date-o-rama

In honor of Valentine's Day looming on the horizon like a head cold I can feel coming on, I decided to follow my friend Amanda's example and share highlights of my best dates. Well...that's what I was GOING to do anyway. Then I got to thinking...I dont' like my "best" ones--the ones most would consider "best"--those involving a limo and a fancy dinner, or cliche'd romantic gesture like "I'll cook you dinner at my house." Those seem too forced to me. I've had those kind and can't say I didn't enjoy them to a degree...but I'd never consider them my best.

So, I'm going to share instead, highlights of my most MEMORABLE dates. And all but two have actually taken place post-divorce--when things just seem to happen more organically than they did when I was a young adult. Like going to see Christmas lights and ending up trying to hike a mountain in the dark--laughing all the way. Or both of us geographically-challenged, forgetting where we've parked and walking at least an extra mile trying to find the car. Or nearly catching something on fire while learning to carmelize sugar on homemade creme brulee.

Here are some (more) of those kinds of dates...

*My first love when I was 16 showed up at my house with his guitar and asked me to go for a walk. We strolled down the canal bank while he played and sang Depeche Mode songs. All the neighbors looked at us weird and I didn't care.

*On my second date with my ex-husband, we got in a car wreck. A teenage boy, distracted by eating pizza and with his little sister in the car, blew through a 4-way stop and slammed into my side of Brad's almost brand new Chevy Silverado truck. The way Brad--although clearly angry--responded with such tenderness to the boy and his sister, made me fall in love. After the truck had been towed away, we walked to a Chinese restaurant and had noodles. Our hands kept shaking while we ate, but we were so glad we were both ok. Bonded, for sure.

*My very first official date post-divorce was with a psychologist. He showed up in a t-shirt that appeared to be something he got from a vendor at work. He took me to eat at Macaroni Grill. I remember I was starving. I ordered a giant salad, he ordered chicken parm. Getting him to talk was like pulling a train with my teeth. Clearly not only had he been trained just to listen and nod...he was also plain boring. To top it all off, he only took one bite of the side dish that came with his food, then asked for a to-go box without ever offering an explanation. The whole night was just so, so weird.

*Disneyland with Haute Cakes: The first time I flew down to meet him, and my first visit to the magical kingdom since age 5. It was December and insanely crowded. My adrenaline was all rush-y from the Indiana Jones ride we'd just gone on, we got hot chocolate and moved along at cattle-herded speed and density towards Main Street where it was snowing magical Disney snow. He kissed me. It was totally perfect until someone slammed into me--hard--with their stroller. Left a nice bruise. But my faith in dates post-weird-no-eat-guy was restored :)

*Skipping Feminist Literature class to go catch one of Green Eye's performances. He winked at me between Johnny Cash covers. Texted me, "It's good to see my girl in the front row." (Also...speaking of Green Eyes--his first CD is complete. Feel free to check it out and buy it here :) )

*Not long after we met, and a good year before we started dating-- Ninja took me to shoot paintball guns for the first time. And he shot me in the head...on purpose. And I shot him in the neck at short distance range...on accident ;). Most fun in camoflauge I ever had.

*Nine kids under the age of 12, plus one dog and two goats, all in the back of a truck, going "to town" to eat a six-foot ice cream sundae out of a rain gutter. The guy I did that with never got a blog name, but he was--and still is--one of my best friends. Such a Beverly Hillbillies moment :) Here's proof of that one:

*Can't forget my birthday date with Mr. Perfect--even if it was under semi-strained cirucmstances. It was the whole beautiful being back in California thing: the Tim Burton exhibit, the brief stop off at the attorney's office that smelled like chocolate chip cookies, the dim sum, the werid conjoined-mirror bathroom, the strolling through the toy store that featured a bunch of tv show-themed stuff that he had designed (we didn't tell the toy store girl who was thrilled to tell us all about it ), the two hour traffic jam on the way home. I remember really liking his smile and his shoes and the back of his neck.

*And the creme de la creme of memorable dates: The day Dr.  Yummy and I drove his Scout through the car wash without doors or a top, went longboarding, had liquid nitrogen-frozen ice cream, then drove through a storm to the airport where we pretended to welcome each other home (sign included) and pushed each other recklessly around in a wheelchair. It was the bestest, make-my-face-hurt-from-smiling-date ever. Most with him were. I remember repeating in my head, "Thank you, God. Thank you for someone who finally 'gets me.'"...A huge part of that "why?" question I still bat around as to things not working between us when we seemed such a great fit...but at least I'm beyond the tragically pathetic, constant stage of the questioning and into that semi-pathetic occassional stage.

***Oh...there was also the Saturday this last November I ended up on FOUR accidental dates...in one day. But I'll save that story for another time :)

---

As for these guys that the dates occurred with (if you're like me and hate a good story without an ending):

• Love of my life from 16 still sings in a band downtown, and does something fancy with computers during the day.
• Y'all know what happened to my ex-husband. That bonding will probably never be totally undone--at least in memory.
• I have never heard from silent, no eating psychologist again. I'm even wondering if I just dreamed that whole strange night...
• Haute Cakes "mystery man" is happily engaged to a girl who is a really, really good fit for him. Though I often kick myself for giving up on that relationship too easily--not fighting my ex over moving and such--I couldn't be happier for him. Everything happens for a reason.
• I just finished an article about Green Eyes for Fusion magazine. He's a talented, smoking hot man with a bright future, dating a girl from the Harley Davidson place he works. We're comfortable together.
• Ninja...still breaks my heart to have lost him as a friend and more. He's a private person as to the goings-on of his life and we don't talk much anymore--but I know if I called on him, he'd be there in a heartbeat. His heart is gold.
• Goat man: Also recently engaged to a perfect-for-him woman who loves getting really dirty as much as he does.
• Mr. Perfect and I still talk and text from time to time. He's still undeniably perfect.
• And Dr. Yummy-- Can't bring myself to find out what's going on with him. I hope he's well. I hope he passed his board exams. I hope he hasn't moved on easily. But neither myself nor my boys are healed enough to re-open up a friendship with him. Maybe just for now. Maybe forever. It's a two-way door and thus far neither of us have pushed at it. Also...clearly his loss.

AND THERE YOU GO...If you happen to be sitting at the Applebee's with your spouse on Valentine's Day wonderfing if you could have it better...hit yourself up along the head and be glad you're right where you are, with who you're with. And go make some memorable date experiences of your own...together! :)

why someone should take my phone from me before 1 am

There's a blog that I'm sure a lot of you have read, or at least heard of. It's called "Single Dad Laughing," and chronicles the journeys of a twice-divorced cute, single dad. I think he started really picking up in popularity close to a year ago.

He writes about all the same "controversial" things I do--including issues with his ex-wife/wives, dating, getting over past relationship damage, and even uses his son's full name. Yet, he gets a bojillion readers, mostly women, applauding his every post. Heck! Even I like them! But, I guess I just got to thinking--how is it that a man can talk about certain things and be praised for his "efforts to work through his past;" and, although I often get praised for the same, I also get called "neurotic" or "unable to let go?" Is it just as simple as a male/female thing? Is it commendable for a man to be uncharacteristically open about his feelings and struggles and somehow less so for a woman, being as women maybe share too much in general? Hmmm.

I did have myself a good old fashioned *neurotic/unable to let go* episode the other night, though. (See the picture to know my exact mental/physical state at the time). I'm starting to think that, after three straight nights of not sleeping and writing myself to the point of physical, mental, creative, emotional exhaustion as well as just talking a friend out of committing suicide, someone should be assigned to come to my house before 1am, take away my phone and email access, and send me safely to bed. Why?...

I saw on Facebook, quite by innocent accident, that Dr. Yummy's very,um, 'interesting' roommate had become friends with Dr. Yummy's ex-girlfriend. The one who lived in a different state, who he was dating right before me, and who he claimed was aggressive, too young, and a bad match for him spiritually. I couldn't help but think, Why on earth would the two of them even know each other, let alone be friends unless she was somehow regularly corresponding with Dr. Yummy--or probably even coming here to visit? It triggered something in me. That some thing that's suddenly a million things all at once unraveling inside you--one great big emotional band aid getting yanked off before the scab has healed.

How could he move on by moving back to her? If he talked to me about her the way he did, what on earth was he now telling HER about ME? And why didn't he tell ME any of the reasons we wouldn't work other than 'fear' and 'it's just him'? Why do people lie to protect my feelings when it hurts a lot worse to find out than to just be told the truth from the start? How can he even move on when I'm still sitting here paralyzed by fear? Is everyone hiding some giant secret they're just waiting to let out? How can I ever trust any one again? All accompanied by images of them kanoodling on the couch together watching Top Gear the way we used to do.

Yeah. All of that. At once. Layered on top of a body so tired it was already starting to shake constantly and see little gnats that weren't there. So...what did I do? Picked up my phone and sent him the equivalent of a 1:16 am drunk text. That's smart, right?

Actually, I'm glad it was just a text and I didn't let loose on him with some rambling email. There's only so much damage I can do with a flea-sized keyboard.

I used to think I could make him change his mind if I just selected the right words. I remember feeling that way with Brad, too. Now, I've learned words are powerful but not that powerful, and that the writing process--if you choose to engage in it--is more about just saying what needs to be said. I've got a lot to say about that whole relationship, but I realize I don't really need to say it to him. I just need to say it. Somewhere. Here, sometimes. In my journal, other times. And through that writing process I have come to learn, yet again, that this lingering pain is less about him than it was all he represented. The probable end of my journey through singlehood. The way he made me feel--hopeful, unafraid, giddy,  ready to spend the rest of my life with someone again. The one that made all the other not-so-fun break-ups in my past make sense. Like a hug that I carried around with me all day.


If he came knocking on my door tomorrow, repentant and asking for another chance--would I give it to him? I guess that's part of why I keep writing. Until I can get to the definite answer, "no," or make peace with the fact that he, like others, don't ever even have it in their minds to come back for me (even though I AM totally worth coming back for).

One of the saddest things in life was and will continue to remain loving someone who doesn't love you back. And the equally sad accompanying process of making a stranger your friend, then more than your friend, then something changes...and suddenly you're strangers again.

Grateful that when I woke up the next morning (after my whole three hours of sleep) and remembered what I did, the text turned out not to be too bad. It said something like: SERIOUSLY?! You got back together with  ________? Knife to my heart is a phrase that comes to mind. I'm such a fool.

When I'm sure I meant to say he was a fool.

Or she was a fool.

Or we were all fools together.

Or love is such a foolish, foolish game.

So maybe I don't have the swooning fan base that Single Dad Laughing has. That was never my objective in blogging through this portion of my life anyway. It was/is more to embrace my neurotic tendencies until they become endearing quirks. And to let go of my past by delving back into it at times when it's most beneficial-- addressing things that happened, why, and how they changed me for better or worse, and how I'm going to deal with those changes. That's how I heal. That's how I prepare for my next step.

By the way, I did get an answer to my "drunk" text: Fool? Not at all. Except maybe to assume I've 'gone back' (winky face). Seriously, my friendship with _________ could not be more platonic. I mean it. Haven't gone back nor started seeing anyone. I'm sorry whatever you've seen or read hurt you.

And that was it.

Spoken like a true psychiatrist.

And true stranger.

seventeen years

Today would have been my 17th wedding anniversary. Sometimes I wish I could forget the date, but I had it engraved inside Brad's wedding band the day I bought it with my hard-earned-working-at-the-college-frozen-yogurt-shop money. It said: For Time and Eternity, 12-28-94. I'd heard men often forgot their anniversaries, so I figured I'd just make sure he had some record of it on him all the time. His ring frequently became entertainment for us while waiting for food at a restaurant, or waiting for a turn during Scrabble. He or I would slip it off and spin it like a top. I saw that engraved date a lot. It will, sadly or not, never just be "another day" for me.

It doesn't hurt this year though. Maybe I said that last year...I don't remember. I just know that my break up with Dr. Yummy taught me a lot about how far I've come in parts of my emotional healing. When he broke things off, I was completely crushed. I could only compare it to the hurt I felt when Brad left. Yet, when I really consider it--it was nowhere NEAR as painful as that was. What it was, was equal to the *softened* version of how I now remember my divorce. Pain dulled by years, good happenings, and priceless experience and faith gained as a result of being single. The Dr.Yummy break up was significant, another little turning point showing me where I'd been and where I'm at now--and the amazing, heart-warming/wrenching distance in between the two points.

Funny that it's raining today. It rained on my wedding day 17 years ago, too. No one wanted to take after ceremony outdoor pictures with us. Only my mom followed us around with an umbrella, removing it from over my head long enough for the photographer to snap a picture, then putting it back on. Bless her heart. The rest of our friends and family went across the street to our catered after-wedding lunch. And they ate it all. Yup. By the time we got there, there was one sad, solitary breadstick left for us to split. We went through the Wendy's drive-thru on our way to check in at our hotel. Good memories. Funny memories. It really was one of the happiest days of my life and will continue to be so independent of anything that happened afterwards. But does feel like it happened much longer ago, to a different person. Or that maybe I dreamed it all,or wrote it in a story. One observation: I generally feel so youthful, happy, and drunk with possibility that I laugh to think I could ever be one capable of celebrating a 17th wedding anniversary. Only the face in the mirror reveals I'm not as young as I feel :)

Seventeen years after saying I do as a nineteen and a half year old who thought herself ever-so-mature, here I sit--on lunch break at one of my five exciting jobs. The blessed mother of 4 beautiful boys. Still close as I can be with the Peterson family. Comforted by the support of wonderful friends. Fueled by the dream of writing. Pained, at times, to see pictures of my ex-husband with his new family, but comforted by the fact that God is aware of me and has put some wonderful opportunities and people in my path. One day, someday, I'll start over again with a new guy, and a new date, on year one. All good things in time. And it feels like I've got plenty of time.

what now?

For those of you who have been reading for some or all of  the last three and a half years, you know I've struggled with forgiving and letting go of my ex-husband, emotional healing, single parenting, school stresses, heartbreak and loneliness,and some setbacks in my physical health and spiritual growth. But through all of that, I have always been blessed to be financially secure.

Following our separation, my brother-in-laws (and for this I will ever, ever be beyond-words grateful) stepped in on my behalf and forced the sale of my husband's shares of his business, and gave me the money. "You want to leave your wife," they said. "Fine. Stupid, but fine...but you're not going to leave her with nothing." My ex was more than willing to give it to me at the time, too, racked with guilt as he was.

It was enough money to care for the boys and me--allowing me to stay mostly at home and finish school--for six years. And for the first time in a long time, I finally had enough money to live without constant worry of where the money would come from. I paid off all our old debts, then immediately learned how to work the Dave Ramsey cash-only budget to make sure I would be the best steward over the money I could be.

It was such a relief that if my kids needed shoes or clothes, we went to get them (always on sale still, of course). If they needed haircuts, they got them. Their school costs could be covered with a little left over for a fun night out as a family once a month. If something broke that I couldn't figure out how to fix myself (which was surprisingly very little, thanks to Google), I could pay to have it fixed or replaced. I didn't have to burden anyone asking for help. I even got to have the occasional, much needed indulgence like a pedicure, or throwing a party, or being able to take a friend to dinner. I could plan for it and work it into my budget.

I never mentioned this on the blog before because announcing that, "hey! I have a big pile of money over here! And I live alone!" isn't very smart.

But then things started to go wrong. First just 'normal, unexpected life things'--my ten year old van breaking down or needing new tires (again), a son who had to have major orthodontic work, a broken air conditioner, medical expenses that insurance decided not to cover. I was able to take care of these things and go on. Then bigger stuff started to happen....

In a complicated re-sell of my ex's business, I ended up losing a year of income to loss of interest. Then taxes came due and I lost another year of income. Then, my cousin ran off with the inheritance I was to receive after my grandfather's death--which was going to cover my school costs, and I lost almost another year's income in paying for three years of ever-increasing school tuition, books, parking, and overload fees. And Brad stopped paying me alimony for a time to the tune of nearly $10,000, as well as not helping with child care costs or uncovered insurance payments as was dictated by our divorce. So, six years income had been whittled to three.

*It's been three and a half years now.*

Taking on extra  design and writing work, as well as my summer internship, helped me stretch out what I had. I took out a small student loan to help out my last semester. I let my insurance go (a HUGE expense trying to cover myself). I've stayed away from credit cards.

But today I sat down and paid the bills and the last of the money is now....all gone. And from December on, I have no idea what we're going to do. Yes, I have a new job with a LOT of promise, but it's only part time at first, bringing in about a third of what I need. No matter how I've worked the budget, I come up a little over a thousand dollars short per month every time. AND THAT'S ONLY IF BRAD CONTINUES TO PAY US THE AMOUNT HE HAS BEEN, WHICH HE HAS HINTED HE DOES NOT WANT TO DO FOR MUCH LONGER. I'll look for a second job to supplement but that breaks my heart since I'm already stretched so thin in my parenting time and abilities.

This is a step into a whole new level of challenge in my life as a single mother. Now, to add to the continuing stresses of parenting alone, trying to answer questions I don't have the answer to, and remaining cheerful when I would rather just bawl my head off and give in to the sucking hole of depression that's been trying to drag me in for years...I will have to deal with stuff like: Where will we live? What will we eat? How will we stay warm and lighted? How will we have money to put gas in the van?

Serious stuff.

With no parents or other invested parties to give advice or help.

And you can probably guess that I'm petrified with terror. I really don't know what to do. I'm sick to my stomach all the time over it. I'm trying to smile and have faith here. I know God COULD make it all better....but I also know He's just as prone to saying, "Trial time. Level up, girl" and letting us struggle. I don't understand why God does that. But he does. A lot. It shakes my faith to the core. Makes me want to drop to my knees and sceam, "Oh please, God! Not here! Don't make me go here, too!"

If it were just me, I would be fine. I'd look at it as some kind of fabulous adventure, but I don't want to frighten my children. I don't want to take them through this with me. Kids need to feel safe, secure, taken care of.  I feel so useless.

It was another reason I was so grateful to God for bringing Dr. Yummy into my life when He did. Dr. Yummy talked (a lot) about marrying me, and I thought--Yes! This must be the answer to my prayers. Someone who loves me and my children, and whom I love so deeply in return AND who could help turn this ship around? Perfect. Blessed. Grateful. With him in our lives, I could even do the MFA program if I got accepted. Almost too good to be true...and yeah...yeah. I guess it was. And since he decided against me, not only am I now too heartbroken and disenchanted to try again but who the heck is going to want me now? In this situation?

Never thought almost four years ago when I was the wife of a successful business owner, stay-at-home homeschooling mom, serving in my church and decorating my dream house, that I would so quickly end up a 36 year old working single mother living on five hours of sleep a night and wondering if she and her children would end up bankrupt and hungry in a subsidized apartment somewhere. It's like I have stumbled into a George Saunders story and can't find my way out.

I have worked so hard and sacrificed so much and been so faithful so as to not get to this stage. I don't understand. I don't.

I just don't see how this can end well.

But, we go on. We have no choice but to go on.  It won't always be like this, right? Right?!?!

I know everyone has their trials, their junk they have to deal with--stuff far worse than mine and without the benefit of Belief to aid them. I'm sorry to complain. Sorry to feel so alone. Please bare with me.

It would be lovely to have someone swoop in and rescue me, make the suffering go away, but  it looks like that's not going to be the case.  That doesn't mean that *I* can't rescue me though. Some of the biggest barriers in my way are ones I create in my own head with fear and doubt. I won't doubt me. I'll take what I'm dealt and make the best of it. I'm too hard working and too smart and too talented and too resourceful not to figure this out. I am my mother's daughter. I am my Father in Heaven's daughter. That is a powerful lineage. Somehow I'm going to do this...or die trying.

to dream perchance to live

Every now and then, on those afternoons I don't have the boys, I indulge in a Sunday nap. I stretch out on my couch by the big front window and turn my face toward the light. I cover up in my soft sherpa blanket. The cat usually comes and lays at my feet. Soft classical music plays from my computer. My house is clean and quiet. And...here's my favorite part: I dream.

I used to dream all the time. I loved my dreams. But now, I'm generally so exhausted when I sleep that I have no recollection of thinking anything else but zzzzzzzzz.

Sunday afternoons though...they were made for dreaming.

I think sometimes God uses those times to talk to me in pictures. I pay attention.

So, this last Sunday, I dreamt my mom was still alive. She came to pick up the boys for a day in the park. I was helping her buckle them all into carseats (yes, even my nearly 14 year old) , then waved good bye as they pulled away, happy they were getting to spend time with her.

After they had driven out of sight, I came back into the house and (just like I was actually doing) I laid down on the couch and went to sleep. Only then a man came and lay next to me, facing inward, toward me. He reached his hand out and placed it on my cheek. "I'm here. I'm real. We're happy," he said. "Please don't forget about me." I reached over and mimicked his action, placing my hand on his cheek. I could feel his skin, warm  and a little stubbley under my palm.  "You exist?," I asked, "You really, really exist?" Except now (in the dream and in actuality) my eyes were closed and I couldn't pull them open. I wanted so badly to see the face of this man I felt so connected to. Struggling, I forced them open for one fraction of a second and I saw him--just his eyes, looking right into mine in the kind of way that seemed to  be trying to make me understand. He nodded yes, in answer to my questions about his existence. Then my eyes closed again.

Time forwarded and it was Halloween. The boys and I were going to the house of this man I now knew I loved. We were going there to trick-or-treat. He opened the door and I held open my bag. Instead of candy, he produced a small, velvet-covered box and dropped it in. I couldn't stop my tears. I reached into the bag and pulled out the box, then went to look into the face of the man I would spend the rest of my life with. I expected to see someone like this:

But instead, I saw this...

Yup. God decided to end my lovely dream with the idea of me marrying Chewbacca. I then awoke to my stomach growling very loudly. It sounded like a wookie.

So maybe that whole dream came because I was visiting my mom's grave that afternoon. And the carseats because I'm always worried about my children's safety. And maybe the man had Brandon Flowers eyes because I've been re-listening to a lot of The Killers music lately. And maybe the trick-or-treat thing came about because that's the way I had  girlishly fantasized about Dr. Yummy asking me to marry him. And maybe my stomach growling primally really was the cause of the whole Chewbacca thing.

That all makes sense, psychologically speaking.


But the part where I said "you exist?" and he nodded, and his eyes held so tight to mine, and his hand on my face. I can't forget that. All the rest of the day, I tried to forget and I couldn't. So, God--thanks for that. Whether or not it ever comes to pass, it felt so wonderful and so real at the time. I desperately needed a moment of connection and protection and intimacy like that. And thanks, too, for the laughs with everything else.  You really are the best. I'm sorry if I limit Your power in my life through my fear and perceived self-strength. I'm sorry if I complain too much about the way you operate. I'm sorry for being so impatient. I'm sorry for getting angry at you in my ignorance. I'll try and be still and let you do your thing. Try ;).

it's a process, to process

It's been a little over a week since the break up. I'm not dead yet. But...

This whole healing thing is quite the process. I haven't had such a hard time reckoning the man I thought Dr. Yummy was versus the man who kind of tucked tail and ran since my ex-husband. Not that Dr. Yummy had done ANYTHING like Brad , just didn't see it coming is all. At all.

 I'm glad I'm practically an expert on the Kubler-Ross stages of grief and can identify where I'm at in the process, and keep as calm and rational as possible--but it's kind of like knowing that getting a shot is going to hurt... the knowing doesn't make it hurt any less.

Out of habit, Dr. Yummy is still the thing that comes to my mind first thing when I wake up. Used to make me smile, now kind of feels like a good morning punch in the gut.

He used to be at the top of my text list--ready to share words of encouragement or tidbits of funny things going on in my day with. Now he's moved  to about eighth. I have to scroll down the screen to see him. The last thing he texted  me was the word "sure."

J had a very unique way of saying Dr. Yummy's name in a way that only an adorable 5 year old with a lisp can produce. He hasn't said it in several days. I miss the sound of it.

I'm taking on as much freelance writing work as I can, but that's meaning more late hours in front of my computer again. That old familiar, palatable silence that closes in on me like a choking fog is starting to be my companion again. I'm back to talking in a British accent to a picture of Jaime Oliver hung on my bulletin board. I think that's more sane than talking to nothing.

The other night, while I was at a poetry reading, the poet said something I found hilarious--but which was supposed to be  very serious. I knew it wouldn't be appropriate to laugh out loud, so I went to stifle my sudden laughter in Dr. Yummy's shoulder...only to realize that it wasn't him sitting next to me but one of the poetry professors who probably wouldn't have been cool with my face in his shoulder. Suddenly, I didn't feel like laughing anymore.

Most of my close single friends got married over these last seven months. I've had to kind of push out of my comfort zone to try and make new single friends. And they really are so, so nice--all of them, and funny and great to be around. I'm lucky to have them and will be there for them whenever they need me. After 3 1/2 years of this though, I just grow weary of the singles scene, especially when reminded how awesome it is to have one best friend and confidant like Dr. Yummy was.

One of the Christmas presents I ordered him arrived. It's sitting in my closet, unopened. Nonrefundable.

My hand misses his.

My feet are cold without his leg to tuck them under.

My smile is heavy.

I am lonely.

I actually did go to see him again. This last Saturday. I was going from a reading on my way to meet up with some friends, using my GPS to navigate. It ended up taking me right by Dr. Yummy's house. It felt weird to not stop when I was so rarely on that side of town. So I did. And we talked for a little while.

He did his psychiatrist thing where he asked me how I was and what I was thinking and listened with his chin on his hand, nodding appropriately. I answered as honestly as I could, knowing the real answer probably wouldn't change anything. That answer being: Actually, I'm miserable and I don't understand why you won't let my boys and I love you the way we want to  and the way you deserve to be and why are you  such a chicken and how come you don't trust us to keep a really perfect relationship perfect and how can you just run away from something this good and and are you ever going to change your mind and come back? But I guess there's no fixing the guy who fixes everyone else. Also, I have accepted that no one comes back for me.

So, we shared a brief hug before I left. I think he smelled my hair. He watched me drive away. He didn't try to stop me. Then he went back in to race cars on the XBox, and I went to have dinner with my big group of single friends where I was hit on by  another guy eating at the same restaurant--a 25 year old bass player  in a revenge death metal band with a faux hawk and stretched lobes. And I couldn't help but think: Jennifer, this is your life now. Again. Swallow it down. And don't look back.

Lest you think I'm without hope though, wait for what comes in my next post. God either has some plan up his sleeve, or a perfectly strange sense of humor. Maybe both.

what do you say when you don't know what to say?

My boys have been asking a lot of questions about Dr. Yummy's whereabouts lately. I knew they would. They'd grown as anticipating of and accustomed to his daily presence in our life as I had. Within the last two hours, three of the four have come to me at separate times, wondering if he was coming to the pumpkin patch with us tonight. Even our cat was used to being fed by him. My first inclination was just to brush my kids questions off, say he was busy or that he'd moved or something. But, they're smarter than that. I'm pretty sure they've felt the heaviness in my smile over the last few days. Caught me crying in my room before I had the chance to wipe the tears away and smile fast enough.

But my oh my, what baggage from my past this situation dredges up.

My dad died when I was 4, and my mom didn't remarry again until I was 23. But she did date off and on. I can recall six or seven men whom she dated seriously enough that they became part of our lives. She never had them sleeping over or anything--in fact, she was always (like I am) very discreet in her physical affections towards "boyfriends", but we knew that they were important to her somehow.

At first, I liked it. I wanted to have a step dad. I embraced them enthusiastically, wanted to spend time with them. But, over the years, and due to many factors (not excluding teenager-y self-centeredness), I learned to hate these men. Learned that they weren't worth the emotional investment,they'd probably not stick around longer than a year, that at least a few times they left due to my brother and I and the responsibilities that came with taking on another woman's children. And that, when they would *disappear*, my mom would be very sad. I didn't like people making my mom sad.

I can remember so vividly my grandmother and other adults talking to me about how wonderful it was that my mom had ___________ (fill in the name) in her life. "Don't you WANT your mom to be happy?" they'd ask.

And yeah, I did. Surely. But I didn't get it. Why couldn't she just be happy with us, her kids? Why weren't we enough? We weren't going to go away. We had fun with her.

Of course, now I get it. How happy my mom WAS with just us, how content she was in her life and with her hobbies, but that there is a difference in the type of happiness you derive from your children vs. the type of happiness you get from being in a committed, romantic relationship that ideally leads to marriage. How there are so many things you don't want to burden your children with, or that they wouldn't grasp,but that you need to share with another person who loves you  no matter what. How a hug from a child warms your heart, but a hug from your husband can let you just be weak for a while, or set your body tingling. God put the divine longing for companionship in the soul of every man and woman, then commanded them to go out and "cleave unto (one another)" THEN to "multiply and replenish."  Though they can share certain heavenly characteristics, they are two different things--love for a spouse and love for children. Passion vs. affection.

Most of all, as a child, I just wanted someone to speak the truth to me. Maybe they did and I just didn't understand, but it always felt like everything was getting sugar-coated somehow. Like they didn't think I  could sit with the truth when I think I could have. When sometimes what I guessed was going on was much worse than it actually was and it would have been nice to know.

So, I'm trying to figure out what to tell my kids. *I want them to understand the divine longing I do have in my  heart to one day, some day,  marry again, and how that takes looking and testing, and not settling for just anyone.

*I want them to know that I take whom I introduce them to very seriously. That I really thought each and every one of these men thus far had potential to be "the one."

*That (and this I know for a fact) the ones I have chosen to date exclusively have loved my kids very much--or at least found them delightful, even if they were uncertain as to how to function as a step parent.

*I want to explain why it's hard to maintain the same type of friendship with someone after you have been more than friends, and why it is that these men can't come to visit the way they did before. But to acknowledge that I know how much the boys miss them.

* I want them to understand that they, my boys, are the focus of my life and my first priorities, and that dating, while important, has never taken precedence over them. But that I also need to interact with adults on a regular basis, too--to go to my writers groups or out to dinner with friends.

*How I would never have chosen this life for us--that I wish it could have stayed just me and their dad and none of this to deal with--but that I'm doing the best I can and following the direction I receive humbly in prayer. And that we can all still live awesome lives.

Is that too much for children? Too many details they might rather not be told?

*And I guess the big question is...do I tell them I don't plan on dating anymore until they're grown? Because no one holds you to your word like kids do, so I don't want to say it unless I mean it. And it might be a good thing--when things get rough down the road and I'm feeling terribly lonely again, I can just remind myself that this was a CHOICE I made. Like a nun. No backing out of it. And shrug it off, shut down, and keep plugging forward.

But honestly...oh, what a hard thing to picture living for years and years and years a shrugged off, shut down, plug-y kind of life, void of human intimacy. Is it the best thing? Ugh. What a mess.

I made Dr. Yummy very aware from the beginning how frightened I was to get serious with him, knowing it was more than likely my last run at trying a serious relationship. But that I thought he was totally worth it. And he was. In the end though, it was easier for him to leave, not risking much, because it was obviously not his last run. He thinks he can do better. That hurts. And these are a lot of questions with no answers...

I guess for now I just inch along in the direction I feel most inspired to go and see what happens. Open my mouth and see what comes out. Does anyone know where I can purchase a "just make it all better" kit? If so, I'll take five of them. I could use one, too.

breaking.

I went to a hockey game tonight (Saturday). I went with Dr. Yummy. Yes, we have continued to date. Hoping. Seeing. After our last break up, we barely made it two days before realizing we were miserable without each other. We decided to give it a little longer, but I was still in it to succeed, and he was still in it just not to fail. Every time I seemed to happily settle into what and who we were again, even if it wasn't what I'd hoped, he'd feel the need to remind me that "something just didn't feel right." I missed the man from a month ago who showed up with purple tulips and washers for my leaky hoses and who looked at me like no man has ever looked at me before.    But now, while he made me feel happiness and laughter and anticipation, I made him feel discomfort and uncertainty. Hardly seems a fair trade, right?

So he finally ended it tonight. For real. Said it was him, not me. Though I've heard that so many times now I don't know that I can believe it. I guess it feels better not to wonder who made it not work, just to accept it wasn't meant to be. Just one of those things that's supposed to happen for some yet unknown purpose. Again. I'm not angry. I have only wanted the best for him from the beginning. I think he's completely and perfectly wonderful. I loved him from the top of his curly head to the bottom of the toes that he hated to have tickled. My J even asked the other day how to spell Dr. Yummy's name because he was "making a list of our family." So, yeah. I guess it's best it ended now. Before anyone got hurt. More.

How could I be such an idiot as to let this happen again? I promise I do not go into these things willy-nilly. I promise I do a lot of praying about who I choose to get serious with. Nothing had ever felt as right as this, gosh darn it.

Anyway, we went to that hockey game. And had a great time, too. I didn't see a break up coming. Maybe I started to feel it on the drive home though. We exited the freeway and passed the Sizzler in front of the mall. Suddenly, it felt like I had been transported back in time six, maybe seven years. In my mind, I was getting out of the van and walking into that restaurant with my three boys (the fourth not yet born) and my husband. We were going to eat Malibu Chicken and Steak. Brad and I each had hold of one of the bigger boys' hands, and I was carrying little L. My mom lived just around the corner, and we talked about going to visit her afterwards. I could feel it, all of it, perfectly.

It was all so familiar, so near, but also like it had happened to someone not me.

Like I have lived a million years in the last 3 1/2 without any recollection of how I got to where I'm at now. I thought of all the things I had in that flashback that I don't have now---not just people, but situations, emotions--security, safety, the luxury to worry about small and insignificant things like saving for a new couch, or what kind of tile to put in the kitchen.

Now those things are gone. My husband is gone, married to someone else, with another baby. My kids, in a way, are gone--not having the same opportunities I saw them having before. Mom is gone. I haven't even eaten at the Sizzler for four years.

And then I thought of all the things that have happened since. The people who have come in and out of my life--Haute Cakes, Green Eyes, Ninja, now Dr. Yummy. Other friends and acquaintances, too, who were so important for a short time and then gone. The myriad ways I have seen and hoped and planned for things to settle back into a comfortable place, to end happily again. And how they have all unraveled. How, I can count on one hand the number of mornings I have woke without fear.

And I worry, that type of worry that balls me up inside, into this thing that makes me shake and shake and shake.

Who am I anymore? What is going to happen to me? How can I keep doing this? What am I even doing? And who cares? When I look down at them, my hands seem foreign. Sometimes I catch a reflection of myself in a window and wonder, who is that woman? How can I continue to meet the emotional, physical, and spiritual needs of those around me when my well of all those things is dry?

It is unsettling. Disorienting. It really does make me want to go to bed and not wake up. Sometimes I even pray for that--not that I would ever consider taking my own life, just that I want God to know I'm ok if He decides to take me now. Quickly and painlessly, preferably.

But that is selfish, I know. And selfishness is an unfamiliar emotion to me, like rage. You know, when soldiers try out for the Navy Seals, they usually start in a group of 200 plus? By the time they're finished, there are generally no more than 20 left. It's not because the others weren't strong and capable and qualified. It's that it comes down to character. The ones that didn't quit, didn't quit because they cared too much for the man on either side of them. They cared as much about getting them through as they did themselves.

Not that I'm Navy Seal material. I'm a poor shot and a weak swimmer (I've got soul but I'm not a soldier...), but I do care more about these men, these boys of mine, on either side of me, than I do about myself. As long as they need me, which they do, I'm going to keep going. I will live through the disorientation, the frequent bouts of being unrecognizable. I'm going to keep getting up and trying and smiling my brave smile. Keep being that annoying type of cheerful that people get when they have no other choice but to be cheerful. When they've walked through hell and learned to shrug their shoulders and chuckle. When they've learned to accept God's will isn't usually the same as theirs but it's still the only way to go. I'm going to keep believing that something wonderful is always just around the corner. Because you know what? Sometimes it is. But for now, stuff really sucks. Guess that's why they call it *breaking up.* That's just how it feels.