Screwed

It so happens that all my female friends - the one I have stuck with anyway - are great human beings: smart, kind, witty, perceptive, centered and generally fun to be around.

Moving from place to place, I have made friends with women of all kinds of background, color, nationality, religion, you name it. But apart from being smart, kind, witty, perceptive, centered and generally fun to be around, they all share another characteristic: they are all heterosexual - and, to put it bluntly, it hasn’t done them any good...or most of them anyway.

F... there are a lot of assholes out there!! And it begs the question why these smart, witty and perceptive human beings have put up with them. Conditioning, disillusionment, hormonal knock out?

The fact is, most of my friends have by now been left by at least one of their partners. They are raising children on their own, fighting for child support, coping with insufficient child care and crazy work schedules.

One was deserted when she got diagnosed with cancer in the course of her pregnancy and the guy realized that that was really too much to deal with.

The other was left for some Argentine bimbo half her age, after giving birth to a child with down syndrome.

And then there is K. who for the longest time supported her husband and two sons by working night-times for companies in India and the US, until he thought that it was time to move on.

Most, however, were left before they were introduced to the merriments of motherhood - and that was probably lucky. One because she wanted to read Western magazines and go jogging instead of sitting hour after hour huddled together with her sisters-in-kaw, another because she was too successful, and my gorgeous best friend, because her boobs were not the right size, shape...or was it the circumference...?

My aunt always says there are two sides to the story and I tell her, yes, but one of them is
usually worse than the other and it’s rarely the one cracking the misogynistic jokes. She also says that she knows women who have done exceedingly well after divorces, and I tend to tell her that she is lucky. I know of one, and I am glad for her, even though I would scarcely count her among my friends.

Through Her Eyes

Zoë and I just finished painting our garden fence. It’s absolutely beautiful and it was a shame really we couldn’t toast to the completion of this epic event by opening a couple of beer. That day will come though. It’s fun to have a tween daughter who is getting savvier by the minute, with her eyes wide open and her mind clicking and churning away.

Whenever I get stuck on a task, she usually has a way to get me going again with either a pencil, hairpin or pocket knife. And even though we still cannot agree on the conjugation of ‘venir’ (in either French or Spanish) nor the war of succession, our mornings together are a lot of fun and usually, by the time we go pick up Julian or walk Freddie, we have made peace and moved beyond irregular verbs and the reign of Edward IV.

On our walks over to the Kindergarden, the trail leads us through fields and along a narrow path through the woods. The early morning light never fails to surprise us, the way it threads its way through tree tops to settle on brambles and bluebells. Usually Zoë is the first to notice, and her enthusiasm about the little wonders that surround us fill me with
pride and happiness.

Although I had always thought that raising a daughter would be not only a privilege, but also a true bonding experience, I have come to learn that it is all that and more.

It is a chance to see the world. Again.

Life with a Smile

There is something to be said about taking things down a couple of notches, unwinding the coil a bit, and stepping back. I am trying to get to that point and although
still a few light years away from the perfect ‘omm’-state, I can report that life is beginning to look up.

J. is doing well with her last attempt at chemo and for the time being, nobody is mentioning books entitled “My Life without ME.” More and more, I have started to listen and relax. The initial outbreak of frantic problem-solving activism has given way to a more restful mind set. Life is never in our hands, not completely anyway. And although I have no flying idea in whose hands it is ultimately cradled, I am fine with the certainty that neither I nor anyone else have the ultimate say in matters of life, luck, happiness, and health. All we can do, whether as parents, doctors, policy makers, big time money makers and fellow human beings is to give it a good try.

It takes a long time to become a MENSCH. But everyday, we should try anew. It’s worthwhile. An aware and at the same time humble human - no more and no less.

Finding Ella

Julian has spent the four and one half years of his sweet life in the company of strong, compassionate women - he has been fortunate. And after I explained to him again that even if Matt would grow very old (something like 42), I would still not marry him, Julian, the little chap decided to look elsewhere. And he found Ella (4).

Julian: When I am a grown man I am going to have a house and children and I will merry you, Ella.
Ella (gulp!): Oh, well, uh...I guess girls don't have too much of a say in this...uh. But how will you find me?
Julian: I will be looking for you.
Ella: Hm. Okay, well, then maybe look at the school cantina...or maybe a pub.
Julian: I can do that. But you will have to raise your hand so I can see you.