In the spring of 2000, I decided to move from Charleston, South Carolina to San Francisco, California. I'd graduated college early and felt overwhelmingly ready to move somewhere bigger and start a new chapter in my life. Luckily, I had Colin with me for support because as "overwhelmingly ready" as I thought I was, it only took about a month to realize it was not the place for me.
Don't get me wrong, SF is wonderful. The food. The perfect blend of salt and air that makes sourdough better there than any other place in the world. Ghirardelli chocolate. Entire restaurants that serve only soup. It's a quick trip to Muir Woods or Napa Valley. There's walks in the Haight. People-watching in the Castro. Playing tourist at the Wharf.
It really is quite magical.
But... there was also the everpresent fog. Sometimes it didn't part for a week. Often it was accompanied by a dreadful mist that, at first, didn't seem so bad, but by the time you've been misted on for three blocks it really starts to soak in. And then there's the cold! Ohmygoodness. It's California! And I've never been so cold for so long. I just never seemed to fully warm up, ever. Well, that was until September and October rolled around; then it got ridiculously hot and we had no AC. The weather shift resulted in an hour drive south to find the nearest Target and largest fan ever made.
Other things that made it difficult? I'd never been so far away from my family. I didn't have a job. I was trying to build up my clinical experience so I could apply to Doctoral programs in Clinical Psych AND I was studying for the GRE General and Subject Tests. Oh, and did I mention it was expensive? And cold?
But even though I was miserable and wanted to bolt, there was something Colin started which really seemed to help. Every day we played High/Low.
High/Low was a game we discovered after watching The Story of Us when we met in 1999. It's pretty self-explanatory; you just name the absolute best and worst part of your day. It was a great way to connect. To check-in. To learn more about what each of us was experiencing during the day when we were apart. And as silly as it sounds, it gave me something to look forward to.
At the end of one year, we packed up and moved back across the country so that I could work on my M.A. I was ecstatic to be in the Florida sunshine where fog didn't exist, rain fell hard and soaked you to the bone in under 5 seconds, and a cold day meant a long-sleeved t-shirt under the short-sleeved one.
And somewhere along the line, Colin and I forgot about High/Low.
When I picked Teague up from his very first, full day of first grade on Monday, every one of my inquiries was met with, "I don't know," or "I don't remember." So I told him we were going to play High/Low. I don't even know why I thought about it. It just popped right out of my mouth. But luckily, it immediately opened a door into a day in the life of my first grader.
Teague's High? A brand new playground and Owen (of course!)
Teague's Low? Ms. Mahoney actually expected them to sit at their desks!
My high? Hearing that Crews jumped out of the car at carpool that morning and never looked back. (So brave!)
My low? My 3-year-old jumped out of the car at carpool and never looked back! (He's growing up too fast!)
Life is quite a journey. So many ups and downs. It is said that without the lows we can't truly enjoy the highs. But wouldn't it be nice if we could?
Sometimes it's the simplest question. The smallest, but perfectly-phrased request that gets us some answers and reminds us to be excited about our day-to-day experiences. I think I'll play High/Low with Teague every afternoon in carpool. And this time around, I won't forget how important the little things can be.
***Warning: This is not a nice blog post, but necessary for me to heal.***
There are two ways this saying can go:
1) If you can't say something nice, don't say nothin' at all.
2) If you can't say something nice, come sit next to me.
Now, most of the time, I like to consider myself a number 1'er. I say number 1 to Teague almost on a daily basis. But lately, I have definitely been feeling more like a number 2 devotee. So today, I am going to be really nasty and let it fly about someone who is a coward, a horrible family member, and has done irreparable damage to my parents and I in recent months: my uncle.
I've always admired my uncle since the very first time I met him. He is smart, witty, knows how to make a great argument, and has some phenomenal stories from his life. I have always been drawn to him and I would consider us very close.
When he started spending more time in Charleston, I'd just given birth to Teague. He dropped by frequently for homecooked meals and much-needed grown-up conversations. Sometimes he even cooked for me . He always praised me as a mother. A student. A multi-tasker. He always encouraged me to fully explore my options and try new things. He made me feel good about myself. He boosted me up when I was feeling down. And I just really truly loved him.
Above all: I trusted him.
Fast-forward to my divorce where he has not only become a traitor to me and my parents, but doesn't even have the audacity to respond to our calls or emails. I'm not going to go into details because at this point I wouldn't put it past him to have me thrown in jail just to be an even bigger ass.
I know who reads my blog. And I know this will quickly find him.
So to you my dear uncle, I say: We all make mistakes and hurt people, but your commitment to total familial destruction is unrivaled. I hope it feels good to have chosen someone else over your own blood, and it finally makes sense why the rest of the family hates you. I always defended you. Loved you. Welcomed you into my home, my life and that of my kids.
There is a special place for people like you. And karma is a b###h.
These days, things they are a changin'.
My little Sugar Bear is now a first grader.
My little Bug is now in Primary.
My little Ashley Hall boy has turned into a Porter-Gaud little man.
My tiny Island Schooler is now officially an Ashley Hall-er.
The weather is (miraculously) a little cooler.
Pre-season football is on. (Go Jets!)
I feel an overwhelming desire to drink a Pumpkin Ale as opposed to a bold Cab.
And though there is nothing official about my single status and my name-change isn't really legal, I feel totally different.
Yep. Things are changing in the Hendrickson/Windham house. And I have to believe they're for the better.
The kids are getting older. Smarter. Taller.
I'm getting older (Ugh and Blah). Smarter? Definitely not taller. Perhaps a little wiser? God, I hope so...
So, as our days slowly get a little shorter. And homework time frustration grows a little longer, it's important to remember that this is just another time of transition. That for good and bad, this too is only temporary.
It won't be long until we are stringing lights, hanging stockings, and buying Christmas gifts. My first single Valentine's Day in 14 years will surely come. And the Easter bunny will be here before we know it.
By then, with any luck, I'll be divorced and finally, for the first time in as long as I can remember, at peace.
But for now, here's to Fall, the school year, the NY Jets, gourd-flavored beers, name changes, knowledge and freedom.
But most of all, here's to each new chapter of my life I get to write thanks to my two little men.
And thanks to the one who gave them to me.
Today is one of those days I desperately want to write about. I want to let the emotion flow and write things I know I shouldn't. I don't care about punctuation and I really don't give a crap about the other party, their representation, and how they feel or what they want to interpret. I just want to yell and scream and jump up and down and force them to make it over.
My kids are feeling all of this negative energy. They can sense how tense I am every minute of every day. They want to know why their parents never talk at all. They keep asking why Daddy won't come in to see their new hamster. And they don't understand why we can't just all meet for ice cream or pizza.
On top of all of the questions I can't answer, the boys are acting out more than ever. Crews, who has been totally potty trained since February, has now decided to pee on the floor. Any floor. In any room. Once, he even peed on his brother. Teague pooped in a Target bag and hid it in the closet. It literally took me hours to figure out where the smell was coming from. He also hid the remote to the tv in my bedroom after I put him in time out for throwing a box at Crews' head.
I could go on and on about the ridiculousness I've witnessed in the past week or so, but really, what's the point? The kids' negative behavior is escalating. Hurt is hurt. Divorce sucks. And some people just refuse to let go.
By the time I wake up tomorrow, I'm sure I'll have some scanned, stupid letter telling me to cease and desist talking about this and that's fine. It won't be the first and surely won't be the last. But I'm tired of sitting here waiting for something, ANYTHING, to happen so I can move on and get my kids back to the closest version of normal as possible.
I've never been more ready to type the the words, "THE END."
1) My relationship with the father of my children. We were a fantastic parenting team. I wish we could pull it together and get along because our kids really need us right now. Forget the olive branch. I'd extend an olive forest.
2) The bushes I have always hated which border my front porch. I swear if I had a working chainsaw they would be gone by tomorrow.
3) I wake up every single morning at 2:15 am and it takes at least an hour to get back to sleep. It's miserable and provides the perfect opportunity to ruminate about things I can't change. Unfortunately, the only solution my doctor has found is a pill called Intermezzo, which works great but also costs 12 bucks a pop. Thanks for the two samples...those were the only times I've had a full night's sleep for as long as I can remember.
4) The two 100 Grand candy bars I ate for dinner.
5) The Twix I had for dessert.
If you asked me 13 months ago if I believed I would be deleting half the people in my life (and in my Facebook friend list) and adding in people from high school, my answer would have been, "Hell no."
But a funny thing happened on the way to divorce... Those of us who knew each other eons ago have grown up. And those of us who found each other later have grown apart.
I'm not shirking responsibility here. I take my share of the heat. So before I start getting asinine remarks, know that this is about how I am feeling and not about talking senseless smack.
But when it comes right down to it, I'm actually relived to have these people out of my business. Clearly, they weren't there with sincere intentions in the first place, so this experience has been good for trimming the fat in my life, if nothing else.
And though I'm completely stressed and pretty much always on edge about what comes next, there is a certain sense of peace that comes with knowing who your true friends are and who will always stick by your side.
Nobody is flip-flopping.
It's like having a potent posse.
Friends from concentrate.
Teague says it's like I'm a member of the Super Hero Squad.
A few weeks ago when I made my triumphant return to Facebook, I reverted back to my maiden name. Contrary to what some believe, this was not an effort to go incognito; it was a way to put my foot down and demonstrate that I'm ready to move on. Oddly, I never anticipated that people from my past would figure out that Whitney Hendrickson was actually Whitney Windham. So I didn't really have time to decide if I was ready for re-introductions. They just flooded right on in.
I've always felt I had to keep a great distance between past and present. I didn't like high school and always felt out of place where I grew up. But over the last week or so, seeing the faces and families of those I used to know reminded me of a great Taylor Swift quote: "Who you are is not what you did."
And I totally realized that back in high school we were all just dumb kids trying to figure things out. Hell, clearly I'm still trying to do so.
Seeing smiling babies and wedding photos; the way we've aged and how grown up we look. Seeing if the who's who of adolescence really stuck or if we were in for some pretty severe surprises...It's actually kinda nice. And pretty fun.
And though it will be a very long time before I let go of what's going on in my life right now, it's definitely time to let go of old experiences and grudges. Surely, it has taken up way too much of my time over the years, and to be both cliche and hood simultaneously, Life is hella short!
Maybe it's that the new hurts are so intense, the old ones pale in comparison.
Or maybe we only have so much room in our brain for pain that when we are really suffering in the present, the previous experiences are forced out for good.
Either way, I'm satisfied with the purge and glad there is room for totally new experiences and relationships.
Besides, I had to be incredibly strong before. I'm sure I can do it again. And if I get to be a member of the Super Hero Squad, I sure hope I'm the Scarlet Witch.
PS The pic above is from Prom 1993. Two of these chicks (Erin and Shelly) friended me on FB this week. Man , do I have some ridic videos of the 5 of us! ;)
PPS I think they are still the pretty ones.
On September 5, 2011 I ran for the very first time in my life. It was such a momentous occasion, that I blogged about it.
See : How far can I push it?
Sure, I had completed a few "runs" before:
Those dreaded PE tests we all had to endure every year in grades 1-12.
Godawful line drills during volleyball practice.
Running from the cops when a party was busted and we were underage... Did I say that out loud?
But I had never ever in my lifetime run with purpose or by choice.
However, on that beautiful, overcast morning in September, I knew exactly why I wanted to run. I was running away from unhappiness. From a sense of being trapped. Far away from being made to feel "less than" what I wanted to be.
I was running away from my marriage. I was running with my heart.
In a little over a month, I went from someone who couldn't run to the end of my driveway to someone who'd signed up for a 5K. When I registered for the race, I had absolutely zero faith that I'd be able to complete it. And even on the morning of 10/29/11 when I drove out to the beach in the rain and the cold to pick up my number and wait at the starting point, I was pretty sure the endeavor would be epic fail.
But a funny thing happened when I saw my friend Jess (who was training for the Kiawah half-marathon) next to me: I decided I HAD to finish. I didn't want to fail. I wanted to fight my way through it. I hadn't fought for anything in a long time.
Lucky for me, Jess was great at pacing. I knew she was a more experienced runner than I was, and I figured if I could just keep somewhat close to her, I would be successful. And I was right!
Over the next few months, I ran two more 5Ks and registered for a third. I also injured my hamstring in the desert of Arizona.
The situation wasn't ideal and neither was my personal life. Regardless, I committed to running my first 10 miler, the Disney Twilight Zone Tower of Terror 10 miler weekend, on September 28-29th, 2012 with my bestie Amanda Guillot.
It's been a long road in many more ways than one. I was unable to run for almost 4 months and got VERY behind in my training. Luckily, I found solace in YoPilates, Flow Yoga, and Yoga Sculpt to maintain flexibility and stamina.
The past few weeks have been a true test of how far I want to push it. It would probably be best to back off the training and not run the 10 miles I'm aiming for. But at this point in my life, I have something to prove: I'm strong. I won't back down. And even if it seems insurmountable, I will make it to the finish.
It might hurt. I might not run again for quite some time when it's over. But at least I can say that I survived it and didn't give up. Quite the metaphor for my life in general right now.
So instead of watching the Olympics Wednesday night when my kids aren't here, I'll force myself to run the 7 miles I'm dreading. I think I can do it. After all, I ran 6 today just thinking about what's to come tomorrow.
And just like last September, I'm running with my heart. Not with my legs.