The Fall

The Fall. I adore it. It is by far my favorite time of year. Everything is so beautiful....the colors, the sky, the smell of the air.

Tonight I had found a nice cozy spot under a blanket on my couch. I was snuggled up listening to the rain with every intention of sneaking in a cat nap when son # 2 presented me with a book. He is quite eager to fulfill his Book It chart as the end result is a reward of his very own Personal Pan Pizza from Pizza Hut. Who was I to deny him of such a prize?

Sigh.

"Okay, bud. Lets read."

The book was The Fall of Freddie the Leaf. I had forgotten about it. I remembered digging it out this time last year to share with both of my boys. My mother had given it to me when I was 11 to help me understand the loss of someone who was very close to our family. And, this was the very same reason I brought it out last year. I had hoped it would help my boys understand why they were losing their Ninny.

It is a sweet book. The story simply follows the life cycle of Freddie the leaf and emphasizes the importance of a life purpose. In the end, Freddie is comforted by the fact that his life had great purpose and that he had nothing to fear in death.

It did not take long before I was a sobbing mess. Not quite a big ugly cry, but, it was borderline. It absolutely hit me like a ton of bricks. But, I was resolved to finish reading the book. I think #2 was a tad bit freaked. His little eyes were transfixed on me, as if he could vex me to stop crying. Poor little guy. Nothing terrifies the male species more than a crying woman.

#1 was alarmed enough that he managed to drag himself away from the Xbox to see what the situation was.

Next thing I knew, I had a child on each side of me. #1 had his head on my shoulder and #2 was rubbing my back. They both listened intently as I sobbed my way through the book.

When I had finished, #1 said, "Please don't be sad, mom."

It was one of the sweetest moments of my life. In the midst of crazy schedules, hectic days and nights that are too short, we found time together to remember my beautiful mother.

I miss her so much. I will always will.

And, then life returned to status quo. The boys were back to arguing over video games and I was again determined to embrace  couch time.

Yes, I really do love the Fall. I love everything about it.

I am particularly grateful for this Fall day.

Happy Place

Most all fairy tales start with "Once upon a time..." and end with, "And they lived happily ever after." Well, good for them.

I'm not knocking fairy tales. I do believe in them. Well, some of them. I mean, I am a girl after all.  It's kind of an unspoken rule that I should feel compelled to believe in them if not live in one. And, for that matter I'm not saying that I don't live in one. It's just that modern day fairy tales are slightly different than those of folklore.

I live with two very handsome and very young, I might add, princes. How much luckier can one gal get?

They are my happy place.

I think we all get so caught up in the rigmarole and stress and even sadness of every day life that we forget to stop and remind ourselves of what our happy place is. We all have one, or two or a thousand, if you're so lucky.

I'm not really even speaking of a physical place. I believe our happy place is where we  mentally reside and are at peace. And, no, you didn't just mistakenly land on some new age happiness guru's blog. It's me, your normally cantankerous, bitchy and typically agitated blogger.

I don't want to alarm you, but, for the moment anyways, I am happy.

Seriously.

It's not any one thing or one person. It's just me, finally recognizing that I've actually been in my happy place for quite some time now. I was just forgetting to open my eyes. And, I'll let you in on a little secret: it feels really nice. To be happy. Crazy, right?

It's actually more of a contentedness. I have finally accepted the fact that I am in charge of me. No one is going to step in and "save me", because, I don't need saving. No white horse. No knight. And that's okay. I got this.

Now, I do not foolishly expect to permanently reside here in Happyville. But, as long aus I'm here I figure I may as well blather on about it. Lucky for you.

I've spent way too much time outside of my happy place. We all have at one time or another. I wish there was some sort of top secret set of instructions on how to find your happy place to share with anyone you know who may need a little help. But, the bottom line really is that the only person who can get you there is you.

So, for now, I'll enjoy my newly found residence in my own little fairy tale.

Once upon a time there was a young-ish and alarmingly stylish girl who lived with two very dashing young princes. She was surrounded by wonderful family and friends. Every day she got to play with shoes and every night she got to play with jewelry. She even found the occasion for naughtiness and debocharie. She and the princes were very happy in their cute little rental castle. Life was good. No big bad wolves. No evil witches.
And she lived happily ever after.
Well, for now anyways.

It's Complicated

Let me just start by saying this: the situation here in Singlemomville is, well...it's complicated.

I'm half-ass tempted to change my relationship status on Facebook to "it's complicated".  If only there were an option for "whatever", now THAT would be a tad more apropos.

Yes, it's a complicated, confusing, boring, exciting, barren and exhausting place to be. Care to join me? No. You really don't.

Fortunately for me I do have company. Well, that's actually a blessing and a curse. I consider it fortunate in that I have girlfriends in the same situation with whom to share experiences, advice and even child care.

The unfortunate part of it is that we also have to share the same pool of the usual dating suspects. The possibilty of finding a suitor who hasn't either flirted with, been set up with, asked out, dated or slept with one of your friends or family members is slim to none.

Sigh.

So, I'm kind of starting to think that it may be time to retire my jersey. For a while, anyways. I never really have been a huge fan of the single scene. I'm more of a mate-for-life type gal. Yes, I've been sooo successful at that so far.

Perhaps I just need to hone my skills at being a contented single gal for life.  Certain sets may refer to such a being as a "spinster".  I prefer option "a", thank you very much.

Honestly, I have come to appreciate my space.  Well, the space I share with two rapidly growing and space hogging boys. But, it's mine, nonetheless.

But, sometimes....sometimes you just kind of want that someone with whom you can curl up on the couch. If only it didn't eventually have to turn into something, well....again....complicated. 

I mean, wouldn't it be nice to have a someone who would cuddle with you when you wanted to, or go out to eat with from time to time or just flirt with you every now and then? I mean, there is such a thing as a fu....okay, I'll stop myself here, I understand that my frequent use of the f-bomb may offend some of you, so I will refrain.....there is such a thing as a "shag buddy" (how's that?). Why not have a "cuddle buddy", or a "dinner buddy", or even a "make out buddy"?

Oh, I don't know.  I suppose that could get even more complicated....all those men, each with a different role. Imagine dinner buddy's confusion when he shows up for your bi-weekly night out and you're in your yoga pants and tank top patting his spot on the couch.

If only it were that simple, right? Honestly, there's really no such thing as a simple shag, or even a simple cuddle for that matter.

So, that puts us back to square 1. Roll all of these fellas into one man and what do you get? A boyfriend. And, where do you get him? Fuck if I know. Oops. That one slid out.

So, for now, "it's complicated" gives way to "whatever" in Singlemomville.  For this gal, anyways. And, truly, there's not a darn thing wrong with that.

I recently pinned a quote from the book He's Just Not That Into You : "...and maybe a happy ending doesn't include a guy, maybe it's you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future.  Maybe the happy ending is just moving on."

I like it. Kind of makes me feel warm and fuzzy. Nothing too complicated about that at all, wouldn't you agree?

Shine Your Light

Such great words of wisdom that came from a great, albeit petite, woman. They have been resonating through my brain since I heard them.

Her message was simple yet clear: "Turn your light on. You don't have to be Oprah Winfrey or even me to change the world. All you have to do is treat others with human dignity and kindness. Shine your light! And, when you leave here tonight and someone f#*+$@g pulls out in front of you in traffic, shine your light on them!"

I'm not sure how literally she meant the traffic part, like, turn your brights on the jerk, or what. But, I get it. She was basically talking about the Golden Rule.

And, yes, the "she" to whom I refer would be the one and only Madonna. Surely you didn't expect that I wouldn't wax somewhat poetic about my Madonna experience? 

Let me just say this. It was worth every penny. And then some. My Madonna delivered. Her show, in a nutshell, was nothing short of fanfuckingtastic!

I feel as though Madonna and I are somewhat kindred spirits. Two single moms working hard to provide for our children and doing our best to ensure they live their lives by following that Golden Rule. It's almost a sisterly type bond.

Almost.

Only a few glaring differences between the two of us gals.

Nonetheless, her message came through loud and clear. It's the whole Golden Rule/Karma thing. The one thing that my mother tirelessly tried to get through my brain. "Do unto others", "live your best life", "be kind to people"....that's how you leave your mark.

It's not a new lesson by any stretch, but, the messenger, I suppose, is what has me thinking about it so much. I mean, Madonna told me to shine my light, so now I gotta figure out how exactly I'm going to do that.

Okay, the easy part should be being nice to people. SHOULD be. I, however, have worked in retail for 21 years. I'm a tad tainted. But, okay. Fine. I will do my best. My mother was one of the nicest people in the world. Surely I got some of that?

As for the living my best life part, well, I think most of us can say that that is a constant work in progress. I'm not always sure that I am but I am always at least trying to live my best life. It's like she said, you don't have to be Oprah or Madonna to make a difference. But, if you're living your life with great passion and consideration for how your actions will affect others, then I think you're doing your part for the universe. As I've heard said, what you put out there comes back to you in tenfold. Good and bad. Yes, indeed, Karma is a bitch.

Now, her show wasn't all sentiment and sunshine. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was fairly dark and provocative. But, it was awesome. I left entertained and enlightened.

Who'd have thought?

So, shine your light, people! Or just tell me shut the hell up. Either way, be happy. It's good for you. And the universe.  :)

Storm Warning

Son #1 is and has always been a sizable fellow.  He is also a contradiction of terms...a gentle giant, if you will. The child has the looks and stature of a linebacker and the demeanor of a kitten.  You get my point.

So, it puzzles me how this 5'3", 140 lb., size 10 shoe wearing 10-year-old boy could have a ridiculously weak stomach. It's almost comical. He did not inherit this trait from his mother. I'm not a puker.  This isn't necessarily something I'm proud of, however it makes me very curious as to how I could have a child who is so extremely the opposite case.  If someone within a 10 mile radius of my son vomits, he will also.  I shit you not.

Puke boy also has a few, um, we'll call them, anxiety issues.  Most notable of which is that he is not fond of storms. Of any kind. And, that is putting it very mildly. 

So, how fantastic for me that the back-to-school-let's-all-share-our-germs-after-3-months-hiatus season and hurricane season go hand-in-hand. It is a remarkable time of year in our home. 

Recently my good friend and I took our kids out for dinner to a local restaurant. It had been a stormy day but had subsided so we figured it was safe to go out. You see, my friend is equally as fond of storms as my son is, so, we had to be certain that the barometric pressure was in check and that there was no storm front circling the vicinity....and that we were in a building with a strong foundation and storm shelter, should one be necessary.

Now, allow me a bit of back story. Since it had been a stormy day, I had taken my boys to a movie, where, of course, large amounts of popcorn and candy and soda are consumed. I think it's some sort of rule or law. So, we obliged.

And, then, we felt compelled to cap off the day with a meal of pizza and cheese sticks and french fries....I don't remember thinking that was a bad idea at the time, but, now as I write this in hind sight I find myself a tad horrified.  Bygones.

Then something struck me, #1 was not eating.  And there was food left.  Odd.

"You okay, bud?" I tried to be discreet.

"Yeah", burp..."just a little gas."

How nice.

So, as all good mothers do we then decided to treat ourselves, and our children, to a frozen yogurt desert. Again, seemed like a fine idea. 

We piled into my car, my friend and I in front and 3 kids in the back. And, then, friend's weather alert goes off on her phone.  It may as well have been helter skelter.

"What was that????"  #1 sounded desperate.

"Uh oh!" says friend. "Weather alert!  Oh boy, look at that sky ahead.  Not looking good...."

"Is that a TORNADO????" the child was consumed with panic. My friend realizes this and totally changes her composure. 

"Oh, it's just a warning.  It's fine.  Way far away.  No big deal.  We're gonna get some rain."

But, I could sense the desperation in her tone.  Something wicked was this way coming.

So, we hastened to the yogurt shop, yet another tragic mistake. It was a mere 2 block drive, and, as we turned the corner into the parking lot we heard it.  The unmistakable sound of the launch and landing of vomit.  In the back seat of my car.  Followed almost immediately by the sound of screeching banshees, aka, the two younger boys in the back seat.

"Puke!!!! Oh my god, PUKE!!!!  EWWWWW!!  Grossssss!!" They were literally clamoring on top of one another.  "AAAHHHHH!!!  AHH AHH AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

My friend and I looked at each other, dumb founded.

I bee lined it into a parking space where I and my passengers practically fell out of the car. I darted around the car and commenced clean up detail in hopes of beating the oncoming storm. My apologies, by the way, to the owners of the establishment where I deposited my son's, "anxiety relief", in their parking lot. Desperate times, people.

Meanwhile, my friend is trying fruitlessly to calm down son #2 from his epic meltdown with regards to the abrupt ending to our yogurt shop visit.

"But I want frozen yogurrrrrtttttt!! That's NOT FAIR!!!!"  Seriously? Must have his mother's iron gut.

Somehow she managed to calm him down when I heard, "Mom?  Aren't you going to clean me up?"

Again, mother of the year had been diligently ridding the car of any trace of tonight's eruption that I had neglected to clean my poor child up.  And, he certainly needed it.  Poor guy. 

Yogurt shop visit aborted, car relatively cleaned up, we climbed back in and decided to call it a day as all good adventures must come to an end.

We managed to make it home before the storm hit.  And, hit it did.  A doozy as they say.

Turns out, #1 had not been feeling well for most of the day, but didn't want to have to spoil it for anyone else.  He allowed as how "a kid in my class threw up right in front of me yesterday".  Naturally.  I can't believe he made it a full almost 24 hours before he reciprocated.

I share this little story with you mainly because now I do find the humor in it.  That night, not so much.  But, also, because this is just another day in the life.  One many can relate to.  It's not the end of the world, though it felt like it that night.  So, it's just nice to be able to sit back and put things into perspective and have a good laugh at our own expense.  Though, frankly, Puke boy still doesn't seem to think it's quite so funny.  Some day, maybe?!

Like a Virgin

My memory of the first time I heard her is very clear.  I was 14 years old and was on vacation with my sister and our parents in Acapulco, Mexico.  I could not be bothered to do any touristy activities as I was at the height of pubescent angst and self-glorification so I parked myself on a lounge chair on the beach, lathered up with Hawaiian Tropic oil (with no SPF, thank you very much) and plugged into my totally radical Sony Walkman.  My musical library at the time consisted of Duran Duran, The Police, Huey Lewis and the News and The Gogo's.

My sister was parked on the lounge next to me.  She was equally as unenthusiastic about the thought of tromping through ruins and sight seeing as I was.  So there we sat.  And baked.

As if out of no where she tapped me on the arm and sent me flailing into orbit, swatting at what I was certain was a Mexican grande-sized bee.  I managed to collect myself and was then transfixed by my sister's unapologetic stare.

"Here." she said.  "Listen to this.  She's new.  Everyone at Northwestern is listening to her."

She handed me a cassette tape (it's a real thing, youngsters...look it up) with a black and white photo of a semi-dirty looking and rebellious girl on the cover.  Her name was Madonna.  Or was that the name of the band?  I didn't know.  Surely that wasn't her real name?  Weird.  But, okay.  I'm in.

"Listen to this song, 'Borderline'.  It's pretty good."

So, I obediently popped in the tape.  And listened.  My pulse quickened and my view was instantly tunneled.  What IS THIS?  You could actually see my brows rise over the top of my white plastic wayfarer sunglasses.  I think I may have even felt a little faint.

Good???  Good you say?  No.  No no no.  It was literally life changing.

Little did my uberconservative sister realize that she had just offered unto this world one of the very first Madonna-wanna-be's.  Well, at least I'd like to think so. 

Over the course of the next 28 years I spent many an hour studying, watching, listening to and imitating the Material Girl.  Much to my mother's dismay.

When I was 16, I managed to "trick" my mom into letting me get a kinky perm.  Mom was a bit of a perm connoisseur so it was like music to her ears when I said I wanted one.  Her enthusiasm went down in flames when I unveiled my newly disheveled and highly coveted look to her.  She told me I looked like a tramp, which was, in turn, music to my ears.  That was, after all, what I had sought.  Not the tramp part.  The look.  I've told you all before, I am not a whore.  I am a whore wanna-be.

So.  In a matter of days, 19 to be exact, I will for the very first time in my enduring career as a fan/worshipper of the iconic Boy Toy, bare witness to the very Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone herself.  In concert.  I will lose my Madonna virginity. 

Even as I say this, I am, in fact, breathless.  Twitterpated.  I....I....I can't believe it.  After all of these years, I will see her, from the FLOOR, mind you!  I make absolutely no promises about my state of mind or my behavior that evening.  As for my 2 girlfriends who will be accompanying me, I say only this: I am so sorry.  For whatever it is that I do, or say.  All I ask is for a bit of patience.  And understanding. 

A Xanax may be in order.

This is definitely one of those life events that you always say you're going to do, but, sometimes just don't get around to it.  I am getting around to it.  And, I am thrilled to say the least!

So, I will leave you with this....what am I going to wear???

The Goddess Revenge

When you think about it, break ups really are a silly thing. It should be so much easier. Two people who once shared good company with one another should be able to part ways amicably and say "thanks so much for everything...had a really great time...but, it's  time to call it". No hurt feelings. No animosity. It SHOULD be so easy.

No such luck.  Typically one party is left in a heap wondering "what the hell just happened to me?". And, then, stage #2 in the stages of grief arrives....anger.

Oh, yes. Anger. What to do with this?  My advice?  Channel your inner goddesses.

Naturally the first goddess to step up to the plate in such tumultuous times would be Athena, Goddess of War.  She senses your pissedoffness and is ready to take aim. "What shall we do first?" the deity would beckon. "Bust his windows? Take a Louisville slugger to both headlights? Or just set his car on fire?"  Your heart quickens as you envision yourself as Angela Bassett walking in slow-mo towards the camera with billowing smoke and flames shooting up from behind you. Ohhhh, it's so tempting. You just want that idiot to hurt a fraction of how you hurt. But, you and Athena both know that destruction of his property will only make you feel better momentarily. And, besides, I think setting someone's car on fire might be a felony. Totally not worth it.

So, Athena concedes to Eirenne, the Greek Goddess who symbolized peace. Funny, you never really hear too much about her, do you? Oh well.

Eirenne will help you find your inner goddess peace. Yes, peacefulness is the next best solution. "Release your anger unto the Universe" she'd implore. You two would practice meditation and deep breathing. "Positive thinking will help you purge your spirit of the evil that has taken over. Set yourself free, my child."

Record scratch.

Okay, Erienne. Wrong girl. Sorry, honey. Next?!

Ahhh. The Mighty Aphrodite. The Olympian Goddess of Love and Beauty. You're feeling it now.

Yes, Aphrodite has the right idea. "Time to focus on your inner and outer beauty. Time to be selfish. Because, my child, there is no sweeter revenge than looking and feeling your personal best. It symbolizes that you have moved on. And it will make you more attractive to other men because they will sense your confidence."  Well, she ought to know. Her strength was the ability to make men fall in love with her. I like her already.

Aphrodite would run trails with you, spin on the bike next to you, shake her head at you when you "accidentally" reach into your son's bag of Doritos and carefully help you orchestrate each and every outfit you put on. She'd even jump up and down and cheer gleefully when you slip into a pair of jeans you haven't been able to wear in years.

And, then, before you know it, Nike, Goddess of Victory steps in, slaps you on the rear and runs the victory lap with you.  You made it, sister!  You are in the maintenance phase of post break up recovery.  Back to the you you loved long before you loved the idiot.  Just try not to lose sight of her next time around, okay?

Yes, eventually the dust does settle and you finally feel yourself return to some semblance of normalcy. You're about where you were, oh, say, almost a year ago. Only this time, you're a lot smarter, more peaceful and definitely hotter, thanks in large part to your goddesses.

I guess the silliest part of a break up is that we allow another person to take such a personal toll.  But, it's all a part of the game I guess.  So, if it's necessary to seek out the help of some mythological gals to get you through it, then so be it.

Fortunately for me, my goddesses are real!  True story.