Making Inferences

I’ve been on stage before.  I was one of those kids that loved theater and the warmth of a blinding spotlight.  I would have wanted you to watch me because the attention feels good.  I get it in other ways now and the need to be watched isn’t nearly as great as my need to be read (both words and who I am). In theater, you learn your lines and deliver them, but you also have to understand what is being said so that you can show your audience what the writer tried to tell you.  You have to dig into your own experiences and pull a character out of who you are as a person. You have to read the situation around you and be able to react in a way that is meaningful so that the audience doesn’t just see you as an inviting smile with great gams and a nice rack. There was so much to watch and learn from in the wings.  By the time your lines are learned, you stand and watch your contemporaries deliver their lines and there is beauty in their interpretation of the human experience that is relived through rehearsals and pushes past boredom. As a student, I enjoyed being able to skim through the reading or not do it at all, and still jump into the conversation because the discussion always leads you to the important things that I would pay attention to in my subsequent and close readings. I would highlight what was read in class, then scribble notes in the margins and pay closer attention to making connections to that on my own for the final or a paper later. It taught me to listen for details to reach out for and tease out.  Literature is about writing something that is universally appealing.  It’s about listening for what I can touch in my own life and tease it out with how I feel about it.  Getting my first scholarship was an amazing feeling, and relying on the template of that first 10-minute essay, I fleshed out what seemed relevant and got 5 more scholarships before graduation.

As a Mom it became really easy to see what my kids needed before they had to tell me.  I could tell which cry was thirst or what discomfort sounds like.  There was a cry for fear and one for pain.  It later became a game for nonverbal (at the time) autistic kids.  They would point or grunt and I would respond like a trained monkey.  Are you thirsty? Are you hungry? Are you tired? When I was taught to make them work so others could offer the care I felt only I was capable of, I began to ask them to use their words.  I’m glad that language was eventually something that emerged around age 5 and 6, but it was slow and difficult.  Some people remain mute, and I was told early on that my kids were being mute by choice.  I know better now, having met some remarkable children that communicate through tablets, but I will always appreciate words.  They tell me what is being said, but more than that, they clue me in to look for fears, doubts, insecurities and games.

When I meet people, I’m making every effort to read into things, while simultaneously telling myself to just go with it and take baby steps.  I feel like I need company that is better than being alone and I’m pretty amazing alone.  I’ve had both long term and short lived romances and friendships.  I watch closely for patterns and details I can read into.  I want to know what is familiar and why it’s familiar.  I want to see what is being said and how much of it is truth and what part is a boundary for both of us. Will this friend ask me to join in shenanigans and will I want to?  Will they need help because responsibility is a dirty word?   I look at when I'm contacted and what made them think of me.  Is it need, desire, loneliness or a memory that made them smile? I want to see if they notice when my calls slow down.  Connections shouldn't have motives, but I'm always looking for them and really intrigued when I can't see or feel and know.

Life is about the big questions and the little details. I wonder what makes a person decide the risk is worth the gamble, and at which point the cost is no longer worth the barter. For me it's about curiosity. Once I've been satisfied I may decide I'm content with what I've learned. I may decide that first taste isn't enough and I need a full belly with an exhausted taste palate.

Before My Day Started

Her words flow like a balm but land on me like drying honey. Sticky memories and untethered thoughts flood and flow like water on a dessicated sponge. Springing vibrantly from her tender remorse, her sponge renews disgust with the stench of what has died. She's late to the game and needs to rehash, relive, catch the rebound and make it her layup but I was never part of the team and I no longer want to play or cheer on a losing team.

Renewed rejection prickles and itches and my scratch is opening sealed wounds. I'm digging past the edges of a healed scab into flowing blood that was a series of superficial scrapes the first time.

My First Grunion Run

I've lived here my whole life and for months I've been planning my very first grunion run.  Grunion are small fish that spawn along Southern California beaches right around the full moon.  They spawn for about four days in the sand along the shore. I've never seen it before and I've heard it's pretty amazing. I took my usual route from work to the Pacific Ocean.  The day was warm and beautiful in Burbank, but once I started driving through Brentwood, the marine layer was visible.  It was dense and I knew there was no way I'd get a beautiful sunset, so I walked to the Promenade for dinner.  On my way back to the pier, there were a few boys walking behind me and cat calling me.  It's been years since I was treated like an adolescent and not someone's mom, so I ignored it and laughed to myself a little.

In hindsight, the problem was because I was ignoring them.  My music is loud and generally enough to dissuade anyone that hasn't made eye contact, but they were persistent enough to act like monkeys  around me. I was having a kid free night and not in the mood to mother someone else's kids, so I ignored their friendliness and allowed it to become mocking aggression and cat calls that are supposed to make me feel flattered because sometimes men don't know any better.  I generally do know what I look like and didn't need the description through their eyes, as amusing as it might have been for them.

Ideally, grunion like darker beaches with fewer people, but my beach trips are solo trips and for safety, I figured a more populated beach with ferris wheel lighting would be best.  I had about an hour until the run window started at 10:22 so I swapped my purse for my folding chair that is at home in my trunk and started across the sand.  I actually keep a high and low tide calendar in the car. The farther away from the ferris wheel I walked, there were more couples dotting the sand like a minefield of "get a room."  I was excited about fish porn, not people porn.

I found a quiet spot and sat in my chair with music in my ears and singing loudly enough to the ocean that people within earshot probably thought I was drunk or crazy.  As high tide began to reach toward me, I jumped up at least three times, laughing that I was able to run away from water.  (It's the little things.)  I was also chatting with a guy that didn't work out into anything more than friendship.  He's fun to keep around because he keeps me laughing. We texted about the fact that I didn't bring extra clothes and wet denim is uncomfortable.  I considered the idea of driving in my underwear but I haven't done that since I was a teenager and I wouldn't want to have to explain that to a police officer. I'm not sure I could still get out of a ticket. I'm also not sure if it's illegal. I once had a friendship with a cop that showed me crack wrapped up in tissue paper and told me that peeling labels off of beer bottles or nail biting were signs of sexual frustration.  I don't remember why that friendship didn't last, but I think I still came out the winner.

At some point, another family threw their shoes in the sand in front of me and started running in and out of the ocean.  While ocean kissed night air is cold, ocean water gets warmer the moment the sun sets.  I decided I wasn't in the mood to borrow someone else's kids on my kid free night (I might skip Finding Dory this weekend) and I wasn't happy with what the humidity was doing to my hair.  I decided to leave.

As I was leaving, I thought about the idea that I got skunked and didn't get to watch fish spawning.  Part of it was because I left early.  Part of leaving early was remembering the many times I sat quietly with baited hooks and wanted the fish to come but watched falling stars along rocky shores in Big Bear until dawn broke over me in the east with a painful chill that ran from the sun and through my body. The stars made the cold worth it.  There was too much light pollution and too many low lying clouds to see anything worth staying for.  I wanted to watch fish porn but I was avoiding danger and it made the night a silly but wasted effort.

I'm not giving up on it but it's like dating.  There has to be something good enough to make up for the possibility of getting skunked.  The conversation has to be good enough. If I'm going to humidify my hairdo to death, there should at least be a bonfire to make the hair washing necessary and worthwhile.  Maybe I'll plan another trip and bring Sparky, my pink stun gun. Nothing says, "I love you daughter," like a stun gun powerful enough to make a grown man pee on himself.  It's in a drawer and needs to be charged.  It doubles as a flashlight because Dad thinks of everything.

On my way home, my mood was lightened and I was back to singing too loudly and driving too fast.  There was a car that pulled up alongside me.  I can see how weaving through traffic in my car could make me look like I borrowed my Mom's 2016 Camry.  There's a faded autism awareness magnet in the back and my kid's handicap placard is always hanging from the rearview mirror.  Kid1 and Kid2 have them and they're not physically handicapped, but they had runner tendencies and a really cute and sympathetic (to me) doctor.  The driver last night caught up to me, slipped into neutral to rev his engine and wanted to race me.  I mean, I was changing lanes but it was more like the boat like moves of a 1990 Cadillac Fleetwood.  I wasn't weaving through cars to see how close I could get before creative became reckless and then stupid. I gave up frat boys with dropped cars and mufflers that announced their arrival in Rice Rockets with after market modifications when I traded those drivers for the man that drove a 1967 Chevy Nova.  My Dad still has his 1969 Chevy Nova.  I'll leave that right there and trust you to make the connections I couldn't see in 2000.  Back to last night . . . that's when I started laughing at him and slowed down.

I've had some really silly highs and felt like a 12 year old in a good way over the last couple of days.  In the last few months, I've been told I could pass as a 25 year old.  On my way home, I felt like that age is dropping.  There is something to be said about uncontrollable smiles and silliness.  It was a night full of laughter and I am oddly satisfied with the way my day went.

To recap: Yay for grunion runs that become plans for a bonfire and quieter beaches with my stun gun.

Mother of My Othered

When individuals or groups make connections based on setting aside a group as intrinsically different, we've othered them and the cost is being paid in shootings and suicides that we are forced to compensate with loss and cultural anomie. We have done this based on race, sexual orientation, gender, disability and any other thing that could make one person believe they deserve more than the person next to them.  I do my best to keep an open mind and love each person because they are a person and that is enough.  I can't think of a group I'd discriminate against except maybe rapists . . . the irony sounds like, "they were asking for it." (And yet I will objectify random men with errant fantasies because I can.  Don't ask me to justify it.  I can't.  I won't.)

About six weeks ago my middle (autistic) son had a meltdown.  Meltdowns happen, but this one was bad and there wasn't much peace I could offer him.  I'll drop it on you, but you might need a minute afterward.  I did.

He was having a hard time with math and decided he would never be able to get a job to support himself.  It occurred to him that one day his parents would die and there would be no one to take care of him.

At 13, my child has absorbed the idea that he is disabled and can't take care of himself.  It is right in front of him and all around him.  He is sensitive and sweet but he's also aware of what others say and has no way to protect himself from the fears of what could be because tomorrow is uncertain and he is aware that he is different.  He knows that he's been othered by strangers and loved ones alike.  He has violent moments and I really don't have to wonder why.

Wow.  Right?! This is the main reason why my goal is to be a financial powerhouse and set up a trust account where they can eventually live comfortably off of the interest.  Or I just need to set up an amazing life insurance policy.

A couple of months ago my oldest (autistic son) admitted he's not as exciting as another kid.  His Dad's current relationship has built in play dates and these kids are full of what makes a cool kid envied.  Kid1's shoulders slumped a bit, and his deepening teenage voice lowered in shame as he admitted he isn't into sports or breakdancing.  (Kid3 is and they get along fine.) My response was typical of me.

"Has it occurred to you that he might be the boring one that wouldn't have a clue where to geek out if he was thrown in with your friends, and that your friends would probably welcome him before his friends welcomed you?  That makes you the exciting one to me."

Growing up, I was a loner by nature, but that didn't stop me from joining drill team . . . running for office in the student body (and winning that popularity contest) . . .  dancing on stage as well as the steps of City Hall . . .  singing a Les Mis solo in high school and later having a nipple slip while in costume for a Moliere play On the same stage . . .  learning to take down a really tall blonde god in karate . . . squatting for a bump in volleyball  . . .  learning to ollie off of a curb on a fat skateboard . . . swimming on a team each summer . . . or half of the other non-structured ways I played that my kids don't. I did these things, but valued my alone time to be stuck in my head.  I was an emo kid before there was a name for it.

I don't get all of the things my boys love.  It's not for me to learn. What they love has nothing to do with how I love them. Their superpowers are in technology and it looks like anime and gaming.  Kid1's talent is in his artwork that I will frame and hang around the house.  Child’s Play and Raising Gamers is a whole post on this.  Go on, read it.  This will be here when you hit your back button.

My kid brother studied marketing and has a clothing line.  I'm not part of his demographic and even if he offered it, I'm not made to wear his clothes.  I'm a Mom.  By some accounts on various dating sites, I'm beautiful with a great body and an amazing smile.  You don't get the vapid selfie moments that are all over my Facebook and Instagram, so I have to give you their word for it. My point is that my brother is looking for girls that wear their Daddy issues in the skin they expose.  These girls go out in mini skirts that give the illusion that they are in fact weather proof.  I used to be that girl.  Now I get cold and I'm not her.  He's looking for the up and coming young men that need to prove their virility and success most nights in clubs and bars all over the southland and Vegas.  I am not made to wear my brother's clothing line but I'm so proud of him. He can doctor up my resume any day.  (Then I'll edit out the lies.)

When I watched Man of Steel with my boys, there was a scene where young Clark Kent hid in a closet.  He was having a sensory meltdown. He could see and feel and hear too much and it was hard to just be.  He was going through everything an autistic person feels from time to time.  I pointed out to my kids that Superman can see and feel things that we just don't.  We would never call him disabled, and since autism offers those same super powers to a lesser degree, they are not disabled.  They are my super heroes. They gave me smirks of disbelief but I stand by this.

I plan to watch Finding Dory because I hear great things about Ellen Degeneres's portrayal of an othered child in the way she is constantly apologizing for who she is and feeling that she is not enough. Really, it was just this post on the Mighty.  I plan to watch it alone because I tend to ruin movies for people that want to be entertained because I can't shut that part of my brain off.  (I saw Superman vs. Batman with my Dad last and I don't think he's looked at me the same since I shared my thoughts on it.)

There is a flow of ideals that filter from well meaning people to my sons who can't ignore what they hear.  There is a struggle to show them that it's okay to be who they are and being themselves is perfection. I try to fill them with how amazing they are every chance I get.  It looks like more concern for them than broken things that I've had longer than they've been alive and it smells like stinky hugs from boys who don't enjoy wearing deodorant (might be a teenage boy thing).

Showing them it's okay to be in their skin means when Kid2 starts chewing his shirt because he needs the oral stimulation, I don't make him feel bad about a destroyed shirt.  It's a shirt that will be replaced, but his self worth is only what we build it to be.  They don't make eye contact often because according to Kid2, he gets easily distracted.  I once heard an interview given by an autistic girl. She said that faces have too many areas to focus on and it's hard to pick one thing, so she looked away instead.  My kids are okay with eye contact sometimes but other times it's too much to ask.  They will often be destructive.  Paper gets chewed into giant spitball wads. Couch cushions get stabbed with pens and scissors.   Even beloved toys get destroyed.  I have an ammonite that is broken in half.  My kid destroyed a fossil when nature couldn't. I don't get angry anymore.  It just means a need for a fidget was huge and the broken item filled a need.  One day my house may look like a museum but it won't feel like home.

Kid1 gets angry with my more destructive Kid2.  There's an ongoing boundary issue. I've had to learn the difference between a melt down and a tantrum.  A tantrum is intentional.  A melt down can not be controlled and it happens when I've failed as a mom to see when they were reaching their tipping point.  Kid2 punching grandma was a tantrum.  I know this because he would have never punched me.  When anger looks like aggression it usually means they have reached a limit of their needs and wants being put aside or ignored.  It means there is too much noise or they are over stimulated.  Or the teasing needed to be stopped sooner. (They can go from playful to murderous intent fairly quickly and I don't encourage horseplay.) Something needed to be adjusted for them and they can no longer soothe themselves and it looks like a tantrum or they are being loud or they need to lay in bed in sweltering heat under a blanket because they need to reset themselves and stimming movements are not helping anymore. A blanket fort is also a good place to hide the anime porn.

At the end of the day, accepting who they are means I have to meet them where they stand.  It started with my not forcing them to hug people.  If I tell them they can't control their bodies and must give an adult a hug, I have just invalidated their gut instincts that may be saying to stay away.

Forcing them to give affection (in a really extreme set of glasses) can look like grooming them to be victims of abuse.  Hug this person that makes you uncomfortable because making me look like you are affectionate and well adjusted means more than what you feel.  While you're at it, keep quiet and respectful because this is an adult, and their thoughts and feelings mean more than yours.

I don't force haircuts anymore.  It's their hair and I won't touch it as long as they brush through the tangles daily. If they want to be home, we stay home.  If it's not a school night and they want to stay up, I let them.  Even if random laughter wakes me at 4 in the morning. (Yes, I'm editing at 4 and this will suck later when I'm on my way home from the beach tonight.) On a school night, we try to stick to routines and rely on melatonin. If it's the middle of the day and they are tired, I let them sleep.  It's about letting them decide what is right for them and showing them that their needs are important to me and to them.  There is value in their needs and desires.  There is nothing more important than what they think or feel.  I ask them questions and their answers are never wrong as long as they answer with the same respect I offer.

I think all of our relationships teach us what we need to learn to help the next person grow.  I learned to mother my sons from daughtering my Dad (yes, I make up words and you'll get used to it).  I love him deeply.  He will never be what I hoped for as a teenager, but the day I decided to love and accept him as he is and meet him where he is instead of demanding he take my designated route to where I wanted him to be was the day I found healing.  I know that he loves me and will always do what he thinks is best and that is how he expresses his love.  I know my kids will surprise and amaze me but not if I'm too busy looking for ways to measure them up to someone else's ideals and expectations.  I find there is a great reward in flexibility and learning to meet someone where they are.  Sometimes they'll surprise me and return the favor. Sometimes they'll want to stretch because they can feel the warmth of my sunshine.

Distracted by a Memory

Moments flow into milestones and I look back only to distract myself with the memory of your smile. Objectified desire became your inured servant while I was held captive by you.

Your thrall was broken only by your words.

Why did you ever open that beautiful mouth of yours?

Writing For Release

Have you ever created a world out of words or breathed life into a person, loved them completely and then put them through hell? You might be a writer. My writing goes online because that’s where I’m choosing to put it.  I like sharing my words because it validates who I am and forces me to stand firm in who I am, taking away any possible hiding places. I choose to not hide because hiding has always meant I’m not enough, but really, there’s more than enough from where I’m standing now.  It’s lovely here. Join me.

When I was working on my undergrad, a typical day meant I would get up at 7 to get the kids out to school.  I would finish last minute edits on my latest assignment before shooting off to class.  I’d sip coffee (and before my wheat sensitivity), enjoy an almond croissant.  I’d sit in class and tease apart ideas that started the night before in my reading.  I’d head toward home to pick up kids from school, get some housework done, hope for a short nap and start dinner.  My ex would come home and I’d run off to my evening classes with instructions on when to take dinner out of the oven.  I’d finish class and head home, hoping there was dinner left for me.  Bedtime routines would happen and I’d lay in bed and read a couple hundred pages while the ex watched t.v. until he fell asleep. I’d get up and bang out a paper or two, get in bed by 4 and start over. I think that's why I enjoy the forced flow of finance.  I thrive in going full on at a higher pace.

In between quarters, I would read a couple of novels a day, and write most of the night after my family was asleep.  I would read the Harry Potter series over and over because I love the way JK Rowling weaves a plot together.  She drops hints and each reading reveals a layer I missed the first 7 or 8 times.  Then I’ll read the Twilight Series because Stephenie Meyer makes me feel like anyone can do it, even me.  She’s great at telling a story and building suspense in a way that makes being too stupid to live sound romantic and having a stalker/jealous boyfriend the end goal that anyone could support.  I’m not going to comment on her prose, but she can sell horrible ideals and that is what makes her amazing.  Personally I’m horrible with suspense.  I’m always into instant gratification.

When my marriage fell apart it really was hard to write.  I couldn’t string together a paragraph for months.  Gaslighting made me believe my writing made me a horrible wife and mother.  I would get so involved that I would forget to eat and my kids would have to remind me that they needed food too.  It took a long time to realize my kids had another parent that was often in bed watching television while I was reading and we were both responsible for our kids. I loved my Kindle because my ex couldn’t keep track of how many books I was reading, and he couldn’t see my start and finish.  I could suspend time when I said, “at the end of this chapter.” There was a rending of a marriage and a lot of that was blamed on being into words more than I was into him.  That has been hard to reconcile.  I write meaningless fluff, that has meant something to the 600 visitors I’ve had since I started writing at the end of February.

I was talking to someone that makes me miss the craziness of writing enough that I finally put Scrivener on my laptop.  He’s great at shifting my perspective enough that I no longer feel shameless in objectifying him.  (I can almost picture you jumping around with me on that one.) He makes me want to write again, and I don’t have to change my vocabulary for him or worry that he needs change for the $5 word I just handed him.

The thing about writing is that it takes a huge imagination.  You create something out of nothing in a way that makes others see what you see.  You have to love it enough for the many edits you’ll need to not bore you and you want to know that you want to read every word because if you are bored of your writing, how can you expect your readers to care? Writers often have to take care of themselves while writing obsessively.  There’s a full work day and overtime in some cases and then we go to our writing den and exorcise our demons. Writing isn’t a job as much as a release to keep us sane.  I need my escape hatch as do most writers.  This is a place where we can recharge and clear our minds because they are going a mile a minute in several directions at all times.  It’s intense and can be overwhelming.  I love nature.  I love my feet sinking in sifting sand.  I like the feel of mud splattering on my legs, as my toes sink in dark brown sludge.  I like the feel of the sun on my bare skin and the sounds of nature reminding me that I am small and nothing is as constant as I think it is. Some writers exercise.  I find my best ideas when I’m talking to others or sweating it out.  I pull weeds. Exercise usually means I don’t have something to jot down ideas and they run away from me when I need them.  Conversations with people will remind me of a head tilt or laugh lines.  I’ll try to remember the tone of their voice or the excitement in their eyes.

I love to watch people.  I notice more details than the average person and it makes me a bit weird but only when I share what I see.  I love to watch artists draw or paint because they have an ability to put what they see on paper with obedient hands.  Personally, I can only do that with words and I’m in awe of anyone that can draw a straight line with a ruler because I really can’t.  Watching people and how they interact and figuring out what drives them is important to a writer.  We want to see if we can catch you lying and what will give you away.  We also want that one person we can trust no matter what because we need a safe place to just be. No outside pressure please. 

Sometimes I need to experience things.  That’s what online dating was about.  I wasn’t looking for something serious and I really only wanted company.  At the end of the day, I looked at the cost and it was cheaper to pay for my own meals.  I was talking to family and close friends and there was a collective sigh of relief because they saw it wasn’t for me, but they also knew me well enough to know I had to experience it in all of its craziness.  I needed to be able to write about it.

The planning in writing is something I would love to be able to shut off in life.  I’m the queen of putting the cart before the horse.  I can plan and plot out an entire relationship before I’ve even said hello.  I can see our life together and how I would fit myself around him and where I would want him to flow through me.  I keep hearing a special friend of mine reminding me, “baby steps, ma.” I’m working on that, and it has its rewards.

What do I need? A keyboard.  I type my words.  I often need music, but not always.  I will also wiggle to the beat in my seat as the words run through me.  I get it out and for the most part I will go back and edit, but with my blog that doesn’t happen often.  I’m afraid of editing out what I originally felt and that would invalidate my honesty.  Food helps too.  It might be tortilla chips and salsa.  Or bacon and eggs over medium.  I write with coffee or lemonade, but read with tea, but that’s typical and not mandatory.  When I’m writing poetry I need pen and paper and the pen usually has a backup in a different color.  Green and blue inks are my favorite.  My poetry usually only comes out when I’m not happy.  Lately I’ve been too happy to write poetry.  Give it some time and I’ll probably start penning longing love poems.  I’m sure I’ll let you know when I do. The relationships in my head are always much more fulfilling than the ones I experience.

Daddy's Day

I love my Dad.  Even when I can't agree with him, I can always see that his beliefs are firmly grounded in love and that as a Dad, he has and will always do what he thinks is best for me.  He's the salt of the earth, man's man that I always look for when I try to see how a man measures up.  Dad took me to the shooting range and fishing.  He had me hand him tools when he worked on his cars, and I was able to walk around with "tool hands"  They were dirty enough to show I did more than stand and watch.  He taught me a few self defense moves before I took karate and taught me how to change a tire and check the fluids in my car.  He taught me how to make southern fried chicken (which is too greasy for my tastes). He loves me enough to flip out when he will see my latest tattoo tomorrow afternoon.  When my ex left and I was struggling for groceries and figuring out how to keep the house running, he stepped in and for a short while allowed me to fall apart and just be his little girl. It was a short while before I remembered my parents didn't raise me to sit by and be taken care of and I had to get it together.I can appreciate the Grandfather that my step-dad is. He became my step dad after I was 18.  I never saw him as mine, but in the years since I stopped acting like the title gave me a right to step all over him, I have been blessed with the grandfather he has become to my sons.  We recently had a heart to heart where he reminded me that I used to ask him, "are you dumb, stupid,  or both?" He has earned my respect and I have softened into a deep respect and love for him.

My ex's Dad will always be mine.  When I decided I wanted to keep my ex forever, I looked at his Dad and thought, yes, I could take care of this man when he starts to look like his Dad.  He is sweet and endearing and puts love into his cooking and his time.  He is likely to sacrifice his needs to make sure we're okay.  When we came to him with the news of his first grandchild, he had me rest (and napping on his couch was super easy) and he whipped up beef stroganoff from scratch.  He loved feeding me and he's always been generous.

My ex's step dad loves my children in such a way that they love and look forward to talking to him.  He's an angler and a biker and a mechanic. He's another solid man that I appreciate having in my kid's lives.

I was a surrogate Mom.  Three times.  These three Dads were all men that loved their wives and loved children and made me feel honored to be trusted with such a precious gift.

Then there is the ex.  I didn't want kids before I met him.  There was something special about him that made the idea of kids not so terrible.  We had our first and I was excited to give a second and third.  Being a single parent has made him a better Dad than I thought possible.

Before I became a single parent, I thought single moms had to do it all as both mom and dad.  I'm here now and it doesn't look like that.  My boys have a Dad and I don't have to fill those shoes because he's got them filled.  When I'm alone I'm not making up for a missing Dad.  I'm stretching who I am as Mom.  As long as I continue to do my best to be the Mom my kids deserve instead of the selfish person I want to be, we're going to be in good shape.  I'm not being someone I'm not, but I'm stretching who I am.  I'm not defined by gender roles.  One day there will be another man in my life and he'll be part of my son's lives.  He'll be a step dad and I will have to stretch again.  I will have to be open to accepting help and sharing responsibilities.  I have no problems giving this holiday to all of the Dads out there. Happy Father's Day.

Child's Play and Raising Gamers

When my kids were about 3 or 4, they loved lining up Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends or Hot Wheels. They were perfectly arranged and evenly spaced.  They had to be taught to imagine people driving or what a family might do on an outing. Nonfunctional routines were more likely to happen during floor time than functional play. Play times weren't always ordered.  These were the same older two that would dump out all of their wooden puzzles at once to piece them together because that was a superpower at one point.  These days I'm the only one that really enjoys jigsaw puzzles.  With each thing that held their attention they would obsess (much like I do with interesting men).  They would repeat the word "why?" in an echolalic refrain, but perseverative speech would cover every single possibility about a situation. They needed answers from all angles.  It was also an inability to comprehend receptive language. At first it required insane amounts of patience, but I've grown to appreciate and love the curiosity that drives a person to seek deeper meanings and answers. Lately my kids are all about gaming.  It feeds a need for repetitive behaviors and restricted interests.  Taking away their release for punishment has lead to meltdowns and tantrums and I eventually had to start defending their gaming habits to teachers.  It's not just my ASD kids, but my neurotypical 9 year old as well.

One year a teacher kept sending me articles about the negative impact of gaming on kids.  I answered her with the positives, but it was more defiance than anything.  My kids were developing relationships online with kids that were becoming friends.  They talked. They enjoyed each other.  I wasn't about to let anything stop their new friendships.  My kids have friends of all ages from all over the world, and surprising political views that I've never shared.

The latent benefits of gaming that I've witnessed include mastering fine motor skills and problem solving.  You have to be able to plan things and when working with others you are working on teamwork.  These are school and workplace superpowers.  My boys have been curious about history because it's woven into the histories of the games they play and I've caught them singing songs that I grew up with.  I secretly hope gamers will revolutionize modern music.  There's the mental exercise to gaming that can keep those neurons firing into older age.  I know how I feel when I'm mentally stretched and gaming does that for gamers. They have to be able to think on their toes and make quick decisions.  That gut instinct is something I hope to cultivate for myself.  For my middle son, I've seen a huge jump in his research skills.  Ask him about the next console Nintendo is rolling out next year and he has excited answers and will geek out in the most adorable way you could imagine.  He hops and I love it.

Like my reading time, when my kids are gaming, they tend to not overeat because sometimes they actually forget to eat.  My boys first told me about French Macarons.  I had never had them, but their friends made it sound like they taste like love feels and we tried them. Now I make them sometimes because I can and they ask nicely.  Sometimes isn't more often because they're sugar, almond meal and egg whites, but mainly sugar.  The direction that modern medicine is heading in would put my kids on the right trajectory for world star surgeon status. I can live with that.  I can also live with them doing exactly what they are doing now for the rest of their lives.  My expectations are low but they also tend to surprise me in a huge way.  They want to get paid to be gamers with snarky commentary. I once saw a studio where these things are recorded.  I can support that.  Other Minecraft mothers will recognize the voice of that creepy Brit.  That man has been an idol.  I checked out my YouTube and it's filled with recommendations for all sorts of cute girls playing Minecraft, Minecraft School and Five Nights at Freddy's. They're also big on anime.  Anime Expo is coming up and they'll be there with their Dad because cosplay is not my brand of geekology.  In the meantime I'm tasked with checking internet browser histories for anime porn because that is a fun thing for my 13 year old.

Gaming was always something I left to their Dad and I've only gotten involved in recent months because we have separate houses and they need their things at each place.  I bought a PS4 with Call of Duty for them for Valentine's Day.  Kid1 loved it but never touched it.  Kid2 had a meltdown.  He is all about Mr. Mario. His Dad told him two houses mean two of everything and I broke that rule by not getting a Wii U.  Kid3 liked it but also never touched it.  Last night I jumped into the role that is now mine and bought a used Wii U console and Naruto Game for the PS4.  I'm paying attention to the Minecraft games, forums and videos they watch.  I may even start reading Homestuck, but I'm not sure I'm there yet.  Kid1 acts like I'd love Splatoon, but I'm also okay making sure they're well fed and watered while I read and write around them.

You would think I was at one point a gamer, but I've never really been into it.  My big sister bought my Nintendo console when I was a kid.  It was the original console with Super Mario Brothers and Duck Hunt.  I had fun, but eventually got bored.  I'm one of those rare people that never beat the game.  In frustration I would shoot at the dog that laughed at me.  My other sister beat the game.  She is 7 years older than me.  She was the beautiful one that all of my friends liked.  It was especially hard to lose to her and I quit playing.  She had the cute boys that liked her and the body of a runner.  All of my friends liked her and I couldn't compete with her.  It took years to fall into mutual love and respect because it took that long to learn that she was never competing with me and wanted to see me happy as well.  I quit playing video games around the same time I was more interested in skating with the neighborhood boys and before I gave that up for getting lost in romance novels, warping my ideas of love and romance.

I'm Going to Find a Real Boy

Deciding to remove myself from all of the online dating sites was a good choice, but it's been hitting me in different ways as the day progresses.  At first it was this feeling of relief because I had been irritated with every alert on my phone.  I was receiving likes, winks, views and matches that were draining the battery on my phone and they were from people that saw me as a smile or a body and not as a person.  Suddenly my phone was silent.  It was around that time that my work flow slowed down and I was bored.  I didn't miss the attention.  I missed the mental stretch from flirting and running several conversations at once and staying on top of the details they shared that were really boring in themselves, but fun to keep straight. There's confidence in low stakes flirting because you really don't care. Then there were the few text messages from men that I was thinking of seeing or the ones I had seen, but didn't plan to see again.  I kept shaking my head in exasperation or vocalizing frustration because of the things they were saying.  I wondered what I might have said to give them the impression I was okay with being treated as a body.  My pictures weren't sexual or revealing.  I wondered what would make them think I was suddenly in love with them when we had never met in person and I reserved the right to be annoyed by the sound of their voice.  I tend to think anyone that starts professing romantic ideals before meeting me is laying it on thick and can't be trusted.  I started saying "this isn't a good fit and I can't see you." One response was, "if it doesn't work out with this person, let me know," as if I needed to have a replacement to release someone that made me feel like less than I am. There are some that I am going to say goodbye to by text.  We talk almost daily but I don't really care to offer my beach sunsets in exchange for an interview.

There are others that will text me to see if I remember them after a week or two of no contact.  I'm just blocking those numbers.  They have other options to feel out and I'm just part of the herd. I'm on reserve as a back up. They feel like telemarketers to me.

I set up a date for lunch on Monday and I haven't cancelled it because he hasn't made me feel bad about being a woman.  I'm also not attracted to him and I may just cancel because it would be a kindness. He lives in Pointe Dume and I couldn't see myself wanting to go visit him all that often. And yet he's coming to Burbank for me.

It dawned on me that I was setting myself up for constant frustration and allowing others to abuse my self image.  I was allowing it for the idea of company so I wouldn't have to have dinner alone when my kids are gone.  I gave up on finding Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now.  I was looking for company and even then, I was so irritated with it all, and it was the suggestion from Mr. Give Me a Second To Wipe Away the Drool that I don't need to be online to find a date that set off this chain that became cut ties to the abuse I was receiving.  It was aggression and it was abusive.  Sexualizing a conversation without consent was abuse. Even if I never fell for the game being kicked, emotional manipulation for a catfish game is cruel when your prey is genuinely lonely and only looking for a connection.

So why would I accept what I was receiving for the hope of company? That's the greater question. I'm great company and I can continue to enjoy my alone time.

I had lowered my bar to find company because I didn't think I'd find someone worth committing to.  Even with a goal of companionship, I felt happier on nights alone than with the dates I did meet.  That's really sad.  My standards weren't that high.  I wanted company I could talk to and that was it.

My actual dating profile:

You: A pretty face with as much appreciation for your own body as you expect from me. Be able to take care of yourself.

Me: I take care of myself and my boys (50/50 custody). You won't meet them unless you can offer them more than my happiness.  I'm a happy person.  I'm healthy and avoid drama.

Us: I'm looking for company to go out with.  I'm most giving and fulfilled in monogamous relationships.

As for Mr. Right, I would love to meet someone smarter than I am.  That would be incredibly sexy. And yes, I want his body harder than mine is.  I would want to be stunned into silence because his words can monumentally shift everything for me.   I would want him to make me question my confidence.  Not in the way where I wonder what my value is, but in the way where I'm more curious about where I'm placed in his value system.  He should be able to take care of himself and find ways to be happy that aren't reliant on others.

"Loving another person, even several people, will make your life fuller...But it will not make it complete. You have to do that. You must decide what you live for."

Wisdom, Amanda Hocking

I had a moment today that shocked and surprised me.  I was talking and got caught up in a moment of checking out this beautiful body in the same moment when he said something that made me think, "why have I never considered that?"  He has the kind of smile that makes you want to smile and just enjoy being dumbstruck and I had this really stiff smile on my face that was probably all shades of wrong because I was so shocked and uncertain. I haven't had that feeling in decades. The idea that he could be what I stopped looking for hit me so hard my mouth went dry and my usual smile lost it's way.  As much as it scared me, I didn't run from that feeling but I had to really sit with it to understand that the feeling in my belly was sexual arousal because my mind was stroked in so many ways.  Just wow. Then I resorted to hiding behind a keyboard because in that moment I was okay with being 12. It was a just a moment, but it was full of the feels.

So yeah, the real boy thing just means I'm no longer looking online.  I'm following that gut instinct when I get past nerves and shyness.  I'm going by what I feel and think and not looking at pictures and what car he drives or where his career takes him because that didn't matter before I was online and I don't want it to matter now.  There aren't profiles to pick through and I can just enjoy an invite into his world instead of a need to take it apart and look for cracks in the plaster or shifting foundations with outdated electrical and rusting pipes.  I can see and feel and just be.

Until I'm there, I will enjoy the ocean and quiet dinners alone and continue finding the perfect rocks to stick around my pond and set on my porch.  I will consider watching more television and maybe even catch a movie.  I hear it's a thing and I should try it because I might like it.  I'll watch night time skies and see if there are any stars shooting through it and this summer I will catch a grunion run.  I will get lost in a book while my boys are gaming and the sounds of their joy  will filter through the tension I read through.  It's not sad, I promise.

Love Attachments

I’m not immune. I crave attention and desire earth shattering love.  I want to be that first good morning text and the fading memory before sleep steals conscious thoughts.  I want my walk to be the poetry that brightens someone’s day and I want my smile to create one where it didn’t exist before.  I want to be included in outings and tomorrows and be the sure thing in a future of uncertainty because choosing me would be intentional each day as life flows into endless possibilities. I want to share in the pleasures of a physical relationship as much as the next girl, and I want to see how completely I can control someone else’s arousal.  (Kid meet candy store.) I want words.  Long love letters . . .  Epic poetry . . .  Even unexpected post it notes would make me happy.  Yes, I am that girl.  Stick out that pinky so I can curl up around it. I’m travel size.  Take me with you. The thing about this girl is I want meaningful.  I’m big on fantasy and day dream, but I never step away from reality.  I used to fall for quick professions of undying love but I can see that as a fantasy world and the history of my love life has broken that fourth wall.  You can’t suspend my disbelief.  I want a relationship that starts slowly enough by mutual consent that one of us isn’t being taken hostage by one person’s fantasies and desires.  My needs are met and my wants are held in check because I can do that.  It’s a superpower.  I’m not saying I love you should wait for “x” amount of days.  It should wait until you can genuinely say you love this person more than your favorite food or shoes.  If you would sacrifice your comfy jeans for them, then tell them you love them.  Life is too short to hold that in check.

I met a man online about 3 days ago.  His love note was full of unhealthy attachment and I’m not interested.  I’m actually a bit frightened.

“I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life like I am of us.”

I couldn’t even tell you what I wore or ate yesterday. I’m not certain about much at all.

“You make my life complete.”

I make my life complete.  I’m not looking for filler or pillow fluff.  I just want company with kissable lips.

“Today I promise you that I would do anything in my power to make you a great person, outstanding woman and loving wife.”

Spectacular.  Except, you must not see that I’m already a great person, and outstanding woman and truthfully I’m still someone else’s wife and looking for a side piece to be my main attraction.

Honestly I could see this email being the answer that many people seek.  Just not me.  Either he was copying and pasting this email to as many as he could reach in an elaborate catfishing scheme, or he really is disturbed and imagining I said some of the delusional things he wrote.  It started to feel like a catfish situation on day 1.5. He's out. 

Words Around the Watercooler

I had a watercooler conversation this morning that stayed with me most of the day.  There was a comment that was nonchalant, but shifted so much into place for me.  I don't want to misquote him but he pointed out that some people are dating online because of a very specific and necessary reason, and it's not just convenience.  I'm not into the bar scene because I don't drink. For me . . . For him . . . online dating is about convenience.

Last night I was doing a little shopping.  My girl Victoria keeps telling me her Secrets and the latest bit was about her semi-annual sale and how happy she could make me.  I happened to share this information and I probably shouldn't have because it resulted in the question about pictures.  It's never just about a picture, and it's not about seeing the inside of my nose. We had been having normal conversations so I tried to be playful and point out that Victoria's Secrets are now mine and a matter of great importance.  He asked again, stating that secrets are meant to be shared.  I told him he'd never make it to the CIA.  He then asked if my boobs were about national security and I even pointed out that if I were his, he wouldn't appreciate it if I were sharing my body like Costco samples to any man that asked. He wanted to see my flexibility in action and that was when I was done.  He later excused his behavior as having a little fun and it occurred to me that his idea of fun was to make me feel like less than a person with thoughts, ideas and feelings. I did give him something special and individual.  He's now blocked from reaching me by phone.

There was a skater/guitarist that was once featured here.  He wanted to see me tonight but made a comment that made it clear what his intentions were.  I decided seeing the ocean was more important than seeing him.

One man keeps complaining I'm always busy and hardly make time for him.  I flat out told him that I am a busy person, and probably not the one for him.  He insists he doesn't give up that easily.  I don't know how to tell him I want him to without facing another man tantrum.  Those often come with my rejections.

It's about 1 in the morning and there is a man that has been texting me for two days now.  Two whole days.  He says he wants to be part of my everyday life. I'm beautiful and he's got a deep connection.  I tell him I want to slow things down, but I should just tell him he's creeping me out when he tells me about the long term relationship he needs with me because he is falling for me.  Two days people.

I'm not cut out for online dating and maybe it's really not just me. I'm holding on to what Mr. Curious and Profoundly Observant said today.  I deleted 4 dating app accounts, and the 5th will go away when the paid subscription runs out. I'm saying my farewells to the men that make me hate the sound of an alert on my phone because they are harshing my mellow.  I will continue to say hello to cute strangers driving alongside me, and I may even lower my windows so they can hear me.  I'll find the bravery that is pretty deeply hidden and be authentic with what I want.  I went to Santa Monica tonight but avoided the end of the pier with the photographer because I am a chicken.  Eventually I'll be honest and upfront when I tell him he's not the one for me and I won't lie and say I'm not dating.  I am.  Just not him.  And not anyone else that finds me online and wants to know my bra size without spending a moment in my head.

I really do direct men to my blog and they very rarely read it and if they do, they don't stick around.  It's about increasing my readership, but more than that, I bleed freely here.  Lap up the thoughts that spill out and frame the dreams that make me who I am.  Let feminism wrap around you until you feel empathy for what the women in your life feel on any given day. Know that I'm not always nice, and I'm sexual and honesty will come out whether or not you're ready for it.  I won't hide behind or from what I write because it's who I am and I'm not ashamed.

All night my phone has been alerting me that I'm on someone else's mind, but my mind is running laps around a water cooler and the many potty breaks that I seem to end up on as I spend way too much time making myself cups of tea.

Allergy Warnings

My sons have allergies.  We've done the skin test which was pure torture on a four year old autistic child.  The rest of the tests were blood tests and both of my older kids reacted to almost everything that could be tested for.  Some allergies are more severe.  Kid2 reacts to peanuts on a blood test, but loves peanut butter and jelly uncrustables.  Give him soybean oil in his ranch, and he's going to puke.  He is also the kid that spent a summer getting familiar with bees.  He would open a soda can (when I used to buy soda) and set it on the porch and wait for bees.  He would then hold them and watch them.  His little hands were stung about 10 times in a week.  I keep baking soda in my medicine kit so I can make a paste of it with water for those stings. I keep an epipen or two in my purse. I had cat allergies as a kid.  I have a cat now.  She doesn't usually try to kill me, but somedays I curse her out for living.  I'll give her a bath and even though I try not to scare her, she is usually convinced I'm trying to drown her, and will fight me as viciously as she can. The battle scars from a cat battle are why I don't care when she wants to party all night.  She's fixed so I don't have to worry about her getting knocked up by some low life Tom Cat.

My latest allergy is wheat.  I was always a bread eater.  I love it warm and crusty and tender with softened butter or dipped in olive oil.  I love the taste of childhood found in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a grilled cheese sandwich with a little garlic salt.  I love almond croissants with the flaky dough and creamy granulated feel of the sweet almond paste inside. I was feeling constantly uncomfortable and I asked my doctor about food allergies.  She tested for celiac disease, which I don't have, but suggested I keep a food journal.  I did.

I wrote down what I ate and how I felt.  I just happened to go a few days on veggies, fruit and meat.  A few butter snap pretzels later and I felt like death was coming for me.  I'm talking diarrhea (I know you wanted to know that), dizziness, nausea, bloating, gas and gas pain.  I started avoiding wheat but wanted to test out the theory with a blueberry muffin and a few other innocent looking treats.

I loved Moscato d'Asti until I had a glass that made my face heat up.  Your booze shouldn't require a dose of Benadryl.  I don't react to margaritas at all.

Just before I graduated high school I had a recurring case of strep throat.  It would come and never really go away each month.  I was given erythromycin repeatedly until I had a reaction.  My chest felt tight and it was hard to breathe.  It only happened once, but why retest?

Allergies are interesting.  You could be fine with something for most of your life, then suddenly it wants to kill you.  People usually have a reaction to bug bites, but sometimes that reaction can get scary.  There are food and pollen allergies.  I've even read about an allergy to the protein in semen.

Mostly I've learned I'm allergic to drama.  I have a lunch date.  I'm just meeting an old friend but I would normally use the excuse to dress up.  Honestly, for a while I would dress up when I knew I was seeing the ex.  Today was a day where I'm meeting someone for lunch and I stopped by the ex to drop something off this morning.  It could have been the perfect excuse to wear something sexy and showcase my legs, but I didn't.  I have plans to hit the beach alone tonight, and my comfort was more important than the drama I would have invited.

Lowlights from the Trenches of Bad Dates

Warning: I'm not always nice, and I'm in a mean mood.

Life as I know it has taken a serious turn into the unfriendly world of single motherhood, and family health issues.  I think it's time for frivolity and what better place to start than to share some of my bad dates.  These are all people I actually met in person on dates.  Not all of them will end up here because some bad dates belong to men with redeeming qualities.  Just not enough for subsequent outings with me. I can use the laugh. Laugh with me.

Mr. Smart, Active, and a bit too Creeptackular

The first date I had was a spontaneous event.  We chatted a bit here and there between his basketball games and we talked about his career which interested me enough to keep the conversation going. He was aware that Wednesday is my first kid free day and I was on my way to Ikea when he reached out for a date that night. I'm not a drinker, but I have no problem with a good meal.

We planned to meet at a bar and grill in Highland Park, between us. Unfortunately, I was having a stressful day that included forgetting to feed myself.  By 6 that evening, I was starving and weak, and while I planned on half a gluten free wrap at Togo's, I devoured the whole shebang, chips and drink in less time than it took to get there once I realized I needed food.  I was in the earlier stages of online dating, where texting 7 men at once was still fun, so arriving early because I'm punctual didn't matter.  I was sitting in my car and lost track of time.  I was almost 5 minutes late.

I walked around the front of the bar and stopped for a minute to flirt with the bouncer.  Old habits die hard.  I had him guess my age because that never fails and always delivers.  He guessed 8 years younger.  My date noticed what I was doing at the door while seated at a table in the back of the bar, and was jealous enough to mention it.

I noticed he had two glasses of water on the table with the gin and tonic he was nursing.  My first thought was I couldn't trust the drink because I didn't know what all was in it.  And I was still full. I sat with him and didn't put one thing in my mouth the whole time.  I was a really cheap date. We chatted and the conversation flowed easily enough.  In hindsight, his boozy goggles probably made it so he needed to focus on my face, but his staring into my eyes, when I was looking everywhere but at him kinda creeped me out.

By 9 I made a lame excuse to head home, and he offered to walk me to my car.  He had been creeping me out for the last hour and a half and I kinda thought I'd be safer walking on my own, but accepted his escort.  When we got to my car he leaned in for a goodnight kiss.  I flinched.  I flinched the second time too, but gave a chaste kiss because I was sure he'd make a third attempt.  He asked about a second date, and I said yes, but we both knew he wouldn't get one.  As I was leaving, my headlights flashed at a woman sitting in her car across from us, laughing hysterically at what she saw.  It is kinda funny.

Mr. Sounds Sexy But Shouldn't Be Talking

I should state here that I'm not a nice person.  This man had such a thick accent that I couldn't understand half of what he said, and maybe that's what he had going for him. I really loved our first date.  The second date showed me more of the anger he had boiling under the surface.  He sees too much of Europe's financial demise coloring our economy in ways that make him predict a financial future that he's trying to leave in his past. He had the sounds and moves of the Italian transplant he is, and just wow.  In a good way.  He's the only one that got a second and third date.  I happened to have his first and third date on the same day as first dates with two other men.  Yes, seeing two men on one day has happened.  I should feel shame about how easily I navigated that, but I don't.  He was a special snowflake, just not special enough for me to want exclusivity.  In the end, an evening with an Adele soundtrack seemed to break him and his sweet emotional side was too soft for me to look at without wanting to laugh at him.   I won't go so far as to call him a little bitch, but I would have in my 20's. I did mention that I'm not nice, right?

Mr. Amazing on Paper, but Hornball by Text

I was flattered at first.  This was a man that was willing to meet me on my lunch break in Burbank from where he was working in Northridge.  We talked about being single parents.  He has owned a few businesses, and we discussed his latest ventures.  He seemed like someone worthy of my time.  The goodbye kiss was great.  He wore my lipstick nicely and didn't mind walking to his car with it smeared all over his mouth.  I loved getting to work and realizing my lipstick was also all over my chin.  Every text after that was about how badly he wanted to screw me on every surface he could find. He justified being rapey because I enjoyed kissing him too much.  Is that a thing?  I'm a grown woman that isn't inexperienced, but he made  desire feel dirty. He was the first person I had to block.

Mr. Old Enough to be My Teenage Dad

I'm not a fan of online dating.  At all.  When I meet a person in person that is willing to take a chance to ask me out, I'm usually game.  I'm big on spontaneity.  He had all of this going for him, so I didn't ask the obvious question that answers itself online: Are you between 38 and 45?  I lean toward 42 as a maximum unless he's beautiful and built.  He was nervous and brave in spite of being afraid of my rejection and I said yes even though I really wasn't interested.

He has a favorite beach and suggested an 80 minute drive through traffic right after I got off of work. I suggested we cut that time in half with my escape hatch at Santa Monica.  He made a few wrong turns and admitted he was nervous although he claimed to know the area, and later admitted to talking about me with a friend.  We were supposed to meet for coffee.  I never once offered to name a puppy together.

I like to ask men what they love about their work.  If there's something they love, they might be in a better mood when I see them than if they hate everything about their job.  At the end of the day, he's not a happy man. He saw a man texting at a light and went on an angry rant, but I didn't point out that it's a bad habit of mine to check alerts when stopped at a light. He made a few different hateful observations that described me pretty closely. He didn't know me well enough to know this.

On our way, I got car sick.  I tend to get boat sick. I used to get sick on the school bus as a kid.  I get carsick on mountain roads and stick shift cars with new drivers.  I don't remember the last time I actually got car sick but it was on the way to Big Bear when my boys were little and I was still getting pregnant for other people.  Before he hit the 405 I wanted to puke.

We ended up playing mini golf which was a win once my stomach settled and he stopped hovering over me like a mom.  On the way back to my car, he chose the streets and prolonged the drive that originally made me sick. I got sick again and passed up on his dinner offer.  I got home and made myself a steak and potato dinner.  Someone should explain to him that it's not a good idea to bring up your ex on a first date, or your date's ex, repeatedly.

For the record: My ex was my soul mate.  He was the bouncer at the pool hall that was my second home.  He would flirt and joke about patting me down for weapons when I barely had room for myself in my mini dresses.  One day I was at the bar and asked the bartender for a Coke, and said he would pay for it.  He said it would cost my number.  A week later I was on a date with someone else and asked why he didn't call me.  We had our first date in April, married that September and lasted for nearly 15 years before he quit.  It's been 16 years since our first date, and we're still legally married.  You can't recreate what was had because it was a combustible flame that consumed us both then was snuffed out in a vacuum.  You can't compete with that.  You have to accept that it was special and it's over and I'm waiting for my life partner.  He set a bar that I've raised to my eye level and I'm especially picky about who I give my time to.  If I've granted you an audience, don't waste it on my past.

Mr. Entrepreneur

This past weekend was planned as a self care weekend.  I needed to take myself out because I know how to treat this lady.  I had a beautiful sunset at the beach followed by a delicious meal by myself.  It was a beautiful night.  I blogged about it.  Cotton Candy Skies Make it Better. The next evening I met a girlfriend at the Grove and we shared laughter over non alcoholic drinks and I had chicken in a white wine reduction with capers, lemon juice and brussels sprouts which gave me a hangover the next morning anyway.  I'm so not a lush. We even joked about having kiddie drinks. As I was leaving, I got a Bumble alert from an OC man that was 2 miles away for work.  I said I was heading home, but probably stopping for coffee first.  His reply was about coffee keeping me up and I mentioned it was also an excuse to meet him if he was game.  I was open to tea. We met at Starbucks, but he suggested tea at the Thai restaurant that was closing.  He said they'd sell tea, but clearly hadn't investigated in the time he was waiting for me at the Starbucks he suggested.  They weren't a tea bar, but I ordered a young coconut.  He watched me pay for mine, then ordered and paid for his.  I don't mind.  It's only $4.

It made me think about a date that bought me breakfast when I took him up on his offer after a couple of messages.  It was a last moment thing and I loved the spontaneity. He said something along the lines of taking the opportunity to prove you aren't a douche on the first date by paying.  This was a terrific date,  but we want different things.

Mr. Entrepreneur and I chatted and had a difference of opinions on many things other than finding each other attractive at first glance and at the end of it we parted ways without so much as a hug and I unmatched him before driving off.  I'm not against going Dutch.  I think the part that bothered me was the way it was done.  I had just had a meal with a girlfriend with separate checks and he made it feel so impersonal in comparison.I think it was about the way it felt like he had a constant sneer about everything I said and felt.  The bonus was driving past LA Ink on La Brea and finally seeing it.

FYI: If you are living someone else's dream, you are not actually an entrepreneur.  If you say you are an entrepreneur and you are an Uber driver, you are no longer stretching the truth, you are abusing language and I'm afraid for words everywhere.  Just no.

My membership on Matched will end in less than a month, and that's when my online dating adventure will end on all sites.  I only extended it the second month because of that really great breakfast date and his encouragement. I'd say it's been fun, but it's really just been an adventure.

Clover: Good for an ego boost.  I have 363 likes from men mainly in their 20's.  The oldest has been 4 years younger than me.  The young ones.

Bumble: Swiping madness can cure boredom.  They will put the pretty ones first. It's an eye candy explosion and I may or may not have had to wipe drool off my lips once or twice. The beautiful ones.

Match: A few good men, but not worth the fee.  I was often matched with people who haven't used the site in over 3 weeks, probably because that's when their membership ended and they couldn't email anyone anymore. The successful bunch that loves travel and has high expectations.

Twoo: The questions and badges were fun. Making me swipe right before I was able to see those that liked me for a free membership when I wasn't interested back made me lose interest.  I don't even want the Premium. Not a pretty bunch, but they were all really nice.

OK Cupid: By far my favorite.  I liked the questions. You answer. The other person answers. I cancelled a date based on how differently we saw the world. He had a tantrum. Messaging is free and you can see your 5 last visitors.  A free boost was in answering questions or updating your profile because you end up in an activity stream and I've often been messaged right after an edit.  You can't see your likes for free but if you've gotten an alert and check your last 5 right away, you can take an educated guess.  It's a mixed bag of candy that you have to carefully choose from.  Some bits are toffees, some are taffies.  If you are lucky you won't bite into a jawbreaker thinking it's a pillow mint.

Los Angeles is Not a Desert

There's been a shift in my plans.  I'm more dutiful daughter than flowing stream, but you get the benefit of more words as a result as I sip instant coffee with instant creamer and follow it with Ovaltine because I'm at Mom's house and that tastes like my childhood. Los Angeles is not a desert.  Seriously.  It goes against everything I've ever been told, but I'm reading and learning because there's a boy who looks like a man and he said it's not and I'm researching a bit because he sparked my curiosity and I need to know now. Yes, he shifted my perspective, but we won't go into that because I work with him, can't have him and will only be able to daydream and objectify him. Technically we aren't even in the same department and he's not my supervisor and maybe he's too close for awkward later. I don't want to risk it going south. And I don't know that he'd be interested. I don't write about the people I actually go out with for the most part because reality is rarely as amazing as my imagination. And some guys are just special with memories that are mine. As long as I don't see him as a possibility, I don't mind objectifying him. 

Yes, this would be the same man that was on my mind when I wrote Earthquake Country and part of a conversation with him happened before I hit Santa Monica and met two other Los Angeles transplants that prompted me to write Native Californian before that.  Talking to him makes me want to write and it's a good thing.  I may also look for him in common areas, and that's a problem.  But it's my problem and I'm enjoying it.

Yesterday at the company barbecue we were talking about the endorphins that hit him after running about a mile and I was in my slack jawed glory, just trying to focus on his face and not the way his faded red t-shirt was hanging off of his pectorals making my mind drift to naughty places.  The conversation shifted to the Los Angeles mild weather versus East Coast hell.  After painting the picture of shoveling snow and layers of clothes contrasting against oppressive humidity and a need to shower more often than the commercial breaks in an hour long episode (and yes, I pictured that), he brought up the fact that we are not in a desert.  He mentioned a documentary and his curiosity was infectious as he managed to say it all without making me feel objectified. He was adorably expressive and nearly bounced with childlike excitement.  Maybe I'm exaggerating, but I loved what I was seeing.

It was sometime after he wasn't in front of me and I wasn't looking at the chest hair peeking out of his shirt, or the bright excitement over his ideas and sharing them or the way I wanted to . . . There's a point, and I will get back to it because we work together and he's off limits and that is the story I keep telling myself.

The American Association of Geographers has a long case built on the fact that we have more rainfall than a true desert making us semi-arid and we have groundwater that keeps us looking like LA and not Barstow in natural areas that are not funded by water wasters. (We can ignore the fact that they misspelled Los Feliz.) The fact that our water resources cannot support our population does not make the land a desert in the classic sense. We also grow much of the food for our nation in California, and aside from pretty lawns and luxurious bathing, what we put toward agriculture on a national scale requires more water than is natural to the land, but our climate is arid and mild enough to nurture most plants and vegetation.  I often ignore planting schedules on the backs of seed packets, because plants will usually sprout as long as they have water because our sunshine is good for that.

This article says we have a Mediterranean climate based on the Köppen system.  We certainly have a love of mediterranean food and I have a thing for the men. Sometimes.  It just depends. The point is we have great plants that thrive here and if you are wise enough to support a xeriscaped garden somewhere, these plants are made for home and know how to come back after a drought or fire or flood because that and the earthquakes are what Los Angeles is used to. I remember a geology class where my professor talked about plants that will only release seeds once the plant has burned. We usually get heavy rains and mudslides after fire season.

I won't go into articles that whine about bad propaganda because that just blames long forgotten individuals for an evolving classification system, because science changes as we see things differently and add information.  But yes, Mr. Adorably Curious was right.  We are not in a desert. His large brain has my attention. He shifted my perspective. This is what it feels like and it feels good. Imagine that.

Cotton Candy Skies Make it Better

I've had a rough dating week this week.  There were enough bad "man experiences" that I'm looking forward to my weekend alone.  I decided yesterday I would date myself.  Today I will paint my bedroom and visit a friend that is female and has no interest in my body whatsoever, and tomorrow will include church and probably nature somewhere.

It was a 40 minute drive from Burbank to Santa Monica Beach and I enjoyed it.  I got to the pier and was surrounded by sounds of happy screaming on rides, performers making music and creating laughter, conversations about everything and nothing and dreams and desires. I saw families and couples and babies.  There were anglers catching mackerel and I saw what was too wriggly to be a mackerel with sharp teeth that was called a lizard fish by the cute blonde that released him back into the ocean.

I saw that friendly photographer again.  It was the usual hug of a greeting and I left to look for the seal he said I wouldn't find.  He was right.  He suggested it's a seasonal thing and the seals are working on fattening up for the summer.

He took several pictures of me in front of the breathtaking sunset I enjoyed last night and then wanted to show me something.  I walked with him to a quieter area of the pier where fishing isn't allowed and saw more breathtaking views.  The ocean was so calm.  He then lead me to another quiet area above Maria Sol where there was another couple walking through and I was able to get a more bird's eye view of the many people I normally weave through.  At this point he took my hand in a firm grip, reminding me why I wear fewer rings on dates because, ouch, and wanted to show me the lit up ferris wheel. There were other people around, and that's where I made up a story about meeting a friend at the 3rd street Promenade.  I had to rush.  Sort of.  He offered to take me to Marina del Rey to see the seals.  I said, "Sure. Maybe," and headed off without giving another word.  Really, I have a great car and Waze and I can get there myself.

I keep trying to think of how this should look differently than it does.  It was really a kindness and a blessing on that first night when my mood was bottoming out to see him and have him offer a free picture that still sits on my fridge.  It's his job to take pictures for a price.  A freebie when I was seeking out the ocean to dwarf the drama in my life seemed like a gift I really needed.  I thought I would return that kindness with kindness.  He was always friendly and I assumed that was his character because often it is mine.  I don't know how I feel about going back there anytime soon, or if I would want to go alone, because it was my alone happy place. I should tell him I'm not interested in seeing him anywhere but on the pier and I really don't want to hold his hand, but it would be easier to catch those sunsets from Will Rogers State Beach where it's less crowded and then head to a more crowded area where there's a strong police presence, because yes, I am a chicken that sometimes has a hard time rejecting people because I know how much it hurts to be rejected.

That may be why I will continue conversations I'm not really interested in.  I hope they'll change my mind, but they rarely do.  A date I had this week repeatedly brought up my ex. It's bad when you bring up your own ex, I know this and avoided it. He wanted to know how we met and when I knew he was the one and how he could recreate it.  You can't recreate that.  I wouldn't want to.  We met at a pool hall.  After weeks of flirting, I saw him sitting at the bar and told the bartender I was having a Coke, and he would pay for it.  He told me it would cost my number and I scribbled it on a matchbook.  A week later I was in the pool hall on a bad date and asked him why he never called.  He did call.  We had our first date, and I went home to my roommate and told him I would marry him.  He went home to his mom and said the same thing.  It was beautiful and amazing.  He was my soul mate but I'm waiting for my life partner now.  You can't recreate that magic because there's enough stardust left in me for something whole and new with the right man. 

My plan was for a boiled crab dinner on the pier but I ended up at Hummus House on the Promenade where  I sat alone and enjoyed my meal.  Another man sat next to me, also alone at his table and he sipped wine with his meal as he enjoyed the basketball game on the big screen in front of us, and it was comfortable.  I love comfortable and companionable but I enjoyed our silence. I walked alone and stopped to greet blue eyed babies and creep out their parents a bit.  It was awesome.  I drove home along Sunset Blvd. for the most part singing too loudly, and ignoring the flashing lights and sirens whipping through Beverly Hills in the opposite direction because I was content to sit in selfishness and not wonder about who's life was shifting into despair and chaos behind me.

At the end of the day, my day got better because cotton candy skies will do that.  Although next time, I resolve to include cotton candy wisps that melt on sticky fingers in clouds of joy and diabetes.

What Family Is To Me

Growing up my Dad told us that family comes first.  I saw it in his discipline and the way it was encouraged.  I saw it in my uncle always having a place to shower and land when he went through his many years of chosen homelessness.  We spent holidays with our extended family, hopping from house to house toward the end of the year. It was kisses that were too wet and hugs that were too warm.  It was sitting still through boring conversations because visiting family was about  showing our elders love through respect. Family was my mom's years of petitioning to bring her mother and siblings to the states from Thailand.  It was money spent and hours and red tape and bureaucracy with English as her second language.  (She literally thinks in Thai before responding in English and has a brain for money and planning that I envy.) It is her constant sacrifice to help us out when it comes at a cost to her needs and wants.  It was her choice to remain in a marriage that would not bring her joy for many years for my sake.  She was Mom before she was who she is.  My mom still teaches me that we show we love our family by doing what is best to teach and support each other, even at our cost because at the end of the day, our value is found in the joy of the lives of the children we lead - of the adults we love.

One of my sisters had a child who is now an adult, but spent her first year or so at home with us.  When my sister stood on her own two feet and moved out, mom missed the "pitter patter of little feet."  I was still in high school, so she did the amazing and decided to become a foster parent.  Through her divorce, she remained a foster parent.  To this day, we sometimes see kids that have now grown into adults that remember our "zoo" with fondness and return for love and to let us (mainly mom) know how they're doing.  Foster care is ideally about a temporary home until parents can better care for their children, but sometimes it doesn't work that way.  My mom started adopting kids.  This made me part youngest, part oldest and part only child.  I didn't really have anyone to get into shenanigans with or conspire against the parents with. I was telling on someone or being reprimanded by too many parents.  I was a bad example of a grown up to the children that came after me.

Let me clarify, so I don't confuse you. . .

4 daughters from the first marriage, of which I am the baby. We're all black and Thai.

2 step sons and a step-daughter that refer to her as "Mom," and it melts the icy parts of my heart every time. They are caucasian like my Okie Step-Dad.

6 children through adoption.  2 Vietnamese sons.  2 Mexican sons. 2 Black daughters from different families of origin.

There are 3 in laws and my ex is the 4th but I don't count him anymore.  Mom still does.  She will always see him as a son.  She always sees my sister's ex husband as a son.  But she keeps her distance out of respect for everyone involved, and keeps old pictures because those memories are still special, if a bit bittersweet.

We are family and we're surrounded by Thai cousins, aunts and uncles all the time, with calls from our cousins in Houston too.  We range in ages from 47 through 7 or so.  I'm not sure about the baby's age as it changes every year and she will always be the baby to me. Some of us older kids have had children of our own and our family is ginormous.  And international.

Our family gathers for most major holidays, and even the not so big ones.  We celebrate birthdays once a month.  We get together when we can in smaller groups but larger gatherings are at Mom's house where there is food from all of our cultures.  Our family doesn't require blood or marriage.  If you really just need a place to be for holidays, our family is big on welcoming you.  You will eat more than you should and the drinks flow freely with laughter and the talks you expect from siblings that love you.  There's honesty and raw emotion because we are people that won't always approve of what each other is doing, but will love each other through it.  If you are coming as a date, there is a long period of breaking in before we decide if you are good enough to deserve the person we would move mountains for.

Our family is tolerant.  There are those that are not okay with chosen life styles, but we never withhold love because of it.  We have gay family members and a cross dresser that helped me put on fake lashes.  He is a better girl than I am and he deserves my breasts more than I do.  He can probably work them like I can't.

We love each other enough to help when we can, at no cost.  There are medical professionals in the family.  My paper tiger skills have been called on.  My nieces tag team babysit when I need them to.  My cousin is a creative mechanic and will help out when he can.  We don't do it with a price in mind because we're family and that's what family does.  That's what family means.

If you thought my 3 surrogate pregnancies were impressive, I have two sisters that did it as well.  That's who we are.  We understand the value of family and life and the miracle of childbirth.

When I wanted to wait out my ex's midlife crisis, my family held their tongues.  They supported me through it.  When I decided it was time to let go, I was met with love and respect and encouragement.

Even when we are angry with you or don't agree, we will always fix the rift because you are family and this is what our family does.  Love often looks like lectures and written checks to bail us out, knowing that repayment may never happen, but hoping it one day will.  It looks like sacrifice and lots of food.  It looks like jumping in front of your car and stealing your keys when you've had too much to drink and making sure you are in a recovery position when you need to sleep it off.  It's trips together when we can all plan and budget it.  It's texting late at night or early in the morning because your sibling is your friend, the one you call and rely on when it matters the most.

Earthquake Country

Our schools practiced earthquake drills regularly.  We knew to drop below our desks, facing away from windows with our hands protecting our necks from projectile bits of shattered glass and eyes shut tightly.  We knew to look for sturdy support structures that would create pockets of safety.  Open spaces that are not below power lines are safety zones. We were versed in what is needed in an earthquake kit and had bags packed with snacks and comfort items to get us through a few days if that's how long it would take to be picked up by our families.  We knew to shut off gas lines and smell for leaks, but honestly I haven't done that. A thought: Imagine being the teacher that can't leave her students to find her child because teachers are unsung heroes in a school crisis.  Yikes.

The first earthquake I remember was around 7 in the morning when I was in elementary school in the mid to late 1980's.  I rode a school bus from East Hollywood to school in Brentwood and the driver stopped in the middle of the street near West Hollywood.  Residents came out of their homes and stood around us and I thought they were rocking our bus.  I had no idea what an earthquake felt like.  In the following days, aftershocks would remind me how small I was and that my big problems were not big or problems.  This thought would later be a source of peace as I find comfort in ocean waves for the same reason.

During the Northridge quake I was asleep.  I didn't stay asleep.  I was a high schooler sleeping in the attic of my Mom's 1901 Victorian styled home.  It has a wood frame that is flexible with cracking plaster where it is not.  Her house sits on a hilltop near Chavez Ravine and that earthquake sent waves of energy up the hill and into the house.  The shaking rolled through and up. I was terrified.  My mom heard my screaming in the absolute dark and feared that I was hanging out of the window by my hands as I often sat on the roof from the windows that opened to the front of the house.  Naturally a strong enough earthquake makes a power outage an expected accessory.  We sat in the dark and dozed off until the waves of aftershocks reminded us of our powerlessness.

Everything else has been a shake here and there with random destruction in it's wake.  It's not enough to make me leave the place that has always been home.

When the earth shakes, all you can do is seek safety and ride it out.  It's humbling.  It shifts your perspective.  It changes who you are and alters relationships in letting you see what the one you love is really made of.  How do they handle a crisis? Are they prepared? Will they take their fear and turn it into anger that is directed at you?

Last week I was chatting with a co-worker from another department.  He's tall enough with a great smile and he probably cares about his fitness slightly more than I do.  He's all kinds of beautiful with his bald head and warm tan and constant 5 o'clock shadow that would look lovely with my shade of lipstick smeared all over it.  But I work with him and I'm not revisiting those shenanigans. [Obsessive Observations of My Latest Crush Because He Was Hot (and so fun to watch) if you're curious.] This latest bit of eye candy isn't a native. He's from the northeastern tip of our country and can tell you about freezing winters and muggy summers.  We were chatting with another California native when he asked about earthquakes and how a native handles them.

We go with it.  We don't panic right away.  Not for the most part.  Some quakes are terrifying, but the shaking starts slow enough that you can tell when it's getting bigger.  You have time to decide if you should take cover and where to find your safety.  You have time to see if you can just look around from where you stand.  You look around at the ones who have never had the ground shake below them.  I may be amused but I wouldn't outright laugh.  That's a cruelty I can't stomach. I tend to look up to hanging lights and chandeliers once the shaking starts.  The swaying tells me it's a rumble from the earth and not a giant truck rolling by.  I will pay attention and try to determine what the shaking feels like.  Does it shake abruptly like it's a strike slip fault, or does it come in waves of energy that roll through the earth? The shaking isn't destructive, it's the man made parts that fail us.  Earthquakes are natural, just not normal, although the earth is normally always in motion.  Is it really any wonder that I wanted to be a rock doctor and study geology? It's not just metamorphic rocks that are sold as precious stones in jewelry stores. I keep fresh batteries in flashlights around the house.  I don't have tools next to the gas meter or water shut off, but I know where to find things if I smell gas or water is flowing out of a broken pipe.  There's a house shut off for water, but there's also one at street level.

The earth will move.  We will be shaken, but we will also be okay.  Somehow we'll learn from it and build safer structures because of the destruction we live through and learn from but mainly we will let the earth do what it will because we really don't have a choice.  Such is life.

Jealous Much?

I once read a Maya Angelou book that I loved into worn and dog eared pages. It was weighted with the pleasures of words that resounded deeply in the wistful and angsty corners of my heart.  The most profound (to me) thought she shared was on jealousy.

“Jealousy in romance is like salt in food. A little can enhance the savor, but too much can spoil the pleasure and, under certain circumstances, can be life-threatening”

The beauty of online dating is the ability to hide certain details like where exactly I live and work.  That's the benefit of hiding behind a keyboard.  I let potential suitors know I'm available when custody shifts to their capable Dad, and I usually have a couple of offers lined up for Wednesday because that's my first kid free opportunity.  Last week and again this week, I was asked to meet at the California Pizza Kitchen in Burbank.  I work in Burbank and that seems to be the solid choice because it's across from Ikea and everyone seems to know how to get there.

For years it was our place.  My ex and I went there for date nights, and we shared many family meals there.  I went there last week with a lanky guitarist/skateboarder and learned from the staff that still remembers me that it's still my ex's favorite place with the new woman in his life.  I was surrounded by scent memories and nostalgia in a restaurant that has slowly shifted into something new and trendy in shades of my favorite colors.

My date probably had first date nerves, but I wasn't so into him that sharing a first meal with him mattered to me.  He relaxed into the evening when he realized I really don't bite. He had yet to impress upon me the benefit of his presence.  As cocky as that sounds, I am picky.  I'm on four dating sites, and have swiped left enough times that I've exhausted both Clover and Bumble's list of potentials because I've narrowed my criteria and rejected as many as they had for me.  I like a clean shave because that's a preference.  I like fair skin and light eyes with a solid jawline.  At the end of the day, he has to be doing better in life than I am, and not feel like dating is the same as a sex interview and that's where they tend to crash and burn.  I'm very interested in not having to take care of anyone else, and I refuse to date younger men.  As of right now, I have 237 likes on Clover in the past 3 days and 90% of them are still in their 20's. It's a cougar's market.

"No man is offended by another man's admiration of the woman he loves; it is the woman only who can make it a torment."

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

I'm meeting someone else at that same restaurant this week.  I hear his insecurities when he brings up my ex.  He wants to compare and contrast but that's not a game I'm interested in. I can hear his need when he tells me how carefree my smile is and that I have a magnetic charm he has wanted to get to know for some time and then he talks about his insomnia.  He thinks he needs what I have but I don't know how to share it.  It's who I am.  He's a bit jealous of the ex and I don't think he can tell I don't care to see that.

I have jealous moments, but it's not for the man my (still) husband has become, but the life we used to have.  It's gone.  We've both changed too much for that history to become a future. I have moments in the bustle of a busy restaurant with friendly smiles and fresh yeasty bread with a crackling crust and the aroma of fresh pizza sauce that catch me by surprise in memories of spilled soda and laughter and even a bit of hand holding when we shared each other's rings. I'm sometimes jealous for the life we shared before this last year changed who I am and forced choices I never imagined I would have to make.  I'm no longer jealous of the woman that called me a horrible mother, an ugly woman and that I deserve how my husband treated me as she spent long nights and days texting my husband and sharing family moments with her children and mine in restaurants and at their workplace, replacing me at my children's birthday parties that are now separate celebrations.  I'm no longer jealous of the in laws that treat her like family and told me I was no longer family because I was thrown away.  I was thrown away.

I think of the ignorance and joy of a life as a wife that never imagined a "what if" or "when . . . I will" because I once had a marriage that didn't have a contingency plan. Our future was camping trips and growing old together and it doesn't look like that anymore.  I'm jealous of the certainty of that.

A Year Ago Today I Said

A strong woman rarely needs emotional hand holding and when she's not needy, it creates a vacuum that makes her the person to rely on and complain to. Don't let this be discouraging. You are amazing. You are brave. You are strong. Otherwise you wouldn't be asked to shoulder someone else's emotional weight. Some people will never be happy without something to complain about. Let them complain. You don't have to hear it or believe that their tangential existence in your life gives them authority unless you allow them to. I imagine a baby duck who is too busy learning to swim to have a little water annoy them. Being spiteful with your handheld mirror only makes things worse so don't bother. 

Worth the Effort

I had a birthday party for a friend Saturday night.  I won't get a sitter when I have a date.  That's what shared custody is for.  But I had a party to attend.  It was a party with Persian food and it was full of vegetarian yum and the beautiful art of kabob that satisfied the carnivore in me.  It came at a cost.

My son didn't want to go to Grandma's house, but he agreed if I would make him macarons.  He loves macarons.  He requested orange blossom.  They're a complicated piece of work with very few ingredients.

I usually use fewer dishes, but I wanted to take pictures.

At this point, the egg whites have sugar added and a bit of cream of tartar.  I had stiff peaks that stayed put when the bowl was flipped upside down.  The powdered sugar and almond meal were sifted together, then folded into the egg whites.

Orange blossom water added the flavor and the gel food coloring made it pretty.

This stream of yum is ready to be put in a piping bag.

I use silpat mats with parchment over it.  It keeps the bottom from browning too quickly.

I'm horrible at piping things with a bag. I bang the pan on the counter to release air bubbles. They rest a bit until the top is no longer sticky.

They've baked and have cute little feet from released steam.

I eyeball my buttercream.  Butter, powdered sugar, more orange blossom water and gel food coloring.  Normally the cookies would rest but my boys don't allow that.  I already had one thieved away as soon as the cookies were taken out.

The cookies were made and gone by morning.  (I asked them to save some for Kid3 who thinks they're too sweet.)

The point is the work involved is where you find the love.  I was texting someone last night. It's the new form of dating I'm not sure I like.  Even in casual dating, people want to get to know you and I feel that's the point of going out for coffee and dinner.  I rely too heavily on nonverbal communication and body language to be comfortable with texting.  It skeeves me out when I'm texting someone that says he's willing to relocate from Dallas to Los Angeles for love or when you can't judge the tone of a conversation because it is something that pops up when you are in the middle of living.

I wholeheartedly believe that if the juice is worth the squeeze, it's not work but anticipation.

My kids have on and off freak outs about my dating.  They are okay and then the anxiety kicks in and they are not. For the most part I keep it away from them.  They won't meet anyone I'm dating unless he's really special and we're talking long term and progressing toward cohabitation or marriage.  I'm still legally married and not at all interested in that right now.  I'm also not into "Netflix and Chill," now that I know what that means. (Yikes!) I try not to piss in my own pool, (to put it in the most vulgar form I can), but that means I'm not eager to date someone that knows my family.  That just feels like descabbing the scars our family faced last year when I was a sobbing mess shattered by a false friendship and deep betrayal. This morning I had a heart to heart with Kid3.  He's worried about a replacement Daddy. I assured him that he has only one Daddy and Mom is just going out to have fun.  He's special to me and someone has to be really special to earn the right to meet him.  He felt better about that.  He was curious about the many alerts and likes I get because my phone goes off all the time and I showed him a couple and pointed out that Mommy can't date the many 20 year olds that like me because that would be creepy. He started laughing with me and we both felt better.

This juice is worth the squeeze but I'm waiting for the wine glass to shine before I pour this mimosa.