Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Laund-o-rama
Isn't laundry one of life's most vicious cycles? We wash, we wear, we repeat. It's endless. I actually don't dislike the washing part. Maybe it is because I like water and the sheer thrill of soap turning into little, fluffy bubbles. But drying? Eh, not so much. There's no thrill there. (Granted, there are other ways to get a thrill with laundry, but I digress.) Anyway, I do enjoy the warm, Bounce-scented clothes when they comes out of the dryer. Jumping in them, tossing them on the cat, or playing tug-of-war with the dogs; that is fun. The problem for me, though, is getting the laundry to the dryer. I have a habit of just letting it sit the washer. Sometimes I forget about it for a day or two. Not a good thing--I assure you. Nevertheless, since I am down to my last pair of panties and am too tired to go to the store to buy more, I guess I have to venture into the hamper and throw some things in the washer. To quote that fish from Finding Nemo, "Bubbles!"
Friday, January 23, 2009
Back in the day
I wish I lived in a time where people were still friendly. Don't get me wrong; friendliness does still exist. However, 8 times out of 10, I would venture to say that if a stranger happened to be walking next to us down the street and attempted to start a conversation we would probably think 1 of 5 things: this person is selling something, this person is going to attack me, this person is crazy, this person is annoying, or "What person? I don't see any person. I'm just going to act like I am deaf and keep my head down." Granted, there are those of us, a rare few, that are "talkers." Often they are looked at with disdain by the rest of us, the "semi-talkers," the "placaters," the "non-talkers," the "avoiders," and the "don't-look-at-me-or-I-will-castrate-your-fluffy-kitten-ers." It really is sad and so different from the world where my grandparents and great-grandparents lived--a world where you genuinely wanted to know your neighbor and where you did just strike up conversations with people you didn't know. In fact, it would have been rude to not talk to someone next to you. Now we live in a society where we expect that someone is after something if he or she is just nice for no reason.
A couple days ago I was walking into the store and an old man started talking to me. My first thought was, "Ooookay." I gave a placating smile and subconsciously quickened my step; I justified it because it was cold outside. I consider myself to be a nice person and do talk with people in social situations, but I was surprised how awkward I felt as he just continued talking, making me slow to his pace. He talked about the cold, the parking spot, the holidays--just normal small talk--and I started to wonder just how far away from the store I had actually parked. He also mentioned his wife, lest I think he was trying to make time with me. Very cute. The truth of the matter is that by the time I held the door to the store open for him, I realized he pretty much made my day. It was a truly nice exchange. I got over the initial odd vibe and actually enjoyed our chat. The test will be if I talk to someone the next time I am walking into the store. Do I want to make myself vulnerable? Granted, the person will probably think I am nuts, but sometimes life is about taking that chance. I might go beyond the smile or the "Hi," the "Hey," or the "How are ya?" that you hope the person doesn't answer. Can you imagine just walking by someone , offering a brisk "How are ya?" and having the person stop and say, "Weeeeell, now that you ask. The gout is flairing up, I had to put my dog to sleep yesterday, I lost my credit card, and tomorrow is my birthday. How are you?"
Another situation popped up yesterday. I was walking out of the grocery when a woman who worked there said something along the lines of, "Excuse me. I know I just work here and shouldn't get personal, but you're looking really good." This could have been spurred by the fact I was in gym pants, but it was still a nice gesture. The funny thing is that just that afternoon I complimented a woman at my doctor's office on her nail polish; it was actually a very vibrant, over-the-top red, but I could tell that she was making a show of having her nails done. She beamed when I told her they looked pretty, not unlike I probably smiled when I got my compliment. I am one to take chances and compliment someone. I am not great at taking compliments back, but I am getting better. Many people don't care enough to take that extra step. I like seeing people smile, though. And the chat with the woman at the grocery definitely made me smile.
S has told me that I can be friendly to the point of being annoying. He said it didn't bother him, but that he wondered if it rubbed people the wrong way. You know, I am sure it does sometimes. Other times, though, people say I am refreshing. I would rather know that I might have made someone smile who would not have done so had I not taken a little extra step. I don't give false compliments, and I am not phony. I don't want to be sickly sweet, and I don't think I am, but I also don't want to temper myself. I would rather live in a by-gone era where people actually cared about each other. And I would actually like to give my neighbors cookies at Christmas, and maybe next year I will do just that. I think this world is what we make it. I'm not going to sing Kum-bi-ya 'round a campfire or anything, but I do think we get what we give. And, while I have been called a martyr, I know I am no saint; none of us are. However, I want to change the part of me that had that moment of annoyance and maybe even "Oh great!" dread when the old man spoke to me. It is in reaching out to one another that we are reminded how much we all are alike. William Allen White once said, "If each man or woman could understand that every other human life is as full of sorrows, or joys, or base temptations, of heartaches and remorse as his own... how much kinder, how much gentler he would be."
I think he is on to something.
A couple days ago I was walking into the store and an old man started talking to me. My first thought was, "Ooookay." I gave a placating smile and subconsciously quickened my step; I justified it because it was cold outside. I consider myself to be a nice person and do talk with people in social situations, but I was surprised how awkward I felt as he just continued talking, making me slow to his pace. He talked about the cold, the parking spot, the holidays--just normal small talk--and I started to wonder just how far away from the store I had actually parked. He also mentioned his wife, lest I think he was trying to make time with me. Very cute. The truth of the matter is that by the time I held the door to the store open for him, I realized he pretty much made my day. It was a truly nice exchange. I got over the initial odd vibe and actually enjoyed our chat. The test will be if I talk to someone the next time I am walking into the store. Do I want to make myself vulnerable? Granted, the person will probably think I am nuts, but sometimes life is about taking that chance. I might go beyond the smile or the "Hi," the "Hey," or the "How are ya?" that you hope the person doesn't answer. Can you imagine just walking by someone , offering a brisk "How are ya?" and having the person stop and say, "Weeeeell, now that you ask. The gout is flairing up, I had to put my dog to sleep yesterday, I lost my credit card, and tomorrow is my birthday. How are you?"
Another situation popped up yesterday. I was walking out of the grocery when a woman who worked there said something along the lines of, "Excuse me. I know I just work here and shouldn't get personal, but you're looking really good." This could have been spurred by the fact I was in gym pants, but it was still a nice gesture. The funny thing is that just that afternoon I complimented a woman at my doctor's office on her nail polish; it was actually a very vibrant, over-the-top red, but I could tell that she was making a show of having her nails done. She beamed when I told her they looked pretty, not unlike I probably smiled when I got my compliment. I am one to take chances and compliment someone. I am not great at taking compliments back, but I am getting better. Many people don't care enough to take that extra step. I like seeing people smile, though. And the chat with the woman at the grocery definitely made me smile.
S has told me that I can be friendly to the point of being annoying. He said it didn't bother him, but that he wondered if it rubbed people the wrong way. You know, I am sure it does sometimes. Other times, though, people say I am refreshing. I would rather know that I might have made someone smile who would not have done so had I not taken a little extra step. I don't give false compliments, and I am not phony. I don't want to be sickly sweet, and I don't think I am, but I also don't want to temper myself. I would rather live in a by-gone era where people actually cared about each other. And I would actually like to give my neighbors cookies at Christmas, and maybe next year I will do just that. I think this world is what we make it. I'm not going to sing Kum-bi-ya 'round a campfire or anything, but I do think we get what we give. And, while I have been called a martyr, I know I am no saint; none of us are. However, I want to change the part of me that had that moment of annoyance and maybe even "Oh great!" dread when the old man spoke to me. It is in reaching out to one another that we are reminded how much we all are alike. William Allen White once said, "If each man or woman could understand that every other human life is as full of sorrows, or joys, or base temptations, of heartaches and remorse as his own... how much kinder, how much gentler he would be."
I think he is on to something.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
What was she thinking?
So I am cutting through Macy's to get to Starbucks, and I see this little girl just staring at a picture on the lower half of the Dior make-up counter, perfectly placed at her eye-level. She was completely holding up traffic and her mother, oblivious on a cell phone, didn't even see her. I was curious as to what was holding her attention so strongly. I walk passed her and see this:
Okay, so it wasn't exactly THIS ad but it was close. It was the same shoot for the ad, but Charlize Theron was showing more boob. So here is this little one, about 6 or 7 years old, mesmerized by Charlize grabbing her dress and slathering herself in J'adore. (This is the same ad that spawned the commercial where she rips off all her clothes because nothing can satisfy her--not even diamonds--only J'Adore; you can YouTube it.) I almost felt sad. And so another little nubbin--this one with blonde hair in a little pink parka with a pink striped scarf and pink mittens--falls unknowingly into the crevasse... I know I am putting too many adult feelings on this one, but I just had this flash of how she is going to grow up--how she will see the world and how the world will see her. And, really, what she is going to have to do--and chose to sacrifice--to fit into it.
Anyway, as I ascended on the escalator to what should have been my warm Cinnamon Dolce respite, I started to feel my Women's Studies classes percolating inside me again. I remembered the statistic about 80% of 3rd grade girls already have been on a diet or currently being on one. I thought about all the research on socialization and how girls purposely start to "dumb down" in school to fit in. Granted, we have come a long way, but the rate at which it happens is still extreme. I also found myself thinking about the email wrote to my Goddaughter last night in response to her email about her mom being a "Nazi." She is growing up, becoming a woman, and definitely giving me the creeps as she does it in terms of the sex thing. Regardless, I worry about her conforming. She is so strong-willed, yet I see her cracking and wanting to be "popular." For example, I was visiting her this summer and took her to the mall. She was in a Pac Sun phase because she said that was where all the "rebels" shopped. Being a smartass, I countered with, "Well, if all the rebels shop there it doesn't sound too rebellious." She gave me "the look"--which I think she inherited from me. Point is... she is still her own person and I don't want her to forget that for her friends, for a guy, for anything--because I did and it took me a long time to remember who I was again. I think all teenagers go through that phase, but the number of girls who make it out is slim--especially when we live in a world of Acai berry diets, anal bleach, wrinkle creams, and airbrushed perfection on every magazine and TV screen. All sorts of things to make us not like who we are.
One good thing about the Macy's experience happened on my way down the escalator. The little girl was still there with her mouth open, but a high school girl in her black and orange varsity jacket also walked by--wearing these awful looking cotton polka dotted pants and snow boots. And, you know, I loved her for it. It is a sign that not all women get sucked into the vortex. Some swallow the red pill and reject the blue. I hope that one day the little pink parka girl ends up at the mall in polka dot pants. She may not like the Matrix, but it is better to be aware than to live in la la land.
Okay, so it wasn't exactly THIS ad but it was close. It was the same shoot for the ad, but Charlize Theron was showing more boob. So here is this little one, about 6 or 7 years old, mesmerized by Charlize grabbing her dress and slathering herself in J'adore. (This is the same ad that spawned the commercial where she rips off all her clothes because nothing can satisfy her--not even diamonds--only J'Adore; you can YouTube it.) I almost felt sad. And so another little nubbin--this one with blonde hair in a little pink parka with a pink striped scarf and pink mittens--falls unknowingly into the crevasse... I know I am putting too many adult feelings on this one, but I just had this flash of how she is going to grow up--how she will see the world and how the world will see her. And, really, what she is going to have to do--and chose to sacrifice--to fit into it.
Anyway, as I ascended on the escalator to what should have been my warm Cinnamon Dolce respite, I started to feel my Women's Studies classes percolating inside me again. I remembered the statistic about 80% of 3rd grade girls already have been on a diet or currently being on one. I thought about all the research on socialization and how girls purposely start to "dumb down" in school to fit in. Granted, we have come a long way, but the rate at which it happens is still extreme. I also found myself thinking about the email wrote to my Goddaughter last night in response to her email about her mom being a "Nazi." She is growing up, becoming a woman, and definitely giving me the creeps as she does it in terms of the sex thing. Regardless, I worry about her conforming. She is so strong-willed, yet I see her cracking and wanting to be "popular." For example, I was visiting her this summer and took her to the mall. She was in a Pac Sun phase because she said that was where all the "rebels" shopped. Being a smartass, I countered with, "Well, if all the rebels shop there it doesn't sound too rebellious." She gave me "the look"--which I think she inherited from me. Point is... she is still her own person and I don't want her to forget that for her friends, for a guy, for anything--because I did and it took me a long time to remember who I was again. I think all teenagers go through that phase, but the number of girls who make it out is slim--especially when we live in a world of Acai berry diets, anal bleach, wrinkle creams, and airbrushed perfection on every magazine and TV screen. All sorts of things to make us not like who we are.
One good thing about the Macy's experience happened on my way down the escalator. The little girl was still there with her mouth open, but a high school girl in her black and orange varsity jacket also walked by--wearing these awful looking cotton polka dotted pants and snow boots. And, you know, I loved her for it. It is a sign that not all women get sucked into the vortex. Some swallow the red pill and reject the blue. I hope that one day the little pink parka girl ends up at the mall in polka dot pants. She may not like the Matrix, but it is better to be aware than to live in la la land.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
ER
What a difference a day makes. Well, to finish on the dogs' party tale, I'll offer the Reader's Digest Version:
1) Dogs are wrestling and plow into S's leg at work, hurting him.
2) S reminds me that he is a cat-person and can't stand my dogs; it hurts to hear, but I know it is true.
3) Bake dog cake; it turns out well, though the frosting melted a bit because I frosted it while warm.
4) S goes to the dog party and was great. My mom totally went overboard on the "Scooby Doo" theme. We all opened toys, and S even posed in a party hat for pictures and sang "Happy Birthday." (My dad also posed and sang in his I-can't-believe-she-got-me-to-do-this voice and demeanor.)
5) Dogs are excited and restless while we all watch Bullitt and attempt to ruin movie, but it is still enjoyed. S was very cute all vegged out in the recliner.
6) Fight the snows to get home.
7) S has the worst migraine I think he has had yet. We're up most of the night, and he really was suffering on many levels. He gets pretty agitated and there isn't much I can do to comfort him, but I try my best.
8) I try not to wake him in the morning, but end up having an acid problem with my stomach and have to go to the ER.
Anyway, I'm fine and he is, too. I'm still sore, but surviving. As I said, though, what a difference a day makes. S was supposed to take yesterday off because he was sick, but then I got sick. I had my dad take me to the ER because I didn't want S to be there when he wasn't feeling great. (I had a wonderful doctor, too. She was thorough and fast, and gave me my privacy--like saying she'd keep the exam "G-Rated" since my dad was there, though he walked out for me.) I have to say that I really liked that my dad was there with me at the hospital. His presence can really comfort me. It was like a "moment" for us. He is great. He got me laughing a little and just listened as I rambled in my pain-killer induced state. He even called my girlfriend to cancel lunch for me. I held his hand there and back in the car. I love him a lot and don't want to imagine a day when he, or my mom or S, aren't there.
I do feel badly that S was supposed to take the day off at work because he wasn't feeling well and then I had to be off. I feel like I let him down, even though he said I didn't. I just felt so guilty that I had a crisis when he did. I felt like it seemed like I was an attention-sucker or something. He ended up going in to the office for an hour, and I wished so much that I hadn't gotten sick.
So that's the scoop. This blog is really nothing but a journal entry of my yesterday.
But... as S says, "It is what it is."
1) Dogs are wrestling and plow into S's leg at work, hurting him.
2) S reminds me that he is a cat-person and can't stand my dogs; it hurts to hear, but I know it is true.
3) Bake dog cake; it turns out well, though the frosting melted a bit because I frosted it while warm.
4) S goes to the dog party and was great. My mom totally went overboard on the "Scooby Doo" theme. We all opened toys, and S even posed in a party hat for pictures and sang "Happy Birthday." (My dad also posed and sang in his I-can't-believe-she-got-me-to-do-this voice and demeanor.)
5) Dogs are excited and restless while we all watch Bullitt and attempt to ruin movie, but it is still enjoyed. S was very cute all vegged out in the recliner.
6) Fight the snows to get home.
7) S has the worst migraine I think he has had yet. We're up most of the night, and he really was suffering on many levels. He gets pretty agitated and there isn't much I can do to comfort him, but I try my best.
8) I try not to wake him in the morning, but end up having an acid problem with my stomach and have to go to the ER.
Anyway, I'm fine and he is, too. I'm still sore, but surviving. As I said, though, what a difference a day makes. S was supposed to take yesterday off because he was sick, but then I got sick. I had my dad take me to the ER because I didn't want S to be there when he wasn't feeling great. (I had a wonderful doctor, too. She was thorough and fast, and gave me my privacy--like saying she'd keep the exam "G-Rated" since my dad was there, though he walked out for me.) I have to say that I really liked that my dad was there with me at the hospital. His presence can really comfort me. It was like a "moment" for us. He is great. He got me laughing a little and just listened as I rambled in my pain-killer induced state. He even called my girlfriend to cancel lunch for me. I held his hand there and back in the car. I love him a lot and don't want to imagine a day when he, or my mom or S, aren't there.
I do feel badly that S was supposed to take the day off at work because he wasn't feeling well and then I had to be off. I feel like I let him down, even though he said I didn't. I just felt so guilty that I had a crisis when he did. I felt like it seemed like I was an attention-sucker or something. He ended up going in to the office for an hour, and I wished so much that I hadn't gotten sick.
So that's the scoop. This blog is really nothing but a journal entry of my yesterday.
But... as S says, "It is what it is."
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Happy Birthday to... my dogs
Yes, as if I'm not crazy enough, I do celebrate my dogs' birthdays. Today, "the twins" are 3 years old. (I joked earlier that since they are 21 in dog years that they should get an alcoholic drink; though, I think the fact that I am celebrating dog birthdays sounds like I have had an alcoholic drink too many, but... I digress.)
Tonight S and I are going to have a fun-filled "Scooby Doo" themed party with the pups at my parent's house. As I purchased the plates and napkins, I could tell that he was pondering at what age he would need to commit me. He did go with me to the grocery, the drug store, Whole Foods (as the grocery didn't have carob chips for their canine cake), and--ultimately--the pet store for treats, chewies, and squeakies which will be wrapped for the dogs to shred open. S did put his foot down when I couldn't find party hats. He said to have my mom grab those when she was out somewhere. I half-pleaded with him to go to another store and he adamantly refused. This made me laugh, on the inside, of course.
He said I was insane, which I couldn't argue, but I made the point that it is done not so much for the dogs as the memories we will have from it. Seeing him and my dad in party hats for the dog's birthday... talk about a memory! If I can actually get a picture of the dogs looking at the camera tonight, I will post it. Though, trying to get them both to look at the camera at the same time is like trying to nail jello to tree. We'll see.
For those other Dog Moms, Dads, and Grandparents, I will post the recipe for tonight's canine confection below.
I wonder if S is actually going to sing "Happy Birthday"... *snicker*
~~~~~~~~
Canine Carob Cake Supreme
1 1/2 c. Flour
3/4 c. Milk
1/4 c. Margarine, softened
4 Egg Yolks
2 t. Vanilla
1/2 t. Salt
2 oz. Carob, melted (*Do NOT use chocolate; it is toxic to dogs*)
1/4 c. Carob Chips
Block of Cream Cheese, softened
Mini-Colored Dog Bones, Chopped Jerky Treats, or Carob Chips for garnish
Heat oven to 375-degrees. Grease and flour a loaf pan, 9x5x3. Beat all ingredients in a bowl, except the Carob chips. Once combined, fold in carob chips. Pour into pan. Bake 40-45 minutes until the top slightly cracks. Invert cake onto wire rack to cool. While it is cooling, whip cream cheese. Once the cake is completely cool, frost with cream cheese and then decorate. Enjoy! (Well, if you are the dog.)
Tonight S and I are going to have a fun-filled "Scooby Doo" themed party with the pups at my parent's house. As I purchased the plates and napkins, I could tell that he was pondering at what age he would need to commit me. He did go with me to the grocery, the drug store, Whole Foods (as the grocery didn't have carob chips for their canine cake), and--ultimately--the pet store for treats, chewies, and squeakies which will be wrapped for the dogs to shred open. S did put his foot down when I couldn't find party hats. He said to have my mom grab those when she was out somewhere. I half-pleaded with him to go to another store and he adamantly refused. This made me laugh, on the inside, of course.
He said I was insane, which I couldn't argue, but I made the point that it is done not so much for the dogs as the memories we will have from it. Seeing him and my dad in party hats for the dog's birthday... talk about a memory! If I can actually get a picture of the dogs looking at the camera tonight, I will post it. Though, trying to get them both to look at the camera at the same time is like trying to nail jello to tree. We'll see.
For those other Dog Moms, Dads, and Grandparents, I will post the recipe for tonight's canine confection below.
I wonder if S is actually going to sing "Happy Birthday"... *snicker*
~~~~~~~~
Canine Carob Cake Supreme
1 1/2 c. Flour
3/4 c. Milk
1/4 c. Margarine, softened
4 Egg Yolks
2 t. Vanilla
1/2 t. Salt
2 oz. Carob, melted (*Do NOT use chocolate; it is toxic to dogs*)
1/4 c. Carob Chips
Block of Cream Cheese, softened
Mini-Colored Dog Bones, Chopped Jerky Treats, or Carob Chips for garnish
Heat oven to 375-degrees. Grease and flour a loaf pan, 9x5x3. Beat all ingredients in a bowl, except the Carob chips. Once combined, fold in carob chips. Pour into pan. Bake 40-45 minutes until the top slightly cracks. Invert cake onto wire rack to cool. While it is cooling, whip cream cheese. Once the cake is completely cool, frost with cream cheese and then decorate. Enjoy! (Well, if you are the dog.)
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
11:48 p.m.
We haven't talked about it again. I think we are both avoiding "it." I've had this weird mixture of wanting to run to and away from him at the same time tonight. I have a feeling this issue is going to become one of those unspoken mini-walls between us. I didn't want to have walls with him; I guess that is idealistic, though. We do have other walls, too. I feel like my dad. After an argument, we would just wait 10 minutes and then it was like it never happened with him. I sort of sense that vibe: the vibe of avoidance.
Oh, well. To quote Scarlett O'Hara, "I'll think of that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day."
I probably didn't quote that right.
Oh, well. To quote Scarlett O'Hara, "I'll think of that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day."
I probably didn't quote that right.
Grrrrr!!!
I have this habit of writing down sentences of things I want to think about or write about later. Usually these life-altering thoughts come about right before bed or after I have been asleep a while. I make the effort to get up and write them down, but, by the light of day, they are undecipherable. I have done that about 37 times already with this blog. I have 4 lousy posts and 37 fantastic ideas. I feel like all I am is chicken-scratch on a slip of paper.
One thing I did not want to write about is relationship things. Yack! Yet, post #2 ends up being about just that topic. And, try as I might, I can't help but write about them today. So, I am going to do just that. I'm upset, and I feel like I need to get it out. So...
(inhales)
I feel like the rug has been yanked out from beneath me. I feel like I am a flounder gasping for breath on the riverbank. (Do Flounder live in lakes, rivers? I don't know.) The point is that today I was told that if I want children I need to seriously think about staying with him (or some such verbage) because he 90% doesn't. It just came out of the air. So nonchalant. And I sit there looking at him like, "Huh?" I felt like I was kicked. He could so easily be done with me if I want a baby?
The thing is that neither of us were ever certain about wanting a baby. I am partially paranoid about the thought of not being in control of my body. Additionally, despite all people tell me about how great I am with kids, I don't know if I could deal with one 24/7. I will also refer to a child as "it." For example, when my cousins hoist an infant at me, I repsond with, "No, no, no! I don't know how to hold it!" (Note: Mothers are not complimented when you call their "bundles of joy" It.) Plus, I just have that underlying feeling--that so many of us have before children--that I am going to just screw it up anyway. I do want to see my parents happy, though. I think they would be happier with real babies as opposed to granddogs. I even saw a Seinfeld episode recently where a character said if she doesn't have a baby by the time she is 40 she's going to have to killer her mother because not having a baby would kill her (the mother). Hard to paraphrase, but I hope the point gets across. I always wanted a family by the time I was 26, like my mom, because she was always young enough to be cool when I was in school. And I loused that timeframe up; granted, I could have made that timeframe and not had S, but that is something I would not have wanted; thank heaven for unanswered prayers in that respect. Now that I don't have that life, though, I don't know if I want it anymore. Am I too old now? I mean, hollywood stars have babies at 60, but to normal people? Then again, maybe this "I-don't-know-if-I-want-a-baby" thing is what women say to lull ourselves into thinking we don't want babies because it is getting too late. All I do know is that the biological clock doth ticketh, especially with my family history of cancer and the times the doctors do and do not want me to possibly conceive.
The point is... I wanted the option. I don't want to not have joy in my days when I am older. I don't not want to see future generations. I do want a human to spoil. Granted, my dogs and the step-cat count for now, but I might want something that can actually speak eventually. (Flash forward to when "It" is a teenager and I just want "It" to shut-up.) I just don't know!
When we were first getting to know each other, he was straight-forward about kids not being high on his list right now; I was of the same opinion, though I told him I thought I would still probably want one. He said that we could have one before it was too late for me, but he didn't want one right away. "A few years down the road," he said, and I agreed. He said he wanted us to enjoy life and really get to know each other for a while. I wholeheartedly agreed. I added that I may never want one; he said that was fine. I confided that I may not be able to have children; he said it was okay. We joked about dropping a baby off at my parents house when it needed changing or we wanted to go somewhere. In conversation, we even agreed on baby names for girls. In fact, we both said we liked Isabella at the same time as the first name. I thought it was a sign of sorts. Then, one day, he said something along the lines of I should rule out children because "maybe one day we will want to create a miracle." Whereby "miracle" = "life". I thought it was the sweetest thing I ever heard. I was taken aback and even had a religious moment. It made me fall in love with him more. I even told my mom he said it--and how he said it. I was head-over-heels.
Today, he told me he never said that.
I just want to crawl in a bed and hide. I don't even know if I want children, but I know I don't want that option off the table. Ironically, we've been around people today who are talking about their kids. I just feel like I am getting kicked again when I hear it. It was just so unexpected. Then we exchanged minor barbs with each other, mine was exceptionally minor in my opinion (though in your own opinion when is it not minor.) I just don't know what happened. I mean, I remember waking up this morning. I remember that. I remember him sitting on the couch and looking at his will and documents for our life together. Then I remember him saying pulling breaking up out of his ass. I am clueless. I can tell ya, though, this really hurts the trust factor and trying to let my guard all the way down.
I'm shocked and am just left feeling like I suddenly have to make a choice a monumental, unexpected choice at 1:07 p.m. on January whatever-it-is, 2009. I know I don't want him to waste his time with me, nor do I want to waste my time loving and trusting someone, if this is a roadblock and he isn't going to be around. Yet, I also know we love each other, and I don't believe either of us wants to be without the other. Reality must set in at some point, though.
The weirdest thing, and maybe the most hurtful thing, is that sometimes I get "feelings." When he told me this earlier this morning, I had a flash in my mind. I saw myself bending down to smile and shake hands with his adorable son, who was like 3 or 4 years old. He was smiling with his arm around his friendly, brunette wife's waist, hugging her. I was alone, no children, thinking that we broke up because I wanted a child and now he, who didn't want a child, has one. It was just a dumb moment, but it felt very real. Maybe he loved her. Maybe she tricked him; which I would never fathom doing to someone. I don't know. I just felt real.
And I felt alone.
One thing I did not want to write about is relationship things. Yack! Yet, post #2 ends up being about just that topic. And, try as I might, I can't help but write about them today. So, I am going to do just that. I'm upset, and I feel like I need to get it out. So...
(inhales)
I feel like the rug has been yanked out from beneath me. I feel like I am a flounder gasping for breath on the riverbank. (Do Flounder live in lakes, rivers? I don't know.) The point is that today I was told that if I want children I need to seriously think about staying with him (or some such verbage) because he 90% doesn't. It just came out of the air. So nonchalant. And I sit there looking at him like, "Huh?" I felt like I was kicked. He could so easily be done with me if I want a baby?
The thing is that neither of us were ever certain about wanting a baby. I am partially paranoid about the thought of not being in control of my body. Additionally, despite all people tell me about how great I am with kids, I don't know if I could deal with one 24/7. I will also refer to a child as "it." For example, when my cousins hoist an infant at me, I repsond with, "No, no, no! I don't know how to hold it!" (Note: Mothers are not complimented when you call their "bundles of joy" It.) Plus, I just have that underlying feeling--that so many of us have before children--that I am going to just screw it up anyway. I do want to see my parents happy, though. I think they would be happier with real babies as opposed to granddogs. I even saw a Seinfeld episode recently where a character said if she doesn't have a baby by the time she is 40 she's going to have to killer her mother because not having a baby would kill her (the mother). Hard to paraphrase, but I hope the point gets across. I always wanted a family by the time I was 26, like my mom, because she was always young enough to be cool when I was in school. And I loused that timeframe up; granted, I could have made that timeframe and not had S, but that is something I would not have wanted; thank heaven for unanswered prayers in that respect. Now that I don't have that life, though, I don't know if I want it anymore. Am I too old now? I mean, hollywood stars have babies at 60, but to normal people? Then again, maybe this "I-don't-know-if-I-want-a-baby" thing is what women say to lull ourselves into thinking we don't want babies because it is getting too late. All I do know is that the biological clock doth ticketh, especially with my family history of cancer and the times the doctors do and do not want me to possibly conceive.
The point is... I wanted the option. I don't want to not have joy in my days when I am older. I don't not want to see future generations. I do want a human to spoil. Granted, my dogs and the step-cat count for now, but I might want something that can actually speak eventually. (Flash forward to when "It" is a teenager and I just want "It" to shut-up.) I just don't know!
When we were first getting to know each other, he was straight-forward about kids not being high on his list right now; I was of the same opinion, though I told him I thought I would still probably want one. He said that we could have one before it was too late for me, but he didn't want one right away. "A few years down the road," he said, and I agreed. He said he wanted us to enjoy life and really get to know each other for a while. I wholeheartedly agreed. I added that I may never want one; he said that was fine. I confided that I may not be able to have children; he said it was okay. We joked about dropping a baby off at my parents house when it needed changing or we wanted to go somewhere. In conversation, we even agreed on baby names for girls. In fact, we both said we liked Isabella at the same time as the first name. I thought it was a sign of sorts. Then, one day, he said something along the lines of I should rule out children because "maybe one day we will want to create a miracle." Whereby "miracle" = "life". I thought it was the sweetest thing I ever heard. I was taken aback and even had a religious moment. It made me fall in love with him more. I even told my mom he said it--and how he said it. I was head-over-heels.
Today, he told me he never said that.
I just want to crawl in a bed and hide. I don't even know if I want children, but I know I don't want that option off the table. Ironically, we've been around people today who are talking about their kids. I just feel like I am getting kicked again when I hear it. It was just so unexpected. Then we exchanged minor barbs with each other, mine was exceptionally minor in my opinion (though in your own opinion when is it not minor.) I just don't know what happened. I mean, I remember waking up this morning. I remember that. I remember him sitting on the couch and looking at his will and documents for our life together. Then I remember him saying pulling breaking up out of his ass. I am clueless. I can tell ya, though, this really hurts the trust factor and trying to let my guard all the way down.
I'm shocked and am just left feeling like I suddenly have to make a choice a monumental, unexpected choice at 1:07 p.m. on January whatever-it-is, 2009. I know I don't want him to waste his time with me, nor do I want to waste my time loving and trusting someone, if this is a roadblock and he isn't going to be around. Yet, I also know we love each other, and I don't believe either of us wants to be without the other. Reality must set in at some point, though.
The weirdest thing, and maybe the most hurtful thing, is that sometimes I get "feelings." When he told me this earlier this morning, I had a flash in my mind. I saw myself bending down to smile and shake hands with his adorable son, who was like 3 or 4 years old. He was smiling with his arm around his friendly, brunette wife's waist, hugging her. I was alone, no children, thinking that we broke up because I wanted a child and now he, who didn't want a child, has one. It was just a dumb moment, but it felt very real. Maybe he loved her. Maybe she tricked him; which I would never fathom doing to someone. I don't know. I just felt real.
And I felt alone.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
I had a dream last night
While I am not trying to quote the Butthole Surfers, I did, in fact, have a dream last night. I had a dream that I was back in a twisted version my not-so-distant old life. In the dream, I missed calling S because of X and something that was happening... I don't know what. Then S was trying to reach me the next day, and I couldn't answer my cell. I wanted to text him, but I couldn't because of X. I knew S would be worried, because he really does get worried about me in real life, and I was frantic to reach him; it was like I "needed" to... and I couldn't. I woke up with a gnawing sense of panic.
The dream made me realize that I truly am at a point where I can't imagine my life without S. I've known this for a while, but I didn't really feel the all-encompassing "know it" until last night. Every once in a while I try to convince myself that he would be better (healthier, less stressed) without me even though he says he is happier with me. I just know I can be difficult to deal with, depressed, and a litany of other annoying traits. So I sometimes get in these masochistic moods where I tell myself that he will leave eventually and that I need to remember that fact.
I guess that fear is actually very common for people who are divorced or who were cheated on. I watched the overly-womany-to-the-point-of-being-slightly-nauseating "The Women" and Candice Bergen's character describes the post-cheating feeling perfectly, even years later:
"It feels like someone kicked you in the stomach, feels like your heart stopped beating, feels like that dream you know the one when you are falling and you want so desperately to wake up before you hit the ground but its all out of your control, you cant trust anything anymore, no one is who they say they are, your life is changed forever, and the only thing to come out of the whole ugly experience is no one will be able to break your heart like that again."
I know S could break my heart... I know he could break it because I have given it to him. I think that adds a fear to me that I never felt before--kind of like when I first realized that trust could be broken. Now I am scared it will be. I feel things for S that I never felt before... things that I don't want to feel with anyone else. I've made myself more vulnerable to him than I ever have to anyone else. I don't know if he realizes that... I think he does, but I don't know if he comprehends it. I think, though, that we both are going to new trust levels with each other, going farther than we each have let ourselves go before. I don't know if he knows what it feels like to try to trust someone again, especially after what I went through--and because of that I still hold back. I also think it is because I have opened up so much that sometimes I feel the need to backpedal, so I won't get kicked down again.
Regardless, I know after the dream I know how much I need him and want to share my life with him. I knew it before, and I've told him before, but there was something that happened last night. Suddenly the thought of not having him feels so much more real, and so much more raw. While I appreciate the magnitude of the dream, and I believe it satisfied a need or question on some unconscious level, I think tonight I need to ease out and go back to dreaming of fluffy pink bunnies dancing the Macarena.
A la tuhuelpa legria Macarena
Que tuhuelce paralla legria cosabuena
A la tuhuelpa legria Macarena
Eeeeeeh Macarena
A-Hai!
The dream made me realize that I truly am at a point where I can't imagine my life without S. I've known this for a while, but I didn't really feel the all-encompassing "know it" until last night. Every once in a while I try to convince myself that he would be better (healthier, less stressed) without me even though he says he is happier with me. I just know I can be difficult to deal with, depressed, and a litany of other annoying traits. So I sometimes get in these masochistic moods where I tell myself that he will leave eventually and that I need to remember that fact.
I guess that fear is actually very common for people who are divorced or who were cheated on. I watched the overly-womany-to-the-point-of-being-slightly-nauseating "The Women" and Candice Bergen's character describes the post-cheating feeling perfectly, even years later:
"It feels like someone kicked you in the stomach, feels like your heart stopped beating, feels like that dream you know the one when you are falling and you want so desperately to wake up before you hit the ground but its all out of your control, you cant trust anything anymore, no one is who they say they are, your life is changed forever, and the only thing to come out of the whole ugly experience is no one will be able to break your heart like that again."
I know S could break my heart... I know he could break it because I have given it to him. I think that adds a fear to me that I never felt before--kind of like when I first realized that trust could be broken. Now I am scared it will be. I feel things for S that I never felt before... things that I don't want to feel with anyone else. I've made myself more vulnerable to him than I ever have to anyone else. I don't know if he realizes that... I think he does, but I don't know if he comprehends it. I think, though, that we both are going to new trust levels with each other, going farther than we each have let ourselves go before. I don't know if he knows what it feels like to try to trust someone again, especially after what I went through--and because of that I still hold back. I also think it is because I have opened up so much that sometimes I feel the need to backpedal, so I won't get kicked down again.
Regardless, I know after the dream I know how much I need him and want to share my life with him. I knew it before, and I've told him before, but there was something that happened last night. Suddenly the thought of not having him feels so much more real, and so much more raw. While I appreciate the magnitude of the dream, and I believe it satisfied a need or question on some unconscious level, I think tonight I need to ease out and go back to dreaming of fluffy pink bunnies dancing the Macarena.
A la tuhuelpa legria Macarena
Que tuhuelce paralla legria cosabuena
A la tuhuelpa legria Macarena
Eeeeeeh Macarena
A-Hai!
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