Tag: Trouble

Let’s (not) Turn Him into a Pumpkin

~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

Thirty five minutes left to midnight, and I am tempted to wait up and see whether my husband will come back as a pumpkin. Good for him, this is the second Friday in a row where he has been out. It makes me feel less guilty about the small tubs of ice cream, the Chocolate Brownie Avalanche, and the threesome mint chocolate bars I feast on while pretending to take the baby for a walk in the pram.

What a life, eh? I normally feel guilty whenever I go out without him; I doubt that he ever feels this way about me. Today, is the day after Valentine’s Day. I was never really big on pink hearts and chocolates, and I don’t remember getting any. Last year at this time I got a small teddy with a heart; it was a mass present from work. It still made me feel happy, because by then I knew that I had a tiny baby growing inside me, and the small teddy was going to be its first toy. For months it sat on top of my monitor, and whenever I looked at it I smiled and thought of my little baby. Now the bear is attached to my son’s mobile and he is the one who looks at it and talks to it every morning.

This year was supposed to be great, and it is really going nowhere so far. I am treading water, reading trash, knitting from stash and blogging nonsense. Today I tried to take a positive step and do some freelance work. I bid for a job and ended up doing its proofreading. It was hardly worth the effort, but I thought of it as a marketing strategy, to get to know new clients and break new grounds. I am bidding for other jobs and applying to agencies that are looking for a word-crafter. Hmm, that is actually a good name for a serious blog that combines knitting with writing, maybe one day once I get this nastiness out of my system. Will I ever get that far? I wonder.

Fifteen minutes left to midnight, and still no sign of my pumpkin. Tell you what, I am going to brush my teeth and turn in. I have had this glaring monitor and the humming of my processor fan keeping me company for almost five hours now; I have had enough of this miserable evening. I am going to meet some interesting people, in a trashy novel.

At five minutes to midnight my husband arrived. He said he prefers hiking to doing the rounds of the bars. Somehow I am optimistic that he will find more substance with me than with these false friends. Hopeful.

His Mother

~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

I don’t know what my husband wrote his mom about the problems we are having. He could have written to her anything and her response would have been the same. I feel sorry for the man, turning to his mother when deep down he knows that she might the reason behind at least some of his woes. If he had a different mother, he wouldn’t have become this selfish, for instance.

I begged the man to talk to people. So his solution is to talk to his mother. He also told me that he is talking to some “friends”, but his meeting with them never took place. He doesn’t want to talk to me because: “You are the problem”. Please explain to me, how can be the problem, when he is the one who is unhappy? Apparently life has cheated him out of some great prize, or better still I have withheld this great prize from him. Pray tell, how?

Yes, I do talk to people as well, and it is good to be reminded sometimes that he was the one who wanted me back. In fact, he came on so strongly that I bolted and decided that perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea. Admittedly, the timing was in very bad taste, but it was my due for years of emotional abuse. I think it stuck in his craw that I was the one who left him, and it was oh so good of him to want me back despite that, but now he decided that he shouldn’t have let me get away with it a second time.

Well, for me this second time was for keeps, and I promised that I will never leave him again, and I am still good on that promise. When I had this baby with him, it was enough for me. I was no longer interested in anything or anyone else. I discovered that having a family and a baby of my own is all I ever wanted in my life. Now, it is his turn to discover that, this will never be enough for him. To me this clearly translates into: “The man has a problem” not to his crazy accusation that I am the problem. Let’s leave it at that.

 

In his wallet today I discovered a piece of a newspaper. He had written little notes on it: Wadi Halfa, Knowledge Systems, the button, FARIS, Cockroach for dinner and some other stuff. To anyone else it will sound like rubbish, but I knew all these headings. They are stories from his life that he considers important. I enjoyed listening to them, not because of the brilliant experiences, but mostly because it was obvious how much joy recounting them brought him. His trip to Africa, the company he formed when he came out of college and then sold, some invention he patented, software he wrote and other strange experiences from his travels. This disjointed set of haphazard sketches are the sum total of this man’s life. Fortunately for him, or unfortunately, I could not laugh at the list, I felt deeply and truly sorry. If the notes were near the computer I would have thought that he is putting some email together to his daughter, but I think they are there for a time when he talks to some real people. Some fleeting acquaintances he wants to show off as his non-existent friends. He wants to impress them with these random trophies of an empty life; a life where these sad phrases are desperately trying to hide fundamental flaws. I now know all the flaws, and the stories have lost their sparkle.

 

He did not need to read off his mother’s response to me. Her concerns were as expected: 1) Money 2) Herself.

She interpreted the problem as financial and her brilliant solution was for me to work fulltime, while he looks after the baby; until such time when he can get a better job. Then she went on about the possibility of him getting pension when he goes back home. Huh? I thought he told her that he was unhappy because he has no life, what does that have to do with money? The problem as he summed it up to me today was: We are living in a rented apartment – and these are things he is totally and completely against (both renting and flat dwelling)- and he does not have space for his hobbies: gardening, and woodwork. And this is actually reason enough for him to break up with me? Aren’t there really any other solutions? Go figure.

His mother ended her mail by saying: “I don’t like this type of messages, now I have another thing to worry about and spend sleepless nights over, like this last night”. Well, now you can stop wondering why he turned out as selfish as he is.

Back to Square One

~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

Guess what? I am back where I started. I have been sugar-coating reality for a while now. I made myself believe that my husband and I have truly made amends. We got back together, had a healthy love life, and even had a beautiful baby boy. Go figure, it turns out that I was living an illusion. The husband that I fell in love with again for the last two years is not happy. He has been biting his tongue and putting up with my weirdness. Really? He either did very good pretending or I was incredibly naive. He claims it is the latter.

Well, I have enough on my plate fixing the errors of my life, so unfortunately I cannot take on fixing half a century of mistakes for him. This doesn’t change things for me in the least, I have got the word divorce out of my system for good, and whatever happens next I am content with being a mom to my precious baby.
I am still hoping for a miracle, that he will find some interest to keep him busy. A vocation, a calling, a job, a hobby, anything, I am really desperate. I was naive enough to think that his interest in his son will be the thing to bring him back from the brink of depression. I was wrong, we will see what he comes up with.
Meanwhile, the errors of the past are rehashed for me. My mean spirited breakup with him on his birthday, and the way I made him sell the business. I roll my eyes heavenwards and ask God, if I was guilty as charged of the first, I was never party to the second, but of course, he is convinced otherwise.

So here we go again, and the saddest thing, my little boy will be taking the consequences.

Robert’s First Christmas – A Day of Mixed Fortunes

~ marobbie ~ 1 Comment

I feel really bad that Robert did not get any presents for his first Christmas, I guess we were too caught up in buying his day to day stuff, and did not have time to buy something specific for him to open on this day. At one point I had elaborate plans to knit him a Christmas hat, or make up a handmade present for him, but somehow these never materialized. I promise that I will work to remedy this situation during the coming year, and make sure he has a full stocking and lots of presents next time. My excuse this year, is that he is too young to know any better.
Mom and Dad got nice presents; mom received something that she always enjoys… chocolate and sweets, while dad got an interesting book. Robert got to play with the wrapping paper, which caused him tremendous excitement and total over-stimulation.

I planned a visit to my work today with Robert. I figured it was a holiday and there won’t be many people about, in there won’t be a lot of work load on the floor, so Robert will not distract people too much, and won’t be overwhelmed with the noise and activity either. I was mistaken.

I carried him up in a quiet elevator to a very quiet building. Only a handful of people were working on the floor, but somehow he did not feel comfortable. He started crying soon after we arrived, with ear-piercing, panicky sobs. I tried to calm him down in the common area, without success. Women from the Israeli sales team came to see what is happening, one of them carried Robert and sang to him in Hebrew, and amazingly he calmed down for a minute or so before starting his tearful cries again.

I tried taking him out to the atrium, big mistake, his cries magnified and echoed and caused even more people to come and investigate. I never thought so many people would be working on Christmas day! Some people looked at me accusingly; others came with helpfully meant but useless advice: Give him his bottle; give him water; he is hot. Finally I retreated to the ladies bathroom. I thought it was a small space he could relate too, rather than the impersonal huge expanse of offices. It did not help much, and the only way was to get the heck out of there. Ron came to the rescue as soon as I phoned, and we deposited a panic-stricken Robert into his car seat. Ron spoke to him softly, but he still had wild eyes. He only calmed down to the rumble of the engine as we drove away from this dreadful place.

I still do not know what set him off, but I imagine it was too much of a change in his routine. When we usually take him out he is in the baby carrier, this time I carried him up, so he was outside the space he is accustomed to. Besides the environment was quiet and a little gloomy, different from the bright and noisy environment of our place or the shopping malls we are used to.

We drove to Sea Point promenade and walked around the Sea Point swimming pool. The day was cloudy with some fresh wind, but the pool was very busy. At this point it looked like our plans for a barbeque will go to naught, it was threatening to rain. Robert was quiet on our walk; it was an environment he is used to. There was even a group of Chinese tourists who fussed over him, the girls said he was cute, and a man took a photo of him in the carrier, and through all that Robert was his regal self, quiet and aloof, and watching the world go by with restrained interest. I had dressed him in his green and red ‘monster’ outfit, to honour the colours of Christmas, but during our walk the weather turned ominous again, and he was underdressed for the cold, so we had to head back.

At home Ron was faced with the problem of lighting the braai. Because of the unclear weather, Ron started the barbeque in a non-ideal location, on our covered balcony.

I might have swayed him into making this decision, which turned out into a near disaster. Poor Ron spent the afternoon battling the smoke which kept blowing into his face and eyes. To make matters worse, the pork ribs we bough were very fatty and turned black on the coals, poor Ron had to scrape them once they were done.

All through that I was entertaining Robert, I held him next to the window for some time to watch his dad preparing a feast that was not going very well. Miraculously, however, things turned out well in the end. Minutes before the meat was cooked, Robert settled for an afternoon nap, and Ron and I had one of our very rare leisurely meals. We enjoyed nibbling on pork ribs, beef short ribs, sausages with sweet potatoes and mashed pumpkin. The meal was accompanied by a wonderful red wine.

It was perhaps the only quiet afternoon we had on our balcony this year. Everyone was enjoying grits somewhere, and no cars on the road. It added so much to our enjoyment of the day. Mom and dad did get a special Christmas after all.

For starters

~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

The initial panic is over for me and for my black cat. We are sitting in the big new flat, surrounded by things, most of which have stories we know nothing about.
For my part, I will try to make peace with the past, where it came from does not concern me, as long as it does not suck me in its undertow, it is fine.

I am who I am, and being without baggage and without possessions is my choice, I adopted my partner’s possessions and I will enjoy them for what they are. Possessions will never claim me, but I can still appreciate them.
The cat is quite a different story, the cat has to learn its territory, and accept its limitations.

My husband also has to accept me and the cat. Contrary to what he believes, he is not the only one making compromises. I know that I would personally prefer a much simpler, barer existence.
If this is our new start, I would rather start on a fresh canvas, put in my own shades and colours.
The apartment I lived in before we came back together, might have looked to him like a dump. To me however it was a work in progress, an unfinished canvas. My time, and the emotional roller coaster I was riding on prevented me from completing it to my liking, but I was going to get there one way or another.
The canvas that I would have drawn would have included soft fabrics, knitted throws and crocheted cushions – things like that speak to me more than a leather sofa, rosewood furniture and fine china lamps; I have no use for those. I prefer scented candles and incense sticks.

I spoke to two of my friends today, they saw that my husband and I have two sets of conflicting values. The question is whether we can compromise between them or not.

Petey the cat has walked outside to the kitchen balcony today, sniffed around and stretched tippy toeing on his hind legs to peek over the balcony wall. He was quite funny, stretched tall there and supporting himself against the wall with one paw. I wish I had my phone camera handy.
Eventually, I will take him down to the garden and he will be happy. Ron still protests tells me it would make life more difficult – compromise ? where is his compromise?

Remains to be seen.