Did you know that a 42-lb standard poodle can swallow an entire rib bone whole? Me, neither, but I saw the X-rays myself. DB's dog from his prior marriage has adopted me and my kids as part of his "pack" (apparently I am now the alpha bitch), because I take care of him when DB travels. Stepdog follows me around the house, guards me from other people and dogs when we go walking, lets me know when the kids are getting into something, and sleeps next to me when DB isn't here (he doesn't even do that with DB). He is a sweetheart, and I really adore him. I'm really more of a cat person usually, but this is a great dog.
So, a few weeks ago, DB had made ribs, and admittedly gave Stepdog one of the bones, WHICH WE WILL NEVER, EVER DO AGAIN. As soon as we heard a crunch, DB went to retrieve the bone, but the mistake was giving Stepdog another bone. Because Stepdog decided he was damned if someone was going to take away his second bone, so he ran off with it and swallowed it whole. Strong work.
To our credit, we leapt into action, rushed Stepdog to the emergency vet, and he had surgery to remove the bone. Stepdog recovered quickly and is now back to his goofy self.
Upon reflection, I realized that (a) I was really glad I was there to support DB, that there was no place I'd rather be at that moment than by his side, even if that happened to be in an emergency vet hospital, where he was freaking out with guilt and worry and needed me to tell him what I thought he should do; and (b) I have a Stepdog. We are becoming a family, incrementally and slowly, we are counting on each other and making decisions together. I know it's a far cry from combining households and finances and children, but for a very long time, I never thought we would ever be able to be together even this much. It's like a dream come true, even the suck parts.
Of course, for Stepdog, as long as he has plenty of food and affection and a warm place to sleep, it's all great. But I look in his eyes and can tell that he's wondering whether there's any place he can put the next bone that this bitch won't come after it.
Showing posts with label DB. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DB. Show all posts
Monday, December 6, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Here's how it was for me
Usually when a person is caught cheating, it’s assumed that the cheater was out sniffing around town for something to rub up against, while the faithful loving spouse was home ironing the cheater’s shirts. Sometimes it’s like that. It wasn’t for me.
First off, no one was ironing my shirts. Well, sometimes the nice lady at the dry cleaner’s was, but (a) I wasn’t married to her, so I don’t think she can legitimately complain, and (b) I’m mostly a wash & wear kind of girl anyway. But more to the point, I wasn’t looking for an affair. I was minding my own business, going to work (after a long stint as a stay-home mom before that), taking care of my children, spending most of my free time with or in service of my family. I was not trawling through bars; I was not on dating websites; I was not going on business trips and trying to pick people up. Still, I found trouble without looking for it.
Obviously, I made choices, each of which incrementally added up to what ultimately transpired. I chose to friend DB on Facebook; I chose to have a regular e-mail correspondence with him; I didn’t stop that correspondence when I realized I was checking my e-mail frequently, with a certain breathless anticipation that could not be chalked up to catching up with an old friend. I shared emotions with him that I couldn’t discuss with anyone, I realized how desperately I desired him physically, and still I didn’t put the brakes on. I think this is what people often mean when they say an affair “just happened.” But of course it doesn’t “just happen.” People choose, maybe not all at once, but by degrees.
I didn’t see it that way at the time. At the time, I felt like I was getting hit by a tidal wave. The emotions were so intense, the highs and lows so conflicting. It wasn’t that I didn’t have control over my actions; I did. But I was drawn to this man in a way that I’d never been drawn to anyone. Yes, I desired him, but it was beyond lust. It didn’t matter whether I could actually be with him or not. My heart was his, and I couldn’t help loving him. I was willing to wait for him as long as it took. If that turned out to be never, I wasn’t going to stop loving him. I still love him that way. I can’t help it.
I know how I sound. I know that at the time, I was high on neurotransmitters and adrenaline, and I did not see clearly the pain that I was going to rain down on myself and others as a result of my actions. I thought I did, but I had no idea. I have lost so much sleep, cried so many tears, agonized about what to do, writhed in guilt and shame. It has hurt more than I can describe.
Here’s the thing. After all of this pain, after everything we have both been through, he is still holding my hand, and I am still holding his. If this was only a booty call, or an attempt to relieve boredom and get an emotional high, I would have bailed on him long ago, and he would have bailed on me. It would not have been worth it.
Most of the time it probably isn’t worth it. Most of the time I think people are looking for something by having an affair that they’re not actually going to get from the affair: a sense of completion and wholeness and safety they can only find within themselves. And I know I am not immune from that, nor is DB. We are flawed and broken people, and neither of us can heal the other. We are trying to rebuild ourselves, and it is not an easy process, nor one that will ever be truly completed. The affair was not a fix for all our existing problems. We simply took those problems with us.
I’ve struggled with how to end this post, because I don’t endorse what I did, but I love this man. I’m not naïve or stupid. I don’t believe in happily ever after; I believe you have to work at relationships. If it were easy, we would not have such a high divorce rate. But I would never have believed that I could love a man the way I love DB. The only other people I love with such fierce devotion are my children, who are obviously in a different category, but it’s that kind of intensity. I wasn’t looking for this relationship because I didn’t even know such a thing could exist. And once I knew, I couldn’t turn away from it.
People who haven’t stood in my shoes can judge me all they want, but if it happened to them, if they truly felt this way about someone else, I question whether they would be able to walk away, and what they might find themselves willing to do to be with that person.
Here’s how it was for me:
from Pablo Neruda’s Cien Sonetos de Amor (100 Love Sonnets)
XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
First off, no one was ironing my shirts. Well, sometimes the nice lady at the dry cleaner’s was, but (a) I wasn’t married to her, so I don’t think she can legitimately complain, and (b) I’m mostly a wash & wear kind of girl anyway. But more to the point, I wasn’t looking for an affair. I was minding my own business, going to work (after a long stint as a stay-home mom before that), taking care of my children, spending most of my free time with or in service of my family. I was not trawling through bars; I was not on dating websites; I was not going on business trips and trying to pick people up. Still, I found trouble without looking for it.
Obviously, I made choices, each of which incrementally added up to what ultimately transpired. I chose to friend DB on Facebook; I chose to have a regular e-mail correspondence with him; I didn’t stop that correspondence when I realized I was checking my e-mail frequently, with a certain breathless anticipation that could not be chalked up to catching up with an old friend. I shared emotions with him that I couldn’t discuss with anyone, I realized how desperately I desired him physically, and still I didn’t put the brakes on. I think this is what people often mean when they say an affair “just happened.” But of course it doesn’t “just happen.” People choose, maybe not all at once, but by degrees.
I didn’t see it that way at the time. At the time, I felt like I was getting hit by a tidal wave. The emotions were so intense, the highs and lows so conflicting. It wasn’t that I didn’t have control over my actions; I did. But I was drawn to this man in a way that I’d never been drawn to anyone. Yes, I desired him, but it was beyond lust. It didn’t matter whether I could actually be with him or not. My heart was his, and I couldn’t help loving him. I was willing to wait for him as long as it took. If that turned out to be never, I wasn’t going to stop loving him. I still love him that way. I can’t help it.
I know how I sound. I know that at the time, I was high on neurotransmitters and adrenaline, and I did not see clearly the pain that I was going to rain down on myself and others as a result of my actions. I thought I did, but I had no idea. I have lost so much sleep, cried so many tears, agonized about what to do, writhed in guilt and shame. It has hurt more than I can describe.
Here’s the thing. After all of this pain, after everything we have both been through, he is still holding my hand, and I am still holding his. If this was only a booty call, or an attempt to relieve boredom and get an emotional high, I would have bailed on him long ago, and he would have bailed on me. It would not have been worth it.
Most of the time it probably isn’t worth it. Most of the time I think people are looking for something by having an affair that they’re not actually going to get from the affair: a sense of completion and wholeness and safety they can only find within themselves. And I know I am not immune from that, nor is DB. We are flawed and broken people, and neither of us can heal the other. We are trying to rebuild ourselves, and it is not an easy process, nor one that will ever be truly completed. The affair was not a fix for all our existing problems. We simply took those problems with us.
I’ve struggled with how to end this post, because I don’t endorse what I did, but I love this man. I’m not naïve or stupid. I don’t believe in happily ever after; I believe you have to work at relationships. If it were easy, we would not have such a high divorce rate. But I would never have believed that I could love a man the way I love DB. The only other people I love with such fierce devotion are my children, who are obviously in a different category, but it’s that kind of intensity. I wasn’t looking for this relationship because I didn’t even know such a thing could exist. And once I knew, I couldn’t turn away from it.
People who haven’t stood in my shoes can judge me all they want, but if it happened to them, if they truly felt this way about someone else, I question whether they would be able to walk away, and what they might find themselves willing to do to be with that person.
Here’s how it was for me:
from Pablo Neruda’s Cien Sonetos de Amor (100 Love Sonnets)
XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Why he was worth it
When I realized I had fallen in love with a man other than my husband, I was completely gobsmacked. There I was, a respectable, fairly cerebral married mother of 2, staring off into space like a 16 year-old, twirling my hair, sending surreptitious text messages, and even, I kid you not, giggling. Yes, I know that the neurotransmitters released when we're giddy in love are the equivalent of being high on drugs. And in this case, it was probably doubly enhanced by the risk involved, even though I've never been a thrill-seeker. I look back at myself and shake my head, because I must have looked like an idiot.
Now that several years have passed and the infatuation phase has worn off, I am happy to say that I no longer giggle much, thank God. What's left is that I really love this man. I trust him in a way I've never trusted anyone, and couldn't have imagined trusting my ex-husband (for good reason). Why is it that my feelings survived the toxic landscape we've crossed? Why was he worth all of that?
Here are some of the things I love about him. He is sweet and kind and patient. He is wonderful with my children. He talks to his dog. He makes me lemon tea when I'm sick. He will go with me to Ikea and spend the better part of a day helping me pick out things for my kids' rooms, then he will bring it all home, carry it into the house, and assemble it. He sings when he cooks. Did I mention that he cooks? On bad days, he will hold me while I cry, until I finish crying. He listens to me whine about work. He reassures me that I am a good mother. He is smart, with a wide range of interests. He calls me on my bullshit but doesn't make me feel stupid about it. He is graceful about admitting his mistakes. He makes me feel cherished and constantly tells me I'm beautiful and sexy. He empties the dishwasher without being asked. He has always, in my mind, been the most handsome man I've ever seen in real life, even more so now than when I first met him 20 years ago. Are you vomiting yet? Because I could go on.
Does he have faults? Oh, my God, yes. He can be a real pain in the ass. He gets his feelings hurt easily. He is protective and sometimes even possessive. He has a certain pedantic tone he takes when talking about his area of expertise, and I can only take but so much of it. He does not always follow through, even when he intends in good faith to complete a task. And he contributed to the end of his own marriage, and not just by having an affair.
I don't think that I idealize him. But I do love him. For a long time after this relationship re-ignited, I wondered whether my feelings were real. We all project onto others what we need to see. And for many people who have an affair, the relationship is too stifled by its inherent limitations for love to flourish, even when it takes root. For whatever reason, though, here we are, searching to get it right this time. And still occasionally giggling.
Now that several years have passed and the infatuation phase has worn off, I am happy to say that I no longer giggle much, thank God. What's left is that I really love this man. I trust him in a way I've never trusted anyone, and couldn't have imagined trusting my ex-husband (for good reason). Why is it that my feelings survived the toxic landscape we've crossed? Why was he worth all of that?
Here are some of the things I love about him. He is sweet and kind and patient. He is wonderful with my children. He talks to his dog. He makes me lemon tea when I'm sick. He will go with me to Ikea and spend the better part of a day helping me pick out things for my kids' rooms, then he will bring it all home, carry it into the house, and assemble it. He sings when he cooks. Did I mention that he cooks? On bad days, he will hold me while I cry, until I finish crying. He listens to me whine about work. He reassures me that I am a good mother. He is smart, with a wide range of interests. He calls me on my bullshit but doesn't make me feel stupid about it. He is graceful about admitting his mistakes. He makes me feel cherished and constantly tells me I'm beautiful and sexy. He empties the dishwasher without being asked. He has always, in my mind, been the most handsome man I've ever seen in real life, even more so now than when I first met him 20 years ago. Are you vomiting yet? Because I could go on.
Does he have faults? Oh, my God, yes. He can be a real pain in the ass. He gets his feelings hurt easily. He is protective and sometimes even possessive. He has a certain pedantic tone he takes when talking about his area of expertise, and I can only take but so much of it. He does not always follow through, even when he intends in good faith to complete a task. And he contributed to the end of his own marriage, and not just by having an affair.
I don't think that I idealize him. But I do love him. For a long time after this relationship re-ignited, I wondered whether my feelings were real. We all project onto others what we need to see. And for many people who have an affair, the relationship is too stifled by its inherent limitations for love to flourish, even when it takes root. For whatever reason, though, here we are, searching to get it right this time. And still occasionally giggling.
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