"Oh, they'd even argue about the weather!" We have all heard it, and I'm sure I've even said it before but never knew it could be true...I mean, seriously, who argues about the weather?? And, more importantly, why?? Unfortunately, I now know the answer to the first question - my mother! The answer to the second question may never be answered, as I've spent hundreds of dollars in counseling and good wine to figure out why my mother does lots of things...but to no avail.
However, these latest incidents really do seem to take the cake. A few years ago my mother and step-father bought a vacation home in a small seaport village in New England; making her VERY happy. Hey, we would all love a vacation home on the water...we just didn't know why she bought it over 3000 miles from the bulk of her family and then wonders why we don't visit. Anyhow, they bought it and spend their summers there because, in her words, "My doctor said I'd die if I have to spend another day in this God awful heat!" Okay, thank goodness we all know exaggeration is a strong suit of hers or we might actually have taken this dire warning a little more seriously. As it was, we just again wondered how her doctor (ok, nurse practioner) had stayed in practice all these years if she said even half the things our mother has repeated.
Anyhow, now their NE home is Utopia and all other locations (tropical, mountains, other beach towns...) are so greatly lacking they might as well just not exist. I'm happy for her, I truly am, but just let us be happy in our homes as well...please!! Over the past few days she has been on a Weather Channel kick and has made a series of phone calls and Facebook posts (she is why there should be an etiquette test on Facebook)regarding the heat waves that have hit both the SouthEast and the West. "How can you stand the heat?" "Are you dying yet?" "Oh my gosh, the weather here is gorgeous. Even the thundershowers are the most amazing things you will ever see." "Why would anyone ever live anywhere else? They are just crazy!" Okay, considering the town has a population smaller than most minor league ball fields, that leaves quite a few people in the less than sane column. And, I had reached my limit of her weather updates and was gunning for an argument when she called yesterday. "Hi honey! How hot are you?" Not kidding, those were the first words out of her mouth when I answered. "Hi Mom...it is absolutely beautiful here...low 80's, fabulous." "Oh, aren't you lucky...your sister is completely miserable. Not even able to move it is so hot." Considering I had talked to my sister not more than 15 minutes before, and she had been working out, I knew movement was not out of the question for her. "Oh, Mom, it is just you who can't stand the heat. We all love the hot weather." Ok, in all honesty, only rattlesnakes love weather above 95 but I certainly wasn't going to admit that.
And, then, I realized, I was actually arguing about the weather...and, it continued...barb after barb, back and forth, about how miserable everyone was(except her of course). Did it really matter? What was it about her that made me revert to a 6 year old with responses like "Nu-huh...it's not hot. You're hot. So there."? My blood pressure had now risen higher than the ridiculous temperatures outside and I knew it didn't matter how many times I sat on the couch in my therapist's office...I was never going to understand this woman. So, I did what any woman looking for sanity would do...poured a nice glass of wine, kicked up my feet in front of the fan and cursed the heat outside...
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
A Toast to the Tastee Freeze
The movie channels must have been channeling my subconscious this weekend as they were continuously running Steel Magnolias and Sweet Home Alabama...two of my all time faves. Throw in Bull Durham and you would have had the tri-fecta of my version of comfort food-movies about the small towns of the South and the sense of history and belonging that come with them.
I'm a CA girl by birth but a Southern girl by upbringing and choice and love that my sun kissed skin comes with a bit of a country twang. Catch me with a Jack & Diet and the bit turns into a full blown drawl... While I won't pretend to overlook the time in our history when flying the Southern Cross meant much worse things than a love of family, tradition and seafood, I do relish the time I spent there, and unfortunately, have spent much of my life searching for the sense of security that I found in a town with no stop light.
My parents divorced when I was 11 and my mother, who, at the time, I thought had completely lost her mind, moved us as far away, legally, as she could from my father and the Washington, DC life he represented. Family would visit and swear that while it wasn't the end of the Earth, they could certainly see it from our backyard. Looking back now, I still don't agree with the decision to move us from my father but I understand her desire to get a fresh start away from the pain of a failed dream. And, where she chose to move has given me the only place I really do still call home...even though I left there over 25 years ago.
What is it about a town who got its first fast food restaurant within the past decade that makes you feel complete? Is it the fact there are no strangers, not ever? Is it the knowledge that everyone, will always have your back? Is it the calmness of watching fireflies light up the night sky over the water? Or is it knowing that the same Jimmy Joe who filled up your gas tank at lunch is the firefighter who will fish out Gregory Jones truck when he takes that turn just a little too fast around your pond? It is all of it! The history, the slowness of time, the roar of the crowd at a high school football game on a Friday night all blend together into an amazing sense of peace.
Believe me, it wasn't always peaceful growing up there...Gregory Jones did drive his truck right into our pond in the middle of a Sunday barbecue on the same day my mother about had a coronary after she caught me climbing in through the window of my friend's carbon copy of the General Lee...c'mon, any Dukes of Hazzard fan knows the doors don't open on those cars! My brother set the forest on fire one time and was told by the volunteer fireman that "Son, next time just try to aim those flares just a lil' bit higher o'er the water...." And, my mother, who had invited some No. Va friends down for the weekend was kicked out of the nicest restaurant in town for dancing to the band ...dancing wasn't allowed downtown....
But, as I mentioned, it is what has made me, well, me. As Miranda Lambert writes in one of new favorite songs..."It is the house that built me..." It is the home of many of my firsts...my first kiss... my first best friend...my first taste of alcohol (although it took me years to EVER drink peach schnapps again)...first time shooting a gun and let me tell you, I was good...my first heartbreak...And, probably most of all, my first vision of what I wanted my life to be. I wanted the house on the island, with the high school football star, the boat, the 2 kids and a dog and the knowledge that I would never be alone.
Obviously times change and my mother chose yet again to move us...this time away from the quiet and peace of life on the water and I lost that sense of home. Friday nights no longer meant football and cruising to the Tastee Freeze. I lost the ability to read brake lights...believe me, I was quite bilingual! And, I lost a good part of me. I would recapture it here and there over the years...going to college in the Appalachian mountains would bring back a piece as would my occasional visits to the Chesapeake Bay. But, I never really was able to recreate it and now over 2 decades later, know that is what I have been searching for.
People may laugh and mock the ability to stop the sense of time (and I definitely missed the Starbucks on every corner during my last visit) but, if the rest of the country could actually take just a bit of the respect, the tradition and the love of home and country which we find in the heart of the South, we may actually be a stronger, happier place. I know I loved that my children, had for a very brief moment, the use of "Sir and Ma'am" in their vocabulary after our visit. And, I know, somewhere in my future, is a house, on the water, with a name that says...2nd Chance Farm...where I will share with my children and grandchildren how to put away their cell phones and still know that you are to meet Jay and Johnny Lee at the Tastee Freeze because they hit their brakes 3 times....
I'm a CA girl by birth but a Southern girl by upbringing and choice and love that my sun kissed skin comes with a bit of a country twang. Catch me with a Jack & Diet and the bit turns into a full blown drawl... While I won't pretend to overlook the time in our history when flying the Southern Cross meant much worse things than a love of family, tradition and seafood, I do relish the time I spent there, and unfortunately, have spent much of my life searching for the sense of security that I found in a town with no stop light.
My parents divorced when I was 11 and my mother, who, at the time, I thought had completely lost her mind, moved us as far away, legally, as she could from my father and the Washington, DC life he represented. Family would visit and swear that while it wasn't the end of the Earth, they could certainly see it from our backyard. Looking back now, I still don't agree with the decision to move us from my father but I understand her desire to get a fresh start away from the pain of a failed dream. And, where she chose to move has given me the only place I really do still call home...even though I left there over 25 years ago.
What is it about a town who got its first fast food restaurant within the past decade that makes you feel complete? Is it the fact there are no strangers, not ever? Is it the knowledge that everyone, will always have your back? Is it the calmness of watching fireflies light up the night sky over the water? Or is it knowing that the same Jimmy Joe who filled up your gas tank at lunch is the firefighter who will fish out Gregory Jones truck when he takes that turn just a little too fast around your pond? It is all of it! The history, the slowness of time, the roar of the crowd at a high school football game on a Friday night all blend together into an amazing sense of peace.
Believe me, it wasn't always peaceful growing up there...Gregory Jones did drive his truck right into our pond in the middle of a Sunday barbecue on the same day my mother about had a coronary after she caught me climbing in through the window of my friend's carbon copy of the General Lee...c'mon, any Dukes of Hazzard fan knows the doors don't open on those cars! My brother set the forest on fire one time and was told by the volunteer fireman that "Son, next time just try to aim those flares just a lil' bit higher o'er the water...." And, my mother, who had invited some No. Va friends down for the weekend was kicked out of the nicest restaurant in town for dancing to the band ...dancing wasn't allowed downtown....
But, as I mentioned, it is what has made me, well, me. As Miranda Lambert writes in one of new favorite songs..."It is the house that built me..." It is the home of many of my firsts...my first kiss... my first best friend...my first taste of alcohol (although it took me years to EVER drink peach schnapps again)...first time shooting a gun and let me tell you, I was good...my first heartbreak...And, probably most of all, my first vision of what I wanted my life to be. I wanted the house on the island, with the high school football star, the boat, the 2 kids and a dog and the knowledge that I would never be alone.
Obviously times change and my mother chose yet again to move us...this time away from the quiet and peace of life on the water and I lost that sense of home. Friday nights no longer meant football and cruising to the Tastee Freeze. I lost the ability to read brake lights...believe me, I was quite bilingual! And, I lost a good part of me. I would recapture it here and there over the years...going to college in the Appalachian mountains would bring back a piece as would my occasional visits to the Chesapeake Bay. But, I never really was able to recreate it and now over 2 decades later, know that is what I have been searching for.
People may laugh and mock the ability to stop the sense of time (and I definitely missed the Starbucks on every corner during my last visit) but, if the rest of the country could actually take just a bit of the respect, the tradition and the love of home and country which we find in the heart of the South, we may actually be a stronger, happier place. I know I loved that my children, had for a very brief moment, the use of "Sir and Ma'am" in their vocabulary after our visit. And, I know, somewhere in my future, is a house, on the water, with a name that says...2nd Chance Farm...where I will share with my children and grandchildren how to put away their cell phones and still know that you are to meet Jay and Johnny Lee at the Tastee Freeze because they hit their brakes 3 times....
Friday, June 25, 2010
Minivan Moms...
First, to my very dear friends who read this AND drive minivans: this is by no means, absolutely not in any way shape or form directed at you. You are free to just read and enjoy. For any other minivan moms who might resemble a remark or two in this post, read and reflect, PLEASE....
The scene could have been anywhere: warm but breezy summer evening, practice for sport of some kind, sounds of kids playing in the park echoing the joys of vacation and a group of mom's chatting, laughing and lamenting about the inevitable moment when their children hit the point of boredom. The newness has worn off the gift of summer break and they begin to pick: at their siblings, at the dog, at you...You have done your best to schedule day camps, play dates, adventures until their calendar looks more impacted than your own. However, truly, you relish these days and really wouldn't have it any other way. The group is just sharing war stories, knowing the other women in the group understand, empathize and appreciate the growing wine bottle collection you have in the kitchen. Well, almost all of the women...there is the one, the mom who has all the answers, who acts like these issues are all within her control and just one more item she can check off her whiteboard list....
She pipes up with "Oh, we have already started the academic work with the boys. You should..." Ok, I admit, as soon as I hear "You should", followed by anything, I tune out. It is an automatic mute button in my brain. But, I tune back in just in time to hear the sage wisdom from "supermom". It had something to do with a building block of books project to get them to read over the summer. While the idea sounded very cute (and similar to one my mom had us do when I was younger), it was just the entire unwitting condescension which got to me. And no point during the laugh/gripe session did anyone ask for advice on how to engage their children academically between the months of June, July & August. We just wanted company in our misery.
As I thought about it later, I realized there were more than a couple of these women in my life and the population seemed to be growing. You have moms at school who are constantly piping in with "Oh, if I were you, I'd..." or "We always do ...with our children". Or, the sister-in-law who asked incredulously one Thanksgiving "You aren't going to let your son watch his older cousin play that video game are you? We never allow our children to watch violent programming or games as it just breeds violence." While I may have agreed with her on the validity of her argument, it was very hard to take her seriously as I watched her two boys beat the living daylights out of one another over who had the Legos first. I laughed and resorted to my old standby of sarcasm and answered "Oh, we also let him run with scissors." And, finally, there is the original "You should" mother...my mom...who on occasion has made every daughter, step-daughter, daughter-in-law cry tears of frustration with her constant comments on our ability or inability to parent.
It dawned on me there was a common thread between these women...beyond the ability to make my nerves stand on end...they all drove the 4 wheel advertisement of SuperMom...the mini-van. They are the MVM's (The MiniVan Moms)Their mini-vans screamed "I have all the answers, just ask me!" They look down on those of us who have kept our sedans, our SUV's, or even our classier pre-parenthood sports car siblings, with the sneer that says "I gave up more for my children than you did so I, am obviously the better parent." What is about the doors that slide open automatically that make you a better mom? Did your mini-van come with a magic "Mom" pill that the rest of us suckers didn't get? Does the Mom Taxi license plate holder give you the right and ability to diagnose and treat all the trials that come with raising children. Obviously the answer is no to each question...the mini-van has just given these women the false sense of entitlement they feel they need to lord over the rest of us NMVFM believers (No MiniVan for Me!).
I admit my theory probably wouldn't pass too many scientific experiments but as I drive home in my very non Mom Chrysler 300, I realize I need to think there is a reason for their holy than Dr. Spock attitudes so am content to blame it on the minivan. I breathe a sigh of relief for understanding it really isn't their fault, their cars made them do it and turn up the radio full blast as Eminem starts singing and know yes, this is another thing those MVM's would frown upon with a tsk tsk...
The scene could have been anywhere: warm but breezy summer evening, practice for sport of some kind, sounds of kids playing in the park echoing the joys of vacation and a group of mom's chatting, laughing and lamenting about the inevitable moment when their children hit the point of boredom. The newness has worn off the gift of summer break and they begin to pick: at their siblings, at the dog, at you...You have done your best to schedule day camps, play dates, adventures until their calendar looks more impacted than your own. However, truly, you relish these days and really wouldn't have it any other way. The group is just sharing war stories, knowing the other women in the group understand, empathize and appreciate the growing wine bottle collection you have in the kitchen. Well, almost all of the women...there is the one, the mom who has all the answers, who acts like these issues are all within her control and just one more item she can check off her whiteboard list....
She pipes up with "Oh, we have already started the academic work with the boys. You should..." Ok, I admit, as soon as I hear "You should", followed by anything, I tune out. It is an automatic mute button in my brain. But, I tune back in just in time to hear the sage wisdom from "supermom". It had something to do with a building block of books project to get them to read over the summer. While the idea sounded very cute (and similar to one my mom had us do when I was younger), it was just the entire unwitting condescension which got to me. And no point during the laugh/gripe session did anyone ask for advice on how to engage their children academically between the months of June, July & August. We just wanted company in our misery.
As I thought about it later, I realized there were more than a couple of these women in my life and the population seemed to be growing. You have moms at school who are constantly piping in with "Oh, if I were you, I'd..." or "We always do ...with our children". Or, the sister-in-law who asked incredulously one Thanksgiving "You aren't going to let your son watch his older cousin play that video game are you? We never allow our children to watch violent programming or games as it just breeds violence." While I may have agreed with her on the validity of her argument, it was very hard to take her seriously as I watched her two boys beat the living daylights out of one another over who had the Legos first. I laughed and resorted to my old standby of sarcasm and answered "Oh, we also let him run with scissors." And, finally, there is the original "You should" mother...my mom...who on occasion has made every daughter, step-daughter, daughter-in-law cry tears of frustration with her constant comments on our ability or inability to parent.
It dawned on me there was a common thread between these women...beyond the ability to make my nerves stand on end...they all drove the 4 wheel advertisement of SuperMom...the mini-van. They are the MVM's (The MiniVan Moms)Their mini-vans screamed "I have all the answers, just ask me!" They look down on those of us who have kept our sedans, our SUV's, or even our classier pre-parenthood sports car siblings, with the sneer that says "I gave up more for my children than you did so I, am obviously the better parent." What is about the doors that slide open automatically that make you a better mom? Did your mini-van come with a magic "Mom" pill that the rest of us suckers didn't get? Does the Mom Taxi license plate holder give you the right and ability to diagnose and treat all the trials that come with raising children. Obviously the answer is no to each question...the mini-van has just given these women the false sense of entitlement they feel they need to lord over the rest of us NMVFM believers (No MiniVan for Me!).
I admit my theory probably wouldn't pass too many scientific experiments but as I drive home in my very non Mom Chrysler 300, I realize I need to think there is a reason for their holy than Dr. Spock attitudes so am content to blame it on the minivan. I breathe a sigh of relief for understanding it really isn't their fault, their cars made them do it and turn up the radio full blast as Eminem starts singing and know yes, this is another thing those MVM's would frown upon with a tsk tsk...
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Starting Over
I will often play this reward game with myself as an incentive to make a change...usually (ok, always) involving saying no to contacting Alex. This means no texts, phone calls...anything! For every week I refrain from reaching out I would put money away (varying amounts depending on the current cash flow) and then when it would reach a sizable amount I'd buy something...a pair of shoes, sunglasses...just something fun and which made me smile. I know all the child development experts say bribery is the wrong way to teach right behaviors but I say, who cares, it works! And, desperate times call for desperate measures.
I've done this numerous times over our somewhat tumultuous history so know the drill. It is like my version of AA. While I'm certainly not trivializing the struggles alcoholics endure to kick their addiction, there are moments I truly believe this is a sickness/an obsession I have and one that I do need to overcome. I even have steps or a bag of tricks to help me curb the temptation to just send a fun/breezy kind of text to make him think about me. Knowing deep down that this is not the rational behavior of a seemingly together 40+ year old woman... These tricks have not been patented so feel free to use them if necessary:
1. Find a kick-butt song on the radio or iPod (I prefer Eminem, Black Eyed Peas, Daughtry...anything with pumping lyrics), turn it up as loud as you can handle it, sing and dance like crazy. I have also found this makes people in the car next to you smile so hey, double bonus.
2. Have a text buddy...someone who knows you are using them (in a very nice way) as a distraction. Have a few on hand to cover various needs: the strong friend who won't let you give in, the fun friend who will text back goofy stuff to make you laugh and, finally, the flirty friend who will text ego boosting comments like Hi beautiful...whatcha wearing? Okay, at my age those count as funny texts too but you get the idea.
3. Daydream about that perfect walkaway moment...the one where you are looking like all that and a bag of chips...you are surrounded by friends having the time of your life and you look up and see him. Your heart doesn't stop, you don't feel your stomach doing a high dive and you realize you have made it to the other side. You see in his eyes that he finally realizes he made the mistake of a lifetime but it is too late. You smile, tell him he looks good and wish him well. Knowing as he walks away (with her, of course) that he just lost the best thing that ever happened to him. Yes, this is one of my favorite distractions....
Like I said, not patented...and for a reason, they are goofy. But, they are the most important tools I have right now and plan on utilizing them, yet again. I know my walkaway moment will come but in the meantime I am now back to day one and the first step....
I've done this numerous times over our somewhat tumultuous history so know the drill. It is like my version of AA. While I'm certainly not trivializing the struggles alcoholics endure to kick their addiction, there are moments I truly believe this is a sickness/an obsession I have and one that I do need to overcome. I even have steps or a bag of tricks to help me curb the temptation to just send a fun/breezy kind of text to make him think about me. Knowing deep down that this is not the rational behavior of a seemingly together 40+ year old woman... These tricks have not been patented so feel free to use them if necessary:
1. Find a kick-butt song on the radio or iPod (I prefer Eminem, Black Eyed Peas, Daughtry...anything with pumping lyrics), turn it up as loud as you can handle it, sing and dance like crazy. I have also found this makes people in the car next to you smile so hey, double bonus.
2. Have a text buddy...someone who knows you are using them (in a very nice way) as a distraction. Have a few on hand to cover various needs: the strong friend who won't let you give in, the fun friend who will text back goofy stuff to make you laugh and, finally, the flirty friend who will text ego boosting comments like Hi beautiful...whatcha wearing? Okay, at my age those count as funny texts too but you get the idea.
3. Daydream about that perfect walkaway moment...the one where you are looking like all that and a bag of chips...you are surrounded by friends having the time of your life and you look up and see him. Your heart doesn't stop, you don't feel your stomach doing a high dive and you realize you have made it to the other side. You see in his eyes that he finally realizes he made the mistake of a lifetime but it is too late. You smile, tell him he looks good and wish him well. Knowing as he walks away (with her, of course) that he just lost the best thing that ever happened to him. Yes, this is one of my favorite distractions....
Like I said, not patented...and for a reason, they are goofy. But, they are the most important tools I have right now and plan on utilizing them, yet again. I know my walkaway moment will come but in the meantime I am now back to day one and the first step....
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Butterflies or indigestion?
I guess I should have admitted before in one of these posts that yes, I do still think about Alex...often! And, not in the how many ways can I kill him thoughts? Or, maybe he's gotten fat and lost all of his hair thoughts...No, these are the thoughts of a woman who has been best friends with a man for years, still loves him and whose heart skips a beat when she thinks she sees him (or even his car...wow, kind of 15 year old drama queen pathetic...). Anyhow, I do...and, unfortunately it seems he knows this and will pop up just when I think he's finally moved on.
Before you get all Oprah on me and question why I answer the phone as I obviously know it's him...caller ID, ringtone of Keith Urban's "Stupid Boy"... I answer because I still get the butterflies...I still had an entire colony of monarchs fluttering around my belly the day I moved out. He was/is/should have been the one. I'm content with my life, still not turning down the prospect of a good booty call, but really, not looking for anything else because my version of Mr. Big is still out there, haunting, taunting, some sort of ing...with his presence.
About 3 months after THE move, I found myself in the lobby of the x-ray area with what was pretty obviously, a broken finger. The injury, a football injury at that, was pretty cool in that I got it being the absolute best mom quarterback in the history of the game. However, now I was in pain (after ignoring it for a couple of days), and growing more and more irritable waiting for the tech to call me in. I looked out the door, hoping that would magically make things happen faster and saw Alex's knee! Don't ask how I knew it was him just from seeing a knee, attached to a person sitting in a wheelchair, I just did! Was this really where I was going to see him for the first time since I kissed him goodbye as I went to work the day before the move? Seriously? Yes, I guess that was to be the case as he was wheeled into his x-ray room and I definitely recognized the rest of him...broad shoulders, dark hair ...all of it. Stomach jumped, and I couldn't believe in a city of over 1 million with plenty of hospitals, that we'd be in the same waiting room at the same time. But, as I said, he knows when to pop up. I was called back almost immediately after, trying to keep my shaking finger still for the camera. I thought I'd luck out and not actually have him see me as I heard the call for his transport. No such luck!
I walk out of the room, holding my finger straight up (yes, the middle...pretty appropriate) and ran smack into the wheelchair bound Alex. After a few very awkward pleasantries, we both looked at each other with apologetic eyes and I walked away. Several times in the few months after that he'd text, call or we'd occasionally have lunch. And, while each time was a little less heart stopping, the butterflies never left.
Months had gone by since I had last heard from him and then today, the phone lights up and Keith Urban's voice filled my office. I won't lie and say I even hesitated before saying hello...45 minutes of chatting, laughing and teasing recriminations later and we hang up. Nothing in his life has changed...he still thinks we are in this situation because I moved out (not because he had a hard time with the whole 1 girlfriend concept), the 8th dwarf is still very much a part of his life, and probably the most disheartening, I still get the flutters. I know my family and friends want to think that is just the settling of the incredibly boring salad I had for lunch, but it's not. And, I've come to grips with that. He was that person for me...in Friends' speak, he is my lobster. While I may come across a crab, an otter, or any other fun playful sea creature...these butterflies belong to him.
Before you get all Oprah on me and question why I answer the phone as I obviously know it's him...caller ID, ringtone of Keith Urban's "Stupid Boy"... I answer because I still get the butterflies...I still had an entire colony of monarchs fluttering around my belly the day I moved out. He was/is/should have been the one. I'm content with my life, still not turning down the prospect of a good booty call, but really, not looking for anything else because my version of Mr. Big is still out there, haunting, taunting, some sort of ing...with his presence.
About 3 months after THE move, I found myself in the lobby of the x-ray area with what was pretty obviously, a broken finger. The injury, a football injury at that, was pretty cool in that I got it being the absolute best mom quarterback in the history of the game. However, now I was in pain (after ignoring it for a couple of days), and growing more and more irritable waiting for the tech to call me in. I looked out the door, hoping that would magically make things happen faster and saw Alex's knee! Don't ask how I knew it was him just from seeing a knee, attached to a person sitting in a wheelchair, I just did! Was this really where I was going to see him for the first time since I kissed him goodbye as I went to work the day before the move? Seriously? Yes, I guess that was to be the case as he was wheeled into his x-ray room and I definitely recognized the rest of him...broad shoulders, dark hair ...all of it. Stomach jumped, and I couldn't believe in a city of over 1 million with plenty of hospitals, that we'd be in the same waiting room at the same time. But, as I said, he knows when to pop up. I was called back almost immediately after, trying to keep my shaking finger still for the camera. I thought I'd luck out and not actually have him see me as I heard the call for his transport. No such luck!
I walk out of the room, holding my finger straight up (yes, the middle...pretty appropriate) and ran smack into the wheelchair bound Alex. After a few very awkward pleasantries, we both looked at each other with apologetic eyes and I walked away. Several times in the few months after that he'd text, call or we'd occasionally have lunch. And, while each time was a little less heart stopping, the butterflies never left.
Months had gone by since I had last heard from him and then today, the phone lights up and Keith Urban's voice filled my office. I won't lie and say I even hesitated before saying hello...45 minutes of chatting, laughing and teasing recriminations later and we hang up. Nothing in his life has changed...he still thinks we are in this situation because I moved out (not because he had a hard time with the whole 1 girlfriend concept), the 8th dwarf is still very much a part of his life, and probably the most disheartening, I still get the flutters. I know my family and friends want to think that is just the settling of the incredibly boring salad I had for lunch, but it's not. And, I've come to grips with that. He was that person for me...in Friends' speak, he is my lobster. While I may come across a crab, an otter, or any other fun playful sea creature...these butterflies belong to him.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Embracing my high maintenance!
Any woman over the age of 30 knows the scene (it is almost as popular as the fake orgasm...almost!). Harry & Sally are sitting in a dive cafe and Harry is calling Sally on her, well, highly tuned sense of needs...
Harry: There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance.
Sally: Which one am I?
Harry: You're the worst kind. You're high maintenance but think you are low maintenance.
Sally: I don't see that.
Harry: You don't see that? Waiter, I'll begin with a house salad but I don't want the regular dressing. I'll have the balsamic vinegar and oil, but on the side. And then the salmon, with the mustard sauce, but I want the mustard sauce on the side. "On the side" is very big thing for you.
Sally: Well, I just want it the way I want it.
Harry: I know; high maintenance.
I long ago acknowledged, owned and eventually embraced my high maintenance tendencies. It makes for challenging adventures trying to fill those needs at times but why settle for just ok when you know what you really want? I'm not talking about men, but I guess that would fit as well. No, I'm talking pretty basic needs: I want Diet Coke, not Diet Pepsi and if no Diet Coke, I'll get iced tea. I want real cheddar cheese not imitation American cheese stuff. Absolutely no soggy bread of any kind on anything...ok...you get the idea. However, probably where I draw the line in the sand is Starbucks...it must be the real thing!
As I was on my little adventure this past week, I woke up, went for a run (ok, walk but who's timing?) and then strolled into the historic downtown area to reward my efforts with a much needed caffeine fix in the comforting green and white cup. As this was a CA coastal town, in 2010, I felt confident there would be the tell-tale green awning on several corners. So, off I trekked, enjoying the early morning air and taking in the quaintness of a town trying to find its place in the new Southern CA world of the OC and Real Housewives. I saw a couple a few blocks up enjoying what looked like 2 cups of the coffee I so desired so headed in their direction. Block after block I walked with no success. I asked a woman on the street for assistance but she had just started her job and didn't know the area. I was getting a tad concerned but knew I had seen the signs so just needed to keep searching. I encountered another woman, looked about my age, dressed in the Northern CA cardio mom outfit of matching yoga pants, sweatshirt with baseball cap and high pony. I had the same outfit so figured we spoke the same coffee language...unfortunately I was very wrong. When asked if she knew where the nearest Starbucks was, she looked a little lost and answered "Oh, I don't go there. Try this great place across the street. Their coffee is better AND they are independently owned."
Now, I have nothing against these little coffee roasting clubs that have been able to maintain their existence as I think they serve their clientele. But, that clientele does not include me! Every visit to my mother's house has the same conversation: "Mom, I'm going to Starbucks. Do you want anything." "Honey, why don't you go to the Mountain Mug for coffee. They're going to go out of business if you don't". Really??? Because if my visits to the mountains 4-5 times a year are going to make or break the Mountain Mug's bank, they have bigger problems. I know I'm addicted to Starbucks, and have no trouble believing there is something in those cups that keep me coming back. But, I also believe, if that is my worst vice, I think I'm doing ok.
I just smile at the traitor version of me and thank her for her help. And, then, as if some coffee angel could feel my caffeine headache kicking in, I turned just in time to see a man get into his car with a steaming cup of Starbuck's finest...phew, my needs were going to be met and after getting directions that at least pointed me toward manna, I found home. And, like a weary traveler who kisses the ground upon reaching his destination, I sigh with relief as I order the never changing grande non fat latte. The first sip reminding me that yes, I do have high maintenance tendencies but it is those tendencies which help keep Starbucks, Diet Coke and my therapist in business. And, once again, I am ok with that....
Harry: There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance.
Sally: Which one am I?
Harry: You're the worst kind. You're high maintenance but think you are low maintenance.
Sally: I don't see that.
Harry: You don't see that? Waiter, I'll begin with a house salad but I don't want the regular dressing. I'll have the balsamic vinegar and oil, but on the side. And then the salmon, with the mustard sauce, but I want the mustard sauce on the side. "On the side" is very big thing for you.
Sally: Well, I just want it the way I want it.
Harry: I know; high maintenance.
I long ago acknowledged, owned and eventually embraced my high maintenance tendencies. It makes for challenging adventures trying to fill those needs at times but why settle for just ok when you know what you really want? I'm not talking about men, but I guess that would fit as well. No, I'm talking pretty basic needs: I want Diet Coke, not Diet Pepsi and if no Diet Coke, I'll get iced tea. I want real cheddar cheese not imitation American cheese stuff. Absolutely no soggy bread of any kind on anything...ok...you get the idea. However, probably where I draw the line in the sand is Starbucks...it must be the real thing!
As I was on my little adventure this past week, I woke up, went for a run (ok, walk but who's timing?) and then strolled into the historic downtown area to reward my efforts with a much needed caffeine fix in the comforting green and white cup. As this was a CA coastal town, in 2010, I felt confident there would be the tell-tale green awning on several corners. So, off I trekked, enjoying the early morning air and taking in the quaintness of a town trying to find its place in the new Southern CA world of the OC and Real Housewives. I saw a couple a few blocks up enjoying what looked like 2 cups of the coffee I so desired so headed in their direction. Block after block I walked with no success. I asked a woman on the street for assistance but she had just started her job and didn't know the area. I was getting a tad concerned but knew I had seen the signs so just needed to keep searching. I encountered another woman, looked about my age, dressed in the Northern CA cardio mom outfit of matching yoga pants, sweatshirt with baseball cap and high pony. I had the same outfit so figured we spoke the same coffee language...unfortunately I was very wrong. When asked if she knew where the nearest Starbucks was, she looked a little lost and answered "Oh, I don't go there. Try this great place across the street. Their coffee is better AND they are independently owned."
Now, I have nothing against these little coffee roasting clubs that have been able to maintain their existence as I think they serve their clientele. But, that clientele does not include me! Every visit to my mother's house has the same conversation: "Mom, I'm going to Starbucks. Do you want anything." "Honey, why don't you go to the Mountain Mug for coffee. They're going to go out of business if you don't". Really??? Because if my visits to the mountains 4-5 times a year are going to make or break the Mountain Mug's bank, they have bigger problems. I know I'm addicted to Starbucks, and have no trouble believing there is something in those cups that keep me coming back. But, I also believe, if that is my worst vice, I think I'm doing ok.
I just smile at the traitor version of me and thank her for her help. And, then, as if some coffee angel could feel my caffeine headache kicking in, I turned just in time to see a man get into his car with a steaming cup of Starbuck's finest...phew, my needs were going to be met and after getting directions that at least pointed me toward manna, I found home. And, like a weary traveler who kisses the ground upon reaching his destination, I sigh with relief as I order the never changing grande non fat latte. The first sip reminding me that yes, I do have high maintenance tendencies but it is those tendencies which help keep Starbucks, Diet Coke and my therapist in business. And, once again, I am ok with that....
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Something old, something new...
As a girl who grew up in Virginia with yes ma'am, no sir, Miss who and big Sunday dinners, I'm not a stranger to tradition. However, as I was not that far South of the Mason-Dixon line, I had never been to Cotillion or anything of the sort, so was in for a real treat when I was asked to accept an award from the West Coast's version of the Daughters of the American Revolution.
It was a four hour drive down the coast of CA so had plenty of time to switch my XM stations to listen to my favorites...from Sugarland to Black Eyed Peas, I sang my heart out. Avoiding all deep thoughts along these 250 miles was my number one priority as I was still feeling a little raw from the whole 365 days and he still hadn't figured out what a dope he was realization. So, I listened to comedy radio, sang and mentally spent the millions I'd win from the lottery I never played.
After enjoying a night of a walk on the beach, a pomegranate margarita and a secret snobbish laugh at the expense of some visitors in the lobby who thought hearing Target said with a French accent was the funniest thing they had ever heard, I was ready for my visit to the days of yore. Dressed in my daytime version of the little black dress and heels, I went downstairs to the ballroom to admittedly, get this award so I could go back home! As a veteran of more political events than I care to count, I knew the drill...go, smile, give the courtesy laugh, sit with the organizers, accept and leave with another pressing engagement you just have to attend.
I could not have been more mistaken...I entered a lobby surrounded by women in their Sunday finest who had definitely had probably never heard of Sugarland, and the only Black Eyed Peas they knew were the ones you ate on New Year's Day for luck. I introduced myself to the woman who looked like she was in charge...red suit, pearls...and figured we'd go in and wait for the program to start. No! I was to wait in the lobby to be escorted in by the "boys"...definite misnomer as these gentleman had not been boys since around the time of the Great Depression. However, I found myself starting to get caught up into the moment (while occasionally having to bite off a laugh) and lined up with the boys and their wives. We were escorted into the ballroom and paraded along the center of the room to the applause of the 150 women standing at attention with big smiles and even bigger hearts. I took in the grandeur of their displays, the love of history and days gone by and realized, while I was still not quite a convert, I understood the hesitancy to leave the old world and enter the new. While I couldn't imagine my life without Starbucks, the internet, my XM radio, a part of me could appreciate the romance of days when women did stay home with their children, making dinner for their husbands, and aspired to be Mrs. somebody.
We have definitely come a long way, baby, as the slogan liked to say, but I'm not sure the journey was completely in the right direction. As I drove back home, still listening to my music, but not quite in such a hurry to re-enter the 21st century, I allowed myself to just be. While I won't be filling out my application to join the native daughters any time soon, I also won't be so quick to snicker at their love of home, their insistence on pantyhose, and their sense of the way things used to be.
It was a four hour drive down the coast of CA so had plenty of time to switch my XM stations to listen to my favorites...from Sugarland to Black Eyed Peas, I sang my heart out. Avoiding all deep thoughts along these 250 miles was my number one priority as I was still feeling a little raw from the whole 365 days and he still hadn't figured out what a dope he was realization. So, I listened to comedy radio, sang and mentally spent the millions I'd win from the lottery I never played.
After enjoying a night of a walk on the beach, a pomegranate margarita and a secret snobbish laugh at the expense of some visitors in the lobby who thought hearing Target said with a French accent was the funniest thing they had ever heard, I was ready for my visit to the days of yore. Dressed in my daytime version of the little black dress and heels, I went downstairs to the ballroom to admittedly, get this award so I could go back home! As a veteran of more political events than I care to count, I knew the drill...go, smile, give the courtesy laugh, sit with the organizers, accept and leave with another pressing engagement you just have to attend.
I could not have been more mistaken...I entered a lobby surrounded by women in their Sunday finest who had definitely had probably never heard of Sugarland, and the only Black Eyed Peas they knew were the ones you ate on New Year's Day for luck. I introduced myself to the woman who looked like she was in charge...red suit, pearls...and figured we'd go in and wait for the program to start. No! I was to wait in the lobby to be escorted in by the "boys"...definite misnomer as these gentleman had not been boys since around the time of the Great Depression. However, I found myself starting to get caught up into the moment (while occasionally having to bite off a laugh) and lined up with the boys and their wives. We were escorted into the ballroom and paraded along the center of the room to the applause of the 150 women standing at attention with big smiles and even bigger hearts. I took in the grandeur of their displays, the love of history and days gone by and realized, while I was still not quite a convert, I understood the hesitancy to leave the old world and enter the new. While I couldn't imagine my life without Starbucks, the internet, my XM radio, a part of me could appreciate the romance of days when women did stay home with their children, making dinner for their husbands, and aspired to be Mrs. somebody.
We have definitely come a long way, baby, as the slogan liked to say, but I'm not sure the journey was completely in the right direction. As I drove back home, still listening to my music, but not quite in such a hurry to re-enter the 21st century, I allowed myself to just be. While I won't be filling out my application to join the native daughters any time soon, I also won't be so quick to snicker at their love of home, their insistence on pantyhose, and their sense of the way things used to be.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Reason #25 why I am not ready to date
Well, as I've mentioned, it has been a year since the secret exodus from the house and life which I thought I'd live in forever and my family and friends think it is past time for me to move on. As I've noted, I'm all about meeting someone who makes my heart skip a beat but I don't think I'm ready for him to stay. My mother asked recently if I was ready to meet someone new and while I appreciate her interest, I am pretty sure, half of it may be in support of me getting back out into the world of the newly dating but the other half is a not so subtle attempt to make sure Alex is out of life forever. To say she was not his biggest fan is putting it mildly. In all actuality, I think his first visit to her house kept me in therapy for a good year and a half.
My mother is president of her local chapters of Grandmothers for Peace (yes, this is a real group) and the Sierra Club, while also volunteering as much time as possible at the neighborhood Democratic headquarters. Alex is a card carrying member of the NRA, believer in all things GOP and, of course, at the time, a proud supporter of 'W'. While many families are able to handle these common political differences by agreeing to avoid politics and just talk about sports, the weather, grass growing...anything...my mother chose instead, to use this, his first impression of her, to showcase her political beliefs like they were the poster children for the Impeach Bush movement. We walked into her house and I would have sworn the ghosts of Kennedy, Johnson and all other Democratic legacies had thrown up in her living room. Had this been her normal decor, I would have forewarned Alex that she takes her eccentricities to the next level but no, the trinkets, bumper stickers, anti-Bush books and Mother Jones magazines were all new additions to her otherwise tastefully decorated comfortable home. Had I been smart, we'd have turned around and run while we still had a chance.
Normally my sister would have been there to be a much needed buffer, but at the time, she and her husband were separated and she was exploring her almost 35 year old, wants to be 21 again inner personality. (I had done this a few years earlier so understood but thought her timing sucked!). Her husband, however, was there sporting his new tongue stud. I guess Jenny wasn't the only one checking out the "wild side". While this new ornament was a tad amusing, he didn't quite have a full grasp on the whole talking thing so most of his contributions to the conversation were spoken with a lisp and pretty much incoherent. That pretty much took him off of the team when it came to deflecting any of the back handed compliments or flat out jabs.
I was just taking a sip from my second glass of wine when I heard her say in her outside voice "So, you'll be sleeping in different rooms...RIGHT?" As a 36 year old woman with children of my own, I completely understood and respected the rules of the household...if these had actually EVER been the rules before. Never in the past 16 years had she ever questioned where unmarried couples slept. Thanksgiving is usually a scene from the 60's in San Francisco with bodies all over the place...granted not a whole lot of sleeping bag swapping was going on but the rooms are covered with couples who haven't quite said "I do" yet. My former husband and I were always in the same room together...long before he had the title of husband. I just ignored her and refilled my glass...which of course, prompted another eye roll, snort and very audible sigh. These were all treated as what they were, a 62 year old woman's attempt at acting 13.
We actually made it through the night and were about to make an early break for it when my mother hands me a book whose title had to be something like "George Bush stole the election" or "How to be strong in a world full of right wing nuts"...or I'm sure nearly as offensive. Something I'm pretty sure she didn't find at the Barnes & Noble she refuses to shop in unless I have forced her because I can get Starbucks AND a book...bonus! She did her trademark fake positive laugh and said "Alex, this is for my daughter. Will you please let her have it in the car? It is very important to me that she know right from wrong." Seriously??? I have worked in local politics for the better part of 15 years and she is worried I may not understand the current political landscape and that is why I have chosen to fall in love with Alex. I had to choke back the laughter as he answered "Of course not! I'll throw it out the window if she brings it into my gas guzzling, environment choking, over sized SUV." And, with that, we were off...not to be seen in the mountains again for another 18 months.
So, in reflecting on that incredibly trying 24 hours of my life, I realize once again, being content with my situation is not a bad thing. I love my house, my kids, my dog and the fact I don't have to answer questions about my dating life if I don't want to. And, if meeting someone means I'd have to go through something like that again, I think I'm going to stay a member of the single ladies society forever.
My mother is president of her local chapters of Grandmothers for Peace (yes, this is a real group) and the Sierra Club, while also volunteering as much time as possible at the neighborhood Democratic headquarters. Alex is a card carrying member of the NRA, believer in all things GOP and, of course, at the time, a proud supporter of 'W'. While many families are able to handle these common political differences by agreeing to avoid politics and just talk about sports, the weather, grass growing...anything...my mother chose instead, to use this, his first impression of her, to showcase her political beliefs like they were the poster children for the Impeach Bush movement. We walked into her house and I would have sworn the ghosts of Kennedy, Johnson and all other Democratic legacies had thrown up in her living room. Had this been her normal decor, I would have forewarned Alex that she takes her eccentricities to the next level but no, the trinkets, bumper stickers, anti-Bush books and Mother Jones magazines were all new additions to her otherwise tastefully decorated comfortable home. Had I been smart, we'd have turned around and run while we still had a chance.
Normally my sister would have been there to be a much needed buffer, but at the time, she and her husband were separated and she was exploring her almost 35 year old, wants to be 21 again inner personality. (I had done this a few years earlier so understood but thought her timing sucked!). Her husband, however, was there sporting his new tongue stud. I guess Jenny wasn't the only one checking out the "wild side". While this new ornament was a tad amusing, he didn't quite have a full grasp on the whole talking thing so most of his contributions to the conversation were spoken with a lisp and pretty much incoherent. That pretty much took him off of the team when it came to deflecting any of the back handed compliments or flat out jabs.
I was just taking a sip from my second glass of wine when I heard her say in her outside voice "So, you'll be sleeping in different rooms...RIGHT?" As a 36 year old woman with children of my own, I completely understood and respected the rules of the household...if these had actually EVER been the rules before. Never in the past 16 years had she ever questioned where unmarried couples slept. Thanksgiving is usually a scene from the 60's in San Francisco with bodies all over the place...granted not a whole lot of sleeping bag swapping was going on but the rooms are covered with couples who haven't quite said "I do" yet. My former husband and I were always in the same room together...long before he had the title of husband. I just ignored her and refilled my glass...which of course, prompted another eye roll, snort and very audible sigh. These were all treated as what they were, a 62 year old woman's attempt at acting 13.
We actually made it through the night and were about to make an early break for it when my mother hands me a book whose title had to be something like "George Bush stole the election" or "How to be strong in a world full of right wing nuts"...or I'm sure nearly as offensive. Something I'm pretty sure she didn't find at the Barnes & Noble she refuses to shop in unless I have forced her because I can get Starbucks AND a book...bonus! She did her trademark fake positive laugh and said "Alex, this is for my daughter. Will you please let her have it in the car? It is very important to me that she know right from wrong." Seriously??? I have worked in local politics for the better part of 15 years and she is worried I may not understand the current political landscape and that is why I have chosen to fall in love with Alex. I had to choke back the laughter as he answered "Of course not! I'll throw it out the window if she brings it into my gas guzzling, environment choking, over sized SUV." And, with that, we were off...not to be seen in the mountains again for another 18 months.
So, in reflecting on that incredibly trying 24 hours of my life, I realize once again, being content with my situation is not a bad thing. I love my house, my kids, my dog and the fact I don't have to answer questions about my dating life if I don't want to. And, if meeting someone means I'd have to go through something like that again, I think I'm going to stay a member of the single ladies society forever.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Being good at divorce...is that really a compliment?
I was complimented once again today on how well I get along with my former husband...well, complimented may be the wrong choice of words as it was more a statement of awe then an affirmation of the choices he and I have made to stay friends. Granted, there are times our togetherness borders on just a tad too much when his idiosyncrasies drive me a little nuts and I remember why we are no longer married in the first place. However, at that moment, I usually find it is time for me to go home or for the kids and I to be somewhere but magically, the friendship has been saved and we don't have to be the stars of the War of the Roses.
While no one gets married thinking they are going to get a divorce, I always knew that if for some reason that were to happen, we would absolutely have to stay friends and parent our children together...nicely. This is the exact opposite of the life my parents led after they realized staying married was not good for either or them...or for any of us for that matter. My parents divorced because they never should have married in the first place. They were twenty years old, good kids who wanted to rebel by getting married...not actually thinking that being married meant they would actually have to grow old and change together. You could not find two people more different or ill-suited for one another than my mom and dad. To sum it up, my mother's idea of paradise is backpacking through Yosemite National Park with a tent....my dad's idea of Hell, is staying at a Holiday Inn - without room service. Square peg, round hole. In the thirty years since they have divorced, they have been in the same room no more than 15 times, including weddings, graduations and a handful of hospital visits. Each time, proving once again that growing older does not always equate to growing up.
So, my former husband and I choose to do things differently and our children will be better for it. Now, the town in which we live is incredibly confused and, is often caught in the difficult situation of whether or not they should tell me they saw him out with another woman. Gasp! I actually get a kick out of it sometimes (okay, I admit to having a sick sense of humor) but it really just makes sense that my crazy life would include my ex, his girlfriend, her dog, his parents and all of the numerous friends, relations that go along with them. Hillary Clinton said long ago that it takes a village to raise a child...in our case, it takes a village and an episode of Dr. Phil.
While no one gets married thinking they are going to get a divorce, I always knew that if for some reason that were to happen, we would absolutely have to stay friends and parent our children together...nicely. This is the exact opposite of the life my parents led after they realized staying married was not good for either or them...or for any of us for that matter. My parents divorced because they never should have married in the first place. They were twenty years old, good kids who wanted to rebel by getting married...not actually thinking that being married meant they would actually have to grow old and change together. You could not find two people more different or ill-suited for one another than my mom and dad. To sum it up, my mother's idea of paradise is backpacking through Yosemite National Park with a tent....my dad's idea of Hell, is staying at a Holiday Inn - without room service. Square peg, round hole. In the thirty years since they have divorced, they have been in the same room no more than 15 times, including weddings, graduations and a handful of hospital visits. Each time, proving once again that growing older does not always equate to growing up.
So, my former husband and I choose to do things differently and our children will be better for it. Now, the town in which we live is incredibly confused and, is often caught in the difficult situation of whether or not they should tell me they saw him out with another woman. Gasp! I actually get a kick out of it sometimes (okay, I admit to having a sick sense of humor) but it really just makes sense that my crazy life would include my ex, his girlfriend, her dog, his parents and all of the numerous friends, relations that go along with them. Hillary Clinton said long ago that it takes a village to raise a child...in our case, it takes a village and an episode of Dr. Phil.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Reflect and remember....
Birthdays have always been big in my family and I completely think they should be. I don't understand my friends who decide to ignore their birthday as if not allowing someone to wish you a happy birthday is going to make you any less closer to receiving the senior discount at the movie theaters. It is going to happen and while I have become more and more appreciative of the "ignorance is bliss" adage, this is one situation where it really doesn't matter. The way I look at it, your birthday is the one day a year people have to be nice to you...not like Christmas and other holidays where it is all about spreading good cheer and family love. No, this day is all yours to be a princess. Why wouldn't someone want that?! I think about this as I write a note to my sister who is turning 39 tomorrow. She has already given notice there will be no big bash for her 40th next year. And while my inner Martha Stewart is a little miffed she is depriving me of the occasion to entertain, in this instance I do understand. She, my brother, and me (for that matter) are still probably suffering from the aftershocks of my 40th celebration last year.
I turned the big4-0 just a few weeks after Alex announced to me on vacation in Maui that he was "confused" after seeing another woman for the past few months. I knew this had been happening but I was more confused as to why he chose Cheeseburgers in Paradise as the location for this little revelation. While family and friends were ready to commit me for my decision to give him time to get "unconfused", I had made a decision and now a big party with friends and family just didn't seem as festive as originally planned.
However, and I will always be grateful for my family's love and support, they decided I shouldn't celebrate it alone...especially since it falls right before Valentine's Day. I just couldn't bring myself to slink to my mom's as the woman scorned so my sister and I decided to meet with our families at my aunt's in the mountains. Winter had other ideas though, and after numerous phone calls and attempts to cancel the trip, we decided to meet at a hotel just out of the snow line. I figured it was at least a change of scenery and I just needed a break from the constant waiting for Alex to maybe fall, hit his head and snap out of his obvious temporary insanity.
My kids and I arrived, walked into the hotel and ran smack into my father and step-mother...3000 miles away from their home on the East Coast. The surprises kept coming and after finding myself in a room with both sets of parents, aunts, uncles, my brother and sister, I wondered if either I was dying and didn't know it, or they all decided me turning 40 while Alex was off celebrating with the 8th dwarf (yes, I did get a little catty about the entire situation) was just more than I could handle. While the celebration was truly special, any time you combine my mother, whose latest ailment had her in a wheelchair, green cast on her leg with, of course, a bright purple sock and my step-mother, dressed as always from Bloomingdale's in leather pants and silk shirt, there will be a recovery period required.
I obviously survived the big day, the big weekend and, eventually, the big decision to leave Alex with my pride still somewhat intact. I ponder this as I realize once again, birthdays are meant to be celebrated...not just to mark the passage of time, but to honor the steps you have taken to make it to the next year. I may not be where I expected myself to be at 41 but I'm right where I should be...
I turned the big4-0 just a few weeks after Alex announced to me on vacation in Maui that he was "confused" after seeing another woman for the past few months. I knew this had been happening but I was more confused as to why he chose Cheeseburgers in Paradise as the location for this little revelation. While family and friends were ready to commit me for my decision to give him time to get "unconfused", I had made a decision and now a big party with friends and family just didn't seem as festive as originally planned.
However, and I will always be grateful for my family's love and support, they decided I shouldn't celebrate it alone...especially since it falls right before Valentine's Day. I just couldn't bring myself to slink to my mom's as the woman scorned so my sister and I decided to meet with our families at my aunt's in the mountains. Winter had other ideas though, and after numerous phone calls and attempts to cancel the trip, we decided to meet at a hotel just out of the snow line. I figured it was at least a change of scenery and I just needed a break from the constant waiting for Alex to maybe fall, hit his head and snap out of his obvious temporary insanity.
My kids and I arrived, walked into the hotel and ran smack into my father and step-mother...3000 miles away from their home on the East Coast. The surprises kept coming and after finding myself in a room with both sets of parents, aunts, uncles, my brother and sister, I wondered if either I was dying and didn't know it, or they all decided me turning 40 while Alex was off celebrating with the 8th dwarf (yes, I did get a little catty about the entire situation) was just more than I could handle. While the celebration was truly special, any time you combine my mother, whose latest ailment had her in a wheelchair, green cast on her leg with, of course, a bright purple sock and my step-mother, dressed as always from Bloomingdale's in leather pants and silk shirt, there will be a recovery period required.
I obviously survived the big day, the big weekend and, eventually, the big decision to leave Alex with my pride still somewhat intact. I ponder this as I realize once again, birthdays are meant to be celebrated...not just to mark the passage of time, but to honor the steps you have taken to make it to the next year. I may not be where I expected myself to be at 41 but I'm right where I should be...
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Like everyone, I am attached to my cell phone. I try to remember what it was like before the ability to communicate instantly with whomever we want...How did we survive without the "OMG! You are not going to believe who I just saw at the grocery store." quick calls with your go to person? Or the picture texts with the proverbial "Do these jeans look good on my butt" question? Fortunately we don't have to, and I continue to be as addicted to the instant communication as I am to the incredible sense of satisfaction I get every time I walk into a Starbucks.
However, inevitably, there are the times where I look at my phone and see 4 missed calls. My first thought is always "Oh gosh, please let nothing be wrong with the kids." And then, almost, without fail, the calls will read like my family tree: mom, sister, brother, mom. After years of experience (and, unfortunately a few slips), I know to call my sister first. She and my mom are very close and, unless the drama is involving her, my mom's initial call is usually to Jenny. So, I dial her number and am immediately greeted with "Have you talked to Mom yet?" I tell her of course not, I'm not stupid, and then get down to the latest family bi-coastal scuffle.
According to Jenny, my sister-in-law, Allison called my mother to tell her that my brother's blood pressure is high again and she needs help convincing Jackson to go to the doctor. Mom's response, of course, was "Well, if you'd quit letting him eat the greasy, extra salty large meal from Kentucky Fried Chicken and got more exercise than walking up and down the aisles at Wal-mart, he might not have these issues." Yes, she feels she is being supportive by caring enough to berate. We've told Allison on numerous occasions to not call our mom for advice, because, believe us honey, you'll get it. Allison, feeling rightfully picked on, bursts into tears and cried "Well, the doctor told me to feed him more chicken..." And, always, like clockwork, the final response from my mother is "See, this is what happens when you live in West Virginia!". According to her, their life would be free of all problems if they'd just leave the Mountaineer State. Because as we all know, California, where we call home, never has issues of obesity, financial struggles, marital differences, so yes, leave your life on the East Coast behind and run to the Utopia.
Knowing there is a very long, very one-sided phone call in my future, I know I will be making a much needed stop at Trader Joe's for more wine before calling my mother. Not sure of the exact physiological reasons but I can feel the calmness descend from the moment the cork makes a little 'pop' as it leaves the bottle. And, as a true lover of good wine, I strongly believe the better the wine, the happier I get. So, as I dial, I sip and give a little toast to the gods of tasty grapes...
However, inevitably, there are the times where I look at my phone and see 4 missed calls. My first thought is always "Oh gosh, please let nothing be wrong with the kids." And then, almost, without fail, the calls will read like my family tree: mom, sister, brother, mom. After years of experience (and, unfortunately a few slips), I know to call my sister first. She and my mom are very close and, unless the drama is involving her, my mom's initial call is usually to Jenny. So, I dial her number and am immediately greeted with "Have you talked to Mom yet?" I tell her of course not, I'm not stupid, and then get down to the latest family bi-coastal scuffle.
According to Jenny, my sister-in-law, Allison called my mother to tell her that my brother's blood pressure is high again and she needs help convincing Jackson to go to the doctor. Mom's response, of course, was "Well, if you'd quit letting him eat the greasy, extra salty large meal from Kentucky Fried Chicken and got more exercise than walking up and down the aisles at Wal-mart, he might not have these issues." Yes, she feels she is being supportive by caring enough to berate. We've told Allison on numerous occasions to not call our mom for advice, because, believe us honey, you'll get it. Allison, feeling rightfully picked on, bursts into tears and cried "Well, the doctor told me to feed him more chicken..." And, always, like clockwork, the final response from my mother is "See, this is what happens when you live in West Virginia!". According to her, their life would be free of all problems if they'd just leave the Mountaineer State. Because as we all know, California, where we call home, never has issues of obesity, financial struggles, marital differences, so yes, leave your life on the East Coast behind and run to the Utopia.
Knowing there is a very long, very one-sided phone call in my future, I know I will be making a much needed stop at Trader Joe's for more wine before calling my mother. Not sure of the exact physiological reasons but I can feel the calmness descend from the moment the cork makes a little 'pop' as it leaves the bottle. And, as a true lover of good wine, I strongly believe the better the wine, the happier I get. So, as I dial, I sip and give a little toast to the gods of tasty grapes...
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Epiphany!
I came to an incredibly important realization today...and did this free of counseling sessions...I think like a man! Or at least at times I do. I had been feeling a strong sense of nostalgia lately for Alex and our lost relationship and, at first, chalked it up to the calendar anniversary of my move out. I was sure that he would chase after me, begging my forgiveness and showing me the doctor's note saying he had been cured of his tendency to stray. I have a healthy self confidence and truly believed he would realize immediately what he had lost when I moved out. Granted, I also know he has trust issues, abandonment issues and the need to not be alone so why I thought he'd boot out the new chick is beyond reason...but hey, it was my fantasy so go with it.
Anyhow, it dawned on me that what I really missed was sex. (I say this in the whispered voice of a girl who spent her formative years in the Bible Belt) I missed the butterflies, the after glow, all of it! As a woman of 41, I realize there may not be that many years ahead of me where I'm all about "woohoo, let's go!" and I knew Alex & I were, unfortunately, really good in this area of our relationship. So, while I won't say I didn't miss other aspects of our life together...the proverbial light bulb definitely went on this morning and flashed a big XXX. I need a FWB!
How does one go about finding one of those? I don't think it comes up in conversation frequently..."Hey, did you see the Lakers/Celtics game tonight? No, too bad...hey, wanna get laid? No strings attached." And, even if it were that easy, who would I ask?? My male friends are either married, gay or would completely put me in the dreaded "Cougar" category. But, as this seems like a really enjoyable and completely inexpensive way to deal with my melancholy and sadness, I think it deserves a little exploration. My current goal...how to make a booty call when you aren't sure of the booty....
Anyhow, it dawned on me that what I really missed was sex. (I say this in the whispered voice of a girl who spent her formative years in the Bible Belt) I missed the butterflies, the after glow, all of it! As a woman of 41, I realize there may not be that many years ahead of me where I'm all about "woohoo, let's go!" and I knew Alex & I were, unfortunately, really good in this area of our relationship. So, while I won't say I didn't miss other aspects of our life together...the proverbial light bulb definitely went on this morning and flashed a big XXX. I need a FWB!
How does one go about finding one of those? I don't think it comes up in conversation frequently..."Hey, did you see the Lakers/Celtics game tonight? No, too bad...hey, wanna get laid? No strings attached." And, even if it were that easy, who would I ask?? My male friends are either married, gay or would completely put me in the dreaded "Cougar" category. But, as this seems like a really enjoyable and completely inexpensive way to deal with my melancholy and sadness, I think it deserves a little exploration. My current goal...how to make a booty call when you aren't sure of the booty....
Monday, June 7, 2010
What is a year?
365 days is the answer you learn in school but at times it seems like so much more or less. 2 seasons of Survivor, The Biggest Loser, Amazing Race...10 pounds up and 10 pounds down...Christmas, 4th of July, birthdays....all of these take place in those 12 months. For me, an incredible journey took place and one which I am really just starting to understand.
After my marriage ended, a friend and I realized we were actually very good together and I fell in love, really hard and, if I'm being honest, probably in true love for the very first time. This blog isn't meant to be melodramatic...as I am just not a "drama mama" so the quick recap is...fell in love to be forever, but his issues with fidelity seemed to be insurmountable so after 4 years, thousands of tears and once again, several hundreds of dollars of therapy later, I organized a stealth "how fast can I move out" weekend. As my stepmother put it, it was like a reality show...what can you do in 8 hours?
As he really didn't want me to leave and got incredibly upset when I tried to talk about it, I didn't tell him I was moving. He went off for the weekend to teach a class and the troops descended. Looking back on it now, between the bouts of tears and hysteria, there were funny moments. And, ending the weekend with my sister, children and father at the nicest hotel in town drinking champagne in our suite seemed to say everything was going to be ok.
Well, that weekend was a year ago...and I am stronger, more relaxed and content with my life. Not sure I will find another love like that but for now my kids, my dog and my sanity (okay, debatable) are good for me.
Next blog will be back to the ridiculousness that is my life but I felt the need to mark this anniversary with a thought.
After my marriage ended, a friend and I realized we were actually very good together and I fell in love, really hard and, if I'm being honest, probably in true love for the very first time. This blog isn't meant to be melodramatic...as I am just not a "drama mama" so the quick recap is...fell in love to be forever, but his issues with fidelity seemed to be insurmountable so after 4 years, thousands of tears and once again, several hundreds of dollars of therapy later, I organized a stealth "how fast can I move out" weekend. As my stepmother put it, it was like a reality show...what can you do in 8 hours?
As he really didn't want me to leave and got incredibly upset when I tried to talk about it, I didn't tell him I was moving. He went off for the weekend to teach a class and the troops descended. Looking back on it now, between the bouts of tears and hysteria, there were funny moments. And, ending the weekend with my sister, children and father at the nicest hotel in town drinking champagne in our suite seemed to say everything was going to be ok.
Well, that weekend was a year ago...and I am stronger, more relaxed and content with my life. Not sure I will find another love like that but for now my kids, my dog and my sanity (okay, debatable) are good for me.
Next blog will be back to the ridiculousness that is my life but I felt the need to mark this anniversary with a thought.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Years ago, as I struggled with a life changing decision, my counselor commented that my life was better than a Lifetime movie. Now, with a little distance between that experience and my life today, I can appreciate the humor in that statement. At the time, all I could think was, "Seriously?? I'm paying for this type of advice." If I was entertaining her, shouldn't I have been the one being paid? But, as my family has always been a supporter of therapy the way some families support the arts, I continued to go twice a month to either give her the next chapter of the book, or receive some perspective...who knows which. The way I look at it, some people donate to worthy charities, I happen to subsidize my therapist's vacation home in Maui. I think it makes me feel better to go and relate these experiences out loud, if for nothing other than to assure me they actually did happen.
"So, your aunt damned your mother to Hell for voting for Obama before or after dinner?" was the question asked on one of my most memorable visits to Terri's office. I proceeded to tell her the whole story which was the damnation came during dinner as my mother tried to explain her political decisions to her born again Christian sister. As a woman of faith myself, I completely appreciate my aunt's new viewpoint and lifestyle. I do, however, have a small problem with the idea she completely forgot the thoughts and opinions she has had her entire life. My mother, on the other hand, can handle none of it. She, who believes in the spirit of the trees, can't just smile, nod and say pass the peas, please. She continues to spout rhyme and reason to justify her vote which is doing nothing to assure my aunt my mother won't be spending eternity with Lucifer but does seem to be entertaining the rest of us. Fortunately for all of us (as sad as that seems), my three year old niece decided it was time to serenade the table with screams only dogs could hear. My stepbrother and his wife seemed to have developed incredibly bad hearing as they seemed completely unaffected by the demons that obviously just took over their daughter. As I reached to fill my wine glass yet again, I was amazed that my mother wonders why I don't visit more often...
"So, your aunt damned your mother to Hell for voting for Obama before or after dinner?" was the question asked on one of my most memorable visits to Terri's office. I proceeded to tell her the whole story which was the damnation came during dinner as my mother tried to explain her political decisions to her born again Christian sister. As a woman of faith myself, I completely appreciate my aunt's new viewpoint and lifestyle. I do, however, have a small problem with the idea she completely forgot the thoughts and opinions she has had her entire life. My mother, on the other hand, can handle none of it. She, who believes in the spirit of the trees, can't just smile, nod and say pass the peas, please. She continues to spout rhyme and reason to justify her vote which is doing nothing to assure my aunt my mother won't be spending eternity with Lucifer but does seem to be entertaining the rest of us. Fortunately for all of us (as sad as that seems), my three year old niece decided it was time to serenade the table with screams only dogs could hear. My stepbrother and his wife seemed to have developed incredibly bad hearing as they seemed completely unaffected by the demons that obviously just took over their daughter. As I reached to fill my wine glass yet again, I was amazed that my mother wonders why I don't visit more often...
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