the story of dr. yummy, part 3



the face of a happy woman...as taken by Dr. Yummy


Well, you may not think this post as exciting as the last two, but I promised it would come...

After declaring our love for one another,where are Dr. Yummy and I now? In a good, good place. Publicly claiming one another in a relationship. Having so much fun together. And waiting to see.

I'm sure it would have made for a lovely fairytale had it ended with a proposal...but I'm glad real life doesn't always follow plot lines. Because, in real life, it has still only been a little over a month, and Dr. Yummy and I--though quite smitten--have a lot yet to learn about each other. A lot more memories to make. A lot more belly laughs to share. Probably a few disagreements to resolve at some point. Families to meet. Memories to swap. Etc, etc.

And while there are no red flags for me, I realize I am probably DRAPED IN THEM for him seeing as how he could go out and snag himself a much younger, much prettier, never-been-married girl as opposed to the 36 year old divorcee mother of 4. But, I'm really happy he decided to choose the boys and me anyhow. To give us a whirl and see what happens... He sees the best parts of me.

I know what I have to let go of to allow myself and my life to get slowly tangled up with someone else's again--mostly the fear and anxiety that come with trusting after having been deceived to the degree I was in my marriage, and the hurt I've experienced and learned to dread and avoid several times in relationships since.

Also, I have come to realize just how much of my identity is enmeshed in being a strong, single, super-woman and mother. For as difficult as it is and as much as I would still love to find "the one", there is a great deal of strength I have drawn from being able to do so very, very much on my own. From having all my spare non-kid/work/church/housework time to devote strictly to myself and developing my talents (and shoe shopping :) ). From the way such a situation has produced some of the most powerful fiction and poetry I've ever written. And especially the strength  in letting God take over the major male role  in my life.  Now, I work to find that balance of holding on to all the best parts I have cultivated over the last three years--my increased spunk, determination, fearlessness, skill sets, and spirituality-- and temper them with the blessings of letting someone else in. Of letting him help out when I need it. Letting him carry a bit of the emotional burden. Of letting him into my world, my thoughts, my tiny circle of people whom I trust implicitly.

**And trying not to be too scared in doing so.**

I fully believe the risk is worth it. If it works, it works, and will be like a dream come true. If it doesn't, I still feel like I'd be able to be grateful for the experience, cry it out, pick myself up, and eventually go on with no regrets.

I guess that attitude comes from feeling so strongly that this thing with Dr. Yummy is....different. Terrifying and yet perfectly safe at the same time. I can't really describe it beyond that.

So, again, we wait. We see. I will return you to my regular blog postings on humorous flashbacks, attempts at writing, and  the struggles and hilarity of single life (because although I have a boyfriend, I am still "single" enough to not kid myself that he's going to sweep in and suddenly make everything easier. We still live in two separate places and maintain the healthy degree of autonomy and independence we need to). I promise to update you on us from time to time, and who knows--maybe I can even get him to write a post sometime. He's got good stuck in Katmandu/ cadaver/ women who come into the ER at 3 am to hit on doctors stories :)

I've found myself a nerdy-cute, longboarding psychiatrist who donates time to orphans with AIDS, who works to meet my children on their level, who takes amazing photographs, and who will drive through an automatic car wash in his convertible with me...because I tell him I think it will be fun. As far as I'm concerned, right where he and I are at this moment deserves a big, fat, "and they lived happily ever after..."

The End. :)

p.s.  No...I'm not making any of this up :)

the story of dr.yummy, part 2

**Part 2...I should be charging y'all a quarter a read. This is good stuff :) **

I decided if Dr. Yummy was worth taking a chance on --I needed to see how he interacted with my kids, not only for my sake, but his as well. We're a package deal, remember, the boys and I. Someone can like me, but to really make it work, they need to be able to like all the parts of me, including the four best parts. I know it can be a little overwhelming--four boys(!)--so I needed at least a sneak peek into his patience and capabilities with children. Did I mention he's never been married? And he's three years younger than me? Yeah. BUT he is from a family of four boys, so I was really hoping he could handle it. Like really, really.



I took him with us to a dutch oven cook out a friend of mine puts on regularly throughout the summer in the rural-ist location you can imagine. It's the most unglamorous event, full of dust-covered, sticky, hyper children having fun doing dusty, sticky, hyper-y things. Including my own children. Dr. Yummy passed with flying colors. He soothed my crying J after a fall and helped me doctor up his scrape. He pushed L on the tire swing. He rescued Z's football when it got accidentally thrown into the creek. Not to mention the fact that he pulled at least two spiders off my back at various times that night.


We had now gone out 7 or 8 times, had hours worth of phone conversations, settled comfortably into one another's presence...but he still hadn't kissed me.

Hadn't even tried.

I thought at first maybe that meant he didn't like me the way I thought, but that was quickly replaced by the reassurance that somehow it all still felt right. Like, it was this magical thing we could just keep anticipating. Like he was courting me :).

We thought it would be fun to go to a drive-in movie--nostalgic. There was a chill in the usually hot, latenight July air, and a distant storm flashing lightening about in the dark clouds.  It had been so long since I'd been to a drive-in, I'd forgotten that you needed to bring lawn chairs and blankets and other things to be comfortable. So, he and I attempted to get comfortable in the opened trunk of my van. Not an easy task! I ended up having to kind of snuggle close and put my head on his chest. It was the only way we'd both fit...yeah...that's it....the only way :) The movie was the X-Men prequel and it was pretty bad. At one point, we were both laughing at how bad it was ("Mutant...and proud!") when we happened to look at eachother and things got suddenly quiet. I kind of nuzzled his nose with mine, playfully, to break the tension, not expecting anything, but....he kissed me. Short, simple, sweet, but WOW!!! Lightening flashed somewhere in the distance. Or maybe it was just inside of me...

I was a goner.

Although we had not declared we were in an exclusive relationship, he became the only person I really wanted to spend time with. I was walking around with this goofy smile on my face all.the.time. What I liked most was that I didn't feel like there was some type of game to be played--that I had to keep constantly chasing him or running from him to keep him interested. He just seemed to like me for me, and I felt the same way about him. We liked eachother...equally. Easily. Knowingly.  **And that was such a nice feeling.** One I hadn't experienced with anyone since Haute Cakes or Ninja. And there were no huge red flags or obstacles that kept me forever second-guessing moving things along despite liking him. Shared faith, shared values, shared sense of humor, living in the same place, plus varied enough tastes to keep things interesting. Beyond that initial spark of chemistry over his looks, I loved how brilliant, yet funny,humble, and down to earth he was (he finished his undergrad work with degrees in Anthropology, Zoology, and English, and could have easily thrown Portuguese in there...but didn't want to overdo it :) ). He can fix anything.  He loved that I was creative, and quirky, and spontaneous, and kind. He thought I was a great mother to my boys.

One night, as he was helping me to vacuum my floor (yes, he was actually vacuuming...without being asked!), I had to go up and pinch him just to make sure he was real. He said all the right things. He did all the right things. He was just awkward enough to be believable, but still pretty darn perfect as far as I was concerned.

Then the words started to come. He "like-liked" me. He was "very fond of me." He "wished that he had more words to express how he felt..." I was returning the sentiments. We were tip-toeing around the way we really felt...just making certain. We both wanted to say it. We were both feeling it.

We were in love.

**Part 3 to come....maybe :) **

the story of dr. yummy and how he stole my heart

On our second date (which I had convinced myself was NOT a date) we went to a cool retro candy store to buy me assorted gummi things. While there, I spied one of those old "love tester" machines where you squeeze the handle and a red light flashes up and down then lands on what your *love rating* is--anything from Gooey to Spicy.  I put a quarter in and made him try it, joking "let's see if your superior education and medical training can save you now?!" And he scored a...Yummy. Thus, I started referring to him as Dr. Yummy. But let's rewind a little bit. This is our story so far:

A little over a month ago I got a message from a friend telling me that she had a friend who had a friend who would be moving to my city from Seattle and would I please show him around? Did you catch all that?

I was fresh off the heartbreak of Mr. Perfect and not looking to date anyone for a long, long time. But, what I was being asked to do was not to date but to show a stranger around, right? And I love to show off all the great places my city has to offer, so I said ok.


And he arrived with a week to kill before starting work finishing up his last few years of medical residency. Yes, he's a doctor. A psychiatrist. (Don't laugh :) ).We decided to meet for lunch and I made a mental list of entertaining stuff to tell him about. I didn't anticpate him showing up at my work looking all adorable in his Decemberists t-shirt and curly hair and smile that lit up a room.

In fact, I didn't look at him much at all that first date. I didn't want to like him. I listened to him talk, trying to edit out all the stuff he was saying that I agreed with, or that we had in common, and all his fabulous stories of adventures in the medical field and traveling abroad. I repeat--I did NOT want to like him. Things don't go well when I like someone. So, lunch ended and I paid, just to make sure it wasn't a date. Afterwards, I texted him a list of all the restaurants, concert houses, bike trails, and entertainment spots we'd talked about. Thanked him. And I thought my duty was done.

Two days later, he asked if he could take me to lunch to return the favor. Dang!....I hadn't considered that whole "reciprocate the favor" thing. I was going to say no, but he also threw in the fact that he had a '68 International Scout that needed driving...I am a sucker for vintage cars. And a vintage car that could also run over stuff? Um, yes.

I agreed to go.

I also made the mistake of looking at his Facebook page and noting that yes, he was as cute as I remembered. And yes, we did have a lot in common. And oh. my. heck!, he has a picture of himself playing with AIDS orphans in Thailand? Seriously?! How does willpower compete against this?...

Then he showed up for our second lunch "NOT DATE" in a quirky hat. And I love quirky hats. But I was not going to like him. I was certain of this.



By our third lunch date my stomach did this roller-coastery thing when I saw him, and I was getting very angry at myself for liking him. So, I started saying yes to all these other guys who had been asking me out for months trying to run away from what I was sure was another case of unrequited love in the making. I was going out on some form of a date almost daily. It didn't work very well. I would be with them...thinking about him.

He went to a costume-themed, all white party with me. He didn't laugh at my dorky dancing. He toasted a marshmallow for me. He drove me home and talked with me till 2 am.

I was still just showing him around. I wasn't going to like him.


We went to a movie together. Super 8. It had scary parts. He thought maybe I needed someone to hold my hand. I let him. But it didn't mean I liked him. Not even afterwards when he put me behind the wheel of his gorgeous Lexus and told me I could drive it. Fast. (Did this man know that my heart and cars were attached?!) He gave me a big, warm, lingering hug goodnight. He told me his childhood nickname and told me, if it was necessary, I could call him by it. I went to bed thinking about him that night. I woke up thinking about him. I think I liked him.

He asked me to teach him how to longboard and show him how to make gingersnap cookies. He came to the grocery store at 11 pm to keep me company while I bought cat food and hair color. He listened to rambling stories about my pioneer ancestors. He subjected himself to the barage of questions when he met my favorite like-a-mother-to-me sister-in-law. He brought me purple tulips. I think he liked me back.

But I've been wrong about these things before.

**Part 2 to come...at some later date**

writing, writing, writing: i think this is me living my dream?

Sorry to wait so long to update the ol' blog. I have been writing....every day in fact. For work, I've been writing Terms of Use and a Privacy Policy for a website. And tweeting. And writing updates for Facebook and Google Plus. For my Fusion magazine job I've been writing an article on outdoor concert venues and The Decemberists. For my literary short story writer's group, I wrote a really cool, stripped down story about a tire fire and one woman who thinks she's looking for love, but really just needs to learn to trust again. For my flash fiction writer's group, I put together a little ditty about a professor/student relationship--nothing scandalous, just an accidental thing.

** I DID want to be a writer...and I feel blessed to be doing just exactly what I love, even if it's not in the acceptance to an MFA/ write a bestseller type of way. **

Oh, and I've been writing a blog post too. A really, really great one that I'm sure I could probably even charge you all admission to read. But it may or may not get the "publish post" button hit. We'll see. My blog life is generally a month behind my real life just because real life changes so quickly, and I need some time to see what's going to stick around and what's not. Like trying to eat a cookie off the cookie sheet as soon as you pull it out of the oven. It generally falls apart since it's still gooey. It tastes yummy, but it would probably taste even better if given a bit of time to set. Real life is the gooey cookie, blog life is the set one.

Does that make sense? I think I'll find that humorous after a night of sleep.  It's 2:30 am. Again. I'm tired. My metaphors are tired. But I love you so I'm writing something :)

I also realize how long it has been since I've shared any piece of my actual story writing on the blog. I have refrained simply because of the amount of submitting I've been doing, with a lot of journals refusing to publish anything that's been previously published...blogs included. But, I'm pretty sure that I'll never make it as a flash fiction writer, so I'm going to give you the middle 1/3 of my story called "The Night at a Reading My Professor Got Broken up with and Drunk." AND I promise to write something better tomorrow. Or Wednesday. After I sleep. Thank you :) ...


I took his hands, which continued to rub at the length of my back, and held them between us for a moment before letting the drop. “Let’s get your bike and put in in my trunk. I’ll drive you home and stay with you for a little while if you want, but nothing more, ok? Not like this. Not when you’re all drunk and heartbroken.”


His house was just like I thought I would be—more books than furniture, a collection of miniature Space Needles lined up along the mantle. I sat at one end of his plaid couch. Finn emerged from the bathroom, laid down, and set his head in my lap. My fingers paused over his silver blond hair before I let them wind and unwind through it. It felt like what I should do, what I would have done were we in this situation under different conditions. His breathing stretched and steadied as he fell asleep. The TV was tuned to a mountain bike race. I watched, indifferent, volume low. It was 2am. I considered just leaning over onto the arm of the couch and closing my eyes but knew that would only lead to something awkward. I imagined him waking, neck stiff from the odd position my lap had held it at all night, wondering if he should wake me, too—if, perhaps, I was late for work. He might offer me coffee, notice but not mention the meshed imprint of fabric on my cheek, the strange angle my hair was sticking out at. The space between us would be filled with strained, hung-over conversation and the faucet water–gray light of morning. He’d be wanting aspiring and a shower, anxious for me to leave so he could have them.

Then again, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe we’d sleep late then walk a block over to the pastry shop for chocolate croissants, sit in the little corner booth. At some point during our eating we’d comment on the boundaries our sadness can push us toward. How grateful we were we’d only put our toes over the line instead of our entire bodies. Under the table, our knees would touch. I would dust a buttery crumb off his chin. He would lick his thumb and wipe a smear of chocolate from my lip.

That scene was harder to see, I guess because I wasn’t sure what exactly had gone on earlier tonight, or what Finn and I were to each other. Just that a few hours ago, he had been my professor, my editor, my friend, someone whose talent I admired. There had been the author’s voice reading in the ballroom and the more distant sound of Finn and his girlfriend, Amy, fighting at the elevators in the lobby. I was near the exit, had just gone out to make sure everything was alright, watched the doors close in front of her angry face, her crossed arms. He had taken me by the hand, led me off campus and to the tavern across the street. He cried in an unobvious way. The more the thick-rimmed glasses, empty except for an etching of foam, accumulated in the corner of our table, the more he told me he had always liked me, always wondered what it would be like to hold me. He kept tracing little circles on my arms. I told him I’d always liked him too, knowing he wouldn’t remember in the morning.

And I had.

Liked him.

Always.

---

Now I slid from beneath the soft weight of his head and stood. For another minute, I watched him sleep, shifting camera angles on the television turning his face yellow, then green, then blue—colors highlighting, diminishing the little laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. He looked sad and beautiful.

How unfair it is, I thought, that sometimes there are things you think should mean something, situations you think should go somewhere—but they don’t. And you just have to be okay with it.
 
-The End-  
Well, not really, but the end of what you're getting. If any of you are actually interested in reading all 1,000 words of this story from the beginning, speak up and I'll consider publishing the whole thing. If not, well, tricked ya into reading this far, didn't I? Also, no actual professor's or their ex-girlfriends were harmed in the writing of this story. Good Night and Good Morning :)

further adventures in dating life, part 12.2, he's just not that into me

Every now and then, I just have to do one of these dating posts. Partly because they're bitterly humorous, partly because I know you married ladies get a laugh out of all the silliness of me dating at 36, partly because I don't talk a lot about my dating life on here in an attempt to maintain innocent bystanders' privacy [but what a waste of blog fodder to not at least mention it from time to time], and partly (yes...I have FOUR partly's :) ) because I am still such a dating novice. Well, maybe not a novice. After 3 years, I've got a lot of notches on my belt (which doesn't mean what you think it does. It's not the same as a bed post. Sheesh). I've dated everyone from an attorney to a temporarily homeless guy BUT, I am still a novice when it comes to trying to read signals. Does he like me? Does he not? Did he like me at one time but I have now scared him away by saying/doing too much? Did I not say/do enough? Is he just being nice? Why does he keep touching his nose? What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow (European)?

I repeat: I'm not that good at reading signs. Or maybe it's that I'm too good at reading them....reading waaaay into them. I mean, I guess the fact that for our last Valentines Day together my ex-husband gave me a talking stuffed animal he got for free for buying three cards at the Hallmark store should have been a SIGN (knowing I hate stuffed animals...and seriously a stuffed red bull called "El Toro of Love?"... and who did he give those other two cards to? hmmm...) Oh yeah, and when he missed our last ditch attempt to save our marriage therapy session to go see Def Leppard in concert, and let me know this via text while I was in the waiting room of the counseling center. Um, yeah, SIGN, right?

So, I've been ruminating on some signs I've pulled from my past and current 'relationships' (and I use this term to define anything from friendship to we're talking marriage) to try and analyze what the heck is going on. I think if I could learn to crack the code, I could make a lot of money or at least save myself a bit of superfluous heartache....

SIGNS I THINK HE'S PROBABLY NOT THAT INTO ME:

*I say, "I really, really like you" and he says, "Yeah. I don't know how I feel." And this is after we've just spent a really great weekend together. Hmmm....awkward.

*He invites me to the movies and then shows up with two of his guy friends who "want to see the film too." I also end up buying my own ticket. And he and his buddies eat the Twizzlers I smuggled in in my purse.

*Talking to/texting/emailing me enthusiastically one week....and all radio silence the next. I like to think that maybe he just went on a camping trip, but, mmmm....probably not.

*When his ex-girlfriend calls, his cell phone still rings a love song and a picture of the two of them together comes up on the screen.

*That old reliable, "I can offer you my friendship" speech he gives when he really means, "let's be secret friends who really never talk or acknowledge each other again." I think I'm finally getting the hang of that one since I've gotten it more than once. It's the hardest since I am a-ok with remaining friends with someone--I can quickly shift my paradigm from 'pursuing relationship' to 'hanging out',  but, to me, that means I am going to treat them like I do my other friends and kindly interact with them on a semi-regular basis, not never say another word to them. In those cases, I guess I'm like that puppy that will keep following you till you kick me and tell me to go home. Then I tuck my tail between my legs and run. I can take a hint.

Now, for the flip side....

SIGNS HE MIGHT THINK I'M AT LEAST OK:

*He offers to take my kids to a baseball game. All 4 of them. And send me to get a pedicure while he does it. And he will pay for it. Yeah....I let that guy get away years ago and I'm ok with it. But he was pretty awesome.

*He wants to know what my favorite color, ice cream, holiday, song, restaurant, and movie are. And then he remembers. And he remembers my kids' names. And my family member's names. And my friend's. Whoa. Hot.

*He offers to fix my broken toilet, while also admitting that I am probably totally capable of fixing it on my own but he'd like to try and demonstrate his usefulness (Green Eyes).

*For my birthday, he buys me the tie-dyed Calvin Klein dress that, months before, I briefly point to in a magazine and mention loving and which he memorizes the designer of, does a sneak look of my dress size, then has to go online, search it out, and order it from Bloomingdales (that one was all Ninja).

*He makes me a mix CD.

*He pets my cat.

*He comes to my house at 11pm to keep me company while I go to the store to buy cat food and hair color, and then stays with me afterwards till way past his bedtime listening to dorky stories about my pioneer ancestors and my dead mother.

Yeah. Those MIGHT mean something...

But, like I said, I don't know anything. And I kind of like it that way. There's something to be said for naivety in moderation. If I don't force stuff, I'm sometimes in for a *pleasant surprise.* Or a rude awakening. Either way, I learn a little something, I add to my story material,I have a good cry if I really, really liked him, then I put one more notch on that old belt-o-mine.

Now, help me add to my wisdom pile: What's your best "He's Just Not that Into You " moment? (meaning YOU, not me...we just did me :) )

why i'm glad i didn't take up menthol cigarettes and poets named lars

My friend, Rory, recently returned from her 10 year high school reunion and turned it into a great blog post. In it, she wrote a letter to her 18 year old self re-assuring her that all of the fears and insecurities she had at the time would soon be swallowed up in the messy glories of wife- and motherhood. I remember writing something similar to myself about the time I was 28, when life seemed good, innocent. Not easy, what with the demands of 3 young children and homeschooling and housework and never enough sleep--but ever so good. And filled with Barney songs. And Winnie the Pooh blankets.

I don't think I'd want to be the one to write a letter to my 18 year old self now. I'd probably scare the bejeebers out of her. The breadth of my life's good and bad is still too tangled up to say what would be a choice still worth the pain and what wouldn't. I'd like to say the choice of marrying Brad was worth the hell of divorce because I got my amazing children out of it. But it also hurts so much to see them struggle as a result of the divorce, and be helpless to make it better. Because of the occassional intensity of that pain, I may just tell 18 year old me to run away and go live in Germany after all,like we'd planned. Wear a lot of black. Smoke menthol cigarettes. Move to Heidelberg and take up with a poet named Lars. Pierce stuff. And keep an owl as a pet.

I suppose I should look forward instead, be the one to write a letter not to my young self, but to my ten years older self. 46 year old me. 46 year old me is a tough broad and only gets the bejeebers scared out of her (still) by moths:

Dear 46 Year Old Jennifer P.,

Hey--remember when we were 36 and we thought we'd be ancient looking at this age? You're not looking so bad, girl! Way to exercise and wear your sunscreen every day--keep doing that. But sleep a little bit more too, ok?

46 year old me, I know it's hard to look back 10 years and remember just how it felt at this point--how lonely the lonely was. How quiet the quiet. Remember that stretch of months when the only texts we got were from the LA Times updating us on sports scores? How, some nights after we put the boys in bed, we just talked aloud to ourselves so we'd have something to listen to? Those were dark days. Funny how even deep wounds have a way of healing over quickly. At least it felt quickly, if we really look back--we remember it was a year by year process of surrendering until we were comfortable alone. But all things do pass.

Look at all we have accomplished with God's help! We have nearly raised all our boys. They're happy, strong, talented, righteous young men. They take good care of us. They love us. I'm glad we had them and didn't run off to take up with a German poet. And really glad we didn't take up menthol cigarettes. And how about that Pulitzer Prize for your book?! Who knew, 10 years ago when we were struggling to master the craft, that we would do THAT?!

I'm glad we didn't give up on happy endings, not only in our stories, but in real life too. I'm glad we never gave up on believing that for as quickly as things could go bad, they could go good equally as fast. I'm glad we chased love for all it was worth. I'm glad we sat still and waited for it to come to us. I'm glad we learned to be as content on our own as we were to have company. I'm glad we inadvertently learned a lot about California sports teams and their scores.

Also, way to save up for the flying car. It's everything we hoped it would be!

Thanks for being the image of the woman we could be that kept us going when we felt like giving up. Thinking of who and where I wanted to be in ten years helped me stay ever mindful that doing great things is important, but so is doing humble, daily things in a great way.

xoxo,
36 year old Jennifer P.

**What praise would you give your older self?**

the funny thing about having a dead mother...

One thing (amongst many) I learned from my mama in this life is how to laugh. How to not ignore the difficulty of a situation nor what must be done to move beyond it, but to shrink it down to manageable size and show it who's boss by laughing in it's face. There is something funny in everything, no matter how difficult or tragic. Even as she lay dying of cancer (only six weeks between her diagnosis and death) she found things to laugh at. She made me laugh.

So, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself the other night while folding laundry, as I thought about my mom as an angel, and more particularly all she is probably now privy to knowing. Things about my growing up....

Yes, mom--two or three (or five) times I took the Nissan 300zx out without asking. And once I did almost crash it trying to climb the steep, snow covered driveway at 2 am after a dance. And yes, I used to make sure I never moved the seat or steering wheel out of the position you had them in. And I'm sure if Google would have existed in the early 90's, I would have figured out how to tweak the odometer as well. I was not often rebellious, but I loved fast cars and you had one. And I had a Honda Civic hatchback. Could it almost be your fault? hmmmmm.... :)

Yes, mom--I peeked at the Christmas presents every year. I knew where you hid them. And even after you wrapped them, I would slit the tape with a box cutter, look, and wrap them back. I also knew where you kept your handgun hidden. And your "secret" stash of Hershey's and Butterfingers. If you were actually trying...you were a terrible hider :)

Yes, mom, there was that time when I was 13 that I didn't want you to come to my soccer game and I know it hurt you. But Jeff Chad said he was going to kiss me if we won. And although I wasn't going to let him, just in case he tried, a girl doesn't want her mom around for stuff like that.

Yes, mom, I used the credit card you gave me "just for emergencies" for lots of non-emergency stuff. I bought hairspray and flannel shirts and Depeche Mode tapes and frozen yogurt with it. And yes, once I did even buy that Swatch for my boyfriend. And no, he wasn't really going to pay me back. Thanks for making me get a job to pay for my own things, even if I did smell chronically of Domino's Pizza for the first half of 1993.

Yes, I broke that elevator in Germany. Not just me though. There were a bunch of us in it. And that really big kid started jumping...

Yes, I knew your PIN number and how to forge your signature.

Yes, I totally deserved that speeding ticket.

But you also know now, that I really never did have parties on those extended weekends you'd leave me alone while you went on business trips. Not that I never thought about it, but I honestly loved our home and didn't like the thought of it turning into some crazy party place like in all the movies I'd watch where there might be police or fire or a people making out in the bedrooms or a nuclear missile off the cover of a magazine that comes to life and crashes through the roof.

And you know now, too,  how very much I missed you being there when James was born. Missed you when I was going through the hell of the divorce, the slow process of healing, the joy of finding hope again. How much I miss you lately, when I've wanted so badly for my kids to have interaction with someone like me, but not me. Someone who could tell them how I used to be when I was little. Someone to share memories with and celebrate victories with. Someone to clean my house or put away my dishes or make me dinner or buy me lunch and maybe a cute new dress--even occasionally. I know you've been gone five years now, but I still miss you every. single. day. But you know that too, I know.

fleeting

I have two gorgeous Peony bushes in my yard. Every year I see their sticky buds start to emerge, ants scurrying across the globed surface, I get excited. I know that means that within a week or two they will burst open into big mop-headed blooms, the perfect shade of pale pink, and more beautiful than any rose. I like to cut big vasefuls of them, mix them with the purple-blue Delphinium, lavender, and blades of ornamental grass also growing around my yard. They make lovely early summer bouquets.

But this year was different.

This year, I kept telling myself to go cut some peonies (pull out of the garage), go cut some peonies (pull into the garage just in time to pick someone or something up and pull out again), go cut some peonies (as I mow by them with the lawnmower), go cut some peonies (as I wake up in the middle of the night).

By the time I actually had a spare moment and got out to my scissors to go cut some....they were gone. Not gone as in disappeared, but faded from pink to bleached white, heads drooping, petals flaking off, and their centers booby trapped with earwigs. Nearly gone.


I missed Peony season.... :(

And I couldn't help but relate it to a dream I had about a month ago, where my little J (just turned 5) was standing in the middle of a field. I ran towards him, a huge smile on my face, my fingers outstretched to tickle him. He was supposed to squeal with delight and run away from me--just like he always did. Only he didn't. He stood his ground. He looked at me with unamused eyes and a serious face. "I'm too old for that now, Mom," he said.

Oh! and how my heart broke to realize I'd somehow missed "kid season."

It was a lot of work for me to be a stay at home mom. It took a lot of time and energy and creative planning to keep them fed right, think up crafts and educational activities, homeschool, keep a balance between work time and play time and service time, indoor and outdoor time, too. Now...mothering is still in the forefront, closest to my heart, but has to be "squeezed in" between one of my 5 jobs that pays me, which we need. At any one time, my mind has to be 'ruminating' on an angle for an article I'm writing, marketing strategies, wedding decorations, paint colors, effective social media interaction for nonprofits, customer acquisition approaches, plot and character development. And for as hard as I try to keep mothering to the best of my ability, I realize I'm operating on the bare minimum here. It's a thing, like so many things, I've had to compact and shove into an already packed metaphorical closet.

I'm worried, despite all my best efforts, that it's going to take its toll on my boy squad. My precious, resilient, self-entertaining, practically angelic boy squad. Might they, too, reach their limits of what they can endure before giving up or giving in? Sigh.

At least I grasp the concept of  how fleeting their youth is. At least I've let things I used to think were so important (scrubbing the baseboards, twice daily vacuuming, pilates) go in order to give them more time. I forcefully clear my head and put down all other distractions when I'm with my kids. I make sure I LOOK at them every day. Listen to them. Engage in some way. We still do dinner together, prayers, scripture study, weekly family night, pancakes after church most Sundays. It feels woefully inadequate...but it's what I can do for now until I can figure out how to do more.

Oh, and tickle chasing. I do a lot of tickle chasing. And guess what? When I go at them with my big smile, and my wiggling fingers, yelling "RAWR!", they run and laugh. All of them. Even my 13 year old. I think we still have some time :)