Unsunny Monday

WELL, it's Monday.

I got up this morning to go set our shower up for the day, and found the whole shower stall covered in blue splatters. The girl has dyed her hair blue-streaked again, and left the whole bathroom in disarray. It was time to pick the fight.

Fifteen to 20 minutes of screaming females and B was ready to hibernate in the garage forever. lol Integrating this little family has been difficult. The fight edged away from the blue shower and into why I don't spend enough time with the kids and she feels I spend too much time with B. I countered with the fact that she's never home to SPEND time with... but the truth is, she has a point. I've been feeling it for awhile, the torn-mother syndrome. I need to be cloned... No matter what I do, I feel like I'm neglecting someone.

But it's not just me. At the end of the argument, came more of the truth. All of her friends but one have dropped out of school over the last year. She and her BFF are the only ones left. Her social circle has shrunk to a dot. She, my social butterfly. I feel her frustration, and can only hug her. We agree to try to find common ground.

In the bedroom and later in the shower, B is quiet. His movements are shaky, slow and subdued. We pushed much too hard yesterday to finish all of our little projects, far past his reserve. He is fatigued to begin with, and then this bombshell this morning. He has heard all of the argument, standing outside the door listening to her incriminations of his love for me. I can feel it all over him. He radiates it. "No." I tell him. "Don't own this problem. It's not you." But I know he feels responsible.

He says "I never wanted to come between you and your children". And I know he's right, and she is right, and I am right, and somehow we are all right and all wrong and I don't know how to fix it. I want somewhere to find some common ground for us all to meet on, to come together. I need the kids to understand his limitations, without him feeling like a burden. I need him to feel like he belongs, rather than living on the fringe of my life, waiting for crumbs to fall from the table where my kids would eat like ravenous wolves if I let them.

But they are my children, flesh of my flesh. And they've been battered for so long by the conflict in this household. They need me... it was one of the primary reasons I got the divorce. The time for healing has become so short. They're both nearly gone.

But B is my soul-mate, my heart, my beloved. We will be together long after these children make their lives separately from our own. If we do not build this relationship, this foundation, strong and secure, we will be lost from the start. If there's anything I've learned, it is that. This relationship is far too precious to lose. And we're losing time... how much longer will B have these days when he feels well enough to do things?

So how do I make the compromise? How do I make everyone happy?

Dear God... please send me wisdom and understanding. And hold these hurting people in your hands.

Snow in the Sahara

AND so.... it's the end of March, and we woke this morning to quite a surprise. "What the BLINK!!" says B, peering out the lacy bedroom curtains.

"Mmmmm..." I murmur sleepily, already missing his warmth and cursing the fact that I forgot to put the coffee on when we went to bed once again. I drag my lazy heinie up to go peer out while he makes his morning ablutions. "Holy SHITE!" It's snowing... big fat fluffy flakes, piling up on about two inches of wet, completely covering the yard. It looks like December. Dismayed, I wonder about the twelve pots of pansies that I set out just yesterday, now buried somewhere under the drifts of white.

But, I have to admit, it's a cozy little sight, even though it means poor B has to go outside and tromp through the wet to get the paper. And he has, angel that he is, of course. Instead of curling up with the Sunday paper like usual, I put on some big ol biscuits for breakfast, so that he has something nice to come inside to when he comes in from his morning smoke.

Beautiful man... he's unshaven today, and it tickles me pink. In his leather jacket and stubble he looks like Harrison Ford, striding forth to go out and conquer the world, maybe save a few maidens. We have had such a good weekend this weekend. Dinner out with our coworkers on Friday evening, filled with laughs and beer and good times. A trip to the dump (my favorite place!) and a few lazy hours spent wandering at Home Depot. The kids quiet and occupied, and this morning, a fire in the fireplace, waiting for us to cuddle in front of.

Sheer bliss.

Royal City farm boy

B is feeling a little bit like Job this week. It's been rough. More bad news last night, of the devastating and unchangeable sort. The rotten part of it is that we had such a nice day at work. All I could do was hold him.

The plus side (if you can stretch enough to find a plus side amongst all the hard times) is that it's brought us closer together. I ran to town to buy him some smokes, and when I got home he was more than ready to call it a night. Ran out all the kids that didn't belong in the house, closed the shop down, and went to bed. He was lying there with a look in his eyes like a drowning man going down for the last time. I thought maybe I could hold him for a while, that we could make it all right for a time that way. And it was. But then we fell into something more, something earth-shattering... and it took me back to that first time, when I felt like I didn't exist anymore as a separate unit, that we had become one creature, mindless, breathing and moving in unison. I'm not sure if you would call it lovemaking or lifesaving, but whatever it was, it was a religious experience.

I call him "beautiful man", and he always says "I'm just an old Royal City farm boy". And in a way he is right, but what he doesn't understand is that he's so much more. I laid there last night after he fell asleep, listening to him breathe and thinking of all the stories he's told me. I wish I would have been able to meet his mother, to know the woman who shaped this man, who loved him and cherished him and brought him forth into the world as this wonderful creature, just to say "Thank you".

I know that people say this is the honeymoon period, but I can't imagine a time when this man will fail to astound me, to make me catch my breath as he walks into a room. I can't imagine what prompted God to send us to each other at this late stage in our lives, but I'm not about to argue. I'm so thankful for this, all of this.

On another tack, I've been keeping track on the PD bulletin board, lurking and listening to the other caregivers. Sometimes I feel like an imposter, and indeed, on the rare occasion that I post, they don't seem to take me seriously. I'm far from caregiving at this point. It's early in the game, compared to where those people are at. Their spouses have become patients to them, divested of all of the sharing that comes in a partnership. I know that some day B will be where some of their spouses are, but it is far on the horizon at this point. Still, I can see some small things here and there: a sleepy moment on a long car drive and a veer onto the shoulder strip; a momentary freeze while he was getting up from a long couch sit; the fatigue that hits him like a wrecking ball when things have been too stressful for too long. But for now, we're okay. I'm a hip to steady him in the shower, and arms to find solace in when it's too much.

And he is B, ever B. My beloved man. My beautiful, intelligent, charming farm boy, the keeper of my heart.

Deadly Sinning

CONFLICT seems to be the order of the week. We had another little go-round last night. This time, rather than retreat from my picking, he stood his ground and corrected me. This was good.

I had a moment of sheer karmic coherence when something I'd accused him of turned round and bit me myself. Suddenly, I had a moment of epiphany. I told him "I understand how you feel now. I am sorry." And lo and behold... we were able to connect. I think we communicated much more honestly last night than we have ever done before. We weren't afraid to tackle the issue head on.

It was good, it was healthy, and we worked it out. And making up was sweet, although I could feel the frustration still in his body when we made love. Thank God it seemed to be over by this morning.

___________________________

Today he's filling in for one of the girls at the front desk for lunch, so he's been instructed to dress up, since the public will see him. He's resplendent in his Dockers and a nice shirt. He takes my breath away. I am so proud.

It's hard to listen to all the girls talk about how nice he looks, and how they hope he does it often. I know jealousy's a sin, and I really don't believe it's anything more than flattery, but I see how they look at him, and I confess to being human. My God, who WOULDN'T want to stand next to this man and admire him?

How fortunate am I to be here.

Please don't let my insecurities ruin this singular and wonderful thing...

Bricks

We are
Choosing pieces
Building a wall
Between ourselves and
Those who would seek
to harm us
And we build it like so:

Bottom course: The foundation

Your body beside me in the night
Your warmth your skin
Our oneness
Concentrated in the middle of the bed
The sides are lonely: we do not pull away
And when you stir, I stir
Hand on hip, comforting
My face nestled deep
in that soft crook of your shoulder
Your thigh thrown protectively
Across mine
Entwined, we breath in unison
We laugh about it sometimes – how our
Bodies sync

Middle courses: The body

Our morning dance:
You outside for the paper
Laid so carefully on my armchair in
The spot you know I like to sit
In the mornings with a blanket
Me at the coffeepot
And your favorite cup
With the jot of water to cool it
Waiting for you as you pass by
I read the paper while
You rustle in the bathroom
And we meet up in the shower
Each taking our turn:
I turn on the water and
You collect the towels
And it is magic, our time here
And I am always floored
To see you naked and wet
Like an animated statue
Of some graven Roman god
With the tendrils of soapbubbles
Coursing down your chest
I wash your back you wash mine
You dry my back I dry yours
Savoring those moments
Of tactile care

Top course: The capstones

You scrape the windows
I fold the laundry
You shovel the walk
I iron your shirts
You grill the steaks
I make the side dishes
You run the shovel
I push the wheelbarrow
Seesaw
We are in balance.

The Keystone

We have come a long way, you and I
Walked on the coals of our lives
Our other lives
Belonging to those other people
Who are not who we are anymore
And bruised and broken
Hopeless
We found each other
And like two tiny vines
We twine round and round
Indistinguishable
unextinguishable
Until together we reach the sun.

Two Steps

and to this
it comes
that I lie here fallow
like a cornfield gone dry
and sighing with the wind
all good things harvested
leaving nothing but the bones.

and there
the analogy fails me
I can't attach any more
significance to myself in this state
other than that I
roil with this addiction
this hollow yearning for you.

and this time
we have had
has spoiled me
for loneliness. I can no longer
brook this bodily silence
this waiting to be filled
this held breath in the darkness.

because you
inside me
is two steps from heaven
two steps take me
from a half to two to one...
to one, to blissful one...
as quick as all that.

and two steps
is all that
we can muster, alone. we
fall together two pieces
of a greater whole
magnet to steel
inseparable.

and fall
we fall
eyes closed, swan dive
of faith into this greater thing
that we become together
need against need,
soul inside soul, entwined.

and then
we are one
anemone fingers gently waving
blindeyed with bliss
not wanting to surface
even to breathe. we
barnacle down for the long haul.

but yet
it comes
to this. alone, I am
alone. just one. a shell
waiting to be filled, a magnet
without its complement. here
I wait for you to
bring me to life again.

THIS was an early poem, when we were first together. I found it again today, read it, and know that it is still true, will still be true, forever.

Two steps, B; my heart, my soul, my love.

A long night's journey into morning

IT'S been a long night. Only four hours of uninterrupted sleep, due to teenager's crises and inconsideration. I came to bed angry last night, after having to get up innumerable times to put out fires. He takes me into his arms, in that way he has, that strong arm beneath my neck, tossing his thigh across mine horizontally until I am cradled securely into the safe place his body makes, and I snuggle gratefully into his embrace, face deep into the softness of his shoulder. And it melts away, as we sink into a dreamless sleep. I have only time to think "God, I love this man".

We are sleepy this morning, half toying with the idea of staying home, but we don't. I know the fatigue will be immensely hard on him today, and it angers me that my daughter gets up bubbly with stories of her fun last night when it has cost us so much. I want to be happy for her, but I can't this morning.

But there is the morning routine, comforting, close... blissful. We will survive.

Slipperless

And there it is -
you
only you
and it feels like
it has always been thus – only you.
You are the sun around which
my small and lonely planet orbits
you are the healing rain
on the stretching branchlets
of this newborn tree.
And I want to go calm into this
pallid day -
this
unfeeling sunshine smiling stupidly while
the people walk by
talking their unimportant talk
doing their unimportant important things
but all I can feel
underneath this love is fear
that we are late to this banquet
and the dancing has commenced
and I am Cinderella on the dancefloor
frantically waltzing
while the damn clock ticks
inexorably
beneath the blanket we’ve thrown atop it
and I am melting melting
because this heartbeat
beneath my ear
is all I want to hear for the rest of my life
but I hear the damn pumpkin
and those cursed horses
stamping at the end of the drive
and if Death comes early –
the cheating bastard –
I will tear him to pieces with these
manicured nails
and spin you one more time -
once more –
eyes closed, face buried in that
strong warm chest
your hair, your arms, your good smell
all around me
until my fingers have memory
and I can taste you in my dreams.

Spring planting

HE tells me this morning "We need to plant the peas soon." It is a beautiful day. Clear, bright, twentyish. Full of promise, this Tuesday in March in spring.

He's right, of course. It's time for planting. I imagine his fingers: long, strong and tanned, they are pianist's fingers; buried deep in the earth. Tending the tiny vines, with only his faith to sustain them, like he sustains my fractious heart.

We argued last night, we hug this morning like drowning sailors clinging to a pylon. And the sun comes out, enough to warm the soil.

It's time for planting.