It's been a year and a half, and Michael and I have settled into a routine with the kids. Generally I have them back by 7 on Sunday nights when it is his weekend.
At 7:24 last night, I hadn't heard from him.
Text: "Hey dude, game is about to start. What's the deal with the kid swap?" (And just do not talk to me about the game because freaking UGH.)
7:45, no response.
I began to panic because that is what I do.
I called his phone. Straight to voicemail. And so then I was in an all out tizzy. Jimmy, ever the voice of reason, "calm down and just call his mom or Heather." Ah, good idea.
His mom answered, and I asked if she was with Michael. She gave him the phone, and I inquired about his intentions on returning my children to me. "Oh, I was going to keep them all week."
Excuse me, what?
"All week?" my voice cracked.
"Yeah, my mom is off, so I was just going to keep them all week and give them back to you Sunday. Is that okay?"
What I thought was: Um, no. It is not. Because I miss them al-freaking-ready, and you did not mentally prepare me for this in the least. How dare you?
What I said was: "Oh, um, okay..." and then I hung up and burst into tears and made Jimmy talk me back down from the crazy.
You see, Michael legally has the right to keep them all week. It's in black and white in our stupid paperwork filed down at the courthouse. But I never actually expected him to exercise that right. I mean, hello, what's next, the full month in the summer? (Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!! I won't survive it!)
I should say good on him for wanting to spend all the time he can with the kids. It's good for all of them (except he's totally screwing up my schedule, and I'm going to have hell to pay next week, but whatever).
But now I have a week to kill and have absolutely no idea what to do with myself.
As I see it, my options are: be totally productive and get my house in order for the impending arrival of child 3 OR pick a series on Netflix and watch it in its entirety while bingeing on junk food.
Place your wagers.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Unofficially Official
So, what does it mean to be "unofficially, officially" engaged?
It means he wanted help picking out the ring and then when I found one I really liked and it was on sale, he bought it on the spot. So, now the surprise is the delivery/official proposal once the ring gets back from being sized. So, that is what that means.
Of course I'm excited. It's incredible to love someone and know they love you back and that they want to commit to spending the rest of their life building a life with you.
Now with that said, I'm also realistic. I mean, this is (er, going to be) my third engagement/ third marriage. Ugh, I feel like a character in a soap opera just typing that.
It's truly scary to know I have done this twice before and failed both times. It's scary to trust myself enough to make this decision for me and my kids. It's scary to know the statistics of divorce for third marriages (70-73%). And I know my friends and family probably have their own quiet concerns and reservations. I don't blame them. That is just natural when you love someone and are watching them head down a path where you have already seen them fail over and over again.
What I do trust is that I have my eyes wide open. I trust that I am looking at this decision from every possible angle and weighing what is right. I trust that I am not entering this lightly and that I am not doing it for the wrong reasons. I trust how much I have grown and how much I have learned about myself and about how to love people. I trust that no one is blinded by emotion (that is sooooo my M.O. in 99% of my life and in both of my previous decisions to get married). No one is swept up in the romance of brand new love. We've been together for over a year. We've had some fights. We've seen each other on our worst and best days. We've faced some tough challenges. We've spent time alone together and time raising children together. We see eye to eye on our life goals and on how you should behave in a committed relationship. We make compromises in the areas where we disagree. Nothing feels forced or out of balance. Never do I feel like the entire weight of keeping the relationship running smoothly is on one person. Never do I feel like I don't matter or the kids don't matter. Never do I feel like I'm not being heard. Never do I feel like I'm on the verge of being abandoned, cast aside, or replaced.
Our relationship just makes sense. We naturally evolved into a family - a real family - and that is all I have ever wanted my entire life, and it is what I want for my children. And so it makes sense to me to declare before our friends and family and God that we are a unit wholly committed to one another and our family.
When he decides it's time to make our engagement "officially, official" I will say yes. And I will pray for us just the way I do now. And he will too just the way he does now. Please do me a favor and say a prayer for us too because I want nothing more than to have God in the big, fat middle of this relationship helping us stay on the right path. I want nothing more than for his hand to be the last hand I ever hold. I want nothing more than for our relationship to work just the way it does now for the rest of forever.
And I know I have been given a partner who will be wholly committed to working together to be part of the 27-30% of couples who make that third time a charm.
So, watch for the upcoming announcement of things being officially official.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Christmas 2013
The last 5 days? What a blur.
The mini-vacay started with vomiting children once again making me thankful for my parents living 3 blocks away. Gavin took up residence with them until Sunday afternoon while I scrubbed floors and washed sheets and sprayed Lysol and gave hugs.
Once all the sickness left us, we made our way to the mall and stood in line for an hour for this:
Can I just say, if you want to feel 1000% better about your parenting skills, trek on over to the mall three days before Christmas and stand in line for Santa. I bet all the money in my piggy bank, your children will be the best behaved children there.
What you should not then do is leave said mall and try to take your upset-by-santa, desperately in need of a nap, one year old son to a restaurant and expect for your family or anyone within a 4 mile radius to eat in peace. Cause it ain't happ'nin. The second our food came out we asked for boxes and the check and went home to eat out of to go boxes while Gavin slept off the cranky.
On Monday, I made the trip to Dallas to see my doctor for my 32 week check up. Now, I did not account for the fact that my doctor's office shares an intersection with a mall. I was 20 minutes late to my appointment and sending up prayers of thanks for my small, sleepy town when I finally escaped the big city and made my way back to the suburbs.
I did the vast majority of my Christmas shopping on the 23rd and 24th - in my small, sleepy town - and not once did I feel like screaming at other shoppers or motorists. I'm sorry if you are all "go big city living!" but you are wrong. It's just better in a small town. Well, until you start factoring in the commute. Whatever. Can't have it all.
All too soon it was time for Christmas Eve at my parents' house and then Christmas morning at home. My adorable boys in their Christmas PJs ripping into Sponge Bob wrapping paper - their little eyes wide when they saw what Santa had delivered. My house destroyed by 8:35 am never to recover. Making pancakes for Christmas breakfast and frying chicken for Christmas lunch. Spending the whole day in our pajamas snuggling on the couch, playing with Nerf guns, and watching movies. It was the perfect lazy Sunday on a Wednesday.
It was absolutely my favorite Christmas to date. I hope your day was wonderful too.
Merry (belated) Christmas!
The mini-vacay started with vomiting children once again making me thankful for my parents living 3 blocks away. Gavin took up residence with them until Sunday afternoon while I scrubbed floors and washed sheets and sprayed Lysol and gave hugs.
Once all the sickness left us, we made our way to the mall and stood in line for an hour for this:
Can I just say, if you want to feel 1000% better about your parenting skills, trek on over to the mall three days before Christmas and stand in line for Santa. I bet all the money in my piggy bank, your children will be the best behaved children there.
What you should not then do is leave said mall and try to take your upset-by-santa, desperately in need of a nap, one year old son to a restaurant and expect for your family or anyone within a 4 mile radius to eat in peace. Cause it ain't happ'nin. The second our food came out we asked for boxes and the check and went home to eat out of to go boxes while Gavin slept off the cranky.
On Monday, I made the trip to Dallas to see my doctor for my 32 week check up. Now, I did not account for the fact that my doctor's office shares an intersection with a mall. I was 20 minutes late to my appointment and sending up prayers of thanks for my small, sleepy town when I finally escaped the big city and made my way back to the suburbs.
I did the vast majority of my Christmas shopping on the 23rd and 24th - in my small, sleepy town - and not once did I feel like screaming at other shoppers or motorists. I'm sorry if you are all "go big city living!" but you are wrong. It's just better in a small town. Well, until you start factoring in the commute. Whatever. Can't have it all.
All too soon it was time for Christmas Eve at my parents' house and then Christmas morning at home. My adorable boys in their Christmas PJs ripping into Sponge Bob wrapping paper - their little eyes wide when they saw what Santa had delivered. My house destroyed by 8:35 am never to recover. Making pancakes for Christmas breakfast and frying chicken for Christmas lunch. Spending the whole day in our pajamas snuggling on the couch, playing with Nerf guns, and watching movies. It was the perfect lazy Sunday on a Wednesday.
It was absolutely my favorite Christmas to date. I hope your day was wonderful too.
Merry (belated) Christmas!
Monday, December 16, 2013
Weekend highlights
Highlights from this weekend include:
Jimmy bought a new truck. He is very excited. "Excited" doesn't begin to capture his feelings, but it's all I've got in the way of adjectives. It's a great truck that will very easily fit three kids, and he got a good deal, so I'm happy for him.
We had the 3D sonogram. I was disappointed in the quality of the pics compared to the ones with the boys. She had her hand in her face, which if you are me, you can see below.
Jimmy said, "don't be disappointed. We got to see her, and we have the memory, and it's not long until we meet her face to face." Because he is great like that.
Most of my Christmas shopping is done. Notice I used the word "most." So, that means next weekend - my weekend with the kids - is going to be spent last-minute Christmas shopping. I can't even think about thinking about it.
Boring post, I know. It's Monday. I'm tired and feel so very very pregnant. Maybe I'll do better next time.
Jimmy bought a new truck. He is very excited. "Excited" doesn't begin to capture his feelings, but it's all I've got in the way of adjectives. It's a great truck that will very easily fit three kids, and he got a good deal, so I'm happy for him.
We had the 3D sonogram. I was disappointed in the quality of the pics compared to the ones with the boys. She had her hand in her face, which if you are me, you can see below.
Jimmy said, "don't be disappointed. We got to see her, and we have the memory, and it's not long until we meet her face to face." Because he is great like that.
Most of my Christmas shopping is done. Notice I used the word "most." So, that means next weekend - my weekend with the kids - is going to be spent last-minute Christmas shopping. I can't even think about thinking about it.
Boring post, I know. It's Monday. I'm tired and feel so very very pregnant. Maybe I'll do better next time.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Getting into the spirit of things
The stress is beginning to subside.
Jimmy had been driving his mom's car to work, but he had to return it last night so she could get to work today. So, I had to drive 45 minutes to get him and 45 minutes back home after he got off work at 7:30 pm.
Our plan was that he was going to ride to work with a co-worker every morning, and I was going to pick him up every evening. Neither of us loved this plan, but you do what you have to do when it's Christmas time and you (moronically) did not include rental car coverage in your insurance policy (if you don't have it, go add it right now. It does not cost much, and it is an absolute necessity).
We had to drop by my parents' house on the way home last night, and our plan to get Jimmy back and forth to work happened to come up in conversation.
We left and drove the 1/2 mile home, put the kids to bed (waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay past their bed time) and went downstairs to scrounge up something to eat and watch the Sons of Anarchy season finale (OMG, can all of you please start watching this show so you can be all W.T.F., Kurt Sutter?! with me every Wednesday morning during its airing? Because W.T.F., KURT SUTTER?!)
While we were standing in the kitchen joking around about our respective culinary masterpieces, we heard a knock at the door. We weren't sure if we were hearing things and just stood there looking at each other quizically because we don't get many (read: any) late night visitors.
Turned out to be my mom. Her and my step dad have several vehicles, so she was delivering me her truck to use so Jimmy could use my Jeep while his truck gets repaired (and berating me because I never ask for these things so she has to drive to my house at 10 at night to just do it out of the kindness of her heart because my parents are truly lovely people).
Honestly, I'm trying not to complain because I have so much and there are people who have so little, but the nightmare that was yesterday after work trying to deal with all this stuff was just that - a total nightmare. The thought of doing it for at least another week or two filled me with dread. So, my parents volunteering a vehicle to us and making that stress vanish was amazing.
The smoke from the weather and the wreck and the other stress we've had going on is beginning to clear. Because I am surrounded by so many truly good, truly loving people, these situations now tend to turn out to just bring me closer to those around me.
That combined with the fact that tomorrow is Silas' very first Christmas play (he is an angel - squeeeeeal!), and the Dick's Sporting Goods commercial with the brothers and the ball glove that makes me cry, and the Westjet Airlines story that came pouring out of my radio this morning, and Silas bolting downstairs to see where "Red" has landed every morning is all serving to get me back into the Christmas spirit.
I respect everyone's beliefs and different holidays during this time of year. I try to be mindful of the fact that everyone does not celebrate Christmas. But that is the way I grew up, and that is the way I am raising my children, and right now I just want to talk about that.
The DJ this morning announced that Christmas is two weeks away, and I was floored. How did that happen? I'm not prepared at all, and I just want to push all my cares aside and revel in this time of year while I have the chance. It is so much fun when you have kids, and I am not ready for it to be over just yet. I don't want to waste anymore time being stressed and worried. I want to enjoy all the good that this season has to offer.
I cannot wait to go out shopping this weekend and find special little tokens of love and adoration for all the people in my life. Truly, the presents are not the most important thing, but I genuinely enjoy finding something that I know will be special to someone I love and giving it to them. It is my very favorite part. Just a little, "I love you, and I'm so glad I have you in my life" momento.
I cannot wait to spend Christmas hanging out and laughing with my family and watching my kids' excitement and wonder on Christmas morning because Christmas is still so magical for them.
I hope you are all enjoying this time of year as well and taking time to reflect and remember why we celebrate it in the first place. I want our generation to remove the cynicism and negativity that has tainted Christmas because of the almost purely commercial focus. I want us to bring our kids up to just know the good, the story of love and the birth of a Child, the gathering of family and friends to celebrate that birth and to celebrate having one another.
And I absolutely have faith that we are the right generation to do it.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, you guys.
Jimmy had been driving his mom's car to work, but he had to return it last night so she could get to work today. So, I had to drive 45 minutes to get him and 45 minutes back home after he got off work at 7:30 pm.
Our plan was that he was going to ride to work with a co-worker every morning, and I was going to pick him up every evening. Neither of us loved this plan, but you do what you have to do when it's Christmas time and you (moronically) did not include rental car coverage in your insurance policy (if you don't have it, go add it right now. It does not cost much, and it is an absolute necessity).
We had to drop by my parents' house on the way home last night, and our plan to get Jimmy back and forth to work happened to come up in conversation.
We left and drove the 1/2 mile home, put the kids to bed (waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay past their bed time) and went downstairs to scrounge up something to eat and watch the Sons of Anarchy season finale (OMG, can all of you please start watching this show so you can be all W.T.F., Kurt Sutter?! with me every Wednesday morning during its airing? Because W.T.F., KURT SUTTER?!)
While we were standing in the kitchen joking around about our respective culinary masterpieces, we heard a knock at the door. We weren't sure if we were hearing things and just stood there looking at each other quizically because we don't get many (read: any) late night visitors.
Turned out to be my mom. Her and my step dad have several vehicles, so she was delivering me her truck to use so Jimmy could use my Jeep while his truck gets repaired (and berating me because I never ask for these things so she has to drive to my house at 10 at night to just do it out of the kindness of her heart because my parents are truly lovely people).
Honestly, I'm trying not to complain because I have so much and there are people who have so little, but the nightmare that was yesterday after work trying to deal with all this stuff was just that - a total nightmare. The thought of doing it for at least another week or two filled me with dread. So, my parents volunteering a vehicle to us and making that stress vanish was amazing.
The smoke from the weather and the wreck and the other stress we've had going on is beginning to clear. Because I am surrounded by so many truly good, truly loving people, these situations now tend to turn out to just bring me closer to those around me.
That combined with the fact that tomorrow is Silas' very first Christmas play (he is an angel - squeeeeeal!), and the Dick's Sporting Goods commercial with the brothers and the ball glove that makes me cry, and the Westjet Airlines story that came pouring out of my radio this morning, and Silas bolting downstairs to see where "Red" has landed every morning is all serving to get me back into the Christmas spirit.
I respect everyone's beliefs and different holidays during this time of year. I try to be mindful of the fact that everyone does not celebrate Christmas. But that is the way I grew up, and that is the way I am raising my children, and right now I just want to talk about that.
The DJ this morning announced that Christmas is two weeks away, and I was floored. How did that happen? I'm not prepared at all, and I just want to push all my cares aside and revel in this time of year while I have the chance. It is so much fun when you have kids, and I am not ready for it to be over just yet. I don't want to waste anymore time being stressed and worried. I want to enjoy all the good that this season has to offer.
I cannot wait to go out shopping this weekend and find special little tokens of love and adoration for all the people in my life. Truly, the presents are not the most important thing, but I genuinely enjoy finding something that I know will be special to someone I love and giving it to them. It is my very favorite part. Just a little, "I love you, and I'm so glad I have you in my life" momento.
I cannot wait to spend Christmas hanging out and laughing with my family and watching my kids' excitement and wonder on Christmas morning because Christmas is still so magical for them.
I hope you are all enjoying this time of year as well and taking time to reflect and remember why we celebrate it in the first place. I want our generation to remove the cynicism and negativity that has tainted Christmas because of the almost purely commercial focus. I want us to bring our kids up to just know the good, the story of love and the birth of a Child, the gathering of family and friends to celebrate that birth and to celebrate having one another.
And I absolutely have faith that we are the right generation to do it.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, you guys.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Gaining perspective
Well, this time I didn't dodge it. This time I did get trapped in my house with my two rambunctious children for three days. We had electricity the whole time, which is more than I can say for some of my friends, so I was grateful for that.
The weather, and my hormones, and my children, and holiday stress, and the fact that I can't say "no" to save my life had us all less than cheerful by Saturday evening. I was grumpy and snapping at everyone. Something I would come to deeply regret.
Because spending Sunday reeling from the knowledge that my boyfriend had had a head on collision with a concrete wall put a lot in perspective. He is okay. His truck is not. Yesterday we heard the words "maybe totaled."
He should not have been on the roads, but he was, and after I found out about the wreck and confirmed he was okay and yelled at him a little, he told me exactly what had happened. I then spent most of Sunday replaying the mental picture of him slamming into that barrier over and over and over again in my mind until I got completely snowed under the "what ifs" in my head. You know those anxiety disorders he and I both have? They are wreaking some real havoc in our house right now.
Now I can't stop hugging and kissing him and my boys. I can't fall asleep without one hand gripping him as I doze off. I've always been one to say, "I love you" every, single day at least 400 times to the point of annoyance, but it's been a little more annoying the past couple of days. (Silas inherited this from me, and I love that).
It does not matter how crazy they all drive me, I need them. I need them around making me want to pull my hair out, turning me gray, and giving me wrinkles.
Yesterday morning, I found out that in 8 weeks and 3 days the last little member of my family will be joining us. Thanks for all of your "willing." It totally worked. Vivi is scheduled to make her grand entrance at 7:30 am on February 7 ("And we're doing the tubal? For sure?"...."Yes, if there is paperwork to sign, hand me a pen.").
She will be one more ball of energy and ray of sunshine bouncing around demanding to be fed and bathed and changed and loved to pieces. As terrified as I am about the extra stress and money and worry that another baby is sure to bring, I need her too.
I never envisioned myself as a mother of 3. It was not my plan. But, then, nothing I had planned worked out. I had something much better in store for me.
"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)
The weather, and my hormones, and my children, and holiday stress, and the fact that I can't say "no" to save my life had us all less than cheerful by Saturday evening. I was grumpy and snapping at everyone. Something I would come to deeply regret.
Because spending Sunday reeling from the knowledge that my boyfriend had had a head on collision with a concrete wall put a lot in perspective. He is okay. His truck is not. Yesterday we heard the words "maybe totaled."
He should not have been on the roads, but he was, and after I found out about the wreck and confirmed he was okay and yelled at him a little, he told me exactly what had happened. I then spent most of Sunday replaying the mental picture of him slamming into that barrier over and over and over again in my mind until I got completely snowed under the "what ifs" in my head. You know those anxiety disorders he and I both have? They are wreaking some real havoc in our house right now.
Now I can't stop hugging and kissing him and my boys. I can't fall asleep without one hand gripping him as I doze off. I've always been one to say, "I love you" every, single day at least 400 times to the point of annoyance, but it's been a little more annoying the past couple of days. (Silas inherited this from me, and I love that).
It does not matter how crazy they all drive me, I need them. I need them around making me want to pull my hair out, turning me gray, and giving me wrinkles.
Yesterday morning, I found out that in 8 weeks and 3 days the last little member of my family will be joining us. Thanks for all of your "willing." It totally worked. Vivi is scheduled to make her grand entrance at 7:30 am on February 7 ("And we're doing the tubal? For sure?"...."Yes, if there is paperwork to sign, hand me a pen.").
She will be one more ball of energy and ray of sunshine bouncing around demanding to be fed and bathed and changed and loved to pieces. As terrified as I am about the extra stress and money and worry that another baby is sure to bring, I need her too.
I never envisioned myself as a mother of 3. It was not my plan. But, then, nothing I had planned worked out. I had something much better in store for me.
"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Oh the difference a year makes
One year ago today, my boys were with their dad, and I was a nervous wreck.
You see, I knew that at 7 p.m. I would be going on a first date. A practice date is what my friends and I were calling it. And while I had absolutely no intention of ever seeing this guy again after this date - because men had turned into selfish, lying, manipulative pigs, and I was certain this guy would be the same - it was a first date nonetheless. My first date with anyone in months and my first date with anyone but Michael in years.
I spent the day shopping so as to distract myself from the stupid thing I had planned that evening. I bought my kids Christmas presents and I bought myself a pair of red shoes - because they were half off, and a girl needs to look good even on a practice date.
When it came time to get ready, I grabbed a beer out of my refrigerator and held onto it for dear life.
While I applied my make up and flat ironed my hair and put on my new red shoes, I drank my beer to try to calm my nerves.
On the drive to the restaurant, I text my best friend a picture of the guy with all of the personal information I had about him and the name and address of the restaurant - just in case he tried to kidnap and murder me.
She informed me, "he looks like a thug" (lots of tattoos/people are judgey/we've covered this) just to set my mind at ease. I almost turned around and went home.
But I like tattoos, and we were meeting in public, and it wasn't like I was planning to marry the guy. Just have dinner. If he was awful, I had my car and could just leave.
My plan was to have this date, use it to assess how horribly awful it was going to be to date as a 30 year old single mom, and then ignore this dude (and all other dudes) for the rest of eternity. Because getting involved with people gets you hurt. And it hurts your kids. And I had had quite enough. Odds were he wasn't going to try to contact me again anyway because - as I have already mentioned - men were not exactly held in my highest regard at that point in time, and I was quite certain he would be a complete and total DB.
Imagine my surprise when this man turned out to be funny and charming and engaging and nice and interesting and made me like him too much to ignore his text messages the next day. Yes, he text me the next day. And the day after that. And the one after that. And he called and talked to me for hours every night after my kids were asleep - like we were 14. So on and so forth.
Ok, well, it wouldn't hurt to date him casually, I guess.
When he asked me to accompany him to his company Christmas party, I decided to go and wound up having fun. He used the word "girlfriend" to introduce me to his co-workers, and I rather liked the sound of it.
Casually went out the window. I had a boyfriend.
I introduced him to my friends. And then I introduced him to my parents. And THEN I introduced him to my kids and monitored his every move expecting him to screw it all up. But he didn't. He handled himself perfectly.
And now here we are. One year later.
This man who was just supposed to be a practice date has turned into a part of my family. He helps me raise my kids. He fixes my car when it's broken. He puts together swing sets and paints pink rooms. He washes dishes and does laundry and cooks meals. We celebrate holidays and birthdays together. We spend lazy Sundays together napping on the couch. We have a house together. We are having a daughter together. We have a life together.
If you had asked either of us on December 4, 2012 where we saw ourselves in a year, I guarantee neither one of us saw ourselves here. We just got lucky that way.
Happy first anniversary to the absolute best man I have ever known. I love you, and I thank my lucky stars that you accidentally won my heart and that I accidentally won yours.
You see, I knew that at 7 p.m. I would be going on a first date. A practice date is what my friends and I were calling it. And while I had absolutely no intention of ever seeing this guy again after this date - because men had turned into selfish, lying, manipulative pigs, and I was certain this guy would be the same - it was a first date nonetheless. My first date with anyone in months and my first date with anyone but Michael in years.
I spent the day shopping so as to distract myself from the stupid thing I had planned that evening. I bought my kids Christmas presents and I bought myself a pair of red shoes - because they were half off, and a girl needs to look good even on a practice date.
When it came time to get ready, I grabbed a beer out of my refrigerator and held onto it for dear life.
While I applied my make up and flat ironed my hair and put on my new red shoes, I drank my beer to try to calm my nerves.
On the drive to the restaurant, I text my best friend a picture of the guy with all of the personal information I had about him and the name and address of the restaurant - just in case he tried to kidnap and murder me.
She informed me, "he looks like a thug" (lots of tattoos/people are judgey/we've covered this) just to set my mind at ease. I almost turned around and went home.
But I like tattoos, and we were meeting in public, and it wasn't like I was planning to marry the guy. Just have dinner. If he was awful, I had my car and could just leave.
My plan was to have this date, use it to assess how horribly awful it was going to be to date as a 30 year old single mom, and then ignore this dude (and all other dudes) for the rest of eternity. Because getting involved with people gets you hurt. And it hurts your kids. And I had had quite enough. Odds were he wasn't going to try to contact me again anyway because - as I have already mentioned - men were not exactly held in my highest regard at that point in time, and I was quite certain he would be a complete and total DB.
Imagine my surprise when this man turned out to be funny and charming and engaging and nice and interesting and made me like him too much to ignore his text messages the next day. Yes, he text me the next day. And the day after that. And the one after that. And he called and talked to me for hours every night after my kids were asleep - like we were 14. So on and so forth.
Ok, well, it wouldn't hurt to date him casually, I guess.
When he asked me to accompany him to his company Christmas party, I decided to go and wound up having fun. He used the word "girlfriend" to introduce me to his co-workers, and I rather liked the sound of it.
Casually went out the window. I had a boyfriend.
I introduced him to my friends. And then I introduced him to my parents. And THEN I introduced him to my kids and monitored his every move expecting him to screw it all up. But he didn't. He handled himself perfectly.
And now here we are. One year later.
This man who was just supposed to be a practice date has turned into a part of my family. He helps me raise my kids. He fixes my car when it's broken. He puts together swing sets and paints pink rooms. He washes dishes and does laundry and cooks meals. We celebrate holidays and birthdays together. We spend lazy Sundays together napping on the couch. We have a house together. We are having a daughter together. We have a life together.
If you had asked either of us on December 4, 2012 where we saw ourselves in a year, I guarantee neither one of us saw ourselves here. We just got lucky that way.
Happy first anniversary to the absolute best man I have ever known. I love you, and I thank my lucky stars that you accidentally won my heart and that I accidentally won yours.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
My two cents
So, I received a link to this article from a friend. Maybe you've read it. If not, please go do so now so as to fully understand what I'm talking about.
Ok, everyone read it? Have your opinion formulated? Whatever your feelings/opinion, I promise you I respect them.
Here is mine:
We as women are some fickle beings. We go from a culture of women who damn near kill ourselves to fit some ideal image we are bombarded with in every magazine and TV show to a culture of women who get up in arms when someone posts a picture that makes us feel bad about ourselves.
Did I look like Ms. Six Pack Abs four days after giving birth? No. I didn't look like that when I was 18. I'll never look like that. Ever. Not even with surgery. Ok, maybe with, like, millions of dollars in surgery. But odds are, never.
Even so, seeing that picture didn't make me feel not one twinge of "oh my god, why so much pressure to lose all this weight right after birth?!" and I'm 2 months from giving birth and have given birth three times previously.
I don't know if it came with having a million kids or turning 30 or realizing that (yes, Miranda again) it really does take all kindsa kinds, but I just don't put that kind of pressure on myself anymore. I certainly am not going to start because a woman I do not know posted a half naked picture of herself on Instagram.
I think we can all agree that she is a severe exception to the rule. Most of us have a stomach more akin to a deflated inner tube four days after giving birth. And we go at our own pace in taking the baby weight off. I've done everything from put on 60 more pounds after birth to dropping enough weight to equal half a person after birth. Both approaches were my choice. Your approach is your choice.
My advice is to douse yourself with reality when it comes to judging yourself against pictures like this.
I don't know that woman. I don't know her motives in posting the picture. I don't know how healthy or unhealthy she was during her pregnancy. I imagine that post-baby body has to do with her being a disciplined person and a whole whole lot more to do with her genetics.
WE CANNOT CHANGE OUR GENETICS. And the quicker we come to terms with that and learn to love our bodies and make choices that make sense for us as individuals, the better off we are going to be.
I don't think it is fair that we fight all these battles for equality and to be respected for who we are as individuals and then we turn around and crucify someone who isn't "normal" because she isn't "normal" in a way that makes us jealous or makes us feel inadequate about ourselves. That is still being judgmental and hypocritical. That is still the very definition of what we claim to hate about our society.
That's my opinion on the matter anyway.
Ok, everyone read it? Have your opinion formulated? Whatever your feelings/opinion, I promise you I respect them.
Here is mine:
We as women are some fickle beings. We go from a culture of women who damn near kill ourselves to fit some ideal image we are bombarded with in every magazine and TV show to a culture of women who get up in arms when someone posts a picture that makes us feel bad about ourselves.
Did I look like Ms. Six Pack Abs four days after giving birth? No. I didn't look like that when I was 18. I'll never look like that. Ever. Not even with surgery. Ok, maybe with, like, millions of dollars in surgery. But odds are, never.
Even so, seeing that picture didn't make me feel not one twinge of "oh my god, why so much pressure to lose all this weight right after birth?!" and I'm 2 months from giving birth and have given birth three times previously.
I don't know if it came with having a million kids or turning 30 or realizing that (yes, Miranda again) it really does take all kindsa kinds, but I just don't put that kind of pressure on myself anymore. I certainly am not going to start because a woman I do not know posted a half naked picture of herself on Instagram.
I think we can all agree that she is a severe exception to the rule. Most of us have a stomach more akin to a deflated inner tube four days after giving birth. And we go at our own pace in taking the baby weight off. I've done everything from put on 60 more pounds after birth to dropping enough weight to equal half a person after birth. Both approaches were my choice. Your approach is your choice.
My advice is to douse yourself with reality when it comes to judging yourself against pictures like this.
I don't know that woman. I don't know her motives in posting the picture. I don't know how healthy or unhealthy she was during her pregnancy. I imagine that post-baby body has to do with her being a disciplined person and a whole whole lot more to do with her genetics.
WE CANNOT CHANGE OUR GENETICS. And the quicker we come to terms with that and learn to love our bodies and make choices that make sense for us as individuals, the better off we are going to be.
I don't think it is fair that we fight all these battles for equality and to be respected for who we are as individuals and then we turn around and crucify someone who isn't "normal" because she isn't "normal" in a way that makes us jealous or makes us feel inadequate about ourselves. That is still being judgmental and hypocritical. That is still the very definition of what we claim to hate about our society.
That's my opinion on the matter anyway.
Monday, December 2, 2013
The first Thanksgiving without the boys
I survived my first "family holiday" without the boys.
I only cried once. If you just rolled your eyes, I would like to remind you that 1. I am pregnant and 2. I am a crybaby even when my hormones are at their most balanced. So, one little breakdown in five days is an accomplishment to be celebrated.
Keeping busy was key.
Wednesday I left work early to finish shopping and cleaning and getting a pedicure (Jimmy insisted on the pedicure. I kept saying, "no, I really need to clean," and he kept saying, "just go get a pedicure, and we'll knock the cleaning out together when I get home," and I finally said, "ok, since you've twisted my arm." Voila: orange toes.)
I awoke at 7 am on Thanksgiving morning and cleaned the upstairs since we'd only managed to get through the downstairs the night before. (You'd think we live in absolute filth, but in fact we had a turkey fryer to assemble the night before.)
Jimmy was planning on frying a turkey (was that made obvious by the fact that we assembled a turkey fryer?), and I woke him every 15 minutes to ask whether I should start thawing it out. (HELLO, DUDE, IT'S FROZEN AND PEOPLE WILL BE HERE AT 1!!!) This annoyed him.
He finally got up just as I came out of our bathroom hauling a mop and a broom and glass cleaner and paper towels (I was kind of loudish).
"Do you want me to start thawing out the turkey?" I asked and giggled. He made a "seriously? I just got out of bed" face and ignored me.
He set about thawing the turkey (which was quite an involved process) and watching YouTube videos about how to fry a turkey while I made 32 desserts and sweet potato casserole and mashed potatoes.
He finally requested my assistance in reading the directions for starting the turkey fryer at 12:25 pm. He got it started only to realize we needed a new propane tank. (Can I just say that I was feeling vindicated for all of my annoying "GET UP, GET UP, GET UP!" behavior at that point?)
The turkey was an hour late, but it tasted great and the wait gave all the women a chance to sit around and gossip. So, all was forgiven.
It was weird to have an all adult Thanksgiving, but everyone seemed to enjoy it.
Jimmy and I actually managed to make it to a movie after everyone left - where I checked my SportsCenter app 100 times through the previews because I was forced to go in the 4th quarter of the Cowboys game. We won, so it was okay.
We went to the movie theater with the smooshy leather recliners and saw Catching Fire. Jimmy drank beer and bought me the biggest popcorn he could find. It was fantastic.
We went home. Jimmy went upstairs to shower. I curled up on the couch and was alone for the first time that day. That is when I cried my little eyes out missing my boys and feeling sorry for myself because next year it will be Christmas. Vivi's first Christmas will be without her brothers. I hate that so much.
Jimmy came downstairs and caught me crying and hugged me and built me a fire and made me laugh and cheered me up.
Friday we spent the day out of the house shopping and the evening cooking and playing a board game.
Saturday, we drove to the wrong location for the 3D sonogram and so had to reschedule it again. Jimmy and I put up the Christmas tree and hung the stockings and put out "Red" (our Elf on the shelf). Then my mom and I finally finished painting Vivi's room and bought her a swing.
Yesterday, we stayed firmly planted on the couch until 5 o'clock. I was clearly cranky and couldn't even figure out why until I finally got my kids back at 6. "Feel better now?" Jimmy asked as we drove home.
Oh, so that was what was wrong. I was having mini withdrawal.
When they got to the meeting spot, Silas ran around the truck and jumped into my arms, "MOMMY!!!" making me feel quite special. Gavin grinned his sweet, sleepy, "hi mom" grin and melted my heart.
They were both filthy and exhausted and sick (as usual), but I was so so happy to have them home and to see their little expressions over the Christmas decor.
This morning it started as we came downstairs, "Mom, did Santa bring me lots of presents last night?!"
So, we'll be doing that every day for the next 23 days.
It's going to be a long month, but at least they will be at home when Santa finally does come and bring lots of presents - and then I will only have them driving me nuts for 5 straight days to blame for being cranky.
I only cried once. If you just rolled your eyes, I would like to remind you that 1. I am pregnant and 2. I am a crybaby even when my hormones are at their most balanced. So, one little breakdown in five days is an accomplishment to be celebrated.
Keeping busy was key.
Wednesday I left work early to finish shopping and cleaning and getting a pedicure (Jimmy insisted on the pedicure. I kept saying, "no, I really need to clean," and he kept saying, "just go get a pedicure, and we'll knock the cleaning out together when I get home," and I finally said, "ok, since you've twisted my arm." Voila: orange toes.)
I awoke at 7 am on Thanksgiving morning and cleaned the upstairs since we'd only managed to get through the downstairs the night before. (You'd think we live in absolute filth, but in fact we had a turkey fryer to assemble the night before.)
Jimmy was planning on frying a turkey (was that made obvious by the fact that we assembled a turkey fryer?), and I woke him every 15 minutes to ask whether I should start thawing it out. (HELLO, DUDE, IT'S FROZEN AND PEOPLE WILL BE HERE AT 1!!!) This annoyed him.
He finally got up just as I came out of our bathroom hauling a mop and a broom and glass cleaner and paper towels (I was kind of loudish).
"Do you want me to start thawing out the turkey?" I asked and giggled. He made a "seriously? I just got out of bed" face and ignored me.
He set about thawing the turkey (which was quite an involved process) and watching YouTube videos about how to fry a turkey while I made 32 desserts and sweet potato casserole and mashed potatoes.
He finally requested my assistance in reading the directions for starting the turkey fryer at 12:25 pm. He got it started only to realize we needed a new propane tank. (Can I just say that I was feeling vindicated for all of my annoying "GET UP, GET UP, GET UP!" behavior at that point?)
The turkey was an hour late, but it tasted great and the wait gave all the women a chance to sit around and gossip. So, all was forgiven.
It was weird to have an all adult Thanksgiving, but everyone seemed to enjoy it.
Jimmy and I actually managed to make it to a movie after everyone left - where I checked my SportsCenter app 100 times through the previews because I was forced to go in the 4th quarter of the Cowboys game. We won, so it was okay.
We went to the movie theater with the smooshy leather recliners and saw Catching Fire. Jimmy drank beer and bought me the biggest popcorn he could find. It was fantastic.
We went home. Jimmy went upstairs to shower. I curled up on the couch and was alone for the first time that day. That is when I cried my little eyes out missing my boys and feeling sorry for myself because next year it will be Christmas. Vivi's first Christmas will be without her brothers. I hate that so much.
Jimmy came downstairs and caught me crying and hugged me and built me a fire and made me laugh and cheered me up.
Friday we spent the day out of the house shopping and the evening cooking and playing a board game.
Saturday, we drove to the wrong location for the 3D sonogram and so had to reschedule it again. Jimmy and I put up the Christmas tree and hung the stockings and put out "Red" (our Elf on the shelf). Then my mom and I finally finished painting Vivi's room and bought her a swing.
Yesterday, we stayed firmly planted on the couch until 5 o'clock. I was clearly cranky and couldn't even figure out why until I finally got my kids back at 6. "Feel better now?" Jimmy asked as we drove home.
Oh, so that was what was wrong. I was having mini withdrawal.
When they got to the meeting spot, Silas ran around the truck and jumped into my arms, "MOMMY!!!" making me feel quite special. Gavin grinned his sweet, sleepy, "hi mom" grin and melted my heart.
They were both filthy and exhausted and sick (as usual), but I was so so happy to have them home and to see their little expressions over the Christmas decor.
This morning it started as we came downstairs, "Mom, did Santa bring me lots of presents last night?!"
So, we'll be doing that every day for the next 23 days.
It's going to be a long month, but at least they will be at home when Santa finally does come and bring lots of presents - and then I will only have them driving me nuts for 5 straight days to blame for being cranky.
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