Tuesday With Moi

Tuesday, October 16

An ESM Tuesday

  What's strange about this Tuesday's collection of photos is that they all match.

They're full of soft browns, charcoal blacks, warm greys and greens.

Which is great because those are the colors I'm using to decorate and paint our home.

Remember when I said the Bonsai Garden at the National Arboretum was my color-inspiration for our new space.  Well, it's happening.

Maybe my life will become more zen in the process, too?

Painting, however, was not zen.  My mind was full of doubts and fears yesterday as I painted our hallway.  I'm impatient and frustrated by where we are right now and instead of counting my many blessings, I obsessed over all the things that are going wrong- or, rather, not going the way I want them to.

Le Chat stayed out of my way yesterday.  She doesn't like it when I compete with her for Queen Bitch status in the flat.  But isn't it cute that even she matches our color scheme?  Those green eyes kill me.

Eventually, I had to take a break from painting to stop and get some real work done.

I was cold in the living room so I relocated to my bed and turned up the heat.

And then I complained in my head about how I don't have a desk and could feel myself turning into a hunchback.  Like I said, I was mentally not in a good place.

David went out for a beer with one of his sons and I got to stay home to finish painting.
And then I had ugly thoughts about never being included in David's family life and I felt miserable.

Which, of course, is ridiculous.  All of it- ridiculous.

And then I was like, fuck it, I'm going to have a glass of wine while I do this.

This pretty much sums up my mood.

Ugly.

Finally, I was done.  For a while, at least.
I'd sanded the woodwork, filled holes, and wiped away spider webs.  I'd painted over the fingerprints and grime that had accumulated over the years.  I'd contorted myself to reach awkward corners and had a few aches and bruises to prove it.  And I wasn't anywhere close to being done.
Today I will paint green stripes on top.  God bless my math skills...

After all the painting I sat my ass on the couch and whined/cried to David about how tired I was.

This issue of Monocle was close at hand, but I wasn't actually reading it at the time.

I was crying, instead. 

Why am I painting this house when all I want to do is move away from it?  Why did I leave so many possessions that I love in America when I could have them here and be living more comfortably?  Why oh why did we come to this country?  Why isn't everyone telling me how amazing I am for painting this hallway? etc.

And then David was like, "Kate, you need to focus on getting out of this negative place you're in."

And then he let me whine a little more and was really nice and listened to all my grievances. 

And then he gave me a hug and told me I couldn't go on this way- that he wouldn't stand for it.

So we went to bed. 

And today I feel a lot better.

And, like, if I don't get my period in the next couple days, I will have no justification for being so miserable yesterday. 
So godspeed, Menstrual Cycle.  Let's do this.

Off now to paint some green stripes... wish me luck. 

xox

How Not To Behave

How Not to Behave: An E.S.M. Story

You're dating someone with children- two sons.  You want to be accepting of them and you want them to like you.  To do this, you let a lot of things slide, like the fact that when they're visiting the television is always on, wet towels end up on your leather furniture, and their suitcases erupt all over the floors of your tiny apartment.  These things are irritating, but tolerable.  You bring your journal and a bottle of red wine into your bedroom at night and write down your frustrations, take a few deep breaths, and then when you walk out of the room again, you're smiling.  One night, as you're walking to the car, the sons call shot-gun on the front seat, as per usual.  This time, your smile falters, you ask them to pause and then say, "Whenever I am getting in this car with you, I will be riding in the front."  Your boyfriend gives you a knowing smile as you open the door opposite his and slide across the leather seat.  There's a genuine smile on your face because it felt really good to stand up for yourself.

Eventually, your boyfriend becomes your fiancé.  You have a party with both your families and are glad to see them all cross county and ocean to celebrate your wedding.  Your husband's sons are there, of course, and you're touched by how considerate and sweet they are throughout the week.  You know it can't be easy for them to see their father re-marry, so when you're irritated by things they do, you bite your tongue.  You're a newlywed and you're too happy to be upset.

A couple months later, you move with your husband to his home country.  He wants to be close to his sons and you are excited to start a new life.  Things don't go as planned, and you quickly realize your husband's sons are drawing away from him.  Instead of addressing the challenges head-on, you become silent, do not voice any opinions, and fall into depression.  Your appetite disappears, your hands shake and you feel a great deal of guilt; you believe that it's your presence that is pulling your husband's family apart.  He kindly reminds you that you're his family now, too.  You married a good man, you will get through this together.

Six months down the road, you find that you're liking your new country, you make dreams for the future and have again found your voice.  One of your husband's sons is going through a tough time, he tells you he has to move in with you.  He doesn't ask, he just informs you that he's coming.  After months of biting your tongue, you free it.  You tell him that he needs to ask to move in, that he needs to respect you, respect your home, and that the three of you need to learn to communicate better.  You tell him there are numerous challenges to this potential solution of co-habitation, challenges that range from financial to emotional and spacial.  That being said, you tell him that he is always welcome in your home and that you'll work out a solution together, one that suits everyone.  You apologize for being upset and forward, but explain that you've been biting your tongue for months and months and that you, also, are working on embracing a more forthright form of communication.  You agree that you will talk about finances and all that other icky stuff the next day and then go to sleep, emotionally drained.

The next day things seem great.  You ask about a gig he has, and he answers, pleasantly.  You and your husband plan to talk with him at length that evening so you can work out a plan for the future together.  You plan to apologize to him during this later conversation, for you believe you could have said things better the night before and you want with all your heart to make sure the three of you are strengthening, not weakening, your relationship. That afternoon, you take a fourteen mile walk with your husband.  On this walk, you rehearse what you're going to say in your head, you prepare yourself to be open and flexible.

The talk never happens.  After his gig, he says he's spending the night at his  mother's house.  He wants to sleep on a real bed instead of your sofa bed.  That's what he says, anyway.  He's had a cold the last couple days, and you think a real bed and some orange juice (or whiskey) is exactly what he needs.  You wish him well and you and your husband decide to postpone the conversation for later in the week.

An hour later, the phone rings.  Your husband answers and as soon as the shrill voice comes through the receiver you know it's his ex-wife.  She is angry.   She's also loud.  Your husband is on the defensive, saying things like, "Of course I love my sons," and your eyes well up with angry tears on his behalf.  Her voice gets louder and then he's saying things like, "Don't say that about my wife.  You have no right to say that about my wife."  Every part of your body begins to quake and your skin is hot like a furnace.  You can't make out exactly what she's saying, but when your husband says, "That is offensive, she is not a child," you are ready to stand up for yourself.  Afterall, you've long believed that you are the wedge that's pulling your husband away from his children and away from having a working relationship with his ex-wife, so you do something insane and snatch the phone from his ear and announce yourself.

"Hi, this is Kate.  I'm sorry we have to be talking under these circumstances..."  You begin to explain yourself- you're rushing, afraid to breathe, afraid to stop talking.  You know you're making a total fool of yourself, yet you continue.  Is this how politicians feels all the time?, you ask yourself as the angry words tumble forth.

At the end of your verbal mess, you hear a long inhale and the ever confident and condescending question is asked:, "Kate, are you a mother?"

Instead of answering with the obvious, "No, I am not," you say something insane, "No, and that is why this whole Evil Stepmother thing is so fucked up."

Again, that slow breath of disapproval, "Well, you have just proved everything my sons have said about you to be true."  That is not a direct quote, by the way, but it's pretty damn close and you suddenly feel like you're going to vomit.  The voice on the end of the phone tells you you're immature, childlike, ridiculous.  You are black-out angry, so you don't completely remember, but you make a comment about her being condescending and then pass the phone back to your husband.  You wanted to make things better, but instead you made them a thousand times worse and you feel so much shame.  As soon as he hangs up the phone, you burst into tears.  Then you scream into a pillow, three times; the pillow is hot and damp with your breath and your throat is aching from strain.  Then you say many terrible things that you don't mean because you are hurt and embarrased and feel as if you have no voice- and that the voice saying these ugly words is not truly yours.  You cry and your husband hugs you, but you do not feel relief.

Later that evening, you talk to your brother who is very patient and isn't afraid to tell you when you're being crazy.  He gives rational advice and listens to you vent about your frustrations.  After your conversation, you feel calmer and compose a simple email.  You don't care what the response is, all you care about is telling the truth, explaining your objectives.  You keep it short, you keep it optimistic (which is true to your nature), and you apologize for being a total fucking idiot, though not in those words.  You say a prayer and hit send.  Then you write your feelings on tear stained pages before finally retiring to bed.  Sleep will not come easily, and when you do slip away your dreams are confused and angry. 

You wake too early the next morning, exhausted.  Try to remember:  You cannot let these things get you down.  Families fight.  Families are tough; they break and then they mend.  Promise yourself that you'll look into getting a therapist as soon as the money comes in, and then curl yourself against the body of your still sleeping husband and close your eyes.  Do not cry about this anymore.  Pray about it, instead.

The Good News

The Redcoat is employed again! 

Yay, we won't have to move into a cardboard box and live off rodents that we trap and cook over bin-fires! YAYAYAY!  No, but seriously, we're really excited.  And instead of being a super stressed evil stepmother who is hypersensitive and irritable, I'm going to start trying to be a really chill evil stepmother, one who is hospitable, friendly and open.  Maybe I'll start baking cookies and wearing kitten heels...  Who knows!

With David working, I'll have a lot more alone-time so I'll be able to crank up my music and be weird and creative without interruption, which is great.  David hasn't worked in nine months (oh my gosh, I can't believe it's been that long) and we'll probably go through some separation anxiety after being together all. the. time. for that space of time, but we're thrilled to be weening off each other and moving on with our lives.  And I really have to say, David worked his ass off* to get this job.  To get any job!  His job-hunt was a full-time position and I'm so proud of his determination and hard work.  Together, we'll be able to grow roots and build a future here.  So we're really excited.  So excited!  Finally.

Okay, that's all.  BYE. 

*Not literally.  He still has an ass.  It's cute. 

How We Got Here

Or, Evil Stepmothers Need Big Dreams & Handsome Princes, Too...   Welcome to this week's installment of the E.S.M. Chronicles!

David and I were talking the other day about ambition and the motives that drive us to achieve the things we dream about.  Growing up, David didn't have much.  He had happiness and a great family, but after his father died and they moved back to the UK from Africa, things were tough.  David got into an art school for college but providing for his family was more important to him than pursuing art so he got work instead and he worked hard.  His retail jobs soon turned into management positions, which led him to corporate jobs which later brought him to America, to me.  He told me that he always wanted a nice car, a nice home, and the ability to provide for his family.  Those were the things that drove him, and those are things he achieved. 

When David and I fell in love, I shared a secret with him.  I told him that I'd always wanted to struggle with my partner in our early days so we'd appreciate the good times so much more when our hard work paid off.  I wanted to build a life with my partner based on shared ideals and passions.  At the time of this confession, David had a good job and there was no reason to make us think he'd ever have to struggle again.

Two years later, David lost his job and was abandoned in America.  We were shocked by how abruptly he was let go and the way in which the company washed their hands and walked away, leaving us nothing.  David was angry, of course, and together we experienced a spectrum of emotions that ranged from total desperation to bravery and optimism.  One day he said to me, "This is your fault.  You wanted to struggle, well here you go, we're struggling."  He smiled at me when he said it, because this struggle is a beautiful thing.  He smiled at me because I taught him how to dream again and we're working hard toward building a life that will allow us to be strong on our own. 

Shortly after losing his job, David told me he wanted to move back to the UK to be near his sons.  We were sharing a pizza and a bottle of wine at a restaurant in Davis Square and I took my time chewing, waiting to hear what he had to say.  "I want you to come with me, but we'll have to get married," he said.

I nodded, "I'll go anywhere you need me to."  

We continued our meal and a few minutes later he put down his fork and knife, looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Was that a yes?"

"Was that a proposal?"

"I haven't got a ring but will you marry me, Kate?"  That's when I started crying, like crying, and said yes. 

And now we're here and we're starting all over again.  We have dreams, so many dreams.  Dreams of a simple life filled with laughter, love and long talks with dear friends.  Dreams of traveling the world and quiet mornings when we can sit together in contented silence.  Dreams of white-washed floors and of getting our hands dirty.  And those dreams will all come true just as David's dream of having a nice car and a nice home came true, just as my dream of sharing a struggle came true.  And there is no one I'd rather share this struggle and these dreams with than David. 

Both of us are working diligently on many things that have us very excited, but these things take time.  We came over here with a plan, but we've had to amend that plan.  I underestimated how long it would take me to feel organized, to feel like this was my home and that I wasn't intruding on David's family and happiness.  David didn't realize he'd feel like a soldier returning from years away at war to an estranged family, and he's had to battle through it.   It's a work in progress but that's the beauty of life.  As our work yields results, I'll be here to share them with you.  As always, thanks for reading.

The illustration at the top is the one I made for our wedding invites, however the graphics are different.  xox 
EDIT: David tells his version of how it happened in the comments....  Oy vey! 

Evil Stepmother Chronicles, Part I

The E.S.M. Chronicles will occur once a week and will tell of my trials and tribulations as an Evil Stepmother.  Contrary to what you may believe, my life is not all ravens and poisoned apples, and I'd actually argue that I'm more of a Passive Aggressive Stepmother than an evil one, which is undoubtedly a result of my Minnesota-Nice upbringing.  Because being an E.S.M. is not as easy as one would believe (unless you are, of course, evil, in which case I imagine it being as simple as snapping your fingers), I've decided to share my experiences with you, dear reader, and I hope you gain something from my stories- whether it be entertainment, understanding, or simply comfort in knowing that we all have struggles that make us feel isolated and alone.  

Let's start at the beginning. 

Once upon a time, I accidentally fell in love with an English gentleman named David.  I was not planning to fall in love with anyone for many years and barely even believed in the concept of true love or, rather, didn't believe it would ever happen to me.  But it did happen, and I turned my life upside down because of it.

You see, David is 29 years older than me.  I know, I know, you totally just imagined Hugh Hefner drinking bourbon in bed with a handful of naked Playmates, but it's not like that.  If I were a gold-digger, I'd have gone for the guy with the Bentley, but instead I fell for the warm-hearted Redcoat who, within a matter of months, became my best friend and biggest cheerleader (and I hope I'm doing a good job of returning the favor).  When I met David, I was preparing to move from Boston, where I'd lived for four years, back to my home in Minnesota, where I was planning to live with my BFFs (my family) and sensibly live happily ever after.  But things didn't go as planned and I chose instead to stay in Boston with David.  The reaction from my family and friends was really painful at first; most of them thought I was making the biggest mistake of my life and strongly advocated for me to break things off with David, but instead I made the very difficult decision to stay with him and alienate people who I loved and who loved me, too.  It was a dark and difficult time, but it was also a beautiful time, full of laughter and love.

Now, onto the E.S.M. part of the story:  David has two sons.  They are 21 and 24 years-old.  I am 24 years-old.  It's weird, right?  They see me as a peer, and I see them as children.  Back in Boston, David's sons would visit three or four times a year.  Upon their arrival, our small apartment would explode in piles of dirty clothes, misplaced wet towels and abandoned pizza boxes.  Suddenly the fridge was always empty, the television was always on and I'd be forced to work from the bedroom where I'd reenact that scene from The Grinch when he looks down on Whoville and complains, "All the noise, noise, Noise!!!" Those weeks were difficult.  I didn't need them to like me (though I wanted them to), but I needed them to respect me and I wanted David to fight for me- for us- in the same way I fought for him with my family.

I've mended relationships with many of the people I initially hurt by choosing to stay with David, and I've been incredibly blessed to have so many amazing and supportive people in my life.  When we decided to move to the UK, I knew the dynamics of our relationship would change, but I didn't realize how I'd react to certain behaviors, and how often I'd be guilty of comparing David's family to my own.

David and I only live with his youngest son, but we see the older one on a pretty regular basis, too.  In fact, he was here this weekend- came home at 5:47 AM on Sunday with two friends and then passed out in the bathroom for an hour before hauling himself into the bedroom to sleep on a naked mattress with the other two gents.  I know because I was woken by all the commotion and couldn't get back to sleep.  I have friends who behave like this, too, and when they tell me stories of passing out in bathrooms or sleeping in weird places I roll my eyes and laugh.  I'm a hypocrite because when David's sons behave like this, I have a panic attack that feels like cardiac arrest, lose my appetite for hours, and cry.  Cry all the time.  Mostly out of anger, but sometimes out of sadness.  I didn't sign up for this, I tell myself, I don't know what to do!  But I did sign up for it when I got married and now I need to work through it and find a solution. 

In high school I had a teacher who said something that has always stuck with me- it was a simple question but one that I ask myself often, especially in these days of introspection and turmoil: Can you manage for what you value?  Right now, I feel as if I cannot manage.  It is not my place to manage our household, it is David's, and it is my job to support him.  If I were to step in and say what I feel, I would immediately become The Evilest Stepmother Of Them All, and though I sometimes fantasize about that moment, I can't bring myself to wedge between David and his sons and make him choose between us.  This means I must compromise some things that I value- my privacy, my voice, and my ideals of how certain situations should be dealt with.  And then I must deal with the results of these compromises, which is feeling weak, angry, and isolated (and some bitchy behavior... which I need to rectify immediately).  I feel like I've been trying really hard but haven't really gotten anywhere.  I guess I need to try harder.  Try better.

One day, I hope the four of us can sit together over a meal and truly enjoy spending time together.  Maybe they'll have girlfriends or wives and children of their own, and together we can drink wine and laugh about these times.  I want that to happen so badly, I really really do.  The boys are good guys, I just don't know how to communicate with them and right now being an Evil Stepmother really super sucks.

I'll try not to be such a Debbie-Downer in this feature every week.   And I'll also try not to be so scattered.  I'm working through a lot of emotions right now and I don't know how to say things without sounding like a raging psycho, but I'll work on that.  Promise!  xxx

Okay, one more thing: Don't I look totally super ESM in that picture?  I actually dressed as an Evil Stepmother for Halloween last year, and this outfit (which I wore to work on a regular work day, collar and all... true story) inspired that costume.  Okay, donzo now.  For realz.