Positive

Positive.

That word always meant Good. All of the sudden, it meant Not Good. Apparently, the nurse on the other end had explained this enough times to silly young teens in the past. She reiterated the test results and what that meant.

I felt like the world was going to end.

I was suddenly afraid to death of telling my mom because, for sure, she was going to beat the shit out of me when I told her. That's what was going through my mind as I put the receiver down at the phone booth across from the counseling center. My friend Holly was standing next to me with her usual goofy hopeful smile. She saw my face and knew the answer. I don't remember anything but her hugs and reassurance. The warning bell rang and she was off to her next class. I wished I could just go to class with her. Instead, I turned and walked straight into the counseling center and into Mr. Aleman's office. He was used to me just plopping myself in the seat in front of his desk. He was my surrogate father and he knew it. I looked around his office at all the familiar items. The poster of kids climbing a jungle gym with something about wouldn't it be great if the military had to have bake sales to raise funds for weapons. I looked over at the tiny hoop and net attached to his trash can that some kid made for him in metal shop. I looked at anything I could before I finally looked at him. I couldn't stop crying. Before I could tell him, he knew. He had years of dealing with fatherless teen girls. His shoulders slumped as he half stated, half asked, "You're pregnant?" I lost it.

I was seventeen. I was smart. I was nice. I was kinda popular. And I was pregnant.

I keep hearing snarky comments about Bristol Palin. I read all over the internet all the ugliness about her situation. I keep wondering if Bristol is as afraid of her new responsibilities as I was. And then I wonder how much scarier and possibly more humiliating life must be for her than it was for me. It took all my strength to show up day after day to complete the final semester of school before graduation. But I did it. I can only imagine how difficult it is for Bristol to hold her head up knowing that the snickers aren't just coming from classmates and neighbors but from judgmental men and women all over the state and the rest of the US.

"What did your mom say?"

That was the first question I got from all of my friends. The tone in their voices was compassionate... not at all judgmental. I think they were probably putting themselves in my shoes in thinking about how their parents might have reacted. They knew that my mom was strict and a bit *ahem* grumpy, so they weren't really surprised when I told them about the ride in the car when she yelled and yelled at me about how I had ruined my life. In retelling our "conversations" to my friends, I kept out her screams of how I had embarrassed her and how was she going to explain this to my dad and how she had failed... She was so angry and humiliated. That made the whole situation worse. Not only was I going to have to bear the responsibility of becoming a mother, and not only was I going to have to live with the shame on a daily basis as the "evidence" of my dalliance grew and grew... I was now also fully responsible for my mother's feelings of failure.

I hated myself.

I wonder, again... how must that poor seventeen-year-old, Bristol feel? Does she feel like she's humiliating her mom? Will marrying the boyfriend make it all better? As much as I enjoy good political back and forth, I wish all the "journalists" out there would just let Bristol fade into the background. She has enough to deal with. Like that too young boyfriend-slash-husband of hers. And maybe the judgers and haters should do what my friends did for me... put themselves in Bristol's shoes... and just let this little side story go away.

And maybe focus on the issues.

...

This is not really a political post. It's a former-teen-mom-sticking-up-for-another-teen-mom post. Any "haters" will be taken out back and beaten with a switch by my mom. Don't laugh, Dude... she's scary with a stick!

AND, let me just say this in no way is a statement that the beautiful daughter that came of the teen pregnancy is anything less than an awesome kid who I love love love very much. Nothing negative there...

Change

This popped up on Twitter today. "change is amazing. change motivates. scares. inspires. forces growth. requires thought. what other concept rules lives so completely?"

Indeed.

I once heard a fashion-minded psychologist say that people who liked wearing stripes enjoyed change. I loved stripes. What girl in the 80s didn't? And when I was a Power Mama, I loved wearing my pin-striped suits. Always felt in charge! I still enjoy a subtle tone-on-tone stripe for fun. But I do not like change.

Well... maybe I do... I don't know... let me think here...

Okay wait... I changed my mind. I do like change. I don't like radical scary change. Like aliens coming down and rearranging my life so that it no longer resembles the one I was dreaming about before waking up. I don't like when good friends move too far away because their husband changes jobs. I don't like when control freaks change the rules by which the rest of us were just playing nicely. Those are jolting changes. Those are uncomfortable and don't inspire anything.

What about the change that motivates us to grow? That can be scary, too.

Late last year, my husband, The Pilot and I separated. It was ugly. But it was good. Now, we are changing again. Not changing back... but hopefully changing for the better. We are slowly reforming our relationship, setting new rules and standards by which we plan to live. That change is also good. There are some old habits that we are both clinging to. That's where we are going to need outside help. Agreeing to the when and how is our current challenge. The fact that it is being discussed shows that we are changing forward... but that we still need to tread lightly...

You know what? Do you want to hear my Dirty Little Secret? The one I think The Pilot is pretty aware of? I really got used to being alone. I mean, yes, it's hard being a single mom. It's just one challenge after another. And answering questions about the husband is only part of the agony. (Ask my good friend, Naomi about those annoying questions... I'm the Little Voice In Her Head, or something like that...) But in the midst of difficult questions and all the confusion, there were things that I really began to enjoy. Not checking in with someone about a possible schedule conflict. Picking out girly colors for the room. Wearing something pretty just for me. These are all things I'm going to hang on to, regardless of the outcome. I guess being apart reminded me about who this girl named Sugar was. And I began to miss her. And there's a lot of stuff that I'm not willing to lose again.

Being alone also meant that I didn't have to worry about rejection, real or imagined.

The Pilot wasn't always wanting to join me for stuff. I always wondered if... if he would go on a hike with me... if he would schedule time off for special days of the year... if he would want to sit quietly with me as we sipped a cup of coffee read the morning news. I used to get so depressed when my invitations were met with indifference. This time alone made me really look at that unnatural reliance on another person... looking to someone to "complete" me. It hit me hard one day. I remember being up on the most thought clearing hike, thinking, "Now, why is it that I always begged him to come out with me?" I was thoroughly enjoying the quiet time alone. It didn't even bother me when a couple walked past me in the opposite direction. It would have last year. But I realized that although they may have been enjoying the hike together, I was enjoying the solitude... a lot! Then I thought, The Pilot likes fishing... he doesn't think I don't care about him if I don't go with him. Every now and then, we do go out on a boat together and we enjoy it. Most of the time, though, he's like Opey with a pole looking for a fishing hole. He doesn't need me to fish with him. Why did I need him to hike with me? That was a big epiphany for me. Silly, I know... but I can't tell you the relief I felt at that moment, right there on the trail.

So now we are semi-living together. He still keeps his Spare Room rented just in case I need to kick him to the curb. Just in case things don't change in the right direction. Eventually, I suppose he'll either move in and get rid of the Spare Room... or he won't. We'll have to take it... (do I need to say it)

... one day at a time.

...

Lyrics that make me think...

I took my love, I took it down
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
till the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail thru the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life

Well, Ive been afraid of changing
cause Ive built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Children get older
Im getting older too

Oh, take my love, take it down
Climb a mountain and turn around
If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide will bring it down

If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well maybe the landslide will bring it down

Sorry to call so late...

The Message:

"Sorry to call so late, but I was wondering if you were available to babysit. My husband and I are going out to celebrate our eight year anniversary tonight. It was really two days ago but he was out of town. He bumped his flight back a half a day and got in at 11:00 that night so that we could still see each other on the actual day, but that didn't leave us any time for dinner. And last night, well, he was still on Central time so we barbecued with the kids at 4:00. So that brings us to tonight. So I was hoping, if you don't have anything going on, I'd really appreciate it if the kids could come over for a bit. The restaurant is just around the corner from your house and we'll bring some dessert... Call me back."

The Return Call:

"Aren't you guys still separated?"

Yeah... I get that a lot.

While my husband and I are still separated, we are dating. And because we are married, there's no guilt in having sex. (I'm a recovering Catholic, what can I say?) Aside from not falling for bullshit lies that get told when you're dating, the other big bonus is that he really really likes my kids! There are some important things that need to be ironed out before we can make any big changes towards a full reconciliation, if that's even the way this will all play out. But hey...

one day at a time.

...

Happy Anniversary, Fly Boy. I love you.

...

Still foggy in here...

It's been a week since Day One at BlogHer and I am finally back into reality mode. Not an easy thing, let me tell you.

I'm feeling a lot of feelings right now. And since all of my therapy money went to my trip to San Francisco for BlogHer, I'm just laying it all here. You lucky reader, you...

I really wish I would have stayed at the St. Francis. Not because it's such a beautiful hotel or because I wanted to be able to just walk downstairs to the sessions. I wish I wouldn't have spent nearly as much time with my sister as I had... and it was pretty limited time. It was awkward. I realize now that I just can't be around her. It hurts too much. I'm upset that she's the only other kid that lived through life with me and doesn't have any desire to talk about it without being hurtful and sarcastic. I'm also upset with her for her snarky jabs and then getting all exasperated like I'm the one that did something wrong when I finally had to jab her back. Sorry, but stupid questions and being talked down to kinda do that to me! I had to summon all of my decency in order to just give her one of those two-pat-man-hugs at the airport. I couldn't walk away fast enough. Well, I was late for my flight, so I had to walk fast... but you get what I mean, don't you?

While I was up there, my kids were all here. All of them. Even the one that doesn't talk to me. I invited her, but I have a feeling, that was all being planned before my gracious invitation. I'm still trying to get all the stories straight about how my hand-blown glass humingbird feeder met its demise or why my furniture looks like it's sitting on a slant. I also reached for a mug only to find it missing. I already said what I needed to say. I think my words were heard. I'm not sure how they were processed on the other end, but that's not my deal. What happened was that I let them all know that I was disappointed. The reactions were that they didn't think I should be upset. Apparently, the mere fact that they were helping me out means that anything that was broken or missing or misspoken would be forgiven.

Ummm... no.

If I'm watching your cat and it dies because it jumped out a three story window because I let him play there and then I said Ooops, sorry, but don't be mad, cause I was watching your cat for you... is that okay? No. Or how is it that you can wash all of YOUR mugs without breaking them, but come over to my house and all of the sudden you have some crazy, mysterious hand problem that prevents you from holding MY mug without letting it drop? Huh, Mom? Or if you are going to partake in my home and all the amenities, have the decency to respond to an email that asks if you had a nice time and that I hope you were comfortable here... even though you won't visit when I AM here.

I'm also still heaving out the last of the fog trapped in my lungs. I get this weird temporary asthma whenever I breathe in moist air, which is usually daily living so close to the coast. That was part of the reason I moved further inland when the pilot and I sold our house and separated. I need dry, people! DRY! I'm thinking I'm going to take a trip out to the Grand Canyon. It's so beautiful there... so big... so amazing... we went there for lunch last year. Yep. Just for lunch. The life of a pilot's wife is kinda weird like that.

Am I still a pilot's wife? hmmm...

We are "celebrating" our Eight Year Anniversary next week. He'll be in Texas on the actual day. That's another thing I've become accustomed to. Before you feel sorry for me, I have to say that I understand that it's only a date. Some random numbers on a calendar. I'd much rather have our lives be sane and joyful than to celebrate artificially on a specific date. Does that make sense? So, I'm picking him up from the airport two days later. We're going to dinner from there. Downtown San Diego is always a lot of fun, so it should be nice. I'm really looking forward to some time alone with him. But from there, what? We've been talking about moving back in together, but I think we're both a little scared. I know I am. This Texas thing is nice. He's been away for ten days. I've had some fun in The City. But now, we go back to real life.

And it's all still just a little foggy to me...

...