Heaven holds a sense of wonder….











Pickle and I have been in a tremendously rough spot lately.

She’s been my rock throughout the hardest part of the divorce – renegotiating the terms of my interactions with my ex, my kids’ father. She’s been so supportive through it all, and she’s watched the toxic games play out.

She’s done.

She’s had more than she can take. Now it’s time for me to put on my big girl panties and get ‘er done. I can do this – I can stop playing into his manipulation, I can think first of my children, my self, and my lover. I need to.

She’s felt for some time that I give him more love than I do her. I have allowed him to take up more of my energy than is appropriate. I’ve preoccupied myself with how to make him happy in order to win his cooperation with the objective of making the kids’ lives easier, better.

I don’t need to make him happy. I don’t live with him. He can have his feelings, and I can respect those feelings, but it’s not up to me to take responsibility for those feelings.

It’s not up to me to take responsibility for her feelings, either. Don’t get me wrong. But she is the one I live with, she is the one I love, and therefore, she is the one I have chosen to be deserving of my love and attention.

I should probably show her that, eh?

We have a little bit of a co-dependent streak going on. Wasn’t always like this. But somewhere along the line, our interdependency turned into something a little less healthy.

How to fix that?

I suggested a couple of days ago both of us sitting down and writing lists of our individual hopes, dreams, expectations, boundaries. She said, “Hell, no. I’ve told you, told you, I’m done telling you!”

“Sweetie, I’m not going to force this on you. If it doesn’t work for you, it doesn’t work for you, we can find a different way. But I need the visual. I need to put our two lists side by side – see where we match, where we don’t, where we can meet in the middle. I want to put it somewhere where, when we lose sight of our own objectives or the other’s, we – or least I – can refer to it for a reminder.”

Two days later, after some resistance and negotiating, we finally came to an agreement. She hates writing. So I will write her list for her – on my own. And she will check the list to correct what I’ve left out, misunderstood, what have you.

Could be treacherous territory we’re treading upon. But if it works, if nothing else, she’ll have PROOF that I’ve been listening, soaking in her words. And it’ll be a foundation for us to build upon, rebuilding our trust and faith in one another and our relationship.

We fell in love for a reason. As my brother says, we need to dig down and remember that reason. It’s not hard for me.

I fell in love with her free spirit. Her devil-may-care attitude. Her Peter Pan swagger. I fell in love with her smile, which runs the gamut from cat-who-swallowed-a-canary to little-kid-seeing-something-awesome-for-the-first-time-on-Christmas. No matter what the smile, it’s contagious. I fell in love with her breathtaking blue eyes – eyes older than the hills, yet full of wonder like she was born yesterday. Ice-colored eyes to go with my fire-eyes.

I fell in love with her brashness, her audacity, her romantic spark.

She fell in love with my confidence, my girl-who-rules-the-world bravado, my Tinkerbell flittering. She fell in love with my ass (honky tonk badonkadonk), my belly – it wasn’t long before she couldn’t sleep without my belly moving with every breath on her back.

We fell in love with parts of each other that have been buried under the stressful events of the last year and a half.

We used to get each other token gifts – silly little things, but things that meant something – on the third of every month. We started dating on May 3, 2009, so it was a cute way to commemorate the day.

I think it was when we stopped that that we began to lose our focus. And we just stopped because life got busy, we got broke. Priorities shifted.

It’s time for them to shift again.

Pat Benatar sums it all up. Pickle played this song for me yesterday.

“We Belong, We Belong to the light
Many times I’ve tried to tell you, many times I’ve cried alone
Always I’m surprised how well you cut my feelings to the bone

Don’t want to leave you really
I’ve invested too much time to give you up that easy
To the doubts that complicate your mind

CHORUS:
We Belong to the light
We Belong to the thunder
We Belong to the sound of the words we’ve both fallen under
Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better
We Belong, We Belong
We Belong together

Maybe it’s a sign of weakness when I don’t know what to say
Maybe I just wouldn’t know what to do with my strength anyway
Have we become a habit do we distort the facts
Now there’s no looking forward
Now there’s no turning back
When you say

CHORUS

Close your eyes and try to sleep now
Close your eyes and try to dream
Clear your mind and do your best
To try and wash the palette clean
We can’t begin to know it
How much we really care
I hear your voice inside me
I see your face everywhere
Still you say

CHORUS



“You’re my ocean.” She said it so peacefully, so factually, and left it at that.

Sardonically, I thought, “What, ‘cuz I’m drowning you?” Instead, I waited a few beats and ask, “How’s that?”

She thought for a moment. Licked her lips in contemplation. “I don’t know. You just are. Your emotions are like the tides. You can be so destructive and rough, like the waters in a storm. Or you can be calm and beautiful. But either way, you always put me at peace.”

Those might be the most beautiful, honest words anyone’s ever spoken to me. I want them to be written into our wedding vows, whenever that day comes. She’s the only person who can take my voice away.

In re-reading the words she said to me, I realize that typing them out on a screen does them a harsh injustice. She’s not a words person. She’s a numbers person, logic and reason. Words, for her, are cut and dry. Use them to say exactly what you mean. Which often doesn’t lend itself to poetry, though today, it clearly did.

The other night, she told me, “When I marry you, I already have our rings picked out.”

What? When?? What happened to If?

Girl reads me well. “I mean If.” She smirked. “If I marry you. The company that made my vintage wave ring is still around. They do custom designs. What I want is gonna cost about $5,000 for the both of them. Waves with little diamonds.”

I looked down at the ring on my finger now. I wear it on my right ring finger, saving the left one for the Real Ring. Thought about how that ring ended up there… one week ago, I went out without her. She said, “I trust you,” and put her ring, one of her most treasured possessions, on my finger to keep me “out of trouble,” she said with a smile.

I told her she wasn’t getting it back. Got her a new wave ring from work.

Then the conversation about the rings, the custom rings that will cost us $5,000.

“We’re never getting married, are we?” I joked. “With the rings and the lavish Mardi Gras party and costume dress, it’s a wonder we’ll ever get the money!”

I thought the wave ring was a great idea because she used to surf, and her love for the waves has never gone away. She misses the Pacific Ocean. I love the ocean myself, and water is one of many things that binds us together.

It didn’t hit me until today just why wave rings would be so meaningful at our wedding. She’d never said words like that to me before. I’m her ocean….

I asked her, “If I’m your ocean, and you know how destructive I can be, then why the hell do you provoke me?!?”

She grinned, shrugged her shoulders.

And then it came to me. “Because you’re a surfer girl, and you like to ride the waves. You need that rush… and the calm that comes after.”



{February 21, 2010}   Pictures of You {working title}

For my sweet Pickle:

Pictures of you, over again.
Pictures of you, pretty in blue.

Don’t know where I end, where to begin.
Another tired love song takes hold of my pen.
Pretty words I’ve got, meanings for which I’ve sought
Over hills and hours, while the tears I’ve wrought
Take hold near and far, branding with a scar
Bleeding and open, a reminder:
Who you were’s part of who you are.

And all I can see behind these eyelids,
All that’s real to me:
Pictures of you, over again.
Pictures of you, pretty in blue.
Oh, all I can see, pictures of you.

A lifetime’s only seconds, our sweet song beckons,
Calls me to hold each moment – put away the reckless
Harsh words of ice; to revel in your blue eyes,
To give what I take every moment left in our lives.
Days go ’round in a flash, we’ll flow and we’ll crash,
But the middle ground is always right there within our grasp.

And all I can see behind these eyelids,
All that’s real to me:
Pictures of you, over again.
Pictures of you, pretty in blue.
Pictures of you, again and again,
Oh all I can see, my sweet baby,
Pictures of you.



{November 7, 2009}   Introductory Post

I’ve decided to begin a sister blog to my original, with this one having the focus on what it means to be a lesbian and a mother.  I’ve been trying to find resources that are applicable to my situation, and there just don’t seem to be too many out there.  I’ve run across others looking for the same kinds of materials, and it’s a common frustration we share: we just can’t seem to find enough. 

My situation isn’t a unique one.  I was in a hetero marriage for over 9 years, and had two awesome and beautiful kids.  My husband and I split up, and several months later, I came out as a lesbian.  Not long after that, I fell in love with the most amazing woman, completely unexpectedly – I mean this was *not* in my plans at all, I was fully prepared to be a single mom for a while and take some time out from relationships.  But the Powers That Be (heretofore known as the PTB’s) had other designs in mind, and pulled our little puppet strings every way possible, so that two months into our relationship, we were living together and she was ready to commit to the kids.  We’ve now been together six months, and though it’s been really hard at times, there’s no end in sight. 

At any rate, my partner, whom I will refer to at present as Pickle (though I reserve the right to change that at any point in time), wants to be more of a parent to the kiddos, and they love the hell out of her and can’t get enough of her.  But there are boundary issues, and custody issues, and conflicts with their dad, and it’s been really hard on both of us, not to mention the kids. 

I just got a craving for nachos with jalapenos.  Oh yum.

And try as I might, I can’t find many resources for people in our situation: lesbians who fall in love with kids already in the picture.  I would love to hear from the voice of experience on the subject, and I hope to add my voice to the collective.  I want to put my thoughts out there in the hopes that they can help someone else muddle through their own complicated issues with divorce, parenting, sexual preference, and new relationships.If you’ve stumbled across my blog by chance or by intention, please feel free to friend me.  All entries here will be public, because I want my perspective to be shared.

As a side note: The title of this journal, and the name, is borrowed from the Delerium f/Sarah MacLachlan song “Silence”.  It is one of my all-time favorite songs, and my favorite of Sarah’s.  I also happen to love Delerium tremendously, and have other songs of theirs I like better, but that’s neither here nor there.  The point is, I wanted to point out that what I took from the song was an emphasis on living in the moment, not struggling against the waves that threaten to over come one in life, but sinking into them, thereby liberating oneself from fear.  I want to hold that sentiment true in this journal.  That is ultimately my goal.  To explore these issues, yes, but to do so from a perspective of letting go, and sinking into the waves, being free.

That said, I’m going to so sink into my pillows and catch a little sleep.

Blessings,
A.



et cetera