Medicated

I started a new medication for sleep. I can't disclose what it is because I don't want to be categorized into a certain type of person, but I can tell you that I AM SLEEPING!

I am sleeping so well that I'm becoming optimistic about the future! Before, I would always think, "How can I look forward to this event/activity when I don't know if I'll be dog tired or just a little tired." I was living a life of fear. Fear of being exhausted. I believe that this same fear was holding me back in relationships. In fact, I know it was.

But not any more. I went to the city yesterday and had a packed day of fighting traffic, navigating from the deepest part of the Mission to the outermost tip of North Beach, and expecting my body to cooperate through a two hour advanced yoga class and a three hour pilates intensive course. No problem. I knew that I was improved when I threw away my half consumed latte because I felt like I'd had enough. I was awake. And more important, I was present.

Yesterday was a shining example of how I can live my life. I feel like the biggest, wettest and darkest blanket has just been lifted off of every part of me and it feels terrific!

Concessions

I sent my stepmom a card. I told her that she threw a beautiful party for my dad and that I didn't know what happened with the two of us. I told her that Ben started school and that his new teacher shares her name. I told her that he started soccer and that he loves it. I didn't tell her that I was sorry. Because I'm not.

But I do want to move past this feeling of unease; this feeling that the future with my dad and his wife is so uncertain. I knew one of us needed to make a move.

My dad called about a week after I sent the card and after a few moments of small talk, he said, "Here, Teresa wants to talk with you."

She got on the phone. "Hi honey. Thanks for the card. We've been really busy. How's Ben? I hope we can see him soon."

And that was that. Peace restored. At least for now.

Produce

Given my new-found love of Latin men, I've begun to stalk the cute Hispanic guy who brings the great peaches, nectarines and grapes to our local farmer's markets. Anyone need any fresh fruit?

I think it started last year when I began to frequent his booth at our neighborhood farmer's market. He was always super friendly and sweet and I thought he was cute.

Now, after actually having some good Latino experience, I'm absolutely swooning over the produce guy.

Yesterday, after teaching yoga, I made a bee-line for our local market to seek out his juicy Latin-ness
fruit. The fruit was so good that I packed Ben up this morning and headed downtown to
flirt my ass off
pick up 3 pounds of grapes.

He mumbled something to me in Spanish. I can't be sure but I think it may have been along the lines of: "Lose the kid and meet me back here in 30 minutes when the market closes."

Thank God for year-round farmer's markets and abundant Central Valley crops

and hot Latin men who look every bit as delicious as the succulent peaches they are vending! Why do I have this sense that Shopping Shelley is reading this and calling me crazy, while planning a trip to the market next weekend just to see me in action?!

Tired

I am beyond tired. I didn't think it was possible to be this exhausted.

What is with my mind waking up every single cell of my body at 2am just to inform every last piece of me, that yes, it is hard to be a single mother, pilates instructor, roommate to a 66-year-old, perpetual dater, unconditional friend, and daughter who alternates good sheep/bad sheep roles depending on which way the wind is blowing.

WTF?

Maybe it's the late working nights that are becoming more and more frequent, maybe it's the choppy part of our days since Ben's school is now further away, maybe it's the simple fact that things seems so damn unsettled.

At any rate, I'm waiting - quite impatiently, I might add - for some insights from my new doctor and for some really good pills that can knock me out until next Tuesday. At this point, I'd take just a simple and straight block of 7 hours. Please?

Retaliating

The stepmonster strikes again. The mystery of the missing tribute has been solved. She took it.

My dad called this weekend, while she was away, and with some regret in his voice, told me that he had just found my tribute among HER things, and had just read it. "I loved it," he said. "Thank you."

He went on to try and explain her crazy behavior: "She has some issues, some deep seeded issues with you and your sister. I can't explain them."

Well, duh! She's had some issues since the minister pronounced her wife to my dad and she suddenly inherited two stepdaughters who wanted nothing more than to love her and to accept her (which we did, quite well, I might add). She, meanwhile, saw us as threats to her beloved husband, became insanely jealous and began a horrible cycle of triangulating, which works like this:

1. She talks to me about my sister.
2. She talks to my sister about me.
3. She talks to my dad about BOTH of us (not kindly)

I think she's at her happiest when there is more drama unfolding than what you'd find on any given episode of "Days of our Lives."

As for me, I'm glad that my dad broke his silence and circled back around. He also expressed some disappointment over not having opportunities to do regular family stuff with us, like impromptu family dinners and weekend BBQs.

I, in turn, feel sad about that too. But I can only make so many trips to see him. He's never even seen my remodeled yoga studio and the last celebration that he attended here was for Ben's first birthday.

At any rate, my heart is a little bit lighter, not quite as heavy as it was in August. I'll probably never know unconditional love from my dad and I've already written off that possibility with his wife but I'll take the little bits and pieces he throws my way. And I'll be grateful for those, however small they may be.

Bummed

My dad never commented on the tributes that my sister and I wrote for him and then left for him at his birthday party (since we never actually had an opportunity to read them to him). In fact, he hasn't commented on much of anything lately since he won't return my calls. Or emails.

It's a very sad position to be in when you relentlessly call your parent for approval, love, whatever...and the parent can't reciprocate. Or at least return your phone calls. Or your emails.

So you decide to use your cute child as leverage and you email an update with pictures from the first day of school and news of soccer starting. Yet, nothing.

You wonder how long this is going to last. You start to think that therapy might be in your future. You lose some sleep. You just don't know what the fuck to think.

But what you do know is this: You won't be the kind of parent to Ben that your dad is to you. No matter what Ben might do to fail you or to disappoint you, you'll always be there for him. You'll call him back if he wants to talk. You'll read his emails and you'll also text him. You'll be there for him. And he'll never doubt that. Not for one single minute.

Cycle

I posted this entry on the wrong 'effing blog initially. On my business blog, no less. This is the problem with maintaining more than one blog!

My ex-husband lives his life in a pattern. It goes something like this:

Meet a girl.
Get serious with said girl.
Circle back to me and announce that he wants to get back together.
Cause major insecurity on the part of the new girlfriend.

And so it goes. We've been doing this dance for the last three years. I've (almost) become used to it. It's the same cycle; as predictable as the German train.

So it should have been no surprise when our conversation, while doing a "Ben swap" took this turn:

Me: "I need to ask you something. But I can't remember what it is. Shoot, my memory is seriously going...what the heck did I need to ask you?"

Kevin: "That you want to know if I'll marry you again? I would, you know."

Then he gives me a long, deep look.

At which point I roll my eyes and tell him to take Ben and let me start my weekend.

I am always surprised when he drops this bomb. Admittedly, I do start thinking to myself, "What would that be like? Really?" And then I have to re-program my mind and my heart, once again.

Something tells me we'll be spiraling in this vortex of regrets and "what ifs" for a very, very long time.