It Was Aliens, I'm Telling You...

So, I kind of left ya'll hanging the other day with this post.

This one is a follow-up with the 411. It's a doozy. Long and rambly (true to form!) and all over the map.

First, though, I gotta set the stage.

The last couple of weeks have been rough ones. And ones wherein I was not feeling particularly beneficent towards Charlie Brown.

Our house was a veritable health code violation:

• Animal waste residues (despite scrubbing and wiping and numerous potty training attempts for a certain pet that I did not really want in the first place)
• Tripping hazards (carpeting consisting of dirty laundry strewn everywhere 4 inches thick will do that)
• Unwashed dishes (with foods in various stages of decay still stuck to them)
• Filthy floors
• Unmentionable bathrooms

Yeah, FILTH-Y. Gross. And not just me being hard on myself. But real, legitimate, and utter squalor.

Oh, but wait, we'd planned on having neighbors over Saturday night and church group at our house Sunday. Translation = Heather had a big assed (almost true-to-life-size!) load of housework to do, because Charlie Brown had planned to go riding with the male unit of the couple we were having over Saturday night.

I was ready to dig into the cleaning, though. IT WAS TIME.

So I did. Our neighbor bailed on the motorcycling trip, though and Charlie Brown acted despondent all afternoon.

He had been planning it all afternoon, Heather.

Yeah, but life's a bitch sometimes. Gotta put on those big boy pants, eh?

And so went the voices inside my head. You know it's bad when you argue both sides for someone else!

Long story short, after a couple hours had passed, I told LMNOB to tell Daddy that we were going to the track, and that I would watch the kids, with a book in tow, while they played in the dirt during his riding time.

We left. Got dirty. Ate Taco Bell. Went home and had same-sex parent and child showers, tucked the kids into bed and relaxed. A spirit of intimacy and contentment enveloped our home. Charlie Brown and I fell into bed that night, only to wake later for a middle of the night tryst :wink, wink:
of an "alternate" variety :nod, nod: as I was still entertaining a certain visitor.

The next day, we did church. Then he had softball practice, and I continued cleaning before everyone got there.

While doing gobs of laundry, I had a pity party for myself:

Why can't he see all that I do?

I just don't want to have to ask.

Like Cheap Trick, I want him to want:
- me
- to help me
- an others focused heart
- to be a partner in parenting
- et cet er a.

This is not the life I envisioned for myself.

I don't want to have to be the one who always initiates peacemaking, especially if it isn't really my fault in the first place.

Why won't he be the spiritual leader in our home?

Seriously, I felt like singing "Where have all the cowboys gone?"

Yes, I do think in pop culture references - ya'll should know that by now.

Ok, caught up? Sorta, in that "as-much-as-an-outsider-can-be" way?

Alright, let's go back to Monday afternoon.

Charlie Brown calls me, seems really upbeat. Tells me that he'd spent the lunch hour with Prominent Couple from church whom we've known forever. (I'm trying to keep from totally outing them).

Charlie Brown and Prominent Male had shared burdens with each other.

Charlie Brown told Prominent Male that he really wished our church had the men's accountability groups they'd tried to set up (and failed at doing so) a couple of years back, because he needed them.

[insert a mental rendering of the record scratching, "say what? Go back over that" sound here]

Winter weight suddenly sits heavier than actual poundage accrued.

Heart lurches into gut.

Let him talk it out, Heather, slow down.

Also, why do these convo's happen when I'm at work and The Boss is rightthere?

He continues, saying that Prominent Male and he had decided to meet for lunch once/wk and see how things go. I can hear him beaming through the phone. This is huge - Charlie Brown doesn't have a lot of friends, yet is a social creature so tends to be bogged down by that lack of testosterone networking.

I'm happy to see him take initiative.

Also worried.

"So, honey....uhm"

try not to cry, loosen those vocal cords back up!

"So, uh, the reason why those groups were started in the first place?"

Pause...this is where I point out the elephant in the room..I see him, do you?

"Uhm, are you having problems with that again?"

I want to know.

No I don't.

Please say no.

If he says no, you won't believe him, though.

He's rejected you recently.

Is this why?

Is he back to taking care of himself and checking out of the relationship?

Shit!

He says, "Well, sorta....Sometimes I get things in my head..."

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

You're too fat.

A used up mother.

Your body is aging, sagging, stretched out.

Not what he wants.

He will always want something other than you.

He's still talking!

"But, that's not all..."

Shit!shit!shit!

"But not really, I mean, it's a lot of things. It's last Sunday when I got mad at you. I shouldn't have, it was wrong - and yet, I cannot tell you how angry I was at that moment. That's not right, I shouldn't be that way. And I'm not motivated to do anything. At home, at work. And you're stuck with doing it for both of us. My relationship with God is not where it needs to be - I mean I tried to get a lesson together for last night and I couldn't focus...."

"Ok...."

He hears my doubt.

"I shouldn't have said anything, now you're going to be all worried about That, and it's not about That, I'm telling you."

"I know. This is just hard. And I'm processing. I'll be ok. I just need to think, my head is spinning."

And on it went.

Introspection at a level I've never heard come out of his mouth in the 14 years that we've known each other.

I've always asked for honesty.

But it is so hard to swallow.

And so hard to gracefully say "Thank you," when given the truth, instead of hammering away at him because 1.) it's taken so damned painfully long to get to This Moment, and 2.) that he had to admit to screwing up because he did screw up in the first place.

I mean, gosh, can't he be perfect?

Kidding.

Like you are perfect? God would ask me.

And I'd cast down my eyes and mumble, "No....but...."

He's hurt me how many times and I still do so much....

And God would say, "My dear sweet child, I understand...and yet, it could be so much worse."

And He would be totally, dead on right.

Sucks, huh?

Later Charlie Brown texted me with a msg of appreciation for my "sacrifice of time" on Saturday at the bike track, it meant a lot to him.

I replied telling him he was just in a good mood because he got a little sumthin' sum on Saturday night.

He replied back:

Hee hee.

Like he was totally 18 again when we were madly in love and lust.



© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved