Push Thru It! Obligatory

As I prepared to go to my ex's nieces wedding last night, I dragged my heels despite having a pretty pair of shiny silver ones to make a graceful entrance with my ex, his girlfriend and my daughter  to greet the family I had not seen in four years.  I bought bullet proof Spanx that could have been a scuba diving suit if they were any bigger.  My gut and thighs would be invincible while my butt would have a specially designed, just right lift.  My silver necklace would gleam like the fake smile I would don for the night.  It was different going in four hours than accepting the invitation weeks ago from a member of the family I loved.   

"When we're grown ups, we have to do things that are 'obligatory'," said my friend Tricia, a vital member of my 24 hour-neuroses hotline.   "Like funerals, co-parenting, going to events with exes.  You do it because you have to, it's obligatory."  She was right and with one word, I shifted from kicking and screaming to rising above and being a grown-up.  I would envision obligatory "grown up" checkpoints at the wedding as I tucked my heartache and angst in my Spanx for the night:

• Telling his girlfriend she looked pretty, check.
• Hugging his mom that I miss so much, check.
• Greeting the family I wanted to be a part of, check. 
• Dancing with his girlfriend and my daughter, check. 
• Leaving alone and kissing my daughter goodbye for the night, check. 

Being obligatory was not easy and my heart still sank despite distracted moments on the dance floor synching my steps and soul with carefree twenty-somethings.   Obligatory helped me to detach though and buck up for the next checkpoint. Head on before I would head on to my life again with a greater sense of strength and pride.   I would cry later when I could feel supported beyond gripping nylon and breathe a sigh of relief (not just because I took my Spanx off).             

• Where could a sense of obligatory help you? 
• Where might you need to put your feelings aside to do what is right?

            

Push Thru It! Excavated

Blasting “Don’t Fear the Reaper” on my stereo, I high-tailed it from a blissful wedding to pick up my daughter at her Dad’s while getting psyched for the meaningless late night small talk with his GF and him. I was invincible, dazzling in my purple dress with girdle underneath. Feelings, soul and gut tucked in, securely fastened. I would take the high road and extend hellos and birthday invitations and leave quickly with a lasting impression of regret, mystique, and such awe at our co-parenting that it is hard to imagine we are actually apart. A sure thing, a brief entrance without a moment to reveal my soft underbelly, oozing from my undergarments and psyche.

With my fresh glistening lipstick, I lovingly secured my girl in her seat and began the decline of his driveway and my evening. Wheels stopping, I quickly realized I was entrenched in a ditch. STUCK.

No desperate acceleration or push would free me from this mess. I was in deep waiting for the Triple A excavator while continuing shallow conversation with GF and Ex at the kitchen table. Slightly redeemed by my organizational skills or an answered prayer, I quickly found my Triple A card despite being rattled by my two wheels off the ground. I made a compelling case for a quick response by stressing the precarious position of the car without mentioning my own.

We put on our best face. GF and I exchanged pleasantries, shared summer experiences and moved from shallow to sincere. She comforted me by revealing I was not the first to struggle with the descent, while my Ex calmly problem-solved and joked to help the situation. We were in it together, sharing the drama, odds stacked against us as the petite blond excavator arrived and handed me the damage waiver to sign. We cheered as Jessica B. pulled the car from the ditch and lifted the weight of the situation.

The last circumstance I would have chosen for myself became an opportunity to face what had been difficult and liberate myself from facades and fears in the space of not an option. Humbled, I became my best in the worst and strong, real and dignified in the humanity of a screw-up. Like my car, I became free. No damage done.

•  Where do you need to free yourself? 
• What opportunities might you experience as a result? 

Dedicated to Jessica B. who helped me to get unstuck!

 

Push Thru It! Find Your Strengths (and Stay Away from Obnoxious People)

In the sweltering heat, I volunteered to be a "food wrapper"  at my daughter's swim meet.  I dutifully checked in at the stand with the head wrapper, an eighth grader named Tory, who sent me on my way until the hamburgers were ready to come off of the grill.  I waited to prove my community commitment and utility as a swim team mom.

Tory was a hard-core wrapper with no time for mommys' rapping about fates of the children.  She directed the moms to position the tinfoil just right and not smush the burgers.  The tension was rising, like the heat as the hamburgers feverishly made their way off of the grill into the plastic covered hands of mothers.  

"What's that?" Tory barked, interrupting our assembly of hamburger rolling to single out one of my burgers I had wrapped.  "It's a hamburger," I said.  "Here, take it if you can do it better."  I felt my blood boiling in this hamburger sweat shop as my perspiration tried to refrain from becoming a salty condiment on the burgers.  She later passive-aggressively directed me to reposition the pan, so I gave it to her and told her I would follow her very capable, pompous lead.  Note:  I didn't say it quite like that.   

Eventually rained out, I tried to make a recovery by showing that I could now wrap hamburgers like Christmas presents and volunteer for the rescheduled meet the next day.  "No.  I think we will be okay," said Tory. 

Wrapping was not my bag, and I had much more skill and fun listening to a fellow wrapper, distraught over her son's intense relationship at the ripe age of eighteen. We will likely be acquaintances long beyond the hamburger stand while Tory still buries her head in burgers. 

Dedicated to Tory, whom I hope will lighten up.