Epiphany Between the Sheets

Hoo, boy!  I wish it was what you're thinking...  Gimme some of that...

No, I was referring to the flash of clarity I sometimes find while in an early-morning half-slumber.

Not yesterday morning, though.  I woke to the sound of sobbing from Sara's room across the hall. Wha-?  Huh?  As soon as my eyes opened, I could tell from the quality of the light that it had snowed.  Oh, yay.  I remembered that Sara was supposed to debut as a soccer referee that day.  She has just been certified to ref the Under Eight group.

"Mmmmmph.  Sar'?  Baby, c'mere."
The sobbing comes closer...closer...  Do you think some of this might be hormones?  Ooof.  I scootch over in the bed and she climbs in next to me, lying on her side so I can rub my hand sleepily up and down her backbone.
"Whassa matter?  Are you sad about the snow?"
"I'm so SICK of it, and it snows EVERY WEEKEND!"
It does kind of feel that way.

After a bit, her sobs turn to hiccups and then she goes quiet.  I doze off.  Maybe when my brain is half asleep, there is more opportunity for contemplative thoughts to elbow their way to the front.  I can sometimes find solutions to problems when I burrow under the quilt for a few extra minutes.

A couple of days ago, I gazed across the smooth expanse of untouched bed where Si used to sleep and had a sudden realization about the custody plan.  Simon gets to have the kids 202 nights each year; so I am stuck missing my kiddos and paying him $180 a month.  Right.  BUT!  According to this custody plan, I only need to drive the kids to their school in the mornings on Mondays and Tuesdays. I would pick them up on Mondays and alternate Fridays.  That's very do-able with my work schedule, and it's do-able NO MATTER WHERE I LIVE.  I am not tied to the overpriced, super-sized, white bread, water hogging, beige stucco Cottonwood Heights!  I could find a cute little place that's not so expensive, and then I would be able to pay my smaller mortgage and the child support.  I wonder if I could find something affordable (that's not in need of a bunch of work) in Sugar House?  Near the park?  Or lower Avenues?  9th and 9th?  My friends Aimee and Topher are selling their house near Liberty Park on a short sale... I love that little house... Since I had this epiphany my fear has diminished a bit, because my options are more open. 

In between whacks on the snooze button a few days ago, I realized something else that is important to me.  I love CB, but I am not leaving my marriage for him. He held up a mirror in which I saw so much potential, but the things I learned from that experience can be applied independent of him.  I am sure of this now; because even when I am mired in doubt about getting to be with him, I never find myself drawn back to the safety of my marriage.  I love to envision sharing my life with CB.  But my vision of a future without CB is always a vision of life on my own (with friends, kids and a kittie), or possibly... finding someone who is almost as special as he is.  In this way, being apart from him has given me perspective. 
Yay!  It has been so worth it! All for the sake of perspective!  NOT!  I'm tortured by the fact that I initiated this painful separation.  In considering the wisdom of it, I have to maintain that it was the right thing to do.  Which doesn't negate the fact that it SUCKS!  I miss him terribly.  On a bad day, I can only focus on the negative.  Soon it will be two weeks since I have heard from him or laid eyes on him.  That's the longest stretch yet.  Maybe he visits this blog, maybe not.  My widget is not lending any clarity. Maybe he still wants me, maybe not.  Maybe he's forgotten about me, maybe not.  Blah, blah, blah.  Fine:  this "never see him again" train of thought keeps me from getting my hopes up. 

But I haven't learned a damn thing from it.  And I like to learn.

Everything I am learning is coming from a more positive outlook.  When I allow myself to have it, I know some things to be true.  

First.  He would like me to trust him.  During a conversation last month, I was telling him about all the names I called him when we were apart; and he asked me how, if I didn't think he was a good man, I could love him and want a relationship with him.  Excuse me, let's let Little-Miss-Negative-Self-Talk take that question, shall we?  What?  Nothing to say?  This guy has been beautifully honest and straightforward all this time.  He has been clear.  He loves me.  He knows how much time he needs, and he's asked for it, and he's taking it.  What would happen if I lowered my defenses? Trusted him and believed in him?  If I don't see him again, it'll hurt, but it'll hurt no matter what my attitude was.  If I do see him again, I would like to be able to tell him that I knew all along.  And if the shoe were on the other foot, I would expect the same attitude from him.  I would be hurt if he doubted me too much. I'm learning a little faith. 

Second.  One of the reasons I am fidgeting and chafing and doubting and moaning is that it is OUT OF MY HANDS.  Fully posable action figures like me are most comfortable when they can Solve Problems.  When it comes to CB, I'm on the sidelines and it bugs me. I'm learning to chill.  

Finally.  This will end one way or the other.  Maybe I will have him to love, or maybe I will have to find acceptance that he didn't come.  We left it tidy:  he has loads of space and no pressure.  I get to spare my pride a little, 'cause allowing him to simply not reappear means I will be spared the embarrassing call, text, conversation or Dear Jane letter. 

And I'll allow myself a sunnier view:  a few more weeks will pass, and I will be patient.  I will remember the things we talked about.  I will continue to recover my cheery old self.  The time will pass with work and play.  I'll be audacious and let myself think, "I can't wait to see him again!  What a day that will be!"  And I won't tarnish it with "yeah, buts" or "what ifs".  I kicked Little-Miss-Negative-Self-Talk off my property.  I'm going to try not letting her back.   
There were no epiphanies yesterday morning, though. I would just nod off again and Sara would say something like, "Mom?  Mom?"
"Hmmmmmm?"
"Why is it that every ceiling has to have texture stuff on it?  Why doesn't anyone ever just have a smooth ceiling?"
"Mmmmmph."

I definitely need a three-bedroom home.  Any thoughts I may have had about Sara bunking with me are fast fading.