Tag Archives: questions

The too-short, too-busy weekend

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Weekends like this last one make me wish for an extra day for recovery. So much to do, so much fun, so tired on Monday morning.

It started with arriving on my alma mater’s campus late on Friday. Too late to make the formal senior banquet, but that’s okay. Instead of changing into my sassy new dress (which I’m kind of disappointed about…I’ll have to find somewhere else to wear it), I walked into the ballroom, wearing jeans and a sweater, in time to hear the last 10 minutes of the “thank you” speeches.

The bar was closed, but I smiled sweetly and asked politely for two glasses of wine – it was a long drive through crazy Chicago traffic and I needed it. I was cornered by one of the college’s executives who made a weird, sort-of job pitch. I was pinned to the wall as she was trying to talk me into submitting a resume for a newly created position, and “wouldn’t you like to talk to the college president RIGHT NOW? He’s just over there…” Um, no. I just wanted to get my drink on and have a good time. Besides, I cannot relocate the kids again so soon. Would I like to work at my alma mater? Yes. But not now. Not for several years. But, um, thanks?

I was in a particularly social mood, but none of the usual suspects were planning on doing anything that night. Everyone was going back to the dorm or had other plans. Then I found two guys who graduated with me. They were deep in conversation, but after drinking those two glasses of wine in record time, I was feeling okay with interrupting their convo and finding out what they were up to.

I’ve known these two guys since freshman year. Super nice, super fun, and of course, they were eager to continue to drink. We ended up at the college bar (it’s a dry campus…with a bar). The Midwest rains left half of the bar underwater, but that didn’t stop anyone. With only one part of the bar open and the other (soggy part) blocked off with old church pews, it was crazy crowded.

The guys and I found a table just outside the bar and drank until almost 3 a.m. when the bar closed. It was fun. I don’t usually get to spend time with these two, so siting with them and talking and laughing was awesome.

Side note: If I know you IRL from college, I need to get your perspective on one of these guys. The single one. Who graduated with me. Who was looking particularly amazing with some scruffy facial hair and a well-tailored suit. Specifically, why is this guy still single? Why has he always been single? Am I missing something?

It was a rough Saturday morning, since the board meeting started at 8 a.m. I may have fallen out of bed at one point. That sucked. But I was feeling pretty good that morning. Until the beer and brat tent. After the meeting, the board was staffing the beer and brat tent for the annual spring festivities (a go cart race for alumni and one for students). Standing over vats of grilled meat soaking in boiling beer was nauseating, given my activities the night before. I was not sad when I was told I could leave an hour early.

I left campus and went to a local florist. I knew exactly what I wanted. Finding a single sunflower, I set off for the cemetery. Mike’s grave is in such a pretty spot. It’s off a walking trail, near the river. I knelt at his grave, my knees getting soaked and grass stained from the muddy earth. It was the first time I saw the headstone. I smiled as I placed the sunflower. We had a running joke about sunflowers: I once decorated our bedroom in blue and yellow with sunflower accents. He was not amused. I tried justifying the sunflowers as “manly” flowers – they’re tall, they grow food (seeds), they’re not a girly color like pink. It became something we laughed and joked until the end. It felt playful to place the sunflower on his grave. It felt good, it felt right. (My mom was appalled when I told her that I put a sunflower out. She thought it was “awful” and mean. I disagree.)

B and I exchanged a few texts Friday and Saturday – he had a crazy work weekend, and he knew I was on campus. It was nice. I didn’t tell him about visiting the cemetery. That’s still too weird to talk about with someone I’m casually getting to know. I’m not sure when we’ll see each other next – we both have ridiculous weekend schedules through mid-May, and our weekdays are just as crazy. Boo.

Sunday was another busy day. I had brunch with two good friends from my previous employer. I miss them and the wonderful team there, but I don’t miss the hours or the work or the politics of that place. But the people – they’re awesome. We had a good visit, and I hope we can do it again soon.

Quick stop at home to get Ethan and we were off to the craft store. He has his first communion this weekend, and prep for that important event has been a major pain. It’s become focused on parent-driven arts-and-crafts. No where in the Bible do I remember anyone writing about how important it is to design banners, cut religious symbols out of felt, decorate candles, or bedazzle crosses. Yet, for the last three months, it’s been one project after another. I’ve spent at least $100 on art supplies and countless hours “helping” Ethan to decorate all this stuff. I believe the kid should do his/her own work, and I really work in a supervisory role, helping him think it out and making sure images are appropriate for the religious ceremony. But after submitting our banners a few months ago, I learned that I am almost alone in this belief. Many moms took the lead on their kids’ banners (and admitted it to the rest of us) and you’d think they were competing for an award in elaborate felt design. It was nuts. For this month, we had to decorate a nine-inch white pillar candle. And get decorations to stick on it. And make sure all images were compatible with the child’s “spiritual journey” so far. I bought some scrap-book crosses and peace doves, and used sticky dots to adhere to the candle with the words “love” and “faith” Sharpied across the top and bottom of the candle. I’m not an artsy, crafty person. I hated these projects – glad the candle was the last one. It better be the last one.

The rest of the day was filled with some outside work (yay, nice weather) and playing with the kids. Then grading. Oh my goodness, the end of the semester grading. I did not plan this well and I’m way behind.

I was already tired from the amount of activity this weekend, when at 1 a.m., Lauren got sick. Change the sheets, wash her and change her, then put her in bed with me where she played for an hour before falling asleep. Every cough and sound she made, I was on high alert so she wouldn’t puke in my bed (she didn’t, thank goodness). She was super tired this morning, as was I and Ethan, who woke up when she was crying and calling for me.

One more day would have been nice. One more day for recovery. How many more days until the next weekend? I hope it comes soon… Wait, I’m completely booked next weekend, too. Ugh!

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!

James: how NOT to sell yourself via online dating

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It happened today. I received a message from the most stereotypical man on an online dating site EVER.

According to his profile and the message he sent to me:

James is unemployed. James lives in his parents’ basement. James dropped out of a two-year college. James is still married, but going through a divorce. James thinks he can turn invisible. James doesn’t like tattoos on women, but loves when they have piercings “down there.” James lists his hobby as playing on the computer all day. James plays D&D 15-plus hours a day.

James has a couple of photos with his profile. One features him wearing his “fancy” tie dyed tee-shirt. Another features James eating cake – such a large piece of cake that the food is obstructing his face.

James seems like kind of a loser.

This guy can’t be for real, can he? I mean, how is THIS information persuasive? He’s honest – sure, but how are any of these things selling points for a potential relationship? And what, in my profile, urged him to contact me? (Note to self: reread and edit profile ASAP.)

Relatedly (sort of), I’m meeting B – in person – tomorrow. I’m overcome with a million (conflicting) emotions about my first date since 1995. I can do this without making an ass of myself, right?

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.)