Names and Faces

As soon as she could voice an opinion, Gumball did.

Immediately, she renamed herself. At Disney, she was "Gator Gumball." Ride attendants and staff would call her "Princess," and my dear Gumball would scowl and say, "I'm NOT Princess. I'm Gator Gumbo!" In the absolute most offended, indignant way possible.

Now she is "Tractor Dump Truck." She recently told me that her name is actually Tractor Garbage Truck Dump Truck." Sometimes she corrects me when I call her by her given name.

Funny enough, or not, that's also what she wants to be for Halloween. A garbage truck. How do I make a garbage truck costume that my opinionated daughter will wear?

My little baby Gumball started pre-preschool this fall. She has bravely spent 12 hours a week with 9 other kids. She is the youngest in the class, and so shy and quiet. My heart breaks leaving her each day, but the time apart has been good for the both of us. I've enjoyed learning how to can, and then canning every goddamn thing in sight. Grocery shopping alone is wonderful and uplifting. On Fridays, I've even started horseback riding lessons. Riding a horse makes me feel fully alive. I love it so much.

I broke up with the nicest man ever. He cried three times in eleven dates. I couldn't take it. I felt like I had to be strong all the time, and the pressure was too much for me. I don't want a knight on a white horse. I'm not waiting to be rescued. I cannot take on that sort of responsibility. But he was awfully sweet.

The sweetest smelling man/boy ever has gone away. His absence hurts my heart. It really fucked me up when he told me that he loved me. I give my love freely, but never lightly. For him, "love" means something more like, "I think you're a cool person. Sort of. And I like you, a little bit, for the moment." I miss his smell, his backrubs, the way I felt in his arms, and the freeness I felt in his presence. But his selfish, immature ways, his childish cruelty, and his need to be with every woman he meets is just too much for me. He is toxic for me, but I miss him daily.  

Pessimism

Tonight, we had a family meeting at Gumball's school. I wonder how many years it will take before I can introduce myself as Gumball's mom, without shrinking inside over the empty space where I should be introducing her dad. It hurts.

I'm feeling pessimistic.

Crabby.

Exhausted.

Lonely.

Men are endlessly disappointing, even when my expectations are lowered. 

Summer Loving

I've gone on many dates this summer. With several different kind, intelligent, unique, beautiful men.

Yes, men. No women. Why? No reason. No women wrote me back on the online dating sites. Disappointing, but out of my control.

With the first days of September already passing by, and Gumball with all of 12 hours of pre-pre-school under her tiny, little belt, I feel like summer is over. And with it, my carefree summer days and nights of hand-holding, first kisses, dirty texts, getting to know each other, long emails, and late night phone calls.

I met two particularly lovely men. Each with gorgeous souls. Each one perfect on his own. If I could combine them, I would have the perfect man for me. I think. Perfect. The one: tender, arrogant, wide-eyed, childish, impractical, obstinate, selfish, thoughtless, loving, filled with curiosity and wonder. He smells like sunshine, and his kisses make me melt. He doesn't want to date, just wants to be with whomever he chooses. And apparently, he chooses a lot. The other: considerate, kind, thoughtful, raw, messy, playful, giving, funny, hurting, lovely... and the best daddy-figure I've seen. Yes, daddy-ness factors in, somehow, some where. I don't know what weight to give it, or how to think of it, but I know that I want my Gumball to have a mom who is happy and fulfilled in a relationship, and I want her to have a father-figure someday. Shouldn't I be the one to provide her with the best life possible? Doesn't that include two parents? He wants to date me, and brings me flowers and beer. He writes me poems, and rubs my feet. But he is still a mess about his ruined marriage, and I feel like if I leaned on him, he would collapse. And yet...

At this point, I feel unsure about what it is that I want. Unsure about how to proceed.

God, somedays I feel like a failure as a parent, and a failure as a person.

I know what I would do if I was 25 and child free. I think know what I'd do if I were 45. But now? I don't know what to do. I'm scared that I've met the most perfect man for me, and may be about to let him go. Or not? I don't know.

Re-entry: Taking it One Stupid Question at a Time

A. What are your favorite smells?
B. Can you go a whole day without caffeine?
C. Who knows more about you than anyone else?
D. What song did you last listen to?
E. Do you have a crush on anybody?
F. Do you like The Beatles?
G. If you could choose one color to wear for a whole year, what color would you choose?
H. Do you cook often?
I. What was the last film you watched? Did you like it?
J. Can you sew?
K. What is your favorite fruit?
L. Are you health conscious?
M. Go do the Kinsey scale test, what number result did you receive?
N. Do you curse a lot?
O. When was the last time you had a pint of beer?
P. Are you pro life or pro choice?
Q. Is there a certain food you often crave for no reason?
R. What was the last book you purchased?
S. Where was your last vacation?
T. Do you shave your pits?
U. Did you ever play seven minutes in heaven?
V. Girls, when was the last time you went out without a bra?
W. Guys, when was the last time you went shirtless in public?
X. Have you ever broken a bone? If so, how did it happen?
Y. How do you like your eggs?
Z. What was your last argument about and who with?


A friend reminded me that I haven't been writing much. It's good to be missed, and I needed the reminder. She said something about answering questions, and that sounded like an easy way to get my mind back into writing. So here I am.

Summer is always busy for me. I have this irrepressible urge, that all Northerners know, to spend every sunny moment outside. If it's warm, and sunny, I'm probably near water. As naked as public standards allow, glistening with sunscreen and (probably) bacon fat, and chasing my half naked kid around, holding her bathing suit bottoms and screaming, "Gumball, STOP! Mama said stop!"

Kid, summer, trips, friends, dates, gardening, and cooking. It's been a joyous summer.

A. My favorite smells: my daughter's head, freshly mowed grass, the ocean, and Marc Jacob's Lola.

B. Caffeine: I regularly go entire days with no caffeine. I like coffee, but caffeine doesn't like me to sleep. As it turns out, I am very sensitive to caffeine. Give me a delicious iced coffee (double skim, 1/2 decaf) and I'm the life of the goddamned party. As long as you like sweaty fools.

C. Who knows me the best: I'm an open book. I don't feel a lot of shame about my choices. I try to live with a clear conscience and clear heart. I think quite a few people know me very well, but my mom knows me the best.

D. I last listened to "Dancing Queen" by Abba, bc I'm trying to load CDs into iTunes as I write.

E. Do I have a crush on anybody? For fucks sake. I'm 38. I have crushes on everybody!

F. I prefer the Stones to the Beatles.

G. If I had to wear one color for a year, it would be black. Simply bc it would be very hard to match colors. Non matching colors drive me crazy. Plus- I'd always look more dressed up than anyone else.

H. Do I cook often? Yes. Constantly. I love cooking. It's one of the ways I express myself.

I. The last film I watched was "World's End." I loved it. It's hysterical and dark and sweet.

J. Can I sew? Depends on your definition of "sew." I bought a bunch of fabric this summer, and planned on sewing lots of skirts. Maybe I'll make fall skirts.

K. My favorite fruit is mango. Followed by nectarines, strawberries, blueberries, and cantaloupe. I hate pears. Gross!Who enjoys a fruit with sand built-in?

L. Am I health conscious? Yes. Surprisingly health conscious for a fat person. I eat very well, and exercise regularly.

M. I think I'm pretty much in the middle of the Kinsey scale. I've answered questions before that indicated as much. Right now, I find myself more attracted to men. I sort of think it has to do with a couple of things though, none of which have to do with my sexuality. I'm not looking for a father for my Gumball, but I wish she had one. I think that affects who I'm attracted to.

N. Do I curse a lot? Depends on your definition of "a lot." I love cursing. The other day, a friend posted  a meme on my wall in Facebook that said, "After four drinks I start using "fuck" like a coma." I think that's pretty appropriate.

O. The last beer I had was the night before last. Pumpkin Spice.

P. I am adamantly pro-choice. That way, we are all allowed to have our own opinions and make appropriate choices concerning our own health care needs. Choice. I'm also unapologetically feminist through and through. 

Q. I crave all fatty, salty foods. All the time.

R. The last book I purchased was "Broken Harbor" by Tana French. I love her so much.

S. My last vacation, about 2 weeks ago, was a 3 night, 4 day trip to York, Maine with my dear friend and our kids. We ate 16 lobsters in 4 days and I gained back 4 lbs.

T. Yes.

U. No.

V. Not recently. Post breastfeeding, my nipples could cut through glass and need to be contained. Plus, I love lacy, fancy bras.

W. N/A

X. When I was 14, I broke my little toe by kicking a dresser while wrestling with a friend. Epitome of dumb.

Y. Over medium.

Z. My last argument was with the sweet-smelling, beautiful boy I used to spend time with. I was rude about music he likes, and then compared him to an Avril Lavigne song. Burn...

This is My Life

I haven't been writing much lately.

Online dating is serious work. And seriously depressing. I'm on Match and OKCupid. I've written between 150-200 people. If anything, that's an underestimate. I've heard back from maybe 20.

It's ok, though. I have a huge crush on someone I met. He smells like candy, tastes like sunshine, and makes me feel dreamy. He also has a girlfriend.

Well, had a girlfriend.

Either way, this guy is never going to love me, and I'm a dumbass for wanting him. Like usual.

Summer and Sundry

I was feeling verbally constipated, until I realized that my "all important" words only matter to me, ultimately. I can bluster and bitch, but I'm the only one who lives these words. And I'm not ashamed. I am doing the best I can, and I feel like I'm even learning to occasionally choose the easy path over the moral highroad.

That's a funny lesson to learn, right? Occasionally, I think I make things harder for myself than need be. I want to be as kind, and moral as possible. But goddamn, sometimes even I need a break. And that's ok. I want to be moral, but I also want to be happy.

It's been a busy spring and summer. Little Gumball and I took our first trip alone. Needless to say, our second flight, alone, together, was canceled. We hung out in an airport for 10 hours. More or less. Gumball was a champion. Patient, happy, and adorable. People stopped me to tell me how wonderfully behaved she was. We arrived in Raleigh at 8pm, went out to dinner, and traveled to Duck, Outer Banks. We had an amazing week of beach, wild horses, delicious food, and dolphins. Gumball was an amazing travel companion. And I got to do karaoke for the first time. I sang "Like a Prayer" and it was amazing.

And if I can ever figure out how to join Google Plus, without using my real name, I'll upload the video.

I also got to spend 2 days with my former stepsons. I was overjoyed to see them, and Gumball was enchanted with her half brothers. No one made a big deal about their relationship, or the past. I didn't want to cause the boys one second of discomfort, and I wanted everything to be light and fun. I felt my heart soar, break, and then rebreak when I saw them. I was incredibly happy to get to spend time with them. And incredibly sad to know that I may never get the chance to see them again. Honestly, it's too painful for me to think about, or write about. I miss those boys so much. Letting them go, again, made me feel approximately 500 years old. And there's nothing I can do about it. 

Then we came home, played with our friends, and went on a trip to Santa's Village with some of our best girls. We played on rides, splashed in the water, and refused to sit with Santa. The grownup girls enjoyed wine and cheese in the parking lot every night. It was a terrific trip, and the White Mountains of NH are just spectacular.

And it's summer. The condo association opened a pool. Warm weather is glorious. We're happy and healthy, and Gumball is doing well with her potty training.

Life is good. 

Mother's Day

The last time I wrote, excitement and hope were percolating inside me, dripping and splashing, bc I was chatting with a chef online. I was excited bc it seemed like he and I had a whole lot in common. The day after I wrote, I was curious about why the chef hadn't responded to my last message. So I looked at his Facebook page. And... he unfriended me! It really crushed me, for about 12 hours. I'm over it now, but really? Who does that? Fool. It's totally his loss.

This week, the weather was spectacular and we spent every possible moment outside. Gumball loves playing in the dirt, making nests and houses for sticks and pinecones. Picking dandelions. If she gives me one, she says "and no moh." And she laughs about it. If I stop weeding, chasing her, and building houses, and try to lie down for a minutes in the sun, she jumps on my back and bounces around like I'm a trampoline. Sometimes I sneak some cuddles and kisses, but mostly she piles leaves on my head and tries to break my back.

Gumball has been a little... spicy lately. Full of chat, vigorous, and not at all helpful. Worst of all, she doesn't flinch when I threaten a time out, so I've had to follow through with several time outs in the past few days. She also finally discovered that she could get off her mattress at night. She likes to get out of bed, face the video monitor, and talk to me. It's very creepy. I don't know how she knows to do that. Also, I have the cheapest video monitor available, and I can't respond to her. It drives me nuts when she wants to play all night. I am wondering if it would be a good time to eliminate nap, but I so DO NOT want that to happen. I need my afternoon nap/rest/free time. Nap is the only thing keeping me from letting Gumball watch tv, I think.

Today is Mother's Day. Mother's Day is bittersweet for me. I have a mom, who deserves to be celebrated and pampered more than anyone I know. I have a toddler, who requires constant care and attention. So I do my best to make my mom feel special, and continue with my regular obligations. I know this is a Hallmark holiday, designed to make all of us feel inadequate and dissatisfied, but I so rarely hear praise about my mothering, or receive any sort of recognition for all that I do, that this holiday fills me with bitterness and sorrow for all the love and support that I don't get. I am reminded, too, of the way my ex would always buy at least a card for his ex (and current) and how I thought he was so thoughtful to treat her so well. That is bc I am a fool. All his talk about appreciating her for raising his sons. And he has never once tried to see his daughter, or done anything for her mother, me.

Despite this, I had a wonderful day today. My brother, S, was visiting. He gave me a beautiful card and told me how proud he was of me and what a good mom I am. Then my mom came over with a cake, and chocolate covered strawberries that she made for me. And presents. Then we all went out to lunch, and when we came home, we worked on the garden for a little bit, and then Gumball and I took a long nap together.

I am lucky, and blessed, to have such an amazing mother, and such a wonderful (spicy) kid.

Brain Dump

I've been neglecting the blog, in part, bc I've been busy. I decided to add another exercise class to my routine. Pilates. Or, as I like to think of it, the most pain I've ever enjoyed. The class is brutal. I love it. I am the weakest in the class, the least coordinated, and I have also fallen over several times while attempting different maneuvers. Natural born athlete here. The only result I've seen so far, however, is a vast increase in appetite. I've been starving, and all I want to do is eat and eat. Which has helped stabilize the 5 lbs I gained back. Total weight loss= 13lbs. I am determined the lose the 5lbs (again) and then continue to lose some more.

I also haven't been writing bc I had another moment where I was questioning why I write, and what it means when someone I know but prefer not to share my life with discovers this blog. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Silencing. But... as long as I am honest with, and accountable to, myself, I will continue to write. I have nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to hide.

So, I took my Gumball to Disney World. I had never been before, and couldn't even imagine how delightful it could be. It was extremely delightful. Gumball and I had a wonderful time. We loved spending time with my aunt, C, and my glorious ex-neighbor and best friend, J. We loved the rides, and the weather, and the walking, and Gumball loved the food. She has terrible taste. I was touched, moved to tears, in fact, when Pluto spent 7-10 minutes playing with my girl. She totally fell in love with him. It sounds like a small thing, but when anyone takes the time to make my kid experience true joy, it feels like my heart becomes too big to stay inside of my body. I felt that way a lot at Disney- seeing how Gumball reacted with open-mouthed excitement about everything. She didn't cry for a week. She danced, sang, shouted "HERE WE GO!" when we boarded every ride, bus, and plane. She was patient and pleasant for the entire trip, even at 4:30am, when we had to wake to catch our flight home.

What else can I say? I've been feeling happy, but wishing I could find someone to share this happiness with. I've been emailing with someone who I wish would become more than a goddamn penpal. We'll see what happens. I'll keep you posted.

April Fool

That's me, the April fool. Except that my foolishness isn't constrained by a single month. Oh no, I'm foolish throughout the year. With no breaks or holidays.

Here's something foolish. I was watching Glee tonight, catching up, and Blaine sang this. I completely teared up. It was such a beautiful cover. Then, I had a flash of clarity. "This is Phil Collins! What the fuck!"

I'm so sappy.

Father

I mention my mom a lot. Both here, and in real life. My mom is an amazing, powerful, genuine, generous person. I love her. She saved my life. She's a wonderful grandmother to my Gumball. Really wonderful. Like most people, she occasionally hurts my feelings, and annoys me. I also wish she was the sort of grandmother who'd willingly watch Gumball for a full day, or a night, maybe every couple of months. That's just not her. Oh well. She's always here when I need her.

My mom isn't perfect. When my parents divorced, when I was a child, she lost custody of me. She allowed my father to take me out of the country to live. I went many years with very infrequent visits to my mom. I missed her in a horrible, constant way, but I was too afraid of my father to even ask to see more of her. I wasn't entirely miserable all the time I lived with my dad, but I was lonely and scared a lot. I had a life that seemed idyllic. Who wouldn't want to grow up in the Caribbean? Who wouldn't want to spend their days SCUBA diving, living in a tropical paradise, surrounded by Vervet monkeys, mangoes, and beaches? I had friends, and experiences that many people just dream about. I traveled throughout the Caribbean. But in my heart, I was one scared, lonely, sad, little kid. No one has ever been happier to go off to boarding school for high school. I left home when I was 14 and never went back.

Back to my mom. This is why I think she's the best person I've ever met. She has admitted, acknowledged, and apologized for every mistake she made, for letting me leave the country, for losing custody, for everything. Everyone makes mistakes. Even serious ones. It takes a strong, honest person to own up to those mistakes, and to offer restitution. I hope I can be a person like my mom.

Except for one brief, uncomfortable, unplanned encounter in Barnes and Noble in 2010, I haven't spoken to my father since 2000.

My father wasn't nice to me. When I think about him, and how he treated me, I pathologize and try to diagnose him. Something is wrong with him. Bipolar? Drug addict? Narcissistic Personality Disorder? Schizophrenic? Fucking insane? Yes. The last label always fits. He took a lot of my childhood, and ruined it. So many of my memories of childhood involve tears and screaming. Maybe someday I'll elaborate on the hell he put me through. Mostly though, it makes me too sad to share.

I got married in 2000. To a man who is, to this day, a close friend. He gave me strength, and when my father started one of his regular tirades about my flaws, faults, and general failings (real and imagined), I told him that I refused to be spoken to like this anymore. The end.

When I got pregnant, I knew my mom would play a huge role in my baby girl's life. I wondered if I was making a mistake by not patching things up with my father. I worried and fretted about it. Forgiveness is touted as the strongest, most soul-soothing action one can take. And when Gumball's dad left, I was so desperate for help that I considered calling my father. He would have helped me. For whatever his "help" is worth. I don't think he's an evil person, just deeply rotten, and sick. It was clear to me that I would never be able to leave my darling Gumball with my father. I could never knowingly put her at risk. The price for his help was too much for me.

The balm of forgiveness is not for me.

Will my inability to forgive keep me out of heaven? I try to eliminate bitterness and lies from my heart, but I won't sacrifice my daughter to achieve some sort of cosmic state of zen. Fuck that. I'm a mom now, and I can bear any burden. Cosmic peace is not for me, but I will do everything in my power to keep my Gumball safe, and happy.

Gumball Says...

Tonight, my precious, little darling Gumball asked me if Horton would fit in my bellybutton.

Horton is her 10-inch long stuffed elephant. He apparently Hears a Who.

NO FUCKING WAY, kid. And if he could, it would be entirely your fault. Grrrrr...



Doing Pilates yesterday, and Zumba tonight may have been a mistake.  I am dead. The vast landscape between my thighs and ribcage is on fire. My "core," if I have one, is broken.



I was thinking about something else today too. Why I write. I write bc I want to share my limited experience. A little more than two years ago, my life ended. I hit depths of anguish, terror, sorrow, loneliness, heartbreak, and fear that I never knew existed. It was unrelenting, and I honestly have no idea how I survived. Actually I do. Sheer fucking determination and stubbornness. When my first best friend offered me a lifeline, I grabbed hold. With both hands. My mom, and my new friends in Vermont, breathed joy into my lifeless being. I learned a little during this experience. I learned to appreciate any small reason to be happy. I learned how infinitesimally small the space is in between having a happy and successful life, and complete darkness and despair. I doubled my capacity for compassion. I gained a whole new love and respect for moms, and their kindness, strength, generosity, and love. I met women who are the best friends, people, parents, dining companions, fashion consultants, vacation planners anyone could ever want.

And I hope that someone might read this, and realize that no matter how bad things are, they will always get better. Open your hands to accept lifelines, and keep plugging away. Happiness will return.

Catch Up

Remember that time when I vowed to stop bitching, and predicted that this might possibly impact my blogging output?

Yeah. Apparently when I'm not bitching, I have nothing to say. Nothing interesting, anyhow.

So, let me catch y'all up. (Resounding silence.) Dude! I look at the page views. I know someone must be reading this, right? For the love of all things superficial, leave a comment, will you, please? Ok, thanks.

Tonight, I tried a Pilates class. My diet has gone into the toilet. Sort of. I've been a whole lot less concerned about staying under calories. Consequently, I've gained back 3 pounds. Bringing my total loss to 15lbs. Pretty good, but I still want to get back to losing weight. Honestly, I think it has to with the fact that no one is seeing me naked anymore. Mr. Bond was very good for my diet. Anyhow, Pilates. My "core" is trembling still. So freaking hard. I'm going to try to add a class to my weekly routine. Let's see how that goes. I can still be superfat, but with a core of steel. I'm ok with that. I may not be able to make it up the stairs tonight though, which is less cool.

Dating: man, dating is weird and sucky. I've been emailing with several people. Two of note: the most handsome and perfect man in the world, and another army guy. Mr. Perfect is young, built, charming, sweet, and loves kids. He was a nude model in college (for art classes) and is a successful artist. Swoon. He's perfect. Too perfect for me, I fear. Army guy is finishing out a career in the Special Forces. He is handsome, and stern, and we've been emailing since Mr. Bond checked out. His messages are thoughtful and caring, and he is very proper about not being suggestive with me, which I kind of appreciate. He claims to have feelings for me though, and I feel like anyone who claims to have feelings without first being together, is basing their feelings on their own assumptions, and their own hopeful projections. It makes me uncomfortable, but at the same time, it's sort of sweet.

Gumball: the kid is a ticket. She's inquisitive, sweet, hilarious, and so smart. She is taking a gymnastics class with one of her toddler buddies, and spends most of the class running away from me and ignoring what the teacher tries to get her to do. But she adores the trampoline, or the "run and jump" as we call it. She passionately loves all babies, and always asks me "why is that baby crying?" when she hears wailing. She is gentle and sweet with babies too, and only tries to pile several toys on top of them, in an offering of true love. She wolfs down boxes of seaweed, begs for gummy candy, and refuses to eat half of what I put in front of her. She loves Pumpkin so much, and often tries to dress and decorate him. Being a mom to my special Gumball is a complete delight. She makes my heart grow bigger each day, just to contain some of the love that I have for her. She is so precious, unique, and wonderful.

I've recently been forced to think about why I write. At first, I wrote to share anecdotes about baby Gumball. Then, I needed to work out some issues. Writing helped me immensely. And now we've reached a point where I free-flow write about whatever topic piques my interest. I am considering the idea of focusing my writing, or finding a theme, but honestly, I'm not sure if I want to be that organized. Blogging is a funny thing, for me. I enjoy recording my thoughts and experiences, and I enjoy sharing them, with my phantom and possibly non-existent audience. I also find myself in a funny place with the public/private aspects of my blog. I link to my blog from my Instagram account. I link to my blog from my BabyCenter account. And no where else. Consequently, I think that more strangers than friends tend to read this. Maybe not. I really don't know who reads this. And anyone who knows me knows that I am pretty open with the private aspects of my life. I refuse to be ashamed or silenced in my own life. Anyhow, twice recently, I have had pangs of regret/confusion/dread/annoyance to find that someone I didn't want inside my head had been reading my blog. I've had to let go of those feelings, bc I have no control over who reads this, why they read it, and how they respond to my words. 

I won't offer explanations, excuses, or defense for what I write. I don't need to. This is my blog, where I write for myself, and for the love of writing. I am honest, and I am not ashamed. I write about experiences that belong to me, and I try to entertain, titillate, and amuse anyone who takes a moment to read my musings. I even try to proofread.

Blog

This woman writes the sort of blog I wish I could write.

http://youofallpeople.wordpress.com/

Her writing is tender, poignant, honest, beautiful, and, sometimes, hilarious. I don't know this stranger, but I adore her.

I Solomnly Vow I Am Up to No Good

Just kidding.

Just writing this made me burst out laughing so hard.

I'm not up to much. Parenting. Cooking. Instgramming. If anyone reads this and wants to find me on Instagram, I am JEMVT. Get at it. Let's be virtual pals. I love Instagram though. I've made some really nice, interesting virtual friends. We share recipes, talk about makeup, banter, bitch, and gossip together. It's strange to meet people based purely on particular shared interests. I follow a few moms, an author, two artists, and many home and professional cooks. And I enjoy them all very much. It seems like we enjoy each other very much. We're an eclectic group- all ages, races, ethnicities- united by the almighty Iphone and the burning desire to share photos of our beautifully poached eggs. Good times.

I am so tired of feeling sad. Weekends can be achingly hard, and lonely. I want to have a day of rest, a nesting day, with someone. Know what I mean? Cook, cuddle, do fun things with Gumball. Together. I cherish our time together, just me and Gumball, but I do wish our duo was occasionally a trio. Being this profoundly, deeply sad makes parenting especially taxing these days. I refuse to mope around my kid, so I spend 12 hours a day pretending to be upbeat. I also feel guilty for not being upbeat enough, and for all the multitude of other parenting failures I commit on a daily basis, so I overcompensate with more activities, more fun, and more pretending. At baby bedtime, I feel wrung out. Literally jonesing for quiet time on the sofa. I'm thinking wine might help. Or amphetamines? Just kidding. Sort of. Not really.

Another thing that may help, is not dwelling on my sadness. I think this is going to be the last time I write about it, at least for a while. Unless it means that I have nothing to write about, in which case I'll start bitching again. I have a lot to be thankful for: the best friends anyone could ask for, a wonderful but often maddening mom, the sweetest kid, a beautiful home, etc. I am lucky, goddamn it. Lucky. Now I need to be happy.

I need to point out that I am not expecting a relationship to make me happy. I don't put my fragile happiness in another person's fickle arms. I've been married and divorced twice. I know better than to do that. I do think that a relationship would give me the things that I can't give myself. I know the hype. I know another person won't make me happy, and that I need to be happy by myself before I can be happy with another person. But... I can't hug myself, I can't cuddle me, and solo sex is completely unsatisfying. I'm a great partner to myself, but I want someone else to share this with too.

Money Making Proposition

I made twenty cents opening my mail tonight. What's the deal with random coins in donation solicitation letters? I feel compelled to open the letter to retrieve the coin, and then resentful I spent thirty seconds of my life shuffling through a pile of papers that don't matter to me for five cents. March of Dimes may be completely amazing, but my dimes go to Planned Parenthood. And SIECUS.

I'm still lonely, and kind of sad. Not quite as badly as before, at least. I feel like I have a puncture somewhere, so that every time I feel happy, the ebullience slowly leaks away, leaving me deflated. At night, the house seems so quiet, and I delay bedtime bc I don't want to crawl into my cold bed alone. I'm done pining for Mr. Bond, so I'm not wishing for any particular person to be in my bed, but I long for loving arms and gentle words. Specifically Mr. Bond's loving arms, but hey! I am DONE pining for him.

I am trying to move on. If I can't find someone to love me, I would at least like to find someone to send me dirty photos and text messages. And maybe take me out on a date. And write me letters. Best of all, I don't need one person to fill these roles. If love isn't in my future, then I would at least like filthy, sweaty sex.

That is all.

Dialing it In

I'm still in a funk. Tired of winter, feeling the burden of single parenthood. Tired of the nonstop planning and strategizing that goes into being moderately successful in my day to day life. I don't like to complain about single parenthood, bc I am profoundly grateful for my sweet, loving, generous, weird Gumball every single day. I am also aware of how tremendously privileged I am, to be able to stay home with her, and to enjoy the lifestyle we live. I am lucky, and blessed. Complaining seems like whining, or taking my privilege for granted. But man, I get tired. I wish someone else would plan a dinner, or cook, or run to the store to get something we need, or read a book to Gumball, or just give me an hug. Or tell me that I'm doing a good job. Or let me sleep in. I'm feeling tired, sad, and lonely. Very lonely. I'm also feeling isolated, bc I don't think anyone who hasn't been a single parent knows what single parenthood is actually like. I don't know what co-parenting is like either, or the profound loneliness of feeling unloved and under-appreciated by a partner. But that's not the point, either. I'm not so much comparing myself to others, as simply missing what I don't have.

Someone whose opinion I value greatly, told me today that he thinks I've been feeling sad and defeated since Mr. Bond (a new nickname) broke up with me. It's true. I miss him terribly, and while I've re-started my diet, and lost the 3 pounds I gained back while trying to eat my broken heart away, my heart just isn't there these days. I'm back on one dating site, and have pleased to receive a few messages. But I don't feel engaged, or enthused about dating. I miss Mr. Bond. Worst part is, I sent him a Valentine's Day card, and a week later, a text. He never responded.

So yeah. To recap, I feel sad, lonely, misunderstood, alienated, tired, and still, broken-hearted.

Winter Blues

I'm obsessed with seaweed snacks. Cool, right? Great way to be on my diet, right? WRONG! I like to use them to wrap up and devour little nuggets of avocado. Delicious! Funny enough, little Gumball loves seaweed. Weirdo.

I'm also obsessed with fruit smoothies. Particularly frozen strawberries, frozen blueberries, skim milk... and honey. Lots of honey. Delicious. Gumball doesn't care for this snack so much, as it turns out.

In other news, I have extreme winter-related fatigue. I want to walk outside without my nose freezing and dripping. I want to slip on flip flops and go- no coats, no boots, no preparation at all. I'm tired of negotiating, bribing, and threatening my kid into warm clothing. I'm ready for spring. Not the twelve inches of snow that are expected tomorrow. Ick.

I miss my guy. I haven't heard a peep from him, and my friends have insisted that I give him the space to come back to me, if he wants to. I am listening to them, but dear lord, it is hard. I keep thinking of what I want to say to him. I want to tell him that as much as I understand and respect his reasons for not wanting to be in a relationship, especially since his family responsibilities are quite heavy, and bound to become even more so, that there is never going to be a better time than now. What I mean is, that life never clears up. The burden never gets lighter, you just get used to what you have to carry. You get stronger. Life never stops, and if he wants to be in a relationship, then he needs to figure out how to fit it into his life. And I am right here, caring about him, wanting him, and wanting to see if we could try this together.

The obvious answer to my plea, is that he just doesn't want a relationship with me. Obvious, sparklingly clear.

So I just wait. And stay mute, hoping he'll call or write. Being the best mom I can be, trying to be a good friend too, and feeling like my entire life is made of faded colors and shadows. I miss him, and I miss how he made me feel. 

Haiku

Tender budding hopes...
Over. Then I stepped in poop.
Self-pity reigns, hard.

I've never been good at the haiku. Or dating.

He drove three and a half hours in a terrible snowstorm to break up with me in person. He said that his was going to have to spend more time caring for his dad, whose Alzheimer's is rapidly progressing, and that he feels stretched too thin. Too thin to be in a relationship with me.

Then, I negotiated. I told him that I would happily accept less. I would, from him.

Let's just stop. For one second. He broke up with me and I negotiated. Let that shit sink in.

Pathetic.

This guy is so sweet, so tender, and thoughtful. I will truly miss him.

I keep thinking several things. How much I miss him, and how I'm never going to see, or hear from him again. How if he cared for me with the depth and intensity that I cared for him, then he would have tried to make things work. And how much I fucking miss him.

Gumball's Update

Nearly two and a half years old is a magical age. If I ignore the miserable sleeping, night wakings, and refusal to nap, that is. When not strung out from being over-tired, my little Gumball is such a delight. She talks, has opinions, makes jokes, and vigorously loves our poor cat, Pumpkin, thoroughly.

She occasionally wants me to call her "Betsey" after a girl in one of her Curious George books.

She pairs all toys and animals up into "mama and baby" sets. Including, but not limited to: mama and baby rocks, mama and baby pieces of string cheese, and mama and baby Curious George stuffed animals.

The other day, when she was eating toast, she held her bitten piece up to me, and said, "Look, Mama. A dog." And the bitten piece of toast actually looked exactly like a dog.

She has started coloring deliberately- eyes are one color, flowers are one color, and there are lots of circles. Recently she colored in many circles in different colors, and told me that they were "people's eyes."

Any doll with fake hair goes immediately into time out: in the sink, in one of her shoes, or on the other side of the gate. She shrieks when she sees that I've returned them to her toy bins, and giddily returns them to their time out locations.

Everything she says has a strong Boston accent.

Her favorite song of the moment is "Little Drummer Boy." Which she calls "So to Honor Him." I am hoping, fervently, that we aren't continuing to sing Christmas carols into the spring.

She thinks every box is a "pendent" (present) for her.

She still pronounces her own name as "Yaya."

She is starting to get good at hugging with her arms and kissing with her lips. As opposed to air kissing and air hugging. All while saying "huuuuuuuggggg" and "kiss."

My kid is awesome, and I can't imagine loving anyone more than I love her. 

Catch-up, or Not Quite

I am behind. Christmas threw me for a loop, with the incessant singing of Christmas carols and making merry. I was overjoyed to be celebrating with my loved ones, thrilled to have a full house, and feeling the giddy, euphoric, terrifying stirrings of real, true, deep... "romantic feelings."

(Please note: not love. Romantic feelings. NOT love. I refuse to allow myself to go that far. But... romantic feelings that I could not repress, that were spilling out of my mouth, and seeping from my pores.)

Two weeks ago, I thought about writing about how happy I was. Gumball has been incredibly sweet, and delightful. Funny, precious, charming, and kind of insane. My romance was going really well. I felt special, valued, and brimming over with feelings.

Since then, he's become distant. No explanation.

There's no more bubbling euphoria.

I'll give this gentle, passionate, humble, but masterful man some time to get his head out of his ass. It's hard to wait, not knowing if he's just done with me, or if he's dealing with his own issues and needs time. I'm just feeling a little sad, and deflated. Am I always going to be alone?

To end on a positive note, I've now lost 16 pounds since starting my diet. My goal is to lose 25 more, and exchange the label "obese" for simply "large."