Cole and I were snuggled up on the couch Wednesday night watching old home videos when the phone rang. I checked the caller ID which said "Wireless Caller" followed by 214 and three numbers (313) that made my heart jump a bit. The exchange was familiar....yes, very familiar. It must be that guy I dated a few years back! Calling me!
Here's what went through my mind (no joke): Should I answer it? No. Don't want to appear too eager. And, hey, who does he think he is anyway calling out of the blue and expecting me to answer the phone? He can just leave me a message like other people who I screen.
He didn't leave a message.
Hmm. Should I call him back and say I noticed he called? Too desperate. And why is he calling me? I haven't talked to him in a year. Maybe he's moving. Maybe he's getting married. Maybe he's decided that of the 100s of women that he dates I am THE ONE. Maybe he just wants to go to dinner. Oh god. I weigh about eight pounds more than the last time that I saw him. What would I wear? Have I bought any new going out clothes in the past year? I wouldn't want him to see me wearing one of the same three tops I rotated through when we did go out some.
I continued to snuggle on the couch acting interested in the video of Cole at age three showing off his karate moves -- but with a nice little smile on my face.
The phone rang again. This time it was my ex-husband's phone number. I picked it up, and he said, "Hey I tried to call you awhile ago." My little smile begins to fade. "Really? I didn't see that you called...someone did call about 20 minutes ago from a number I didn't recognize," I said.
"Oh yeah, was it 214-313-blahblahblah?" he said.
Turns out he was calling on his girlfriend's phone. Of course he was.
Just shoot me now.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
BEHIND THE EYES
Here's a tip for you married girls out there: if you'd like to reach out to us divorced/single gals, one very practical thing you can do is offer to have your husband come get our Christmas trees out of the attic. Wrangling our four-foot wide trees through the three-foot wide opening to our attics is one of the few things we simply can't do without help - preferably strong and patient help.
My brother and nephews will be making their annual pilgrimage to my attic tomorrow to wrestle down my tree. I am oh so grateful!
It is Thanksgiving week, and I certainly have much to be thankful for. However, as I said in a previous post, the holidays are a glaring reminder to us divorced people that THIS IS NOT THE WAY IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE. It's always a very isolating time. Even when I'm with Cole, I still feel isolated - no adult conversation and endless rounds of football, ping-pong and baseball. It feels like everyone else is out doing family things together, and I am just alone.
Now, my Thanksgiving Day is going to be very nice with my brother, sister-in-law, nephews, niece, parents and Cole. It should feel almost the way it is supposed to be.
Otherwise, it's already been a funk-inducing week. I plan to spend the rest of my evening on the couch listening to Amy Grant's Behind the Eyes CD (which she later deemed her "Prozac and razorblades" album) - it's the perfect soundtrack for contemplating the ceiling fan.
P.S. Ladies, remember to have your husbands return after Christmas to help stuff the tree back up in the attic!
My brother and nephews will be making their annual pilgrimage to my attic tomorrow to wrestle down my tree. I am oh so grateful!
It is Thanksgiving week, and I certainly have much to be thankful for. However, as I said in a previous post, the holidays are a glaring reminder to us divorced people that THIS IS NOT THE WAY IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE. It's always a very isolating time. Even when I'm with Cole, I still feel isolated - no adult conversation and endless rounds of football, ping-pong and baseball. It feels like everyone else is out doing family things together, and I am just alone.
Now, my Thanksgiving Day is going to be very nice with my brother, sister-in-law, nephews, niece, parents and Cole. It should feel almost the way it is supposed to be.
Otherwise, it's already been a funk-inducing week. I plan to spend the rest of my evening on the couch listening to Amy Grant's Behind the Eyes CD (which she later deemed her "Prozac and razorblades" album) - it's the perfect soundtrack for contemplating the ceiling fan.
P.S. Ladies, remember to have your husbands return after Christmas to help stuff the tree back up in the attic!
Sunday, November 23, 2008
GRADUATION
(I meant to post this yesterday/Saturday) It was a big morning for Red, but let me begin by venting. As the single mom of an only child nine-year-old boy, I am really tired of playing with him. Frankly, bored is the better word. There. I said it.
(The afternoon went something like this: play game with Cole and Red that involves intricate rules – it’s a combination of tackle football and tag; then, play indoor baseball game which involves diving onto the mattress that I drug into the den until I decide we’re going to break something so we move the mattress and game outside; after chasing a kazillion of Cole’s hits into the street finally coming inside -- after dragging the mattress back in. Ten minutes later we begin an hour-long game of me throwing the football to Cole, and Cole diving on the mattress. It is going to be a very long holiday week.)
Well, anyway, Red graduated from his obedience/visiting nursing homes class. He never did master the sit-stay-down (it basically turned into me saying “sit” and Red doing a belly flop onto the floor), but the trainer thinks he’ll do just fine with the residents.My mom proudly came to the graduation, as both of her granddogs were in the class. She took photos and cheered for them as all good grandmas do.
Frankly, it was a bit disturbing to realize just how bored she must be with her life. We’ve discussed the fact that she’s kind of in phase II of being a grandmother. Phase I involved much babysitting and attending about four to five games a week to cheer on her four grandkids.
Now, her three older grandkids aren’t playing sports, and the babysitting needs have lessened. Not sure what phase II of grandparenting will include for her, but I certainly don’t think cheering on her granddogs should be the highlight of her week. Hmmm. Wonder if she’d like to play some football with Cole?
(The afternoon went something like this: play game with Cole and Red that involves intricate rules – it’s a combination of tackle football and tag; then, play indoor baseball game which involves diving onto the mattress that I drug into the den until I decide we’re going to break something so we move the mattress and game outside; after chasing a kazillion of Cole’s hits into the street finally coming inside -- after dragging the mattress back in. Ten minutes later we begin an hour-long game of me throwing the football to Cole, and Cole diving on the mattress. It is going to be a very long holiday week.)
Well, anyway, Red graduated from his obedience/visiting nursing homes class. He never did master the sit-stay-down (it basically turned into me saying “sit” and Red doing a belly flop onto the floor), but the trainer thinks he’ll do just fine with the residents.My mom proudly came to the graduation, as both of her granddogs were in the class. She took photos and cheered for them as all good grandmas do.
Frankly, it was a bit disturbing to realize just how bored she must be with her life. We’ve discussed the fact that she’s kind of in phase II of being a grandmother. Phase I involved much babysitting and attending about four to five games a week to cheer on her four grandkids.
Now, her three older grandkids aren’t playing sports, and the babysitting needs have lessened. Not sure what phase II of grandparenting will include for her, but I certainly don’t think cheering on her granddogs should be the highlight of her week. Hmmm. Wonder if she’d like to play some football with Cole?
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
BEST MOM EVER
We had Cole's first teacher conference of the third grade yesterday. Everything went well, and I was so proud to hear that Cole has a 100 average in vocabulary. Especially because we have never done the vocabulary homework. Ooops. (Best Mom Ever - I know.) Go, Cole, go!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
ME. MOM. AND DAD.
It’s official. I will be spending Christmas with my mom and dad. Just my mom. And my dad. Cole’s dad has out of town plans for him, and my brother and sister-in-law will be spending the holiday with her family. So, it’s just me. Mom. And Dad.Holidays are always a sharp reminder for us divorced people that THIS IS NOT HOW IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE. How many times in the last ten years have I laid on my bed, stared at the ceiling fan and thought that???
I have a picture on my refrigerator that shows how it is supposed to be. It is the front of a greeting card – a two story old, traditional house with a wreath and lit candle in every window; a porch wraps around the front of the house and the walkway is lined with snow. It looks very warm. That is how Christmas is supposed to be. Coming home to gather with your large family, huddling by the fireplace and drinking hot chocolate. You’ll eventually inherit and move out to the old family home place where someday you’ll host Christmas for your children and grandchildren. Ah.
Well, as we all know, that’s just NOT THE WAY IT IS for most of us. These lean Christmases have happened before. My mom can’t stand the thought of the three of us sitting around the house on Christmas, so we concoct some plan to get us out of the house. We usually all go to bed thinking THIS IS NOT HOW IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE. (Like several years ago when we ended up at the Gaylord Texan eating Mexican food in a bar for our Christmas dinner.)
This year, we have made plans to go to Santa Fe. Me. Mom. And Dad. Traveling with my father, God love him, takes the patience of Job or copious amounts of wine. There was the time when he was driving to New Mexico that he pulled over on the side of a busy highway to adjust his mirrors; or the time he said he had my suitcase, and we didn’t discover until we got to my house that it was someone else’s suitcase; or the time he lost his “very important bag” within five minutes of arriving at the airport; or the time he managed to lose the rental car papers between getting in the rental car and driving to the parking lot exit.
My father hasn’t traveled in about four years, so it should be interesting (a nice way of saying “extremely draining”) Here’s to a “different” kind of Christmas!
I have a picture on my refrigerator that shows how it is supposed to be. It is the front of a greeting card – a two story old, traditional house with a wreath and lit candle in every window; a porch wraps around the front of the house and the walkway is lined with snow. It looks very warm. That is how Christmas is supposed to be. Coming home to gather with your large family, huddling by the fireplace and drinking hot chocolate. You’ll eventually inherit and move out to the old family home place where someday you’ll host Christmas for your children and grandchildren. Ah.
Well, as we all know, that’s just NOT THE WAY IT IS for most of us. These lean Christmases have happened before. My mom can’t stand the thought of the three of us sitting around the house on Christmas, so we concoct some plan to get us out of the house. We usually all go to bed thinking THIS IS NOT HOW IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE. (Like several years ago when we ended up at the Gaylord Texan eating Mexican food in a bar for our Christmas dinner.)
This year, we have made plans to go to Santa Fe. Me. Mom. And Dad. Traveling with my father, God love him, takes the patience of Job or copious amounts of wine. There was the time when he was driving to New Mexico that he pulled over on the side of a busy highway to adjust his mirrors; or the time he said he had my suitcase, and we didn’t discover until we got to my house that it was someone else’s suitcase; or the time he lost his “very important bag” within five minutes of arriving at the airport; or the time he managed to lose the rental car papers between getting in the rental car and driving to the parking lot exit.
My father hasn’t traveled in about four years, so it should be interesting (a nice way of saying “extremely draining”) Here’s to a “different” kind of Christmas!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
BAILOUT
My fall financial crisis is over. Hooray! My economic bailout plan arrived in the mail yesterday in the form of a large check from one of my clients. So, I essentially bailed myself out!
Huh. Imagine that? Sometimes we can bail ourselves out by WORKING. I hope this country doesn't forget that over the next four years.
(Please note that the self-righteous opinions expressed in this post do reflect the views of the owner today. However, give me two months to spend that check, and I very well could be writing about the brilliance of the welfare system, the joys of shopping with food stamps and my pride in chanting "Spread the wealth! Spread the wealth!")
Huh. Imagine that? Sometimes we can bail ourselves out by WORKING. I hope this country doesn't forget that over the next four years.
(Please note that the self-righteous opinions expressed in this post do reflect the views of the owner today. However, give me two months to spend that check, and I very well could be writing about the brilliance of the welfare system, the joys of shopping with food stamps and my pride in chanting "Spread the wealth! Spread the wealth!")
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
CHANNELING ROSIE
Talked to my friend Mrs. H. yesterday, and we’re trying to get together for lunch later this week. Mrs. H. is a fairly new friend – 89 years old, fighting cancer, true Texas woman and quite interesting. It’s a friendship that’s had some surprising twists.The friendship itself began in a surprising way.
Cole and I took the Super Shuttle to the airport for our trip to San Diego in August (notice that I said “trip” not “vacation” because when is it ever a vacation with just you and your only child?) It was about 5:30 a.m. when we got on the blue van, and there was a woman already on the shuttle.
This is where I started channeling my grandmother Rosie. She was always chatty with strangers and made many friends that way. So, sure enough, there I was at age 39 acting just like my grandmother. We start visiting (her name is Ann), and I find out she is in town to visit her mother who is fighting cancer. There is no other family in town, and Ann has to get back to her life in Washington, DC. She tells me her mother is at a nursing home that just happens to be along the same road that I travel about 22 times a day hauling Cole to and from school, sports practices, meeting his dad, etc. I told her I’d be glad to check in on her mom for her. We exchanged e-mails and then schlepped our way through the airport to our flights.
A week after I returned from San Diego, I headed to the nursing home for a visit. Mrs. H. was on the phone, and she motioned for me to sit on the bed. When she finally got off the phone, she looked at me and said “who are you?” Not sure my explanation made sense.
On my next visit, she mentioned her ranch in East Texas, her real estate investments (including a condo overlooking the ocean in California) and then how she and her husband had lived in Washington, DC, for a number of years because her husband was appointed to a position by three different presidents. What??
A quick Google search that night led me realize this wasn’t just some random, pitiful woman I was befriending. Her husband had been assistant attorney general of Texas and eventually was appointed as head of the Interstate Commerce Committee for the U.S. I also think she and/or her husband served on the Board of Regents for the UT system. Humility, meet Laura. Laura, meet humility. Here I was thinking I was so good to “stoop down” and befriend a poor old lady.
Poor old lady my a#$@! Two weeks later, once she was released from the nursing home, I found myself enjoying a lovely lunch at “The Club” (as in “the country club”) with my new friend. Who would have guessed?
Mrs. H. wants to take me to lunch at La Madeleine on Friday if she doesn’t have to get chemo on Thursday. Rosie would be proud.
Cole and I took the Super Shuttle to the airport for our trip to San Diego in August (notice that I said “trip” not “vacation” because when is it ever a vacation with just you and your only child?) It was about 5:30 a.m. when we got on the blue van, and there was a woman already on the shuttle.
This is where I started channeling my grandmother Rosie. She was always chatty with strangers and made many friends that way. So, sure enough, there I was at age 39 acting just like my grandmother. We start visiting (her name is Ann), and I find out she is in town to visit her mother who is fighting cancer. There is no other family in town, and Ann has to get back to her life in Washington, DC. She tells me her mother is at a nursing home that just happens to be along the same road that I travel about 22 times a day hauling Cole to and from school, sports practices, meeting his dad, etc. I told her I’d be glad to check in on her mom for her. We exchanged e-mails and then schlepped our way through the airport to our flights.
A week after I returned from San Diego, I headed to the nursing home for a visit. Mrs. H. was on the phone, and she motioned for me to sit on the bed. When she finally got off the phone, she looked at me and said “who are you?” Not sure my explanation made sense.
On my next visit, she mentioned her ranch in East Texas, her real estate investments (including a condo overlooking the ocean in California) and then how she and her husband had lived in Washington, DC, for a number of years because her husband was appointed to a position by three different presidents. What??
A quick Google search that night led me realize this wasn’t just some random, pitiful woman I was befriending. Her husband had been assistant attorney general of Texas and eventually was appointed as head of the Interstate Commerce Committee for the U.S. I also think she and/or her husband served on the Board of Regents for the UT system. Humility, meet Laura. Laura, meet humility. Here I was thinking I was so good to “stoop down” and befriend a poor old lady.
Poor old lady my a#$@! Two weeks later, once she was released from the nursing home, I found myself enjoying a lovely lunch at “The Club” (as in “the country club”) with my new friend. Who would have guessed?
Mrs. H. wants to take me to lunch at La Madeleine on Friday if she doesn’t have to get chemo on Thursday. Rosie would be proud.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
LOVE IN A PINK BOX
I have discovered what might just push me over the edge into a more pro-active dating role – as opposed to the reactive stance I seem to be taking (as in, I’ll just enjoy my weekend nights of sitting around in my pjs and working because I know that God will just drop that magically perfect man into my life.) You’d think that my current little economic crisis or need for a handyman or desire for a dinner in a restaurant without video games might push me over the edge. Not so much.
My latest enticement towards finding a man (or heck, just finding a date!) is very shiny. As in diamonds. My mother bought me some “huggies” (small loop earrings with diamonds) for my 40th birthday this fall. We went to Naomi’s (Libby Lou’s for grown-ups) the other day to look for diamond-covered dangles to attach to the huggies for mom to give me for Christmas.
How fun. I just loved all the little shapes and designs - all covered in diamonds, and I was overcome with the idea that if I had a man in my life, he could buy me a different set of little dangles for all those special holidays or even just because. Ah. It would be so perfect and convenient for him! He’d get to be real good friends with Naomi herself, and she would advise him on the most popular designs. He’d get to the point where he could just call her, and she’d pick out the shiniest and best dangles for me. He’d have her wrap them up, and then he’d swing by to pick them up along with a beautiful bouquet.
He’d slide the box over to me as we dined together at home by candlelight (because, you know, we’d do that because we’d be so in love). My eyes would light up as I recognized that special little pink box from Naomi’s. I’d rejoice over my new dangles, and thank him for once again understanding that my love language – the best way to love me – is by giving me gifts. Especially shiny gifts that can hang from my huggies.
My latest enticement towards finding a man (or heck, just finding a date!) is very shiny. As in diamonds. My mother bought me some “huggies” (small loop earrings with diamonds) for my 40th birthday this fall. We went to Naomi’s (Libby Lou’s for grown-ups) the other day to look for diamond-covered dangles to attach to the huggies for mom to give me for Christmas.
How fun. I just loved all the little shapes and designs - all covered in diamonds, and I was overcome with the idea that if I had a man in my life, he could buy me a different set of little dangles for all those special holidays or even just because. Ah. It would be so perfect and convenient for him! He’d get to be real good friends with Naomi herself, and she would advise him on the most popular designs. He’d get to the point where he could just call her, and she’d pick out the shiniest and best dangles for me. He’d have her wrap them up, and then he’d swing by to pick them up along with a beautiful bouquet.
He’d slide the box over to me as we dined together at home by candlelight (because, you know, we’d do that because we’d be so in love). My eyes would light up as I recognized that special little pink box from Naomi’s. I’d rejoice over my new dangles, and thank him for once again understanding that my love language – the best way to love me – is by giving me gifts. Especially shiny gifts that can hang from my huggies.
Monday, November 3, 2008
PARTY WITH THE GROWN-UPS
Had an interesting evening Friday night. Sugared up after an evening of sneaking Cole’s candy out of his trusty orange pumpkin, I headed out on what we’re calling “Operation Truth” - a husband who needed some surveillance. Long story short, I ended up in a raucous bar, dressed in my sweater set from Harold’s and frumpy brown shoes, drinking a Merlot (hey, I don't get out much and frankly, if I'm drinking alcohol I want a glass of red wine!) by myself at an empty table for five right in the middle of the bar. Complicating my mission was the fact that everyone was dressed up in Halloween costumes, keeping the suspect disguised. (Nothing's ever easy!) I was thinking “is this how the other half lives?” Do grown ups really dress up on Halloween? For those of you who were stuck with your little trick-or-treaters Friday night, the answer is “yes.” There’s a whole other world of Halloween out there that involves lots of beer, smoking and dancing. Who knew?
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