A Different Kind of Holiday Steamroller

Last night, I sat across the dinner table from my ex-husband, flanked by both kids, and braced myself for the tremendously difficult conversation that followed.

He and I discussed this a long, long time ago, anticipating the sadness sure to accompany this dreaded day.  Our kids, blissfully unaware of what we were about to tell them, would never be the same once we adjourned from our family meeting.  We couldn’t unring the bell.  There was no turning back.  They were nearly teenagers, and deserved to know the truth.  Cringing, and admittedly a bit teary, struggling to find the right words, we could no longer keep up the charade.

“Kids,” my ex began, in that calming, yet matter-of-fact, Canadian way, “you know there’s no such person as Santa, right?”

I.  Thought.  I.  Might.  Die.

I get it, anyone with little kiddos sees this day on the horizon long before it happens, including me.  But, like most things, and in true “us” fashion, we procrastinated the HELL out of this whole Santa business, and leveraged it to our advantage year after year.  The idea of blowing up an integral part of their childhood just seemed…I don’t know, WRONG.  Like, SO wrong.  And mostly because this meant something more than just realizing their presents come from Amazon instead of some cockamamie workshop in the North Pole, which my son always questioned how the heck elves know which circuits to put where in the XBoxes and do they have an electronic assembly clean room there, but this was a sign of our surrender to time and its ever present campaign to steam roll right over us long before we’re ready to accept the new now.

Our kids, who now are closer to the age of high school graduation than they are from their Kindergarten graduation, and holy shit, THAT’S quite the realization to have after only one cup of coffee, who now entertain prospects of their future lives, and college locales, some of which aren’t even in this country, and their passions for music and math and ridiculous puns, are growing and changing and maturing and will someday be on the other side of that graduation curve, marching off to the next chapter of their lives and out of our hands, which we can only clench together and hope that we did our best.

Yeah.  You can say this Santa business sent me reeling.

Max was the first to answer when his Dad asked the pointed question.  “I’ve had doubts for a while,” he said, “but I didn’t want to say anything.”  Sara laughingly denied it, while side eyeing her brother, a sure indicator she knew the jig was up.  We talked about how although the man isn’t real, the magic lives on, and how it’s our job to believe in the message of doing good things without the expectation of anything in return.  They eventually finished dinner, the conversation turned to another, less charged subject, and life went on.

There you have it.  It’s our first Santa-less Christmas, so if you ask me why I’m HEAVING while watching The Polar Express on Christmas Eve, you’ll understand why the only response you’ll get is a projectile dirty tissue and maybe a middle finger.  Happy Holidays!


Five Things I Wish I Knew Before I Went for Sushi That Night

Dating-Meme-dating-in-your-30s-is-like-are-we-doingPicture it.  Connecticut.  2016.  Hot, humid, and holy shit, another first date.  Choosing wedges over flip flops was the most impactful decision laying before me, and my expectations hovered solidly in the cautiously optimistic section of the scale, just above the I have several binge opportunities with Netflix on hold if this goes south line.

Go figure, it seems to have worked out.  Nearly 18 months later, and I haven’t smothered him in his sleep, although I did come close that one time I had to wake up at ungodly o’clock, and he sat straight up at about an hour before my alarm and shouted, “OHMYGODYOU’REGONNABELAAAAAAATE!” Which, in turn, woke me, my dog, the cat, several, local, recently deceased, and although I scavenged for sleep after restarting my heart, letting the dog out, feeding the cat, using the bathroom, and restraining myself from pressing the hose of his CPAP juuuuuuust hard enough, I never found it.  Which, if we were married, is grounds for divorce and I’d get all the things forever, it’s the law, look it up.

At least it SHOULD be.

Over this last year and a half, boy HOWDY have I learned a lot.  Like, did you know there are these crazy little elves that bring you coffee in the morning and it just shows up on your nightstand, exactly how you like it?  (Piping hot, light and sweet, kinda like me.  HEYOOO!)  Those same elves search for a pot or pan and leave every goddamned drawer and cabinet open in the kitchen for me to close, like some demented game of whack a mole.  Balance, I guess.

I survived a marriage for 13 years, and although it ended, I still thought I kinda sorta knew what it took to make a relationship work.  The whole, been there, done that, got the ill fitting t-shirt mentality left me somewhat unprepared for operating within a healthy, long-term relationship.  So, in the spirit of catharsis, and to those of you Ok Cupid-ing, Tindering, Bumbling, and POFishing around the dating scene, inundated with stupid dating advice, here’s some realness you can use to hopefully find, keep, and enjoy a partner for life.

I give you, Five Things I Wish I Knew Before I Went on a Date with the (unbeknownst to me at the time) Love of My Life:

  1. I’m fine.  Just the way I am.  It’s weird that I still sweat about stupid stuff, like my hair being too curly, or too straight, or wearing too much perfume, or being too opinionated, or too loud, or just too much of anything.  Here’s the thing, y’all.  YOU’RE FINE.  Exactly how you are.  One of the things I love most about Unicorn Boyfriend is that he accepts me, mostly.  He’s still not a fan that I leave lights on, or that I threaten to cut all my hair off, which, guys?  I DON’T GET.  What’s the fascination with long hair?  I get that it looks good, but have you ever tried giving yourself a blow out?  It’s EXHAUSTING.  So much reaching and pulling and turning and when you’re like me, and have tiny T-Rex arms, and cascading amounts of thick, crazy, unruly (much like me!) hair, ouch.  Just be you, is my point, and I still have to remind myself of my enoughness, but don’t lose sight of how awesome you really are.
  2. The bright, shiny, fairy tale-ish phase only lasts SO long, and that’s OK.  It took me almost a year, if not longer, to fart in front of UBF.  I was shook the first time it happened.  Now?  Not so much.  Hashtag comfortable AF.
  3. Do NOT care, one ounce, what other people think of your relationship.  Unless there’s some blinding, abusive, red flags, just know that judgy mcjudgertons are gonna judge no matter who and no matter what.  Which is not to diminish the difficulties of a negative Nancy or Norman.  In my experience, I always won over the people in my partner’s periphery.  It was a gift.  Parents dug me, friends were fans.  This time around?  Much tougher crowd.  I’ve made an ally or two, but hurdles still remain.  See #1, by the way, and remember you’re aiiiiight, regardless of what anyone else thinks.
  4. No one will tell you that this person, who you fell in love with, adore, and even don’t mind seeing naked periodically, WILL DRIVE YOU INSANE.  You’ll yell.  You’ll reach a whole new level of anger and just when you thought you’ve reached the pinnacle of angry, a whole new zenith opens up.  Relationships are HARRRRRRRRRD.  In our case, there’s us, jobs, pets (mine), bills, kids (his and mine), family, and more all vying for our attention and we’re tending to all those things as best we can, and also trying to still date.  They say we have the same amount of hours in a day as Beyonce, but can Bey juggle 7th grade homework times 2, walk the dog, cook a delicious meal, load the dishwasher, clean the house, AND still have the energy to ask someone how THEIR day was?  Doubt it.  Bottom line, relationships are work, and it’s totally ok to take a minute to collect yourself before you wreck yourself.  Take naps.  They help, a lot.
  5. Lastly, entertain the idea that, for all his faults, this person is still one of the greatest additions to your life.  Let him be him, as much as he lets you be you.  Appreciate who you are together, and apart.  For a moment, take a step back from the work of improving, and just be.  You may be surprised by what you find.

In Which I Give Thanks to My Water Bottle

Actual water bottle, coffee cup, and wristless owner of both

Yesterday, during a benign Facebook exchange, I discovered my sister no longer drinks caffeinated coffee.  This, from a woman I recall drinking an ENTIRE POT of coffee all by her lonesome self.  I hadn’t noticed she’d switched, exclusively, to decaf, despite my several personal deliveries of Dunkin which I ordered from a text message that explicitly specified DECAF in her order.

It goes without saying she got the quickness in the family and I can correctly grammartize the word motherfucker in a blog post.  OUR PARENTS ARE SO PROUD.

Typically, I allow myself 2 cups of coffee a day.  Less than that and I fall out of routine, which for me and my self-diagnosed ADHD-ness is what medical professionals lovingly refer to as a NO effing BUENO, SHERRY.  (That’s a quote from my therapist, BTW.  Hi Deb!) More than two cups and my hands shake and my heart races and the only difference between that and a typical anxiety attack is the lacking sense of massive pending horrific doom.

An aside…and revelation I JUST realized.  I’ve dealt with some shit in my life, and if watching that show Intervention taught me anything, it’s that I would’ve been a perfect candidate for a serious drug problem.  But!  That bitch anxiety?  She had my back and actually steered me wayyyy clear of ever trying any illegal substance, out of fear that the presence of even pot would kill me.  Or, propel me into a life of crime.  Or both.  Huh.  Look at me, all finding the bright spot and shit.

Back to coffee.  Today?  It’s not even mid-morning and I’ve had 3 cups.  Because, well, life, and shit is getting realsies up in this tween wrangling piece, and while I don’t think I’m dealing with anything Earth shatteringly new, it’s all uncharted territory for us.  The past few months have brought about lots of change and planning for futures and realizations and Axe Body Spray, and suffice to say, Momma is unprepared.

Hence, the 3rd cup of coffee.

While I watched this hot vessel of what I’ll surely regret in a few hours brew into my mug, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d chugged some water.  Some months ago, I bought a specific shaker cup for my morning smoothies and, while at work, I’d wash it out and use it for water for the day and at the gym.  Immediately, I craved that cup full of clear, liquid gold, and I pulled it out of the Designated Plastic Container Cabinet™.  But, the lid was nowhere.  to.  be.  found.  SHIT.

Now, of course, a normal person, would just take the cup, sans lid, fill that shit, and get her ass to work.  But, you’re not immersed in the blog of a normal woman.  I needed that lid, because what if I spill!  How will I drink at the gym!? It became obvious, in that moment, that I’d clearly failed as a parent, employee, daughter, sister, and human being because I COULD NOT FIND THAT BLESSED LID FOR MY SHAKER CUP.  I should just give up, go back to bed, and let the kids sustain themselves on chocolate chip waffles and Spotify.

Aim high, kids!

Clearly, that 3rd cup of joe transitioned from caffeine crutch to path of destruction.  This is how anxiety gets ya.  She spews irrational commentary that you start to believe, because if you’re told something long enough…you know the rest.  Lately, I’ve become more proficient at recognizing her bullshit, and calling her out on it.  Which, I think, is why I opened the drawer to my left, under the Designated Plastic Container Cabinet™, the perfect home for plastic container accouterments.

Like, lids.

There it was.

And, just like that, in the light of my kitchen, dim from two ceiling fan bulbs having blown out, which is probably a better look for me in flannel pajamas anyway, I smiled to myself because maybe, just maybe, if I can find an appropriate home for all my water bottle lids (they were ALL in there),  maybe I have the foresight to navigate all this craziness after all.

Maybe, but after just one more cup of coffee.