How I met your father

I was working at a pet product company in California.

In walks this scrawny guy.  The “new hire”.

We shared a wall.

And eventually childhood stories.

Turned out?  Our fathers knew each other.  And they had worked together at the same company…huh.

He called me one Saturday to ask if I would help him get his one piece of furniture to his apartment.  From Ikea.  It was a flip down sofa that would become his bed.

I went.  I helped him get it into his apartment, we hung out.

And the rest is history.

Nope.  Not that simple.

We became friends.  And then we became best friends.

And we hung out all the time.

And then we hung out more.

And then I tried to hook him up with one of my friends.

And neither was interested in the other.

And we were still best friends.  When we weren’t together, we were usually on the phone with one another.

And then, one day when he was napping on my bed while I watched a movie in my family room.  I snuck into my bed and lay down next to him.

And he woke up with a slow smile and kissed me.

And the rest is history…

Only that’s not the end of our beginning story either.

We dated happily for a few months of blissful love based on friendship.  Then the company we both worked for announced they were moving, to Texas.

We broke up.  Because he wasn’t sure if he was ready to commit to me.

We continued to be best friends.  somehow.

And then he got over himself and realized that I was everything he always wanted and we got back together.

Also not the end.

We moved in together.  Yay!  Happiness at last.

And about three months later he was offered a transfer.  That he accepted without talking to me about it first.

Holy hell did we fight.

Ugliness.  And more ugliness.

And then that other hateful u word “ultimatum”.

Let’s just say we moved together.  Him with his Ikea couch and me with my shiny new diamond ring.

And that is the end of our beginning story…

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Random thoughts on a Friday

I am woman, watch me cry

I just finished Bossy Pants.  And found myself getting sobby over her whole chapter on being a working mom. She writes about a book on working moms that her daughter brings home and her feelings on the content and concepts of this book.

My reaction to this story told me two things:

1. the folks that decided the working mom’s job was “witch” are obviously assholes

2. I was about to get my period.

 


Just drink it straight from the bottle
, who needs a mixer?

I have just discovered the joy of listening to books.  It’s kind of like going from snorting to shooting.

As in my addiction is getting out of hand.

In the past month I have listened to some kick-ass comedy though.

David Sedaris, Live at Carnegie Hall

Jenny Lawson, Let’s Pretend this Never Happened

And of course, Bossy Pants (Tina Fey).

I find that the short “snippet” books are best for me on my ride to and from work.

Actual books suck me in and leave me loathe to get out of my car and go into work.

The completely wrong impulse for the end of  my work commute, really.

Dancing in the Minefields, great song on it’s own, by the way

On Mother’s Day I danced in the living room with my 3 year old in my arms and cried as I thought “this will be our song at his wedding” and then quickly remembered I sill can’t plan that far ahead.

It was the over the rainbow mix by Straight No Chaser.

I know this only because I had Pandora streaming through my TV and the artist displayed.

I will either love that song deeply for the rest of my life.  Or despise it.

And that is my life at the moment.

It takes a village, or in my case, a thriving metropolis

Last night in a stunning display of my inability to plan for anything I mixed up the dates and couldn’t make a fundraising event for my mom’s group.

This resulted in my having yummy meals delivered to me by a wonderful woman (who was sweet enough to not only come by with my meals but to take a tour of our new camper and exclaim with delight at the prospect).

My husband reflected after she left, ” wow, it was good to see her.  I think it’s been, what? four years?”

And I was struck dumb by how fucking fast life moves.

 

The absurdity of the truth, I can’t handle the truth

Summer is coming and we bought a camper! Yay!  Yay! Yay?

As school winds down and I look at the calendar I realize that this will not in fact be our “year of the camper”.

Because this year I have a family reunion in GA.  A beach house for a week in Virginia and a trip with my husband to Annapolis.

All good things. So, for now the  camper will wait.

Next summer will be the summer of the camper.

I can’t wait.

Reunification, watered down, but still as tasty

Heading down to GA to see my kin.

It will be fun, and fast and fairly lame.  All that family reunions should be.

I am taking only my bigger two.  Logistical reasons only.

I do feel like it sends the wrong message that I am leaving the “foster kids” at home.

But I am also leaving my husband behind.

And much like them,  I have every intention of keeping him.

I just can’t justify flying them to GA for a day and a half of fun and merriment (read: a “picnic” and dinner at an “active senior center”.)

yeah, not worth shelling out that much in airline tickets.

But I will sad not to have the whole brood in effect.

 

Because she said so, and she is always right, dammit

My eldest is coming into her own.

And I mean that in a good way.  She has spunk (read: my bitchy side) and compassion (read:her dad’s side) and a good sense of humor (that could come from either side, really)

And she is ready for the birds and the bees talk.  The real one.  With real words.

And amazingly I find that I am ready too.  (We are both maturing so nicely.)

What I am not ready for is how my message will be translated to her 6 year old brother.

And it will.

So, to all the mom’s of kindergartners in my son’s school — I am sorry.

I could wait til summer vacation – but, then you’d have nothing to add to your end of the year frenzy.

And where’s the fun in that?