Me & You

In these quiet moments, it's just you and I.

There is no one else around to hear your incredibly brilliant jokes, or catch the naughty twinkle in your eye as you begin to learn how to ignore me. We sit quietly in our apartment, Christmas lights sparkling, a candle softly burning, and you turn to me and decide to whisper "Thank you, mommy" as I push some broccoli onto your plate. You seem to understand that it's just the two of us. You seem to like it as much as I do.

I used to feel that it was always better to have someone else there to help witness the moments in life that were worth remembering. Then, when it was just me, alone, I learned to experience the world on my own and cherish the life snapshots that were particularly poignant, or funny. I could always write about them. But I could always not write about them, and they were still just as wonderful, and I didn't have to share. It was an amazing thing to learn - how to be the only one watching an amazing thing take place.

Now, I am the sole keeper of the Kid's moments. I know her secrets. I get to watch her grow, from chrysalis to butterfly.

I love to brag. I love to tell her funny stories and stick her weird, feather- and glitter-covered creations up on my cubicle wall. But I also love these funny moments just between the two of us, parent and child. I love this gossamer thread that connects us.

TV is better when you're drunk

Sometimes, my two worlds collide. For dinner this evening, I am having 4 Cosmos, and the Kid and I are sharing a .33 cent box of Publix macaroni and cheese.

I bought the martini glasses at Takashimaya. (Sometimes, when you peel back a tiny corner of my white trash wrapper, a little bit of my fabulous peeks through.)

Sometimes I forget that I'm a broke single mom at a dead end job in Florida. Although I needed to go grocery shopping for dinner this evening, I came back with vodka, white lillies, and pomegranate juice.

Can you say "delusions of grandeur"? I think you can.

Now I'm watching "Fairly Odd Parents". I don't get this show. But the pyrotechnics are fantastic.

Shut off your ringers, ladies, I feel a drink and dial coming on....

I'll smoke your marijuanica

This morning, while reinacting The Fast and the Furious on the way to work, I heard The Hanukkah Song, followed by Fuel. I don't know what's better than that. Except maybe not going to work at all.

On Monday, I went to a class on memory with Rich Israel - and I thought it was fantastic. Initially, I signed up for a bunch of county-supported classes to get away from my desk, but I really thought the class was great. He taught us that the brain shuts down about 50 minutes into a meeting, and that you should get up and go for a quick walk. Also, you can keep your mind active by switching the hand that you normally write or brush your teeth with, by taking a new route to work, and by paying attention to keywords to get the most out of spoken content.

Today I went to a training meeting where the program was taught by a rambling mumbler in a very linear manner, and I wound up walking out.

I can't wait to take "Dealing with Difficult People". That's a resignation waiting to happen.

The Kid let me put braids in her hair this week. They have a Hanukkah party at her school on Friday, and parents are invited. I hope I get to do the braids again. She came home singing "Dreidle, dreidle". She made me sing it with her all the way home from the supermarket tonight. After the 17th round, she just started shouting, "SING, MOMMY! COME ON!".

Good thing those four lines don't get old quickly.

Heh.

Scared clean.

I got up this morning, vented, then cleaned in a mad fury. The apartment even stayed reasonably clean. I think I may have instilled terror in the dirt molecules.

It's quietly raining, the candles are burning, the cats are snuggled up next to me, and I'm mentally letting go of all the things I didn't get to do today. I love being productive, but watching the Kid dance around a giant fountain while I maniacally snap my camera around her trying to get a Christmas photo is so much better than working on a giant stinky PowerPoint presentation.

I wish there was someone here so I could run to Target, pick up Christmas cards, put gas in the car, go for a run in the light rain, and then go see The Holiday, but there isn't. So I won't. Sometimes I hate dragging the Kid shopping, especially if the stores are crowded and I'm in a rush. (If your card's late, please know the Kid had a great and unrushed weekend.)

My cell phone and my cordless are behaving really weirdly lately. The batteries are dying out, and I think it's because I charge them both relatively close to each other. During the day, my cell phone is either dead, or two milimeters to the left of "range" so that when I walk out to my car in the evening, I suddenly have three voicemails. They're all from Oana.
I love you, Oana! Îmi lipseşti.

Each day, I wonder when the cable company is going to put an end to my free TV. They haven't noticed that my neighbor moved out yet, and for some reason, the cable in my apartment connects to his old signal. I miss having the box, though, and the DVR. I've been sleeping through Medium, and now that I'm back living in the olden days, without DVR, I just miss it. I think it's a great show, but I really like the relationship between Alison and her grounded & fiercely intelligent engineer husband. I like the way he patiently listens to her at 3am and gives a calm and understanding opinion.

I need Tivo.

I'll probably delete this in a minute

You get/requested one morning per week with your daughter. She gets up at 6am and starts to need a nap around 11:30. You could have more time with her on the one day you choose to see her, but you prefer to sleep through it.

Well, we all need our rest.

You owe me money. Not child support, although you haven't been contributing your half of day care since October, but you owe money from your share of the expenses of the apartment we shared when you chose to hold out for a job in your field. Me, I'd scrub toilets if I had to. You couldn't bag groceries because you have your pride and needed to be available for interviews. You didn't have an interview and were out of work for four months. You then decided that when you did finally get a job, you would give me $50 a week until the debt was paid. That's 24 weeks that I, with my incredibly shitty County paycheck, need to wait until you have paid me back in full. Because you need to catch up on your debts. I need to buy diapers and food. But let's be completely sure this isn't too uncomfortable for you. Obviously, I'm an established financial institution, and not a broke single mom who has $200 of crazy money left over every month after I pay the rent, the total daycare bill, and the electric bill. Then I juggle food, gas, phones until another paycheck comes through. Thanks for the $50. I'm looking forward to it.

It's 8:50am. I need to run errands after being sick for a week and am out of sick days. Perhaps you could come over a little earlier - but you're not picking up your phone. And once you get here, you don't really pay that much attention to your kid, unless she's laughing at the same Sponge Bob episode that you are. And if I try to get something done in the apartment, you can't keep her entertained for the two hours you grace us with your presence - I have to keep asking her to go into the next room and play with you. I take care of her 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and you can't do a thing to give me a break, ever. You can't even see what a gift she is. You just have absolutely no concept of how lucky you are to be her father. Maybe I can tie a Game Boy around her neck so you find her interesting.

Three weeks ago I had to give you $20 for gas so you could get to a job that never worked out. Then when you needed a new tire, I told you there was $50 in the joint account that I kept open, hoping it would facilitate you paying me back. I see me giving you money to get to a job as an investment. It hasn't panned out yet, but I'm hopeful.

You got a job last week and are now making $16,000 more a year than I am. I have $80 until next Friday.

How does it feel to be living off of a single mom, big man?

Some days, I wish your kid never learned the word "Daddy".

This is one of them.

Insomnia and the Disgruntled Single Mom

Back when life was As Good As It Could Be (as opposed to now, which is Excellent, With Two or Three Areas That Could Be Improved), things were a lot cleaner.

I had a beautiful, two-bedroom apartment in Queens for under $1,000. Unheard of! Hardwood floors. Stop the insanity! Storage space. Fetch my nitroglycerine pills!

Every Saturday morning, I would wake up, happy to be me, and put all of my plants in three inches of water in my giant kitchen sink. Then I would dust all surfaces, clean all glass, take out the trash, get my laundry together, and wash my floors. Then I'd head down to the laundromat, get all my laundry done in an hour, come home, and have almost two full days to twirl my hair and ponder. I loved my apartment. It was so CLEAN. My bedroom was dark gray and moody. I had service for 12. I had a clothesline out my guest room window. It always smelled light and floral. From flowers.

Today I clean in circles. Dirty sock. Catbox. Who pooped on the floor? What's that smell? Why are there always handprints on the TV when I just cleaned that five minutes ago? Seriously, what's that smell? Holy crap, I wish someone would do laundry. When was the last time I paid a bill? Do I have any money? I wonder if there's any tread left on my tires.... Oh, man, I'm wandering again. OK, I should probably clean this floor. Where the hell is my dustpan. "HEY, KID, WHERE'S MY DUSTPAN?"

"Where dustpan?"

"Yes, mommy's dustpan. Where is it?"

(Holding up both hands and shrugging) "Where is it?"

"Yes, that's what I'm asking you. Dustpan. Sweep, sweep. Where's the dustpan?"

"No go sweep."

"Not sleep, sweep. Where'd you put the thingy that.... why am I asking you?"

"Why ask me? Hug, mommy."

"Ok, here's a hug. I'll give you another one if you find my dustpan." Meanwhile, get me a whisky sour and an ashtray. I've lost my motivation.

It's 1am, and I can't sleep because my life sucks. In small, concentric circles. Jump down, spin around, pick up a dirty sock. Jump down, spin around, find a rotten tangerine. I imagine there must be single-parent households that have more of an imaginative, or at least, better-organized daily routine. I'm laying here thinking that in 5 hours, a blast of hot water will be hitting me in the face, and I will try to systematize my thoughts before I become completely distracted by a wad of Pantene in my eye. My once meticulously-organized brain has become an Etch-a-Sketch, requiring only a small shake to completely erase itself.

The good news is, tomorrow's Friday. The bad news is, the weekend only brings the Kid's dad (Saturday) and my parents (Sunday) to deal with, plus a four-hour shift in the terminals. And I still have to get through an entire Friday at my job. Twitch, twitch. Where is the hair twisting and the pondering? Where's the Pledge, and the Windex, and the things that stayed relatively clean from Saturday to Saturday? Where are the days I would lay in bed with a complete pile of library books and READ four books from sunup to sundown? Dammit, I think I still owe the library $50 in late fees from the time I decided I could be a mom and still read books for myself, and I just couldn't find the time to actually return them.

OK, motivational moment. I need a schedule. I need lists. I need oversized calendars and large, stinky markers. I need to throw out more stuff.

I need to go to bed. I think I will dab some fabric softener under my nostrils and dream of cleaner times.

Never completely alone

No matter how strong we think we are, no matter how desperately we want to be someone's mother, no matter how much love we have, it is impossible to be a single parent without help.

I always knew the love I would have for my child would far outweigh the need for a mediocre man in my life. Without question, I was certain that raising a child by myself was something I was willing to do. I just don't think that while I was making all of these deep, philosophical decisions for myself, that I took a stomach virus into account.

This weekend just completely knocked me on my butt. I think I've had this bug since last Friday, when things started tasting like sawdust. If my parents hadn't been able to take the Kid, I really don't know what I would have done.

Something inside me tells me that 2 years old will be gone in a flash, and that it is so important that she not lose this beautiful smile. The Kid says hello to everyone, and laughs so easily. When she falls, she yells "I'm ok!" and then comes over for a kiss to make it all better. When I'm feeling under the weather, and I can't give her all of my attention, and I just want to sleep, and my patience is short, I am so worried that I will do something to fade her beautiful, joyful smile.

She came back to me today, proud to have ponytails, and chirping away about the soup her grandmother made for her. She kept crawling into my lap, happy to be near me, giving me hugs.

I felt so grateful for the time to lay on the sofa and be grouchy, and run for the bathroom at will, and not have to cook, or even eat, much less worry about keeping the Kid busy and entertained. She came back to me, and I was able to hold her, and laugh, and take her to the store for cookies. We ate the cookies while sitting in the car wash, watching soap and the water cover the car, singing "Twinkle, twinkle, little star".

What a sucky weekend. And what a joy to have my beautiful baby back!!

Mary, Mary

Last March, a friend was contemplating two names for her baby. Her first choice was Mary. Her second choice was the ever-so-sucky Katherine. She asked for my opinion on what my experience was with the name Mary, and my response is below. To the right is the very beautiful, fingers in her mouth, sticky hair, baby-sweet smelling Mary. This recent photo inspired me to pull out this email:

Why I Love My Own Name
Mary is a wonderful name, and Mary is everyone's best friend, favorite sister, or saint of a mom.

Mary can play touch football and isn't afraid to get dirty, she makes a mean martini, and she'll sit next to you and blow your nose when your ex-boyfriend of 7 years marries a girl he's known for 3 weeks.

Mary makes excellent cookies.

Mary can easily transition from a challenging week as a resident neurosurgeon, to dinner with the family in her favorite pair of jeans.

Mary has an amazing laugh.

Mary will whisper in your ear and make you giggle and push you out of the way when she sees a softball headed for your face.

Mary has good hair.

And on the playground, when a big boy yells "HAIRY MARY FAIRY!!", she has no trouble pulling him off of the see-saw and making him eat dirt.

When old people hear that your name is Mary, they smile and grab your hands and sing you songs from their youth, and it's very sweet.

Everyone can spell Mary (except for Indian tech support guys, who spell it Marry, but that can change in 20 years).

Every language has a Mary. You get called Mare, Marí, Maria, Mariooch, Marushka, and oh, when those English boys call your name, it makes your toes curl. Woo!

The incredibly popular and beautiful crown princess of Denmark is an Australian named Mary, who met the Danish prince at a bar.

No one ever forgets your name. (Seriously).

Mary is humble, and solid, and kind, and timeless.

Katherine has limp hair and her eyes are too close together, and she needs years of therapy from being Catherine, Kathryn, Katie, Cathy, Kathie and Kate. Katherine is thrice-divorced and lives in a van, down by the river.

Mary is the Mother of God. I don't know what's more compelling. I win.

(Sorry, Sonya. I love you!)

For it was Mary, Mary, plain as any name can be
But with propriety, society will say “Marie”
But it was Mary, Mary, long before the fashions came
And there is something there that sounds so fair
It’s a grand old name

"Grand Old Name", George M. Cohan

That's it. I would like to be shot.

Oh, Saturday. I love you, Saturday.

I just watched Shaun of the Dead for the 1,700th time.

The Kid is down for a nap, and I am going to make couch angels and count the number of Mexicans coming out of the 2-bedroom apartment across the way. I think eight people live there. Today I've seen a girl, four different guys, two cases of beer, a lot of staggering, and one drunken argument. Andale!

They're more entertaining than counting sheep.

I think we're going to need a trip to Target for some toys. It's cold and rainy outside (and by cold, I mean, it's 66F/21C, but shut up, I have a fever) and I have no energy whatsoever. I feel bad that the Kid is so bored, but me laying on the floor and letting her jump on me can only go on for so long...

Tea. I need tea.

Praying to the porcelain gods

Driving the big white bus.

Talking on the big white phone.

And thus was my Friday.

Apart from one of the secretaries calling me to ask if, when the boss flew to Boston about two months ago, did I put that on my credit card, or did he pay for it, because his wife just found some charge on the bill....?

My head is in a toilet. Does he remember paying for it? If he did, that would be his first clue. Must flush now. Thank you for calling.

The last two hours have been rough. The Kid obviously senses something is wrong, and keeps wanting to crawl on me to make sure everything is ok. I don't want her right in front of me, because I have this horrible feeling we're going to keep endlessly passing this back and forth. Plus, the 30lbs. of squirmy pressure on my diaphragm is killa. I was counting down the seconds until bedtime.

I think the only thing I really and truly hate about single parenting is illness. Hers sucks, because I lose sleep. Then she passes it to me, and I'm already out of sick days from her bout with bronchitis in September. Then we're all cranky and miserable, and there's no one around to make soup.

Whine, whine, whine, ok, I'm done.

The thing that I truly love about single parenting is all the friends that are there to support me along the way and who constantly send love and kisses.

You guys rock.

I love you. I'd kiss you, but I'm carrying the plague.

(Plus, you know where my head's been all day).

and then, the inevitable happens.

I have officially caught the Kid's bug.

I'm off to sleep. Hopefully, for a few days.

Feel free to stop by and change the Kid's diaper, or wave at her through the window or something.

Failure

I’m not particularly good at it.

When I was growing up, it was great to be the best. I don’t remember hearing about anyone that just enjoyed doing something. Someone was always first, or the fastest, or just got into Yale, or got a 1600 on the SAT.

For whatever reason, I carried this with me.

I was really competitive as a kid, constantly trying to get better grades than the two boys ahead of me. Sometimes I did. In the winter, I rode my bike to the local Y and went to swim team winter practice, and in the summers, I dove into the freezing cold water every morning, determined to be faster. Things sort of fell apart when we moved to another state, and I spent a lot of years wondering who I really was. It was almost painful to be the smart adopted kid, because teachers always told my beaming parents about my potential, but by high school, I just wanted to crawl out my bedroom window and have the freedom to be myself without having my future carved out by an IQ test and the dreams of my parents. Eventually, my parents were just hopeful that I would graduate high school.

When the rest of my friends were going to grad school, my mom was so proud to tell people that I moved to Denmark, learned to speak fluent Danish, and worked as a teacher. I had always been very individualistic, and I believe she was proud that I was able to channel this into something positive. I never told my parents that in reality, my immature Danish husband had developed anger management issues, and used to hide my shoes so that I couldn’t leave him in the middle of the snowy winters. Or that one day, I walked across the street to the local crisis center, barefoot, when he tried to lift me up against a wall by my neck and told me the only way I was going back to the US was in a body bag. I don’t talk about this, because of my overwhelming fear that people will see this experience as a part of who I am, and will look at me like someone to be pitied. I have a hard time owning my weaknesses, because I have always felt that weaknesses were meant to be overcome. And I think I can only talk about this now, because I was able to successfully walk away from my marriage.

One night, while he was away, I packed up my clothes and my books and moved into an apartment in the town where I was working. The apartment belonged to a girl who would be studying in Australia for 6 months, and while I had planned this months in advance, I constantly worried that I would never be able to pull it off.

Six months later, I moved back to New York, and took three part-time jobs in Manhattan. It was easy to convince my family (and myself) that I was ok, because I was the busy working girl in the city.

Fast forward to now.

It’s the end of the semester, and I will have to repeat at least two of my classes. I am so completely angry at myself. I am angry for taking too much on, and I am angry for not succeeding. The reason I talked myself into taking the lowest-paying job of my life is that it would give me the ability to finish my education, and now that my education is no further towards being finished, I’m angry that I’ve spent the last five months at a job that I can’t stand.

Sometimes I feel that this existence in Florida is time in purgatory for a crime I don’t remember committing.

I know that I’m ok, and I’m just having a pity party, but my single, childless neighbor with the job as a journalist just walked out to her car with a towel and a bathing suit. She said she’s hoping to leave work early and get to the beach. Girl, it’s 10:30. When were you planning on going to work?

This fear of failure is definately something I don't want to pass on to the Kid. I think I hear a trip to the self-help section of my local bookstore coming on.

Here's a little mood music. It's the only song that would calm the Kid down when she was an infant. I honestly believe it's because I listened to it while I was pregnant. She's jumping up and down on the bed right now and laughing.

And really, I know that's all that matters.

Sad baby

As I write this, the Kid is laying next to me in my bed, wrapped in her gigantic fringey blanket with the hot air balloons on it. She's been coughing for three hours, and no amount of cough syrup will quiet her hacking.

I wish I had some Airborne in the house. I just couldn't leave her in her room all by her tiny, hacking, diseased self.

My bedroom is in a sad state of disarray. Due to the Kid's recent head injuries (she seems to be falling a lot lately, and went winging out of a shopping cart at Target last night) I decided to push my bed against a wall. I also had an inspired closet-cleaning weekend, which ended in me heading to the store determined to buy a new dresser, and not coming home with one. In disgust, I blatantly refused (to myself, that is) to move all the clothes I had moved out of the closet. All I need now is a U2 poster, and this is my bedroom, circa 1984. I love you, Bono!!!

Where the hell is an Ikea when you need one.

And my second question, which just occurred to me, is why the heck am I spending money every month on Flinstone vitamins with Immunity Support? What sort of support am I getting, here??

Gah.

I'm off to bed with a pair of small feet in my back.

That day, for no particular reason, I decided to go for a little run.

Last night, I came home from the nail salon and realized I could leave my house.

My parents had taken the Kid for the night, and I had the opportunity to actually.... walk away from the house. Unbelievable.

So I put on my sneakers (which suck, by the way) and walked out the door and in the direction of Away. It was beautiful outside. It was about 70 degrees, with a slight breeze, and the air smelled soft, if soft is actually an olfactory descriptor. Which I doubt it is. But there it was, the air smelled soft. Slightly fragrant, a little warm, coming in small gusts. Soft.

I had no idea where I was going. I just felt like walking. Then I started running. Then it started raining. And since there's major roadwork going on in my neighborhood, I stopped running to be able to avoid the clay they're digging up. Walking allowed me to observe deep footprints in the clay that looked like a lost shoe and a muddy sock waiting to happen. I was glad I was walking.

I thought the rain would pass, but it just got harder. My clothes were drenched in a few minutes. For whatever reason, I just kept walking. I passed houses covered in Christmas lights, and many, many flowering bushes, and cats and racoons and a frog. It was amazing to just walk and not think about anything, and just clear my head and look at new things. Eventually, the rain stopped and I headed home. I think I was gone about an hour. One of my toes has a red spot from my horrid shoe. I lit some sandalwood incense and put my feet up.

I think one of the reasons I needed to walk is because I decided to give someone another chance to work through a divorce and see where we stand at the end. I'm not entirely sure I'm doing the right thing, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Plus, I am sick and tired of Karma kicking my ass for a past mistake, and so I am crawling up on the block and offering myself to Karma for the taking. Come and git it. But after this, Karma, you and I are straight.

I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing because I'm perfectly aware of the ache during a divorce that makes you wish you weren't so terribly alone. And the fact that if someone does happen to be there, you cling to them like a buoy in a storm, but when the storm's over and the sun is shining, you suddenly realize you need some alone time.

Read this. I'm leaving it in print. Feel free to do the "I told you so" dance later.

(sigh).

Dating and the single mom

Sucks.

The rules change completely once you hit the dating scene as a single mom.

You're no longer the stage-diving, tequila shot-tossing, expensive-shoe-having, just-don't-give-a-shit-girl you used to be.

(Then again, you might be. But I'm not. )

It was hard enough facing the outside world again in those first early moments that you were able to escape to the grocery store with spit-up stains on every shirt you owned and hair that hadn't seen a stylist in 11 months. But you got used to it.

Maybe your spirit broke a little with the kid who wouldn't sleep through the night, long after your friends with babies the same age were waking up refreshed.

Maybe, in the middle of it all, your partner started dating (people other than you). And you found it a little incredulous that he was trying to attract women when he had no job, was still living with you, and clearly couldn't remember who was buttering his bread, but hey, if anyone would want that, more power to 'em.

Please come pick him and his dirty laundry up, post-haste. PS, the only woman he'll ever really love is his mother. Good luck, girl! (Step-baby momma, that was a freebie).

Eventually, you pull yourself together. You're spinning a million plates in the air. You drop your kid off at a daycare where the rest of the moms are in their yoga outfits, holding up a fat-free latte with a hand that has an enormous diamond on a perfectly manicured fingertip, and chatting like women that have all day to stand around and chat. If only manicurists were open at midnight - I could surely squeeze that in between laundry and lunch prep. You do 90 on your way to your 8am meeting, driving with your knees, eating an apple and putting on makeup, because it's on your Outlook calendar that this is what you're supposed to be doing from 7:30 - 7:55am. Sorry, officer. Lookie here: "7:30 - Do 90 while driving with knees, eat an apple, put on eye makeup."

Either you meet men who have no children and while they greatly admire you, keep you at arm's distance while they scope around for someone just as great as you with no kids, or they have kids, but are just looking for that partner to put in the slot where the last one used to be.

Possibly, there are alternatives. I haven't found them yet.

It's Saturday morning, & I find myself nursing a heart from a gorgeous and amazing man who forgot to tell me he was still wearing a wedding ring. I thought he really saw me, but I don't think he saw below all these spinning plates, and behind this steering wheel that I'm driving with my knees, and from underneath all these textbooks that I'm reading so that I can give my kid something better all by myself, the part of me that says hey, I've got enough going on. I'm not as strong as you think I am.

I'm going to go have a waffle and listen to that whiny bastard James Blunt and make some carpet angels in my living room floor. Then I'm going to pull myself out of my pajamas and take my kid for a walk and show her the world.

On another note, that new computer that I ordered for T. finally came in, and he now has two monitors on his desk, like a complete, raging geek.

And I had to post a photo.

He said "I'm not looking at the camera". And I said, "What?" And he turned to repeat himself, because he really is that dumb, god love him.










Please note the photo of the crew of the Starship Enterprise that I taped to the top of his new monitor.

He promptly sent me this email:

From: TGLETSITCAFM
Sent: Thursday, November 30, 2006 3:19 PM
To: Mary
Subject: um

Just thought I’d say hi

I love yeh. I always have.

TGLETSITCAFM and his wife are talking about getting back together, after they separated for about six months.

I did the "I knew it! I knew it!" dance around the office until he smacked me across the face and I crawled back into my office chair, holding my cheek.

Now someone just needs to break up with all of his lah-dehz. 'Cause the guy has women up and down the Florida coast.

Which begs the question... men in the middle of a separation. Are they ok to date?

Most of us know when it's over. But divorce is an ugly, shape-shifting, energy-draining beast that can leave you spent, and ready to walk away from the next relationship, when it's an otherwise amazing person.

No one wants to be the Transitional Relationship. It's like being the black guy in a Sci-Fi movie. You're doomed to die, usually very early on.

What if the transition really is a just a transition? So the timing's a little off... Can you hang in there and wait for all the details to iron out? Will you be left with a whole and unscarred person?

Is that really possible?

Just askin'.

POTTY!

This week, the Kid decided she was tired of waiting for me to draft a potty training plan, and just started screaming "POTTY!" and ripping off her diaper and running to the bathroom.

She even pulls out her Ikea step and her Sponge Bob potty seat herself, and waves at me from her throne.

Fantastic. :)

We had an amazing holiday weekend, and spent a lot of time outside, looking at plants and bugs. I'm posting some photos that I took over the weekend at our nature center. Even with the planes flying overhead from time to time, I'm really glad we have this place to escape to.

Turkey = joy

Normally, I don't like to eat anything with a face.

But I love Thanksgiving.

I love turkey, stuffing, and cranberries. And I love turkey, stuffing, and cranberries.

Tomorrow morning, I will love turkey, stuffing, and cranberries.
Turkey, stuffing, and cranberries.

Glggagghgaghlllghalghggghaghgaaaaah......

Happy, happy girl.

The Kid's song, which she will only sing spontenously:
(You can't ask her to sing it, because then she just says "No". Even if you start to sing it yourself in the hopes of motivating her, and you have guests you're trying to impress, what happens is you wind up singing the whole song by yourself while she walks off to play with something and your guests look at you like they've been sitting on your sofa for far too long and have suddenly thought of a million other things they could be doing.)

(sung to the tune of "Did you ever see a Lassie?")
Oh, gobble, gobble, gobble,
Fat turkeys, fat turkeys.
Oh, gobble, gobble, gobble,
Fat turkeys are we.
We walk very proudly and gobble so loudly,
Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble.
Oh, gobble, gobble, gobble.
Fat turkeys are we.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Get your fork outta my plate.
Grrrr.......

No, sir, I do not know where your wife is.

The holiday rush at the airport has begun.

I've been doing a few long days to get some OT in, and have been spending them in the terminals, moving along the foot traffic and telling people where the bathroom is.

People have been friendly, for the most part, and I've only had one mean drunk so far, although the holiday season, she is young.

The temperature suddenly dropped outside to 41 degrees, and I found myself ripping apart my closet searching desperately for closed-toe shoes. To no avail. Weird, right? Apparently, I only own 17 pairs of flip-flops. And some death heels. I love heels. In the terminal, though, heels are awful when you're pacing back and forth on the hard floor, which I found out yesterday. A hot shower and 3 Alleve later, I was almost walking again.

So now the heat is blasting in my apartment, because although I grew up in New York, I have lived in south Florida for three years and am no longer comfortable when my external temperature dips below 78 degrees. 74, and you'll see me in a jacket.

But Mary, you say, that's just crazy!

Screw you! I yell, and pull my jacket tightly around me.

The Kid learned her first poem at school this week. The teacher said she planned on covering it all month, but the Kid learned it in two days. I asked her about it the other day, and she looked at me for a long time, like the wheels were turning in her head. Then she spoke in very short, patterned sentences, like you would if you were reading a poem to a class of two year olds.

Friends are good
Friends are cool
I have lots of friends in school.

Something, something... I don't know. I was clapping and screaming too much to remember the last three lines. She's reciting her little poem, and she's TWO.

I can't hug and squish this kid enough.

:)

A DAY WITHOUT INTERNET. NO, A HALF-DAY.

I went to the doctor on Friday, and for the first time in my life, my blood pressure was elevated.

I have come to the conclusion that my chest constricts every time the Kid starts whining or screaming. It's amazing to watch.

WHINE! (OW)

WHINE! (OW)

Throws self on ground and starts screaming (OW)

Stands outside shower curtain and screams durning entire duration of shower (OW).

Isn't it amazing how the body works?

I've started using time-outs (for her) and am increasing my daily walks to twice-daily walks. I also threw out my beloved sea salt. Oh, salt, how I love you so.

Someone suggested that I shut off my computer once in a while.

HAH?

Maybe they have a point. My apartment has a louder electronic hum than a nuclear power plant. That can't be doing anything for my stress level. So I shut off the computer. The Kid and I went for a long walk. She took her beaded purse to collect rocks with, so she could throw them down the sewer grate later. I drank lots of water.

I wondered about putting up a bike hook, but did not log on to find one. New curtains for the bedroom? Nope, I just drove to the store.

(Of course, I didn't find what I was looking for.)

Men are dumb.

My work buddy Rich, who usually likes to stand in my cubicle and rub his nipples (Oh, Mary, I don't believe you for a second), went to the hospital today with chest pain. Rich, who has an insanely high cholesterol level, works about 12 hours a day. Another co-worker went to the doctor after not feeling well a couple of weeks ago, found his arteries were severely blocked, and had an angioplasty the next day.

We're talking about this today while Rich is on his way to the hospital, and T starts talking about how his heart hurts sometimes when he exerts himself. What a waste of a Master's Degree, eh?

Me: And what is it that's going on with your dad right now, Boy Genius?

Him: (refusing to make eye contact and trying not to laugh) Umm... he's having some heart problems.

Me: Jackass.

After Angioplasty Guy has a brief chat with T, T agrees to see a doctor.

Uh-huh.

Hooray for Grandma and Grandpa

I love my daughter. I really, and truly love her more than anything else in the universe. She is my sun, my moon, my stars, and I would stand in front of a speeding train for this child, but if my parents didn't take her for a sleepover this evening, I would have gouged out my own eye with cutlery.

I started the evening with a hot bath, pouring in every powdery, bubbly, cristally bathtub additive that I never get to use (but still buy, optimistically) because I don't get time in the bathroom without a little person standing outside the shower curtain, crying.

I opened up my new copy of the Vegetarian Times magazine that I bought while waiting on line at the Boca Whole Foods yesterday, and out pops a photo of the Editor-in-Chief -- my old buddy, Mary Margaret. What?! She looks fantastic.

(She probably doesn't smell as good as I do, though, since I've got about $70 of tub product infused in this water.)

Since the Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival is currently going on, I decided to go see a movie after my bath. Gray Matters looked like a good choice for the evening, and I'd never been to the Parker Playhouse, so I threw on some eyeliner and off I went. I was sort of tempted to get McDonald's and go to the drive-in in my pajamas, but I've been complaining about the lack of culture in Fort Lauderdale lately, so I forced myself into the car.

Wow, I'm glad I talked myself out of that bathrobe... people were dressed, there was a bar, and the director was there for the premiere. The playhouse was gorgeous, and I got a book of all the films for the festival, and there are a few more that I'd like to see. My hair smelled delicious. I loved the movie. When I left, I felt like myself again. Someone who left the house, whose hair smelled nice.

I fall in love with me a little bit more every day.

She's been awake for 8 minutes.

Halloween is QUACKTACULOUS!

Today we experienced The Sugar High.

The first was mine, at 8:45am. PMS hit me like a tsunami and I found myself rifling through a plastic jack-o-lantern, cramming Tootsie Rolls into my mouth, trying to get to the cocoa that was listed as the seventh ingredient, right after 6 different forms of sugar.

What?? Seventh ingredient just wasn't cutting it. I felt like a junkie desperately trying to get to the heroin essence in some overly-cut street smack. And of course, my grubby coworkers ate all my Reese's peanut butter cups the day before. Bastards.

Luckily, another division was holding a bake sale to benefit diabetes research.

That's right, I said a bake sale to benefit diabetes research.

Being a team player, I truly did my best to get diabetes. Ten minutes later I sat in a corner of the lobby with a spoon, a cotton ball, and a chocolate cookie.

But enough about me.

This morning, I tried to get the Kid into her Halloween costume so I could take some beautiful photos, and spend the rest of my day at work, lackadaisically playing with Clip Art and jpegs. The Kid decided she would prefer to throw herself on the ground and have a hissy fit until it was time to go.

This afternoon, I spent the ride from daycare to my parents' trying to convince her that if she agreed to put on the costume and yell "TRICK OR TREAT!", people would give her candy. Oooh, candy. She agreed, but further negotiated that she would receive afore-mentioned candy for each exremity placed in said costume. By the time we hit the elevator, she was in a duck suit, running in circles and yelling "CANDY! CANDY!".

Hoo, boy.

My dad also thought it would be fun to see how much candy she could fit in her mouth. "Lots" is the answer. My daughter had candy for dinner, and two pieces of broccoli.

I spent the bulk of my day at work moaning about how my stomach hurt from eating too much candy, talking to TGLETSITSAFM about my raging PMS, and mouthing the words "Olive juice" at him. That never gets old.

"I said 'OLIVE JUICE', dildo, not 'I LOVE YOU'! HA HA!"

The boss said something today about "some people being moved around for efficiency reasons". I hugged TGLETSITCAFM goodbye and started to think of new possible acronyms for him. The Guy Lucky Enough to Sit in the Cubicle Across from Me and I are going to be the first people that Hitler splits up. I'm going to wind up either sitting next to the Office Manager, or the guy who creates all the signs for the airport who isn't a native English speaker. Or both. And by 'native', I mean 'proficient'. And by 'Office Manager'... well, never mind.

Olive juice.

Too introspective for a Monday.

I seem to be at a locational crossroads again, at least in my mind.
I find myself missing New York, but I realize my small moments throughout the day where I am most content is where absolutely nothing is going on. The Kid is sleeping, the sandalwood is burning, the window is open, the cats are stretching, the dishes are clean, lunch is made, tomorrow's clothes have been set aside, and I can sit back and enjoy it all.

I miss the wide expanse of the Egyptian Art section of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I miss live music, and falafel, and good cocktails. I miss racing cab drivers down Second Avenue and edging them out of the first spot behind the traffic light, foot hovering lightly over the brake and ready to tear off at a green light.

Yet, with all the small tasks of the day complete, I am content where I am. I like the new sheets I bought myself. I like the glow of the TV on the living room walls. I love the Kid's Halloween costume. I like the neighborhood. (People smile here, and say "good morning".)

I like Sunday dinners with mom and dad, which is either a tough marketing campaign, or dad's way of getting me to get my time in with them while I can. And that's painful. Right now, it's easy to feel comfortable, like nothing will happen to them for a long time, but I'm sure at some point, I'll be looking back and feeling like it flew by in an instant. I feel like I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop for years.

Pam was right. This is lonely. It's peaceful, and it's lonely. Mostly peaceful.

Sometimes what you're looking for is right down the block...

I had been driving all over south Florida looking for trees.

Today the Kid was especially nutty, so I decided to try a not-so-promising-looking park down the block, that was supposed to have nature trails.... it was great!

I realized that my child does not know how to walk in dirt, and has no idea what tree bark is. Ouch.

We walked through this park for about an hour, in an effort to tire her out for a good nap. I think it worked. We saw butterflies, and egrets, and when I looked up, all I saw was tree tops and blue sky, and no buildings. She had a bit of a meltdown towards the end, but I just carried her out to the car and put her down for a nap.

It made me really, really wish I lived in the middle of nowhere. I felt completely at peace.

Hooray, nature.

When "Good Enough" is good enough

Tonight I handed in half an assignment. I had every intention of doing it early, but life got in the way.

Tonight I worked feverishly to complete the darn thing, and didn't get it all done. I'll get partial credit. The Kid is still sick, and woke up crying "Mommy!" and coughing. When she calls, I always want to be there. So I hit "send" and sat in the rocking chair, kissing her forehead, until she was content enough to go back to sleep.

I might still be working on this degree when I'm 85. I've decided that that's ok. It wasn't the original plan, but that's ok.

I still have a pile of boxes in the living room. I went through a bunch last night, and though I made great progress, but when I opened the front door this evening, it looked a lot worse than I remembered. I may just drag the last remaining boxes out onto the grass and have a fire. And that's ok, too!

I got the cutest card from Pam today. And a phone call from Oana, who was just checking to see if I was still alive during her weekly 7 minutes of alone time. Thanks, you guys. I'm so grateful for the amazing friends I have! You've gotten me through the worst of it all, and I absolutely love you.

Resting against my front door this afternoon was a box from Amazon.com, containing the new shower head I ordered. There was no water pressure in my new shower, and I spent $30 on this thing, hoping for a miracle. And I got a miracle! It's from Oxygenics, and it really worked! Normally I'm not into brand pushing, but when the coffee and Red Bull wear off, a boiling hot shower is my last hope. The water in the new apartment has been a dribble, but the new showerhead almost put a scalding hot hole through my back. Just the way I like it!

No day is perfect. I feel like I need to concentrate on the good stuff.

Thank you, universe for:

• a new showerhead
• the Kid
• the parents that get up at the crack of dawn to take care of the Sick Kid
• the roof over my head
• sleeping cats on my bed
• letting me get at least half an assignment done
• the friends that keep me going
• a dependable car
• the most amazing, perfectly cooled breeze off of the beach today
• long walks and trees to look at along the way
• a paycheck
• lunch in the middle of the day with TGLETSITCAFM and Meisha, so I can crack up for an hour over T's dating tips and people walking around with BlueTooth headsets as big as my cordless phone
• & always a new day ahead

Super corny, no?

NO!

HOME

Tonight, the Kid and I went for our first walk in the neighborhood.

I was thinking about waiting until I could get to the Pepper Spray Store, but my thighs weren't. Today was the first day since March that the outdoor temperature actually dipped below Unbearable, so I sort of had to go. It was about 60 degrees when I woke up this morning!

It was so amazing to put jackets on and head outside for a long walk that didn't end in sunburn or sweat.

Somehow, though, the thought that I was excited about a cool 60 degrees (yet still running into the office this morning to get out of the "cold") REALLY makes me think I've been in south Florida for far too long. The Kid was thoroughly confused this morning. She walked outside, looked at me, and said, "COLD!". Are either of us ready for a trip to Scandinavia? Maybe in the summer.... Baby steps.

This neighborhood is growing on me. There are several hidden canals and back streets, and the neighborhood, although slightly crusty, has an organic feel to it that I really like. The last neighborhood we lived in was safe and manicured, and really, really dull. There's stuff to look at around the new place, and the walks are more interesting.

Well, it's only 8pm, so I'm off to work on Project Unpack, where I hopefully unpack a few more boxes, and throw out most of the contents. It works out pretty well, since there's very little storage space in the new apartment.

I can't wait until the place is clean and complete!

Musically Interludinal

Today I wrote a song.

It was for TGLETSITCAFM, whose full name only rhymes with "Siberian Husky" and "Elephant Tusky".

It's sung to the tune of "David Duchovny, Why Don't You Love Me" by Bree Sharp.

Except it's only three lines long.

HIM: I can't wait for the album to come out.

Sick Baby, Take 12.

My most recent challenge has been dealing with the Kid's sick days.

This morning, I had to run downtown to take a test to keep my recruitment status active for new positions in the County, and had advised my boss ahead of time that I would be late. I arrived at work about an hour later than usual, checked my email, started to go through my Inbox, and 2 seconds later, the Kid's daycare called to say that her snot was green and I needed to pick her up because she was contagious.

Of course it's contagious. She picked it up herself from daycare.

All weekend, I kept her away from my parents, as they are 107 years old, and catch the Kid's illnesses quickly. And then I have to wake them up on Monday morning to tell them I need to drop her off, because she's being sent home and I can't miss another day of work.

Daughter of the Year. I can practically hear the award being printed.

In the daycare parking lot, I met another single mom, Nancy, picking up her sick son, and who looked just as frustrated as I felt. However, Nancy had an hourly job, not salaried, so her day off was a day without pay, with no one else to take her kid.

Last week, the boss casually mentioned that the Kid's been sick a lot lately.

Perhaps I should call him during another sleepless night so he can come over, and we can do each other's hair, and chat about Grey's Anatomy, and get through the night together, since he's obviously concerned.

I looked for other resources online. What are single parents supposed to do with sick kids, when you're out of sick days, and there's no one else to help? The Mayo Clinic had some info, and there's a hospital in Akron, OH, that offers a sick child care center.

The U.S. Office of Personnel Management posted this on their site: "All children get sick from time to time. Most child care centers have policies about sick children and very few allow children with contagious diseases to attend. Some day care centers set aside space to care for mildly ill children. These centers usually have a nurse on staff or on call. The need for such sick child day care centers has produced many centers opened around the country. To find out if there is a center in your area, contact the National Association of Sick Child Day Care Centers, (205) 324-8447. "

I also read a report from '98 that discussed programs implemented by the City of Seattle, WA and the City of Mesa, AZ, which helped to subsidize sick child care so that parents could remain at work.

I think I'll have a fruitless conversation with HR tomorrow regarding my ideas.

Hooray, Monday.

Hey Lady, it's Monday!

Well, tomorrow's another Monday.

I'm not in the mood.

We've had a great weekend at home, just the Kid and I, and I could use another few days.

The little things she says just make me laugh. I asked her for her cup today to give her some juice, and she promptly handed it to me. Two seconds later, she said, "Thank you, you're welcome", to fill in the space where that exchange did not happen. She always says please. I sneezed three times in a row, and she said "Bless you! Bless you! Bless you!". Pretty good for someone who just turned two. She skinned her knee on Saturday while she was out with her dad, and when he didn't kiss her boo-boo, she lifted her leg up to her head and kissed it herself and said "All better".

Last week we had to pick up Auntie Dej on the way to work, because her car never works (even though her father-in-law's a mechanic). I was screeching around a corner as is expected at 7:30am, and the Kid yelled "HOLD ON!". Dej thought that was hysterical. I thought it was teamwork.

Just a little pat on the back to myself - the Kid pooped on the potty today. I did not post photos.

Thank you. You're welcome.

Watching the grass grow

Tonight I forced myself to do nothing.

I shut off the phone and let my eyes glaze over in front of Dog and Leland.

I've been hearing a lot lately about multi-tasking and our busy lives, and how you may be getting things done, but not actually retaining the information. Which would explain why a lot of things that I was carrying a second ago suddenly "dissappear". I was thinking back to a few beautiful summers in Denmark (where people actually use their vacation time, sometimes in consectutive WEEKS!). In the summer, I would lay in a hammock and watch the grass grow and listen to the birds. There are days like that I can remember what I ate, or what I was wearing... but if I try to remember what, if anything, I had on yesterday, I'm at a total loss. Even as a kid, my most vivid memories are from the summertime, where I had nothing better to do than watch a ladybug crawl up a blade of grass.

My Pam knows the deal. Right, Pam? Pam, I'm moving in. I'm going to be your Kato Kaelin.

Maybe it won't be today, or even by the summer, but I will work towards simplification. I can't keep up this pace. Yesterday I felt nuts, and drank more water than an e-tripping raver just trying to get all the Red Bull and coffee out of my system. I'm worried that I'm going to open my eyes and the Kid will be in 11th grade and shoving a towel under her bedroom door so I don't smell her drugs or hear her crawl out the window to get on the back of a motorcycle that her boyfriend just stole. I want to sit and kiss her cheeks while she still lets me and sit with her in the grass and listen to birds.

Well, I can almost get 8 full hours of sleep in. Here goes nothin'!

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can....

Who am I kidding.

Huge exam.

18 chapters.

It's 9pm. Three hundred pages....

Someone please pass me my crackpipe.

Thank you. :)

I can almost taste Thanksgiving

Big exam tomorrow at 9am.

Of course, I just checked my English syllabus, and I have an essay due in about 2 1/2 hours. So now I have to write an essay, and learn the past 4 weeks' worth of math class.

Easy, peasy.

I have chained myself to the computer and am enjoying large amounts of sugar-free Red Bull.

Last night I unpacked about 14 boxes. Rested my little head on the pillow at 1:01am. At 1:11am, the Kid awoke crying, with a fever. She crawled into bed with me and proceeded to whap me in the eye with a sticky little hand for the next five hours.

There was a drunk woman wandering around the supermarket tonight. She was weaving all over the produce section, and kept returning to the deli counter, fixated on large bowls of olives, her belly whimsically hanging out of the top of her bike shorts. I found myself very envious of her freedom.

I wonder if I can make it to the next major holiday, or if I'll be back at the supermarket by the weekend in my bathrobe, drinking gin out of a sippy cup and casually squeezing the bakery bread.

Place your bets.