Wednesday, November 24, 2010

The Top 10 Things I Am Thankful For This Year

1. 
I am thankful that I'm not Charlie Sheen's Publicist.

2. 
Since I'm spending Thanksgiving at someone else’s house, I am thankful that I have been relieved of "taking the guts out of the turkey" duty.

3. 
While I'm NOT thankful that my sink and dishwasher are clogged, thereby rendering them completely useless right now, I am choosing to embrace this as just another obstacle to overcome and make me grow.  THEREFORE...I am thankful that I am spending Thanksgiving as the pilgrims did...without Cascade or a garbage disposal (and that I'm spending it at someone else’s house.  Dodged a bullet there).

4. 
I am thankful that none of my kids are Justin Bieber fans.


5. 
I’m not thankful for what the Transportation Security Administration’s new screening process means for us as far as our terrorist threat level is concerned...but a good “pat down” at the airport is the most action I’ve seen in awhile.  Thank you for my new “social life,” TSA.  You’re saving me a fortune on Match.com.

6.   
I am thankful for my Starbucks drive-thru. 

7. 
I am thankful that I am able to work well within a widow’s budget since the wine I secretly like the best is $5 a bottle.  And generic Motrin works just fine for me.  On my way through my Starbucks drive-thru.

8. 
While I’m disappointed that Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon have chosen to procreate, this year I will focus on the positive and just be thankful that they’re not having twins.

9. 
I’m thankful for that sweet little woman at the Conifer, CO Qdoba who did her best to keep me from abandoning my son in the parking lot on my husband's birthday last week by offering me a free kids meal and a side of chips and gauc.  You rock, Qdoba Lady.  My son lived to see another day because of you.

10. 
MOST of all...I’m ever thankful for my friends, new and old.  To my old friends...you’ve put up with tears, mood swings, rum-infused tears and mood swings, hysterical laughter that makes no sense in the moment, and a sometimes absentee friend who you always know is doing the best she can.

To my new friends...both here and far away...you’ve put up with the same, but most of you are online so it doesn’t seem quite so bad.  But you’ve been kind to me when I’ve posted things that make absolutely NO sense, thereby making me feel like you can read my thoughts and know what I’m really getting at. 

Without the new and the old, the past and the present...I would never be able to get through this journey.  You’ve all taught me to cherish my memories and look forward to new ones. 

And for that I will be forever thankful.


For more blogs and articles from other widow(er) writers, join us at www.theWiddahood.com!  


© Catherine Tidd 2010


Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Excuse Me? I Wasn't Ready. Can I Get A Restart?



What made me think I could start clean-slated?  The hardest to learn was the least complicated.
                        --The Indigo Girls




Don’t think that I don’t recognize the fact that so many of you are much more advanced in the fine art of grieving than I am.  I’m that kid in the back of the class who urgently raises her hand with an answer when most of the class is thinking, “We already knew that.  Next?”

I know, I know.  I always tell you guys that I’m a work in progress.

It took me forever to grasp the fact that I would always be a widow.  In fact...I still have moments when I think, “Wait...what?” 

For the first few months, I kept thinking, “If I could just make to that year mark, I won’t be widowed anymore!  No one will think of me as widowed!  This loss will not be such a big deal and surely I won’t be as upset as I am now!  People won’t look at me funny and I will be completely back to normal!”

My 31 year old self was in for a huge disappointment.  And since I was, at that time, the only widow I knew, I had no one there saying, “Slow down!  Iceberg ahead!!”

Once I started to understand the concept that this was something that would always be inside me, I was ready to start over.  Start fresh.  Be gone old self!  Replace thyself with a sleeker and more sophisticated model!

I could be perfect.  People would never understand the depths of my perfectness.  I would be studied by people across the world.  I could reinvent myself to become the perfect mom.  The perfect co-worker.  The perfect significant other.

ICEBERG!!!

I’m going to share something with you that I know will shock the hell out of you.

I was not the perfect wife.

No...no...really.  I wasn’t.  I was moody, demanding, and wanted things to be my way.

And guess what?  My husband wasn’t the perfect husband.

Even after he died, I never put him up on a pedestal and thought, “I will never find someone as perfect as he was.”  Because the truth was...he wasn’t perfect.  He was...take a deep breath...

...a guy.

Now, after he passed away and I finally felt ready to date, I spent a good while actually swinging the complete opposite direction from “he was so perfect.”  I was doing my best to start my life over and that meant keeping my memories, but doing my best to erase my own emotional baggage so that I could get down to business and find a life (and a mate) that would make me divinely, and perfectly happy.

I mean, seriously...I’m due, right?

I think in one phase of my life, I actually went so far in the “starting over” direction that I started to think some not so good thoughts about my marriage to my late husband.  All I could think of were the fights we had.  The things we didn’t like to do together.  Every little thing that made us incompatible.

And I became terrified of making the same mistakes all over again.

But here’s something I want you to think about...because I just got it myself.  When you think that way, it paralyzes you just as much as thinking everything about your marriage was perfect.

I went through a long period where every new person I met, I would analyze what was going on more than I can even explain.  I mean, we all know that women tend to “over-think” right?  (There are men reading this right now who are having a good laugh and thinking, “Over-think???  You people are bat-shit crazy!”)  But I was taking it to the extreme.  Every date, every conversation, every little thing about someone, I would wonder, “Was my husband like this?  Did I feel this way on our first date?  Do I like the way he picks out furniture?  Is his car too messy? Hmmm...I don’t think this is going to work.”

When I finally confessed to my therapist that I was doing this, she very calmly told me, “You can’t recreate that relationship.  Good, bad, or otherwise.  You’re not the same person.”

I mean...I can’t make the same decisions now that I made when my husband and I first met.  I’m not a sophmore in college.  I’m a grown woman with kids.  What I’m looking for now is nothing like I was looking for then.  Back then a big requirement for dating someone was if he could sneak me into a bar when I was 19.  My needs have totally changed.

I can get in legally now.

I can’t correct the mistakes that I made with my husband.  And truthfully...they weren’t that big. They were all a part of what we in society call “marriage.”  And I can’t ask someone to correct the mistakes my husband made. 

I mean, if someone new is sitting there watching football, I can’t just throw a hissy fit and yell, “You’ve been ignoring me for years!”

Believe me...that’s a good way to get broken up with in a text.

Part of this journey is figuring out where we are now.  We all know that there are memories we will cherish for a lifetime as well as things we’d rather forget.  That’s true of anyone...widowed or not.  Just as we can’t make our kids live the childhood we wish we had had...we can’t expect someone new to recreate the relationship we might have wished we had had.


We take it all with us.  The bad things we’ve learned from.  The good things we would give anything to have again.  The fights.  The hugs.  The blessings and the opportunities missed.  They’re a part of who we are now.  And we can’t start over.

We can start again.


For more blogs and articles from other widow(er) writers, join us at www.theWiddahood.com!  


© Catherine Tidd 2010

Friday, November 19, 2010

I Thought I Could....

Since I blogged this morning about my intention to have a good day today, my husband’s birthday, I felt like it was only fair to bookend it with how the day actually went.

I’ll give you a hint...I’m sitting here with a vodka/orange juice in my hand because on top of what happened today...I feel like I’m coming down with a cold. 

This beverage is the only way I can figure out how to combat both my day and my cold at the same time.

The morning started out okay.  We left the house full of hope and optimism, setting out for the grocery store to buy balloons before we headed up to the mountains.  All the kids decided to get the same color balloon (which was a miracle in itself) and having this decision made would save me at least an hour in the Helium Section.  

As we walked to the floral department, I decided at the last minute to buy my husband one single yellow rose (like he used to give to me) as a birthday present if they had one.  I looked up at the “single” bouquets and there it was...a single yellow rose right smack in the middle of a bunch of white ones.  It was the only one they had.

All good signs, right?

We left the store, all holding a Starbucks cup (hot cocoa for them, caffeine for me) ready to conquer the day!

Apparently that was when Good Karma decided to leave early for Thanksgiving to beat the holiday rush.

We were about 30 minutes out of town, driving in the old minivan, when my oldest suddenly screamed out, “MOM!!!!!  She drew on the seat with marker!!!” 

Sure enough, I would find out later...my 4 year old had decided to make her own permanent seat covers by doing some sort of abstract drawing of a “zebra playing catch with a fish while driving a semi” creation on the third row seat of my car.

Now...what I was expected to do about it while going 75 miles an hour on the highway...I still do not know.

The most interesting thing about this was that it sent my son into a frenzy of reprimanding her.  Never mind that he had actually stamped his own name (in permanent marker) on the back seat last year.

Anyway.  Still determined that this would not get me down, I took a deep breath and just decided to get over it then and there.  I could wash it off, right?  In the grand scheme of things...what’s a little marker (or mural) in a minivan anyhow?  That child could be famous some day!  She probably just raised the value of this car by thousands.

Yeah!  That’s it!

As we started getting closer to the “last stop” before we really got to the middle of nowhere, I thought I should be proactive and stop for a potty/lunch break, even though my son had assured me that if he had to go to the bathroom, he could find an obliging tree.  Feeling like peeing in the middle of a cemetery might be frowned upon, I pulled off the highway and spotted the only restaurant in town that didn’t involve fries (Qdoba).

Once inside, my 9 year old daughter very politely asked if she could sit next to me in the booth and I (not seeing the shit storm ahead) said yes.

At that moment, for some reason, my 6 year old son suddenly decided that sitting next to my 4 year old daughter was akin to sitting next to 50 pounds of plutonium and proceeded to throw a complete fit.  And I mean...a fit.

I learned a very valuable lesson today.  My desire and determination to “make it a good day” is no match for the temper of my 6 year old boy. 

I gave him “the look.”  I gave him that scary mommy-angry-under-the-breath voice.  Finally I dragged his 6 year old butt over to the check out where I was standing, just trying to buy quesadillas in peace.

The very sweet people working there asked if they could help me to my table and I calmly replied, “No, thank you.  He can carry his lunch and I’ve got the rest.”

At which point my son stomped his feet and his lunch slid to the floor.

Seeing what I’m sure looked like my eyes spinning around and smoke coming out of my ears, the wonderful woman at the cash register looked at me and said cheerfully, “We can clean this up!  Here’s a free quesadilla!  And here...chips and guacamole!  It’s okay...I have children!”

It was like she was trying to convince me that, with enough greasy Mexican food, I would have the strength to raise this child to adulthood.  I was about ready to hug her and take her home with me.

I sat at the table, a lump in my throat so big I couldn’t even eat.  What was I doing???  Were the “powers that be” trying to tell me that I couldn’t do this alone???  Why didn’t I pick a restaurant that served wine??????

Once back in the car, tears rolling down my face (and my kids blissfully unaware of my nervous breakdown thanks to Scooby Doo on DVD), we finally made it up to my husband’s final resting place.  I placed the rose on his headstone.  The kids and I sang “Happy Birthday,” made a wish, and let the balloons go.  We were having such a nice time, we decided to scrap our original plan for the second half of the day...wandering around the Museum of Nature and Science.  We thought we’d just catch the IMAX on the Hubble Telescope so that we could hang out by the creek a little longer.

For about 30 minutes...everyone was happy.

I finally called the 5 minute warning so that we could get to the movie downtown on time.  I had left us plenty of time and even worried about what I would do to keep them occupied when we got there too early.  As some of you may know...the IMAX doesn’t let people in early.  And, at the appointed time, the doors close and NO ONE can get in.

We were 2 minutes late.

Still determined that I could beat this day into submission, I checked my phone for other movie listings.  And...what’s this????  Another IMAX that’s showing the Hubble movie???  And it’s closer to my house????

Choosing to ignore the fact that I was dumb enough to not check this in the first place, I rushed the kids into the car and went as fast as I could (in rush hour traffic) to get to the theater.  For the first time, I felt like Fate was offering me her hand and saying, “Here.  Let me help you.  I’ll even get you there early.  And you can grab some pizza with the kids before the movie starts.  In fact...let me buy you a Bud Light for your trouble.”

As we waited for our pizza, the man at the next table leaned over and asked, “Excuse me?  Do you know where the IMAX is?”

And I said, “Yes!  It’s right across the street!  We’re headed there ourselves to see the movie on the Hubble Telescope.  Is that what you’re seeing?”

He said, “No.  There’s a movie about migration.  Gosh...I didn’t know they had so many theaters.”

Now wait...I couldn’t have this wrong could I???  I dug out my phone and checked trusty old Yahoo! movies and sure enough...Hubble Telescope.  November 19th.  Six PM.

We finished our pizza and made it there right on time.  I parked the car in front, flipped on the hazards, and told the kids, “Wait here.  I’m going to double check and make sure it’s playing.”

Sure enough.  I walk into the theater and what do I see?

Migration.

I plop myself back into the car, ram the gear shift into drive, and yell, “HOME!  Pay Per View Movie!” 

This declaration was met with noisy applause from the backseat.

I almost make it home when it hits.  Complete hysteria.  I’m laughing.  I’m crying.  I’m laughing so hard I’m crying.  I’m afraid I may have snorted a couple of times.

The kids are suddenly very quiet in the backseat.  Finally, my oldest says quietly, “Mom?  What’s so funny?”

Still laughing uncontrollably, I answer, “Oh sweetie.  This was just a bad day.  I mean, not all parts of it were bad.  We did some fun things.  But sometimes things get so bad they’re funny.  Remember how I always tell you if you’re getting bullied the best thing you can do is laugh right in their face?  Well, today bullied me.”

HA.


For more blogs and articles from other widow(er) writers, join us at www.theWiddahood.com!  


© Catherine Tidd 2010