Life Goes On

I've been trying not to let my various blended family issues get me down recently. I'm not sure if I'm succeeding, but I've certainly managed to achieve a lot of the things I've needed to.

I handed in a 200 page thesis last week. Somehow, it was all a little anti-climatic. The woman who collected the two bound copies that I reluctantly handed over looked very unimpressed, and primarily displeased at have been disturbed from Strictly Come Celebrity Pop Factor in the Jungle, or some variation thereof. She gave me a little yellow slip as a receipt. I felt like getting one of those t-shirts made: I spent four years doing a doctoral thesis and all I got is this lousy yellow slip.

Somehow, four years ago, a doctorate seemed like such a worthwhile thing to do. Now it just feels like I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to catch up with my pension & national insurance payments, and listening to people say: 'But you're not a real doctor, are you?'

However, I am glad that I didn't succumb to that avaricious urge to apply to Lehman brothers like some of my contemporaries at college. Although it does seem that those who are losing the most in this global fiscal crisis are the workers at the bottom of the food chain, rather than the investment bankers. All the major banks and consultancies are still booked in for the University milkround and practically salivating at the prospect of all those quantitative analysts now free to work for them. Hang on, I think I'm drifting dangerously into political territory now - let me just drag myself back to safer ground.

So, what I was trying to say was that it seemed like such a good idea at the time, and now I'm 27 with no pension, a healthy student debt and an oncoming recession. However, I did manage to get a job, albeit on a short 6 month contract, although goodness knows how as I haven't exactly been at my sparkling best recently. And that leads us nicely into the picture heading this post.

I have endometriosis and have been put on Zoladex for the forseeable future as it is the only treatment that has successfully treated the large amount of tissue growth around my various organs, thus reducing the pain to a minimal amount. Had to have an implant yesterday and my tummy is still swollen. For those curious to know where that big fat needle goes, it goes here:
Yeah, that hurts, but not as much as say, having a wisdom tooth out, or slamming your chin on the side of the pool when trying to get out and clamping your teeth shut around your tongue (blood everywhere, I was traumatised for life), or indeed endometriosis itself.

What it does do is induce temporary menopause for the duration of the treatment. So I have been grouchy and irritable and neurotic and hopelessly insecure. The physical symptoms (hot flushes, night sweats, joint pain) are nothing compared to the emotional effects. I discussed it with my GP yesterday and she pointed out that this is what bad PMT is like and that I was feeling permanently what a lot of women feel for four days a month.

Ladies, if you've ever had to suffer this, let me say wholeheartedly now how much I respect and admire you. I've been lucky enough not to suffer from PMT, back when I was having the M, and truly cannot believe that it isn't a bigger issue in women's health.

As for me, I try to watch out for any extremes of behaviour so that I can attempt to put a stop to them, but it's difficult as I genuinely feel like I'm awful at everything, like I'm going to kill the person who insists on sniffing so loudly at the desk next to me, like I don't have enough tears to express the heartache I feel sporadically throughout the day, for no good reason.

Nevertheless, I've discovered the best indicator is Jason; when he gets that scared look on his face and starts quietly but carefully backing away, I know I've gone too far.

In Training...

Thanks to all who offered sage advice and support. Sometimes a little reassurance that you're not being unreasonable in your expectations is crucial to stop that self-doubt niggling away at your confidence and happiness.

He thinks he sees a little better. I'm not sure quite what that means, but it's a start. He understands that I don't need to do what I do and he's starting to realise what those things are. Although, as Meesha points out, even after many years it seems that our partners struggle to fully appreciate the demands and expectations we must live with and live up to. To those who understand better than others: can you come explain it to my partner 'cos sometimes I think we're speaking different languages?

I suspect one of the hardest things for him is to listen to me complain about the way I'm treated when he feels that he's been working really hard not to take me for granted. He sits in silence and takes it until eventually it gets too much and he gets upset enough to let it all out at once in an explosion of hurt and anger and misunderstanding. Then he climbs back into his cave and it takes much love and chocolate to entice him out again. He knows he has to talk things through to make them better, but he's a man and not very comfortable talking about his feelings. Plus he feels hurt and unappreciated that his efforts have failed.

He is, however, beginning to understand that buying me flowers unexpectedly and showering me in love, while wonderful and appreciated, is no substitute for basic human respect from his children. And the ability to stay in my own house without being bullied.

So now he's reading 'The Single Girl's Guide to Marrying a Man etc'. I don't know how much it'll help, but I think it does make a difference seeing how the same situations make others feel the same way I do. Thus diminishing my status as neurotic, unreasonable, demanding female.

Well, diminishing the 'unreasonable', anyway ;)

How Do I Make Him See?

Jason doesn't understand. Anything. I've been trying to explain how I feel - taken for granted, left out, ignored, hurt, insulted, unappreciated. He doesn't get it.

He sees that I don't have to do what I do. But he doesn't think I do much. He doesn't see that welcoming people into my home half the time who are rude and nasty to me, then paying half the rent for the house I'm not welcome in, half the food for 4 people, tidying up after them, cooking and washing up when required, entertaining when required, helping with homework, buying gifts then making myself scarce when not wanted whilst always being nice, never complaining in front of anyone, never telling anyone off, never being short or angry or upset in front of anyone; and all this with no say in what goes on in what is supposed to be my house - no say in when the kids come over or for how long, how they get to treat me, what they do, most of the time no warning even... He doesn't think that amounts to anything.

Does it really not? If it doesn't then what's wrong with me that I feel like this?

And if it does amount to something - how do I get him to see?

When I first met Mark I thought he bore an uncanny resemblance to Damien from 'The Omen'. I know - not pleasant, and probably not the sort of thing you want to share, right? Except, I figured that with this kid, it probably was. And he thought that was great. He loves those scary kids books with monsters and vampire pirates, and he does a great impression of a zombie.

So it's become an in joke between us.

Except.

Secretly, I have this tiny fear that he really will turn into Damien. After all, it's not like his sister's that far off. And he is a teenager. So when he pretends to be 'evil child' there is occasionally a nervousness to my laughter.

Now this is not entirely fair. He is a fantastic child, and his enthusiasm for practically everything on the planet is pretty infectious, as is his hyper energy level. However, Jason has mentioned that he has changed an awful lot since he started coming to stay with us, a little over a year ago. Once upon a time he was showing signs of becoming more difficult than Angelica is now. He would suddenly go into rages and was liable to stomp off, no matter where they were, with no regard for his own safety, and then get impossibly lost. Jason thinks this was the testosterone flaring for the first time, but he is still impressed by the transformation that Mark underwent. Surely the hormones must still be there surging away when the lights go out?

And that's what I'm worried about. Mark has never behaved badly in my presence. I walked in on the remnants of a strop about a year ago, and my presence must have made him decide it wasn't worth holding on to, as he snapped out of it pretty quickly. Life's far more fun when you stop sweating the small stuff (who moved my cheese?) and concentrate on enjoying yourself.

Nevertheless, I have, on occasion, watched the seeds of a strop appear, looking for a place to germinate. When his sister is winding him up, when his father is teasing him just a little too much, I can see him beginning to get angry and then change his mind at the last minute. We had one of those at the weekend - Mark and Jason were chasing each other around the house as I was cooking. It resembled a school playground very closely - underwear was yanked into cracks, wet fingers were poked into ears and I would hear sporadic roars followed by Mark shouting 'nipple cripple!'

Men.

Anyway, Jason got the last one in and as Mark recounted the attack to me, I could see his righteous indignation swell and the frown he wore grew darker. I got scared - he didn't seem to be clearing this potential storm. So I asked him about the number of times *he* managed to get his father.

That worked. The clouds cleared and he delighted in revealing the minutiae of his attacks.

I love this boy. But I am afraid that a horrible hormonal teenaged nightmare might yet reside within that cheerful, mischievous heart. After all, as Smirking Cat rightly pointed out - teenagers aren't fun. Certainly not 24/7, anyway.

So I'm a little apprehensive. I really hope it doesn't happen; but isn't that whole Jekyll and Hyde thing kind of inevitable for teens?

Whipped

I'm giving Jason some time on the Angelica issue. He's decided to take them to his parents for a series of talks. I'm leaving him to it for a while - after the ear-bashing he's received from me recently I imagine he needs to go away and think about what he's been doing (I think I was a primary school teacher in a previous life).

In the meantime, he dropped the kids off on Wednesday and was told that he'd be taking Angelica to a university open day in Notts on Saturday, because it was his turn. They've decided to alternate so this is his second, and BM's done one.

This kind of scuppers his plans for the weekend. Well, actually our plans, as we were supposed to just have Mark over, which is always fun. Now Mark will be babysat by Jason's parents, which I'm sure he'll enjoy. They have a terrier that Mark loves to torment. However, I know that Jason was also looking forward to the things he'd planned to do with his son. Still, he'll get Sunday.

We were discussing the change of plans when he told me on Thursday, and all the little details, like whether they would be back for dinner, would they be eating together, should I fend for myself, could I invite someone over or would he be bringing Mark back and expect dinner? In the past I've not asked any of these questions, have been told to expect them home for food and then not eaten myself because they didn't get back till late, ate elsewhere and didn't call to tell me.

Not anymore, Sweetheart - that woman is outta here.

Jason's quite laid back - he doesn't do plans. He had no idea what he wanted and couldn't understand why I wouldn't just wait and see what happened (see previous experiences, Sunshine). Not that this is a big deal, but I'm starting small with the training him to think about the position he puts me in.

He eventually said, 'Hey, it's not my fault - this was dumped on me last minute too!'
Apparently the word 'no' is not a part of his vocabulary. I'm familiar with this. For New Year's last year we had long planned to go out together for a special evening, just the two of us (Jason had had the kids the year before). The day before New Year's eve he tells me that 'We're taking the kids to London for the fireworks'.

I'm sorry, what?

This is after a particularly nasty Christmas where I had worked my backside raw for them, earning money for gifts, organising outings, making and embroidering stockings, cooking until the oven was gasping for mercy and cleaning the house practically daily after the kids and, occasionally, dog, left their mark on things. That wasn't the nasty bit. The horrid part was Angelica's treatment of me - which meant that I was left out of all the celebrations and had to clean the house all over again afterwards because she decided it would be hilarious to throw glitter, shredded paper, sequins and foil everywhere. Literally, everywhere, it was like Tinkerbell had vomited after a frat party and we still find glitter in the carpet pile and foil bits down the back of the couch.

Ok, I didn't mind too much about the work (except for that last bit, I swear she knew exactly what she was doing when she did that); it was the being left out that really hurt.

Anyway, I'm digressing. When I pointed out the lack of short notice and that I wasn't sure spending New Year entertaining Angelica would be pleasant after Christmas, Jason said:
'Well, you don't have to come.'

No, I'm sure I can make other plans with ONE DAY left to go. After I've turned down other invitations and lost the opportunity of a lift given that everyone I know has gone away and I didn't think I'd need to go with them. Sure, I could stay at home on my own and get sozzled on port while I beat myself at hangman. Or maybe just beat myself.

I found a solution. I'll tell you about it another time.

Basically, the point that I lost somewhere back there amidst the foil and fireworks was that Jason has a hard time saying no when the BM says 'jump'. He admits this. I can understand, it just bugs me sometimes that I'm expected to constantly work my life around them. Obviously only when it affects me too. Is a little bit of notice too much to ask?

Personally, I went to all my university interviews alone - even when they were technically in a different country (as I'm sure the Scots prefer to think). But that really wouldn't work for Angelica.

'I'll only get a phone call when she's in Glasgow,' Jason points out.

Can't argue with that.

To the Easily Offended... Please Avert Your Eyes...

Somewhere in the bush behind our house, there is a garden. Or so I've heard - it's been quite some time since I saw the evidence.

I commented to Mark that soon it would be time to get out the shears and trim things back:

Me: I really hate that part of gardening. I get scared of the garden spiders waiting to ambush me, and I always emerge covered in lethal scratches, even when there's no thorn in sight. Bushes have it in for me.

Mark: That's ok - I'll do it! I like trimming bush!

Me: !

Your Halo's Crooked...

Jason has been 'Trying' to talk to Angelica about her behaviour for a while now. Apparently. He has had the 'Don't you like Medea?' conversation, the 'what you did really upset Medea', conversation, the 'Why did you do that?' conversation, the 'When you treat her like that it's really upsetting for Medea' conversation, as well as a few others. Her responses have been of the form: 'Of course I like Medea', 'I didn't do anything wrong', 'You misunderstood me' and 'I didn't mean to, I was upset because of you/Mark/xyz' etc.

Her behaviour has remained unchanged. Actually, no, that's not true: it has actually been getting worse. So the contract on our house is coming up for renewal and I told Jason that I would no longer be paying for a house in which I did not get to live. I was moving out. And boy was I looking forward to it.

That lit a fire under him. So he has decided that he's definitely going to do something. I'm not quite sure what. Anyway, he made his first move by taking the children to his parents' place (neutral ground, apparently) and sitting down to talk with Angelica.

He explained to her that the things she'd been doing were unacceptable. He wasn't brave enough to point out any of the things she'd done that were really nasty, just talked about her ignoring me, talking over me and generally being rude. I think that was a bit of a cop out, really, but I guess he's trying.

Angelica denied all of it. Didn't happen. She doesn't do things like that.

At this stage, Jason's sister came in to say that actually, she had seen Angelica treat me this way the last time I had joined them all for dinner.

Angelica claimed to have no idea what they were talking about. Apparently, I must be making it all up. I must be over-sensitive. I misunderstand her. Maybe it's just that I talk too quietly and she doesn't hear me. It's because I'm so short.

(WTF??!)

I can't say I'm overly surprised. It did blow the wind out of Jason's sails for a bit, because he didn't know where to go next. So he gave up.

I tried pointing out that there were plenty of occasions that he could specify individually, some of which I've detailed here, others that I haven't - when she arranged for me to be left out at Christmas, when she complained about Mark being nice to me, when she suggested that I left all the chores to Jason after I had spent the day cleaning the kitchen and bathroom, when she suggested that I was lazy when I was so ill I was on thirty pills a day just to function without pain, when she told me to get lost after I brought her some hot chocolate, the weekend when she consistently left a room if I entered it and insisted that Jason and Mark go with her. Oh and not just me - there was the time she slammed her brother's face into a window and claimed he was attention seeking when he went to Jason with tears pouring down his face, looking for justice. He didn't get any. Jason just left Mark with me and took Angelica to spend the day with him (in order to separate them you understand).

I'm thinking of taking up smoking again. I need some way of dealing with the frustration without going nuts. I should find a healthy outlet - oh hang on. I have a blog ;)

I am quite happy about that fact that not once have I taken out my frustration on the children. I haven't said anything horrid, I've not shouted at them, I've not berated them. I have vented here and tried to talk things through calmly with Jason. I just wish men wouldn't wait until the last possible minute to do something when things are going wrong.

He doesn't have them again for a couple of days. At this rate, I think he'll still be 'working on it' by Christmas, because in three years, I've never known Angelica to ever admit to doing anything wrong.

Let the games begin.