Christmas Past, Christmas Present

I wrote the title first, intending to mull over some of the thoughts I am having about my son during this Christmas present.  Christmas past has moments that I hope that spirit doesn’t make me visit, even as the past threatens to reappear.  Times are different now, at least it seems so, with some healing and maturing mixed in with a tad bit of learning.  Yet, I am afraid.

My son is living with me again, during his holiday break.  He arrived a week ago, almost unannounced, called me during the afternoon and asked me if I was going to be home in three hours.  I was on my lunch break at work.  I told him that I needed to help my friend, Jim, move some furniture after work, would probably be home around six.  My son was coming home a few days early.  That wasn’t a big deal.  My place was already clean, with clean sheets ready for his bed, the closet in my spare bedroom cleared so that he would have plenty of room for his stuff during his month long break.

I should take a picture of his room right now and post it here….

He is SUCH a twenty year old male.  No staging was required.  I just snapped a few pics and ran for my life.  How in the world did he manage to mess up the blinds?  I really don’t know if any of his stuff has made it into the closet or the empty dresser.  The rest of the house has been up for grabs, with his clutter extending into the living space.  That has been minimal, his awareness from existing with me during Thanksgiving break giving him some much appreciated knowledge of what it’s like to live with his father.  I have had to clean up after him, but he is also making sure he keeps things a little straight.  It probably helps that I don’t harp at him.  He is still piggish, but not the rude boor of a child I knew a few years ago has diminished considerably.  I can take some clutter as long as he is considerate, which he has mostly accomplished.  As it was at Thanksgiving, he has honored quiet hours and lets me sleep, important since I get up at 5 each morning for work.

Yesterday was the second warmest Christmas day on record for Chicagoland, the balmiest since 1982.  Nate opted for sleeping in, skipped a butt crack of dawn ride with me, yet managed to use up every last drop of hot water for his shower while I was out two wheeled sleigh riding.  I had to take a brisk and icy cold shower after my ride.  Let’s just say it was a blue Christmas without you (hot water… doo doo doo doo doo).  Not only did I get a ride in sans layers, but Nate and I played a few sets of tennis outdoors.. in shorts.

Christmas pasts have not always been pleasant, especially since my liberation from the chains of matrimony.  Nate had a major breakdown a few years ago, and it has been a challenge since.  Last year was good.  This year was good, except, well, he reacted poorly to my lady friend being with me Christmas afternoon, slammed the door to his bedroom.. twice.  She left rather than create further conflict and was pretty upset about the disrespect he demonstrated — which is characteristic of Christmases past.  He emerged after she left, acted like nothing happened, denied that he was upset at all when I confronted him about it.

Baby steps.  We survived and proved that we have learned a few things.  I am just hoping my condo survives the next few weeks of exposure.

Priorities and Elvish Evidence

Sunday.  Near noon.  The Bears are playing the Packers in a game that could decide if the Bears are playoff bound or not.  I am a Bears fan, excited to see that recently the team has been playing like they really do want to be a championship team.  My place on the couch was ready, a lazy afternoon of watching football waiting for me.  Adding to my interest was the success of my fantasy football team, a dismal loser at the beginning of this NFL season, with five straight losses out of the box.  Somehow, my team has lost only one week since then, and in the running for the big money right now.  I wanted to monitor all the scores and stats of today’s games.

Too bad my priorities are straight.  The weather outside was not frightful, although the fire was delightful, but the fire was not going to keep me inside.  It was sunny, with temperatures in the mid twenties.  Mountain biking was my priority.. and mountain biking won out over football.  After all, I could get to the trails by 11:30, be home a little after 2, still catch most of the third quarter.

There were no bowel related incidents during today’s ride.

Did you know that Santa’s elves mountain bike?  I discovered evidence of that today.  A few miles in during my ride, I found the decorated Christmas tree that either elves or gnomes put up next to the trail.  In the midst of the winter beauty was a large red ornament hanging over the trail, with a little tree.  I had to pause a while and wonder.

Tundra

‘Tundra’ might be pushing it when describing the state of the dirt here in northern Illinois, but it’s as close to a description as I can muster at this moment.  The top layer of dirt is pleasantly frozen today… and I LIKE that.  What that means to this mountain biker is that what has been mud has turned to solid frozen dirt.  Solid frozen dirt rides very, very well into the sun comes out and thaws that frozen top layer.  When it thaws, it’s a mucky mess that is not really worth riding.  So, when the dirt turns to Illinois tundra, the joys of the winter riding season around here are abundant.  This year has not provided an abundancy of off road riding, the rain too plentiful.  I and others frowned at the skies far more than we rode the past few months.

Nothing proves that more than looking around as I rode this morning.  With the summer vegetation and leaves gone, the woods are wonderfully wide open, creating a new view throughout the woods.  The trail system I ride the most is next to a large river, the trails built amongst berms left when that river was dredged and the debris from a close by mine was dumped next to the river.  There is always water in between the berms, with little swamps and lakes.  During a normal summer, all but the deepest water dries up.  There is usually only one water crossing on the trails, but today there were at least three, the water in between the berms so high that it encroached on the trails.  It was interesting to observe all the water, hidden behind the greenery all summer, and how it has taken over the park.  The water is a nearly luminescent green, beautiful, although I really don’t want to come in contact with it!

I stopped for a moment during this morning’s ride to snap a picture of my bike, share it with my friends (Jim and John).  It was 27 degrees when I started my ride and I really wanted to taunt them for being cold weather wimps, choosing indoor warmth and Zwift over the outdoors.  My friend, Dave, rolled up as I was taking the picture, asked me if I was going to sell my new Salsa.  Ain’t no way, unless financial strain makes that necessary (it could, but I will keep this positive).  Our friend, Chuck, pulled up as well.  We chatted about our Subara Crosstreks and Salsa bicycles as we watched two guys descend a jump the plateau.. there in the picture but a whole lot more intimidating than the picture shows.  Dave, Chuck, and I have a common bond with our bicycles and vehicles, as well as being in the over 50 club.  It was nice to catch up with them.

It wasn’t really all that cold this morning, even though the temperature was under 30 degrees.  There was little to no wind.  On top of that, I have learned over the years to dress in layers, have collected the necessary components to make me comfortable in the cold.  To me, it was downright balmy!  My first layer is a synthetic mock long sleeved tee, with ‘capri’ style padded bib shorts (‘Capri’ is probably not what they are called, but, hey….).  The shorts have straps that go over my shoulders.  My feet have thermal socks with wool socks over them.  Second layer is fleece lined tights and a fleece lined long sleeve zip up vented jersey.  Over the jersey goes and wind proof vest, then an old fleece.

However, I experienced one of the not so nice aspects of the necessity of dressing in layers.  I was talking with my dad as I pulled up to my parking spot, had to excuse myself because,..er..ummmm…, nature was calling rather strongly.  I am not talking about the woods, although I COULD be.  It sucks getting old.  Nature isn’t so patient with me any more.  Combine that urgency with trying to quickly remove several layers of clothing, and you have a near disaster waiting to happen.

I survived cleanly.  Barely.

And there you have.  Tundra and turds and time well spent.

Seasoning

As I write, the boy is snoring away, the wall in between my living room and the spare bedroom is shaking from the sheer force of the buzzing gale he is emitting.  It is a new experience for me to hear him, this holiday break the first I have lived with him in over two years.  A lot has changed in that brief period of time, including the emergence of the snore.  We both have matured a bit, evidenced by the peaceful coexistence all week, a bit of a surprise for me.

Geez, the kid is really sawing away in there.

What I expected to experience this past week was a lot of lost sleep, caused by a hulk of a boy that I remembered from two years ago, with loud late night X-Box marathons capped by a midnight marathon shower, his music blaring selfishly through a Bluetooth speaker in the bathroom.  Trails of stench and scattered debris would be all over my humbly overly cared for abode, left by a being who really didn’t care about the havoc he administered to the order of my peaceful existence.  What seems like an exaggeration was the reality of mere thirty months ago.  I flinched with anxious thoughts as I anticipated his upcoming visit this past week.

Those anxious thoughts diluted while they swirled amongst the stronger feelings of gratitude.  To me, the notion that my son even wants to stay with me was a miracle.  When his mother and I sold our house, separated to be together no more, there was not a single doubt that he would live with her.  In my mind, she had helped to create the monster, fed his enormous appetite, protected him from my discipline, and the two belonged together.  He would never want to or be able to exist in the same hemisphere with me again.  I am not sure if I have said it, and if I have please forgive me, but they deserved each other and the separation was an immediate relief from unbelievable stress.  That didn’t mean that I did not or do not want a relationship with my son.  One of the biggest let downs for me was that it did not seem that all of the effort I had put into him would ever be returned.  I never thought we would have a decent relationship, that my son would ever value his relationship with me as his father, would ever want to spend time with me again.

I think pretty much every father goes through that.  Thankfully, most do not experience that through divorce.  There are few days I do not wonder if my marriage would not have been different, maybe even survived, had it not been for the conflict created by my relationship with my son and the escalation of that conflict by the choice his mother made in that conflict.  I will never know.

What I do know is that my son and I were both anxious about our first cohabitation since the separation and divorce.  I was providing sanctuary to him, sanctuary from living in the small space provided to him at his aunt’s town home, a freedom of sorts.  He would have to live in my very orderly space, a space that has been mine alone for over two years, but he would have his own space in my home.  I know he preferred that, know that he has been reaching out to me and lifting me up.  I was anxious, but I really hoped that this time it would be different than it was two years ago.

I think we both were surprised.

He came home to my home, tentative, not knowing what I would expect from him.  I gave him a lot of freedom.  I think he liked that.  It was obvious that I am meticulous, not liking my space to be invaded, but he did a good job of adjusting to my expectations.  He wasn’t perfect, but he was respectful, careful, conscious of the world I have created and he did his best to fit his twenty year old male self into that world.  I did my best to accommodate him, not press him into a perfect little mold, let him live his own life while he was with me.  It wasn’t perfect, but I resisted telling him anything, cleaned up after him and noticed that he adapted to my expectations.  I didn’t lose sleep, although I worried more about him getting home safely than I have in the past.  He communicated with me very well, let me know what was going on, so I could sleep soundly.  Our last night, I didn’t even notice when he came home.

What meant the most to me during his visit?  Perhaps it is the realization that he values me, looks at some of my interests as positive things.  It is very obvious that he thinks my mountain biking is a cool thing.  I can tell that the time invested in him over the years was not a waste.  I feel valued.  I needed that.  One thing that cemented that he is thinking of me was Saturday night, when his car needed windshield wipers, and he wanted to borrow a car.  He acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ready to loan out my ‘new’ car to him.  It was a good thing to me, a confirmation that he is starting to get it.  I needed that.

I am tentatively proud.  He is making strides, working on gaining my confidence.  This whole divorce thing is a tough journey and he is working through it.  Like the title of today’s blog, I know that we both are working into a new relationship, a seasoning of sorts.