Random updates out of the blue

1. The hoofed on is officially for sale.  I’m sad.  I’m ok with it.  I feel guilty.  I don’t want him to go.  I hope it happens fast.   When I bought him, I knew he wasn’t my forever horse.  He was largely an investment.  And as with any investment, you have to know when it’s time to sell.  And it’s time.  For a variety of horse business reasons, and even more personal ones.  The N-Man is about to turn 3.  (Excuse me for a moment, but how the @%@)&^(&#$ is he about to be THREE years old???)   And every parent knows that 3 is a magic number when it comes to activities.  Soccer, karate, suzuki violin… they all open their doors at three.  And suddenly, come spring, my time will be in demand for other things that are not all about me.  It makes no financial sense for me to own a horse I can only see two times a week when I can just take lessons on someone else’s.  And so, it is official.

2.  X.  He’ll never change.  He’ll never grow up.   Long ago he said he wanted to take the N-Man to visit relatives for Thanksgiving this year.  I was open to it.  Then he told me no, he couldn’t afford it.  I started making different mental plans for my holiday.  Then last week he told me that his father offered to pay for the plane tickets and wanted to know if I was ok with the N-Man going.  My biggest sticking point was making sure we balanced out his complete absences from my major holiday by ensuring he could spend Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day here.  X’s immediate reaction to that suggestion was to invite himself over for Christmas dinner.

I just got off the phone with him and in discussing it again he once again announce that he would be coming for dinner.  I told him no and,  class=”hiddenSpellError” pre=”">suprise suprise “>suprise suprise, he argued with me.  Apparently because it’s HIS son he can do what he wants.  I offered to bring the N-Man to him later in the evening and he told me that wasn’t acceptable so he would be coming for dinner.  God help me for what I said next.   With no warning to me, my mouth suddenly blurted out  Look, I don’t think my boyfriend is going to be comfortable with my X husband having holiday dinner with us.  

No, you haven’t missed anything.  Yes, I just lied and told my X that I’m involved when I”m not.  But I swear it wasn’t a tactic for promoting jealousy or playing games.  I’m just at my wits end for how to deal with his bullying.  It happens less and less but when it does it’s still unbearable and it seems nothing I do even remotely works.  He just bulldozes me emotionally until I give in and do what he wants, because it’s easier than continuing to fight with him.  But I”ll tell you one thing.  I am NOT having him over for the holidays again. I did it last year and was miserable.  I”m not doing it again.  And blurting out what I did served it’s purpose.  So, to that extent, I make no apologies.

X’s immediate reaction to my non existant news was to tell me that he had to approve the people HIS son spends time with and he would take me to court to prevent ”this man”  from coming to my house for dinner.  Then he asked me how I would feel if he had a  girlfriend and had her over for the holidays instead of me.  Honestly, whatever.  It’s not my place to tell him who he can and cannot have in his life.    I don’t want to have a pretend family dinner with him.  Does he seriously believe that just because we were once married we are still so entwined?  I just can’t wrap my brain around his though process at all.

3.  Aside from his ultimatum that I never date again, X also told me that if he takes the N-Man for Thanksgiving, I have to take them both to the airport.  I told him no on that point too and again he argued.  I have a car seat in the car.  Um, so does he last time I checked.  He needs help in the airport with the N-Man.  Um, so maybe you shouldn’t be traveling with him if you can’t handle it.  He doesn’t want to pay to park his car.  Not my problem.  He finally told me we’d discuss it later and I just reminded him that, no, the issue was resolved. 

It just never changes and it never will.   So long as he gets his way he’s happy.  If he has to compromise anything his mission is to make the entire world a living hell until he does get his way.  I absolutely hate that I have to share my child with this person.

4.  On a more positive note, I’m in love.  Not with a person, but with a house.  And the timing may be perfect.  I love the house that I’ve been renting the past two years, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it is not our forever home.  As much as I love dating this house, I do not want to marry it.   One mile northwest of us though, there is one that I’m falling for…hard.  New construction in a darling little bungalow style community.  All the same school districts.  Almost exactly the same amenities as my current house, only with bigger rooms, a mud room entry perfect for exploding children, and a full basement to grow into (ie a full basement to lock screaming boys in when the N-Man is older and wants to have friends over to sleep.)  I’ve even picked out the lot I want.     End of the row with green belt open space on one side, backs up to a community playground, only one physical neighbor.  And it won’t likely be released for sale until late spring/early summer.  Exactly the time I’ll be serious about writing a contract.  But don’t hold me to committing.  I reserve the right to change my mind 1,001 times between now and then.

A lesson to be learned

We woofed down an early dinner of gourmet fish sticks and frozen broccoli with cheese and got the dishes done.  I looked at the clock. Plenty of time for an evening walk.  I asked the N-Man if he wanted to go to the park and, predictably, he squealed with delight and sprinted away to find his shoes.  He emerged from his room, baby Crocs surprisingly on the correct feet, and asked for his ball.  I scoured the house to no avail.  The only other place it could possibly be was the backyard. 

As I stepped out onto the deck and peered over the edge I noticed a familiar car slowly driving by.  No surprise, really.  I live on the corner of the main road through the subdivision and can see cars easily from my lofty, high landscape elevation perch and they can see me.   (stupid underground utilities preventing me from planting trees on the street side fence.)   But then something else caught my eye and I quickly learned my first very VERY important lesson as a single mama out and about on the dating scene.  The car slowed to almost a stop and the window began to sneak down.  I stared suspiciously out of the corner my eye at it and then heard my name.  Oh. My. God.   Mr. Friday Night Mistake  had just been busted, BIG TIME!! 

When Mr. Mistake called me the day after, I let it go to voice mail.  In part, because I was trying to catch an afternoon cat nap when the phone rang, but mostly because I hadn’t yet decided if he was simply a one night mistake or a potential friend with benefits.  As I had told Mindy Mom earlier that morning, I was leaning towards just leaving it alone.  And that’s what I ultimately decided.    I deleted his message and, never receiving a second call, figured he too had realized it was what it was.   Neat and tidy.  Served it’s purposes at the time for us both but not  something either of us cared to turn into a regular gig.  I love it when two strangers can have a meeting of the minds and accept things for what they are as a couple of adults. Or so I thought.

 To use the word awkward would would… well I can’t even come up with a good comparison.  It was just creepy.   My dumbfounded, befuddled mind raced as I realized he was parking his car on the side of my house and walking around to the front door.  I met him there, stood in the doorway,  forcing a polite smile but crossing my arms and making it clear he wasn’t coming in, wondering where in the world this could possibly be going.  He greeted me as if we were long lost buds and just then the  N-Man squirted out the door despite my efforts, delighted that we had company.  He pointed and proclaimed, He’s happy, Mommy!  More like he wants to get happy, my son.  Not at all pleased to be unexpectedly confronted  by someone I had no intention of seeing again while I was home alone with my child, I scooped up the N-Man, didn’t bother to intoduce him, and waited for Mr. Mistake to further explain himself. 

He was actually pretty quick on his feet, going back to our pre-mistake conversation from almost two weeks ago.    A real estate agent for one of the builders in the subdivision where I’d love to build, if I ever do build, he explained to me that he’d stopped by my house to let me know that my favorite builder, his rival actually, who I thought had gone out of business, was actually reopening their sales office and accepting contracts on dirt starts again.  Um, yeah. OK.  One, I don’t believe for a second that you drove over here just to tell me that.  And even if that is why you were cruising so slowly past my house, really, you could have called me instead.  I graciously thanked him for the information and let him know that the N-Man and I were just heading out for some time together…alone.   Thanks for stopping by but don’t let the door hit you on the way out.  He smiled and nodded.  And then he said it…  So when are you going to have some more free time so we can get together again?  Oh no you didn’t.  You did NOT just inquire about another booty call in front of my child!! I muttered that I’d let him know if things freed up and  said goodbye.  For good this time.  I hope.

This was not my first “one time mistake.”  But it’s probably my last.    I just feel kinda dirty right now.   I’m mad that I set myself  the N-Man up for the real world and Friday night to overlap.   I won’t bother waxing dramatic or spelling out all of the different directions this could have gone, since it didn’t go there, and I’m pretty sure it won’t be anything more.  But I absolutely deserve any and all flaming that is bound to ensue.   There has been great debate in the single parent blogosphere about bringing dates back to the home where your children live.  A great many people have argued that so long as the kids are away, the parent has every right to play.  And until an hour ago, I would have agreed.  But not anymore.  Never again.     There are some lessons I learn on the first go round and this is one of them.    All I have to say is that I’ll be sleeping with one eye open for a while, keeping the blinds closed, looking over my shoulder, and checking in regularly with friends until I’m confident that Mr. Mistake has gone away for good.

Back on the horse

They say it takes three months to get into shape and three days to completely fall out when you stop.  Been there done that, time and time again.  I know good and well from my re-introduction to riding almost two years ago just how painful it is to get back up on the horse.  How discouraging it is to look back on your past glory while you plod slowly along in the present, thighs burning every step of the way, wondering how you ever did it and if you’ll ever be able to do it again.

Well apparently the same can be said for writing.  It’s been ages since I sat down and made a focused effort to keep things flowing, giving in to excuse after excuse for not being around.  I have amazing thoughts that never get put down on “paper.”  Questions I would love to bounce off the singleton community.  Diddies from the N-Man that never stop.  So what gives?   Resolution:  every day in the rest of August I WILL write.  I will be here.  I will put something, anything out there.  It’s the only way to get back in the game.  It may hurt.  It may be incoherent.  But it. will. be.

To kick things off, five random things that have recently crossed my mind:

1.  The N-Man came home from Florida with what turned out to be a urinary tract infection that spread to his kidneys.   Thus the week long, crazy high fever.  Later this week he has to go in for more tests and an ultrasound to see if there was any permanent damage caused.  Mama bear is worried.  It’s hard enough when he’s in pain, but when that pain involves sticking tubes up his junk…   Oh.  And if X tries to engage one more doctor in a conversation about circumcision because of this I won’t be responsible for my actions.

2.  I loathe my appearance right now.  Not right this second, but in general.   I look tired.  I look old.  My hair is a hippy disaster yanked back in a perma-ponytail because I don’t have an hour a day to blow dry and style it.  Yes.  That’s how long this rat’s nest takes to put in proper order.  I want to chop it off again.  Go back to boy short.  Been there plenty of times and always love it, so why am I so scared to do it again?  Because someone recently told me men prefer longer hair.  And I want to bitch slap myself for even remotely indulging that thought process.  Screw what the general male population prefers.  I want my hair short.  Hmmm… no horse show next weekend.  I think I’ll set up an appointment for a serious mowing and some ridiculously fun colors next Saturday.  I’m also pondering a little nip, tuck to the prodigious proboscis, but we’ll see.  I do guarantee that that most certainly won’t happen next weekend between morning coffee and afternoon stress relief on the elliptical.

3.  Horse shows.  UGH.  I rode like crap today.  No really.  I swear I’ve done this before.  But since so many of the ridiculously thin early twenty somethings that dominate the adult division rode beautifully, but off course, I still managed to pin in every class.  My trainer says I’m definitely getting better.  Hard to believe her on a day like this but deep down I know she’s right.  So no more self loating.  Can’t win ‘em all.

4.  I’m contemplating selling the hoofed one.  No. SERIOUSLY.  I know!  CRAZY!  Not right away, but like in a year or so.  No I’m not hanging up my boots again but as the N-Man gets older he’ll need more and more of my time and the responsibility of actually owning a horse will become harder and harder to fit in.  I can half lease a horse and not have all the vet bills and time commitment to deal with.   Plus, I have to remind myself that I bought him as an investment horse.  It will be hard to justify not crying as I bid him farewell when doing so will  end in enough money to make a down payment on a house.  But right now it’s just a thought.  It’s not going to happen in the near near future.

5.  When making a “Friday night mistake” it is not enough to just ensure that your “mistakee” lives in a different part of town.   Because if said “mistakee”  also happens to work in your neighborhood and innocently stops off at the same grocery store where you shop to pick up a few things on the way back to his different part of town, you could possibly find yourself suddenly ducking and running down the frozen food aisle with your pre-schooler squealing in delight in the shopping cart and catching a raging case of frost bite from stuffing your head in a locker full of frozen brussel sprouts to hide until said “mistakee” has safely left the premises.  Just a thought.

Rethinking my rethinking

Where is your son?  The entire conversation started innocently enough.

I was scrubbing the hoofed one into a frothy lather and the head barn groom was leaning on his pitchfork nearby, taking a breather from his feeding, turnout and cleaning duties watching us closely.

He’s at his dad’s house today.  I told him.

His dad’s house?

Yeah.  He goes to his dad’s house from Friday morning to Saturday evening.

You don’t live with his dad?

No. We’re divorced.

Really?  He seemed genuinely shocked.  Do you have a boyfirend?

Not anymore.  I just ended something this week.

He raised his eyebrow at me rather pointedly.  I’m sorry. Something in his voice told me, Not really.

Eh, I’m not.  Turns out I seriously dodged a bullet.

Smiling at me. Well you don’t have anything to worry about.  You’re a beautiful woman.  You’ll find another one. Wink.

I felt myself blushing  as the conversation slowly turned to racy but innocent flirting.

Anyone who knows me knows I have a horrid, easily exploitable weakness for foreign men.  Anyone who REALLY knows me knows that if that foreign man is from any Spanish or Portuguese speaking country, well… Game over for my common sense. No exception here.  Barn Boy and I continued our flirty chat as he help me carry my horse show gear to my car, then I bid him farewell with a wink.

So, I’ve been rethinking my rethinking.  I exited my really crappy marriage and made a vow that 1) I was going to take a significant amount of time off to regroup, and that 2) when I did come back on the scene I was going to make sure I did things exactly right… whatever that means.  After all, I was now a single mom and that means following a strict, unwriten mandate of decorum.  Kind of like when I graduated from law school and traded in my trusty, rusty jeep for a European sedan with leather seats and dark, tinted windows because now I was an attorney, a prosecutor no less, and had to portray a certain image?   In a nostalgic moment, I tried driving that sedan down a dirt, forest service road once and just traded it back in for something more me.  I’ve never been one for labels and strict codes of conduct, so what’s happening here?

I have come to the conclusion that before I jump back in to something serious again, I need to lighten up and  “make a few bad decisions.”   Go out and just have some fun.  Blow it out. No no no.  I’m not going to have a tryst in the hay loft with Barn Boy.  I have better boundaries than that.   But the flip conversation, pearly white teeth, and steaming hot Latin vibrato did more than plenty to jump start my brain back to uninhibited, pre marriage and divorce me mode.  Screw the rules for a while.  I need some fun. And so long as it’s limited to Friday evening  – Saturday afternoon, what’s the harm?

Look out boys.  I’m back.

 

I spy…

…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.

Slip of the tongue

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?

Paging Dr. Dickey

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.

Questions questions questions

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.