The Eye of the Beholder

Driving through Bethel a couple days ago, on the way back from getting groceries, Ira was chatting away as usual. He was oddly quiet for a minute before asking, out of the blue, "Mom, are you beautiful?" Without thinking, I snorted and said "Nope, definitely not." Then I felt bad because, well, why DON'T I think I'm pretty? Because my nose is big and my breasts are small? Because my hair doesn't match my eyebrows? Because I had two babies and show it? Because I don't look like those glamorous women that I'm told are gorgeous by magazines and movies? I guess so. But do I like that weird idea? No, of course not, it's sick...but here I am, accidentally passing it on to the next generation.

Damage control time. "Actually Ira, everybody's beautiful. Momma's just grouchy lately. You are very, very beautiful and you came from me and Daddy, so we must be beautiful too." (Best I could do on short notice. In Bethel.)

Made me think about it though, the reason the whole wide world goes along with this dumb theory of what is and isn't beautiful, is because... we JUST GO ALONG WITH IT. Duh. Let's not. It's quite simple. But apparently, with the way I feel about myself, I'm sadly one of the worst offenders.

See, I have a hideous self-esteem problem. Always have. Don't really know why, and lately, with the pressure NOT TO FAIL coming from so many angles, this problem has manifested into something very tricky. (And no, this isn't a passive aggressive way to get people to tell me how great I am. Of course I'm great, and blah, blah, blah, we're ALL great, that's not the point. The point is: I need NOT to need other people thinking that, I need to think I'm great all by myself.) For some reason, I have forever felt inferior in looks, talents and intelligence to everyone else...not sure if it's because I'm ultra sensitive to the fact that I didn't go to traditional college, that I don't have a successful career, that I grew up too poor to have the glossy hair, perfect teeth and trendy clothes others had, that I got picked on a lot when I first started public school in those crucial teenage years, maybe the fact that Justin was always the genius and I was always the idiot, or maybe because pride in one's self is sometimes treated as acting "too big fer yer britches" around here...whatever it was, I don't want my kids growing up crippled in the same way, always needing someone ELSE to tell them they're worth it. I'm working on my self confidence, trying to move away from that ridiculous need for pre-approval from others before I believe in myself. Because if I hang around waiting for it forever, well, maybe it ain't ever coming.

Example: when somebody disapproves of something I do, something I wear, something I say,(which is often, given we are talking about ME here) my first reaction is that they are right and I am wrong. I don't trust my own instincts about a situation. If a person is upset with me, I am instantly crushed and wonder what I did wrong...it would never have occurred to me in the past to say "Screw you". Or to not exactly say "screw you", but be confident enough in myself to know that it's not ALWAYS my fault. Stick to my guns, so to speak. Instead of letting the world know I'm an easy target because I'll back down apologetically in any case.

Jen and I used to pick on Myra for catching her as a very little girl, looking in the steamy mirror after a bath, batting her cute eyelashes at herself, and quoting a cosmetics commercial from the time..."Don't hate me because I'm beautiful." Well, she was. And I was always rather jealous of both her beauty and her confidence to know it. I mean, it sure didn't hurt her to hear people say how adorable she was every minute, and perhaps it DID hurt me to hear boys say in high school that I wasn't pretty like my sister. But knowing is half the battle. She KNEW she was pretty, therefore, she WAS pretty. Lesson to be learned, right there.

Going through this split, and the anger-talk that goes with it, has been one of the biggest blows ever to my shaky self-esteem. To hear people on the "other side" are criticizing my choices, and me in general, is a rotten feeling, especially to someone who's always felt rather swayed by other's opinions. Constantly made me second guess myself. I hope that I'm finally becoming smart enough to know that no matter how bullied I may feel, I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm NOT crazy/stupid/morally unsound. I've got bigger things to worry about than opinions fueled by anger, not fact. Public opinion can go hang for once. I'm in a tough situation, doing the best I can. Look at my beautiful boys, I must be doing something right. And for the record, I'm a damn AWESOME mother, even if I'm not pretty. So there.

Portraits

Working a lot in the last few days, it's the Christmas season portrait rush...just thought I'd post a few shots.

Shearing

Went up to Unadilla on Friday to watch sheep shearing...they shear late in the fall to make lambing season easier. Apparently the lambs can nurse better if the wool isn't so thick by spring. Poor, little, bald sheep were wandering around in snowflakes by the time afternoon rolled around, but they have a cozy barn to get out of the weather, so they'll be fine. The boys were fascinated, Eli especially, with the process. The machines and tools and technique, the funny, elfin, wool booties the professional shearers wear. Ira, in true Ira fashion, was just into the sheep. I've never really seen it done before, which struck me as strange...you'd have thought I'd have seen it at the Barreda's or someplace else, we know so many people with sheep, but nope, I haven't. Such an art to it. I found it lovely to watch, the way the wool peeled back perfectly, stroke after stroke, leaving shimmering, uniform stripes on the sheep's bodies. Reminded me of some graceful dance...the shearers even stretched and did yoga poses beforehand. In filthy work clothes. Very interesting, all of it. Would love to try it sometime.

Anyhow, today's a busy one. Sunday is obviously NOT the day of rest at my house, darn it. I wish. I'm writing in between four portrait sessions, and after they finish, I'm watching Av in exchange for Jen watching the boys right now, so she can do a massage, then scheduled to clean the school this evening, so it's a long day, work-wise. Helped John with a dinner party last night that went super late, all neat, fun people and I enjoyed it very much, but I'm feeling pretty exhausted at the moment. Wondering when I'm going to find my groove. Will I ever? IS there even a groove to find for someone in my situation? My brain repeats "WhatamIforgetting?WhatamIforgetting?WhatamIforgetting?" all day long, every day. Starting to get rather nerveracking. I keep telling myself: "Let it go." "One day at a time." "Breathe." and "You're going to be OK." My calming mantras. Hoping that helps a tiny bit at least. One of the women at dinner last night, Sidney, talked to me at length about her divorce and it was one of the hardest talks I've had yet, somehow. I've only meet her once or twice before, and here she was, crying, and so was I, and it was just sad and awkward and nice and awful. It was uncomfortable since she was a virtual stranger, and oddly comfortable for that very same reason. She had no judgements about us already. Huh. I don't know why I wrote about that. Just kinda tired and writing whatever pops into my head, I guess.

Well, that's all folks. Off I go to grin and shout "Say cheese!" for another hour. Over and out.

Beautiful Day

It's been a couple week's worth of awful. Seriously, I don't know why things always seem to happen at once, but anything that could break, go wrong, or turn up missing around here did. I won't even attempt to list all the random are-you-KIDDING-me? stuff that happened, but yesterday I decided to try and take some nice Christmas pictures of the boys and it was actually a lovely day for once. We went up to Landgoes for lunch, because it's so pretty for photos, had a delicious dinner at Myra and Jim's, and then saw a funny, old, Buster Keaton silent movie at The Hop. A good day. I hope good days start to be the rule rather than the exception.

Trick or Treat

Eli insisted on cramming himself into his robot costume from a couple years ago, and Ira changed his mind ten minutes before we left the house, from turtle to pirate.

Poverty + Divorce = An Ugly Halloween Tale.

That's what it feels like most of the time. Here's what I've got to do today for my sanity: write about the nitty-gritty hell that accompanies a split after 16 years. Especially if the people involved are poor. This entry goes against my general rule about not saying anything unless it's nice, this entry goes against my Don't-Sink-Down-Into-Misery policy, but I find lately, I'm only writing after a rare day off, when I feel halfway refreshed and hopeful, so...I'm giving you an incorrect representation of myself. I'm sorta disgusted that my most recent posts are about cute farms, fuzzy sheep, and blissful road trips, and, you know, chirpy little la-la-la entries. Out and about! Look at me!...Moving on! And that's not really the case. Makes me sound like I'm super excited to be headed forward into a fresh start...but I'm not. Things ain't peachy. I'm sad about what happened here, and I'm afraid. Afraid, afraid.

Understand though, I can't, in good conscience, ALWAYS be writing just of the stuff that goes on between those once-in-a-while great moments because the words would be UGLY. I don't want to write them often, I don't want you to have to read them often. I'm ashamed to let people know what happens on a day-to-day basis. Because I'll tell you what it is: it's fights, it's purposeful hurting, it's money and responsibility and the arguments concerning selling off our life, basically. Goodbye beach cabin, goodbye house, goodbye ponies, goodbye boat, goodbye painting over our bed, goodbye everything nice in the life we made together. Start over from scratch. The most horrible thing about the "fresh start" is the fact that I'll actually start from nothing. Truly from scratch. Half of everything is not very much. Especially after what we owe is paid off. And Lord, I'm exhausted just thinking about starting over, since I haven't got the skills to do anything with my "half" anyway. I can't buy a hunk of land and build a house, I could only buy one...only there's not NEARLY enough money for that. I can't even get a loan because our credit is completely shot.

Am I doomed to tuck my tail between my legs and run back to my parents, babies in tow, at 34 freaking years old? Pride is a hard thing to reckon with. It frustrates me to know that I'm not able to stand on my own two feet when I want to SO badly. I need my boys to see me as strong, I need them to know for sure they can count on ME, always to take good care of them. I don't want them to have to worry...not about themselves and certainly not about their mother. I desperately wish they could someday be able look back and say, "Wow, our mom was one tough cookie through all that." It comes back around to pride, again.

We had a horrendous fight last night, Justin and I. Over honesty. Over debt. Over the fact that we agreed he keep paying the bills and I keep raising the kids...as our full-time contributions to the situation, except for the fact that the bills are going unpaid. A man came yesterday, knocking on the door, to inform me, very rudely, that the mortgage was so far behind he needed to take photos of our house for foreclosure purposes. And I know that these people usually deal with nasty confrontations, but when I told him, with my mouth hanging open like an idiot, that I had no idea things had gotten this bad, he smirked disbelievingly and said "Yeah, that's what they ALL say, lady." I've never been so humiliated. And then, the same afternoon, I received a final shut-off notice for our electric service, gone unpaid for months, unbeknown to me. Compounded by the fact that there's no heat in the house yet, despite everyone else being toasty warm for a month already, at least, and school tuition is also unpaid...well, melt-down city for Emily.

In a way, I'm kicking myself for not working all these years instead of raising kids, since that's what people seem to think I ought to have done. But I can't really agree, because I KNOW my kids were better off this way. Daycare costs more than any income I could have gotten, it didn't make the least bit of sense for us to pay some stranger MORE than I could make, to watch our children. And I've tried to work part-time doing dance, photography, writing for the paper...whatever, from home with the boys, for extra money. Dang it, I TRIED to do my part. I thought I was. We just couldn't make ends meet.

I'm having a hard time being alone. I never was before, not ever. I watched a short film on-line yesterday called "How to be alone" Here, I'll try and paste the address in:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7X7sZzSXYs

I'm having a doozy of a time with it. Doing all the household chores that used to be shared is huge too. I don't ever sleep until after midnight. I find myself on the phone a lot after the kids are in bed, just because I can't handle the quiet when I'm doing the dishes or laundry. The house seems too still, and like a museum to my old life. I feel uncomfortable facing it by myself, and saying, "Yup, it's just little ol' me now. I'M the one gonna be filling your furnace. I'm the one taking your trash to the dump. Problem is: I don't know really how to do all these things yet, so we're going to have a rocky ride, House, you and I." It's daunting, feeling scared of being alone. I'm also upset beyond words that I'm working crazy-hard here, doing much more than I ever did in the past, and yet, I'm going to lose it all anyway? How can that be?

Not to mention we live in a tiny town, what do you think the hot topic around the General Store's coffee machine is? When I shake it, leading a Zumba class, what do you suppose people are thinking? Are they judging? Why do I even care? Who the hell knows. I guess I care because this is MY town. And I'm stupidly sensitive about what people think. This is the same place where I've been on/in every committee/group there is. I've baked pies for town meeting, I've helped out with the summer reading program, I've donated all the proceeds of my dance shows to the food shelf, I've made cookies for art openings, volunteered for the after-school program, sang Christmas carols to shut-in, been the local correspondent for our paper, taught a zillion dance classes to kids for peanuts, been in the Historical Society as long as I can remember, raised money for the Grange. And I'm not saying any of this because I feel entitled to respect from my neighbors. I did these things because this town is important to me, I love this place, it's special, and I'm proud to be accepted here. But some people are still going to disapprove, and I'm just an ordinary floozy after all.

And let's add the money issue to things: I always knew, of course, that poor people had the shitty end of the stick, we've been basically poor all along anyway, but I never realized the true scorn and humiliation that comes along with ABSOLUTE poverty. I spent over three and a half hours, day before yesterday, on the phone with our insurance company trying to work out a tangle, and being made to feel like DIRT. We get Government funded health care now, and here's what I learned from them over the course of the afternoon: I am obviously an ignorant, uneducated, lazy person. I am without human feelings, I am a mooch on society. My own bad choices are to blame. (And boy-oh-boy, was I reminded of that to an extreme extent.) I got the impression over and over again that I ought to count myself lucky that anyone even cared about people like me, (They actually used the phrase "people like you" repeatedly) and how dare I complain or question what kind of service I deserved? Because as a lower class citizen, I deserved nothing, really.

Maybe I HAVE made some bad choices. Haven't we all? Maybe buying the boys ponies was a bad idea, I just so much wanted their lives to be happy. I didn't want them to feel like they were always wishing for what they could never have. Maybe I shouldn't have done a lot of things. Maybe I am uneducated. But I'm not lazy. Worn out, more like. Plus, I'm full to the brim with normal, human emotion, and my pride is smarting horribly through all this. I cringe every time I have to ask for help. If it was just me, I never would. I'd live under a bridge first. But my kids aren't. No way.

There. I just spent forever on the phone with Myra, sobbing about how tired and sad I am. Even if she is all: "Power through this! Don't waste time feeling sorry for yourself! Who cares what people think?!" I end up feeling like a pathetic scab just wallowing in self-pity, but it still helps to know that my family loves me and won't let me live under a bridge. It also helps to eat a half pan of brownies apparently. My Halloween costume this year? Still undecided between Corpse Bride, Streetwalker, Homeless Bum or White Trash Momma.

Unadilla Afternoon

This week's day off spent at Ann and Bill's beautiful farm and community theatre. Trying to capture the very last of the color before the world goes black and white!