I love Carrot Cake. I’ve always been a fan, but as an adult I would almost always forego chocolate cake for Carrot Cake. That was until I met my mother-in-law. I don’t remember for sure how long ago it was when I had my first taste of her Carrot Cake, but I remember knowing I could never look at just an ordinary Carrot Cake again. Lisa told me her mom was a great cook (which was a gross understatement) and Lisa knew I loved carrot cake and had her mom make me one. Lisa brought it over and it looked amazing. Three layers high, covered in thick cream cheese frosting, all completely from scratch, of course. I was almost afraid to eat it out of worry that it wouldn’t taste as good as it looked.
Some of you know what my previous relationship was like and some of the stories behind it. For those that don’t, I will just keep it short for the sake of space and tell you that my ex-girlfriend’s mother was CRAZY with a capital “C!” Not only was she crazy, she was a mean, manipulative, narcissistic, pathological liar. (And that is my way of erring on the side of nice.) She rarely cared about how her actions, words and behavior affected her own husband and children and she definitely didn’t care how it affected me. When I went into that relationship I had all sorts of ideas of how things would be. Her parents (Who lived minutes away) would love me, they would love my small child and we would all live happily ever after. I was very quickly brought to the reality of the situation when I found her mother excluding me at every opportunity, blatantly ignoring me and on more than one occasion spreading outright lies about me.
When that relationship ended, per the request of my therapist I made a list of all the things I wanted in my next relationship. I decided that one (of the MANY) items on my “List Of Things I Will Not Live Without In My Next Relationship” was a loving and supportive immediate family. I have parents, I have grandparents and I have siblings. I didn’t want a lifeline; I just wanted my next relationship to have a family that was supportive of their daughter’s sexuality, and would at least try to get to know me… some people even grow to like me! I shared my list with some of my closest friends and some responses were, “You need to scale that down unless you plan on being with several people.” “You’ll never find one person who fits ALL of that criteria.” “You’ll have to sacrifice something, you can’t have your cake and eat it too.”
Since Lisa and I were friends before we became romantically involved, even though I hadn’t met her parents, I knew she came from a good family. I knew her parents knew she was gay, I knew that they were supportive and accepting of her and I knew that she always spoke very highly of her parents and brother. I very clearly remember the first time I met Lisa’s mom. I had been visiting Lisa and we went to lunch. Afterwards, she said she wanted to take me somewhere and I agreed. We drove for about 25 minutes and not being from that area I had no idea where we were going. As we drove into a small, quiet subdivision I knew she was taking me to her parents house. My heart began to race, I thought I might throw up and I think I even asked her not to take me there. We pulled into the driveway and I could feel the anxiety swallowing me. Lisa laughed as if it were no big deal and after a minute or so, we went inside. Her father wasn’t home, but her mom was. As we were introduced she was smiling and full of humor. (She’s somewhat sarcastic and very witty.) We stayed for a little while and when we left her mom hugged me and told me how nice it was to meet me. I left thinking she seemed nice… but so did Medusa. (The name I not-so-lovingly gave my ex girlfriends mother.) Knowing how family impacted my last relationship, in the beginning I was always concerned (on the verge of paranoid) about Lisa’s parents and whether they liked me or not.
Here I am what feels like many years later. I just finished the last piece of Carrot Cake that Lisa’s mom made ME for LISA’S birthday and I am very happy to say that the Carrot Cake was every bit as good as it looked and Lisa’s family…. They too have been just what they appeared to be. Warm, funny, welcoming and loving.
I’m so glad I added the loving and supportive family to my list as my last relationship was ending, I am so glad I didn’t settle for anything less.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
Not Like Me
Not Like Me
The following story is absolutely true and can be verified by several people. The names have been slightly changed to protect the not so innocent.
The 8th grade was a year of many changes for me. My family relocated to Southern California from Missouri and my mother married my stepfather. I was not happy about either of these changes. Not because our home in California wasn't a good place or because my stepfather was not a good person, mainly because I was a self-centered spoiled brat. SO… I decided to make every attempt to make my family miserable by being just that. When my mother re-married, my siblings and I stayed with my aunt and uncle while my parents were on their honeymoon. I was one month away from being fourteen.
One day into our hiatus from home, I decided that I could very easily "borrow" my mom's car while they were on their honeymoon and my friends and I could cruise around Hemet in the middle of the night enjoying the freedom of having a drivers license and a car without actually having either of those two things. I had also determined that on the very small chance that I would get caught, it would be by either my very cool aunt or my very cool uncle – neither of which (in my mind) would have ever turned my into the warden. (A term I lovingly gave to my mother.) On the second night of my parent's seven-day honeymoon, I waited until the whole house was quiet, I grabbed the key that was haphazardly lying inside a dish on the bar and slid out the front door of my aunt and uncles house. I approached the baby blue 1980 Chrysler Cordoba as if it were some sort of untouchable treasure chest. I slowly unlocked the door, opened it carefully, slipped it into gear and pushed it two houses down before I got in and started the engine. I was thirteen years old and had no valid experience behind the wheel of a car.
I felt like I had just won the lottery as I made my way toward Grand Teton to pick up one of my best friends, we'll call her "Not Danette." In hindsight, I am pretty confident that I cared about being "Not Danette's" friend way more than she cared about being mine. She was my idol. She was everything I wanted to be back then but didn't have the guts to actually pull it off. She was rebellious but not in the sneaking out and stealing your mom's car kind of way, in the up front and in your face kind of way. "Not Danette" was very cool. She even had a mohawk that I myself would have loved to have had if I'd had the nerve, which I didn't. Everyone seemed to like her and wanted to be in her circle. Even though she was a FRESHMAN, she allowed me in. She brought me into her fold and allowed me to be part of her world even though I was sure I was unworthy. I wanted "Not Danette" to think I was cool too. I wanted her to understand why she let me in. I never wanted her to wonder why I was there or to forget why she found me and started including me in the first place. Thus, "Not Danette" was ALWAYS first. First to be seen at school, first choice to sit with at lunch, first to call on the phone, first to be considered for anything special and first to be picked up when I "borrowed" my Mom's car. After "Not Danette" came the others. "Not Cerena," "Not Melissa," "Not Tina," "Not Regina," "Not Michelle" and more. Anyone who wanted to come could, and we would cruise down Florida Avenue making stops at Games Plus and the local bowling alley.
That night it began and many more nights for the next month or so we repeated the process. My aunt and uncle didn't catch me so when my parents returned from their honeymoon, I kept "borrowing" the car. The only differences were, I had my own key made so I wouldn't have to "borrow" my mom's key, I snuck out of my bedroom window instead of the front door and didn't have to push the car because our driveway was on a hill so it would coast down to the street where I would crank the engine and take off for a few hours of freedom.
Just before summer, I did get caught. Not from an accident, thank God, just by failure to properly parallel park.
I sat in the passenger seat of my own car Friday afternoon at 4:30 pm and wondered how on earth I found the courage to put myself behind the wheel of a car at just thirteen years old. I had no fear back then. I probably would have "borrowed" a plane had one been available. Sadly and sometimes tragically, fear is a foreign concept to many teenagers. As adults we realize the potential implications of being a first time driver. I was reminded of this when realized that I was scared out of my mind as my daughter buckled the driver's side seat belt and began to put the car in gear. Allyssa finally decided she wanted to get her learner's permit. She passed the test and is now legally allowed (and encouraged by the DMV) to drive a motor vehicle. At top speeds of about 35 MPH, five stop signs, three traffic lights, ten miles and twenty minutes later we arrived safely into our driveway. As I took deep breaths to keep from throwing up, I looked at Allyssa, white knuckles to the steering wheel and wondered how we got here this quickly. Not here in the driveway, but HERE. Her sitting next to me, DRIVING! While I was thanking God for allowing us to make back to the house safely, I also said a little Thank You for Allyssa not being at all like I was at her age.
The following story is absolutely true and can be verified by several people. The names have been slightly changed to protect the not so innocent.
The 8th grade was a year of many changes for me. My family relocated to Southern California from Missouri and my mother married my stepfather. I was not happy about either of these changes. Not because our home in California wasn't a good place or because my stepfather was not a good person, mainly because I was a self-centered spoiled brat. SO… I decided to make every attempt to make my family miserable by being just that. When my mother re-married, my siblings and I stayed with my aunt and uncle while my parents were on their honeymoon. I was one month away from being fourteen.
One day into our hiatus from home, I decided that I could very easily "borrow" my mom's car while they were on their honeymoon and my friends and I could cruise around Hemet in the middle of the night enjoying the freedom of having a drivers license and a car without actually having either of those two things. I had also determined that on the very small chance that I would get caught, it would be by either my very cool aunt or my very cool uncle – neither of which (in my mind) would have ever turned my into the warden. (A term I lovingly gave to my mother.) On the second night of my parent's seven-day honeymoon, I waited until the whole house was quiet, I grabbed the key that was haphazardly lying inside a dish on the bar and slid out the front door of my aunt and uncles house. I approached the baby blue 1980 Chrysler Cordoba as if it were some sort of untouchable treasure chest. I slowly unlocked the door, opened it carefully, slipped it into gear and pushed it two houses down before I got in and started the engine. I was thirteen years old and had no valid experience behind the wheel of a car.
I felt like I had just won the lottery as I made my way toward Grand Teton to pick up one of my best friends, we'll call her "Not Danette." In hindsight, I am pretty confident that I cared about being "Not Danette's" friend way more than she cared about being mine. She was my idol. She was everything I wanted to be back then but didn't have the guts to actually pull it off. She was rebellious but not in the sneaking out and stealing your mom's car kind of way, in the up front and in your face kind of way. "Not Danette" was very cool. She even had a mohawk that I myself would have loved to have had if I'd had the nerve, which I didn't. Everyone seemed to like her and wanted to be in her circle. Even though she was a FRESHMAN, she allowed me in. She brought me into her fold and allowed me to be part of her world even though I was sure I was unworthy. I wanted "Not Danette" to think I was cool too. I wanted her to understand why she let me in. I never wanted her to wonder why I was there or to forget why she found me and started including me in the first place. Thus, "Not Danette" was ALWAYS first. First to be seen at school, first choice to sit with at lunch, first to call on the phone, first to be considered for anything special and first to be picked up when I "borrowed" my Mom's car. After "Not Danette" came the others. "Not Cerena," "Not Melissa," "Not Tina," "Not Regina," "Not Michelle" and more. Anyone who wanted to come could, and we would cruise down Florida Avenue making stops at Games Plus and the local bowling alley.
That night it began and many more nights for the next month or so we repeated the process. My aunt and uncle didn't catch me so when my parents returned from their honeymoon, I kept "borrowing" the car. The only differences were, I had my own key made so I wouldn't have to "borrow" my mom's key, I snuck out of my bedroom window instead of the front door and didn't have to push the car because our driveway was on a hill so it would coast down to the street where I would crank the engine and take off for a few hours of freedom.
Just before summer, I did get caught. Not from an accident, thank God, just by failure to properly parallel park.
I sat in the passenger seat of my own car Friday afternoon at 4:30 pm and wondered how on earth I found the courage to put myself behind the wheel of a car at just thirteen years old. I had no fear back then. I probably would have "borrowed" a plane had one been available. Sadly and sometimes tragically, fear is a foreign concept to many teenagers. As adults we realize the potential implications of being a first time driver. I was reminded of this when realized that I was scared out of my mind as my daughter buckled the driver's side seat belt and began to put the car in gear. Allyssa finally decided she wanted to get her learner's permit. She passed the test and is now legally allowed (and encouraged by the DMV) to drive a motor vehicle. At top speeds of about 35 MPH, five stop signs, three traffic lights, ten miles and twenty minutes later we arrived safely into our driveway. As I took deep breaths to keep from throwing up, I looked at Allyssa, white knuckles to the steering wheel and wondered how we got here this quickly. Not here in the driveway, but HERE. Her sitting next to me, DRIVING! While I was thanking God for allowing us to make back to the house safely, I also said a little Thank You for Allyssa not being at all like I was at her age.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
One month and counting!
One month and two days... We made it ONE MONTH and TWO DAYS! On some level even I am surprised that Lisa hasn't made an escape, passport in hand, never to be seen or heard from again. Not because married life is bad - it's the opposite actually - but because there is still a small (or not so small) part of me that thinks I am not good at relationships and that at any minute she will have figured that out.
I've had this conversation with some of my friends over the past year or so. Me, creeping out onto the crazy ledge worrying about everything from losing my identity to adapting to new toothpaste. Living together, sharing finances, having three too many dogs, having a enough hormones in the house to keep a therapist on retainer and obsessing about the FACT (not opinion) that I was someone's wife before and I wasn't very good at it. And my friends, talking me down and reminding me that first and foremost I am just a tiny bit controlling and it would be good for me to give some of that up in the form of cohabitation and joint accounts, that there are worse things then having to share space with FOUR dogs, (although sometimes I wonder) and that I was very young when I got married the first time (for all the wrong reasons) and that my husband at the time (probably along with the fact that I was a lesbian in a straight girls body) had allot to do with why our marriage didn't work. My best friend finally said to me, "Get over it. Anyone who's ever been in even one relationship that didn't work is still a failure at relationships. We are all failures until we find the right person to be with." So... I got over it. Kind of.
So here we are. Everything is still in tact. She hasn't tried to escape in the middle of the night (although I did hide her passport just in case) and while I do think our relationship is different now that we are fully committed to each other and sharing every aspect of our lives, it's all very, very good!
I am doing the best I can. I am playing nice with my space, I even let her use MY closet, when there is a PERFECTLY good closet just across the hall. I had allot less trouble with the joining of the accounts than I thought I would and even don't mind the dogs and will mind them even less when they learn to vacuum. She and Allyssa get along fabulously and even though there are about 17 days out of the month when one or more of us is a bundle of emotions, there has been no blood shed. I get up and make her breakfast and lunch every day and see her off to work, (even though she wakes up over an hour before I do) and I have even done her laundry a time or two. So I feel like I am doing okay at this marriage thing.
I know it takes allot more than sharing, making lunch and doing laundry but we did celebrate our one month anniversary with some great food on the grill and some good wine, so we must be doing something right.
One month down and only 720 more (give or take a few) to go!
I've had this conversation with some of my friends over the past year or so. Me, creeping out onto the crazy ledge worrying about everything from losing my identity to adapting to new toothpaste. Living together, sharing finances, having three too many dogs, having a enough hormones in the house to keep a therapist on retainer and obsessing about the FACT (not opinion) that I was someone's wife before and I wasn't very good at it. And my friends, talking me down and reminding me that first and foremost I am just a tiny bit controlling and it would be good for me to give some of that up in the form of cohabitation and joint accounts, that there are worse things then having to share space with FOUR dogs, (although sometimes I wonder) and that I was very young when I got married the first time (for all the wrong reasons) and that my husband at the time (probably along with the fact that I was a lesbian in a straight girls body) had allot to do with why our marriage didn't work. My best friend finally said to me, "Get over it. Anyone who's ever been in even one relationship that didn't work is still a failure at relationships. We are all failures until we find the right person to be with." So... I got over it. Kind of.
So here we are. Everything is still in tact. She hasn't tried to escape in the middle of the night (although I did hide her passport just in case) and while I do think our relationship is different now that we are fully committed to each other and sharing every aspect of our lives, it's all very, very good!
I am doing the best I can. I am playing nice with my space, I even let her use MY closet, when there is a PERFECTLY good closet just across the hall. I had allot less trouble with the joining of the accounts than I thought I would and even don't mind the dogs and will mind them even less when they learn to vacuum. She and Allyssa get along fabulously and even though there are about 17 days out of the month when one or more of us is a bundle of emotions, there has been no blood shed. I get up and make her breakfast and lunch every day and see her off to work, (even though she wakes up over an hour before I do) and I have even done her laundry a time or two. So I feel like I am doing okay at this marriage thing.
I know it takes allot more than sharing, making lunch and doing laundry but we did celebrate our one month anniversary with some great food on the grill and some good wine, so we must be doing something right.
One month down and only 720 more (give or take a few) to go!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)