Dependable

Posted on by stilllearning2b

My husband made me cry today.

Yeah, I know. He didn’t really “make me” cry. I have the choice in how I respond, blah, blah, blah.

Because the way I see it today is that his actions could have led to no other response.

 

Let me explain and let’s see if you agree.

Today was Lisa Arends’ terrible, horrible, no good very bad day.

It started on my early morning commute to work. I was a couple miles from the house this morning when my “check engine” light came on and the car started feeling funny. I immediately pulled into a parking lot and shut off the engine even as I dialed my husband on my cell.

I’ve been playing a bit of Russian Roulette with this car for the past few years. I bought it new 15 years ago. Yeah, 15. When I bought it, I wasn’t even married the first time yet. Hell, I was barely of legal drinking age. For the most part, it has been dependable, but it’s of an age where a fatal incident may come at any time.

But I’m not ready yet. I’m still about 9 months away from cleaning up the rest of the financial mess that my lovely ex left for me and, until that is done, I don’t have the extra cash on hand for a car payment. Plus, I also still have his parting gift of bad credit to deal with. So, needless to say, that glaring red light on my dash this morning felt like the eye of Smaug before I was to be stricken from this earth.

I felt horrible waking up my husband, still recovering from surgery, but I had to get to work to handle the yearbook distribution. Without a grumble, he picked me up, ferried me to school, contacted his mechanic friend and waiting with my car until AAA showed up with a tow truck.

But I wasn’t crying yet.

The yearbooks went okay. Everything else? Not so much.

The graphing calculators, instrumental for the today’s lesson, must have been visited by some vampire version of the Energizer Bunny last night, as all of their batteries decided to drain en masse. And the school’s stock of AAA (not the auto company!) batteries in the last week of school? Let’s just say weak.

I managed to beg, borrow and steal enough batteries to cobble together the lesson. So far, so….okay. But then one of the critical websites disappeared. Not okay. I scrambled to find a work around while my kids (did I mention last week of school) got ever nuttier. The day was capped off by one of my students telling me he hated me and hated my class. If you’ve ever thought being around middle schoolers all day is sunshine and roses, you may need to take a Saturday trip to mall. And then try to make the random teenagers do math.

A coworker was driving me home where I was supposed to go with my husband to pick up the car. On the way, I received a text, “Will you grab my wallet out of the driver’s side door of my car on your way in?”

“Sure,” I responded.

Minutes later, I struggled to locate his wallet with my purse strangling me and my suitcase-sized lunch bag (no joke) bumping into my car behind me.

My car!?!

I’m embarrassed to admit it took me a few moments (a few meaning several here) to notice that my car was in the garage. I blame emotional exhaustion.

I bolted upstairs.

“What, why, how…?”

“I took care of it.”

He then referenced an old conversation. He used to ride motorcycles back when we met. He sold his bike when he decided it was too risky. Ever since, he’s been talking about getting a Corvette in its place at some point in the near future. I expressed some reservations, mainly arising from my own fears. I worried that if a Corvette was in the picture and my car suffered a premature death, that I would be in a bind. He assured me during that conversation that he had my back.

“Do you remember when we talked about the Corvette and I said I had your back with your car?”

“Yes.”

“Today I showed it.”

 

The cost.

The stress of dealing with it.

The uncertainty of work while being carless.

All done.

Taken care of.

See. How could I not cry?

In most ways, I trust him easily now. But when it comes to money and my basic needs (like a car), it’s harder for me to be dependent on someone else.

I depended before, and I was horribly burned.

But that was then, and this is now.

And after today, when he says, “I’ve got your back,” I’ll trust him to catch me if I fall.

Just as the tears are falling now.

 

And, yeah, he IS a keeper!

 

 

 

I Loved My Husband Last Night

Posted on by stilllearning2b
my husband

I loved my husband last night.

 

He rubbed my legs, sore and stiff from the demands of the end of the school year.

But that’s not why I loved him.

 

He took me out to dinner to get some gluten free pizza that I’ve been craving for weeks.

But that’s not why I loved him.

 

We had a great conversation about our hopes and dreams and plans for semi- and real retirement.

But that’s not why I loved him.

 

In fact, the reason I loved him had nothing to do with me at all.

 

The young waiter at the restaurant last night was having a rough time. Our salads never came out. My husband’s order was somehow replaced with a sub par facsimile. My husband expressed his displeasure when the waiter came around to check on the order. I could tell the young guy was flustered. He flipped to our order in his tablet to confirm he recorded the right dish. Based upon his utterances, I think he understood the order but wrote it in a way that was confusing to decipher. He walked off to handle the kitchen and put in the request for the right dish.

The manager came around and told us the replacement would be out soon. My husband indicated he really just wanted the salad which was ordered almost a half hour prior.

The waiter returned to tell us the new meal was on its way and asked if we needed anything. “Just our salads,” my husband said, “But I think your boss is getting them now.”

A look of pure shame and frustration fell over the waiter’s face, the final curtain after a poorly received act. As he walked towards the back, I saw his arms go up to his face as though they wanted to punish him and shield him at the same time.

I mentioned my observation to my husband, as he was facing the other way.

And what he did next is the reason I loved him.

When the correct order was finally placed in front of him (a grilled pizza slathered in peppers and mushrooms), he called the waiter over. The boy approached, hesitantly. “This is awesome!” my husband exclaimed, reaching out for a fist bump with the surprised waiter.

When the manager again came to check on us, my husband stated, “Tell our waiter he’s doing a really good job making sure that everything’s okay.”

And on the check, he added the words, ‘Thank you. Good job!” above the tip line.

 

I loved my husband last night not because of what he does for me or for our family but for what he did for a stranger who was having a rough night.

I loved my husband last night for making the effort to make someone smile and for bringing some good into someone’s day.

I loved my husband last night for his empathy and generosity.

I loved my husband last night for reaching out even when he had nothing to gain in return.

 

Maybe the way we treat waiters really does reveal our true selves.

 

 

Baptism By Tears

Posted on by stilllearning2b

September 12, 2001 was my first day in a classroom as a teacher.

I walked into that classroom still shocky and raw, my face puffy and eyes red from a sleepless night spent watching the news. My body protested its now-upward stance, wanting to re-establish the fetal curl that it had formed for the last day.

I walked into that classroom still unsure of the state of the country and even more unsure of my role with these students. I wanted someone to tell me it was going to be okay. I wanted someone to tell me what to do. But now I was the one who was supposed to the calming and the directing.

I walked into that classroom and saw dozens of faces, questioning and scared, mirroring my own. I may have been the teacher, but this was one lesson I didn’t know the answer to.

The pledge that morning broke out of its usual autopilot, each word felt as well as spoken. During the moment of silence that followed, more than one tear dripped from mournful eyes, falling silently onto the carpeted floor.

We gathered together that day, more than one class filling a room. It was as though we needed the support of numbers and feared the threat of isolation. Without prompting, the students arranged the chairs to form a messy circle. They understood that in order to get though this, they needed to be united.

As the morning progressed, the teachers pushed their own fears and sorrows aside in order to tend to those of the students. They told stories. They asked questions. We listened and we talked. One student had a parent that was still unaccounted for. Another had an uncle working the front lines. We may have been hundreds of miles away from ground zero, but we were only inches away from tragedy.

The boundaries of teacher and student blurred on that day. We were all reduced to the lowest common denominator of humanness. And nothing else mattered. It was a moment between.

Over the next few days, we re-asssumed the roles of teachers and students, the former safely tucking emotions away in order to be the stoic guide.

It was a strange introduction to teaching.

A baptism by tears.

 

Years later, I again entered a classroom with my face stained and puffy from lack of sleep and an excess of tears. But this was a personal tragedy, one that I did not share with the students. I tried to remain stoic and composed, but sometimes the pain broke through. And even though we never spoke of it, the students somehow knew. And they met my vulnerability with compassion and patience. They never questioned my absences or my laspes in attention.  They may never know how much their kind words or unexpected hugs helped me through that year.

 

It was a reminder that we are all students as well as teachers.

That vulnerability can be embraced rather than attacked.

And that tears are a christening that we all understand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alert Levels

Posted on by stilllearning2b

As a country, we became familiar with alert levels in travel after 9/11. We felt the apprehension of a code red and perhaps even modified our plans. We grew comfortable with the ever-present code orange, understanding that some level of threat is always present, even while dreaming of a day when all airports operate under a code green.

These alert levels were accepted as prudent. It was not a way of assuming culpability for the attacks nor was it lamented that we shouldn’t have to be alert. Rather, it was simply an acknowledgement that we needed to pay attention and respond to any information coming in.

As someone who faced deception and betrayal in her marriage, I became familiar with alert levels in relationships. And I realized and rectified the mistake the  mistake I made in my first marriage.

Relationship Code Red

There are times when all the sirens should be sounding. This is an appropriate alert level if you discover deception or face abuse. In those cases, proceed cautiously and call for back-up. Often, one or both partners is operating in a code red even when there no triggers within the marriage. This can arise from prior relationships or from insecurity, where fear is sounding a false alarm. A healthy relationship cannot exist under prolonged code red conditions. Get help or get out.

Relationship Code Orange

I think this is a healthy alert state for the infancy of a relationship. It can be all too easy to fall with the heart and leave the brain behind. No matter the attraction, it is important to remember that the person is still largely unknown to you. This is a time to question and verify. In an established relationship, a code orange is sounded when there are perceived significant difficulties – a lack of intimacy or connection, a lie, a breaking of a boundary. It is a reminder to be aware of your partner and your circumstances. It may be a minor blip that can be corrected easily or it may require outside assistance. Prolonged code orange isn’t healthy; it leads to a marriage filled with suspicions and doubts. Listen to the alert. It’s telling you to pay attention.

Relationship Code Yellow

A code yellow is not necessarily cause for alarm. It is an appropriate level during times of change – birth of child, new job, a move. All of these place new demands on the relationship and it is smart to be aware of potential complications. It is a reminder to not put your spouse or your marriage on autopilot, to be present in your relationship. Think of it as a nudge. If ignored, the threat level can easily escalate. But just a little attention can put things back on the right track.

Relationship Code Green

This is the ideal state for a healthy, established relationship that is built on trust. The alert system is on, yet it is reporting no threats.

So the mistake I made? After getting to know my ex husband, I turned off the alert system. I trusted him. I trusted him to remain trustworthy. Now, who knows? Even if my alarm system was fully operational, his brilliant deceptions may still have gone unnoticed. And it’s certainly no excuse for his behavior. But that’s no reason for me not to do my part.

So now my relationship alert system is on and fully operational, humming along at code green.

Gravity

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Like many other kids, I entertained the notion of becoming an astronaut. On family camping trips, I would gaze up at the stars and imagine what it would be like to travel between them. I thrilled in the images of astronauts unbound by the limits of gravity, every small action becoming a dance through space. The life of a star-walker seemed so free. So captivating. So inviting.

But I didn’t see the big picture yet.

Like many other kids of the 80s, my school went positively hog-wild for the Challenger expedition. We wrote letters to Christa McAuliffe. We carefully selected payloads and supplies from lists, balancing needs against weights, preparing on paper for a trip we hoped we would one day make. We watched videos of the crew aimed at schoolchildren and we learned lessons recommended by NASA. The inflatable planetarium paid a visit and we were taught rudimentary celestial navigation. Our school even built a mock-up of the cockpit of the shuttle out of cardboard and foil where we would take turns running pretend missions.

By the time the actual launch date arrived, there was a thrum of energy vibrating through the school. All of our pseudo-preparations led  us to feel like we were a part of that mission, an integral as the commander. That morning was endless as we waited for the lunch-time launch. TVs were located and rabbit ears adjusted to tune-in to the launch. Regular programming, both on TV and in the school, was suspended for the mission.

I remember the gasp more than the explosion. My teacher’s sharp intake of breath followed shortly by the news anchor’s wail. The kids needed another moment to reach understanding and then our cries began. For most of us, this was the first tragedy on a grand scale that we had ever experienced.

Interestingly, the disaster itself did not dull the allure of space for me. Instead, it drove me to understand more. As I sought out my own information, I realized that the videos and lessons presented to us were sanitized for our protection. We weren’t taught the realities of space travel; we were presented with the shiny happy Disney version.

One picture in one book rendered me speechless. It was an image of the command capsule from a pre-shuttle program splashdown. One astronaut was already on board the rescue boat, collapsed under his own weight. Another was being hauled from the hatch, his muscles unable to provide much assistance. On the next page, was the image that was always presented to the public – the entire crew standing together after the mission with smiles on their faces and hands waving in the air.

Just to take that picture, that little piece of fiction, in the days after landing would have exhausted the crew. Despite their healthy appearances, they could hardly walk. In the absence of gravity, their muscles atrophied. They became weak and unable to meet the demands of their own world.

 

A life of little resistance seems so tempting. The thought of floating through without struggle and being untethered to any ballast is appealing.

But the reality is not so attractive.

We need resistance to grow sturdy.

We need struggle to become strong.

 

During my divorce, I felt like I was trying to walk on Jupiter, my 120 lbs magnified by the gaseous giant to a staggering 283 lbs. Every action required immense effort as I struggled to complete even the most arbitrary tasks against the pull of the pain.

But each day, I grew a little stronger. More adapted to my new environment. I became less aware of the increased resistance as I became tougher.

And when it was time for my return to earth, I felt like I was floating.

The strength built for struggle filled normal life with ease.

Star walking on earth.