2/10

This Thursday, Zac went to his first (semi)professional game. My organization got free tickets to the Houston Aeros hockey team and I invited West Virginia to go with me. Unfortunately, the day before I was stuck at a board meeting until 9pm and I didn't get a chance to even see Zac before he went to bed. West Viriginia understood and asked me if I could bring Zac to the game.

We met up at my apartment at 6pm and went over, together, to pick up Zac from daycare. What happened there was every single Mom's worst nightmare.

West Viriginia went into the daycare with me.

One of the Shoe Nazis came over and practically squeeled, "Oh h-e-l-l-O!!! We haven't met yet," sticking out her hand in West Virginia's direction. "My name is Happy Happy Joy Joy and I've been with this daycare for 20 years." West Virigina, still shaking her hand managed to introduce himself before she started launched into her speech about Zac.

"Well, you know," she motioned over at Zac, "he is just such a special child. He really has done so well with learning how to walk." Her words were starting to wash over West Virginia, as he realized exactly what she was assuming. My face was getting redder and redder. I was scooping up Zac's bottle and coat as fast as possible, trying to encourage Zac to run out the door for the first time in his life.

The humiliation just kept continuing.

"It is just so great to finally meet you," Happy Happy Joy Joy croned on. "It's great to see families involved with each other. I hope that you come back and see us just as soon as you can."

From the corner of Zac's daycare classroom, I started thinking, "Yep, I've dropped off and picked up Zac every day for the past year - 5 days a week, 50 weeks a year - and suddenly, like magic, a man shows up! It's like I've been blessed by the Daddy fairy for my good behavior."

West Viriginia shook her hand once more and wished her a good night. Zac and I were trying to make our way to the car as fast as possible without making direct eye contact with anyone over the age of 2 to avoid any further embarassment.

When I got into the car, West Viriginia got in, looked at me and laughed. He said, "I was just waiting for her to say how much he looked like me! I was going to tell her that he's a stud and that it runs in the family!!"

We agreed that she's a little flighty, bless her heart.

2/08

Ok, so there were a couple votes for the, "Never Been Married" topic, which might be interesting. I hesitate, though, because much like picking a url that denotes the presence of something (namely an inutero child), picking a blog topic about the absence of something (my lack of marriage/commitment status) might also change.

I can remember sitting across from one of my boyfriends trying to explain that I would never agree to get married until gays and lesbians had the right to marry their partners. I didn't want to support an institution that our government uses to bestow or deny rights and privileges to people based solely on the biological sex of who they fall in love with. Some men get that. To other men, I could have been speaking Farisi while inhaling helium. What I was saying about the cultural discrimination of marriage made that much sense to them. I just figured that I never would get married to a man since I never had the option of marrying a woman.

Much like Pamilia, I'm also not really a big fan of all the accuturements of a wedding. The conflict diamonds, the white dress with lace, the expense and the hysteria that weddings can cause those involved in planning the actual day don't seem to be particularly meaningful symbols to me.

Then the Massachusetts Supreme Court gave gays and lesbians the right to get married, even as Vermont voters were driving around with bumper stickers proclaiming the need to, "Take Back Vermont!" from the ill-begotten stepchild of marriage: the Civil Union. Hawaii had completely reversed its Civil Union policy and only pockets of towns in California were allowing gay marriages, pending review from the California state legislature and judiciary. Then one day, Canada made it ok to be queer and married, even while shivering from the extreme cold and contemplating chopping up the dog house for firewood. That was a beautiful thing.

Yes, somehow, the world didn't collapse when MA started allowing same-sex couples to be joined in matrimony. I found myself rethinking my views on marriage and I realized that it's difficult to give the world ultimatums like, "I will never do...until you..." It's possible and I applaud the people that can do it. I've had to be a little bit more flexible and forgiving of myself.

I could have never predicted that four years after graduating college, I would be a single Mom to an incredibly beautiful child. During my pregnancy, I mourned the loss of my dream of being in a committed relationship and raising a family. I had to forgive myself for my mistakes and embrace the joy and laughter that Zac brings into my life. It was a slowly evolving process to reach that conclusion.

It's the experiences that I've had as a mother and a woman that have forced me to re-evaluate where I stand on issues. "Equal rights for gays and lesbians," is so far from being actualized that somedays I want to look up to the sky and yell: "Why? Why are we letting this go on? Why does it matter to anyone who they take into their hearts and into their beds? Don't we have more pressing issues to deal with as a society?" and then I sigh and once again call myself a hypocrite for letting my coworkers and acquaintances assume that I'm straight.

Yes, I've never been married. To be completely honest, at 26 years-old, I've never even moved in with someone. I've been alone and there are days when I don't want to be alone anymore.

2/07-2

So, I might have a chance to start a paid blogging gig soon. The only problem is, I'm not really sure what I'd like to write about.

I get all of my mommyblog tendencies out on this site and there are already two other single and dating Moms on the other site.

My question is to you, gentle readers, if I were lucky enough to get you to read another blog of mine, what would you like to read more of?

Here are a couple topics that I'm debating writing about:
(A) Weightloss
(B) Mothers and Depression
(C) Working for a Non-profit
(D) Never been Married

or (E) Dear God, woman, don't even think about writing another blog because I can barely stomach this one and only read it because I know you in real life and you will occasionally turn to me and ask, "Did you read my blog yesterday? I wrote about this already."

Ok, here is the rationale. (A) is pretty obvious. I spend a lot of time and money trying to lose weight so it would make sense that I would blog about it. (B) Analyzing the intersection between "Mommy Guilt" and depression, especially generationally. (C) Well, I work for a non-profit and most of my salaried positions have been for non-profits. (D) This phrase tends to come up a lot when I first meet people. Marriage status defines us as individuals and I've spent a lot of time in the past year listening to people talk (endless sometimes) about their exes. I can even tell you the color of underwear and sexual proclivities of some men's ex-wives. Since I've never been married, listening to these stories is akin to listening to someone talk about a mountainclimb to the top of Kilamanjaro (Thank you Dora the Explorer for that reference). I can imagine and I don't really want to go throught it.

Of course there is option (F), which is any fantastic idea that you all have.

Please, please, please....leave a comment and let me know what you think. Otherwise, I will torture you all with more poop stories, so help me God!!!

2/07

Outside of pregnancy, I've never woken up at 4am and thought, "Cookies. Cookies are what I need right now and I'll cry until I get them."

Apparently, I don't have the mind of a toddler.

Zac woke up this morning and demanded cookies. I don't usually cave into his demands, but I have an inherent aversion to being woken up out of a sound sleep. Just imagine an arm reaching out to silence an alarm clock. Without really being fully awake, your body just instinctively tries to stop whatever noise woke you up in the first place.

That's how it was with me last night as I picked Zac up and brought him downstairs. He ran as fast as his little legs could take him into the kitchen, pointed up at the pantry and then looked at me like, "What part of this equation do you not understand? I. WANT. A. COOKIE" I gave him a handful of Nilla Wafers (which are called cookies in my house because the American lexicon lacks words like "biscuit" or "wafer" when referring to a crunchy baked goods) and he dutifully tromped out of the kitchen, up the stairs and back into bed with his cookies.

If that were the end of story, it would have been an uneventful night. It's just that he wouldn't go back to sleep. The Cookie Monster wanted to play. When I wasn't game he ended up kicking me in the back, repeatedly, until 6am or so when we finally both passed out.

I'm at work right now, still tired and bleary-eyed, but smiling. I have an appointment on Friday to see a psychologist and West Virginia came over last night for burritos and bad television. After I made dinner, he cleaned my kitchen and I almost fainted from joy. He admitted that he's a bit of anal, clean-freak. I think if you have to have a compulsion, there are worse ones than the desire to clean someone else's living space.

Especially after that person just cooked you dinner.

2/06

Last night I found my exercising nirvana. I went to B*ally's after work to pay my overdue bill and to get rid of some of my karmic guilt. Two weeks before Christmas, an ATM ate my debit card (or I forgot to take it out of the machine, either one). I ordered a new card and received it just before New Year's Eve.

Since all of my automatic bill payments come directly out of my checking account, it wasn' t a huge deal that I now had a new card number. Except at B*ally's, where they charge the number on your card, instead of withdrawing it from your account.

Between my post-holiday breakdown and Zac's sinus infection turned bloody ear escapade, it's taken me this long to get over to the damn gym to pay my bill. I finally did last night.

While my various cards were being processed, I dropped Zac off in the Kids Club area and sneaked into a step class, right as the class was about to begin.

Normally when I'm at a step class, I'm in the back row, turning the wrong way, clapping at the wrong time, kicking with the wrong foot and/or completely falling off my step and catching my spiraling body with my arms just before I slam my nose into the ground. I did gymnastics for thirteen years and was on the dance team in high school, yet step moves confuse the crap out of me, especially when they are shouted out one beat before you are supposed to perform them.

Apparently, some of the other gyms that I've gone to had professional steppers in the classes. These women knew every move and performed them effortlessly, stopping only to take a sip of their bottled water and pat themselves with a towel. Last night, though, for the first time, I found myself in a room with other step misfits such as myself. It was amazing. Gone were the skinny women in spandex. In were the well-padded, curvy women that hid behind baggy t-shirts and basketball shorts.

I think I'm in love with this class. After 30 minutes, my legs were tired and my dignity was pleasantly still intact. Zac stopped crying as soon as I left the Kids Club and was happy to see me when I went over to pick him up. My cards were processed at the front desk and everything seemed to be alright with the world, just for those 30 minutes at least.

2/5

In between the time when Mr. Tugboat and I "officially" stopped dating and before we started being ambiguous friends, I went on two dates. Tug even referenced them in his first comment on my blog as proof that I had moved on from him and that the pot that was calling the kettle black should stop. That particular kettle is bad at remembering names, so he gave the two men that I went out with nicknames: West Virginia and Zoolander. We always referred to them by those names, even off blogger.

West Virginia is 30. Grew up on a dairy farm in the place that he's named after. When I first met him, the schtick of, "I'm just a poor farmer trying to make good in the big city," was too much for me to handle. I don't idealize rural, farming life, in particular because I once chopped all my own firewood and had to haul my large quantities of my own drinking water. To me, indoor plumbing is a plus and avoiding cows at 4am is even better. West Viriginia agreed, went off to college and is now an IT/Project Manager guy of something to do with water systems and filtration tanks.

Zoolander is 32. Grew up in a suburb of Houston and is an actor/model that lives at home with his parents (no joke). He recently moved back to Houston after trying to "make it" in Austin and is living with his parents to save money to buy a house. His real job is waiting tables at a steakhouse. After interrupting every sentence and trying to turn a backrub into more, I let him know that I wouldn't be seeing him again.

Well, a couple of weeks ago, West Virginia called me, just to see how I was doing. He hadn't heard from me since after Thanksgiving and wanted to catch up. During that phone call, he said the craziest, sweetest thing to me. It was something along the lines of: "Girl, you have so much going for you. You are sweet, beautiful, and funny. I hope you are squeezing your lemon for all it's worth and making some damn fine lemonade."

Let me tell you, there is no better way to ask for a second date than a phrase like that.

More time passed with the promise that we would call each other. We finally did get in touch and I invited him over to watch the second half of the Superbowl with me. He came over, we ate pizza, drank beer, and played with Zac, who wanted no part of ever falling asleep again.

Basically, I had a great time.

He was more comfortable this time and a little less, "Aww...shucks, ma'am" and a little more like an interesting, articulate person. He still had the unbelievably annoying habit of asking me a question, listening to my answer, and then responding immediately with a compliment like: "You have very beautiful eyes," which made me want to throw something (like preferrably a full bottle of Bass Ale) at him for not listening to me. But, all and all, I had fun with a very nice guy.

It just reminded me of standing in a video rental store with Caroline from Austin after my date with John Farmer. She said, "He was such a nice guy, but clearly not for you. He'll make a good mate someday." I quipped, "...to someone that isn't me," and we both laughed and acknowledged the very obvious truth.

When I woke up this morning, I thought, "Maybe it really IS time that I give a nice guy a chance."

2/2

Bloody ears are never a good thing to wake up to. In fact, blood out of any orafice is a down-right awful way to wake up.

Z-man looked at me with a bloody ear this morning and I had no idea to do. There wasn't blood dripping out of it. It was just a little crustiness. A quick glance inside showed me that there was more bloody stuff where that came from.

I tried to get him into an Ear Nose and Throat doctor today, but I couldn't get him in. When I finally got a hold of an after hour nurse that paged the on-call doctor, I was told that a little bit of blood isn't uncommon for kids that have ear tubes. When I asked (ok, shrieked at him), "Do you think his ear drum ruptured??" He answered kindly that his ear drum can't rupture because the tubes have already pierced it.

I said, "Oh" like any over-protective parent would.

I mean..it's blood...coming out of his ear...

Mucus I've learned to handle, blood is something totally different.