Half/Half

I have been off work for the last hour and a half. We have eaten and undressed into the final shreds of the evening. Pants have been thrown into the washing machine. Dishes await the pre-scrub and then the dishwasher. The carpet needs a vacumming.

Jack and I cuddled for about five minutes. A record for what has been far too long, but he needs his space. There is an entirely different person forming under the body that I refuse to accept as anything other than the infant that was pulled from my womb one temperate March morning. There are ideas and wills more powerful than his mother's embrace it seems. So I let him be.

It is starting to seep in though, the reality of my not being able pull him into my lap and talk about whales any time I please. I knew it was hitting the bone when, on the city bus, I spied on a boy Jack's age sitting in his mother's lap and I instantly started crying. I blamed it on hormones, after work fatigue, fluorescent lighting. I blamed it on what I could to whip the lion in the eyes that was roaring in my ears "this is real".

This is happening.

On Tuesday and Wednesday I will be packing up the same things I came into this relationship with; clothes, books, movies, toiletries and potential. I will be moving them in with my dear friend Colleen for the time being.

Greg and Jack will be moving into the new house he purchased. It's a beautiful home, saltillo tile and wooden beams on high ceilings, a backyard that Jack can romp around in. I'm glad they'll have it.

I've decided that I'm going to sign up for overtime at work once I move out. Since I won't be coming home to Jack every night I figure it's best to not come home at all. I will make money out of the silence and eventually I will have my own place to fill with noise again.

Out of all the painful logistics comes one silver lining- we are both living in truth now. Uncompromising truth in worn out, gutted shells. Bare bones ready to be built over again with pieces of who we really are and who we hope to someday be.

I expect this move will be cathartic. I expect that there will be times when I am weighed down by the "too much-ness" of it all. I expect that out of these ashes something will grow again.

It has to. We all do.

Because typing it all out feels like a handful of sand...

Greg and I will be divorcing.




It was a decision we both made for the better (odd to say something so bad is for the better, but it is, for us). I was going to write about it all but it's hard to put out there properly.

We will remain friends. We will still raise Jack together. I'll probably still laugh at him when he records movie ideas into his Droid and I still ask for his opinion sometimes because I respect the hell out of the man, the father of my child.

I wanted to post about it here because it will be a massive change and I'm sure getting used to my life as a single mother will be odd, but that's just it...it is life. Life will move forward; change shapes, ideas, plans, people. And as always, I'll continue to write about it. It's the only way I know.

The thing about being happy...

Last Saturday after taking in the Sean Lennon concert, after the band left the stage, after the vodka cranberries had evaporated from the glass and into my bloodstream, I started walking towards 4th Avenue in search of more. More music, more alcohol OR sobriety. There is no in between with me. I must either find my head on a friends couch or in my car, free of the poison under my skin, making my way back home.

There is no in between.

I tucked my hands into the pockets of my black pea coat and listened to my boot heels click and echo on the pavement of an underpass I had passed under countless times in my life. By now comfortable enough in it among the vagabond street bands and the faces that blur past. I recognized one that night. He went to high school with me. A friend of a friend and then a friend of mine. We had made jokes occasionally, shared music and small talk. Our eyes met and the recognition took place awkwardly. We continued walking a few paces until the air of familiarity pulled our shoulders around and made us feel it was okay to make conversation.

"Oh my god! Hey!!"
"Hey! I thought that was you but you looked too happy to be Amanda."
"(giggling) You two are drunk aren't you?"
"Yeah, we live right up the street so why not? What are you up to?"
"Just heading to Che's. Sean Lennon just got done playing Congress. His band is out mingling on the patio right now, you should go catch 'em before they leave."
"Yeah, maybe we will! Have fun!"
"You too!"

And we continued on our paths. Only this time his words hung around my head.

"....you looked too happy to be Amanda."

At first I smiled to myself thinking "god, I must have really been a sad sack in high school". But he's been a friend of mine on Facebook for a couple years now. He'd seen me since high school, even on the superficial level of social networking.

Was I happy? I hadn't really asked myself that before. I just assumed I was when I was and I wasn't when I wasn't. I hadn't thought of it as an entity that could envelope ones disposition enough to be able to call it out in the dark of the night.

There is no in between.

The last six or seven years of my life have been, for lack of a better analogy, a roller coaster. Parent's divorce (after 15 years of constant fighting), recovering cutter (I had poor coping skills when it came to depression), end of a significant relationship, graduating high school, new job, new relationship, unplanned pregnancy...adulthood before 20. I hadn't thought about happiness as a thing that possessed me. I rolled on with life, hopping from one stone to the next, trying to keep my balance, avoiding the fall. I never thought twice about what my face conveyed. Whether my anger pushed people away, whether my hurt drew them in, whether my smile played an active role in my life.

The thing about being in your own world, trying to navigate it as best you can, is that sometimes you forget about the ones floating around you and what they see.

I handed my i.d. to the doorman at Che's and settled into a booth in the back. I ordered a Pepsi, there was no need for anymore alcohol. There was no need to fake it. I smiled and embraced my friends words instead of trying to understand them, analyze them.

It's nice when somebody compliments your outfit, your haircut, your family. But when somebody points out something you didn't think you were carrying with you, that's something different. Invigorating. Validating even. Free of ego and twice as rewarding.


Since last week I've carried those words with me. I found them when I was laying in the bath a day or two ago. When I rolled around the ground with Jack at the park, blowing bubbles in his hair. When I cooked. When I laughed or had something to share.

"...you looked too happy to be Amanda."

I guess I've changed. For once I'm happy about that.

What kind of mother are you?!

I wonder this all the time.

"What kind of mother am I?"

I have been pregnant and I've had a baby. I've raised that baby into toddlerhood and yet...

I feel like I'm not REALLY a mother. Like somebody is going to come in with a degree, a job, a mortgage and take Jack to a land of responsible parenting.

I wonder if I'm fucked up for liking sex and music and clothing. For enjoying wine and staying up late (sometimes). For cursing and wondering too much. Being unsatisfied with routine, finding it to be a shackle instead of something that children need. I heard that somewhere.

When I was pregnant I would have episodes where I'd cry for hours thinking I was going to damage the life that was thriving inside me. I thought that because I wasn't done growing up that my growing pains would effect him, make him hate me for bringing him into a world I'm still trying to figure out how to navigate in and sometimes fight with.

Sometimes I still think this. When I turn on Yo Gabba Gabba to finish a paragraph. When I lose my cool. When I tuck him into bed and kiss him goodnight before slipping my feet into shoes not meant for motherhood and disappearing into the night to meet old friends in old places.

I am torn between being a MOTHER and being myself and combining the two in a decent balance. I feel like I'm getting there...reaching for the surface...finding clarity through the ripples.

I feel alone a lot. But I know that's a joke. I know that the mothers at the playground must all be grappling with the same thing. I have to think that because it will drive me crazy if I don't.

The thing is, in thinking I forgot to read the manual I also forget that there is none. Some days I have the answers and some days I don't. Some days I feel motherly and invincible while other days I wonder who these people are why they're calling me "mom" and "wife".


My name is Amanda. And I'm both.

House Hunters lead to a revelation last night...

While Greg and I lazed about after another day of toddler rearing exhaustion, watching HGTV an idea hit me so clearly that I felt stupid for not truly thinking it through before.

I should open up an online vintage clothing/accessories/knick-knacks store.

I told Greg and his eyes widened like I'd found the answer to a hardcore algebra problem merely by doodling daisies. Why the hell hadn't I thought about it before?!

The truth is, I had. I just didn't take myself seriously enough to attempt to take the idea into fruition. I thought I was too naive. Too unskilled. But frankly, sometimes I need to tell myself to shut the fuck up. I need to start squashing any self-defeating teenage angst bullshit and take the reigns on my own destiny. Even if I fail, even if I fall flat on my face in front of everybody at least it wouldn't look as pathetic as sitting there whining, taking no action, atrophying.

For the longest time I've been boxed into this corner thinking that I'd never find a job/career/whathaveyou that I'd truly be passionate about. That would still allow me to feel free. I didn't go to college, I didn't have the money, the stability, more importantly I didn't have the drive. I wanted/want to be a writer or anything in a field involving writing and I thought voice was more important than technical skill so I blew off college for experience. I experienced my way into an unplanned pregnancy and while Greg flourished out of grad school and into a great job I stayed behind and cared for Jack. The gaps widened in my resume and suddenly I felt worthless. Not anymore.


It's going to take work. I didn't come into this idea thinking I'd just go off finding cool vintage dresses and la-di-da! I'm still going to have to find a job to cultivate a nest egg for inventory. I'm going to have to get better at HTML and webpages so I can create an online store. I'm going to have to get intimate with my local post office. And it'll probably be awhile before I see any reward for my efforts and time BUT this feeling...this hopefulness and optimism about the future that I hadn't really felt in awhile, well, that's kind of reward enough.





P.S.- I think I'm going to name the shop Margot's (yep, as in Tenenbaum). What do you think?

You're gonna make it after all

As I sit in my apartment staring at the trees rustle and shimmy in the wind, I can't help but use it as an easy metaphor. "Winds of change," I think. Color me cliche but it works, for nothing could be more true in the current juncture.
I've been struggling with the stay at home mom title I've adopted in the last two years (I'm gonna kill my guidance counselor*) and after much long and careful deliberation both out of frustration and financial necessity (we aren't sinking, but this isn't exactly a raft ride down the lazy river either) I decided to make a move, seek a change and starting soon I'll be going back to school to become an aesthetician. Since I've worked in a spa before and enjoyed it, along with the chance to set my own hours and not succumb to too much corporate strangulation I figured it to be a good choice. For the first time in a long time I can feel and electric buzz pulsating through my body out of excitement for change. For progress.
In enrolling for school I discovered I would need three letters of recommendation. When I first read the line I heard that voice in the back saying "who the hell would recommend you? You really think you're the type of person worthy of recommendation?" I've long felt internal feeling of inadequacy. Though at times I may masquerade them in witty say-isms or well applied make-up they still reside somewhere in my skull. Only until recently and through guidance and help have I started taking measures to abandon that voice, kick it to the curb if you will.
Change.
I wrote a message to my old coworkers from that spa asking them if they would write those desired three letters. Within the hour all three of them answered with a yes. And more then that they answered with support, encouragement and open arms. Even as I type this I find myself fighting back tears of gratitude, of the beauty of kindness in people.
Also semi-recently, two wonderful ladies in our beloved Tucson have been dealing with the moving of their store. Not too long ago corporate fat cats decided to buy out a prime section of our Congress street. A street that for 2 years had been a home for Preen and other cherished local businesses. It was a big smack in the face for many locals and owners when we realized that many of those store would no longer be there by next year, moved to make room for carbon copy sports bars, gentrification to "help promote downtown culture" while simultaneously stripping it away.
Then I saw this-

*art by Adam Cooper-Terran

And my heart jumped for the second time today. Preen will prevail. Erin and Emilie will continue to give downtown Tucson style and a "mom n' pop" shop that just won't quit. I'm so proud of them for it. The new location will be just as fabulous as the former I'm sure, if not doubly for the character the store has developed in it's attitude of "hit me with your best shot!" They moved, but they did not falter.

Change is happening all around. Beyond this post I have friends in relationships progressing, in new career ventures, some are leaving Tucson and some are staying, simply making it a little brighter. But nevertheless, change. Progress. And I think 2010 may be a good year.



*Not really, my guidance counselor was a great woman.