It's been five years, almost exactly, and yet I found myself sitting in the same position now as I did then: a therapist's couch. Different man this time, but if I closed my eyes, I'd swear they were the same. Marriage proposal from a single, never married, no kids man followed by major freak out on his part and marriage counseling so he could point out all my perceived flaws as an excuse for leaving. After two sessions of listening to him tell the therapist how horrible I was, I decided enough was enough. And the next week when I returned to the therapist alone, the therapist told me I should consider myself lucky that it ended, no one would ever be able to meet my ex's unrealistic standards and demands.
So life has returned to normal since then, I spend my weekends sailing when I'm home, and now Christmas is just around the corner.
I'm living in New England for work these days, in a small college town of notable money. It's a beautiful town, but weird in its Stepford-wive-ness. I found myself in a meeting last week, wondering if I should go blonde to fit I'm better, as I looked around a room filled with blonde women, all wearing J.Crew and dripping in jewelry.
I don't know that I could pull off blonde, but at least it would hide all my grays!
But for now, I'm home for two weeks with the kids for the holidays before I return to New England, and just starting to get our Christmas going.
Wish me luck as I face the crowds of Christmas shoppers! I'm going to remind myself that it could be worse when I'm waiting in line behind 832,000 other last minute shoppers... I could still be in marriage counseling!
Saturday, December 19, 2015
Saturday, November 7, 2015
High School Never Ends
I was home today, for the first time in ages, to watch Eldest do her band thing. I drove 50 minutes through hell, high water, and ghetto neighborhoods to watch her get her band geek on at a Big City High School.
Showing up early, I got roped into helping them load stuff on the field.
As I stood there, watching as acne-suffering teens filed past me, the band director -having correctly pegged me as useless- assigned me to pull the cooler filled with water bottles, entrusting the more important band things such as gong and xylophone to more obviously trustworthy adults.
I watched as the band kids pass me, in awe of the freaks and geeks that band seems to beckon (me and kid included), when the band director/teacher yells at me, "Hey, take it to the sidelines!"
And just as the band is announced, and I'm struggling with an unwieldy cooler on wheels full of unnecessary water bottles -it's 50 fucking degrees people and these kids who are being judged on their performance are certainly not going to stop mid-performance for a drink- I trip over a goddamn speaker wire running from the judges to the field.
And promptly dump the entire, unnecessary cooler full of water bottles all over the track.
In front of stands full of hundreds of people watching.
(Flash back to when I was last minute picked to be a cheerleader when half the squad was kicked off for drinking. Homecoming, 1992. First time putting on a cheer skirt, no idea what the hell I was doing. The rest of the team hated me because I was a goody two shoes with straight A's who worked in the library and ended up as a cheerleader as a fluke. I spent the entire Homecoming game standing there stupidly because I had no idea what to do.)
The stands (today) laughed like they did back in '92, as I got down on hands and knees and scrambled to pick up the water bottle mess I made. A super nice band dad came rushing over to help, "I hate when that happens," he mumbled as we struggled to corral all the stray water bottles rolling all over the field.
I was too mortified to respond.
I'm 40, and still feel like I'm in high school.
Eldest refused to even look at me after, and shook her head- not subtly- when I glanced her way, warning me not to come talk to her.
I slunk away, as embarrassed at 40 as I was at 17.
As the saying goes... High School never ends. And I'm as much of a dork as I was then.
Showing up early, I got roped into helping them load stuff on the field.
As I stood there, watching as acne-suffering teens filed past me, the band director -having correctly pegged me as useless- assigned me to pull the cooler filled with water bottles, entrusting the more important band things such as gong and xylophone to more obviously trustworthy adults.
I watched as the band kids pass me, in awe of the freaks and geeks that band seems to beckon (me and kid included), when the band director/teacher yells at me, "Hey, take it to the sidelines!"
And just as the band is announced, and I'm struggling with an unwieldy cooler on wheels full of unnecessary water bottles -it's 50 fucking degrees people and these kids who are being judged on their performance are certainly not going to stop mid-performance for a drink- I trip over a goddamn speaker wire running from the judges to the field.
And promptly dump the entire, unnecessary cooler full of water bottles all over the track.
In front of stands full of hundreds of people watching.
(Flash back to when I was last minute picked to be a cheerleader when half the squad was kicked off for drinking. Homecoming, 1992. First time putting on a cheer skirt, no idea what the hell I was doing. The rest of the team hated me because I was a goody two shoes with straight A's who worked in the library and ended up as a cheerleader as a fluke. I spent the entire Homecoming game standing there stupidly because I had no idea what to do.)
The stands (today) laughed like they did back in '92, as I got down on hands and knees and scrambled to pick up the water bottle mess I made. A super nice band dad came rushing over to help, "I hate when that happens," he mumbled as we struggled to corral all the stray water bottles rolling all over the field.
I was too mortified to respond.
I'm 40, and still feel like I'm in high school.
Eldest refused to even look at me after, and shook her head- not subtly- when I glanced her way, warning me not to come talk to her.
I slunk away, as embarrassed at 40 as I was at 17.
As the saying goes... High School never ends. And I'm as much of a dork as I was then.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Man Bits and Mono
I got home last Thursday morning just in time to send the wee ones off to Ex-Hole's for a five day holiday. Littlest, who's 12, came home horribly ill on Tuesday night. By Wednesday morning, after hours of vomiting and coughing and keeping everyone up all night, I was desperate to take him to the doctor.
"Doctor's Service, may I help you?" asks the (not) helpful woman on the other end of the line. After hemming and hawing for twenty minutes and insisting that there were no doctors available for a week, she finally books me in with the nurse. Two hours later, the phone rings.
"Erm, sorry to tell you this, but the nurse doesn't see sick children," says a different woman on the other end of the line.
What the hell? Have you ever heard of such a thing, a family practice nurse that doesn't see sick children? What on God's green earth does she do then? Twenty minutes later, another appointment booked... with the doctor this time.
(Back story: The last time Littlest was in having his annual physical, I had just finished replacing a leaky garbage disposal and faucet in the kitchen. The Doctor had asked Littlest how his "plumbing" was working. Littlest responded with "Well, Mum just fixed it all up, so it didn't leak anymore." Cue baffled and concerned looks on the part of the good Doctor til I explained 1) to the Doctor, and 2) to Littlest what the Doctor was actually asking. More baffled looks on the part of Littlest.)
Fast forward to today. Finally got Littlest in to see his doctor. Having taken the Doctor aside beforehand, I asked him to check out Littlest's "plumbing" to see if it were growing as it should, since we were in there anyway. Being that I work in healthcare, I tend to roll everything I can into one visit. It's easier on my patience and on my wallet. So hey, might as well check out the man bits while you're checking out everything else, right?
The Doctor listened to his heart, lungs, palpated his spleen and abdomen, and did a cursory glance down the pants. Diagnosis: mono and the man bits are normal. Not satisfied with the cursory glance, given the importance of the thing in question, I asked again, "Are you sure everything's growing as it should?" I mean, come on now, the boy's going to want to have ahem, relations one day, and I want to make sure it's a possibility and that his poor wife can tell what's happening when it does.
The Doctor sighed. "Okay, Mum, come on over and have a look yourself." He glanced down at Littlest, lying bravely on the table. "Sorry, Son." He proceeds to un-pants Littlest, stretch his man bits out, and give me a breakdown on the anatomy of said man bits (with man bits in hand.)
Having gone over in detail that everything was functioning, growing. and looking as it should, he nods to Littlest, tells him to get dressed, and leaves the room.
Littlest just looks up at me.
"Well, that was weird."
For me too, kid, me too.
(Let it be noted, that if his future wife ever complains about their sex life, it won't be because I didn't do my part.)
"Doctor's Service, may I help you?" asks the (not) helpful woman on the other end of the line. After hemming and hawing for twenty minutes and insisting that there were no doctors available for a week, she finally books me in with the nurse. Two hours later, the phone rings.
"Erm, sorry to tell you this, but the nurse doesn't see sick children," says a different woman on the other end of the line.
What the hell? Have you ever heard of such a thing, a family practice nurse that doesn't see sick children? What on God's green earth does she do then? Twenty minutes later, another appointment booked... with the doctor this time.
(Back story: The last time Littlest was in having his annual physical, I had just finished replacing a leaky garbage disposal and faucet in the kitchen. The Doctor had asked Littlest how his "plumbing" was working. Littlest responded with "Well, Mum just fixed it all up, so it didn't leak anymore." Cue baffled and concerned looks on the part of the good Doctor til I explained 1) to the Doctor, and 2) to Littlest what the Doctor was actually asking. More baffled looks on the part of Littlest.)
Fast forward to today. Finally got Littlest in to see his doctor. Having taken the Doctor aside beforehand, I asked him to check out Littlest's "plumbing" to see if it were growing as it should, since we were in there anyway. Being that I work in healthcare, I tend to roll everything I can into one visit. It's easier on my patience and on my wallet. So hey, might as well check out the man bits while you're checking out everything else, right?
The Doctor listened to his heart, lungs, palpated his spleen and abdomen, and did a cursory glance down the pants. Diagnosis: mono and the man bits are normal. Not satisfied with the cursory glance, given the importance of the thing in question, I asked again, "Are you sure everything's growing as it should?" I mean, come on now, the boy's going to want to have ahem, relations one day, and I want to make sure it's a possibility and that his poor wife can tell what's happening when it does.
The Doctor sighed. "Okay, Mum, come on over and have a look yourself." He glanced down at Littlest, lying bravely on the table. "Sorry, Son." He proceeds to un-pants Littlest, stretch his man bits out, and give me a breakdown on the anatomy of said man bits (with man bits in hand.)
Having gone over in detail that everything was functioning, growing. and looking as it should, he nods to Littlest, tells him to get dressed, and leaves the room.
Littlest just looks up at me.
"Well, that was weird."
For me too, kid, me too.
(Let it be noted, that if his future wife ever complains about their sex life, it won't be because I didn't do my part.)
Friday, October 30, 2015
Moving Home
My last week in the Midwest is done. I had vowed I'd make it out of there before the bitterly cold winter of the Plains descended in all it's frosty fury. And I was thiiiiiis close to making it. Until I woke up on Thursday morning to a drifting of snow outside my hotel window. Well, crap.
Glanced at the thermostat on the wall, indicating a lovely 76* inside. Checked my phone for the temps outside. 25*. Sighed, put on my big girl panties and got up to start my last day on the project there.
Trudged a half mile through the snow in open-toe heels, bare legs, and business dress to the office, and alternating between cursing Mother Nature and admiring the way the snowflakes looked as they twirled down, ran through my to-do list:
Meetings with the client.
Clean out the hotel room mini-fridge.
Phone conference with the kids' school.
Take my bike to the airport to ship.
Make a doctors appointment for next week.
Make a marriage counseling appointment too.
Not a moment to breathe, at least until I got on the plane one last time (for this project anyway).
And later that night, as I walked across the rinky-dink tarmac, and up the steps to the rinky-dink plane, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Made it. Survived it. Glad to be done with it.
And now back to reality...
Away from the green, away from relative freedom of no demands on my time, away from the relative luxury of eating out every day and hotel living. Back to the desert and being a fulltime mom. Back to work issues, school performances, family life, sailing and most importantly... being home.
Glanced at the thermostat on the wall, indicating a lovely 76* inside. Checked my phone for the temps outside. 25*. Sighed, put on my big girl panties and got up to start my last day on the project there.
Trudged a half mile through the snow in open-toe heels, bare legs, and business dress to the office, and alternating between cursing Mother Nature and admiring the way the snowflakes looked as they twirled down, ran through my to-do list:
Meetings with the client.
Clean out the hotel room mini-fridge.
Phone conference with the kids' school.
Take my bike to the airport to ship.
Make a doctors appointment for next week.
Make a marriage counseling appointment too.
Not a moment to breathe, at least until I got on the plane one last time (for this project anyway).
And later that night, as I walked across the rinky-dink tarmac, and up the steps to the rinky-dink plane, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Made it. Survived it. Glad to be done with it.
And now back to reality...
Away from the green, away from relative freedom of no demands on my time, away from the relative luxury of eating out every day and hotel living. Back to the desert and being a fulltime mom. Back to work issues, school performances, family life, sailing and most importantly... being home.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Staring Into the Face of 40...
...And what I see in the mirror are wrinkles, laugh lines, sun spots, and more gray hairs than I had a year ago. But it's the face of a life well lived so far. And I'm determined to keep on living that way.
It wasn't ideal timing, financially, but my local bike shop made me a deal I couldn't refuse. I've known the guys there for years, and have spent many a weekend night hanging out with them either at the shop, the lake, or at our local pub. So when some jerk stole my bike over Fourth of July, my bike shop guys were keen to find me a replacement. And hurrah, they found one for me! I picked it up just yesterday, an early 40th birthday present to myself. And I put 17 miles on it last night, grinning ear to ear and adding to those laugh lines etched on my aging face.
In addition to this beauty, I picked up a 'well-loved' bike for $20 from the local thrift shop in my temporary Midwest home. I left it at the bike shop there last Friday before flying home, and they're restoring her to her former glory... or getting it ride-able, anyway. So now I've got something I can ride there to burn off stress after a long day at work, and now a beautiful new bike here to ride on the weekends I'm home. Life is looking up at the moment, despite the curve balls it keeps throwing at me.
It's a good start to a new decade. I'm loving life, even with all it's wrinkles and imperfections.
It wasn't ideal timing, financially, but my local bike shop made me a deal I couldn't refuse. I've known the guys there for years, and have spent many a weekend night hanging out with them either at the shop, the lake, or at our local pub. So when some jerk stole my bike over Fourth of July, my bike shop guys were keen to find me a replacement. And hurrah, they found one for me! I picked it up just yesterday, an early 40th birthday present to myself. And I put 17 miles on it last night, grinning ear to ear and adding to those laugh lines etched on my aging face.
In addition to this beauty, I picked up a 'well-loved' bike for $20 from the local thrift shop in my temporary Midwest home. I left it at the bike shop there last Friday before flying home, and they're restoring her to her former glory... or getting it ride-able, anyway. So now I've got something I can ride there to burn off stress after a long day at work, and now a beautiful new bike here to ride on the weekends I'm home. Life is looking up at the moment, despite the curve balls it keeps throwing at me.
It's a good start to a new decade. I'm loving life, even with all it's wrinkles and imperfections.
Friday, September 4, 2015
Balls to It All
Fall has finally arrived, and with it cooler temperatures.
I'm sitting on the front porch tonight, the wind blowing through the only, lonely tree on the property. The leaves rustle, and to my ocean-longing soul, sound like waves breaking upon the beach, sometimes fierce and strong, sometimes slow and caressing, tickling the hair on the back of my neck, a fleeting touch of something tantalizing.
The Man and I are working through some issues, and although we are going to counseling, all I can think is that if we've only been dating a year and are already in marriage therapy we may not stand a snowball's chance in hell.
Speaking of...
I was flying through Dallas the other week and plopped myself down on an airport barstool. The bartender sidles up (it being Texas and all), and asks me "Do you want a bad joke, or a good drink?"
"Both," I say without hesitation.
He takes a step back from his side of the bar, cocks his head and looks me up and down, as if he's taking measure of what may or may not be appropriate.
"Whats the difference between a snowman and a snow woman?" He asks with a cheeky grin.
"Hmm, I don't really know ," I say.
"A pair of snowBALLS, of course!"
So there you have it, the anatomy lesson for tonight.
A wounded heart and a pair of balls... the latter will get you through the first and damned if I don't have a pair. So here goes nothing. Time to man up and get through the mess.
I'm sitting on the front porch tonight, the wind blowing through the only, lonely tree on the property. The leaves rustle, and to my ocean-longing soul, sound like waves breaking upon the beach, sometimes fierce and strong, sometimes slow and caressing, tickling the hair on the back of my neck, a fleeting touch of something tantalizing.
The Man and I are working through some issues, and although we are going to counseling, all I can think is that if we've only been dating a year and are already in marriage therapy we may not stand a snowball's chance in hell.
Speaking of...
I was flying through Dallas the other week and plopped myself down on an airport barstool. The bartender sidles up (it being Texas and all), and asks me "Do you want a bad joke, or a good drink?"
"Both," I say without hesitation.
He takes a step back from his side of the bar, cocks his head and looks me up and down, as if he's taking measure of what may or may not be appropriate.
"Whats the difference between a snowman and a snow woman?" He asks with a cheeky grin.
"Hmm, I don't really know ," I say.
"A pair of snowBALLS, of course!"
So there you have it, the anatomy lesson for tonight.
A wounded heart and a pair of balls... the latter will get you through the first and damned if I don't have a pair. So here goes nothing. Time to man up and get through the mess.
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Yay for Fall!
The summer has drawn to a close, and the children are well and truly off to school now. My days have returned to peaceful quiet broken only by the occasional barking dog. I'm feeling like I'm starting to surface from some deep dark eddy of non-existence... making plans with friends, running again, and searching for my next boat.
I start travelling for work again next week, and I'll be gone through November. It'll be a long couple of months for me and the kids, but I think it'll be good for me, and give me the chance to reexamine the direction I want my life to go in.
I'll be living (during the week) in a small, rural town somewhere in the Midwest. I went online this morning, and found a dance studio located just a block from my work and the hotel I'll be living at. They have ballet classes twice a week at night, perfect for my schedule (and easier on my body than running!) And I'll be just a few blocks from the river, so can find some peace on the water as well. Last thing I need to locate there is a bike shop, so I can rent a bike to burn off stress. The more I look at it, the better this seems it will be for my sanity.
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