H - Happiness

“Stop searching forever. Happiness is just next to you.” Allison read the little slip of paper slowly as she munched on the fortune cookie. She looked next to her. Lisa was a good friend. But happiness? She was starting to think she’d never be happy again.

”What’s your fortune say?” Lisa interrupted her thoughts.

“Never mind.”

“That bad?”

“Apparently you are the key to my happiness. No pressure or anything,” Allison tried to make a joke.

”Well, mine says a million bucks is going to drop out of thin air. Oh, come on, Al. What’s wrong? I mean, I know you’re going through a lot, but I thought this is what you wanted,” Lisa said.

Allison sipped on her coke and shrugged. “I thought it was. I was miserable with Brett. I’ve been wanting to leave for awhile now. I thought I’d be, well, free. He was making me so unhappy. I don’t understand. Right now it feels like I’ll never be happy again. I just don’t get it.”

”Divorce is never easy. It’s an adjustment. Change is always hard,” Lisa told her.

She knew Lisa was trying to help, but the words felt hollow. Lisa didn’t understand. She couldn’t understand because Allison herself didn’t understand why she felt so sad, so lonely, and so awful. Maybe she had made a big mistake. That was the worst part. She had been so eager to be free from her miserable marriage. She just knew that she’d be happy if she could get away from him. From feeling stuck. That’s all she was trying to do. To be happy again. And now she had this horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. She feared that she had made the worst mistake of her life.  

G - Changing Gears

The powder-blue car lurched forward awkwardly. “Give it more gas! Give it more gas! Let off the brake more slowly! What have I been telling you?? Can you not hear me?!” David shouted at his daughter from the passenger seat.

“I’m trying! Stop yelling!” fifteen-year-old Kelsey shouted back.

“Don’t you yell at me, missy!” her father hissed as the car sputtered.

”I just can’t get it. I just can’t,” Kelsey wailed.

“Stop acting like a little kid! You’re not 10. Just do what I told you. And stop stalling the car! You’re tearing up my engine. Are you going to pay for it when you destroy it?? ‘Cuz I don’t think you have that kind of money. Show a little respect for my vehicle. Now put on your turn signal and go left up here,” he ordered.

“I just want to go home,” Kelsey whined.

“JUST DO IT!”

Kelsey was almost in tears now. She just wanted out. “But, Dad –“

“Young lady, you *will* do what I told you to do. Right now. Make a left turn at the next light.”

Kelsey was shaking. Which one was the blinker? She fumbled for it as he yelled again.  “Use your signal! What do you want – for us to get hit?!” he screamed and flipped on the signal himself. “Geez! How did your driver’s ed teacher have the patience for this? You could not pay me enough to have that job! I can’t believe he passed you!”

Kelsey sat at the light, unsure of what to do. “Dad, what do I – how do I –“

“Just turn! It’s not rocket science!”

She turned the wheel. David reached over and promptly yanked the wheel back in the other direction. “I thought it went without saying that you yield to the traffic, moron! Are you trying to kill us?!”

Stunned, Kelsey got through the rest of the lesson the best she could. But that was the day it had all changed for her. It wasn’t about her learning to drive or grinding the gears or even making her father angry. It was the way her father had spoken to her that day. The way he had treated her. Something inside snapped. She’d show him what it meant to change gears.

E & F - Epic Fail

Yes, I am cheating. I got behind so I’m combining E & F for this post. But it’s appropriate because that’s how I felt the other day. Epic failure. Not at this blogging thing. Though I’m not doing so hot with that either. At the parenting thing. I read a post a week or so ago about how no one tells us about the anger, the rage that comes with parenting. No one tells us about the sheer exhaustion of it all either. And it’s not just physical. Oh yes, that’s a big part of it. No doubt. But it’s mentally fatiguing as well. It so messes with your head. No one tells you how mentally tired you will get of telling your child 5, 10, 15 times to do something – say, go to bed. You set limits. You have consequences. You threaten. You yell. You try being understanding, but then end up losing it anyway when they *still* do not listen. And then? You get to do it all again the next night. Or maybe even the next morning. It’s exhausting to not be listened to. Ever. It’s exhausting to feel like you spend all day long washing dishes. Yet somehow the kitchen is never, I repeat NEVER, clean. 

Look at my blog during this challenge. I’ve written some fiction posts and even tried to follow a coherent storyline (what was I thinking?). Other posts are just parenting rants. That’s what it’s like to be a parent. You start one task, only to drop it and start something else. You jump back to the first thing, but never really finish anything. I mean, I almost used the word Exit for E and was going to exit the A-Z Challenge. But for some insane reason, I decided to try to plod on. Horrible as my blog posts and writing have been. Plodding on. Trudging through the mud. The ugly. Moving forward. Not giving up.

And that’s what parenting is as well. You mess up a million times a day. You get up in the morning and think, “Hey, I’m going to be kind and understanding and loving today. I’m not going to lose my temper.” And by noon, I’ve lost it a dozen times already. I immerse myself in positive parenting information and forget every bit of it when I get frustrated, tired or overwhelmed. Yet we have to keep going. We have no choice.

So I’m still here. Stinky writing and all. And do I have a clue what I’m going to do for G? No, I do not. Well, I can think of one word. And I have a feeling it’s the same word I wrote about for last year’s G. Guess I haven’t learned that lesson yet. Grace.

D - Dinner

Water bubbled over onto the stove. Allison silently cursed, then grabbed some pasta and began adding it to the pot. Rachael Ray she was not. She never had been. Luckily, Brett didn’t really mind. He wasn’t fussy that way. As long as the food was edible, he was good. In fact, he’d always been pretty generous with the compliments on her meals, though they were never extravagant by anyone’s definition.

‘Oh, there I go again. Focus,’ she muttered to herself. This wasn’t about his complimenting her food. Details. Meaningless details. She was just anxious. And trying to wiggle her way out of this dinner. This conversation that she desperately needed to have with him. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. ‘Be strong.’ She picked up her glass of wine and took a big gulp.

The oven beeped. Allison slid the loaf of buttered garlic bread in. Ok, now for the salad. She rinsed the lettuce and tore it into bite-sized chunks. Why was she so nervous about this? She’d been waiting for what seemed like years to broach the subject. This wasn’t what she thought she’d feel like at all. Instead of excitement, she felt a knot in her stomach. She guzzled some more wine and made a face as it went down. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and wine was certainly not her drink of choice. But she needed some liquid courage for this endeavor. She wasn’t sure if it was working; maybe she needed something stronger. Unfortunately, that was the only alcohol in the house at the moment, so it would have to do.

She poured herself another glass, downed half of it and waited for the bread to be done. Wait. She needed to check on the pasta. And finish the salad. What else should she add? She peered into the salad bowl. Just lettuce. Yeah, she needed to add something. Tomatoes maybe. She didn’t have much in the fridge. Some grapes? Cheese. Yes! She needed cheese. Cheese would be perfect!  ‘You’re losing focus again. Stop it!’ she told herself.

She needed to rehearse what she was going to say, not worry about the salad. That was beside the point. She had written down a few thoughts, but where had she put her notes? Maybe she should just wing it. Just go with---

The sound of a car pulling up interrupted her thoughts. “Oh crap!” she said aloud as she heard footsteps. Before she had time to think, Brett walked in. She just stared at him, wide-eyed. He took one look at her and laughed. “Are you – are you drunk?” he asked in disbelief.

C - Control

We interrupt your regularly scheduled fiction to bring you this non-fiction post because well, blogging every day is hard. And this is what’s on my mind. And it starts with C.

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“Control your young.”

 That line from the stuffy museum curator in the movie Night at the Museum makes me laugh every time. It’s a very real expectation in our society, though, and it’s no laughing matter if you’re a parent. Why? Well, because the truth is that we cannot control another human being. Even our kids. Especially our kids.

Are there times we have to pull rank on them just to get things done? Of course. But if that’s our primary way of operating, it’s going to backfire on us in the long run.

What to do? Probably the most important thing is to work at connecting with them. Foster our relationship. What’s that line? Rules without relationship produce rebellion. That may not be exact. But it’s true.

The value of spending time with our kids, slowing down and understanding them is very underestimated in our busy culture. All human beings want to be heard and understood. And isn’t being a parent ultimately about relationship anyway? Isn’t that what it is at its core? Plus, when kids feel connected, they tend to be more cooperative.

Another option is to just let them reap the consequences of what they’ve done. Admittedly, this isn’t always possible. But when it is, it’s a useful tool. For example, when your son doesn’t pick up his clothes off of the floor (and this *never* happens at our house), he doesn’t have clean clothes to wear if they don’t get into the wash. When your toddler throws a book at the dog (again, this *never* happens in our house), the book is removed until he can play with the book (and the dog) safely. Instead of rescuing them from consequences, sometimes it’s the best way to teach them how life works.

So many things are beyond our control. Situations. Our children. Their reactions to us. But we forget that the one thing we always *can* control is ourselves. Our reactions. We can choose how to respond when the kid knocks the milk over. We can get mad because we told him 3 times to watch out. Or we can calmly grab a cleaning rag and tell him he gets to clean it up. Even when they are pushing our buttons (again, this *never* happens here because I live in LaLa Land), it’s our choice how to respond. This one has got to be the hardest of all. Parenting will test the limits of your patience like nothing else. I know that the Marines think they have the toughest job they’ll ever love. But I disagree. I think parenting is the toughest job ever. And sometimes we don’t love it. But if we allow ourselves be taught and use the tough situations to grow, it can all be worth it.

But, man, it’s still hard.

B - Birthday

Allison stopped in her tracks. Something was dancing above her normally bare desk. She flipped on a light switch. Not dancing, floating.  A balloon bouquet. How lovely. She smiled. This wasn’t like him. Brett wasn’t usually so thoughtful. And how did he manage to get into her office? She felt a twinge of guilt for assuming he had forgotten her birthday.

She set her things down and went to the coffee pot. She liked getting in to work before everyone else. It was quiet. Peaceful. Plus she could get a jump on the day before all of the customers started calling in.  She picked up the phone to thank Brett.

 “Morning,” Steve smiled at her, interrupting her thoughts. “Oh, hi. You startled me. I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

 “Happy birthday. Do you like your balloons?” Steve asked. 

“Oh – I –uh-yes. I can’t believe-“ She stopped as she realized they were probably not from Brett at all. “They’re from you?” she smiled involuntarily.

“Of course. Who did you think they were from? Greta the Grinch?” he laughed. Their supervisor Greta wasn’t exactly known for her people skills. Allison grinned.

“Yeah right. No, I just…that was so thoughtful. I didn’t know you even knew it was my birthday,” she answered softly. 

“I make it my business to know these things.” She could feel him looking at her, though she was pretending not to notice. 

“Well, thanks,” she said, putting down the phone. She felt a little blush in her cheeks.

A - Abandoned

Alone…Allison tripped on the covers as she stumbled to silence the screaming alarm clock. The red 6:00 glared at her angrily. How she hated getting up when it was still dark outside. She replaced the bed sheet and glanced hopefully at his spot. Nope. He was already gone. She figured as much. Brett was usually long gone by the time her alarm went off, but Allison could always hope.  

Abandoned…The quiet house mocked her as she stepped into the bathroom for her shower. Thirty minutes later she emerged and headed for the kitchen. She poured her sad little bowl of cold cereal and milk and gulped it down quickly, then threw a couple of stray plates into the dishwasher. He could never seem to clean up his own mess, she fumed as she slammed it shut again. 

Time for work. She hated her job. Almost as much as she hated awaking to darkness and an empty house.