Some Rules

1.  you are not always right.  its impossible.  im not always right either, but you SURE as hell arent.  i mean, God did not endow you, personally, with the gift of fricken knowlege.  that was solomon.  you from the Bible?  didn’t think so. 

2. if your name is chad?  not going out with you.

3. if you are an only child – not going out with you.

4.  no, you can’t meet my kid yet.  der.

5.  you don’t like my cat?  eff off. (im dead serious about this one.)  new rule:

6.  no, you can’t meet my cat yet.  der.

7.  if you are shy do not apply.

8.  (flip side) if you’re a dick – back off you prick big jerky guy.

9.  people like me.  if you don’t like me, its prolly cuz you are a number 8.

10.  you spell “getting” this way: G-E-T-T-I-N-G.  not “gitting”.  (as in: im gitting another tatoo tomarrey!)(kid you not.)(okay well…the tomarrey part WAS kidding, but you catch my drift…)

has it really been that long?  have all the men on this planet lost their effing minds? (of course, i don’t mean YOUR husbands…)

Gah.

Dating is so Junior High…

I had, bar none, the THE THE worst date of my life the other night.  Now, I realize that I’ve been out of the loop for a while…I got into a fairly serious relationship after my divorce, so it’s not like I played the field or anything.  I played Ah field.  And that field was young.

And, I’ve been giving that some serious contemplation time…my liking the younger dudes.  Here’s why I think that is:  the last time I seriously dated someone, he was 23, and you know, so was I!  And, we were together for 11 years.

Essentially, my dating life was just stunted at 23.  So when I started dating a 24 year old, he was actually OLDER than me in Stunted Dating Life Years.  (Give it to me, okay?  Its how I have to make sense of it!)

When my sisters started telling me that I have to start dating people my own age, I was all like, What?  But those guys are so OLD.  Ew.  They’ll be all wrinkly and arthritic.  Its gonna be like dating my DAD.  Ick and ew.

Because, you know…in Stunted Dating Life Years (I’m 23 there…) it WOULD be like dating an old man.  12 hypothetical years makes a big difference when you’re hypothetically 23 and your hypothetical boyfriend is 35.  Blech.

It wasn’t until I went on a date with an awkward boy of 31, that I woke up and realized that I am 35.

35 and proud.  35 and loud.  35 and not awkward and uncomfortable and insanely stupid.

Three things that put me off:

1.  DIRTY FINGERNAILS
Now, I realize that this guy works at a greenhouse.  He gets dirty.  I get that.    But really?  Wash up, guys.  Especially when you are meeting a Very Clean Lady for the first time.  I painted my toenails for you.  As Sister Rach said, “Maybe he should have introduced himself to Dawn, before he introduced himself to you, and gotten that shit scrubbed off!”  Amen.

2. FOLDING ARMS ACROSS CHEST AND TRYING TO SHRINK YOURSELF INTO BOOTH
Nothing says I Exude Confidence like the incredibly shrinking boy…
If you aren’t confident?  I will eat you.  EAT YOU.  Devour you whole and leave nothing but a carcass.  I’m a total beyatch that way.

3. WANDERING EYE
When you haven’t met someone face to face and one person says, “Is there anything I should know about you?”?  It may be nice to tell them, “You know, one of my eyes is kinda lazy.  Its my right one.  But don’t let that bother you, they are a gorgeous shade of blue.”
Because it’s not the eye that’s going to bother anyone.  It’s that they didn’t know about it, and they had to spend the entire date (which, if you are this guy, will last one hour) trying to decide which eye to look into.
Its super effing distracting.
I know how that sounds?   But, it’s just the elephant in the room.  And, I’m just sayin’…

The whole experience put me off of blind dating. 

Okay, well except that I went on another hypothetical date with a hypothetical 37 year old person who was seemingly nice.  He’s not totally gross.  But, I’m just getting used to my Real Age.

So I guess; we’ll see. 

Again.

Re-invention yet again…

I’m relationship girl.  I cannot “date”.  I find it absurd and uncomfortable.  How do you keep your stories straight with more than one person at a time?  I do not know.  I can’t figure it out.

So what typically happens is that I meet someone.  We go on a  date to “see how it goes”, and then we end up dating for the next year. 

Either, I’m really good at picking them, or I’m really lazy. 

BUT, regardless of how wonderful the year we dated was, Church Boy and I decided amicably to go our separate ways.  I have too much muchness for someone who is still trying to figure out what they want to be when they grow up.  And, he is totally entitled to not have it all figured out!  He’s at that point in his life…I’m just so way far past that part…

SO, here I am again on my own!  Which is totally not a bad thing for me.  I don’t mind being alone.  But, it’s not what I want in the long run.

Its funny, but that is the hard part of all of this.  I KNOW what I want, so its hard to find.  Like when you go out to find that perfect pair of shoes, or that little black dress.  You KNOW what you want – and you never can find it.  It’s just not there when you need it, but it’s ALWAYS there when you aren’t looking, and of course when you don’t have the money to buy…

Rach thinks I’m being too picky, but really…can you BE too picky when you are a single mother?  I don’t think so.

I’m looking for someone who is perfectly happy settling into the life I’ve created.  I’m not moving.  Ever.  I am finally where I want to be, and I just don’t want to move.  Holden loves it here…I love it here.  I like the art I’ve hung  on my walls, I like the way my books are arranged on my bookshelf.  I like all my cats. 

So I’m kind of selfish.  I realize that.  I feel like I’ve spent so much time living in someone else’s life that I feel now is the time for me.

I gotta keep my muchness.

Okay.  All that said?  I have a kind of blind date on Monday.  So, we’ll see how it goes.

I think I might be in an abusive relationship…with my cat

I realize this is turning into a Cat Blog.  And, I should feel a twinge of guilt, but  I don’t.  I AM turning into The Cat Lady.  If you’ve been  to my house lately, the evidence would be undeniable.

Being in the committed, monogamous relationship that they are in, my cats consummated their marriage and the result is three preciously adorable white kittens with a smidge of their father just on the top of their foreheads.  All three of them, triplets, white, with a black ish paw print atop their precocious little beans.

And, being committed to Family the way that I am, I have no intention of splitting up this happy home.  So, yes.  I have five cats.  Don’t worry, Mr. has since been fixed, so there will be no more.

I named my kitten Hermes, and Holden, thinking I was going Greek named the others Hera and Apollo.  I was really going for Hermes like the designer, but what’s a ten-year old to understand fashion?  He wears plaid shorts with knee socks and deck shoes.

All this nicety goes without saying that Mr. is STILL a complete asshole.  No, no.  Not to me, per se.  Not on purpose, anyway.  Sometimes he may mistake my feet going down the stairs as playtoys, and attack my toes.  But, this is just a common misunderstanding between cats and feet.  It has nothing to do with the fact that my feet are connected to my person.  My person whom Mr. loves without hesitation.

He just really doesn’t like Others.  As I have mentioned.  Probably in at least nineteen other posts.  Because my effing cat is all I can seem to talk about.  Cripe.

He’s petrified of my grandfather.  Hides under the couch at the mere sound of his voice.  He hissed at my uncle today because Unc looked at Kitty.  Didn’t even reach out for a pet.  Just a look.  So I guess that IM not so much in an abusive relationship with Mr.  It’s just that I’m putting those I love in an inadvertant abusive relationship with him.

Kitty never particularly cared for Former Boyfriend, and while I took that as jealously, hindsight allows me to see it for what it really was:  Good Sense.

Holden has made a new friend this year.  A little Korean boy whose mother is here on a visiting scholar thing at our local university.  Tonite, Frederick is over for a sleepover, and Kitty has done nothing but stalk this kid, slinking in dark corners, apparently hoping to get a piece of him.  And, succeed in this task so Kitty did.  Bit poor Freddie on that skin between your thumb and forefinger?  Ouch.  We are making a terribly good impression on our visitors, aren’t we Cat?

I’m glad Holden’s little buddy is so good-natured, or we may have had a problem.  This was his first American sleepover and he was viciously attacked by an evil black cat.  With no tail to boot!

Yet, this is the same cat, who night after night, kneads the pillow beneath my head until he is perfectly sure that it is comfortable enough for him to lay down and simultaneously purr and headbutt me endlessly while I purr and pet him until we are both tired and full up with our love for each other that we fall asleep with his head buried in my hair and my arm wrapped tightly around him.  Thats love my friends.

…Jesus, Mary and Joseph.  I need a date.  preferably one without claws.

A Tail of Two Kitties

I know I’ve neglected this blog and it’s because I’ve been busy Getting a Divorce, a New Boyfriend, a New (old) House, and breaking up with said New Boyfriend.  More on said New House later.

When we moved home whenever it was that we moved home, my father got us a kitten.  His name is Gregory Allen.  He is a manx, so he has this little stub of a tail, and he is all jet black.  He is as slender as Kiera Knightley, and he hates everyone.  Except me.  He loves him some me.  And, I in turn love him just slightly shy of how much I love my son.  Some days I love the cat more.

We went to great pains naming this cat, yet we call him Kitty.  It’s not like he comes when we call him or anything.  We could’ve named him Booger.  Wouldn’t have mattered.  But we call him Kitty, nevertheless.

About a year after we moved to the basement Cottage of my family home, my dad picked up a rat of a kitten who looked like she needed to be loved.  And, like so many other Things My Dad Picks Up, the kitten was immediately neglected.  Well, okay, maybe not neglected, but definitely not loved the way a kitty is supposed to be loved.

~This is how you love a cat: When it purrrrs, you purrrr back.  When it wants to rub his face all over your person, you let it, because you want the cat to know you love it. 

~This is how you don’t love a cat:  When it wants to play, you lock it in the bathroom because its “buggin’ the shit outta” you.

So, when my dad bought a house Up North, we obviously couldn’t let him take the cat with him.  So we took her in like the little orphan we knew she’d end up being.

My dad named her Pepper.  Which is a stupid name for a cat.  I’m sorry if your cat’s name is Pepper, but I will not change my mind.  Holden and I immediately renamed her Talulah Milwaukee’s Best Buttercup Peapod.  We had every intention of calling her Lulah, but, you know….we call her Kitty.  Since sometimes calling two cats Kitty doesn’t really differentiate betwixt the two, we call them Mr. and Mrs. because, of course they are married, and not living in sin.

Mrs. is white as snow (thusly, Pepper…der!) and she’s not very bright at all, but don’t say that to Holden because it will make him cry that you called his cat mentally impaired.  Mrs. has a tail that goes for miles like a piece of white silk ribbon comin’ out of her butt.  She uses that tail to tell Mr. that she isn’t interested, thank you very much, and swat! in the face, Mr.

Mrs. loves everyone, and this is good for Holden.  Since she isn’t the brightest bulb on the string of Christmas lights, she lets him pick her up with her front hunched over the crook in his arm, and her backside just dangling in the wind as he bobs along doing whatever unnecessary thing he’s doing.  Mr. knows better.  He takes one look at that kid, and says, “O hell know, buddy.  You do not need me in your arm while you are looking for your tennis shoes.  You’ll do very well without me.”  And, scram! he’s gone inaflash to hide under the sofa.

But, not the closet.  No, he won’t be hiding in the closet anymore.  Not since I inadvertently locked him in there for Lord knows how long.  To make matters worse, I called and called him for Lord knows how long, not thinking anything of it, since he doesn’t come when he’s called in the first place!

People who don’t have cats just cannot understand this kind of love.  People often think of cats as snooty and self reliant on account of the fact that they disappear when you have company.  This is not the case, Cat-not-likers!  Our cats just don’t like you.  That’s why they go away when you are over.  They hate your stinkin’ guts, and cannot figure out for the life of them why we keep your company. 

Well, except for Mrs.  She loves you anyway.  But, then again?  She ain’t too bright…

Happy Thanksgiving

There are not enough words to describe how I have hated seeing the header of my last post.  However, I could not bear to write.  I just didn’t have the words to say.  Lots of things going on.  Lots of things to write about.  Just no umph.  I’d get here and be like all blah blah crapblah.

Of course I’ve spent the last eleventy hundred years over at Erin’s post reading her latest epic.  Erin, I’m sorry, but for some reason I cannot link to you.  I think its this computer.  She’s at thehouseandi.blogspot.com.

Church Boy and I are still dating.  Six months, holler.  There are tons of things that are extremely enjoyable about dating CB.  None of which I will go into here.  Mixed company.  Enjoy your imagination.

Holden is doing very well.  He’s getting A’s in everything except science.  We had a rocky start and are playing catch-up.  But, who gives a frig, I’ll tell you.  He’s still taking piano lessons.  He’s joined 5th grade strings – violin.  He’s in the Drama Club.  He’s taking Saturday art classes at Michigan State University.  The kid’s a monster genius and no one is going to tell me any different.

My boss asked me what I was doing for Thanksgiving.  I said I was going to my Gramma’s.  “You know,” I said, “going upstairs.”

I like living here though.  I love my Cottage.  I painted a wall orange.  Like the perfume Happy – that box?  It’s that color.  And, it DOES make me happy.  Everytime I walk downstairs and walk into my Cottage, I smile!

We are Happy.

The other night I was reading Holden his little devotion that we do before bedtime.  It was about life’s ups and downs and how God is always there for you.  I figured this would be the perfect opportunity to talk about the divorce!  That if he had to say anything THIS would be the time.  At the end they ask is YOU are having any ups and downs in your life right now.  He says, “Yeah…” and shakes his little head forlornly like.  I said, “What, buddy?  You can tell me anything!”  He says, “My loose molar is really bringing me down right now.”

He was dead serious.

These are the issues that bring him down.  I will not lie to you: I immediately thought, We Are The BEST PARENTS EVER!

We are.

Holden and I coerced CB to come see New Moon with us on Friday 11/20.  Holden was so geeked about seeing this film on its OPENING DAY that we could barely keep him in his seat.  We got there an hour before the show so that we could be the FIRST ones in line.  I was so pleased that I could give this kid a pleasure that was so simple.  He is such an easygoing dude.  He loved it, of course, and is half-way thru the book.  Again.

I had gone with my girlfriends to the midnight show.  I’d never done that before.  It was almost as exciting as seeing Justin Timberlake in concert.  I’m not even lying.  I was effing stoked.  And, it was what it was.  I didn’t have high expectations.  Twilight, really, wasn’t that good.  The books REALLY weren’t that great.  Yet I am in a total choke hold.  I am beholden to this fad.

The thing about this movie is this:  Jacob.

I was never on Team Jacob.  I am an Edward girl all the way.  I mean, really?  Vampires are Hot.

But when Edward takes his shirt off, though he sparkles in the sun, there just isn’t much there.  I mean he’s built an all.  But, he’s a skinny built guy.

Jacob?  Holy crap.  It was like porn for me.  The kid had his shirt off for almost the whole movie and was I ever grateful.

After the show, my girlfriend’s and I stood around (at 2:45 a.m.) and kibitzed about the movie.  They said how they were a little disappointed in the story line and the stuff they changed from the book…

I was like, “Storyline? Wha??  I quit thinking after that dude took his shirt off!”  Those abs changed the whole landscape of the movie for me.  It stopped being a love story and started being a lust story.  Mine.  And, you know?  Whatever, okay?  I know he’s like 16 or whatever.  Suck it.  God made him that way, and God let him be in that movie.  And, God let him take his shirt off.  And, God let me look.

On this Thanksgiving Day when we sit around the table and say the three things we are thankful for, I’m not going to be the least sorry when I say, “Wherewolf abs.”

Happy Thanksgiving, Friends!

Some Very Randomness, and also the Infection in my Bladder

Church Boy and I went up North last weekend.  If  you are from Michigan, Up North is the place to be.  Especially in the Summertime.  Windy roads, trees all over, hills, water, sand dunes.   Love it.

We went Up There because my Totall BFF’s husband is a competitive canoeist and last weekend was the Au Sable Marathon.  Race starts at 9 pm on Saturday night and finishes around noonish on Sunday.  Those dudes are canoeing for 15 hours.  They pee on themselves.  Its disgusting, really.

Church Boy had never been to a race before and I hadn’t been in about 19 years (that was when my Total Bff’s husband was still dating my Total Bff’s sister.  We put the “fun” in dysfunction!!)

There are many stop points along the river and you follow the race all through the night.  Well, some people do.  CB and I followed til about 11 pm and then met up with them again at 9 am Sunday.

We had so much fun!  Even though we were tent camping and it rained on and off the whole weekend…it was a lot of fun. 

Sucky part?  Soon as I get home I’m all like, Hey…it hurts to pee.  So I go to the Dr. and I have a bladder infection.  My neice, Chloe, asked how I got it.  I told her I went potty in so many gross portapotties this weekend, who knows what crawled up there and died.  Grr.  And also?  Ow.

Speaking of crawling up there and dying…my sister Rachael used to Blog.  Remember, Rach?  I was just re-reading her posts, and you should too, cuz she’s funny.  And touching (like Josh Grobin.  Not like Michael Jackson)(and don’t give me any shit about that MJ dig.  I love Thriller, okay?)  And, she loves me.  She’s on my list right there on the side.  She’s my Sister Girl.

My son recently had this conversation with me:

He:  Can you keep a secret?
Me:  Mayyyybeeeee

aside: you see how well I’m keeping that secret, World Wide Web?  Tell me yours!!

He:  I think Daddy likes That Homewrecking Whore.

aside:  ‘cept he called her by her name.

Me:  Oh yeah?  What makes you think that?
He:  They text NON STOP, and it isn’t about work.

aside:  oh yeah….they work together.  She’s his assistant!  Der!  Who doesn’t want to get a divorce when they can schtoop their secretary instead!!

Me:  Buddy, don’t read your dad’s texts.
He:  Oh I’m not.  But sometimes, when I’m playing Pocket God on Dad’s iphone, she pops up, so I just scroll down to see how many times she’s texted him.
Me:  Dude.  Do NOT read your dad’s texts.
He:  I’m SO not!
He:  It will be really hard for them if they get married!
Me:  Why’s that?
He:  Well, they WORK together!  I mean, that would be taking “til death do us part” to a whole nother level!
Me:  Why?
He:  Well, because if you live together and work together, death IS the only time you get apart!!

I told him not to worry because daddy really doesn’t take those vows very seriously that YES, that would be really hard!

Another:

He:  I like Church Boy, but I’m just never going to be able to have an alleged conversation about Faeries with him…
Me:  Why’s that?
He:  Well, because I don’t think he really believes like you do.
Me:  Can you have an alleged conversation about Faeries with daddy?
He:  (look of aghastedness)NO!  I don’t even mention them in the house…

Everyday, I am thankful for such a well adjusted child.

I’ve been sitting here through this whole post, dreading what is coming next…I have to go to the bathroom.
Grr.  And also?  Ow.

All the Things I Love to Put in My Mouth

(That title is for you, Missy Lou!!)

I like to eat.  I mean, I LERVE to eat.  Love it.  Its really my favorite thing to do.  On a rainy day?  Eat.  On a sunny day?  Eat.  Windy?  Food.  When I’m sad, I eat.  Also, when I’m happy.  

I also love to read cookbooks.  Right now I’m reading Orangette’s Book , and it really is mouthwateringly witty.  Fo Sho.  One night, I just went thru it and read all the delicious recipes to Church Boy.  He likes to eat too.  I can’t wait to have a proper kitchen again (someday…sigh…) so that I can prepare some food stuffs.  Specifically some Butternut Squash Soup.  It has pears in it.  I am happy just thinking about it.  That’s what we are going to be someday, Church Boy and I; Fat and Happy.  He doesn’t see the problem with this.  I said well, I want to be Happy then.  He says fine.  I say, well I don’t want YOU to be Fat either.  (Though, really?  I don’t think I’ll need to worry about that.  He’s a runner.  Have I mentioned his ass?  Gah.)  (Oh and he also lifts weights.  Squats, even.  Squats weights in excess of a whole me.  Gah, and Oh!)

So, yeah, eating and being a general generic foodie is really my passion.  I’ve eaten lots of yummy things, and I thought that it would only be fair that I share the Yummy Things I’ve Eaten with you.

Bar None THE Yummiest of Things I’ve Eaten

Several years ago in Chicago, my sister in law, Vanessa, took us to brunch at a little place called The Bongo Room.  I had french toast.  I know:  woo hoo.  But this was no ordinary breakfast fare.  It was French TOAST!!!!!

It was thick french bread.  Baked to perfection.  With ripe bananas, crunchy pecans, light and fluffy toffee butter and rich, delicious maple syrup.  And, it was a healthy serving, too.  But, don’t worry, I finished it all.

The beautiful part of this meal was the toffee butter.  I don’t know how they did it.  It was, as I mentioned, light and fluffy.  Real butter.  With toffee in it.  Whoduthunk?

I have tried, for five years, to replicate this recipe.  I have come close, but not even touched upon this breakfast’s wonderment.  I can’t get the butter right.  Good Lord on Friday, that was good!  I can taste it right now.   Yummyumyummy.  Yum. 

The next time I visited Ness, I asked that we Brunch at Bongo.  We did.  My mouth was watering.  Literally.  Spittle was running down my chin.  We were seated.  We were menu’d.  Then, the saddest thing ever happened:  The dish was no longer on the menu.

I’m sure I had something good instead, but I’ll be damned if I remember what the hell it was…

The Second Yummiest Thing I Have Put into my Piehole

Again.  Chicago.  I think all of the Tasty Treats I’ve eaten come straight from the belly of ChiTown.  Also, again with the brunch, and again with the french toast.  The restaurant was Feast. 

These trendy restaurants are always my favorites.  Also, and diner with one name is going to be good.  Also, places that only seat about fourteen people, are the best.  I don’t know how we didn’t have to wait in line, but we got right in!  (And, also?  It seats more than fourteen people.  I was exaggerating.)

This one was made with challah.  It had some berry compote and cream running all over it.   It was so sweet.  And, also, creamy.  And perfect.  And tasty.  And delicious.  And yummy.  So so yummy.

There was no point in trying to recreate this delicacy.  I don’t even want to.  I couldn’t.  I don’t want to disappoint my own self, and undoubtedly, I would. 

I will just cherish it in my head.  Cuz, if I ever get to Feast again, it prolly won’t be on the menu.

And, Thirdly?  More of the Same

Chicago.  June, 2009.  The place: Meli’s Diner in Greektown.  Brunch.  This time, with no husband in tow, I was on a budget.  Typically, I wouldn’t go spending a trillion dollars on breakfast, what, with a H&M so very close, but it had to be done.  When I saw the item (first thing listed on menu) I knew we were meant to be together.  Even if for a short time.

This meal, like every other wonderful meal in Chicago I have eaten, was a chef’s special. 

It was an omelet.  So very fluffy-like.  It was filled with pancetta, goat cheese, and scallions.  The clincher, my friends was this ingredient:  Figs.  Fresh ones.

You may think it sounds like it wouldn’t go together…but whenever I took a bite with a fig in it, the little fig seeds exploded in my mouth with a burst of sweetness, mixed with the tangy flavor of the goat cheese, mixed with the gorgeousness of the pancetta, and the bitiness of the scallion, OH HOLY GRACIOUS!  SO GOODY GOOD!

Other Things That Rank Close

My friend Shawnie makes the most delicious guacamole.  She uses cream cheese, which makes it extra creamy.  If its not at her house when I am?  I take it as a personal affront.  Like she’s on purpose trying to hurt me in my feelings.

Church Boy and I went to Chicago a couple weeks ago and had hot dogs at some little hole in the wall place called Jean and Jude’s.  No sitting, and there are just the bare bones as far as toppings.  Mustard, ketchup, relish and peppers (I nixed the peppers.  Gross!)  The best part is that they top the dog off with fries.  I got a single and it was something like $2.50.  Cheap and delicious.  My fave!

My Gramma makes THE BEST lasagna I’ve ever had.  Cheese Ey.  So delish!  Its perfect.  I’m always for a cheesy dish.  I love  pasta, but could always do without all the meat.  Too many people focus on the ground burger or sausage or whatever other meat they put into the sauce, but I think in any pasta dish it’s the cheese that counts.  Lots of ricotta, mozarella, and cottage cheeses.   Its also one of those familial recipes that gets passed down, and I have yet to get it right.  My lasagna is good, but Gramma’s is divine!

My girlfriends told me about this pizza place in GodForsaken Egypt.  Church Boy and I were suppose to go hiking, but it was raining.  So you know…instead of exercise, we eat pizza.  Took us forever, but we located the yum yum.  Not in Chicago, but Chicago style stuffed pizza.  Holy Moly.  For being in the country in the middle of Nowhere this pizza was probably the best I’ve ever had.  Anywhere.  Ever.

The bottom of the crust was crispy and greasy.  The top of the crust was like a breadstick.  The middle was filled with meat, and the mozarrella was plentiful and gooey.  Whenever you took a piece the cheese pulled til you had to cut it with a knife to release its cheesy grip.  And, it wasn’t wet like most stuffed pizzas are.  It was a BFE Pizza miracle.

Hungry yet?  I am!

Fat and Happy…

I call Happy!

This is me when I look happy

I’m not really a blamer.  I think you make your own happiness, and I think for the most part, you make your own sadness, too.

So I don’t really like to put my Happy or my Sad on another person.  Even when the sad is that a person has been with you for eleven years, you have a son together, and after a mere 31/2 years of marriage, that person decides that, Meh, this just ain’t what I want.

I think that’s an opportunity to reinvent yourself.  Now, don’t get me wrong…I was sad.  Bereft.  Without consolation.  For a while.  Then you know?  I got over it.  Me.  I did that.  Well, me and God.  Sometimes a Plan cannot reveal itself to you until you are willing and ready to see it.

Gabe is a wonderful dad.  He is a super great dad, even.  But, husbandry is not something he was cut out to do.  I don’t think he’ll ever be cut out for it.  But, that’s not my fault.  I did things wrong, too.  It is what it is.

What’s a few cuts and bruises along the way?  Right?  Makes life interesting.

So, I don’t blame Gabe for my Sad.  I can see now, that it wasn’t really where I wanted, or needed, to be.

But, if blame must be appointed, then I will give Gabe this:  He is totally responsible for my Happy.  For, without having been left by my husband, I would not have  been able to fall totally in love with this Boy from my church.

Here is the point in the post where I am going to go on and on about boys.  I may gush…don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I was totally devoted to my husband.  That’s the way it should be.  Oh, now I love me some Zac Efron, and also a little Ryan Gosling, not gonna lie.  But they aren’t Real People, so they don’t count.  When I was married, I only had Real Eyes for my Real Husband.

But, as soon as I moved out, and found myself in the loving arms of my Grandparents; a place where I am finally totally At Home, and Very, Very Content, all the sudden, out of the woodwork, there were boys.  Huh.  I really very like boys, muchly!

And, so here we are: newly single.  But, in the back of my head I’m always saying to myself, “yeah…but you are divorced!  you have a kid!  Its never gonna happen…sorry bout yer luck, Pretty.”

Then this magical thing happened.  I met this guy.  Well, I mean, I’ve known him for quite some time, as he goes to my church, but we got put on the same Sunday School team, so once a month we were forced into each other’s company.

And, I find this guy Really Hot.  He is My Cup Of Tea.

But, you know…I’m divorced, and have a kid.  And, also?  I’m a bit older than he.  So, yeah…that’s never going to happen.

I spend time in the classroom with this guy, and he is hilarious!  He cracks me up.  We chat.  We laugh.  We talk church.  He is great!  We are friends.

Its so nice Being Friends with a Christian Guy.  Gabe and I are just now, after 11 years, figuring out how to be Friends.  And, I’m no religious zealot, but I love me some God, kay?  The other place I feel totally at home in is my church, and it pained me every day that Gabe and I weren’t able to share that.  So it was just super nice to have a boy to talk to about the stuff that happened at church – to bounce information off of.

And, the Boy is very knowlegable, too, Faith-wise.  So that’s cool.  And, I like being friends with him, but see now?  Now I’ve developed this crush.  I mean, I am now in LOOOOOVE with this guy’s faith.  And, also,  his ass is really great.

But, you know…I’m divorced.  And, a mom.  And and old lady.

But, we’re friends, and that’s cool.

But, I love him.

So I tell my Gramma, “Listen.  This is ridiculous.  I no longer have a crush on the Boy.” And, Gramma says, “Okaaaay.”

But, I do.  And everyone knows it too.  My friends, I mean.  I dubbed him Church Boy.  As in, “Man, Church Boy is surely hot.” And, “I am absolutely smitten with Church Boy.”

And-this is where God is teaching me patience- because our friendship grew into a mutual crush, and to make a long story short (too late!) we are dating.

We are an item.

Jenny has a boyfriend!

And, this man?  This Boy from my Church?

Gah, okay.

This is what I have been waiting for.  THIS.  I never knew THIS is what love felt like.  Because you know why?  Love wants YOU to be happy, too.  Love wants YOU to smile.  Love wants to do nice things for YOU.  Love calls you Precious.  Love says this is Special.  Love says you are beautiful.  Love thinks that the fact that you are someones Mommy is Very Sweet.  Love wants YOU to be Godly if that’s what you are after.  Really?  Love is not that much Work.  And, I mean hard labor work.  I can honestly say that I never knew that.

I always thought Love was YOU making sure someone else was happy while YOU sit and suffer silently, because, well, you got yourself into this mess, so in the words of Tim Gunn, “Make it Work!”

I was wrong.

So, while not everybody is going to Get this relationship, frankly, I don’t give a crap.  This is good for me, and you know what?  I deserve a little Happy.

I mean, it took him a little while, but finally, I can blame Gabe for my Happy.

Whoduthunk?

My son has a potty mouth

My neice, Maya, comes in from the backyard yelling, “Holden said a naughty word!!”   I ask if it was “shit”.  She says “yes”.  Holden comes in trailing on her heels saying, “NO I DIDN’T SAY THAT!  I said the Eff Word!”

Well, oh.  Der.

Some kids were calling him names and quite honestly, the damn kids had it coming to him.  I kinda wish he’d have cocked his arm back and nailed the vile little creatures in the mouth!  Instead, he calls then Effing Idiots.

Which, okay…don’t say that, okay buddy?  Come get your mom, and I will inihilate them.  With my fury.  And, also, my fists!

Then the other day we were wrastlin’ around and I landed on him.  He grabs his leg, writhing in pain and says, “Holy Shit!”

I looked at him that way, and the writhing stopped immediately.  He knew what was coming.  I told him if he couldn’t control his potty mouth then I was gonna buy a bar of soap.  Cure this the old fashioned Christmas Story way.  That’d teach him.

But the thing is this: he told me.  He said it In Front Of Me.  To my face.  He’s not sneaking off and swearing at school.  He’s keepin’ it in the family.  So while I want this language to stop, and while I make a point of not swearing in front of him at all, I’m very happy that he’s honest and willing to bear the consequences from me because he knows that I lack any kind of punishment skills whatsoever I love him regardless.

This led to a deep discussion with Gabe (formerly Big Hands, currently Ex-Husband Who No Longer Deserves a Kitschy Nick Name) about our new roles as Parents Parenting a Child in Two Different Homes.

This is not gonna be easy.  We have different ways.  Ways that made sense when we were together, as we balanced each other, but now are things that just make you wonder if you are Doing It Right.

We are.  We will.  This will work because we will make it work.  Because it is different now, and because we will have to compensate for each other.  Even when we are only one phone call away.

Holden will swear.  He’ll probably rage sometimes, too.  But, really?  He’d probably do that if we all lived under the same roof.  It’s neither of our faults that he swore.  His potty mouth has little to do with how we are raising him.  I don’t know where it came from, but I doubt its because his parents are divorced and he has a black hole in his heart.

Who knows where these kids come up with stuff…

They have their own fucking little minds, and shit’s just gonna spout out of it some times, right?  Get off their asses!