Tag Archives: Family

Moving out? An update

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My mom might have found a condo. Yes, she’s said (several times!) that she needs to move out, but this time, I think we’re close.

I was actually the one who found the listing. It’s been months since I’ve even looked to see what’s out there, but something told me last week to check. There it was: condo, about a mile from my house, two bedroom, 2.5 bath, built in 2005, pretty spacious, large rooms, lots of storage. But the best part was the price – it had just dropped significantly. In fact, in the two months it had been on the market, there were three price drops, and now it’s priced WAY under other condos in the neighborhood.

I showed my mom the photos and she loved it. She took down the contact information and walked outside to call the realtor within the hour.

On Tuesday, she went to see it. She was giggly about it when we talked. “It’s everything I want!” she said. (She was so excited about it that she forgot a dentist appointment that afternoon because she couldn’t stop thinking about the house.) The condo is a foreclosure and the bank s pretty desperate to get it off the books.

She’s waiting to hear back on her preapproval.

I have mixed feelings about her moving out. On one hand, having your MOM wait up for you when you get home from a date (and you’re almost 40 years old) is a little weird, and uncomfortable, and awkward. Having your mom sit across the room from you when you’re texting with a man (and smiling foolishly) is also weird, and uncomfortable, and awkward. Having to find a quiet place to have a conversation with a man so that your mom isn’t listening – or commentating – is weird, and uncomfortable, and awkward. Not being able to watch the TV shows you want or listen to the music you want or arrange the pantry in a way that makes sense – all arguments for her moving out.

But it has been ridiculously awesome to have her with us. As I’ve said before, she helps with the kids, gets them breakfast, picks E up from school on nights I’m running late, makes dinner, does the kids’ laundry, mows the yard, picks up dog poop. But when she’s doing all this, I’m not. Admittedly, I’m fortunate to have her support, and God knows I’ve needed her over the last few years. But I’ve never had to MANAGE this “new” life on my own. Well, not longer than a weekend.

She’ll only be a mile away. It’s walkable or bikeable. She’ll be super close. I’ll miss her, but it’s really time that I figure this all out on my own – as long as she’ll still pick up after the dog. I’m not kidding…

Side note: Hearing us talk about her possible move has been really tough on Ethan. He started crying on the way to grief group Tuesday night, asking if grandma will still sew on his taekwondo patches or help with homework. I drove him by the condo to show how close she’ll be, but he’s still pretty upset by her possibly moving out. I have no idea how Lauren will react since my mom has lived with us since she was just a few months old… We’ll all have to find a new normal, but in the long run, it’ll be good for all of us – I think.

RANDOM: Sparks/Fireworks and Handy Manly

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I’ve written and rewritten this entry a million times, and it’s still not “right.” But I need to get these thoughts out of my head now, so I’m hitting “Publish”…

I had a great time with B on Saturday night. It was nice and comfortable and fun. I smile when I think about him or when he texts or I see his name in my email. (He’s started signing his emails with “Yours” and his name. It’s quite sweet.) Even friends to whom I’ve talked since the date have commented that they can “hear” my smile through the phone. And the ladies in the grief group commented on my smile and laughter last night as I recounted my weekend adventures – one of the ladies who also lost her husband and dad commented, “I like your life.”

(FYI: I’m smiling as I type this…)

Side note: Even if there’s no romantic relationship with B, I think we’d be good friends (but not Insurance Guy kind of friends!), and I’m so thankful that my first date was a positive experience. The experience proved that I CAN date, that I WANT to date, that the time is RIGHT.

But…

Two things keep swirling in my head:

  • Spark versus fireworks: I need to come to terms with the “getting to know” someone stage of dating. Having last dated in college (1995!), that step was nonexistent. I went to a small college – 1,000 students – so dating another student meant we knew everything about each other: hometowns, siblings, what (who) they did last weekend, past relationships, how smart they were. The basics. So when a boy in college took you to the Reflecting Pond and told you that he liked you, there were fireworks because damn, you liked him too – you KNEW him; you KNEW EVERYTHING about him. But things are different as an adult, especially someone pursuing a relationship through online dating. I don’t know anything about these guys, other than what they put in their profiles. (And I’m not sure much of that is accurate…) There’s a period of asking questions and telling stories and listening (and googling to make sure answers match up). Getting to know someone results in sparks and the butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling. Sparks are nice, but I want fireworks. I think fireworks might come after the “get to know” stage. God, I hope there will be fireworks someday with someone…
  • Handy Manly: B is very nice. Kind. Gentle. You can see it in his eyes and facial expressions, hear it in his voice. This guy is a NICE person. And that’s good – don’t get me wrong. But…I keep reflecting on something my mom asked on Sunday: “Is he a manly man?” Well, no, not really, I don’t think so. “Well,” said my mom, “You need to find someone handy – to fix stuff. Mike sucked at fixing stuff. You need someone who’s not soft.” Now, Mike wasn’t a manly man. In fact, he was far from it. He couldn’t build or fix things. He didn’t hunt or fish. I teased that he was “handy for a lawyer” but truth was Mike couldn’t saw, hammer, or wrench his way out of a paper bag. Sure, it would be nice to have someone “fix stuff” but that’s hardly my sole criteria for finding a partner. Hell, in the last year, I’ve learned to use a snow blower, hang shelves straight the first time, and fix a leaky toilet – I’m doing okay with handy stuff on my own. But her words keep ringing in my ears… I’ve been talking to B for almost a month now; we’ve been on exactly one date – “how handy are you?” hasn’t exactly come up in conversation but I don’t get the feeling that he’s super-duper handy. I think my mom’s whole criticism stems from my dad, who was extremely handy and very tough – he was manly, for sure. She compares all men against him, but quite frankly, men today are much different from those of her generation. If he’s nice and kind, why should it matter?

Add to the list criteria other people think I should/do have: does not run marathons and handy around the house. Oh boy!

First date with B

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What a ridiculously fantastic weekend! I’m exhausted from laughing and smiling and good conversation and…fun.

Friday, Ethan tested for his next taekwondo belt. He did great and will be receiving his high purple belt this week. I also met with the school system about transitioning Lauren to a speech program in the fall. She’s been tested and qualifies for a special group two days a week.

But then…

Saturday was the big first date with B. I wasn’t really nervous, but more anxious. I prepared thought starter questions, in case our conversation lulled. I researched the restaurant at which we were meeting to make sure I would be dressed appropriately and to get a sense of the wine list. I checked out a few different routes to get there, since there was a baseball game and traffic was sure to be a mess.

Sporting dressy denim, a black sweater (too low-cut? Major cleavage debates happened in my head before I decided a little peak of one – two? – of my best assets was probably okay), a bright turquoise scarf (he said he favors jewel tones), and black and pewter ballet flats (I suspected he might not be too tall so heels were a no), I set off for the restaurant. In my inability to ever be late, I arrived almost 20 minutes early. I drove around the neighborhood for a while before finding a spot in the small parking lot.

I surfed Facebook for a while. Called my sister to talk about my niece’s prom that night. Listened to empowering music. And tried not to sweat (40 degrees but air conditioning blazing).

About 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet, he called. “Dammit!” I thought as I looked at his name on my phone. “He’s standing me up. I knew it was too good to be true!”

I debated letting the call roll to voicemail, but decided to answer it. His voice was slightly higher than normal. He was obviously uncomfortable.

“You won’t believe this…” he began. “I am so excited to meet you, so looking forward to tonight…” Turns out, he locked himself out of the house. Keys in the kitchen. No way in. I laughed (maybe too much, too long), told him it was okay, and that I’d see him soon. (He finally got into the house by shimmying a window in the sun porch and unlocking the back door.)

I texted with a friend, filling her in on what was happening. “I’m sure he’s dying!” she wrote. Instantly, I realized that he was probably ridiculously embarrassed. It wasn’t long before B called again. He was at the restaurant. I told him that I was parked in the lot across the street and I’d meet him in a minute.

As I walked through the lot, I texted my friend to let her know he arrived. I looked up, and he was walking across the street toward me.

He looked slightly different from his photos, but not too different. His dark curly hair was a little longer. Great smile. Intense but very kind and gentle eyes. He was dressed well – denim, white button down shirt, tan blazer. Exactly the kind of look I find wildly attractive – casual, cool, smart.

He told me there was a bit of a wait for our table and asked if I would mind having a drink at the bar first. Um…no…drink would be great. We went upstairs to the bar and he ordered a couple of glasses of wine. We stood and talked for about 15 minutes. Any initial meeting with someone new, even if it isn’t a “date,” is a little awkward – getting into the conversation groove, sizing up and drinking in the other person, finding the right amount of eye contact, absorbing the new environment.

We talked and laughed and soon the awkwardness was gone. A couple offered us their seats at the bar, and we continued talking until our table was ready. We talked, and laughed, and smiled, and had fun for two hours before we decided we probably should order dinner. We talked about everything – our childhoods, our kids, our careers (very similar career experiences), our interests. He complimented me appropriately (not too much, not too little, very sincere). It was nice. There weren’t many conversation lulls.

When dinner came, we both eyed the other’s dish and agreed to sample each other’s. Sharing food, not something I usually do – especially someone I just met. But it was comfortable and seemed right and the swordfish looked amazing (and it was). Conversation continued. We talked for another two and a half hours before we felt pressured to leave (we were the last ones in the restaurant and lights were starting to turn on, chairs were being moved, tables set for the next day).

B walked me back to my car. We stood in the cool night, awkwardness back between us. It was that part of the night when things could go several different ways, and you don’t know which way it’ll go because you can’t read the other person’s mind, and you kind of know want YOU want to do, and you’re trying to read the other person… He was staring at me, and me at him. I broke eye contact and smiled, looking down. “God, I suck at this,” I thought, smiling.

We talked about how much fun we had, and agreed that we wanted to see each other again. And then he leaned in for a hug. It was nice, the feel of his arms, and a little awkward because it was our first physical contact – how close, how tight, which way to move your head – all awkward that first time. He kissed my cheek. We said good night. I drove home.

He sent me an email about 20 minutes after I got home, thanking me for a great night and reiterated that he wants to see me again. I fell asleep (HOURS later) still smiling.

Side note: I have incredible friends. While many people IRL didn’t know about this date, a few did and the text messages, FB messages, phone calls, and emails I received before, during and after the date were much-needed and very appreciated. Knowing that there are people rooting for you, people who have your back, people who love you so much that they want to just see you happy – it’s truly amazing. XOXO

Coming soon: How I spent my Sunday (another online dating story) and Things were good with B but…

Scholarship

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I knew that Mike’s friends started a memorial scholarship at his former high school in his name. The $500/year scholarship will be awarded each year to a student interested in the theatre. (Mike was in several plays in high school, and continued acting in college on scholarship.)

A year ago, one of Mike’s friends called me to get my reaction to establishing the scholarship as part of the 20th class reunion. “Sounds fine,” I said. Since then, another friend sent me an announcement of the scholarship from the high school newsletter. I put the announcement away with other memorabilia from Mike’s life for Ethan and Lauren.

But today on Facebook, several of Mike’s friends from high school have posted/reposted a note about the scholarship and how it was established in his name by the school – and his parents – with a solicitation for donations to the fund.

WTF?

I’ve mentioned before that my kids aren’t in need of anything. I’m very fortunate that Mike and I had the foresight to have ample assets for the kids. But, come on… his parents haven’t contacted the kids in any meaningful way in more than a year.

I’m pissed that they’re going to give money, attention, and who knows what else, to a scholarship to strangers instead of thinking about their grandkids. Their ONLY grandkids.

(Again, my kids don’t NEED anything, but to get a random package from Grandma and Grandpa with some baseball cards or a princess book – or to know that there were contributions to a college fund for them – would go a LONG way to making my kids feel loved by those assholes.)

His hero

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From Ethan’s school work today:

Ethan's Hero

If I could choose a special person to honor, I would choose my mom. This person is my hero. I would choose this person because she takes care of me. We could honor this hero by being good at home.

At first, I thought all the kids in the class probably wrote about their mom or dad being their heroes, but after talking to a few of the moms, it seems Ethan was the only one in the class. Other kids wrote about Abe Lincoln, Martin Luther King Jr., and George Washington.

My baby boy selected me as his hero. And it feels amazing. REALLY amazing.