The kids' Dad did a mass text to the three of them suggesting a Saturday breakfast to celebrate Thanksgiving. This would be the first they've seen him since his wedding at the end of September. My fifteen year old daughter said she had plans and would get back to him if she was available.
Odd.. I did mention that she only has one father and to keep the lines of communication open. She wanted me to decide when we'd come back. I told her it was her choice; that I was good with whatever she decided. Because this is HER decision, not mine. I'm not planning on getting stuck in the emotional triangle. Goodness.
So many folks here commiserate over the difficulty of sharing time with their former spouses and its conflicts. At least the kids know that both parents want to be involved in their lives, spend time with them.
On the good news front, on Saturday when we saw my son, there was some kind "official guy" in the audience. He scouts the Connecticut (or New England) acting programs/performances for nominees for some prestigious "Irene Ryan Competition".
Chris knew the guy was going to be there during one of the seven performances, but he didn't care: it's only open to non-professionals. Chris has acted professionally for years and is a member of all three unions SAG, AFTRA, and Actors' Equity.
Guess what? He got it!
Official letter kind of bent the rules and said that "based on Official Guy's review of (Chris') performance, voice and talent and since he is currently matriculated as a full time student and not currently working professionally, we feel comfortable in awarding, etc., etc. despite his professional background and union memberships etc.,etc...."
HA! How's THAT?!
Chris says, well, there's hundreds and hundreds of competitors and the post-graduate scholarships awarded are miniscule...." Yeah, yeah, yeah. He's friggin' ecstatic!
I'm a bit, too, can ya tell?
By the way, I thanked you for your input over on my thread. Thanking you here, too.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Gardener
"My soul, be satisfied with flowers, With fruit, with weeds even; but gather them In the one garden you may call your own." Cyrano deBergerac
Geez... Thanksgiving celebration for my kids with their dad will be in two days, breakfast in a diner, 1/2 hour from where we live, 10 minutes from where their dad lives. My daughter and I will have to leave by 6:15 AM so she can make it there on time from where we're visiting. I'll probably leave the evening before, instead.
She wanted me to tell her what to do, make the decision. I just said I'd do whatever worked for her, getting up early to make sure it happened.
Go job avoiding that emotional triangles, Kathleen!
Emotional triangles....you will be confronted with them for a while....eventually the emotion will dissipate. We need to help ourselves though and it looks like you are well on your way.
Happy Thanksgiving Ms. Butterfly. I think of you often. I blessed my soon to be ex the other day with a herd of camels, and had a giggle at when you first suggested that to me.
Hugs
M 19 years, MC for 8 months, DB'd for 8 months 4 kids; 18, 15, 14, & 10 I was never meant to be a doormat. It took me years of therapy to become assertive enough to stop his abuse.
Disjointed nightmare enduring from last night.. Terror.. paralyzed.. awakening in fright to dream again.
Fragments.. in a production, movie.. I am an adult, a character in a costume saying my lines, wearing something over my head that hides my identity. At one point the script calls for a suggestive line to be said to a man in a caterpillar suit, crawling inside to whisper it. The man is my father, the age of a young dad. I see his chest bare, his body misshapen fitting to the insect's form. Not knowing it's me, he replies out of context.. a word, a phrase that intimates intimacy, a catch phrase that jangles bells and sirens, shrieks within.. a little girl remembers it formed as a request that was not allowed to be refused.. oh god.. Action stops, I take off the head dress. It's me, see. I was acting.
I wake up in a miasma of chill, tumult. Was something jolted from the past.. a phrase I didn't know until it was heard.. opening the door to more of what daddy dearest did? The cold whistling wind lashes the dying leaves from the branches which join the eerie concert with winterly rustles as sleep returns.
A compilation of plays are being rehearsed. Twisted destruction. At one point coming upon my father, still young, who gives the grim look that so frightened the child. Someone interjects, "It was a line from the script." His look, or does his mouth, say to me.. If it was said, it was meant it. NOW.
Waking up again. Storm still wild outside. Thinking I should remember this dream. Maybe it means something. Maybe it's a missing piece.
Dreams continue to be vivid, disturbing, vibrant until morning and full bladder bring a different reality. Something about wanting to remember a dream, a nightmare. No clue about what it was. Until just a bit ago.
