Today, December 21st, the thing I feared has come to pass.
No, not the apocalypse (ask me that again in 6,700 A.D. when I am a brain in a jar). But it might just as well have been.
On the ride to school this morning, out of nowhere, Mina said, "I don't believe in Santa Claus."
Nick shot me a look, glad we were at a red light, aware that we may have crashed otherwise, as my jaw hit the brake on its way to the floorboard.
Unable to process it, my eyes flicked up to the mirror and her imperious little face, all smug with grown up knowledge. And my heart broke a little.
"What?" I choked.
M: "I don't believe in Santa Claus."
R: "Well, how do you get all those presents then?"
M: "You."
Damn. As much as I would like to take credit, the whole point of Santa is to give selflessly. I could buy her a gift (if money allowed) just about at any time. But there is joy in a gift that is given with no social ties attached. No competition, no consideration of reward or credit. I love Santa for being bigger than parents and sparents and family; he is the spirit of giving, kindness, generosity. He is a symbol that we can point to and say, This is what is right in this often broken world. And I tried my best to explain that to her.
R: "Well, it's up to you if you believe in him or not. But I believe in Santa Claus."
N: "Me too."
Mina's eyes narrowed, as if she sensed that we were pulling her leg. "Why?"
R: "Because he isn't just about bringing presents. He is the spirit of kindness and generosity. Even if you can't see him, he affects how we behave -- he shows us how to live better, gentler lives. After all, lots of things you can't see affect you. Anger, sadness, kindness, love, generosity -- you can't touch one of them, but they can greatly change how you live."
Mina's grown-up superiority settled back onto her face as she arched her eyebrows. Smugly, she pointed out, "Those are all emotions."
R: "Yes. And emotions greatly affect how people act and live. It was kindness, love and generosity that made Nick and I open our home to you and gave you and your mommy and sister a place to live. It was anger and sadness in your father's heart that made him hurt your mommy. None of us act without a reason, and often that reason is an emotion. Do you understand?"
Her little lips puckered in the way that they do when she is thinking very hard.
R: "Anyway, whatever you believe, I believe in Santa Claus. Because kindness and generosity are so important to me, and they are real too even if we can't touch them or see them, and I love him for inspiring us all to be kind and giving."
Nick reached over and held my hand. "I love Santa Claus too."
And then we had a little talk about not arguing for his nonexistence when other people talk about Santa, because Santa Claus means so much to some people. By the time we got to school, we had discussed Frosty the Snowman, and she was singing her own little made-up Christmas Carol after Nick and I belted out a few lines from "We Need a Little Christmas".
I don't know if I convinced her to believe again, but I hope I helped her believe in why we all need Santa Claus.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Auntie Mame
I have been more than a little bah-humbug this Christmas season. Beyond the big changes at home and at work (which has drained my introverted self or, at the least, deprived me of my recharge time), it is the first Christmas in 7 years without Yaya. I don't need to say much more on that, do I?
I am scrambling to play Santa, while the father of the youngest two girls is uncommunicative and actively unhelpful planning for Christmas gifts. I am not even sure when the girls will be home... if I knew for sure, then I could plan to hit up post Christmas sales to extend my dollars and get more gifts for them. Of course, Asshole Father delights in complicating things, so it's just as likely they will somehow wind up at my house unexpectedly on Christmas morning, hoping for a mountain of gifts from Santa that The Asshole told them would be there. He has a history of emotionally abusing them to cause April pain. And of course he missed his child support payment this month, so April is using her birthday money to get gifts for the girls... noble but not fair. Looking forward to the day we can tell him to screw off forever. The lesson in this is that it is extremely hard to be a single mother, even with support from others.
So with all that in mind, when "We Need a Little Christmas" came on the radio, I instantly knew it would be my theme song for this year. It has sad lyrics but an upbeat tempo, recognizing the reality of less than ideal circumstances while reaching for the joy and healing Christmas can bring. Fitting, no? At the time, I did not know it was from the Auntie Mame musical, having never seen it, nor the movie, nor read the book. A little Wikipedia hunt later that day, and I have fallen for Auntie Mame's ideology. Because she seems to be the prototype of what I call a sparent (though the boy was orphaned), her vivacious embrace of life and true living speaks to me on a fundamental level. On my best days, I think I have behaved similarly: odd and weird, but electric and infectious, in tune with a larger reality than the small, self-limiting lives people often live. At least that is the romantic view of my poetic self. Either way, I am glad to have found a role model for my sparent self in literature. I feel a little less lonely, which is mostly what I needed to shake off the bah-humbugs.... Asshole Father notwithstanding.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Helpless as a Kitten
My heart sank when I saw April's pictures on Facebook. A tiny gray, cream-dappled kitten, sitting on my front bench in one shot; curled up on the deflated Rankin-and-Bass-style Rudolph lawn decoration in the other.
I immediately commented, "This cat is just hanging around OUTSIDE the house, right?"
April replied, "yeah, we didn't take it inside, it's just chillin'."
A small sigh of relief. Didn't need another mouth to feed. Probably a neighbor's kitten, out exploring. Of course, that night, with temperatures in the 30's, it ran out of nowhere and was nearly hit by my husband's van. A quick scoop and two melted hearts later, the kitten was resting in my dog's kennel, relocated to my nieces' bedroom, waiting to be discovered by the girls when they woke up in the morning. Nick and I had no idea what we were going to do -- try to integrate it into our household, keep it in my nieces' little apartment, or find a home or shelter. But for now, everyone was safe and warm and well-fed, and it seemed that would be good enough.
I put out of my mind, which I unfortunately found easier to do, because of the Sandy Hook shooting. I couldn't leave work early, but it shook me to my core. You can't read about the death of children and not be affected in some way. But with the recent break-in at my house, and with the school so similar to Mina's, her being just in second grade... how easily it could have been her. I knew my grief, so distant to the tragedy, was only a pale shadow to the anguish of each parent or sibling in Newtown. But I felt on the edge of drowning, regardless. Walking home from the bus stop was a tremendous effort. I fought collapsing to the ground, as melodramatic as it sounds; it was as if this had opened the floodgate on deeper grief, dark despair I had relegated to the future, knowing I needed to deal with it someday, but couldn't afford to deal with it right then. But Newtown made that someday become right now.
I brushed off my nieces after a tight hug. Knowing they were safe did nothing to help. I knew from recent events that being home was no guarantee of safety. I keenly felt how out of my control everyone's safety was, that however diligent I was, I never could guarantee they would be safe. Hugging them exacerbated my panic; I wondered, reflexively, when it would be that I would hug them for the last time, and not know it was the last.
I was deflating quickly, and made it to the bed just in time for all my bones to liquify. I will admit, I wallowed. I dragged forward scenes and situations, emotions and dark terrible thoughts that I had pushed back for a few months and let it hollow me out.
I had hoped I might at least feel empty afterward, but half an hour of crying, for yourself and your faults and the broken, horrible world, is hardly enough to feel everything, let alone heal from it. I just came away thinking about immense suffering, and how I could never fix it all, and I felt ashamed for my helplessness, and I grieved.
I heard the kitten mewing from across the hall, and as my nieces were in the living room, I let myself in, and scooped up the kitten who would be named Luma. She lavished me with purrs, and kneaded with tiny prickling claws, and she suckled at my fingertips, and licked at my nose, and let me cradle her like a baby and gently rest my forehead on hers as she slept. I had a thought which could be dangerous, but comforted me nonetheless. I do what I can; I can help this kitten, and my nieces, and my sister in law, and I can write, and give some peace and hope in writing. I put the kitten to bed in the kennel, and went back to my Fantasy Children's Book, which is, in the end, the only way I have of conveying the Big Truths to my nieces; which is the point of ANY fairy tale, really. As Neil Gaiman said, Make Good Art. I will try.
I immediately commented, "This cat is just hanging around OUTSIDE the house, right?"
April replied, "yeah, we didn't take it inside, it's just chillin'."
A small sigh of relief. Didn't need another mouth to feed. Probably a neighbor's kitten, out exploring. Of course, that night, with temperatures in the 30's, it ran out of nowhere and was nearly hit by my husband's van. A quick scoop and two melted hearts later, the kitten was resting in my dog's kennel, relocated to my nieces' bedroom, waiting to be discovered by the girls when they woke up in the morning. Nick and I had no idea what we were going to do -- try to integrate it into our household, keep it in my nieces' little apartment, or find a home or shelter. But for now, everyone was safe and warm and well-fed, and it seemed that would be good enough.
I put out of my mind, which I unfortunately found easier to do, because of the Sandy Hook shooting. I couldn't leave work early, but it shook me to my core. You can't read about the death of children and not be affected in some way. But with the recent break-in at my house, and with the school so similar to Mina's, her being just in second grade... how easily it could have been her. I knew my grief, so distant to the tragedy, was only a pale shadow to the anguish of each parent or sibling in Newtown. But I felt on the edge of drowning, regardless. Walking home from the bus stop was a tremendous effort. I fought collapsing to the ground, as melodramatic as it sounds; it was as if this had opened the floodgate on deeper grief, dark despair I had relegated to the future, knowing I needed to deal with it someday, but couldn't afford to deal with it right then. But Newtown made that someday become right now.
I brushed off my nieces after a tight hug. Knowing they were safe did nothing to help. I knew from recent events that being home was no guarantee of safety. I keenly felt how out of my control everyone's safety was, that however diligent I was, I never could guarantee they would be safe. Hugging them exacerbated my panic; I wondered, reflexively, when it would be that I would hug them for the last time, and not know it was the last.
I was deflating quickly, and made it to the bed just in time for all my bones to liquify. I will admit, I wallowed. I dragged forward scenes and situations, emotions and dark terrible thoughts that I had pushed back for a few months and let it hollow me out.
I had hoped I might at least feel empty afterward, but half an hour of crying, for yourself and your faults and the broken, horrible world, is hardly enough to feel everything, let alone heal from it. I just came away thinking about immense suffering, and how I could never fix it all, and I felt ashamed for my helplessness, and I grieved.
I heard the kitten mewing from across the hall, and as my nieces were in the living room, I let myself in, and scooped up the kitten who would be named Luma. She lavished me with purrs, and kneaded with tiny prickling claws, and she suckled at my fingertips, and licked at my nose, and let me cradle her like a baby and gently rest my forehead on hers as she slept. I had a thought which could be dangerous, but comforted me nonetheless. I do what I can; I can help this kitten, and my nieces, and my sister in law, and I can write, and give some peace and hope in writing. I put the kitten to bed in the kennel, and went back to my Fantasy Children's Book, which is, in the end, the only way I have of conveying the Big Truths to my nieces; which is the point of ANY fairy tale, really. As Neil Gaiman said, Make Good Art. I will try.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
A Survey of Our Tangled Family and a Tangent
I realize that my family situation, while not wholly unique, takes quite a bit of explanation for people to understand the complex web of interpersonal connections. For instance, when I say "my kid," I'm really referring to one of my nieces, most likely Yaya, the 8 year old. That's why I love calling myself a "sparent." I'm much more involved than the typical aunt, and that connection must be communicated.
Yaya was abandoned by her mother, my husband's adopted sister, as a baby. My mother-in-law has custody; her father and father's family are not in the picture. I lived with her as a caregiver for five years of her life, until this past fall, when my mother-in-law's divorce went through and she moved several states away. (Other factors in the move were to safeguard my niece from harm from her biological mother, who is -- take my word for it please -- a dangerous person.) From all that, it doesn't sound like I ought to be very involved with her, but I honestly believe she is the daughter I was meant to have. She is not an easy child to love, but I do, unconditionally; and I cannot tell you how excited I am that, with all the time I spent with her intensively, like an older sister might, that she shares my interests in video games and writing. For most of her life, I was her playmate and mentor and comforter and the person she asked the Big Questions. If ever any child possessed a piece of my heart, she has it. Which makes her recent relocation more than a day's drive away difficult to me. We are still trying to work out communication. Texting helps, but I wish I could be there for her in a more concrete and constant way. For both our sakes'.
My husband's younger sister-in-law, also adopted and mother to the 4 year old Ollie and 7 year old Mina, escaped an abusive relationship with Mina's father. Despite going to prison for domestic violence, despite kidnapping the girls at one point -- we live in Texas; and it's damn near impossible to terminate parental rights here. So he has visitation, which keeps him in my sister-in-law's life, unfortunately. The entanglement of two lives who are joined by a child's is impossible to avoid. Because we live in a major metropolitan center, finding a spot in pre-K is difficult, so for now Ollie is at home with April. The child-care costs are prohibitive, hampering April's employment. But she does an amazing job helping around the house and supporting my husband and I in other ways. Oh, should mention -- April and her daughters moved in with us a couple of months ago. Having children and a boyfriend who wouldn't let you have a job put April and her children in a situation where they were going to be homeless, so we opened our doors to them. It is still a new household arrangement, with lots of kinks to work out; but I have faith in everyone involved that, as long as we remember first and foremost our love for each other, that we can work out any problem. So far, it is difficult on finances and there are a hundred small stresses that build up to a heavy load; but at the end of the day, I know what we are doing is right, April helps as much as she can, and I love my younger nieces fiercely. If I am sacrificing, it is to a worthy cause. I know, at the end of the day, they are safe, well-fed, and taken care of. After the kidnapping... well, I am grateful for this new life. It is hard, but so much more preferable to the other. You really do not know fear until you do not know where your kid is.
To wrap up this survey of our tangled little family, there is my father in law, currently engaged to who will become his second wife; my new puppy, Reggie, brought in to our family after a break-in; my two cats, Sam and Peach, and my husband's, Juji, a recent transplant we were fostering. There is, of course, me, Roxy, the writer, whose day job is at a foreign media company, and my husband, Nick, a musician and assistant manager at a well-loved bookstore. A writer and a bookseller, a musician and a media company employee... we compliment each other very well. If there is a lesson beyond the importance of sparenting in a world where 40 percent of children are born out of wedlock, it is that a solid marriage is essential to a harmonious family life. Which is why I believe in gay marriage. If you are able to find a true partner, true love, true passion, someone who will help you through the worst moments of your life and help you achieve your dreams, who can remind you to reach for the stars from the bottom of a deep, dark pit of despair... how could anyone deny you, based on the fact that you both have the same gender? True love is rare, precious, and a good marriage even more so. There should be no barrier to two people achieving this, if it be possible between them. Denying them that -- THAT is the real sin.
Well... I better wrap this up before this tangent becomes six paragraphs comparing the war against gay marriage to the war against interracial marriage...
Yaya was abandoned by her mother, my husband's adopted sister, as a baby. My mother-in-law has custody; her father and father's family are not in the picture. I lived with her as a caregiver for five years of her life, until this past fall, when my mother-in-law's divorce went through and she moved several states away. (Other factors in the move were to safeguard my niece from harm from her biological mother, who is -- take my word for it please -- a dangerous person.) From all that, it doesn't sound like I ought to be very involved with her, but I honestly believe she is the daughter I was meant to have. She is not an easy child to love, but I do, unconditionally; and I cannot tell you how excited I am that, with all the time I spent with her intensively, like an older sister might, that she shares my interests in video games and writing. For most of her life, I was her playmate and mentor and comforter and the person she asked the Big Questions. If ever any child possessed a piece of my heart, she has it. Which makes her recent relocation more than a day's drive away difficult to me. We are still trying to work out communication. Texting helps, but I wish I could be there for her in a more concrete and constant way. For both our sakes'.
My husband's younger sister-in-law, also adopted and mother to the 4 year old Ollie and 7 year old Mina, escaped an abusive relationship with Mina's father. Despite going to prison for domestic violence, despite kidnapping the girls at one point -- we live in Texas; and it's damn near impossible to terminate parental rights here. So he has visitation, which keeps him in my sister-in-law's life, unfortunately. The entanglement of two lives who are joined by a child's is impossible to avoid. Because we live in a major metropolitan center, finding a spot in pre-K is difficult, so for now Ollie is at home with April. The child-care costs are prohibitive, hampering April's employment. But she does an amazing job helping around the house and supporting my husband and I in other ways. Oh, should mention -- April and her daughters moved in with us a couple of months ago. Having children and a boyfriend who wouldn't let you have a job put April and her children in a situation where they were going to be homeless, so we opened our doors to them. It is still a new household arrangement, with lots of kinks to work out; but I have faith in everyone involved that, as long as we remember first and foremost our love for each other, that we can work out any problem. So far, it is difficult on finances and there are a hundred small stresses that build up to a heavy load; but at the end of the day, I know what we are doing is right, April helps as much as she can, and I love my younger nieces fiercely. If I am sacrificing, it is to a worthy cause. I know, at the end of the day, they are safe, well-fed, and taken care of. After the kidnapping... well, I am grateful for this new life. It is hard, but so much more preferable to the other. You really do not know fear until you do not know where your kid is.
To wrap up this survey of our tangled little family, there is my father in law, currently engaged to who will become his second wife; my new puppy, Reggie, brought in to our family after a break-in; my two cats, Sam and Peach, and my husband's, Juji, a recent transplant we were fostering. There is, of course, me, Roxy, the writer, whose day job is at a foreign media company, and my husband, Nick, a musician and assistant manager at a well-loved bookstore. A writer and a bookseller, a musician and a media company employee... we compliment each other very well. If there is a lesson beyond the importance of sparenting in a world where 40 percent of children are born out of wedlock, it is that a solid marriage is essential to a harmonious family life. Which is why I believe in gay marriage. If you are able to find a true partner, true love, true passion, someone who will help you through the worst moments of your life and help you achieve your dreams, who can remind you to reach for the stars from the bottom of a deep, dark pit of despair... how could anyone deny you, based on the fact that you both have the same gender? True love is rare, precious, and a good marriage even more so. There should be no barrier to two people achieving this, if it be possible between them. Denying them that -- THAT is the real sin.
Well... I better wrap this up before this tangent becomes six paragraphs comparing the war against gay marriage to the war against interracial marriage...
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
On the Nourishment of Your Soul
With the holidays approaching, I'm finding myself tremendously stressed. The Christmas bonuses we are expecting have yet to materialize, and despite my best efforts, I am spending money that I don't have. Some gifts I had to go ahead and get, as they need to be shipped to my kid in Indiana -- we will call her Yaya, Warrior Princess, a moniker she adopted as a 3-year old. But of course, one pressing need does not alleviate the others -- there are household bills, wrapping paper for the gifts, shoes that needed replacing, car repairs that cannot wait lest we go from a one-car family to a no-car family... And of course, there is the typical professional stress, compounded by the imminent (voluntary but necessary) departure of my mentor and boss.
Needless to say, when I arrived home near to 7:30 on Tuesday night (keeping in mind I leave the house at 7), I was in no mood to be around anyone. Sparents don't often have that option, though. If you're anywhere in my house but the bathroom, it's expected the kids want to interact with you -- even then, you need that door locked! And no matter how badly you need to decompress, it's difficult to push them away. Our little household is still so new and freshly made, and their special challenges so great, that you intellectually and emotionally understand the task of establishing order and security in the house -- which is another demand on your time. So you get into this awful compromise of being grumpy because it's been a long, hard day, and feeling guilty for being grumpy at the kids, though innocent in this matter, who are nonetheless invading your space. The girls have not lived with me long enough that we have been able to establish boundaries, especially since some days I desperately need their attention and affection, and indulge them as much as I can in my own.
So, in between eating an apple with peanut butter just to get something down me (screw cooking after a 12 hour day, this is why God gave us microwaves!), taking care of the puppy and trying to unwind, I grumbled enough at the kids that my sister-in-law corralled them in front of the TV so I could grab a little nap. Just before my husband got home, it was game time, and I was still a bit of a grouch, but the girls enjoy watching me play Animal Crossing, so I let them crawl up onto the couch beside me. It's a low key activity, so it's a good way to give them some face time when I am stressed. I was then rewarded with some Ollie moments that made things... well, better. It constituted of that small payoff that we caregivers usually get right before we start a mental inventory of all the alcohol we have in the house, while knowing it will never be enough. Ollie is 4 and a little behind on her speech development (bilingual household), but this is as near to verbatim as I could get:
Needless to say, when I arrived home near to 7:30 on Tuesday night (keeping in mind I leave the house at 7), I was in no mood to be around anyone. Sparents don't often have that option, though. If you're anywhere in my house but the bathroom, it's expected the kids want to interact with you -- even then, you need that door locked! And no matter how badly you need to decompress, it's difficult to push them away. Our little household is still so new and freshly made, and their special challenges so great, that you intellectually and emotionally understand the task of establishing order and security in the house -- which is another demand on your time. So you get into this awful compromise of being grumpy because it's been a long, hard day, and feeling guilty for being grumpy at the kids, though innocent in this matter, who are nonetheless invading your space. The girls have not lived with me long enough that we have been able to establish boundaries, especially since some days I desperately need their attention and affection, and indulge them as much as I can in my own.
So, in between eating an apple with peanut butter just to get something down me (screw cooking after a 12 hour day, this is why God gave us microwaves!), taking care of the puppy and trying to unwind, I grumbled enough at the kids that my sister-in-law corralled them in front of the TV so I could grab a little nap. Just before my husband got home, it was game time, and I was still a bit of a grouch, but the girls enjoy watching me play Animal Crossing, so I let them crawl up onto the couch beside me. It's a low key activity, so it's a good way to give them some face time when I am stressed. I was then rewarded with some Ollie moments that made things... well, better. It constituted of that small payoff that we caregivers usually get right before we start a mental inventory of all the alcohol we have in the house, while knowing it will never be enough. Ollie is 4 and a little behind on her speech development (bilingual household), but this is as near to verbatim as I could get:
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