Justin Bieber Fever

We marched into Fred Meyer last week on a mission; Operation Find Toddler Halloween Costume had commenced.

I zigzagged through the pitiful racks of costumes, wigs and accessories and to say I was disappointed in the selection is an understatement. Were these last year’s leftovers? I could see it now, after last Halloween came and went, these unsold remnants were shoved into boxes and stacked up in the back of the store, some island of misfit costumes if you will? I was fingering (for some reason I just could not find a better word..) through a 20% rack and realized my two year old had not accidentally ran into me, shouted at me, or knocked something over in a good couple of minutes.

“Charlotte what are you doin,” I yell…and she comes screeching around the corner with a bag of candy in her arms that probably weighed almost as much as she did,

“ Here Mama! Suckers!”

I swipe the bag out of her hand and she yelps, “MAMA, NO,”

“We don’t need all this candy yet Charlotte, okay?”

She puts her hands on her hips ( I am now regretting teaching her this pose…which was originally intended for photo ops only,) and stomps her little left foot, her sparkly Sketchers start lighting up and before I can start bribing her with the bag of candy or a potential cookie, she starts stomping both feet, waving both tiny arms angrily, and before I know it she is jumping up and down, her light-up shoes glittering wildly. She throws herself on the nasty cold Fred Meyer linoleum and after about two or three impressive army rolls, she slumps over on her back still screaming.


  I scoop my tantrum throwing toddler off the floor and make a beeline for the doors, by the time we get to the truck she has jerked my arms to the point that I can barely hold the little stinker anymore. By the time we are out of the parking lot she’s passed out in her cow-print car seat. I look at my dash clock and sure enough it’s a good twenty minutes after her usual sleepy time.

This venture was a completely unsuccessful, Halloween was only a few weeks away and as much as I did NOT want to waste thirty or forty bucks on a costume she will never wear again, she had to have a cute one, right? She HAD to.

My initial intention was to dress her up in some skinny jeans, a t-shirt, some Chuck Taylors and a hat and call her “Justin Bieber”, I thought it was hilarious, my sister thought it was hilarious…but would the local mommies down at the trick-or-treat carnival get it? I decided against the gender-bending idea, I mean she is only two…and opted for a new idea; Minnie Mouse.

I put her in her crib and plopped down on the couch with the laptop. I sign onto Ebay and start bidding away…..

Good Game Bruce

Bruce likes butts.

He likes to slap them, smack them, tap them, wack them, rap them, pat them, jab them, spank them, hit them, poke them, nudge them, thump them, prod them…he likes them so much he just can’t keep his grimy little hands off them.

“Get your hand off my ass BRUCE!” his aunt shrieks from the kitchen….

Bruce is five, going on seventeen; Bruce is an ass man.

His dad doesn’t know where he gets it, “ I myself prefer boobs…” he laughs.

Bruce however, has an unnatural infatuation with the booty and his poor helpless mother can only hope and pray that this mildly offensive passion for the backsides’ (of women in particular) does not come out in his kindergarten classroom…

“Can you imagine that conversation?” she questions worriedly,

“ Well Mrs. Davidson, your son is an exceptional listener, an expert at coloring between the lines, and VERY encouraging as he likes to slap the butts of all the girls in our class when they’ve accomplished an admirable task…” (Well, at least that’s how I’d like to think the conversation would go)…

I attempted to assure my fellow mommy, that Charlotte too as an usual obsession…ta tas’. She will lift up the shirt of any family member, friend or stranger that will let her get close enough and loudly proclaim “ TA TAS!!!!!”. She has more than once, been seated on my lap in the middle of a crowded restaurant and plunged her tiny ta-ta seeking hands into my shirt exposing my bizarre or worse, my boobs, to everyone in the room.

"Oh, the joys of motherhood,"She rolls her eyes and I sip my coffee. It has been three weeks since we moved, Am I ready for all of it, every day, just me and my daughter...our little routine no longer interupted by work? Get up, coffee and bagel, park, gymnastics, grocery strore, chores...I think I am...saved by the grace of the silly little happenings of a tiny green mind in the works.

Fire Fighting Muffins

We sat in the living room and talked as Charlotte scampered about the house, impressing Jake with her exceptional dancing skills and impressive ability to accurately repeat every single word that came out of his mouth. I explain the shenanigans that made up the majority of the last two months of my life and throughout my story he laughs and shakes his head, never saying anything aside from the occasional sigh or “Oh Meeg…”

On the couch next to me, he looks over at Charlotte crawling up on my lap, “She is hilarious…”

“Ya Ya, she is quite a…” and before I can finish my sentence Charlotte shoves a book in his face and says, “Read Little Blue Fish Jake!” I swipe the book from her hand and after reading it three times in a row she jumps off my lap and heads into the kitchen,

“You are gonna be just fine Meeg.”

He smiles over at me and I nod laughing.
Charlotte decided she was not going to go to bed that night, so Jake’s visit was cut short. After we said goodbye I strolled back to my bedroom and Charlotte was standing upright in her crib, “I need to do the hokey pokey mama…” I roll my eyes and lift her out of her crib- she fell asleep next to me almost instantly.

Today is Friday and I have to admit, I am feelin pretty god damn good today. We got up early to bake muffins and cookies for some local firefighters and Aunt Kate decided to help, which means she completely took over the whole baking business. Charlotte “helped” by sitting on the countertop eating her peanut butter toast and serving as the director of operations; “Put this in there Aunt Katie…you need chocolate chips?....Give me a cookie!”

I round her up, get her all dressed up in her new favorite pink ballerina-esque outfit and I throw on a flannel, the usual leggings and a hat. We arrive at work together to drop off the goodies so my manager can escort the baked goods to the Fire Department. Charlotte was of course a big hit, prancing around from cubical to cubical, munching on cookies and showing off her freshly painted bright pink finger nails.

After we made our rounds we head out to the main lobby and she sits herself down in a roller-chair, we zip around the office and into the lab, and after a good 10 solid minutes of obnoxiously interrupting everybody’s morning, I make my espresso and we pile in the car. As I drive home after dropping my ballerina off at daycare a song comes on the radio that reminds me of him…usually I’d sing along and daydream about idiotic never-gonna-happen scenarios, I hit the CD button and cruise the rest of the way home blaring Lady Gaga. That song sucks anyway.

It’s the weekend, It’s the start of starting over; See ya’ll Monday. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ;)

This Chick Can Party.

I feel my phone vibrate my pillow and I blindly swipe around for it until I give up and roll out of bed. I toss my pillow to the floor and grab my phone, Charlotte stood up in here crib and rubbing her eyes she said,
“ You need coffee Mama, I need bagel.”

She knows me so well, and our simple routine; coffee and bagels, park, then usually the grocery store.

I lift her out of her crib and she runs out the door, she climbs up on her stool and starts brushing her teeth. As she destroys the bathroom, I throw on some leggings and clumsily paw through the pile of clothes on my bedroom floor for a bra. None of my bras really fit me right now; I angrily look down at my bright pink brassiere like it is somehow responsible for with my disappearing boobs. What is really frustrating is the fact that it’s not like when I start gaining weight my boobs are gonna get huge- nope, that will just happen to my ass.

I find a t- shirt and don’t realize what it says till I am pulling it over my head as I walk into the bathroom “This Chick Can Party” with two thumbs pointing upwards….oh well, this was one of my favorite shirts to wear when I was pregnant....

For the first time over the last few days, and if I really am honest with myself, over the past few weeks, I feel okay. I need a facial badly, I need to stop text- stalking my girlfriends (because I’m a little lonely…) and I definitely need some good old fashion retail therapy- but other than that I am feeling pretty gosh darn good today.

Charlotte exclaims, “Look Mama, I wash-a my hands and brush a-my teeth!”

I yank a towel off the door hanger and mop up her mess- we scramble into the car and of course the first thing she says is “I want Lady Gaga Mama!” Were singin and dancin, crusin along to Aunt Kate’s coffee shop and Charlotte tells me, “Mama turn it down” so I do and looking at her through the rear view mirror I say, “ What’s wrong Bear, no more Lady Gaga?” She wiggles her little butt down into her car seat and claps her tiny hands on both her cheeks, she smiles the cutest baby Char Char smile and says, “ I just love-a you Mama.”

I don’t care who thinks otherwise I’m convinced my child is a genius- of colors and shapes and numbers and words and most of all- of moments. My unknowing poetic angel, my peanut butter & jelly eating,princess costume-wearing saving grace.

Later that evening I stroll up the stairs and into the office at work and head straight for the espresso machine. Its free coffee- but that is about the only good thing about this coffee. Of course I burn my tongue, because although I watch the piping hot steam roll over the brim of my Styrofoam cup I somehow don’t take this into consideration when I take my first sip. I take a lap around the office because it’s totally dead and when I sit down at my desk I glance over and see a message from my mother. Shockingly enough it is not about how I forgot to empty the dishwasher, left a pile of Charlottes toys in the living room- or even about whether or not I will be able to make my car payment- nope she has run into a high school friend of mine; even worse.

My mother has this idea in her head that I need to re-connect with people whom I have not spoken too or seen since I was 17 years old. She especially likes to update and inform me on former male classmates and how successful they have become; she follows up her tormenting comments with “Oh he always liked you Meghan but you were just always after those bad boys…” or, “He has a girlfriend but they don’t seem that serious….”Her Facebook account has made this information much more accessible therefore turning her mildly humiliating hobby into an all-out, match-making torture fest. But I digress,

“You will never believe who we just saw at Applebee’s…”

Actually, I think to myself, I probably can believe it because I am almost 99 % sure that at least four people I graduated with are either current or former employees. Instead of responding to my mother, I immediately text my sister who was at dinner with them as well…

“Alright, who the hell did she give my number to now…” I say. Kate responds, “ HA. HA. HA. You’re in luck- it’s just Jake.”

Jake. That was lucky. Of all the people it could have been I was actually very, very happy that I would soon be hearing from him. He was from Pasco and was a few years older, but I grew up best friends with his neighbor and that is how we met. My first spring break in college I flew to Arizona to see him, we had never been anything more than friends and he was one of the only men in my life, to this day, who has remained my friend for this long and never tried sleeping with me. He was going to college there, and would be deploying to the Middle East soon after my visit. He called me occasionally from Afghanistan, and the last phone call I got from him ended with me, telling him I was pregnant.

He hadn’t known much about Derek, we had talked so few times that he didn’t recall I even had a boyfriend. I have no idea what he said back to me but at the point of that phone call I had not seen him in over a year- and would not see him again for another two.

He texted me later that night as I was crawling into bed. I didn’t even know he was living in Tri-Cities anymore, the last I heard it was California?

“Well the last I heard you were pregnant, I couldn’t believe that was your daughter at dinner…”

The next afternoon I was preparing the kitchen for dinner, and my phone lit up as I was cutting chicken. I had for some reason had a really bad day, not crying but definitely not smiling, just tired and trying to think about anything but what I couldn’t stop thinking about. He was wondering what I was doing later that night, and I said we were making dinner- Kate would be here and her boyfriend was bringing a puppy over to play with Charlotte.

“You remember how to get to my parents house?” I asked,

“Oh of course I do…” he said,

“Well I look shit, but you can come over if you want…” I reply,

“I am pretty sure I have seen you in just about every way possible…” I laughed to myself and quickly replied,

“See ya in a bit then.”

Break

I will write tonight or tomorrow. Whenever I figure out what to even say.

Spilled Milk.

After hitting the snooze button an estimated six times it finally dawns on me that if I want the beeping to subside I need to hit “dismiss….”



I had woken up the night before around 1:00. I scrolled through a couple of missed text messages -none of which really evoking a need to respond. I rolled out of bed and found my way to the kitchen. After pawing through various leftovers in the fridge, I settled on a bowl of Raisin Bran and ended up stumbling over one of Charlotte’s piles of books on my way out to the recliner. Of all the things to curse over, at least it was a mound of books- what a studious baby. I sat there cross legged next to the mound of books and the crumpled up paper towels I used to clean up my spilled milk-but if it was just that, then why was I crying?


I don’t get hysterical when I cry- unless of course its when I find out Charlotte’s dad is having another baby a year and a half after we had our child together; or if its an alcohol induced ball-fest involving an unnecessary amount of 7-11 pizza pockets and tator tots.


Two tiny tears silently sloped down my left cheek and slid down my neck. I just left them there and I picked myself and my paper towel mess up off the ground and dumped my half-eaten midnight snack in the sink. I slowly walked around the house and found myself creeping back into the bedroom. I crawled into bed and pulled my warm fleece blanket up to my neck. I wouldn’t say I cried myself to sleep -but I don’t remember when I stopped crying or when I finally drifted off.


When Charlotte woke up around 8:00 am I was right in the middle of making her some toast. I set her sleepy little self in her high chair and hastily got dressed while she ate. We were going to get new tires this morning and our appointment was at 9:00…after she was all done I threw a little sundress on her and her pink Crocs and we hit the road. I wasn’t looking forward to today; I would have to make the drive to Cle Elum again only 4 days after Charlotte had returned. Derek’s brother is visiting from Arizona and of course I can’t just tell him he can’t see her (although every single one of my family members has taken it upon themselves to voice their disapproval of allowing Charlotte to be gone again so soon). I barely had to pack for her because her bag was still full of clothes and shoes from her last trip. I printed off some pictures for her grandparents of her in- the- park photo shoot and neatly placed them on top of her pile of clothes. I walked back into the house after putting all of her things in my car, and found her flipping through a book on my bed in our room. “Look Mama, its Panda Bear!” I smiled and replied, “ Ya baby, what does Panda Bear see?!” She recited the entire book to me as I gathered some clothes and shoes for my overnight bag, even though I didn’t really know for sure where I was staying overnight. I felt almost embarrassed as I put my makeup bag and mini shampoo and conditioner on top of the clothes. I was being pretty presumptuous- and maybe that’s why I’d been crying.

Operation Destroy Animal Barn

I wake up to the sound of Charlotte shuffling around in her crib, she is telling her baby doll to put her diaper back on and some random story about how were supposedly going to get the car washed today, “after we get Mama’s coffee…” Before long she stands up and peers over the side of her crib, “Get up Mama, I wanna get out.”

“Where we goin today little bear,” I ask… “The animal fair Mama!” she yells back at me! Yep, we are braving the county fair together, Aunt Kate has to work so it’s just gonna be Charlotte and I…parading around in the dirt and cow manure-and looking fabulous while doing it.

We head into the bathroom and brush our teeth, and by brush our teeth I mean she gets toothpaste and water everywhere BUT her mouth and I end up brushing my teeth in the shower, as I have to stop and wipe up her mess mid-teeth cleaning.

She decides she is going to take a bath almost the entire time I am drying my hair, putting on my make up and getting dressed- Then we eat our scrambled eggs and wheat toast and she plays in her cereal for a solid half hour before insisting that she get out of the high chair because, “I need Mama do my hair and get my shoes on…” We load up in the car and as soon as we hit the road Charlotte says to me, “I want Lady Gaga Mama…” Now, I know what your thinking, what kind of mother lets her two year old listen to Lady Gaga? Welp, this Mom does, right here. She likes the Pokerface song and its not like I let her sing along to that other dreadful one talking about “ wanting to ride on your disco stick…” so, don’t judge me judgers.

We manage to dodge paying for parking because my excellent parking-spot radar happens to come across the last open spot in front of the park which is directly across from the fairgrounds. JACKPOT. We roll up to the gate in our Limited Edition Eddie Bauer stroller ( all class and sass ) and the barely functioning, possibly blind and most definitely hearing impaired old man behind the ticket counter says “ She’s free, $12 bucks for you…”

WHAT. WHAT. Twelve freaking dollars?!?! JUST to ENTER into a fenced off, carnie-infested, overpriced high-calorie junk food mound of dirt that reeks like diabetes and animal feces’!!!??? Do I get some sort of complimentary elephant ear? A giant lemonade served by a very questionable most likely recently paroled guy? I clearly did not hide my disgust well, because the old man grunted and swiped my money away from me probably thinking to himself about what a bratty little drama queen I was….

Anyway, we head through the gates and make a beeline for the Kiddie Zone and Old McDonalds Farm….Operation Destroy Animal Barn is a GO.

Members Only.

I remember sitting at work one day at a job I really enjoyed- but was barely paying me enough to survive on. I was living pay check to pay check and sometimes off my credit card. I loved my office, my desk…I loved that town and I loved a man. But making the choice to move back home for a better paying job was put off for one reason and one reason only. It wasn’t about losing the job I loved, the town I loved, or the man I loved; I would lose my independence.

I would have to swallow my enormous although arguably foolish pride and allow myself to become more dependent on people than I really ever had been. It would take me a while to get on my feet again and I would have to do something I hadn't done since I was 18; live with my parents.

I have been arguing with my mother non-stop all day and the chain of events leading up to my move home almost 9 months ago have been playing over and over through my head (maybe that’s why I have a headache). This dreadful feeling of failure and desperation is creeping around inside me like a dirty little thief. I feel as if I’ve somehow become less of a mother, less of a provider…for living with them. What they don’t understand is that I don’t want to be there anymore than they don’t want me too. Like all parents, they would “do anything” for me, or Charlotte at least…but it seems there is always some condition, some issue…something usually out of my control that creates this massive looming tension lurking around every corner and filling every room; this dark, heavy cloud slowly stifling us all.

I used to not need anyone, and now I don't WANT to need them, but I have no choice.

Derek told me once that I would never need anyone- or at least that I thought I didn’t. Brian told me after our relationship ended almost the exact same thing, that he had always felt left out,  like I would never allow him to get both feet through the door.

....and now I can finally see him: eagerly pacing from side to side, stranded at the velvet ropes just waiting to be let in, ignoring the painfully bright and flashing neon sign dangling above his head ; Members Only.

I miss my independence. I mean I really, really miss it. I miss Charlotte and I living in our own little world, our tiny little family unit- just me and her against the world. I know I will get it back someday, I know I can pick myself up and start over again…but maybe this time I will find a balance. Some sort of happy medium that I thought I was looking for, that I think I was striving to find… but that I never quite allowed myself to fall into.

Charlotte, Carlos and the Countdown to Rodeo Weekend!

I lifted my head and felt my cell phone peel off my check and plop down on my pillow, it was beeping and vibrating vigorously. 5:00 am already? I was heading off to meet Charlotte’s grandmother today, I finally get to see my Charlotte Bear! My goal was to get up extra early, shower and get all ready for work so that I wouldn’t have to worry about it when I got home with her. However 5:00 am came much sooner and harder than I anticipated and I ended up sleeping in till well after 7:00; so much for plan A.

At 7:20 I just so happen to wake myself and glance at my phone. SHIT. I jump out of bed and scramble for some jeans and a t-shirt. I throw a bottle of water and my purse in the car and hit the road. I stopped for a quad shot (don’t judge me) sugar-free soy latte and some gas. I have grown so accustom to this drive that I no longer dread it at all- I Iook forward to it. Two whole hours of dancing and singing like an idiot in my car, two glorious un-interrupted hours of thinking to myself; sometimes out loud, about anything and everything going on in my life. I have conversations with myself that I probably won’t ever end up actually having with the people they are intended for…but at least I get all my thoughts in order and figure out what I should do- even though I probably won’t end up actually do that either.

Before I know it the two hour long drive is over and I pull up to Grandma’s car in the Safeway parking lot. I see my little Charlotte bear hopping up and down in the passenger seat pointing at me, I practically tuck and roll out of my moving vehicle; IM SO HAPPY TO SEE HER! She throws her tiny arms around my neck and clings to me like a little baby monkey, Carolyn and I chatted for a bit then said our goodbyes. Charlotte slept most of the drive home but as soon as we pull into the driveway her big blue eyes pop right open and she asks, “Where’s Carlos?!”

Carlos is my sister’s boyfriend, and Charlotte is mildly obsessed with him…I recall my first crush being in 5th grade; but Charlotte of course one-up’s me again. She walked before 12 months, talked shortly after, counted to ten by 18 months and now she has started mackin on guys by the age of 2. (Note to self: begin thorough investigation of private girl’s schools on the East Coast)…

Luckily, Carlos had today off and showed up not long after our arrival. Two thirty rolled around and it was time to prepare for work, today I am rockin one of my brand new Rodeo ensembles; cowgirl boots, a little white dress complete with turquoise necklace and bracelet ( and maybe some poofier than normal hair) RODEO WEEKEND IS COMING, gotta get the boots worked in and get in the spirit of whiskey drinkin, swing dancin and a never-ending supply of wild, willing and able cowboys.

(Although, I could probably pass on the cowboy part…)

Weekend on the Westside

My eventful 60 hour work week came and went. All of the sudden the weekend had passed and it was Sunday morning. Kristin’s birthday party had been a relative success, considering the alcohol-induced impromptu game of strip poker was uneventful yet still entertaining (as no one actually removed any articles of clothing) and the drunken arguments were kept to a minimum. Almost no one ate the overpriced cupcakes I bought, but someone did manage to drink my personal pint of Pendleton (that I apparently did a horrible job of hiding from the other party guests). Therefore, my enthusiasm for drinking had been reduced to non-existent before 7:00 pm, but I did a marvelous job pretending my keg cup of water was champagne. I was the first to wake up in the morning- ready for my chicken fried steak and looking forward to the drive home.



Kristin’s bedroom looked like a bomb went off; leggings, shirts, bras, make up all scattered about her floor and furniture...and oddly enough a unopened pack of cigarettes and a Smirnoff ICE sitting on her nightstand (although the Smirnoff is not in my realm of choice for alcohol- this group doesn’t normally waste a pack of Camels or booze for that matter). Everyone began peeling themselves off couches and floors and began sifting through the wreckage for their personal belongings- most likely ending up with something that doesn't belong to them. Because no one ever ends up with all their stuff and almost always ends up with the stuff of someone else’s.


Actually finding a breakfast establishment suitable for Princess Kristin proved to be a much less problematic than I had anticipated. With the handy work of an iphone and only one u-turn, our caravan of vehicles made it to a pretty decent spot that ended up having ginormous portions of food and a questionably young, primarily female, wait staff. All in all- I think the number of people offended by our obnoxious bunch was quite minimal considering the usual shenanigans involved with our after-partying meal. The mood was slightly tainted by some unusual sexual tension between a few group members and a hint of lingering frustration between a few of us who were involved in the “minimal drunk arguments” that had taken place the night before.


Thankfully my good friend Mindy has even less of a tolerance for hung-over hangouts when you’re out of town than I do, so we blew that Popsicle stand as soon as breakfast was over. DJ Mindy set the mood as we zig- zagged through 1-90 traffic listening to everything from 90’s rap to classic rock… we talked about the weekend and what we had planned for the rest of the day, and despite the combination of her hostility and (getting less and less believable) apathy, I think it was safe to assume that she was thinking about the person she keeps swearing she never thinks about- and I was doing the same thing.

Business Barry

“Its 7:20 Meghan Elizabeth, get out of bed.”


I was sprawled out facedown and pants-less, still wearing one shoe,with a torn bag of Gardetto’s next to my head. I had to be at my desk at work in 25 minutes.

My mother only uses my middle name when she’s pissed off, and she should be…afterall, Lizzie is in town. My mother loves Lizzie and I mean she probably loves her more than she loves me. But, when Lizzie comes to town it always means one thing; party…and my mother doesn’t touch alcohol.

After throwing on some jeans (thank GOD its casual Friday) and a horrendous pale yellow polo shirt, I attempt to mask the smell of booze and cigarettes by dousing myself in Gucci perfume. However as we all know, this method is never successful and now I just smell like flowers, booze and cigarettes. I wash my face and immediately pile on the bronzer and mascara- before ya know it I am in my car with the window rolled down, day dreaming of Egg McMuffins and soy vanilla lattes.

I squeal into the parking lot and see my manager’s car, SHIT. I am well over twenty minutes late and I don’t look like I slept in, I look like a busted Daytona stripper- and I definitely smell like one. I slipped into the office and went directly to the lobby fridge, I need water. A whole hour passes and no one comes up to the front desk and when I finally see my manager she goes right into a spiel about how she attempted to wear a shirt very similar to the one I’m wearing today, but it looked horrible on her so she threw it away on her lunch break…I have apparently gotten away with my tardiness.

Finally around 10:30 someone comes in. His name is Barry and I’m ninety nine percent sure he’s the love of my life. Damnit! The ONE day I don’t look fabulous and Mr.Ex- Military/Woodsman/I’ll build you a log cabin then make babies in it with you, shows up.

“Well hello there,” he says smirking. I clearly must have a shit-eating grin on my face because he lets out a snorty giggle as he leans down on the desk in front of me.

“What can I do for you this lovely morning Mr…..”

“Barry,” he says,

“ I’m Barry and I’m interested in getting my MBA.”

“Well Business Barry, let me go get someone you can talk to. Can I get you something to drink?” I ask.

“ A beer,” he says.

Yep. I’m in love.

After my future ex-husband leaves, I grab my fourth glass of water and finish up my paperwork. It’s going to be a very, very long day…so I Google “ Destination Weddings” Oh, Barry.

Thursday

No wine last night…(and I’m not saying this is some kind of commendable achievement of any sort- I’m just sayin)


I was woken up by the vibration of my cell phone fifteen minutes after my alarm had already gone off. I don’t want to get out of bed today. I want to stay right here…enveloped in my soft, pillowy warm bed, like a little fresh-baked muffin. (Man, I must be hungry?) Finally, it’s a message from someone I don’t mind waking up too…so I swing my legs over the side of my bed and take my muffin self into the bathroom to shower. Hair, make –up, nylons… and I slip on my dark grayish blue Juicy Couture dress. This dress is one of my prized possessions and I haven’t been able to fit into it for well over two years; that is the one and only upside of stress- it looks pretty good on me.

When I stopped to get my morning latte I had completely forgotten my sister wasn’t working, which meant two things; I’d have to actually pay for my coffee and it was probably not going to taste very good. I was correct in both my assumptions. I did however leave a happy customer, because one very sweet young lady complimented me, “ That dress looks great on you, “ she said…if it had been a male I would have replied with a breathy and seemingly nonchalant “ I know,” but it was not, so I graciously thanked her and sauntered out to my car. If only she knew how much I paid for it, I thought, she would probably slap me stupid.

Instead of being ahead of schedule I was now running late. I had planned on getting up early so that I might have time to swing by a used bookstore on my way to work, however; it turned out that showing up there would have been an unsuccessful venture anyway because after calling to see if they had copies of the two books I wanted- they had neither.

When I arrived at work about 10 minutes late, two of my co-workers were sitting outside the door like a couple of elementary students pow-wowing before class. They were my two favorites, and greeted me without the slightest hint of “why the hell are you late” in their tone.

Halfway into my disappointing coffee drink my eye twitch woke up. I usually develop an eye twitch as a result of massive amounts of caffeine consumption- so I was not at all surprised by it. Today I have a pile of paperwork to keep me occupied and hopefully after lunch, a new book to read.
Friday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, only two more days of 12 hour shifts… but still 4 more days till little bear comes home.

Oh, George.

My alarm went off at 6:15, in five more minutes…I had several missed messages and none from anyone I wanted to hear from. My room was a disaster zone, and I stepped on my headphones for the third morning in a row and followed it up with a nice light slam into Charlotte’s crib. Oh Wednesday, what did I ever do to you? I get into the bathroom and put my face up close to the mirror, grinning wide at my blue stained teeth. Can’t they figure out a way to make teeth more stain resistant…or white wine taste better so I don’t have to drink red? I slept in a ridiculous get-up, especially for someone sleeping alone- I mean what good is a little black silk nightgown if the only man in your bed is your two-year old’s stuffed animal named George?


Right before I leave for work my mom informs me that If I can’t take over my insurance payment for the car they “bought me” by next month, they will be replacing it with a less expensive and assuredly less attractive vehicle. Of course you spring this on me now, and of course I can’t afford it, I told you not to get this car in the first place?! I will deal with this later, right now there is a triple, sugar-free, soy vanilla latte with my name all over it waiting for me at Grand Central Coffee station; Hello 12 hour shift number 4.

The first thing I wanted to do when I got to work was write, however I was surprisingly occupied and by the time lunch rolled around I figured it’d be best not to take care of it till everyone else was gone. Now it’s me and the security guy- stranded in this three story building, with nothing but the sounds of humming computer monitors and an overzealous air conditioner to mask the silence. I miss Charlotte so bad that I don’t even want to go home tonight. 5 more days.

Day 4....

After somehow surviving a horrendously boring 12 hour shift at work yesterday I could not wait to get home, take a nice warm bath and sink into bed. However, when I got home I didn’t head straight for the shower or the bedroom…I stepped into a painfully quiet house, passed through the unusually clean living room and into an empty kitchen. I realized that my little Charlotte bear was not going to be greeting me with a warm hug and some random broken-up explanation of whatever it was she just got done doing, which was usually terrorizing our cat Scout, or making a huge mess “washing her hands” in the sink (and thoroughly soaking everything else in the general vicinity)...


That was night number 3 and this is day number 4, now the exciting anticipation for a little temporary freedom has been replaced by the yearning for that beautifully demanding responsibility of taking care of my daughter. And I still have 5 more days.

What will I do with all this time on my hands...

I've rounded up the usual suspects; Merlot, Ms. Jane Austen and my notebook full of shitty poetry. Let the self-loathing begin!

For you, who I used to love.

Most days I don’t talk like this, I don’t even think like this. Not out loud at least, and not for all or any of you who might read this. But today I have to be sincere and maybe a little vulnerable. I do not expect all the people in my life to understand all the choices I’ve made. I don’t think I have regrets and I don’t truly believe most of us do, because to me regret comes from hurt and pain…and as slowly and unbearable as it may be, pain eventually goes away. My “regret” never comes from wishing I made a different choices, it comes from knowing the choices I made hurt someone. But I think that it is impossible to find happiness if you cannot live and love in spite of someone else.


People have hurt me, have lied and cheated and done whatever they needed to do in order to find their happiness. And I have done the same.


I know that at the time I had to hate them, I could not understand and I could not justify anything that happened and swore I never would. But, It is so much simpler to comprehend and so much harder to be angry when you let time heal your wounds, and find yourself looking back at the before now that you’re in the after. When you get to the point where you have lost the energy to be angry. When the suffocating hands of hatred have finally loosened their grip, when you stop falling asleep hurt and waking up angry, when you realize that following your heart ultimately means you will break someone else’s and someone else will break yours. And trust me, you will get there. But for now, tell me and whoever else will listen about the pain you feel, and the pain you wish on me. Say whatever you need to say, because we all have to do it, but I have to tell you that I won’t let myself believe it all.


Because even though I lost your love, even though I might not be in love now, there is no such thing as “as good as it gets” and there is no such thing as losing the best thing you ever had. Love is not a onetime thing and love is not something you lose forever. It is not possible to never love again or to never find someone to love you.

Babyless for ten days....

Number of times Charlotte has peed on the carpet: 2
Number of times I've had to clean it up: 0
Number of times my mother has gotten unreasonably pissed off at me because of my little potty training princess's ability to only have accidents when I am NOT around to clean it up : 34283792 (this number may include a laundry list of other issues my mother has with just my existence in general)

However, today is Saturday, and no amount of awkward silences, irritating mumbling or disapproving glances can ruin the fact that I am soon to be on my way to Banks Lake for the weekend. My little Peeing Princess will be staying with her father, his delightful girlfriend with the fake tits, and their new son for the next 10 days. This means it will take me precisely 3 weeks to get her BACK on her normal schedule when she returns.
Charlotte's dad will be spending those 10 days doing exactly opposite of what mommy does here at home. She will be hooked up to an IV of sugar filled apple juice, snacking on a variety of indulgences those of which are arguably not considered in any natural food group, staying up till midnight in the "man cave" and nap time will perhaps be nothing more than a theoretical option more than an actual enforced application.

BUT enough of this pessimism…It is cheesy egg time now, and I must pack! Have a great weekend everybody :)

From Facebook to Blogging....

When I woke up this morning, clinching my cell phone and sweating profusely, (as I once again opted for a few glasses of red wine versus taking off my flannel sheet set as it is now August and the temperature has been well above the 90’s for the last two months)...what was the first thing I did? Go pee? Brush my teeth? Peer over the side of Charlotte’s crib to make sure she is still sleeping? NO.

None of the above. Instead, I check my facebook.


See the thing is, I said I would never get a phone that had internet. Because if I had internet, I would have unlimited Facebook access...and with unlimited Facebook access come incessant status updates, which leads to massively distracting phone alerts, which directly effects my ability to leave my phone off my person for more than 2 minutes, which in turn enhances my inability to focus my attention on anything other than what EVERYONE IS DOING ON FACEBOOK. Leaving me powerless...and ashamed. This Facebook...this compulsory yet completely useless occupation of my time, this...bane of my existence. And now look at me. BLOGGING.

I attempted to confer with the IT guy at work. The IT guy however, said he could not “sympathize” with my situation…for he chooses NOT to have a Facebook account. Therefore he is completely unaware, his opinion stripped of all relevance and legitimacy because HE is blissfully ignorant of the unrelenting clenches Facebook can posses over one’s existence. Oh to be so unknowing…so ambivalent to the world of social networking. You are lucky IT guy. You are safe…..for now.