…something rotten. There are a handful of major deal breakers for me: drugs, cheating, lying, driving a Hummer or other ridiculously jacked up monster truck (shallow and petty, but true), and rounding out the top five, snooping or spying. Get caught in any of those and I’m not going to listen. End of the line. Amen. And when you get caught spying and/or snooping, which reeks of distrust and insecurity in the first place, and then compound it with a lie about the reason you did it, your one way ticket is for a ride on the emotional equivalent of the Concorde jet.
LilCyndiLuWho is DEFINATELY, thankfully, still on the market. PLEASE don’t say you’re sorry, becuase I, very much, am not.
Piceses Hanna, fellow Coloradoan and single mommy, across the mountains to the west, tagged me with a Meme so through my sleepy haze, here we go. At least I have something to blog about now tonight.
1. What is your current obsession? Sleep. My sleep. The N-Man’s sleep. There’s never enough of either. I spend Saturday-Thursday fighting for it. And Fridays, my one, lone, night for me , I spend juggling a gazillion demands and requests and typically end up just hoping and praying I can actually get enough sleep to get me through the other six days. It usually doesn’t happen. Zzzzzzzz! I’m seriously on the verge of consulting with a pediatric sleep specialist.
2. What is your weirdest obsession? Chris Tomlin. I personally think it’s fairly psychotic, and 100% going to hell worthy to think these kinds of thoughts about a Christian recording artist. I’m also stewing on some fairly deep rooted things, that I dare not post in my very public blog, that may or may not be rational and sane. If you know me in real life, maybe I’ll tell you. Or maybe not.
4. What’s for dinner? Tonight was broiled chicken in a less than flavorful, pretty blah marinade, applesauce and butterscotch pudding. Oh… and ice cream. Have I mentioned that if I don’t get my ever expanding lard into a gym soon I’m going to gross myself out beyond the point of no return? No really. I’m only 1 pound below my pre pregnancy weight right now, which was the most I had ever weight before getting knocked up.
5. What would you eat for your last meal?An entire bloomin’ onion, NY Strip steak, on the rare side of medium rare, garlic mashed potatoes, grilled veggies, and an whole cherry cheesecake, with a many mojitos as I can down.
6. What’s the last thing you bought? Advertising for my business. Very exciting. No? Aside from that it was a tank of gas.
7. What are you listening to right now? The news. But mostly old Michael Jackson tunes. RIP Michael. :- (
8. What do you think of the person who tagged you? Hanna is AWESOME! She’s a damn fine mommy, wise beyond her years, and a ton of fun to hang out with. I think she needs to give into that city bug and get thee to the metro area. Or maybe I need to plan a trip west. Either one.
9. If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished, anywhere in the world, where would it be? Oh you would ask this on a day when I’ve been obsessing about building a new house one mile from where I already live. Surely I can come up with a better location than that.
10. If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go? Anywhere with a buff, Latino cabana boy holding a banana margarita… where I can sleep.
11. Which language do you want to learn? Spanish first. Then Croatian so that the N-Man can’t tell me off in X’s native tongue and get away with it when he’s a lovely, dear, parent worshiping teen.
12. What’s your favorite quote (for now)? Oh seriously. I don’t have the energy to think this hard.
13.What is your favorite color? I don’t have a favorite color. It just depends on my mood. Right now I’m really into shades of green and blue with dark woods.
14. What is your favorite piece of clothing in your own wardrobe?A fun, funky print t-shirt I bought at Target last week. YAY Tar-ghaaaaay!
15. What is your dream job? Other that what I already do? No seriously. Um, I guess a being a professional amateur rider would be pretty sweet.
16.What’s your favorite magazine? Sunset. Love the recipes. Love the pics of the houses I’ll never be able to afford.
17. If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on? My cell phone payment that’s due tomorrow.
18. Describe your personal style? I have no style. None. I try but I just blow at that stuff. Stacy & Clinton would hate me.
19. What are you going to do after this? Going to bed and hopefully sleeping.
20.What are your favorite films? Heart of Dixie, Steel Magnolias, My Best Friend’s Wedding. Those are the biggies.
21. What’s your favorite fruit? Raspberries
22.What inspires you? The N-Man, the hoofed one, the children and families I work with, other single parents, occasionally I shockingly inspire myself.
23. Your favorite books? OK. My big, dirty, confession. I don’t like to read. I used to, but not anymore. I don’t have the time or energy. I don’t find it relaxing at all. That’s right. I’m an illiterate, intellectually inferior, human being. Eh, I don’t care, really. Last book I did read and love was A Thousand Splendid Suns. Took me all of one day to finish.
24. Do you collect anything? Moose. I love moose. It’s an obsession that started when I lived in Montana.
25. Any advice that’s come from bitter experience? Aside from loving your child, there is no such thing as unconditional love. If you still believe in it, you are just fortunate enough to have never been in a relationship that takes you to the limits of that fairy tale and kicks you over the edge. Cynical? Not at all. I sincerely hope that everyone has enough self esteem to set limits and conditions on what is and isn’t acceptable behaivor as directed towards them.
26. What makes you follow a blog? Good humor, real stuff as opposed to painfully thought out dissertation that reads like a text book with no personality, stuff I can relate to, stuff that makes me feel.
Now, in honor of the fabulous women in my life, who help keep me going every day, I am tagging: Ann, Sheila, Rachel, and… ok… I’m supposed to tag five, but it’s late and a lot of the ones I want to tag are already playing… so I’m cheating.
Someone suggested to me that, since The Man is spending so much time with the N-Man, I owe it to X to tell him I’m dating someone. I’ve been pondering this advice quite seriously but, truthfully, just can’t wrap my brain around the timing. Why, knowing what I know about this relationship and the stage it is at, knowing what I know about X’s history, do I owe X anything right now? I then thought and searched and dug deep some more and came to the conclusion that I was right. I don’t. Not yet.
At this juncture such a conversation, to me, would reek of jealous attention seeking, even if that were not actually the case. I can honestly say that if the tables were turned I would still feel the same way. Here’s how I imagine that scenario would go if I were on the receiving end of news of a new partner as fresh as The Man and in exactly the same state of relations.
X: Um… I need to talk to you about something.
Me: OK. What’s up?
X: I’m dating someone.
Me: OK. That’s good. (While silently thinking, Yeah, and?)
Silence.
No seriously. I would have zero questions. None. Is that strange? If there is someone special in his life and she spends time with the N-Man, I don’t care if he tells me or not unless and until 1) that person will be transporting or caring for the N-Man on her own, or 2) they are planning on moving in together and/or have gotten engaged. Then the gig is up. Time to come clean. But until then, I hypothetically wish them well and that’s all.
Now, don’t get me wrong, if X has noticed a black Jeep has been parked in my driveway the last three times he has brought the N-Man home and connects the dots and asks, I am more than happy to openly talk with him, answer any polite, rational questions he may have. And I now have to wonder just how eminent that conversation might be, since yesterday, when the N-Man came home, as I met them outside in the driveway for the exchange, the N-Man pointed towards the odd car out and, with a beaming smile, joyfully shrieked, [The Man's] Car!! right in X’s ear, then climbed down from his father’s arms and excitedly sprinted to the front door.
As X operates within his own oblivious bubble much of the time, I’m frankly not sure he even noticed. Or maybe he did. (You may be wondering, how could he not? For any other man, I’d agree. But trust me that I know him well enough to say it’s entirely possible he didn’t.) But none the less, every hair on the back of my neck suddenly stood up on end, quite solidly over riding the dark, horribly immature, childish part of me, a very very very tiny part of me, that wanted to giggle like a school girl and high five someone. I prepared myself for his reaction, felt bad for the N-Man’s enthusiasm, but, with nary the bat of an eye, X just confirmed the time the N-Man was coming over for his father’s day visit, said he’d see me tomorrow, and drove away as usual.
Maybe he didn’t notice. Or, maybe, contrary to the angry, controlling, labile emotions always worn on his sleeve man I knew and lived with, he feels the same way I do about this subject. Who knows?
I woke up at three a.m. last Saturday morning rather alarmed. My throat was tight, my nose congested, and my tongue swollen beyond recognition. Convinced I was about to swell shut and die in my sleep I bounded out of bed and ran for the Benadryl. I downed two tablespoons then sat down to wait and ensure I was not, indeed, on my way out thanks to some bizarre allergic reaction. Nope not dying. Whew. But as I waited I begin to notice something didn’t feel quite right. There, just left of center about half an inch back from the tip, inside my tongue was a quite noticeable lump, approximately the size of three peas. My neurosis kicked into high gear.
I must admit that ever since my mother’s leukemia diagnosis last year, every random ache, pain, sweat, bump and bruise temporarily redirects my thoughts to the dark, nether regions of my mind and spins me around as I hope and pray that it is not the beginning of some long and painful, incurable end. A very tangible, quite there lump was certainly cause for alarm. Fortunately the Benadryl kicked in swiftly and my neurosis gave way to unconsciousness before I had too much time to self diagnose myself with Ebola virus of the oral cavity. The next morning however, all other symptoms gone but my lumpy tongue, I managed to work myself into a frenzy by Googling lump in my tongue and reading anything and everything in sight. Biopsy. Oral cancer. Amputation. Oral reconstruction. Unable to take anymore, I reminded myself that I was…. well, insane. Off went the Internet. I, instead, opted to patiently wait until Monday to simply make a doctor’s appointment.
Come two o’clock today, of course, the lump had withered to the mere size of one quarter of a pea. Apparently the sure fire cure was to commit to spending twenty-five dollars on a co-pay. Figures. But better to be safe than sorry when it comes to lumps. Dr. Dickey (his name has absolutely no relevance here other than my inner twelve year old likes to say it and giggle on the inside) strode into the room.
So you have a lump inside your tongue? His eyebrow arched pointedly. He put on the rubber gloves and asked me to stick it out for him to examine. I’m here to tell you that, while there are lots of fun things you can do with a tongue, having someone pull, poke, prod, stretch and yank on it for five minutes is not one of them. He finally let go and snapped of the gloves with an exasperated sigh. Never seen anything like it! He proceeded to assure me that with such sudden onset it was more likely than not that I was not suffering from some heinous mouth disease that would require my tongue to be removed, rendering me mute for life. He verbally ruled out each possibility then emitted a perplex sigh and concluded, Well, if I had to take my best guess, I’d say you’ve sprained a tongue muscle. Perhaps from over use? He shrugged. No need to come back unless it gets bigger or doesn’t go away within two weeks.
Oh grow up people. I’m an attorney. My job requires me to talk alot. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it! What? Ok fine… let the comments at my expense commence.
So now that I’m out in the open about The Man, as officially marked by the change of my FaceBook relationship status, I suspect I’m going to be around here alot more. Not just because I want to shriek from the rooftops, which I definitely do, but the neurotic side of me woke up yesterday morning with a sudden realization that I am opening a whole new can of single parent worms. Up until now it was just me and the N-Man trying to get through one day at a time. I thought some of those issue were tricky, but adding a new face to the picture changes the landscape drastically. So many questions bouncing around my crazy brain. Stuff that’s been addressed by those who have gone before me, but that I skimmed and dismissed as not being relevant to my life at the time. OOPS!! Should have taken notes after all.
Number one, my biggest priority. I just wish I knew how much the N-Man is aware of and what goes through his tiny little mind. I know he knows that mommy and daddy aren’t together and that his family is different from other families. (Not that all families aren’t different.) I know he’s crazy about The Man, as evidenced by his waking up this morning and asking for him, then crying when he found out he wasn’t there to take him back to the park. It absolutely melts my heart to see them chasing each other around the neighborhood playground. But what does all this mean to the N-Man? His whole memorable life he’s never seen his mommy with a man in that capacity. What does he think? Does he like it? Is is confusing to him? Does he care? I don’t want to presume he isn’t an active participant in this, just because he’s too young to clearly give his input.
The ever elusive and tricky, discussed until the end of time, issue of sleep overs. How, pray tell, does THAT works when you have a two and a half year old sleeping in your house six out of seven nights a week, who tends to wake up at 3 am and make the trek through the dark house to mommy’s room and bed? Right now, it’s a no brainer. If the N-Man is home, no sleep overs. But when and how do you gradually cross that line? When does it become ok for him to see The Man in the house first thing in the morning or, better yet, discover him alseep in mommy’s bed, a place he’s been repeadtely told that he himself is not supposed to be sleeping? No clue on this one at all. No clue.
The X factor. I’ll postpone this one as long as humanly possible partially out of respect for The Man, but mostly out of a selfish, less than fully healthy need to just avoid anything that makes me too unomfortable. And that not yet relevant, prospective scenario definitely does. X, unless he has somehow stumbled upon upon my ramblings, has no clue I’m involved again. Not his business, frankly, at this juncture. And I’d feel the same way if the shoe was, or is, on the other foot. But, at what point after a single parent partners up again do you expose the new person to that still present part of your past that will never go away? How? The thought of it, frankly, makes my stomach churn.
Yeah yeah yeah… a lot some of this is premature. I’m just pondering out loud. We all already know I”m neurotic that way. But wow. I thought I had some stuff to contemplate before. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not actually sitting around frantically looking for the answers in a mad, control freak panic. I’m mostly just really REALLY enjoying this ride and part of the journey. But regardless, the questions are still there and bound to keep coming.
The Man showed up to take me out to dinner last night with these.
Now I’m a gal who, loving to keep fresh flowers around the house as much as I do, regularly buys them for myself (maybe not roses, but you know what I mean). I don’t believe in sitting back and waiting for little luxuries like these to be handed over. But you just can’t deny there’s something about getting them from a certain someone special that just makes them that much more spectacular! I had kind of forgotten about that twitterpated stuff.
Well here I am. Another year behind me. Or really, I suppose it’s just one more day down. Regardless, the clock just keeps on ticking. 365 days to go to the big 4-0. Or not. I vowed, many months ago that this year would be the last birthday I celebrated. Then I would switch to anniversaries. But we shall see.
I am pleasantly surprised to have found that, for once, I was actually looking forward to a birthday though. Perhaps it’s the promise of fabulous, butterfly producing dinner company later tonight. Maybe it’s because I still feel absolutely no different than I did when I was 29, just a tad more seasoned. Or it could be that I just have too darn many wonderful things going on in my life to dwell on a few crows feet or lines on my forehead. If I were to spend enough time reflecting on the last year, I could likely write a novel about the difference between now and then. But why? I can unequivocally say, that the most important thing I’ve learned in the past twelve months is that the past is the past and you can’t change it. All you can do is learn from it to create a better now and give yourself hope for a fabulous future. So no stewing, analyzing, pondering, contemplating, reflecting, or revisiting on this otherwise perfect today. Today is just today.
YES! I’m 39 and feeling m-f-ing fabulous. That’s all that matters.
…That said, the right man would complement my life, not complete it. He’ll be able to slide right in to things, as is, without complaining about my on going “relationship” with X, the amount of time I spend with my horse, or my independence. He’ll appreciate a strong woman. He’ll accept me, my life, the N-Man, and my values and work around that with a positive attitude, respect, and integrity.
OK, fine. Time to confess. That man most definately DOES exist.
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