So, you all hear me talk about my big conference every Fall. Back in 2007, that's where I had my little fling with SC. In 2010, it was held at Ole Miss. The woman I've referred to as Droopy Dog (the one who tried to start gossip about SC) gave a presentation to the Board there, to host the conference at her school. They're in a little town in Illinois. The presentation went something like this, in true Droopy Dog form:
"We're really not sure how you'd get here. You can fly to St. Louis and rent a car, but it's a long drive. There's a small airport near us, but their planes aren't very good...."
"We have a new Motel 6 you can stay at, but we don't know how we'd get you to campus for the meetings. I guess you'd have to have your own car."
"We have a great barbecue place for the big Friday dinner. It's won awards and stuff. But I don't like it."
The president later said she wondered if she was the only one hearing how ridiculous this was, until she looked across the table and saw me "rolling [my] eyes uncontrollably." She'd never seen me do that before.
The woman sitting next to me shielded her mouth as she turned to me and whispered, "OH MY GOD!"
When Droopy Dog finished, a strange silence fell. Someone broke the silence by turning to a colleague from Minnesota and saying, "Didn't you say we might be able to come to your school?"
He looked baffled. "Come to Minnesota? In November?"
Yes, the presentation was that bad. But he agreed to go ask his boss.
And that's when I did it. I said I could talk to my boss, too. I did, and he liked the idea, but not for 2011. Too much going on. 2012 would be better, he said.
So, at the next board meeting conference call, I was prepared to report that we'd submit a proposal to host in 2012. I was sure our friend in Minnesota would come through for us.
"Sorry, guys," he said. "My boss said no go on the conference."
My cell phone lit up. It was my pal at Ole Miss. The text said, "DO NOT MAKE US GO TO ILLINOIS! TELL ME WE CAN COME TO COLORADO!"
So, I spoke up. "My boss said we could submit a proposal for 2012, but I can ask if he's willing to bump it up."
"I can help with whatever you want," said my pal at Ole Miss. "We just hosted and have all kinds of things to help since it's such short notice."
"Why don't you all want to come to Illinois?" said Droopy Dog's voice.
I honestly don't know what the answer was. But I can tell you this - it was the last time I've heard from her. At all.
So, we put together the proposal. At the next meeting, it was approved. We sent out the announcement and put up the conference registration site.
Guess who was the first person to register? It was SC. Immediately, I got a text from him.
"Are you staying at the conference hotel?"
"No, I live here. About six blocks from the conference hotel."
"Oh. So, if I want to make an omelette in the middle of the night, I can come to your place to do it?"
WTF? Really? Not only does he know all about Jacob, but I am completely aware that he recently remarried his ex-wife.
"Only if you don't mind cooking for my boyfriend, too. I live right behind his house."
Silence.
So, on with the planning. It's a three day conference, with additional pre- and post-excursions to local attractions. It all fell in my lap. Even the stuff my boss said he'd do. Oh, except for the part about scouting wineries for our excursion. He did that part.
Let me say that where I live is the perfect spot for a conference. It plays host very well. Everything fell into place perfectly.
And SC was one of the first to arrive. He was among the group going to the "Early Bird Dinner" on the first night. I was in the lobby with the others when he showed up. Now, since the last time he saw me, I've lost about 60 pounds. He did a bit of a double take when he saw me. He gave me a hug and said, "You look good. I mean, really good." I smiled and thanked him, and we all headed off to a great dinner.
Many of my good friends arrived later, wanting to go out for a late dessert and drinks. The nearby Irish pub still had live music going, so we headed that way. SC had gone back to his hotel, but texted to find out where everyone went. When he got there, he managed to slide into the seat beside me.
At the end of the night, the group's ticket was placed in front of me. Everyone leaned over to see their totals. As SC leaned in to see, I felt something strange. Then it became insistent. It was his hand, gripping my thigh and moving upwards, into unwelcome territory.
I tried not to jump and make things conspicuous for the others. I put my hand down to block SC's wanderings. A few excused themselves to go to the bathroom before we left. SC turned to me.
"Maybe I shouldn't be doing that."
"Right. Maybe not." My tone was not at all welcoming.
"Should I remove my hand?"
"You should."
"Okay, but you should come to my room. I have some new music you should hear."
Seriously? What a jerk.
The next evening, I was at dinner at a pizza place with other conference goers. SC found us there. I was sitting beside my pal from Ole Miss, and she was quite put out when SC worked a chair between us. She told me later that she wondered why he was sitting so close to me, invading my personal space. So, I told her why, and told her about the pub.
"What an asshole," she said, in that delightful Mississippi drawl.
Another friend (from Colorado Springs) overheard one of his repeated invitations for me to come to his room. So, we explained the situation to her, too.
"What an asshole," she said. Between the two of them, they decided that I would not be seated anywhere without the two of them taking up the space on either side of me.
You gotta love good girlfriends.
As we piled in vans that night to go to the big Friday night dinner, my Colorado Springs friend saw SC climbing into the van I was driving. She made him sit behind her. She spent the whole trip to dinner asking questions about me and Jacob. Loudly. Just gotta love her.
That was a stellar night. Dinner at a winery. Live entertainment from our theater department. Perfect weather. As people smiled and laughed, my boss came to stand beside me.
"You really pulled this off," he said. "People are really having a good time. This is a great group."
And I was early proud of myself, truth be told. Months of hard work, and it was working out. No disasters. The following week, my boss actually asked when we could host again. He wants us to be very active with this group, and support my activity in it.
SC did not relent, until the last day came and it was obvious that I was not accepting those invitations. We haven't talked about it. I just let it be. Let him go home to his wife, knowing there was a line I wouldn't be crossing. Jacob means a lot to me, and I won't put that on the line.
As we gathered for one last dinner, several people came to me to thank me for putting on a good conference for them. I was flattered, and oh so happy that they'd enjoyed our little town.
The past president, who had seen me rolling my eyes at that meeting one year ago, pulled me aside. "You're on notice," she said. "Be prepared to be president, as of the next ballot." She was the first of a few to say that. It kinda scares me. But to have their respect feels awfully good, too.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Dingus
Looking back through my posts, I don't see anything about the man we've come to refer to as Dingus. One of my favorite faculty members refers to him by this name, and she flat refused to work with him. No wonder because he's a bit of an idiot.
In short, he's a Dingus.
Now, if I'm mistaken and I have written about this coworker, please forgive my repetition.
This all started with that never-ending search, the one that my pal from New Jersey made me look like an idiot over. After the third round, we had to hire someone. I was a little nerves about the choice because I wasn't sure how well a non-native English speaker would work with our faculty. I could see potential problems there. But that's not a very politically-correct or popular thing to say...so I kept it to myself.
His job had two functions: help work with the faculty on instructional design (to take some pressure off of me) and help create media enhancements for online courses. Red flags went up when my boss asked him what he'd need to help faculty record little video intros to their classes. He listed a $5,000 HD camera, expensive editing software, and a green screen.
What the fuck? We're talking web cam talking head videos. You should have seen my boss's face.
He also insisted that he needed a tricked out iMac. That he got.
Initially, I shared my office with Dingus. I could see and hear everything he spent time on, including his negotiations with the cell phone companies for his new iPhone service. And I about bought the boy a Kleenex box to stop the constant snot sucking that went on, between the slurps of his hot tea. I could not have been happier when they moved us to new offices. Until I saw the offices.
Cracker box portable buildings, with tiny office spaces in half of the building with the other half being classroom space. Our paper thin walls did nothing to block the conversation on the back row of the classroom. That was enlightening.
And I was still about 10 feet from Dingus. Watching him move in was kinda awesome. He disconnected all the fluorescent bulbs, brought in his own ambient lighting, and hung curtains. He was told to make the videos work with a simple video camera, until the rest could be justified. Still, each day, I watched him shut the door (like that did any good) and play with Second Life, listen to terrible jazz, and not actually do anything on the to-do list.
My boss kept asking what he did all day. I didn't have much to report.
One day, I was working away in my little closet-sized office, and I smelled smoke. I stepped into the tiny hallway and asked someone in another office if they smelled it, too. They nodded.
Good God, I thought, this flimsy wiring has finally caught fire.
I flung open Dingus's door to warn him and was hit with a wall of the smoky smell. "Oh my God," I said. "Do you smell that smoke in here?"
From beyond the haze and the bad jazz that hung in the air, he turned and gave me an indignant look.
"THAT is incense," he said. "And it smells GOOD."
I scowled at him. "I thought the place was on fire. It smells like smoke."
He huffed at me. "Are we not allowed to burn things?"
"No, " I said. "Generally, the facilities folks frown on fire in our offices."
He put it out, and was put out.
Aside from the personal annoyances, his work in general was a day-to-day struggle. Each time my boss followed up on a project given to Dingus, the guy acted like it was a total surprise that he was supposed to do something. He also couldn't understand that his job was to to control what our faculty could and couldn't do. He kept trying to implement ideas to force them to use his designs, which didn't actually function most of the time.
Instead of making those little videos, the faculty suddenly got an email from him, announcing a new workshop.
"How To Create Your Avatar."
Again I said, what the fuck?
So did the faculty. One of them called me. "What the hell is an avatar? And why do I need one?"
"Calm down," I said. "You don't need one. Don't worry about it."
When he'd been with us close to a year, he had his first review. Afterwards, he came to me and said, "Wow, that was rough. How did your meeting with the VP go?"
"I've never had a review with the VP," I said.
He looked baffled. Apparently, he'd gotten raked over the coals. This did not bode well for Dingus.
During that year, some significant decisions were made about our program. First, we searched for and chose a new system to deliver online courses. This transition would be a HUGE undertaking, to migrate educational materials, create new ones, and train everyone. Second, we would adopt some national standards and develop an internal review process for online courses. Again, huge undertaking to get that training out and get courses up to speed.
Third, we decided to host a national distance ed conference. Remember that one I go to each fall? Yep, it came to our place in 2011. That will be a blog entry in itself. Suffice it to say, though, that I was gonna need some help with this, and Dingus was expected to be that person.
So, what did he do?
He quit.
That set me up for six months of hell. I've done all the transitioning, implementing, and conferencing. I've worked constantly - all day, after hours, weekends, holidays. Exhaustion has been a constant companion. I've about lost my mind a couple of times. The stress has been unbelievable. But I can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel now.
See, a nice footnote here is that 1) I now have a greg iMac in my office, and 2) we ended up redoing the search and hiring a rather nice woman, who is sharp, personable, and actually helps me with what I need to do.
So much so, that I am currently on vacation.
In short, he's a Dingus.
Now, if I'm mistaken and I have written about this coworker, please forgive my repetition.
This all started with that never-ending search, the one that my pal from New Jersey made me look like an idiot over. After the third round, we had to hire someone. I was a little nerves about the choice because I wasn't sure how well a non-native English speaker would work with our faculty. I could see potential problems there. But that's not a very politically-correct or popular thing to say...so I kept it to myself.
His job had two functions: help work with the faculty on instructional design (to take some pressure off of me) and help create media enhancements for online courses. Red flags went up when my boss asked him what he'd need to help faculty record little video intros to their classes. He listed a $5,000 HD camera, expensive editing software, and a green screen.
What the fuck? We're talking web cam talking head videos. You should have seen my boss's face.
He also insisted that he needed a tricked out iMac. That he got.
Initially, I shared my office with Dingus. I could see and hear everything he spent time on, including his negotiations with the cell phone companies for his new iPhone service. And I about bought the boy a Kleenex box to stop the constant snot sucking that went on, between the slurps of his hot tea. I could not have been happier when they moved us to new offices. Until I saw the offices.
Cracker box portable buildings, with tiny office spaces in half of the building with the other half being classroom space. Our paper thin walls did nothing to block the conversation on the back row of the classroom. That was enlightening.
And I was still about 10 feet from Dingus. Watching him move in was kinda awesome. He disconnected all the fluorescent bulbs, brought in his own ambient lighting, and hung curtains. He was told to make the videos work with a simple video camera, until the rest could be justified. Still, each day, I watched him shut the door (like that did any good) and play with Second Life, listen to terrible jazz, and not actually do anything on the to-do list.
My boss kept asking what he did all day. I didn't have much to report.
One day, I was working away in my little closet-sized office, and I smelled smoke. I stepped into the tiny hallway and asked someone in another office if they smelled it, too. They nodded.
Good God, I thought, this flimsy wiring has finally caught fire.
I flung open Dingus's door to warn him and was hit with a wall of the smoky smell. "Oh my God," I said. "Do you smell that smoke in here?"
From beyond the haze and the bad jazz that hung in the air, he turned and gave me an indignant look.
"THAT is incense," he said. "And it smells GOOD."
I scowled at him. "I thought the place was on fire. It smells like smoke."
He huffed at me. "Are we not allowed to burn things?"
"No, " I said. "Generally, the facilities folks frown on fire in our offices."
He put it out, and was put out.
Aside from the personal annoyances, his work in general was a day-to-day struggle. Each time my boss followed up on a project given to Dingus, the guy acted like it was a total surprise that he was supposed to do something. He also couldn't understand that his job was to to control what our faculty could and couldn't do. He kept trying to implement ideas to force them to use his designs, which didn't actually function most of the time.
Instead of making those little videos, the faculty suddenly got an email from him, announcing a new workshop.
"How To Create Your Avatar."
Again I said, what the fuck?
So did the faculty. One of them called me. "What the hell is an avatar? And why do I need one?"
"Calm down," I said. "You don't need one. Don't worry about it."
When he'd been with us close to a year, he had his first review. Afterwards, he came to me and said, "Wow, that was rough. How did your meeting with the VP go?"
"I've never had a review with the VP," I said.
He looked baffled. Apparently, he'd gotten raked over the coals. This did not bode well for Dingus.
During that year, some significant decisions were made about our program. First, we searched for and chose a new system to deliver online courses. This transition would be a HUGE undertaking, to migrate educational materials, create new ones, and train everyone. Second, we would adopt some national standards and develop an internal review process for online courses. Again, huge undertaking to get that training out and get courses up to speed.
Third, we decided to host a national distance ed conference. Remember that one I go to each fall? Yep, it came to our place in 2011. That will be a blog entry in itself. Suffice it to say, though, that I was gonna need some help with this, and Dingus was expected to be that person.
So, what did he do?
He quit.
That set me up for six months of hell. I've done all the transitioning, implementing, and conferencing. I've worked constantly - all day, after hours, weekends, holidays. Exhaustion has been a constant companion. I've about lost my mind a couple of times. The stress has been unbelievable. But I can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel now.
See, a nice footnote here is that 1) I now have a greg iMac in my office, and 2) we ended up redoing the search and hiring a rather nice woman, who is sharp, personable, and actually helps me with what I need to do.
So much so, that I am currently on vacation.
The absolute end of Ranger and Blogget
Of course, Ranger and I have been romantically over for a long time. I maintained contact with him for a couple of reasons; he owed me money and he had one of my phones. He kept promising to reimburse me for part of the Missouri trip. That was part of the original deal, but then he just didn't get the income he expected. The bold truth? That financially obliterated me. I incurred debt related to that and relied on his word to help with it. My mistake, and I admit it. I feel completely stupid for that, and many other things now. More on that later, though.
He had one of my phones because we'd moved his cell phone to my account. It was cheaper that way, and he reimbursed me for the $20 a month it cost. He continued to do that after we split up, on the understanding that he'd be getting his own phone when he started receiving disability.
One day, he shows me this picture of a tiny baby, hooked up to tubes. He tells me about a family he met while doing community service hours - a woman with a teenager daughter, who was the product of rape, and the daughter was pregnant by a rapist. Tragic. And he's been helping them out with the woman's younger children while other family crises were happening. Noble of him, yes?
The baby is born premature and ill, thus the picture. He helps while they spend time at the hospital. He tries to date the woman, but she stands him up to go home with a guy she met at the bar where she and Ranger were supposed to have their date. A few weeks go by, and the baby dies.
Here's where it really gets weird. Ranger is totally devastated by this. He starts talking about the funeral. He's supposed to create a slide show for the baby's funeral, but the baby's mother and the guy who thinks he's the father can't agree on the music. Did you catch that? The guy who thinks he's the baby's father. I thought the story was this was a rapist? Changing stories are big ol' red flags.
So, Ranger makes this slide show. A half-hour slide show about a newborn who lived only a few weeks. And he's totally torn up over this. "I'm going through something really difficult," he says, one evening when he's looking for sympathy from me.
I said to him, "When you say that, it sounds like it was one of your own children." I said it to give him some perspective, but as I said it...something new occurred to me.
Was this his baby?
The pieces of things he said, and other contradictions, began falling into place. I have no way of proving it, but my gut says this fits. It's the only way his behavior at the time makes sense. The baby's mother is 16. The whole thing makes me nauseous.
Time to sever ties with Ranger, debt or no debt.
I start telling him I need the phone back. It's time for him to have his own account. He stops answering me. No texts, no calls. I try emailing. No answers.
Coincidentally, I start getting emails that someone is trying to request a new password on my cell account. Yeah, coincidentally. I let the cell company know about this, and they tighten the security on my account. No changes can be made without talking to me specifically.
I go into my account and restrict that phone. I block all texts and data access, and allow only phone calls to and from my number.
Guess what? I get an email.
"I'm in Denver looking for work. And my phone won't work at all!"
No shit, Sherlock. I wonder how that happened?
I told him how that happened and why. You can't take off with my property and ignore me. He says when he'll be back and says he'll return the phone then.
That date comes and goes. Nothing.
So, I call up the cell company and let them know, that phone has been stolen. They shut down service to it.
I send Ranger an email. You're carrying around a phone that's been reported as stolen. Good luck with that, especially if your on-probation-ass is caught with it.
The next day, I'm at work and go to talk to my boss. I'm away from my desk for about 10 minutes. When I get back, there's a box on my desk. The phone is in it.
Does that creep out anyone else? The timing is too coincidental. He almost had to be watching me, to find a moment when he could slip in without talking to me.
Coward. Asshole coward.
It's a nice phone, so I decide to activate it on my daughter's line. Before handing it off to her, I decide to make sure it's clean of all of Ranger's stuff. Good thing I did. He left several months worth of nude and pornographic pictures of himself and other women on the phone. Some were dated from before we split. Some were really young-looking, too.
I reset the phone to factory specs. Daughter is over-the-moon happy with it.
To avoid extra charges, I had Ranger's old number reactivated on Daughter's old phone. The contract runs out in October, which I will let quietly expire. Instantly, I start getting calls and texts and photos from all sorts of women. Some are asking why he hasn't contacted them. I explain to each one who I am and why he doesn't have the phone anymore. And I start hearing the stories.
Many of them met him online and then spent "romantic" weeks and weekends with him. Then, he stopped communicating with them. He got sex and money from them, then dropped them. His job-hunting trip to Denver? Not job-hunting. It was one of these rendezvous. All I can tell them is, I'm sorry, and go get tested.
What a class act. There's absolutely nothing redeeming about this man. He's complete scum. I'm so ashamed of how profoundly stupid I've been.
I've spent months having flashbacks to times that were not what they seemed to be. Good times that now seem to be little more than a ruse. He also got what he wanted from me. Bled me dry in several ways. It's going to be another few months before I recover financially from all the ways he took advantage of me. I've found ways he's stolen from me, too. Materially, financially, intimately, and...my self-respect.
This is hard for me to see, what a fool I've been. It's completely humiliating. It makes me sick on so many levels. I'll never see him again, but the scars are there. Jacob is so sweet to hear me rail against all of this, and still hold my hand, say he loves me, and that he understands. We do that for each other, actually.
He had one of my phones because we'd moved his cell phone to my account. It was cheaper that way, and he reimbursed me for the $20 a month it cost. He continued to do that after we split up, on the understanding that he'd be getting his own phone when he started receiving disability.
One day, he shows me this picture of a tiny baby, hooked up to tubes. He tells me about a family he met while doing community service hours - a woman with a teenager daughter, who was the product of rape, and the daughter was pregnant by a rapist. Tragic. And he's been helping them out with the woman's younger children while other family crises were happening. Noble of him, yes?
The baby is born premature and ill, thus the picture. He helps while they spend time at the hospital. He tries to date the woman, but she stands him up to go home with a guy she met at the bar where she and Ranger were supposed to have their date. A few weeks go by, and the baby dies.
Here's where it really gets weird. Ranger is totally devastated by this. He starts talking about the funeral. He's supposed to create a slide show for the baby's funeral, but the baby's mother and the guy who thinks he's the father can't agree on the music. Did you catch that? The guy who thinks he's the baby's father. I thought the story was this was a rapist? Changing stories are big ol' red flags.
So, Ranger makes this slide show. A half-hour slide show about a newborn who lived only a few weeks. And he's totally torn up over this. "I'm going through something really difficult," he says, one evening when he's looking for sympathy from me.
I said to him, "When you say that, it sounds like it was one of your own children." I said it to give him some perspective, but as I said it...something new occurred to me.
Was this his baby?
The pieces of things he said, and other contradictions, began falling into place. I have no way of proving it, but my gut says this fits. It's the only way his behavior at the time makes sense. The baby's mother is 16. The whole thing makes me nauseous.
Time to sever ties with Ranger, debt or no debt.
I start telling him I need the phone back. It's time for him to have his own account. He stops answering me. No texts, no calls. I try emailing. No answers.
Coincidentally, I start getting emails that someone is trying to request a new password on my cell account. Yeah, coincidentally. I let the cell company know about this, and they tighten the security on my account. No changes can be made without talking to me specifically.
I go into my account and restrict that phone. I block all texts and data access, and allow only phone calls to and from my number.
Guess what? I get an email.
"I'm in Denver looking for work. And my phone won't work at all!"
No shit, Sherlock. I wonder how that happened?
I told him how that happened and why. You can't take off with my property and ignore me. He says when he'll be back and says he'll return the phone then.
That date comes and goes. Nothing.
So, I call up the cell company and let them know, that phone has been stolen. They shut down service to it.
I send Ranger an email. You're carrying around a phone that's been reported as stolen. Good luck with that, especially if your on-probation-ass is caught with it.
The next day, I'm at work and go to talk to my boss. I'm away from my desk for about 10 minutes. When I get back, there's a box on my desk. The phone is in it.
Does that creep out anyone else? The timing is too coincidental. He almost had to be watching me, to find a moment when he could slip in without talking to me.
Coward. Asshole coward.
It's a nice phone, so I decide to activate it on my daughter's line. Before handing it off to her, I decide to make sure it's clean of all of Ranger's stuff. Good thing I did. He left several months worth of nude and pornographic pictures of himself and other women on the phone. Some were dated from before we split. Some were really young-looking, too.
I reset the phone to factory specs. Daughter is over-the-moon happy with it.
To avoid extra charges, I had Ranger's old number reactivated on Daughter's old phone. The contract runs out in October, which I will let quietly expire. Instantly, I start getting calls and texts and photos from all sorts of women. Some are asking why he hasn't contacted them. I explain to each one who I am and why he doesn't have the phone anymore. And I start hearing the stories.
Many of them met him online and then spent "romantic" weeks and weekends with him. Then, he stopped communicating with them. He got sex and money from them, then dropped them. His job-hunting trip to Denver? Not job-hunting. It was one of these rendezvous. All I can tell them is, I'm sorry, and go get tested.
What a class act. There's absolutely nothing redeeming about this man. He's complete scum. I'm so ashamed of how profoundly stupid I've been.
I've spent months having flashbacks to times that were not what they seemed to be. Good times that now seem to be little more than a ruse. He also got what he wanted from me. Bled me dry in several ways. It's going to be another few months before I recover financially from all the ways he took advantage of me. I've found ways he's stolen from me, too. Materially, financially, intimately, and...my self-respect.
This is hard for me to see, what a fool I've been. It's completely humiliating. It makes me sick on so many levels. I'll never see him again, but the scars are there. Jacob is so sweet to hear me rail against all of this, and still hold my hand, say he loves me, and that he understands. We do that for each other, actually.
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Would you like to have a major life change happen to you? I mean, something out of your control? Like, say, losing your job?
Then, date me.
Old BF couldn't find a good job. Ranger couldn't keep a job (although, theft tends to do that). And now...well, poor Jacob was hit by the curse.
Here's what happened.
He's quite the devotee of Twitter. It's how we got to know each other, so that's no surprise. When he'd go off on there, though, he made sure to keep it anonymous. No names. No places. Nothing to identify the object of his wrath. So, one day during a break at work, he tweets something about someone spitting on the floor.
In response, he gets a message from an HR person at work, saying he's being negative, and they need to chat about it.
He texts something to me about possibly being in trouble, but it's middle of the week, and they only fire people on Fridays.
I was home for lunch, and suddenly, there's Jacob on my doorstep.
"So, I guess I didn't have to wait for Friday," he says. Yup, he got fired for what he said on Twitter. Over a decade at that place, and that's how it ends.
Now, they do have a policy that an employee cannot be held responsible for things said outside of work. And Jacob did find a legal precedent for a possible suit against them. And tweeted about it. That might just explain why they spent the next few days making sure his details and money got settled quickly.
But there you have it. Time for a new career.
Long story short, he had money coming to him that would allow him to float for awhile and try his hand at a few options. He researched the potential earnings and set about getting started. First up - amateur porn. Namely, shemale cam porn.
You guys are well aware of my hangups with fidelity and such, so when this idea first came up, you can imagine how I reacted. Kneejerk was not a pretty sight. We argued for two days about it. Then, he put it in perspective:
"Do you really think I'd rather rub one out for some guy in India than be with the woman I love?"
Okay. Point taken. In the end, it's not about intimacy. It's about turning your assets into income.
The third floor attic space of the house became the studio during the day. Of course, none of this went on with children in the house, so it was sometimes hard to maintain a consistent cam schedule. However, the income proved to be not quite as promised. Jacob spent a lot of time looking at other cam t-girls and wondering how the hell they stayed so busy.
One was particularly puzzling. We called her Snot Girl. One day, he's showing me some of the other t-girls, and we notice this one. Quite pretty, sexy outfit, and convincing as a female. Her chat room has a fair number of patrons, chatting with her. As we're watching, she sneezes. Into her hand. Then looks at it. And wipes it on her sexy black stockings.
The room goes silent. And empties.
Jacob looked in on her another time, to find her nose mining. Ugh.
Eventually, Jacob found that he was making more money on referrals to the cam site than on being on the cam. So, he moved on to the next career option: writing.
I won't go into all the details, but suffice it to say, he's found some level of success writing articles on-demand, fiction, and erotica. We've discussed some ideas that I wish he'd push a little more - things that I personally feel he has a niche for - but that's up to him. He's been doing well, and his writing is well-received.
Trouble is that freelance writing is a tough career to get off the ground. And as a recent (very recent) financial crisis has reared its ugly head on our horizon, he's had to find another way to bring in more immediate funds. So, within 24 hours of the crisis, he has three interviews and a very real possibility of being hired before the week's end.
That, in itself, illustrates one big difference between Jacob and Ranger or even Old BF. He is a man of action, when needed. Resourceful and determined. No excuses.
And I love that about him. I don't have to solve problems for us all. He's reliable. We are partners, in every sense of the word.
Long story short, he had money coming to him that would allow him to float for awhile and try his hand at a few options. He researched the potential earnings and set about getting started. First up - amateur porn. Namely, shemale cam porn.
You guys are well aware of my hangups with fidelity and such, so when this idea first came up, you can imagine how I reacted. Kneejerk was not a pretty sight. We argued for two days about it. Then, he put it in perspective:
"Do you really think I'd rather rub one out for some guy in India than be with the woman I love?"
Okay. Point taken. In the end, it's not about intimacy. It's about turning your assets into income.
The third floor attic space of the house became the studio during the day. Of course, none of this went on with children in the house, so it was sometimes hard to maintain a consistent cam schedule. However, the income proved to be not quite as promised. Jacob spent a lot of time looking at other cam t-girls and wondering how the hell they stayed so busy.
One was particularly puzzling. We called her Snot Girl. One day, he's showing me some of the other t-girls, and we notice this one. Quite pretty, sexy outfit, and convincing as a female. Her chat room has a fair number of patrons, chatting with her. As we're watching, she sneezes. Into her hand. Then looks at it. And wipes it on her sexy black stockings.
The room goes silent. And empties.
Jacob looked in on her another time, to find her nose mining. Ugh.
Eventually, Jacob found that he was making more money on referrals to the cam site than on being on the cam. So, he moved on to the next career option: writing.
I won't go into all the details, but suffice it to say, he's found some level of success writing articles on-demand, fiction, and erotica. We've discussed some ideas that I wish he'd push a little more - things that I personally feel he has a niche for - but that's up to him. He's been doing well, and his writing is well-received.
Trouble is that freelance writing is a tough career to get off the ground. And as a recent (very recent) financial crisis has reared its ugly head on our horizon, he's had to find another way to bring in more immediate funds. So, within 24 hours of the crisis, he has three interviews and a very real possibility of being hired before the week's end.
That, in itself, illustrates one big difference between Jacob and Ranger or even Old BF. He is a man of action, when needed. Resourceful and determined. No excuses.
And I love that about him. I don't have to solve problems for us all. He's reliable. We are partners, in every sense of the word.
Thursday, February 02, 2012
Astounding
That's the best way I know to describe my daughter. She astounds me every day. She's very confident and sure-footed about where she wants to be in life, and keeps a steady eye on that path. She's quite realistic about what is good for her and what's a distraction.
That said, she's also aware of her own tendency to procrastinate and be...scattered. She inherited her father's ability to leave a trail of stuff in her wake. You can read her daily activities by the trail she leaves. For me, it's still a good trade-off: messy for unusually level-headed.
She makes an impression on people, that's for sure. Towards the end of last school year, she decided to join the school Art Club. Just one of those "might be a good idea" thing, as she is an impressive artist. She'd been accepted as a graphic artist for the school paper, so being in Art Club seemed logical. And might be fun.
So, she went to a couple of meetings. Enough to cast her vote in the club elections. A couple of weeks go by and...guess what?
She's the president.
Good golly.
Her dad just can't seem to wrap his head around her, though. His wife (#3) once said that I shouldn't expect him to relate to her because he doesn't "get" art and music. Really? That sounds reasonable to you? So, their conversations tend to be superficial and, consequently, he hasn't seen her in about three years.
Her last birthday was a big deal, though. It was her 16th. Sweet 16. That's a milestone. So, I talked him into coming here for her birthday, as a surprise. That would be huge for her. But what about the party itself? What the heck was I gonna do to celebrate her 16th?
I racked my brain. I wanted to do something themed with the things she's into. There's that obsession of hers with Korean boy bands, but...uhm, no. Then, there's art, literature, and writing. I needed some advice on that. I called my friend, the head of the Art department where I work.
I explained about my daughter's birthday. My friend has met my daughter and was impressed at the time. "So do you know of any art-related spaces locally that I can rent for a party?"
"Sure," she said. "We actually don't use the campus art gallery all summer. You can have that, if you'd like."
I was stunned. That's a brand-new, gorgeous space. Glass front and plenty of space. It's part of the new college center on campus. "Seriously?" I asked. "How much?"
"No charge," she said. "I'll even help you set up, if you give me a snack." See, she has this theory about how much better the world would be if people just had more snacks.
I spent the next several weeks secretly going through all of the artwork I'd kept over the years and all of the sketchbooks Daughter has stashed...everywhere. I collected enough to cover the walls of the gallery. I made plans to swipe her latest sculpture for the food table. I met with the campus catering services people to get plenty of food for a group of teenagers. Our favorite bakery designed a bass drum shaped cake in her school colors, to represent her love of marching band.
All she knew was we were renting a room on campus for her party. That way, she could give her friends some directions. She had no idea that it wasn't just any room, but that she was about to have her first "show."
Her dad made his travel plans. It was cheaper to fly into a neighboring town, and he wanted her to be at the airport when he got there. But keep in mind that this was supposed to be a surprise. So, I told her I had to go pick up a visiting professor and take him to the campus there. Would she like to go and have a shopping day with me?
Why, yes, she would! That's my girl! Don't pass up shopping.
The day arrives, and she dresses to the nines for shopping. Heels, skirt...the works. When we get there, I tell her to have a seat while I check on the flight's arrival. Apparently, it had already gotten there because from behind me I hear: "What are you DOING here?"
He's leaning over the back of her chair. She's staring up at him, backwards. Repeating two phrases: "You're my daddy!" and "What are you DOING here?"
She was blown away to see him.
"Isn't it someone's birthday?" he said, laughing at her. "So give your old dad a hug."
As she stood, I saw his gaze go from her feet to the top of her head, which was well above his. Especially in heels. His jaw dropped. His eyes went back to the shoes.
"When did you start wearing those?" he said. "I don't like that idea!"
Now, it was his turn to be blown away. She spent the rest of the weekend making him feel that way.
One day, I was driving him back to where he was staying. As we sat in the car, he said two things to me that about blew me away. First, he said I'd done a great job with her. Second, he apologized for all the crap he put me through when we were married.
That was a big wow moment for me.
He's still an asshole. He proved that at the party. More on that later.
Jacob, his Eldest, my folks, and I spent hours setting up before the party. It was great fun. Daughter's dad arrived. Have I mentioned that he's a Rush Limbaugh devotee? Yeah. He sent conservative political books to the kids for Christmas. Ugh. And he was apparently quite disapproving of my young, tattooed, pierced boyfriend.
He said something to my mother later. And spent all evening texting his wife and not talking to anyone. Judgemental asshat. My mother apparently told him to remember that this man treats me and my daughter well, and makes us happy. So stuff it.
But on with the party. Finally, the big moment arrived. Daughter had met her friends outside and was walking in with them. The rounded the corner, where she could see into the big glass front of the gallery.
"Hey," she said, pointing. "What's my stuff doing in there?"
Pause.
"That's my stuff!"
Pause.
"What's my stuff doing in there?!"
Her best friend Alan was beside her. He pointed, too. "Maybe it has something to do with the sign in the window." It was a mock-show announcement, with her name on it.
She about flipped. Her friends walked with her from one picture to the next. They started from when she was a very little girl, until now. They listened to her explain each one. Then, they sucked down wings, cake, and lemonade while playing board games.
One little problem happened. The lemonade had some kind of grossness floating in it. Jacob slung the dispenser over his shoulder, and we headed to the kitchen. They gave us a new dispenser.
Which still had grossness.
Jacob slung it over his shoulder again and headed out. He came back momentarily with a crate of sodas. "They won't be charging you for this," he said.
My hero :o) Saved the day. While dumbass sat in the corner, texting his wife. I still smile about that.
I gave Daughter a lovely key pendant, with her birthstone. In the card, I talked about how it represented the keys I hope I'd given her to go through life, and the keys she held to determining her own future. A couple of months ago, her writing class had to do a poem. Guess what she wrote about? What that key means to her. Still makes me misty to read that.
About a month after her birthday, her best friend Alan asked her out. She'd decided to not date until she turned 16, so he'd waited for that to pass. Everyone around them said, "About dang time!"
A couple of months later, though, things took a very different turn. Kind of strange, really. Alan told her about a recent relationship he'd had -- with one of their mutual friends. A male mutual friend. He told her he wasn't sure if he was gay or just bisexual, but he was working on figuring it out.
She felt awkward telling me about this, but needed to talk to someone about how to handle this development. I explained to her that she didn't need to be uncomfortable with me, and that Jacob is actually "pansexual" - being attracted to individual traits rather than gender. And that he'd also had relationships with men. That gave her some perspective, and a tool to use in talking with Alan.
Then, she got wind of something he'd said to another friend. He's said he'd really enjoyed waking up with that male friend, but was disappointed that Daughter wouldn't do that. Too true; she will not.
Then, he confessed that he wanted to date her to "know what being with a girl was like." This hit her hard. He wasn't so much interested in HER as he was in her gender. Wow, that makes a girl feel special, doesn't it?
One evening, she breaks down crying and tells me she thinks she needs to break up with him. "He's a great friend," she said. "But a rotten boyfriend."
They'd had a conversation a day before, in which he'd had the brilliance to utter these phrases:
"I wish we'd be more intimate. I'd hate to cheat on you out of boredom."
"So what do you consider cheating? I want to know how short of a leash I'm on."
Again, charming. Right? We had a long talk about it. She was pretty clear: "He shouldn't be with me if he's thinking about cheating." I was glad to see that she has a clear idea of what a relationship should be for her, and she's not willing to settle.
So, that's that for the first boyfriend. They're back to being best friends, and everyone is happy that way.
Today, she filled out her schedule for her senior year in high school.
When did that happen?
That said, she's also aware of her own tendency to procrastinate and be...scattered. She inherited her father's ability to leave a trail of stuff in her wake. You can read her daily activities by the trail she leaves. For me, it's still a good trade-off: messy for unusually level-headed.
She makes an impression on people, that's for sure. Towards the end of last school year, she decided to join the school Art Club. Just one of those "might be a good idea" thing, as she is an impressive artist. She'd been accepted as a graphic artist for the school paper, so being in Art Club seemed logical. And might be fun.
So, she went to a couple of meetings. Enough to cast her vote in the club elections. A couple of weeks go by and...guess what?
She's the president.
Good golly.
Her dad just can't seem to wrap his head around her, though. His wife (#3) once said that I shouldn't expect him to relate to her because he doesn't "get" art and music. Really? That sounds reasonable to you? So, their conversations tend to be superficial and, consequently, he hasn't seen her in about three years.
Her last birthday was a big deal, though. It was her 16th. Sweet 16. That's a milestone. So, I talked him into coming here for her birthday, as a surprise. That would be huge for her. But what about the party itself? What the heck was I gonna do to celebrate her 16th?
I racked my brain. I wanted to do something themed with the things she's into. There's that obsession of hers with Korean boy bands, but...uhm, no. Then, there's art, literature, and writing. I needed some advice on that. I called my friend, the head of the Art department where I work.
I explained about my daughter's birthday. My friend has met my daughter and was impressed at the time. "So do you know of any art-related spaces locally that I can rent for a party?"
"Sure," she said. "We actually don't use the campus art gallery all summer. You can have that, if you'd like."
I was stunned. That's a brand-new, gorgeous space. Glass front and plenty of space. It's part of the new college center on campus. "Seriously?" I asked. "How much?"
"No charge," she said. "I'll even help you set up, if you give me a snack." See, she has this theory about how much better the world would be if people just had more snacks.
I spent the next several weeks secretly going through all of the artwork I'd kept over the years and all of the sketchbooks Daughter has stashed...everywhere. I collected enough to cover the walls of the gallery. I made plans to swipe her latest sculpture for the food table. I met with the campus catering services people to get plenty of food for a group of teenagers. Our favorite bakery designed a bass drum shaped cake in her school colors, to represent her love of marching band.
All she knew was we were renting a room on campus for her party. That way, she could give her friends some directions. She had no idea that it wasn't just any room, but that she was about to have her first "show."
Her dad made his travel plans. It was cheaper to fly into a neighboring town, and he wanted her to be at the airport when he got there. But keep in mind that this was supposed to be a surprise. So, I told her I had to go pick up a visiting professor and take him to the campus there. Would she like to go and have a shopping day with me?
Why, yes, she would! That's my girl! Don't pass up shopping.
The day arrives, and she dresses to the nines for shopping. Heels, skirt...the works. When we get there, I tell her to have a seat while I check on the flight's arrival. Apparently, it had already gotten there because from behind me I hear: "What are you DOING here?"
He's leaning over the back of her chair. She's staring up at him, backwards. Repeating two phrases: "You're my daddy!" and "What are you DOING here?"
She was blown away to see him.
"Isn't it someone's birthday?" he said, laughing at her. "So give your old dad a hug."
As she stood, I saw his gaze go from her feet to the top of her head, which was well above his. Especially in heels. His jaw dropped. His eyes went back to the shoes.
"When did you start wearing those?" he said. "I don't like that idea!"
Now, it was his turn to be blown away. She spent the rest of the weekend making him feel that way.
One day, I was driving him back to where he was staying. As we sat in the car, he said two things to me that about blew me away. First, he said I'd done a great job with her. Second, he apologized for all the crap he put me through when we were married.
That was a big wow moment for me.
He's still an asshole. He proved that at the party. More on that later.
Jacob, his Eldest, my folks, and I spent hours setting up before the party. It was great fun. Daughter's dad arrived. Have I mentioned that he's a Rush Limbaugh devotee? Yeah. He sent conservative political books to the kids for Christmas. Ugh. And he was apparently quite disapproving of my young, tattooed, pierced boyfriend.
He said something to my mother later. And spent all evening texting his wife and not talking to anyone. Judgemental asshat. My mother apparently told him to remember that this man treats me and my daughter well, and makes us happy. So stuff it.
But on with the party. Finally, the big moment arrived. Daughter had met her friends outside and was walking in with them. The rounded the corner, where she could see into the big glass front of the gallery.
"Hey," she said, pointing. "What's my stuff doing in there?"
Pause.
"That's my stuff!"
Pause.
"What's my stuff doing in there?!"
Her best friend Alan was beside her. He pointed, too. "Maybe it has something to do with the sign in the window." It was a mock-show announcement, with her name on it.
She about flipped. Her friends walked with her from one picture to the next. They started from when she was a very little girl, until now. They listened to her explain each one. Then, they sucked down wings, cake, and lemonade while playing board games.
One little problem happened. The lemonade had some kind of grossness floating in it. Jacob slung the dispenser over his shoulder, and we headed to the kitchen. They gave us a new dispenser.
Which still had grossness.
Jacob slung it over his shoulder again and headed out. He came back momentarily with a crate of sodas. "They won't be charging you for this," he said.
My hero :o) Saved the day. While dumbass sat in the corner, texting his wife. I still smile about that.
I gave Daughter a lovely key pendant, with her birthstone. In the card, I talked about how it represented the keys I hope I'd given her to go through life, and the keys she held to determining her own future. A couple of months ago, her writing class had to do a poem. Guess what she wrote about? What that key means to her. Still makes me misty to read that.
About a month after her birthday, her best friend Alan asked her out. She'd decided to not date until she turned 16, so he'd waited for that to pass. Everyone around them said, "About dang time!"
A couple of months later, though, things took a very different turn. Kind of strange, really. Alan told her about a recent relationship he'd had -- with one of their mutual friends. A male mutual friend. He told her he wasn't sure if he was gay or just bisexual, but he was working on figuring it out.
She felt awkward telling me about this, but needed to talk to someone about how to handle this development. I explained to her that she didn't need to be uncomfortable with me, and that Jacob is actually "pansexual" - being attracted to individual traits rather than gender. And that he'd also had relationships with men. That gave her some perspective, and a tool to use in talking with Alan.
Then, she got wind of something he'd said to another friend. He's said he'd really enjoyed waking up with that male friend, but was disappointed that Daughter wouldn't do that. Too true; she will not.
Then, he confessed that he wanted to date her to "know what being with a girl was like." This hit her hard. He wasn't so much interested in HER as he was in her gender. Wow, that makes a girl feel special, doesn't it?
One evening, she breaks down crying and tells me she thinks she needs to break up with him. "He's a great friend," she said. "But a rotten boyfriend."
They'd had a conversation a day before, in which he'd had the brilliance to utter these phrases:
"I wish we'd be more intimate. I'd hate to cheat on you out of boredom."
"So what do you consider cheating? I want to know how short of a leash I'm on."
Again, charming. Right? We had a long talk about it. She was pretty clear: "He shouldn't be with me if he's thinking about cheating." I was glad to see that she has a clear idea of what a relationship should be for her, and she's not willing to settle.
So, that's that for the first boyfriend. They're back to being best friends, and everyone is happy that way.
Today, she filled out her schedule for her senior year in high school.
When did that happen?
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Where to start?
As usual, I'm WAY behind on posting. And as usual, it's been a rollercoaster. So, where do I start....
I'll take it a chunk at a time, updating work and private life, and what's going on with the people who are important in my life, too.
Spring break last year, Son went to visit my sister and fell in love with San Diego. So, after the semester was over, he went out there to look into work and school. He decided to stay. He hasn't had luck finding work, but he's enrolled in school and doing fairly well. He's also discovered surfing.
I recently learned that he had another reason for going out there. He spent his last semester here getting pretty deep into the drug scene. He experimented a lot, dangerously so. I'd had my suspicions, but I just don't have the experience to really know the signs. He apparently had what can only be described as a religious experience (seriously) that told him he had to put distance between himself and what was happening, and the people connected to it. California gave him that.
Son and I have had a strained relationship since he beat the crap out of me a couple of years ago. I wanted to give him a peace offering for Christmas. Something that would actually mean something. So, I sorted through all of the photos I had of him. Every one. Made me cry a lot. I made a photo album for him, with notes on the pictures of the memories I had. It apparently meant a lot to him. He'd been afraid our relationship was shot, but that told him more than words could. He even called my mom about it, saying how he wanted to fix things between us. He told me that, too. Made me cry more.
My mom is bugged that he's so far away. She wants me to be bugged, too. I'm not, although I do miss him. But I want him to be happy. I want him to find what makes him get up in the morning, what makes the world go around for him. If he finds that, then I'm happy with anything he has to do to get there.
I also found out some things about his experience with our church that were upsetting. For awhile, he'd been visiting with our bishop each week, for conversations that were supposed to be helping him get back on track. He didn't talk much about what they visited about, but that was okay. I figured it was his private conversations, and if he had something to say, he'd say it. I also trusted that our bishop would let me know if something was happening that we needed to watch. Neither said anything. Then, Son just didn't want to go anymore.
Turns out that those visits were nothing more than disciplinary action. They centered on Son being brought before a church council and stripped of what's called his "priesthood" in the church. No counseling. No help. Just discipline. And this was done behind my father's back, who should have been included in such a council.
No wonder Son didn't want to go back. The man was supposed to be helping him figure things out, not using it all against him.
I got a taste of this myself, unfortunately. I got a call from the bishop's secretary, wanting me to meet with him. This always raises a red flag with me. Finally, the bishop emailed me, to ask for the same thing. I asked what it was about. He said he wanted to see me because I'd moved myself and my young daughter in with a man to whom I'm not married, and that's a violation of the covenants I made when I joined the church. And if I didn't want to visit with him, then he'd turn me over to the bishop who was in charge of the area I'd moved into, and he could take disciplinary action himself.
I wrote back and gave him my address. I gave him Jacob's address. Pointed out that they are separate houses. Then I thanked him for believing the rumor mill instead of asking me for the truth. And I haven't spoken to him since.
My daughter still loves the church. It gives her a good foundation for making good decisions in her life. She's happy with it. I won't step all over that, but I can't look at those people without getting angry.
What breaks my heart is that I truly feel that God just likes to fuck with me. When things are happy, he gives me the smackdown. I can't take that anymore.
Speaking of Daughter, she's doing quite well. I sure wish I'd had a level head like that when I was a kid. She's the ultimate smart-kid-band-geek-kpop-loving-talented-confident-creative-person I've ever seen. More on that in the next post!
I'll take it a chunk at a time, updating work and private life, and what's going on with the people who are important in my life, too.
Spring break last year, Son went to visit my sister and fell in love with San Diego. So, after the semester was over, he went out there to look into work and school. He decided to stay. He hasn't had luck finding work, but he's enrolled in school and doing fairly well. He's also discovered surfing.
I recently learned that he had another reason for going out there. He spent his last semester here getting pretty deep into the drug scene. He experimented a lot, dangerously so. I'd had my suspicions, but I just don't have the experience to really know the signs. He apparently had what can only be described as a religious experience (seriously) that told him he had to put distance between himself and what was happening, and the people connected to it. California gave him that.
Son and I have had a strained relationship since he beat the crap out of me a couple of years ago. I wanted to give him a peace offering for Christmas. Something that would actually mean something. So, I sorted through all of the photos I had of him. Every one. Made me cry a lot. I made a photo album for him, with notes on the pictures of the memories I had. It apparently meant a lot to him. He'd been afraid our relationship was shot, but that told him more than words could. He even called my mom about it, saying how he wanted to fix things between us. He told me that, too. Made me cry more.
My mom is bugged that he's so far away. She wants me to be bugged, too. I'm not, although I do miss him. But I want him to be happy. I want him to find what makes him get up in the morning, what makes the world go around for him. If he finds that, then I'm happy with anything he has to do to get there.
I also found out some things about his experience with our church that were upsetting. For awhile, he'd been visiting with our bishop each week, for conversations that were supposed to be helping him get back on track. He didn't talk much about what they visited about, but that was okay. I figured it was his private conversations, and if he had something to say, he'd say it. I also trusted that our bishop would let me know if something was happening that we needed to watch. Neither said anything. Then, Son just didn't want to go anymore.
Turns out that those visits were nothing more than disciplinary action. They centered on Son being brought before a church council and stripped of what's called his "priesthood" in the church. No counseling. No help. Just discipline. And this was done behind my father's back, who should have been included in such a council.
No wonder Son didn't want to go back. The man was supposed to be helping him figure things out, not using it all against him.
I got a taste of this myself, unfortunately. I got a call from the bishop's secretary, wanting me to meet with him. This always raises a red flag with me. Finally, the bishop emailed me, to ask for the same thing. I asked what it was about. He said he wanted to see me because I'd moved myself and my young daughter in with a man to whom I'm not married, and that's a violation of the covenants I made when I joined the church. And if I didn't want to visit with him, then he'd turn me over to the bishop who was in charge of the area I'd moved into, and he could take disciplinary action himself.
I wrote back and gave him my address. I gave him Jacob's address. Pointed out that they are separate houses. Then I thanked him for believing the rumor mill instead of asking me for the truth. And I haven't spoken to him since.
My daughter still loves the church. It gives her a good foundation for making good decisions in her life. She's happy with it. I won't step all over that, but I can't look at those people without getting angry.
What breaks my heart is that I truly feel that God just likes to fuck with me. When things are happy, he gives me the smackdown. I can't take that anymore.
Speaking of Daughter, she's doing quite well. I sure wish I'd had a level head like that when I was a kid. She's the ultimate smart-kid-band-geek-kpop-loving-talented-confident-creative-person I've ever seen. More on that in the next post!
Monday, May 30, 2011
Memorial Day
My father is the oldest of his mother's five children. She had him when she was all of 15 years old. He has one brother and three sisters.
I was born when he was 20, so my grandmother became a grandmother at the ripe old age of 35. I'm the oldest of 15 grandchildren, and many of us have children of our own now.
My dad's second sister started dating her eventual husband when I was still a very little girl. Years later, my uncle would often tell stories of how I'd stare at the two of them as they sat on my grandmother's couch together. I'd just stand there, silent and staring. He'd finally say something to me, anything, to break the ice with this little toddler. My response? I'd holler, "I'm telling my daddy!" and run away.
My dad is big man, with the presence and stature of John Wayne.
This young man didn't want me telling my daddy anything! So, I scared him.
I grew up with this uncle around, though. They had five children, and we were all playmates. Their youngest daughter was the flower girl at my wedding. She's still very special to me.
You could describe my uncle as a redneck, and many have. Theirs was the house with the car on blocks in the front yard. I heard him talk about the troubles with the "Mesicans" at work. Not an uncommon pronunciation in their town in New Mexico. Incorrect, yes. Ignorant, probably. However, he's the first one to take up for you in times of trouble. When I got married, he told me that if that fella ever hurt me, he'd have to answer to my uncle. He'd take care of it for me. Rough, yes. And loving, in his own way.
Recent years have been hard. He and his youngest son (named for my father) have had to take construction jobs all over the country, away from their families. That's hard on a marriage. He and my aunt divorced recently, but still had a great love for each other.
He moved to Arizona, which I gather caused some hard feelings. But he came around. He moved back to where he would be close to his children and grandchildren. The other day, he even went to his youngest son's birthday party.
Last night, they gathered again. He left on his motorcycle.
My phone rang just before midnight.
It was my sister. Talking about a drunk driver.
My aunt got to the scene and held his hand while the paramedics worked on him.
He died at the hospital.
My uncle is gone.
Now, we remember. We memorialize.
And another soul's story is told.
I was born when he was 20, so my grandmother became a grandmother at the ripe old age of 35. I'm the oldest of 15 grandchildren, and many of us have children of our own now.
My dad's second sister started dating her eventual husband when I was still a very little girl. Years later, my uncle would often tell stories of how I'd stare at the two of them as they sat on my grandmother's couch together. I'd just stand there, silent and staring. He'd finally say something to me, anything, to break the ice with this little toddler. My response? I'd holler, "I'm telling my daddy!" and run away.
My dad is big man, with the presence and stature of John Wayne.
This young man didn't want me telling my daddy anything! So, I scared him.
I grew up with this uncle around, though. They had five children, and we were all playmates. Their youngest daughter was the flower girl at my wedding. She's still very special to me.
You could describe my uncle as a redneck, and many have. Theirs was the house with the car on blocks in the front yard. I heard him talk about the troubles with the "Mesicans" at work. Not an uncommon pronunciation in their town in New Mexico. Incorrect, yes. Ignorant, probably. However, he's the first one to take up for you in times of trouble. When I got married, he told me that if that fella ever hurt me, he'd have to answer to my uncle. He'd take care of it for me. Rough, yes. And loving, in his own way.
Recent years have been hard. He and his youngest son (named for my father) have had to take construction jobs all over the country, away from their families. That's hard on a marriage. He and my aunt divorced recently, but still had a great love for each other.
He moved to Arizona, which I gather caused some hard feelings. But he came around. He moved back to where he would be close to his children and grandchildren. The other day, he even went to his youngest son's birthday party.
Last night, they gathered again. He left on his motorcycle.
My phone rang just before midnight.
It was my sister. Talking about a drunk driver.
My aunt got to the scene and held his hand while the paramedics worked on him.
He died at the hospital.
My uncle is gone.
Now, we remember. We memorialize.
And another soul's story is told.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
"Getting to know you, Getting to know all about you...."
Or so the song goes. I feel like I'm finally getting to know all about Jacob. I've had this feeling for so long that there was a secret. And I hate, hate, hate hidden things. They scare me because I have no way of preparing for them or combating what happens behind my back. I've had my fill of things happening behind my back.
The funny thing is that I keep lingerie in Jacob's closet. So, I've been in there. I just never turned around, or I would have seen the rack of women's shoes. He prefers higher heels than I can wear in practical situations. I mean, he's 5'6". I'm 5'9". Too much of a heel makes me an Amazon.
So, one afternoon, we're lounging around on the bed in silky bathrobes. Well, mine's like a kimono. We'd just finished looking through the closet. He'd asked me to come try on shoes. Did I mention we were the exact same size? Anyhow, I'd kept a pair on that was particularly comfortable and flattering on my foot.
"Would you find it off-putting if we went shopping together some time?" he asked.
I thought about it. "No, I wouldn't," I said. "Sounds like it could be fun."
"We could go shoe shopping," he said, grinning at me.
"Yes, we could," I said. We'd talked about this. He can't try on shoes in public without drawing stares. So, if he saw something he found appealing, I could try them on and see how it fit. And I could borrow, too.
"See, you get a two-for-one here," he said. "A boyfriend and gal-pal, all in one!" I laughed. His face changed. "Are you sure this doesn't weird you out?"
I paused and did a quick internal check. "Nope, not weirded out," I said.
He smiled his wanton smile. "So, then is it weird that I find it really hot that you're laying here with me, wearing my heels?"
"What? Like I'd be bothered that something I'm doing is turning you on? Heaven forbid!"
That was a good afternoon.
The funny thing is that I keep lingerie in Jacob's closet. So, I've been in there. I just never turned around, or I would have seen the rack of women's shoes. He prefers higher heels than I can wear in practical situations. I mean, he's 5'6". I'm 5'9". Too much of a heel makes me an Amazon.
So, one afternoon, we're lounging around on the bed in silky bathrobes. Well, mine's like a kimono. We'd just finished looking through the closet. He'd asked me to come try on shoes. Did I mention we were the exact same size? Anyhow, I'd kept a pair on that was particularly comfortable and flattering on my foot.
"Would you find it off-putting if we went shopping together some time?" he asked.
I thought about it. "No, I wouldn't," I said. "Sounds like it could be fun."
"We could go shoe shopping," he said, grinning at me.
"Yes, we could," I said. We'd talked about this. He can't try on shoes in public without drawing stares. So, if he saw something he found appealing, I could try them on and see how it fit. And I could borrow, too.
"See, you get a two-for-one here," he said. "A boyfriend and gal-pal, all in one!" I laughed. His face changed. "Are you sure this doesn't weird you out?"
I paused and did a quick internal check. "Nope, not weirded out," I said.
He smiled his wanton smile. "So, then is it weird that I find it really hot that you're laying here with me, wearing my heels?"
"What? Like I'd be bothered that something I'm doing is turning you on? Heaven forbid!"
That was a good afternoon.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Surprises
I've been debating for weeks about whether or not to blog about this. Yet another twist in my dating life, and it might lose a few readers and might gain others. In any case, since it happened, it's sent me off on an unexpected journey of self-discovery...which again, might lose or gain readers.
But this is about what's in my head as a result of my dating life, dear Diary. I haven't shied away from honest topics before now. So, I've decided it will be blogged.
It apparently started when Jacob and I were having one of our conversations, sitting on the couch. I don't remember the context, but I was saying that if someone tells you all about themselves, secrets and all, before you get involved, then it's "full disclosure." You know what you're getting into and can make the choice of whether or not to get into it.
I guess Jacob thought about that and decided the next day that it was time for full disclosure.
We were having another of our conversations, in the kitchen. He seemed a little distracted. I knew something was amiss. He has this gesture he does when he's unsure, and he was doing it a lot.
"You mentioned 'full disclosure' the other night," he said. "There are things you don't know."
That buzzing in the back of my head started. The white noise feeling that starts when something painful is happening. I think it tries to protect me, not let me get overwhelmed when something really hurts, and I need time to sort it out.
I'd had suspicions that there was a secret, something hidden. WYSIWYG was too good to be true. I just had a feeling that something was brewing under the surface.
"So, tell me," I said, calm as I could manage. "What is it you think I should know?"
He was holding his phone, messing with it. I could see the screen from the top edge. My eyesight isn't sharp. From that angle, I can make out forms, but not details.
He was staring at a picture. Holding it in such a way that I couldn't get a clear look at it. But I made out forms.
It seemed to have been taken in the same room we were standing in. I could make out a human form. With a halter-style bikini top.
A woman. He was looking at a pic of a woman.
Was I really at this point yet again? Another woman. Hanging out here with him. Just like I did. Another relationship, parallel to mine. Another woman. Again.
Damn.
My heart started to break instantly. Was I really not enough to Jacob, too? What the hell....
He sighed one of those "here we go" sighs. Then, he turned the screen to face me, so I could have a better look.
And there she was. Blonde. Pretty. Leaning against the antique stove, with a smile to Jacob behind the camera. I felt the tears welling up. The buzzing got louder. I wanted to puke.
Then I noticed it and froze.
She had a little tattoo.
In the middle of her forehead.
Identical to Jacob's tattoo, in the same place.
And the light started to dawn....
She wasn't smiling to Jacob. She was Jacob.
The buzzing ceased. The tears subsided. In this moment, Jacob was not betraying me; he was trusting me.
"Oh," I said. But it was more an expression of intrigue than anything else. "So, tell me about this."
He retreated. Jacob is a very non-confrontational person. He was uneasy. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, tell me about this. Tell me what it means. Tell me what role this plays in your life," I said. "Tell me what to expect."
He cocked his head at me, like he didn't understand. Then, he started talking. In short, he likes to dress as a woman, now and again. After seeing Rocky Horror, his ex admitted to being excited by the image of Tim Curry, in women's lingerie. So, Jacob obliged and found he enjoyed the feel of it himself.
"Basically, half of my closet looks like it doesn't belong to me," he said.
"And what should I do? What can I expect?"
He thought. "Just don't be shocked if you climb into my bed and find another woman there." He laughed. Jacob handles awkwardness with humor.
"Are you totally freaked out now?" he said.
I took a step back and examined what was happening in my head. The heartache stopped. The buzzing stopped. I felt...relief. Really?
Really.
To my surprise, I found that what I felt was...peace.
"No," I said. "Actually, I'm not freaked out at all. Surprised, but not freaked out."
He smiled. He looked relieved. "You know, I was really happy when you said you wear a size 10 shoe," he said. "Same size as me. I have a lot of sexy shoes. Want to try some on some time?"
Did I mention Jacob has a bit of a foot fetish?
But this is about what's in my head as a result of my dating life, dear Diary. I haven't shied away from honest topics before now. So, I've decided it will be blogged.
It apparently started when Jacob and I were having one of our conversations, sitting on the couch. I don't remember the context, but I was saying that if someone tells you all about themselves, secrets and all, before you get involved, then it's "full disclosure." You know what you're getting into and can make the choice of whether or not to get into it.
I guess Jacob thought about that and decided the next day that it was time for full disclosure.
We were having another of our conversations, in the kitchen. He seemed a little distracted. I knew something was amiss. He has this gesture he does when he's unsure, and he was doing it a lot.
"You mentioned 'full disclosure' the other night," he said. "There are things you don't know."
That buzzing in the back of my head started. The white noise feeling that starts when something painful is happening. I think it tries to protect me, not let me get overwhelmed when something really hurts, and I need time to sort it out.
I'd had suspicions that there was a secret, something hidden. WYSIWYG was too good to be true. I just had a feeling that something was brewing under the surface.
"So, tell me," I said, calm as I could manage. "What is it you think I should know?"
He was holding his phone, messing with it. I could see the screen from the top edge. My eyesight isn't sharp. From that angle, I can make out forms, but not details.
He was staring at a picture. Holding it in such a way that I couldn't get a clear look at it. But I made out forms.
It seemed to have been taken in the same room we were standing in. I could make out a human form. With a halter-style bikini top.
A woman. He was looking at a pic of a woman.
Was I really at this point yet again? Another woman. Hanging out here with him. Just like I did. Another relationship, parallel to mine. Another woman. Again.
Damn.
My heart started to break instantly. Was I really not enough to Jacob, too? What the hell....
He sighed one of those "here we go" sighs. Then, he turned the screen to face me, so I could have a better look.
And there she was. Blonde. Pretty. Leaning against the antique stove, with a smile to Jacob behind the camera. I felt the tears welling up. The buzzing got louder. I wanted to puke.
Then I noticed it and froze.
She had a little tattoo.
In the middle of her forehead.
Identical to Jacob's tattoo, in the same place.
And the light started to dawn....
She wasn't smiling to Jacob. She was Jacob.
The buzzing ceased. The tears subsided. In this moment, Jacob was not betraying me; he was trusting me.
"Oh," I said. But it was more an expression of intrigue than anything else. "So, tell me about this."
He retreated. Jacob is a very non-confrontational person. He was uneasy. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, tell me about this. Tell me what it means. Tell me what role this plays in your life," I said. "Tell me what to expect."
He cocked his head at me, like he didn't understand. Then, he started talking. In short, he likes to dress as a woman, now and again. After seeing Rocky Horror, his ex admitted to being excited by the image of Tim Curry, in women's lingerie. So, Jacob obliged and found he enjoyed the feel of it himself.
"Basically, half of my closet looks like it doesn't belong to me," he said.
"And what should I do? What can I expect?"
He thought. "Just don't be shocked if you climb into my bed and find another woman there." He laughed. Jacob handles awkwardness with humor.
"Are you totally freaked out now?" he said.
I took a step back and examined what was happening in my head. The heartache stopped. The buzzing stopped. I felt...relief. Really?
Really.
To my surprise, I found that what I felt was...peace.
"No," I said. "Actually, I'm not freaked out at all. Surprised, but not freaked out."
He smiled. He looked relieved. "You know, I was really happy when you said you wear a size 10 shoe," he said. "Same size as me. I have a lot of sexy shoes. Want to try some on some time?"
Did I mention Jacob has a bit of a foot fetish?
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Taking things too personally
Honestly, I do. I know it. I know why, and I have been working on it. But I'm not out of the woods yet....
See, I was raised in a household where everything meant something. At 17, I once forgot to meet my mother to get a box of tissues. This became a huge incident because my forgetfulness meant that I didn't care enough about my mother, didn't appreciate her, and I was generally a huge ingrate and horrible child. Twenty-five years later, she still throws it in my face as an example of how I haven't treated her right. That's just one example, though. Another standout was the bawling out I got for buying her a box of chocolates once. I'd been at the mall with my friends and picked up this little box for my mom. I remember being so tickled to give it to her, then heartbroken when I got screamed at for "wanting my mother to be fat." Thanks.
Of course, the flipside was that her actions show us how much more she cares for us. She takes the smallest piece of cake because she loves us more. She picks up my daughter because she makes her a bigger priority than I do. I got tired of that one, so she doesn't pick her up anymore. I don't answer my phone during the workday because I ignore her (despite the fact that I will text when I can). Every "meaning" tends to support her role as victim. This drives me out of my mind.
I've recently realized that this has caused a rather paranoid backchannel chat in my brain. It's negative, and stressful, and deeply ingrained. And I cannot express how much I hate it. It's a gut-level reaction from decades of conditioning.
Add to that the years of conditioning that certain "red flags" mean my partner is cheating on me, or his interest is drifting. It would be one thing if the flags would happen, then nothing would come of it. But for years, the flags would be validated. More negative backchannel chat, telling me that of course I'm not enough for a man, again.
So you see, I have a lovely basketful of crap to drop. And drop it I do. And it has to stop.
Jacob is a peaceful person. These moments are stressful on him. On us. I've already gotten better about some things, but when it still happens, it makes me feel insane.
Some triggers (aka red flags) have happened, and I've had to unlearn the outcome. We used to have some text routines before I moved almost literally to his backyard.
I'd send him a sweet text during the night, so he'd see it when he woke. He'd comment on it in his "Good morning" text, when he got to work the next day. That doesn't happen anymore. I've almost stopped sending those texts because they go unacknowledged.
It doesn't mean he's losing interest in me.
The thing is that the "good morning" text is unnecessary now. We actually see each other and say it face-to-face. At some point in the morning, one of us will check-in and see how the other is doing, but we've already said good morning.
I noticed we would say goodnight, and he'd go to the computer as soon as I left. Sometimes, he'd log out of the screen when I was coming. Red flags from the past that something was hidden.
It doesn't mean he's flirting around on me.
I might know now what's going on with that, but that's for another time. In short, Jacob has taught me that he's not the type to flirt around on me, through things he's said, done, and expressed. I've learned to relax that trigger and trust him.
He used to refer to me in Twitter by calling me his "Lady" when he made comments about us. And if he was on Twitter, he was also messaging or texting me. He still tweets about us, but without referencing me. For instance, he used to say, "I want my Lady," but now it'll be, "I'm feeling wanton."
This doesn't mean he's nullifying me to his followers.
We've had some privacy issues with Twitter, with people in our lives who dig and use it against us. By not having the specific banter between us, we avoid the comments from those nosey people about our private life.
If I'm home when he gets home, he doesn't often come to see me. He walks near my door to get to his gate, but usually goes straight to his house.
This doesn't mean he doesn't want to see me.
Jacob has a specific wind-down routine at the end of the day, transitioning from work life to home life, in the few minutes he has between work and picking up children from school. He spends those few minutes being very careful to not do anything to delay leaving to pick up his girls. He can't be late, for obvious reasons.
These are all examples of the little things that could be huge triggers for my conditioned responses, but Jacob's gentle way has taught me to settle down and trust. It's not easy, but I've made some great strides. In my humble opinion.
I still have bad moments, though. I feel bad for those. It confuses and worries Jacob when I'm like that, and that's totally not fair to him. It's a process, I know. But I sure wish it would hurry up. I hate, hate that feeling. I just look forward to the day when the worry and ache go away for good.
See, I was raised in a household where everything meant something. At 17, I once forgot to meet my mother to get a box of tissues. This became a huge incident because my forgetfulness meant that I didn't care enough about my mother, didn't appreciate her, and I was generally a huge ingrate and horrible child. Twenty-five years later, she still throws it in my face as an example of how I haven't treated her right. That's just one example, though. Another standout was the bawling out I got for buying her a box of chocolates once. I'd been at the mall with my friends and picked up this little box for my mom. I remember being so tickled to give it to her, then heartbroken when I got screamed at for "wanting my mother to be fat." Thanks.
Of course, the flipside was that her actions show us how much more she cares for us. She takes the smallest piece of cake because she loves us more. She picks up my daughter because she makes her a bigger priority than I do. I got tired of that one, so she doesn't pick her up anymore. I don't answer my phone during the workday because I ignore her (despite the fact that I will text when I can). Every "meaning" tends to support her role as victim. This drives me out of my mind.
I've recently realized that this has caused a rather paranoid backchannel chat in my brain. It's negative, and stressful, and deeply ingrained. And I cannot express how much I hate it. It's a gut-level reaction from decades of conditioning.
Add to that the years of conditioning that certain "red flags" mean my partner is cheating on me, or his interest is drifting. It would be one thing if the flags would happen, then nothing would come of it. But for years, the flags would be validated. More negative backchannel chat, telling me that of course I'm not enough for a man, again.
So you see, I have a lovely basketful of crap to drop. And drop it I do. And it has to stop.
Jacob is a peaceful person. These moments are stressful on him. On us. I've already gotten better about some things, but when it still happens, it makes me feel insane.
Some triggers (aka red flags) have happened, and I've had to unlearn the outcome. We used to have some text routines before I moved almost literally to his backyard.
I'd send him a sweet text during the night, so he'd see it when he woke. He'd comment on it in his "Good morning" text, when he got to work the next day. That doesn't happen anymore. I've almost stopped sending those texts because they go unacknowledged.
It doesn't mean he's losing interest in me.
The thing is that the "good morning" text is unnecessary now. We actually see each other and say it face-to-face. At some point in the morning, one of us will check-in and see how the other is doing, but we've already said good morning.
I noticed we would say goodnight, and he'd go to the computer as soon as I left. Sometimes, he'd log out of the screen when I was coming. Red flags from the past that something was hidden.
It doesn't mean he's flirting around on me.
I might know now what's going on with that, but that's for another time. In short, Jacob has taught me that he's not the type to flirt around on me, through things he's said, done, and expressed. I've learned to relax that trigger and trust him.
He used to refer to me in Twitter by calling me his "Lady" when he made comments about us. And if he was on Twitter, he was also messaging or texting me. He still tweets about us, but without referencing me. For instance, he used to say, "I want my Lady," but now it'll be, "I'm feeling wanton."
This doesn't mean he's nullifying me to his followers.
We've had some privacy issues with Twitter, with people in our lives who dig and use it against us. By not having the specific banter between us, we avoid the comments from those nosey people about our private life.
If I'm home when he gets home, he doesn't often come to see me. He walks near my door to get to his gate, but usually goes straight to his house.
This doesn't mean he doesn't want to see me.
Jacob has a specific wind-down routine at the end of the day, transitioning from work life to home life, in the few minutes he has between work and picking up children from school. He spends those few minutes being very careful to not do anything to delay leaving to pick up his girls. He can't be late, for obvious reasons.
These are all examples of the little things that could be huge triggers for my conditioned responses, but Jacob's gentle way has taught me to settle down and trust. It's not easy, but I've made some great strides. In my humble opinion.
I still have bad moments, though. I feel bad for those. It confuses and worries Jacob when I'm like that, and that's totally not fair to him. It's a process, I know. But I sure wish it would hurry up. I hate, hate that feeling. I just look forward to the day when the worry and ache go away for good.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Viva Las Vegas!
Daughter and I embarked on our annual Spring Break trip this week. Instead of Salt Lake City, though, Daughter decided she'd like to see Las Vegas. She goes there for band trips, but she wanted to see the sights with dear ol' Mom. Gotta love that!
We headed out on March 13th. I didn't plan that 13, but it worked out that way. Daughter is recently into Asian boy bands, so guess what we listened to almost all the way there? I don't know that I've ever been so happy for an iPod battery to die. Not that the music is bad. It's just repetitive after a few hours....
We finally made it to our hotel in Vegas. Hand the keys to the valet, drag our luggage into the lobby, and...are greeted with the longest check-in line I've ever seen. Another hour of stand-and-drag, stand-and-drag, and we finally have our room keys in hand! As I watched the clerk write the room number on the folio, I had to smile.
She assigned us a room on the 13th floor. No kidding.
A quick look at the Guest Services book, and we found our dinner. A nice pizzeria in the hotel. The place was noisy, but smelled good. All the noise seemed to be coming from this huge table of people celebrating something. One woman seemed quite far gone and was loudly asking each man at the table (whether or not he had a wife present) if he was a member of the Mile High Club, and if he'd help her gain membership.
One guy seemed to take her up on the offer. During the negotiations, I heard one of the most unfortunate quotes ever uttered by a man:
"Okay, but you'll have to loofah my stretch marks."
Eww.
The thing about vacationing with my daughter is that you'd better not plan on doing anything in the mornings. She sleeps like the dead until mid-day. The upside is that you save a lot of breakfasts.
So, we ventured out on Monday, looking for lunch. Bought our three-day pass for the monorail and off we go.
Daughter is loving her French class this year, so naturally we catch the monorail (bless that thing) to the Paris hotel's La Creperie. Thanks to her proficiency in this class, I actually said things correctly when ordering. The French woman behind the counter remained unimpressed, as the French generally do.
Let me just say here: Good God, Vegas is expensive!!
$50 later, we'd each had a savory and a sweet crepe. Her mood improves drastically with food. The pouty I'm-so-sleepy teenager is replaced with the bubbly personality I know and love so much that crepes are worth $50. For once.
We spend the afternoon cruising the shops on the Strip, until we figure out that we can afford nothing we seen. Well, not if we want to get home. So, our grand plans of shopping here, there, and everywhere kinda crashed and burned.
Soon, it's time to head to our first scheduled event: The Lion King show at Mandalay Bay. Second row. My daughter LOVES the story of The Lion King. And let me tell you, if you haven't seen this show, it's a spectacular sight to behold. The costuming is an amazing combination of costumes and puppeteering. The music is beyond brilliant.
My daughter has this friend at school who is adorable, and adorable with her. Tall, gangly boy with a through-the-roof GPA. They are in marching band together. She can't leave school every day without hugs to and from this friend. He came over for dinner at Jacob's one night.
"Daughter says they're friends," I explained. "But I think he really likes her.
So, Jacob watched them as they did their homework at the dining table. He returned to the kitchen, chuckling. "You're right. He likes her."
"She's really clear with everyone on the fact that she's not dating until she's 16," I said. Her birthday is in July.
"I know," Jacob said. "But he strikes me as the kind of guy who has that marked off on a calendar somewhere."
Flashback to Vegas. While we're waiting for the Lion King to start, she's texting this friend about the show. All of a sudden: "Oh my gosh! His favorite song is the same as mine!" Dash to the gift shop. Come back with a Lion King CD for him.
After the show, we're crossing one of the bridges over the Strip. We see a homeless man with a cardboard sign: "Hungry Hungry Hobo." A moment later, another man is panhandling on the sidewalk: "Spare change for marijuana research!" At lease the guy is honest about how he'll use it.
We found some dinner at The Sugar Factory, where Daughter ordered a dessert that made the neighboring tables gawk. Soda Pop Cotton Candy Crepe. Toasted marshmallow-filled crepe, topped with (deep breath) ice cream, whipped cream, gummi cola bottle candies, cola cotton candy, Pop Rocks, and sweet and sour cherry syrup.
She was kinda sick after that.
We cruised the Sugar Factory candy store, too. I got some technicolored Gummi Bears for Jacob. See, they love those things, to the tune of 10 pounds a month. Then, I saw it.
It's a 4.25 pound Gummi Bear. Not a 4.25 pound package of Gummi Bears. One BIG Gummi Bear.
But at $45, it stayed at the store, and I sent Jacob this picture of it.
After I got home, we talked about it. How fun would it have been for him to pull this out of his lunchbox at work, at set at it with a knife and fork?
The next day, we decided to do a little sight-seeing. Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum was a hit and a half with Daughter. Except for the many moments when I had to explain who people were. Like Sean Connery, Debbie Reynolds, Shirley Maclaine...and Ben Affleck. That was a sad commentary on a contemporary actor's career....
But we took some great pictures. Daughter and Will Smith. And Lady Gaga. Me and Elvis. And Johnny Depp. And Nicholas Cage. Gotta love that.
With time to kill before that night's entertainment, we headed to The Mirage to see Sigfried and Roy's Secret Garden habitat. Lions, tigers, and dolphins! Oh My!
Sorry...lame joke, but the dork in me couldn't resist!
We were watching the lion habitat. Daughter was at one end, with a large crowd watching one male lion sleeping, and I was at the other end, watching another male lion sleeping. Then, my lion got up and started roaring. And roaring. Dang, he was agitated. He strolled over to the other lion, roaring the whole way.
He snuggled his head against the other lion and laid down. The crowd went "Awwww!"
The other lion got up, sniffed his companion, and started humping him.
The crowd silently and awkwardly dispersed....
The Sigfried and Roy habitat. Go figure.
So, we boarded a tram and went to see Cirque du Soleil. Again, a brilliant show. Those performers are unbelievable. I loved watching Daughter laugh so hard and be so amazed. Pure magic. Moments I treasure, watching my little girl. Who is growing much too fast.
When I booked the show, I didn't get to select our exact seats. It was "Best Available," so I was kind of holding my breath on what that would mean. I had to laugh when we picked up the tickets.
Row D. Seat 13.
Seriously.
After the show, we made our way down the Strip, reliving the amazing moments we'd just witnessed and looking for dinner. We stopped at Serendipity 3, intent on using our coupon for a free frozen hot chocolate. They seated us outdoors, along the wall that overlooks the sidewalk along the Strip. Perched above the hedges there, we had a perfect vantage point for people watching. The breeze was cool and gentle - a perfect evening.
"I'm hungry," Daughter said. "I think I'll get the steak sandwich."
"That's a 10-ounce steak. Aee you sure? It also has bacon and three fried eggs on it."
She was sure.
The waiter, Justin, came by with drinks. When Daughter gave her order, he said, "I hope you're hungry! That thing is huge."
"I am," she said, but he still looked skeptical. But off he went.
We watched the people and the cars. We enjoyed the evening. Soon, our food came. From where I was sitting, I could see it coming. It was unbelievable. I mean, my foot-long chili dog was something to behold, but Daughter's sandwich was....gargantuan. The plate was almost as long as the table. Justin handed her a steak knife and wished her luck.
In short, I watched her devour the whole stinkin' thing.
When she was halfway done, Justin came to check on us. "Wow!" he said. "I didn't think you'd get even that far! You were hungry!"
Daughter nodded, still chewing. Off he went again.
A little while later, I saw Justin heading our way again. Daughter's plate contained a little bit of bread, but she was about to finish that. She'd cleaned the plate. I sat back and waited for him to round the corner.
"So, how are my girls doing?" he was saying. Then his eyes lit on Daughter's plate, and he literally took a startled jump back.
He gaped at her. She smiled coyly, through long curls and big brown eyes. "I was hungry." Blink, blink.
"Bull. Shit," he exclaimed, and ran to the wall beside our table. He looked over and down into the hedges, just sure she'd dumped it over the side. Nope.
"I've seen grown, manly-men get their asses kicked by that sandwich," he said. Then, he started applauding. "Bravo!"
Others in the restaurant clapped, too, but had no idea what they were clapping for.
Then, she shared a frozen hot chocolate with me.
The walk back to the hotel was a little painful. It's what I call "stupid full."
The following day, we took in the exhibits at the Luxor. We went to "Bodies" first. I know, the idea of displays of real human bodies, dried and posed without skin seems macabre. And it is, if you stop among the exhibits to think that all of these were once people like you and me, with lives, loves, joys, and tears. But it's also completely astounding to see how your own body really looks inside. It's jaw-dropping amazing.
Daughter looked at most of it with an artist's eye. "So, when I sketch a man's arm, I should remember that this is what the muscles do under the skin." Things like that.
Then, we visited the Titanic Exhibition next door. This was a somber experience. At the beginning, you're given a card with the name and story of a passenger. At the end, you find out if your person survived. Daughter's did. Mine did not, along with all of her children.
The exhibit itself is unbelievable in their recreations. They've reconstructed steerage, the promenade deck (with chilly night air, stars, and water), the grand staircase, and a first-class cabin. The artifacts are amazing, too. The things that survived a disaster and decades under water.... Completely amazing.
In one room, you can touch a large piece of ice that would have been almost as cold as the iceberg that Titanic struck. They also have a huge section of the side of the ship that was salvaged. To stand there and know this is Titanic.... Not a recreation. Not a movie. This is the great ship herself. Gives you goosebumps.
Jacob loves the story of Titanic. We picked up a replica Third-class cup, with the White Star logo. He was thrilled with it, when we got home.
The drive home was long, but good. Weather cooperated, and Daughter was in charge of the music. I've heard a lot of Korean boy band music lately.... But having time with her like this is so precious to me. She's getting more independent every day, but still calls me "Mommy." At the moment, we're happy and building such good memories.
We headed out on March 13th. I didn't plan that 13, but it worked out that way. Daughter is recently into Asian boy bands, so guess what we listened to almost all the way there? I don't know that I've ever been so happy for an iPod battery to die. Not that the music is bad. It's just repetitive after a few hours....
We finally made it to our hotel in Vegas. Hand the keys to the valet, drag our luggage into the lobby, and...are greeted with the longest check-in line I've ever seen. Another hour of stand-and-drag, stand-and-drag, and we finally have our room keys in hand! As I watched the clerk write the room number on the folio, I had to smile.
She assigned us a room on the 13th floor. No kidding.
A quick look at the Guest Services book, and we found our dinner. A nice pizzeria in the hotel. The place was noisy, but smelled good. All the noise seemed to be coming from this huge table of people celebrating something. One woman seemed quite far gone and was loudly asking each man at the table (whether or not he had a wife present) if he was a member of the Mile High Club, and if he'd help her gain membership.
One guy seemed to take her up on the offer. During the negotiations, I heard one of the most unfortunate quotes ever uttered by a man:
"Okay, but you'll have to loofah my stretch marks."
Eww.
The thing about vacationing with my daughter is that you'd better not plan on doing anything in the mornings. She sleeps like the dead until mid-day. The upside is that you save a lot of breakfasts.
So, we ventured out on Monday, looking for lunch. Bought our three-day pass for the monorail and off we go.
Daughter is loving her French class this year, so naturally we catch the monorail (bless that thing) to the Paris hotel's La Creperie. Thanks to her proficiency in this class, I actually said things correctly when ordering. The French woman behind the counter remained unimpressed, as the French generally do.
Let me just say here: Good God, Vegas is expensive!!
$50 later, we'd each had a savory and a sweet crepe. Her mood improves drastically with food. The pouty I'm-so-sleepy teenager is replaced with the bubbly personality I know and love so much that crepes are worth $50. For once.
We spend the afternoon cruising the shops on the Strip, until we figure out that we can afford nothing we seen. Well, not if we want to get home. So, our grand plans of shopping here, there, and everywhere kinda crashed and burned.
Soon, it's time to head to our first scheduled event: The Lion King show at Mandalay Bay. Second row. My daughter LOVES the story of The Lion King. And let me tell you, if you haven't seen this show, it's a spectacular sight to behold. The costuming is an amazing combination of costumes and puppeteering. The music is beyond brilliant.
My daughter has this friend at school who is adorable, and adorable with her. Tall, gangly boy with a through-the-roof GPA. They are in marching band together. She can't leave school every day without hugs to and from this friend. He came over for dinner at Jacob's one night.
"Daughter says they're friends," I explained. "But I think he really likes her.
So, Jacob watched them as they did their homework at the dining table. He returned to the kitchen, chuckling. "You're right. He likes her."
"She's really clear with everyone on the fact that she's not dating until she's 16," I said. Her birthday is in July.
"I know," Jacob said. "But he strikes me as the kind of guy who has that marked off on a calendar somewhere."
Flashback to Vegas. While we're waiting for the Lion King to start, she's texting this friend about the show. All of a sudden: "Oh my gosh! His favorite song is the same as mine!" Dash to the gift shop. Come back with a Lion King CD for him.
After the show, we're crossing one of the bridges over the Strip. We see a homeless man with a cardboard sign: "Hungry Hungry Hobo." A moment later, another man is panhandling on the sidewalk: "Spare change for marijuana research!" At lease the guy is honest about how he'll use it.
We found some dinner at The Sugar Factory, where Daughter ordered a dessert that made the neighboring tables gawk. Soda Pop Cotton Candy Crepe. Toasted marshmallow-filled crepe, topped with (deep breath) ice cream, whipped cream, gummi cola bottle candies, cola cotton candy, Pop Rocks, and sweet and sour cherry syrup.
She was kinda sick after that.
We cruised the Sugar Factory candy store, too. I got some technicolored Gummi Bears for Jacob. See, they love those things, to the tune of 10 pounds a month. Then, I saw it.
It's a 4.25 pound Gummi Bear. Not a 4.25 pound package of Gummi Bears. One BIG Gummi Bear.
But at $45, it stayed at the store, and I sent Jacob this picture of it.
After I got home, we talked about it. How fun would it have been for him to pull this out of his lunchbox at work, at set at it with a knife and fork?
The next day, we decided to do a little sight-seeing. Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum was a hit and a half with Daughter. Except for the many moments when I had to explain who people were. Like Sean Connery, Debbie Reynolds, Shirley Maclaine...and Ben Affleck. That was a sad commentary on a contemporary actor's career....
But we took some great pictures. Daughter and Will Smith. And Lady Gaga. Me and Elvis. And Johnny Depp. And Nicholas Cage. Gotta love that.
With time to kill before that night's entertainment, we headed to The Mirage to see Sigfried and Roy's Secret Garden habitat. Lions, tigers, and dolphins! Oh My!
Sorry...lame joke, but the dork in me couldn't resist!
We were watching the lion habitat. Daughter was at one end, with a large crowd watching one male lion sleeping, and I was at the other end, watching another male lion sleeping. Then, my lion got up and started roaring. And roaring. Dang, he was agitated. He strolled over to the other lion, roaring the whole way.
He snuggled his head against the other lion and laid down. The crowd went "Awwww!"
The other lion got up, sniffed his companion, and started humping him.
The crowd silently and awkwardly dispersed....
The Sigfried and Roy habitat. Go figure.
So, we boarded a tram and went to see Cirque du Soleil. Again, a brilliant show. Those performers are unbelievable. I loved watching Daughter laugh so hard and be so amazed. Pure magic. Moments I treasure, watching my little girl. Who is growing much too fast.
When I booked the show, I didn't get to select our exact seats. It was "Best Available," so I was kind of holding my breath on what that would mean. I had to laugh when we picked up the tickets.
Row D. Seat 13.
Seriously.
After the show, we made our way down the Strip, reliving the amazing moments we'd just witnessed and looking for dinner. We stopped at Serendipity 3, intent on using our coupon for a free frozen hot chocolate. They seated us outdoors, along the wall that overlooks the sidewalk along the Strip. Perched above the hedges there, we had a perfect vantage point for people watching. The breeze was cool and gentle - a perfect evening.
"I'm hungry," Daughter said. "I think I'll get the steak sandwich."
"That's a 10-ounce steak. Aee you sure? It also has bacon and three fried eggs on it."
She was sure.
The waiter, Justin, came by with drinks. When Daughter gave her order, he said, "I hope you're hungry! That thing is huge."
"I am," she said, but he still looked skeptical. But off he went.
We watched the people and the cars. We enjoyed the evening. Soon, our food came. From where I was sitting, I could see it coming. It was unbelievable. I mean, my foot-long chili dog was something to behold, but Daughter's sandwich was....gargantuan. The plate was almost as long as the table. Justin handed her a steak knife and wished her luck.
In short, I watched her devour the whole stinkin' thing.
When she was halfway done, Justin came to check on us. "Wow!" he said. "I didn't think you'd get even that far! You were hungry!"
Daughter nodded, still chewing. Off he went again.
A little while later, I saw Justin heading our way again. Daughter's plate contained a little bit of bread, but she was about to finish that. She'd cleaned the plate. I sat back and waited for him to round the corner.
"So, how are my girls doing?" he was saying. Then his eyes lit on Daughter's plate, and he literally took a startled jump back.
He gaped at her. She smiled coyly, through long curls and big brown eyes. "I was hungry." Blink, blink.
"Bull. Shit," he exclaimed, and ran to the wall beside our table. He looked over and down into the hedges, just sure she'd dumped it over the side. Nope.
"I've seen grown, manly-men get their asses kicked by that sandwich," he said. Then, he started applauding. "Bravo!"
Others in the restaurant clapped, too, but had no idea what they were clapping for.
Then, she shared a frozen hot chocolate with me.
The walk back to the hotel was a little painful. It's what I call "stupid full."
The following day, we took in the exhibits at the Luxor. We went to "Bodies" first. I know, the idea of displays of real human bodies, dried and posed without skin seems macabre. And it is, if you stop among the exhibits to think that all of these were once people like you and me, with lives, loves, joys, and tears. But it's also completely astounding to see how your own body really looks inside. It's jaw-dropping amazing.
Daughter looked at most of it with an artist's eye. "So, when I sketch a man's arm, I should remember that this is what the muscles do under the skin." Things like that.
Then, we visited the Titanic Exhibition next door. This was a somber experience. At the beginning, you're given a card with the name and story of a passenger. At the end, you find out if your person survived. Daughter's did. Mine did not, along with all of her children.
The exhibit itself is unbelievable in their recreations. They've reconstructed steerage, the promenade deck (with chilly night air, stars, and water), the grand staircase, and a first-class cabin. The artifacts are amazing, too. The things that survived a disaster and decades under water.... Completely amazing.
In one room, you can touch a large piece of ice that would have been almost as cold as the iceberg that Titanic struck. They also have a huge section of the side of the ship that was salvaged. To stand there and know this is Titanic.... Not a recreation. Not a movie. This is the great ship herself. Gives you goosebumps.
Jacob loves the story of Titanic. We picked up a replica Third-class cup, with the White Star logo. He was thrilled with it, when we got home.
The drive home was long, but good. Weather cooperated, and Daughter was in charge of the music. I've heard a lot of Korean boy band music lately.... But having time with her like this is so precious to me. She's getting more independent every day, but still calls me "Mommy." At the moment, we're happy and building such good memories.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
We're movin' on up!
Jacob's house is over 100 years old, on the Historic Register. Behind the house is a little cottage that was originally his home's carriage house. It was converted to living space in the 1950s. When the tenant gave notice that she was buying a house and moving out, I got to thinking.
This might be an opportunity that's too good to pass up. Daughter and I were spending almost every evening at Jacob's house, and I was developing a strong dislike for the four-mile drive home each night. And it comes with storage space in a detached garage. No more storage unit with Ranger.
Jacob said he'd rather I was moving boxes into his house, but he'd take what he could get. So, it was a done deal. We rented the carriage house.
Moving day came very quickly. Daughter and I cleaned, sorted, and packed. We had an ungodly number of boxes. I rented a truck, Son, and a friend of his for the day, and so it began....
First, we went to clear out the storage unit. Ranger assured me that it was easy to get to my stuff, that he'd organized it and left a clear aisle to get to things.
He was sorely mistaken.
My things were buried in two places in the unit, with his rock tonnage in the way. After I threw a fit for awhile, we started digging out. In the process, Son spotted some rocks he thought were ultimately cool. I let him take them.
He also spotted some of his old toys and was transformed. The light that came across his face as he handled the pieces of his wooden train track and old crayon drawings was of such child-like joy....well, it did my heart good to see that my little boy is still behind that "I'm a man now" attitude.
Son and his friend cursed my love of books on more than one occasion that day. The number of book boxes is kind of overwhelming. I need more shelves.
At the carriage house, we started the unloading process. Instantly, we encountered a problem. The staircase takes a sharp turn at the foot, then there's a low overhang going up. The combination of the two made it impossible to fit the box springs to a double and queen bed up the stairs.
"You'll just have to get out of the lease," my mother said. Always butter-side up, I swear.
I went to talk to Jacob, who was home sick from work. He came and examined the problem. In no time, he had the double bed's box springs up the stairs. Son was gaping at him. My folks were impressed. Leprechaun magic, I said.
The queen wasn't so easy. Jacob tried removing the handrail. One good shove and...the box springs knocked a big hole in the wall. Someone suggested dismantling the box springs, then reassembling upstairs.
As this discussion went on, Jacob laughed to himself.
"What?" I asked.
"Oh, I was just thinking that we could take it over to my room," he said, quietly to just me. "Then, you and I could break it, then move it over here...."
Yeah, we know how to break bed-things. I had to laugh, too!
Plan B. No box springs. We got plywood and built a platform in my bed frame. Jacob later made a sweet offer.
"How attached are you to that bed?" he asked.
"Very," I said. I love this furniture. It's the bed I bought when I finally released I didn't have to keep the big king bed that I'd bought with my ex.
"Oh, because I could build you a nice platform bed," he said. "Very Japanese!"
So, Daughter and I have been settling in to our little cottage. It is little. Tiny, actually. But it's oh-so-cute. And we're all oh-so-happy with it. Seeing her, the first night she snuggled into her bed, amid a roomful of boxes, smiling as she typed out a journal entry...well, she was happy.
As am I. And Jacob and his girls. He stops to say "Good morning" to me as he leaves in the morning.
"I don't have makeup on," I said.
"You're beautiful," he said, then kissed me and went on his way.
The other night, I crept over to his house and snuggled into bed with him in the wee hours. It marked the first time we awakened together in the morning, and it was beyond delightful.
Only one incident marred the week. I was home, unpacking. I took a break to play with Foursquare. There is a checking spot for the Historic District. I used it.
Unbeknown to me, Ranger was waiting at a bus stop. Four blocks away from my house. I've avoided telling him where I'm moving to, although he's aware I moved my part of storage.
Apparently, he saw my checkin and set about finding me. He spotted my car.
I got a text. "123, eh?" he said. ("123" being the numbers of my address.)
Then, a knock on the door.
I was not happy. I'm making my Foursquare checkins private now, so no one else can see them.
Jacob asked later if he could help. "I can come out and act like a psychopath," he said. "Try to bite my own face and all that."
That mental image about slayed me. And it just might work! Ha!
But today, we switch gears. Daughter and I are off on our annual Spring Break trip. Vegas, baby!
This might be an opportunity that's too good to pass up. Daughter and I were spending almost every evening at Jacob's house, and I was developing a strong dislike for the four-mile drive home each night. And it comes with storage space in a detached garage. No more storage unit with Ranger.
Jacob said he'd rather I was moving boxes into his house, but he'd take what he could get. So, it was a done deal. We rented the carriage house.
Moving day came very quickly. Daughter and I cleaned, sorted, and packed. We had an ungodly number of boxes. I rented a truck, Son, and a friend of his for the day, and so it began....
First, we went to clear out the storage unit. Ranger assured me that it was easy to get to my stuff, that he'd organized it and left a clear aisle to get to things.
He was sorely mistaken.
My things were buried in two places in the unit, with his rock tonnage in the way. After I threw a fit for awhile, we started digging out. In the process, Son spotted some rocks he thought were ultimately cool. I let him take them.
He also spotted some of his old toys and was transformed. The light that came across his face as he handled the pieces of his wooden train track and old crayon drawings was of such child-like joy....well, it did my heart good to see that my little boy is still behind that "I'm a man now" attitude.
Son and his friend cursed my love of books on more than one occasion that day. The number of book boxes is kind of overwhelming. I need more shelves.
At the carriage house, we started the unloading process. Instantly, we encountered a problem. The staircase takes a sharp turn at the foot, then there's a low overhang going up. The combination of the two made it impossible to fit the box springs to a double and queen bed up the stairs.
"You'll just have to get out of the lease," my mother said. Always butter-side up, I swear.
I went to talk to Jacob, who was home sick from work. He came and examined the problem. In no time, he had the double bed's box springs up the stairs. Son was gaping at him. My folks were impressed. Leprechaun magic, I said.
The queen wasn't so easy. Jacob tried removing the handrail. One good shove and...the box springs knocked a big hole in the wall. Someone suggested dismantling the box springs, then reassembling upstairs.
As this discussion went on, Jacob laughed to himself.
"What?" I asked.
"Oh, I was just thinking that we could take it over to my room," he said, quietly to just me. "Then, you and I could break it, then move it over here...."
Yeah, we know how to break bed-things. I had to laugh, too!
Plan B. No box springs. We got plywood and built a platform in my bed frame. Jacob later made a sweet offer.
"How attached are you to that bed?" he asked.
"Very," I said. I love this furniture. It's the bed I bought when I finally released I didn't have to keep the big king bed that I'd bought with my ex.
"Oh, because I could build you a nice platform bed," he said. "Very Japanese!"
So, Daughter and I have been settling in to our little cottage. It is little. Tiny, actually. But it's oh-so-cute. And we're all oh-so-happy with it. Seeing her, the first night she snuggled into her bed, amid a roomful of boxes, smiling as she typed out a journal entry...well, she was happy.
As am I. And Jacob and his girls. He stops to say "Good morning" to me as he leaves in the morning.
"I don't have makeup on," I said.
"You're beautiful," he said, then kissed me and went on his way.
The other night, I crept over to his house and snuggled into bed with him in the wee hours. It marked the first time we awakened together in the morning, and it was beyond delightful.
Only one incident marred the week. I was home, unpacking. I took a break to play with Foursquare. There is a checking spot for the Historic District. I used it.
Unbeknown to me, Ranger was waiting at a bus stop. Four blocks away from my house. I've avoided telling him where I'm moving to, although he's aware I moved my part of storage.
Apparently, he saw my checkin and set about finding me. He spotted my car.
I got a text. "123, eh?" he said. ("123" being the numbers of my address.)
Then, a knock on the door.
I was not happy. I'm making my Foursquare checkins private now, so no one else can see them.
Jacob asked later if he could help. "I can come out and act like a psychopath," he said. "Try to bite my own face and all that."
That mental image about slayed me. And it just might work! Ha!
But today, we switch gears. Daughter and I are off on our annual Spring Break trip. Vegas, baby!
Friday, March 04, 2011
Daddy dearest
Since my divorce, I've determined that my children will forge their own relationships with their dad. I will guide and protect them whenever necessary, but my experiences and opinions about the man will not impact their own. They love him and see him in a different light than I do, and it's as it should be.
The tough part about all this is that I can't warn them about him without looking bitchy and bitter. That harms my relationship with them, and we can't have that. So, I'm there when he lets them down. It's inevitable. He's big on promises and small on follow-through.
For instance, there was the promise to never move away from them, follow shortly by the announcement that he was moving 10 hours away. Then, there was the time he married a woman they had met once and couldn't stand, without telling them. He told me a few days after the fact, and I was supposed to break it to the kids.
This is how he shapes his relationships with them. I don't have to say a word.
Over the last couple of years, Son has been asserting himself with his dad and setting boundaries. Basically, he's said, if you can't do anything but chew me out when we talk, then we won't talk. So, for a year and a half, they didn't talk. Now, if your child wasn't talking to you and told you why, would you consider changing your behavior to make it right?
Not this guy. He just sent Son blistering emails and voicemails about what a jerk he thought he was being. This is why Son doesn't listen to voicemail anymore. He sent them to me, too. He wanted me to force Son to talk to him. Yeah, that'll work out nicely for everyone. He retaliated by not sending Son birthday and Christmas presents.
He finally got it and backed off. He and Son talk occasionally. But I still hear about it when Son doesn't return a message.
One of Daughter's most embarrassing moments happened on a visit to her dad. Riding in the car with her Korean friend, he decided that doing his Chinese accent would be a good idea. She was mortified. It's evidential of how he doesn't take Daughter seriously. She gets weary of conversations with him because everything is a joke to him. She's stopped talking about friends and interests because he either makes a crack or just says, "Oh." It's frustrating to not be heard, so she finds little to say.
When he married his third wife, the woman told him that Daughter is a teenager, so she wants to talk about boys. Neither of them really bothered to figure out the reality of what Daughter wants to talk about. They just decided. Keep in mind, this is the man who told me he's not into the same things his daughter is, so that means he doesn't have to try to relate to her about them. I know - he so doesn't get that it's not about him. Was I into baseball when Son started Little League? No, but I learned because it was important to him. It's about the child, not about you.
For the record, Daughter does not want to talk about boys. She is comfortable in the fact that dating doesn't start in our house until age 16. She watches her friends' dating drama and is thankful to not have it. Her guy friends are her friends. But she doesn't mention them because her dad is predictable in his reactions. He'll hassle her about them.
That said, Daughter has developed her own entertainment surrounding her dad. She'll toy with him. It's become sport to her to make the man go into orbit. Anything related to her growing up will set him off. I've watched her do this. For instance:
"Dad, I am starting to wear makeup." She grins, waiting.
"Makeup? Why would you want to wear makeup?" His hackles are up.
"I'm old enough now. And I like how it makes me look." Grins again.
Now he's indignant. "You're not old enough. You can wear makeup when you're 35. And you look just fine without it." (Not that he'd know....he hasn't seen her since September 2008, but that's another story.)
She laughs. "I made Dad get all puffed up," she says.
She has a new obsession lately - Korean boy bands. Remember that Korean friend of hers? Yeah, she shared some YouTube links and got her hooked. Daughter talks about them all the time. I mean, ALL the time. She even infected Jacob's oldest with this obsession.
But she does not tell her dad. Why? She doesn't want to hear the Chinese accent again.
However, last night, he sent her a chat message on Facebook. After getting a good raking over the coals for not answering her phone (dead battery), she decided it was time to mess with him.
"Hey Dad, I have a new hobby."
"What's that?"
"Korean boy bands." Sends a link.
Pause. "Are you serious?"
"Yes! They're so cool! Check out these videos." More links.
"Ah so. Me like-a sushi." Really? Attempting an Asian accent online? Daughter face-palmed.
"No, that's Japanese, Dad."
Pause. "Ah so. Me like-a chop suey."
"No, that's Chinese."
"It's all the same, anyhow."
"No, it's not."
"Why Korean boy bands?"
She debated about telling him about her Korean friend. Instead, she got my attention and said, "Watch this."
To him, she said: "Because they are HOT!!"
Pause. "No. You did not just say that."
And Daughter is in hysterics. Button pushed.
She's almost 16. You wanted her to be interested in boys, Dad. Now, she is. Deal with it.
I can't believe she's almost 16. We're beginning to plan her Sweet Sixteen party. The head of the Art department here is a friend, and she's letting me have the Art gallery for this event. She's met Daughter and seen her work. We're going to hang Daughter's artwork from over the years, play music from her iPod playlist, and have it catered with her favorites. It's all about her.
Will her dad be here? I don't know, since he still feels he doesn't have to relate. That still breaks my heart a little, but she and Son have learned to be content in the relationships they've made.
The tough part about all this is that I can't warn them about him without looking bitchy and bitter. That harms my relationship with them, and we can't have that. So, I'm there when he lets them down. It's inevitable. He's big on promises and small on follow-through.
For instance, there was the promise to never move away from them, follow shortly by the announcement that he was moving 10 hours away. Then, there was the time he married a woman they had met once and couldn't stand, without telling them. He told me a few days after the fact, and I was supposed to break it to the kids.
This is how he shapes his relationships with them. I don't have to say a word.
Over the last couple of years, Son has been asserting himself with his dad and setting boundaries. Basically, he's said, if you can't do anything but chew me out when we talk, then we won't talk. So, for a year and a half, they didn't talk. Now, if your child wasn't talking to you and told you why, would you consider changing your behavior to make it right?
Not this guy. He just sent Son blistering emails and voicemails about what a jerk he thought he was being. This is why Son doesn't listen to voicemail anymore. He sent them to me, too. He wanted me to force Son to talk to him. Yeah, that'll work out nicely for everyone. He retaliated by not sending Son birthday and Christmas presents.
He finally got it and backed off. He and Son talk occasionally. But I still hear about it when Son doesn't return a message.
One of Daughter's most embarrassing moments happened on a visit to her dad. Riding in the car with her Korean friend, he decided that doing his Chinese accent would be a good idea. She was mortified. It's evidential of how he doesn't take Daughter seriously. She gets weary of conversations with him because everything is a joke to him. She's stopped talking about friends and interests because he either makes a crack or just says, "Oh." It's frustrating to not be heard, so she finds little to say.
When he married his third wife, the woman told him that Daughter is a teenager, so she wants to talk about boys. Neither of them really bothered to figure out the reality of what Daughter wants to talk about. They just decided. Keep in mind, this is the man who told me he's not into the same things his daughter is, so that means he doesn't have to try to relate to her about them. I know - he so doesn't get that it's not about him. Was I into baseball when Son started Little League? No, but I learned because it was important to him. It's about the child, not about you.
For the record, Daughter does not want to talk about boys. She is comfortable in the fact that dating doesn't start in our house until age 16. She watches her friends' dating drama and is thankful to not have it. Her guy friends are her friends. But she doesn't mention them because her dad is predictable in his reactions. He'll hassle her about them.
That said, Daughter has developed her own entertainment surrounding her dad. She'll toy with him. It's become sport to her to make the man go into orbit. Anything related to her growing up will set him off. I've watched her do this. For instance:
"Dad, I am starting to wear makeup." She grins, waiting.
"Makeup? Why would you want to wear makeup?" His hackles are up.
"I'm old enough now. And I like how it makes me look." Grins again.
Now he's indignant. "You're not old enough. You can wear makeup when you're 35. And you look just fine without it." (Not that he'd know....he hasn't seen her since September 2008, but that's another story.)
She laughs. "I made Dad get all puffed up," she says.
She has a new obsession lately - Korean boy bands. Remember that Korean friend of hers? Yeah, she shared some YouTube links and got her hooked. Daughter talks about them all the time. I mean, ALL the time. She even infected Jacob's oldest with this obsession.
But she does not tell her dad. Why? She doesn't want to hear the Chinese accent again.
However, last night, he sent her a chat message on Facebook. After getting a good raking over the coals for not answering her phone (dead battery), she decided it was time to mess with him.
"Hey Dad, I have a new hobby."
"What's that?"
"Korean boy bands." Sends a link.
Pause. "Are you serious?"
"Yes! They're so cool! Check out these videos." More links.
"Ah so. Me like-a sushi." Really? Attempting an Asian accent online? Daughter face-palmed.
"No, that's Japanese, Dad."
Pause. "Ah so. Me like-a chop suey."
"No, that's Chinese."
"It's all the same, anyhow."
"No, it's not."
"Why Korean boy bands?"
She debated about telling him about her Korean friend. Instead, she got my attention and said, "Watch this."
To him, she said: "Because they are HOT!!"
Pause. "No. You did not just say that."
And Daughter is in hysterics. Button pushed.
She's almost 16. You wanted her to be interested in boys, Dad. Now, she is. Deal with it.
I can't believe she's almost 16. We're beginning to plan her Sweet Sixteen party. The head of the Art department here is a friend, and she's letting me have the Art gallery for this event. She's met Daughter and seen her work. We're going to hang Daughter's artwork from over the years, play music from her iPod playlist, and have it catered with her favorites. It's all about her.
Will her dad be here? I don't know, since he still feels he doesn't have to relate. That still breaks my heart a little, but she and Son have learned to be content in the relationships they've made.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Cruising right along....
That earlier experiment worked out so well that we did it again. A day off to ourselves, but this time I picked up breakfast burritos so we wouldn't have to leave the house, if we didn't want to. And we didn't want to. It was sensuous and cozy and wonderful, all day. There's something to be said for spending a day at home, without the necessity of pants.
Best of all, we got the chance to just talk. We don't often get time alone to speak freely, without texting. We paused our movie and cozied up on the couch. At one point, he apologized for feeling so talkative that day. Really? I soak up such moments, and wish they happened much more often. We always discover more parallels we have
Mid-afternoon, we picked up our respective children and had a wonderful evening with them, too.
Our "family" evenings (as we've come to think of them) are spent with dinner, movies, games, and Legos. One of our favorite games is Apples to Apples, the Disney edition. If you haven't played this game, the short description is that the "judge" player puts down an adjective card and all the others (anonymously) put down noun cards to go with it, then the judge decides whose noun wins the round. You can lobby for your noun card to win, too. Every time we play, we laugh until it hurts!
One night, during the game, Jacob excused himself for a moment and disappeared in the direction of his office, returning shortly without explanation. When it was my turn to be judge, I found out why. As I'm flipping through the noun cards everyone else put down, I find this:
Best of all, we got the chance to just talk. We don't often get time alone to speak freely, without texting. We paused our movie and cozied up on the couch. At one point, he apologized for feeling so talkative that day. Really? I soak up such moments, and wish they happened much more often. We always discover more parallels we have
Mid-afternoon, we picked up our respective children and had a wonderful evening with them, too.
Our "family" evenings (as we've come to think of them) are spent with dinner, movies, games, and Legos. One of our favorite games is Apples to Apples, the Disney edition. If you haven't played this game, the short description is that the "judge" player puts down an adjective card and all the others (anonymously) put down noun cards to go with it, then the judge decides whose noun wins the round. You can lobby for your noun card to win, too. Every time we play, we laugh until it hurts!
One night, during the game, Jacob excused himself for a moment and disappeared in the direction of his office, returning shortly without explanation. When it was my turn to be judge, I found out why. As I'm flipping through the noun cards everyone else put down, I find this:
(in case you can't read it, the note says: Pick this one)
It caught me by surprise, and I about laughed my ass off. "Gee, which card is yours?" I asked. Jacob grinned.
I can't remember at the moment, if I ended up picking this card for that round. I also kept the note. Later, I was looking at it and thought how each day, I find new ways this man is beautiful to me. I texted him.
"Some thing occurs to me, about your 'Pick this one' note," I said. "In many ways, I already have."
More smiles.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Last week was an up and down kind of week. It started out rough. I was typing away on this blog, during a break at work, when the light from my window dimmed. It's behind me, so I turned to see what happened.
Ranger stood there. Looking in the window at me.
When he saw I spotted him, he came into the building and sat in my tiny office. He seems to think he can talk his way out of this situation. Like, if he can convince me to let things go back the way they were, then he doesn't really have to get off his ass and get his life in order.
Let me say here that I really do hate hurting him. I hate hurting anyone's feelings. But he's putting in the position of saying things that he doesn't want to hear (again), and saying them bluntly. I mean, I don't have a heart of stone. I cared about the man for a long time.
For the next hour, we rehashed why I'm not with him and that, no, his promises to do better are not going to fix things. Promises mean nothing. Words from Ranger mean nothing. Too many lies and secrets have existed there, and still do. I can't live or love that way.
He seemed genuinely surprised. "So, me just saying so isn't enough?"
Right. Not that this should be news to him. But right.
For an hour, we did this. At my place of work. That cannot happen. I told him that he couldn't show up like that again.
"But doesn't it prove something that I'm willing to walk all this way to see you? Especially when I'm hurting like this?"
No, it doesn't. It's creepy. And the hurting he's referring to is not emotional; it's physical. He has a serious problem with his back. So, he thinks he's proving something because, in his mind, he's hurting himself for me.
Does that sound sick to anyone else? Because I'm a little disturbed by the whole thing.
I finally had to leave to get him to leave. I literally had to take him somewhere else to get him away from my office.
The rest of the week was ok. It's the week before payday, so things are always a little thin. I got my tax refund, which was much less than previous years. I booked the annual Spring Break jaunt with Daughter, but on a tighter budget this year.
I discovered a Borders gift card that I didn't know I had. Our local store is closing, so I high-tailed it over there. They were out of the books I wanted, so I snagged a Lego set that I thought would be fun at Jacob's.
That night, at his house, I lamented that I wasn't able to find those books. "What books?" he said. I gave him the author's name. He grinned. "What titles?"
I named them, and he went to his shelves. "You should check with me before buying any books now," he said, handing me the exact title I wanted. He had the other one, too, but it was out on loan.
I love this man!
After dinner, more smiles. He'd gotten Lego sets for everyone. As we dumped out the bags of little bricks all over the dining table, he said, "We're gonna need a bigger table."
True. It was covered. We played, and we were all very happy.
Ranger stood there. Looking in the window at me.
When he saw I spotted him, he came into the building and sat in my tiny office. He seems to think he can talk his way out of this situation. Like, if he can convince me to let things go back the way they were, then he doesn't really have to get off his ass and get his life in order.
Let me say here that I really do hate hurting him. I hate hurting anyone's feelings. But he's putting in the position of saying things that he doesn't want to hear (again), and saying them bluntly. I mean, I don't have a heart of stone. I cared about the man for a long time.
For the next hour, we rehashed why I'm not with him and that, no, his promises to do better are not going to fix things. Promises mean nothing. Words from Ranger mean nothing. Too many lies and secrets have existed there, and still do. I can't live or love that way.
He seemed genuinely surprised. "So, me just saying so isn't enough?"
Right. Not that this should be news to him. But right.
For an hour, we did this. At my place of work. That cannot happen. I told him that he couldn't show up like that again.
"But doesn't it prove something that I'm willing to walk all this way to see you? Especially when I'm hurting like this?"
No, it doesn't. It's creepy. And the hurting he's referring to is not emotional; it's physical. He has a serious problem with his back. So, he thinks he's proving something because, in his mind, he's hurting himself for me.
Does that sound sick to anyone else? Because I'm a little disturbed by the whole thing.
I finally had to leave to get him to leave. I literally had to take him somewhere else to get him away from my office.
The rest of the week was ok. It's the week before payday, so things are always a little thin. I got my tax refund, which was much less than previous years. I booked the annual Spring Break jaunt with Daughter, but on a tighter budget this year.
I discovered a Borders gift card that I didn't know I had. Our local store is closing, so I high-tailed it over there. They were out of the books I wanted, so I snagged a Lego set that I thought would be fun at Jacob's.
That night, at his house, I lamented that I wasn't able to find those books. "What books?" he said. I gave him the author's name. He grinned. "What titles?"
I named them, and he went to his shelves. "You should check with me before buying any books now," he said, handing me the exact title I wanted. He had the other one, too, but it was out on loan.
I love this man!
After dinner, more smiles. He'd gotten Lego sets for everyone. As we dumped out the bags of little bricks all over the dining table, he said, "We're gonna need a bigger table."
True. It was covered. We played, and we were all very happy.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Say hello...maybe
I started this blog in 2004. Over the course of the last seven years, a handful of people have discovered this blog, and then discovered that they really do know me.
"You're Blogget Jones" is not a phrase I hear very often in "real" life, but it has happened. A couple of friends from the past have read this and then sent me feedback privately. One other fella wanted to know why he wasn't included.
To my knowledge, no one I've actively written about has seen this blog. Well, until now.
He has said that what's here isn't important. It's my private business, and he trusts that I'll tell him about anything I write about, in any case. So, I don't know that he'll ever read this, but he might.
So...Dear Diary, wave hello to Jacob.
It was a heart-stopping moment when I realized he'd found it. A heart-stopping, kick-myself kind of moment. Two things had happened simultaneously:
He followed Blogget on Twitter....
...then tweeted an "oops" message.
I'd waited too long to explain Blogget to him. I've never wanted to reveal my secret identity to anyone, but this had been troubling me with Jacob. I wanted to tell him, but needed a chance to warn him first that Blogget's writings are sometimes unflattering to me. When I've done stupid things, I've written about them. I sometimes look (and feel) like an idiot.
And I'm sexually blunt. But I doubted that would bother him.
I also realized that others could find this blog so easily, too. I deleted Blogget's Twitter feed. That had been a stupid move on my part.
It's important that a few key people not read Blogget Jones's Diary. But Jacob is welcome to it, in all it's sometimes-embarrassing glory, should he decide to visit. I don't write anything he doesn't already know.
"You're Blogget Jones" is not a phrase I hear very often in "real" life, but it has happened. A couple of friends from the past have read this and then sent me feedback privately. One other fella wanted to know why he wasn't included.
To my knowledge, no one I've actively written about has seen this blog. Well, until now.
He has said that what's here isn't important. It's my private business, and he trusts that I'll tell him about anything I write about, in any case. So, I don't know that he'll ever read this, but he might.
So...Dear Diary, wave hello to Jacob.
It was a heart-stopping moment when I realized he'd found it. A heart-stopping, kick-myself kind of moment. Two things had happened simultaneously:
He followed Blogget on Twitter....
...then tweeted an "oops" message.
I'd waited too long to explain Blogget to him. I've never wanted to reveal my secret identity to anyone, but this had been troubling me with Jacob. I wanted to tell him, but needed a chance to warn him first that Blogget's writings are sometimes unflattering to me. When I've done stupid things, I've written about them. I sometimes look (and feel) like an idiot.
And I'm sexually blunt. But I doubted that would bother him.
I also realized that others could find this blog so easily, too. I deleted Blogget's Twitter feed. That had been a stupid move on my part.
It's important that a few key people not read Blogget Jones's Diary. But Jacob is welcome to it, in all it's sometimes-embarrassing glory, should he decide to visit. I don't write anything he doesn't already know.
Monday, February 21, 2011
If you could, would you?
It's been a huge week for me at work. For about a year now, we've had two large decisions hanging over our heads:
We had both meetings with the college President last week. That was a fun morning. No stress at all. Luckily for me, my boss did most of the talking. I was there to do presentations and fill in details.
The first meeting gets underway. The whole committee is there, to support the recommendation. My boss is explaining the whole thing, talking directly to the President.
And the man turns to talk to the person sitting next to him. In a normal, conversational tone. While my boss is talking to him. Boss kept talking, but he threw a knowing grin around the room. Apparently, everyone else was accustomed to this rudeness, but I was still appalled.
Still, we got what we wanted and were told to proceed with implementing the program and training we needed. Cool. One down.
The second meeting set up much the same. I'm at the front of the room, waiting for my cue to show the pretty presentation I had for the President. He sits down and flips through the handouts. "You guys know more about this than me," he says. That's about all he says.
My boss is sitting beside him, with the IT director. They are going through the hows and whys of our recommendation. They're, like, two feet from him.
He whips out his iPhone and starts texting.
They keep talking.
He gets up. And leaves.
My jaw dropped. Seriously?
The accounting guy tells us we're free to proceed with the contract. They know all they need to know. Rubber stamp, and we're done. We got what we wanted.
I must have had a look on my face because someone asked me to go ahead and show the pretty pictures. I did that, but felt rather patronized.
On the way back to my office, I was elated that we got what we wanted, but I was still appalled by the behavior of our President. It was arrogant and demeaning. I'm still a little speechless.
At first, I wished that it was acceptable for me to do something similar. When I'm tired of a meeting, I just leave. Wow.
But would I really be that rude to people? No, I wouldn't. It's a matter of respect. By showing me the disrespect he did, with his rudeness, he also harmed my respect for him.
- Do we officially adopt certain national standards for our online classes, and undergo all of the training to review and rework all of those classes?
- What will our new online delivery system be? Our current system is being discontinued, so we must move to something new.
We had both meetings with the college President last week. That was a fun morning. No stress at all. Luckily for me, my boss did most of the talking. I was there to do presentations and fill in details.
The first meeting gets underway. The whole committee is there, to support the recommendation. My boss is explaining the whole thing, talking directly to the President.
And the man turns to talk to the person sitting next to him. In a normal, conversational tone. While my boss is talking to him. Boss kept talking, but he threw a knowing grin around the room. Apparently, everyone else was accustomed to this rudeness, but I was still appalled.
Still, we got what we wanted and were told to proceed with implementing the program and training we needed. Cool. One down.
The second meeting set up much the same. I'm at the front of the room, waiting for my cue to show the pretty presentation I had for the President. He sits down and flips through the handouts. "You guys know more about this than me," he says. That's about all he says.
My boss is sitting beside him, with the IT director. They are going through the hows and whys of our recommendation. They're, like, two feet from him.
He whips out his iPhone and starts texting.
They keep talking.
He gets up. And leaves.
My jaw dropped. Seriously?
The accounting guy tells us we're free to proceed with the contract. They know all they need to know. Rubber stamp, and we're done. We got what we wanted.
I must have had a look on my face because someone asked me to go ahead and show the pretty pictures. I did that, but felt rather patronized.
On the way back to my office, I was elated that we got what we wanted, but I was still appalled by the behavior of our President. It was arrogant and demeaning. I'm still a little speechless.
At first, I wished that it was acceptable for me to do something similar. When I'm tired of a meeting, I just leave. Wow.
But would I really be that rude to people? No, I wouldn't. It's a matter of respect. By showing me the disrespect he did, with his rudeness, he also harmed my respect for him.
Friday, February 11, 2011
My warm-fuzzy Valentine
Jacob has two adorable little girls, ages 10 and 8. He says he thinks his life looks pretty bad, from the outside looking in.
"How so?" I asked.
"Two kids, with two different mothers," he said, making a face. "That has to look irresponsible."
"No," I said. "You have two daughters who you are making a good life for, and making sacrifices to see to it that they come first. That doesn't look bad at all."
"We do what we must," he says.
"In my experience, a lot of people don't care what they 'must' do," I said. "Especially where kids are concerned."
I've worried a little about the youngest being uncomfortable with his relationship with me. We know his oldest doesn't have a problem at all. She's been testing my reaction to "I love you" lately. She'll say it like, "You brought pie! I love you!" I hug her, kiss her on the head, and say, "I love you, too," and she seems happy.
Last week, when Jacob wasn't near, his youngest threw her arms around me and said, "I love you." I reacted the same way with her, and she happily scampered away. Last night, I'm sitting on the couch with the youngest, playing video games. Jacob came to sit by us, just sitting back and watching the goings on. Youngest takes the controller (because I suck at games!) and leans against me to play.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you, too," I said, kissing the top of her head.
I looked at Jacob. His jaw was slack and his eyes wide. "That's huge," he said, mouthing the words.
I gave him a puzzled look. "It's the second time," I said. His jaw dropped more.
"She doesn't do that," he said. "She'll answer you, but she'll never say it first."
I was speechless. That moment meant so much to me. To Jacob, too. His smile was of utter joy and delight, as she cuddled closer into my lap.
I saw that smile again, later, when we saw all three of our girls, sitting in a cozy pile together on the couch, watching television.
Finances are stretched at the moment, so he asked if I'd mind not making elaborate plans for Valentine's Day. I don't mind one bit. Valentine's is about love. And right now, I find that cup filling nicely. I have my Valentine, many times over.
"How so?" I asked.
"Two kids, with two different mothers," he said, making a face. "That has to look irresponsible."
"No," I said. "You have two daughters who you are making a good life for, and making sacrifices to see to it that they come first. That doesn't look bad at all."
"We do what we must," he says.
"In my experience, a lot of people don't care what they 'must' do," I said. "Especially where kids are concerned."
I've worried a little about the youngest being uncomfortable with his relationship with me. We know his oldest doesn't have a problem at all. She's been testing my reaction to "I love you" lately. She'll say it like, "You brought pie! I love you!" I hug her, kiss her on the head, and say, "I love you, too," and she seems happy.
Last week, when Jacob wasn't near, his youngest threw her arms around me and said, "I love you." I reacted the same way with her, and she happily scampered away. Last night, I'm sitting on the couch with the youngest, playing video games. Jacob came to sit by us, just sitting back and watching the goings on. Youngest takes the controller (because I suck at games!) and leans against me to play.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you, too," I said, kissing the top of her head.
I looked at Jacob. His jaw was slack and his eyes wide. "That's huge," he said, mouthing the words.
I gave him a puzzled look. "It's the second time," I said. His jaw dropped more.
"She doesn't do that," he said. "She'll answer you, but she'll never say it first."
I was speechless. That moment meant so much to me. To Jacob, too. His smile was of utter joy and delight, as she cuddled closer into my lap.
I saw that smile again, later, when we saw all three of our girls, sitting in a cozy pile together on the couch, watching television.
Finances are stretched at the moment, so he asked if I'd mind not making elaborate plans for Valentine's Day. I don't mind one bit. Valentine's is about love. And right now, I find that cup filling nicely. I have my Valentine, many times over.
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