it's not ok.

Not ok to be a single, never-been-married mother.
Not ok to have two children from two different fathers.

The voice that says I was raised better.

The judgements I used to hold against those kinds of women.
The judgements I'm afraid people hold against me.

The fear that someday
my own children will judge my choices.

It is my own arrogance that holds me hostage.
This belief that I should be something.

Something I'm not.

Something I'll never be.

Sometimes the truth embarrasses me.
Makes me feel bad.
Sad.

Sometimes nosey women at parties

point out how different my boys look.

"Oh! One with curly hair...

and one with straight!"

"Oh! One light and one dark!"

Yes she actually said that.

My sweet guy

trying to save me from her intrusions,

"They're half brothers."

And I am crushed.

Because I never thought of them that way.
Because Lucas had never heard that term.

Because there is nothing half
about my brother and I

 and I want my boys to feel the same way.

2am on Christmas Eve.

Because saying anything invites more questions
and sometimes things are so complicated,
they are better left unsaid.

No
he's not my husband.

Yes
he is my boyfriend.

Yes
that is his dad.

No
not his dad,
his dad.

Well...
that's a long story.

And then right when my judgemental self
reaches a fever pitch in my own head

my truth becomes abundantly clear.

Ideal dynamic...no.

The absolute best version of this dynamic...yes.

Because these boys have no shortage of love.

Because I am
(and have always been)
surrounded by a village.

My parents.

His parents.

Nana to one and all.

Aunts and Uncles

that show up

and tie shoes.

Build Legos and cars.

Brothers vs. Brothers

Front yard football champs

Daycare providers and teachers

who love my boys.

And have cared a whole hell of a lot

about me too.

Girlfriends who have cheered me on

when my head was too loud.

"Christina...
If you're ok with it,
they'll be ok with it."

Listened to me cry

and not judged me

when I've had to bow out of friend duty for a minute.

A good man

who let's me say these things out loud

and trusts me enough

to share his own reservations.

These last few years

growing up

has meant the slash and burn

of all those little ideas and expectations.

Ripping apart the pages

of what my life was supposed to look like.

I think I've done that.

Burned it all right down to the ground.

And the best part...

even with my sometimes blinded,

smoke-filled eyes,

there are hands to hold on to.

Last week a girlfriend of mine said

I was oozing happiness.

And I am.

I mean..

how can I not?

B-U-L-L-Y

Last week I said I might not ever go into detail
about why 15 days before the onset of summer
we pulled Lucas out of 1st grade.

And then I saw this
and I (a believer in the Universe talking to me)
knew that I must.

Firstly and most importantly let me say that this is not
an anti-Catholic school rant.

This is a stay informed and advocate for your child
even when standing your ground means becoming Public Enemy #1
at your son's school non-rant.

The thing about being young (we were 21),
unprepared,
and broken up parents,
is that try as we might,
sometimes decision making was tedious.
And heated.

And as I have a history of being an emotional tyrant,
(not anymore...I've been reformed. Mostly.)
I think sometimes Paul (knowing that my intentions are basically good)
has conceded to me just to shut me the hell up.

That is how we
(both products of Catholic school)
decided to continue the tradition with our son.

Originally we settled on my elementary school alma mater.

First day of Kindergarten aka the picture that KILLS me every time.

But we left after 2 years.

We had had some criticisms and concerns

but mostly we left because Lucas' Nana

taught at a school with a bigger, grassier school yard.

So our boy started 1st grade at a new school.

Get in line ladies.

The principal was happy to have us,
the priest was a joy,
and I recognized his new teacher as someone that had taught my brother and I 10 years prior.

All signs pointed to success.

I'd say the grace period ended after Christmas break.

The teacher used a behavior chart rating the kids' days
as green, yellow, and red.
You can guess which was the bad one.

I will preface this by saying that our child is a ball of energy.
He talks a lot (so do I), is impulsive,
and shouts out answers without raising his hand.

He's really smart
(this has been independantly verified...and not just by me)
and must be actively engaged.

We knew these things about him then and we know these things about him now.

We also know what techniques and tools work with and for him,
so when the "red" days started to outnumber the "greens",
and notes were being sent home on the regular,
we met with the teacher on numerous occasions to find a solution.

We told her that Lucas responded best to positive reinforcement
and Paul offered to provide any and all supplies
to re-create the sticker chart he used at home.

She said no.

We asked her not to single him out for his behavior
as it seemed that the kids in his class were turning against him.
Kids were tattling on him for things he hadn't done,
and when he tried to defend himself, he wasn't heard.

I watched her sit him apart from the rest of his class at an awards ceremony.

He started to have physical confrontations with other kids.
Pushing, punching, and shoving.
And I knew in my heart something was wrong.

We went to her time and again requesting that she modify her methods ever so slightly.
That she help Lucas to build a repore with the kids.

Time and again she met our suggestions and requests with a blank stare.
Basically she didn't like our kid and there was nothing we could do to change her mind.

I was a room mom that year and I watched the other kids mistreat him.
He would sit down and they would get up.
Pull books away and not let him see.
Gang up on him on the playground or ignore him completely.

This is how they behaved with me STANDING RIGHT THERE.
I can't imagine what it was like when I wasn't there.

Everything came to a head in late May when Lucas got in a fight at the school's field day.
According to the aide she had come upon Lucas choking one of the boys.

Choking.

We know our son.
He is not violent.
He had never exhibited that sort of aggression with his little brother or cousin.

When I asked him what had happened, he burst into tears.

"Mom they were laughing and making fun of me and I looked around.
I looked for help.
And no one was there.
No one would help me."

(Typing that makes tears shoot out of my eyes.)

Paul and I decided that I would sit in on the remainder of the school year.
Take a book and sit in the back.

Our reasoning was that it would prohibit any more kid bullying
and also,
Lucas would be more likely to behave
thus limiting his getting in trouble with the teacher.

My truth:
I wanted to watch that g** d*** teacher (and her aide)
and those other g** d*** kids like a hawk.

We showed up that day and met with the principal and the teacher.

The latter was not happy to see us.
Nor was she supportive of our request.
She felt "threatened" and when the principal sided with me
she walked out on her class.

I was not the most popular person that day.

Teachers and parents followed me with sideways glances.
They didn't even bother to whisper their disdain.
Tsk tsks and
Who does she think she is?
followed me as I walked at the end of the 1st grade line.

At the end of the day
the principal asked me not to come back
(poor lady...we shaved about 10 years off of that nun's life).

I said I would be back in the morning.

That night we scoured the internet and parent handbook for our rights
but unfortunately we found that as far as the Archdiocese was concerned,
we didn't really have any.

Each school is their own island
and there were no standard policies on bullying.

We arrived the next day and stated our decision.
Either I be allowed to sit in or we pull Lucas out.

I was allowed to sit in,
 however the teacher refused to come back unless I was gone

At the end of the second day I impulsively cut our losses.

There were 10 days of school left,
and students were allowed 15 absences.

I requested his final transcripts immediately,
scooped up my kid and headed home for good.

Thankfully Paul was understanding when I told him what I'd done,
and that night we told Lucas we'd forgotten to let him know
that summer had already started.

Woohoo!  No more homework! I HATE homework!

He was in swim class by the following Monday.

Someday we'll tell him what really happened.

A year later,

here are the positives:

We found a terrific new school (public)

with fantastic teachers

and a wonderful culture.

And he has flourished.

He still talks too much.

And for the first time in a long time (maybe ever),

Paul and I were (are) on the same team.

Thanks shitty teacher...you ended up being a blessing in disguise.