One of the things that has sucked the most about the complete breakdown of my marriage is the fact that two of my three children had front row seats to witness the whole thing. They are all adults now, but somehow, to me, that made it even worse. They were old enough to know exactly what had happened, and old enough to choose to get involved or to abstain. But Rebekkah really took to heart some of the lessons I’ve learned and methods I used to try to cope with all this stress…And then improved it to such a spectacular degree that I’m in utter awe of her!
Background: Rebekkah has had two real crushes in her whole 24 years on this earth. She’s beautiful, smart, and so freaking picky that she is almost impossible for any average male to catch. The first one labored on for 5 years. To this day, we aren’t really positive that the crushee was ever aware that Rebekkah had a crush on him. The second one started a little over a month ago, and it has been odd watching Rebekkah “crush” on someone. Sadly, though she found herself at a crossroads, and she had to make a decision about whether to go on or end the whole thing.
Like anything else, she approached the whole problem logically, and below are the actual notes of my daughter working out an emotional decision.
(The first stage, where I still maybe wanted him. I wrote a poem.)
I feel the stirrings of passion.
Coals kindled and teased,
Yet lingering still before
The focus of the passion is unclear.
The fire remains only in possibility;
Almost inevitable, and yet fragile still.
But the heat….
Should the fire be ignited
Would hope that it burns out of control.
There is little beauty in a fire that is tamed.
Can affection by quantified? Should I even attempt to logically deduce whether or not to continue? I don’t know. I hypothesize that, at this stage, my hope and attraction will lend the “Pros List” heavier and at the end of this effort, I will have to acknowledge all the reasons I should continue. However, I will ignore that and decide to stop now anyways on the basis that the reasons on the “Cons List” are more severe. Here it goes:
|Takes good care of his pets||Gets in trouble with the law a lot|
|Funny||All the girls|
|Teaches me things||Parties A LOT|
|Likes fire/speed||Likes fire/speed|
|Good w/hands||Won’t put the move on me|
|Plays music I haven’t heard but I like||*Makes me nervous|
|*I threw that in to make the lists even.|
I was wrong. He looks more like a douche in plain facts and I look way more shallow. I think I can reasonably be done.
(Talking Shit – no explanation required)
If the opportunity presents itself I would deliver the following speech to him.
“Way to be a douche bag. I already have commitment issues, and you’re aggravating my condition. You would have a similar effect on any reasonably intelligent woman, Like most men, you have prioritized p*****, partying, and cars over any number of more valuable pursuits. You are an idiot and an a**h****; a combination that is much like a stinky bathroom. It’s noteworthy only for its rank odor, and you hold your breath until you get the hell out of there.
I’m not too upset though. You’ll sink into the same mid-thirties, over-weight, pathetic cesspool as the other d***heads who wanted to bull**** and party. Good luck with that.”
(Word Association) ** Remember when Victoria at Victoriavisits taught me about summing all of the pain, etc. into one word or phrase? You can read about me using this process to come up with a phrase for my ex-husband at Old Roy Dog Food . This is the process Rebekkah is referring to here.
To sum the situation up, I’ve chosen the band name 3oh!3, mainly for 2 songs in particular. Don’t Trust Me and Richman.
Together, they paint a picture of dudes with little respect for women, aside from various orifices, who recognize they are assholes and roll with it.
(Title Page for Notes) ** This, hands down, is my favorite part. She wrote a title page and paper clipped these notes together.
I took my mom’s grieving process all the way. Started at midnight, ended at 3am.
Rebekkah, you’re totally worth the stretch marks! – Mom