What does Proverbs 31:26 know?

I hope the decisions I am making stick.

That sounds like I could be flaky.  Maybe, but only to myself really.  I can’t tell you how many “eat healthy” plans I have started, how many resolutions I have made to exercise, how many times I have made plans to clean, purge, organize, only to feel like a failure when not one, but all of them have fallen apart. I have not finished (or even worked on) the novel.  I have not bagged up all those clothes that I hate (they are still on my closet/bedroom floor).  I have not cleaned my garage, or my Tupperware cabinet, or my bathroom cabinet (or floor, really). I own a really good set of hand weights and a treadmill.  I try to dust them periodically.  I think I still own a bike.  Somewhere. Maybe.

But that is such a different thing than what I do for people.  Everyone except me, it seems.

I make it to work every day.  I make sure my children have underwear and lunch.  I have gone on field trips, and baked cookies, and been the taxi for a lot of events. I visit friends who are only in town for the day, or travel to them when they are “close”, having come in from another state or country and really, California is not *that* big, right? I make phone calls to meet time zone requirements, even at the price of sleep.  I listen to heartaches and joys, sometimes when the space between us makes me ache to touch them.  Truly. I love doing it.  My children, my family, my friends. Connection. People are the reason I breathe. 

So why is this the wrong thing to do inside of potentially romantic relationships? Or actual romantic relationships? Or just dating? Or sex hookups?  Why is the connection not allowed?  They are people, right? These men I invite into my head and heart and bed, they *are* actually people, right?

But that doesn’t seem to be the case.

I get really excited meeting new men.  Very much actually.  I figure I have weeded through 10 gazillion profiles, of men who are cheating on their wives (please don’t tell them), who are bi and just want a chick to hang out and watch them while they take it from the guy (maybe my boyfriend, you know, if I could just arrange that for him),  who are only looking for FWB-hookup-bootie-call-wanna-do-it-in-the-park-car-rent-by-the-hour-motel-could-you-pay-cuz-I-am-behind-on-my-child-support. So if I got past all that, to an actual date, I have to be both insane, and stupidly hopeful.  And one date is great.  Two dates is better.  Talking on the phone, texting to say hi, laughing as we get to know each other is perfect.

But maybe not.

Because I have got to date three or four a few times.  I have been hopeful that the guy meant the texts and comments that said they were enjoying themselves, and please could we see each other again.  I have for sure kissed them.  I probably had sex with them.  I have probably contemplated how to have a date that includes my friends (vetting, it is a real thing), and I have probably shared some of my disasters.  We will have laughed, because we are all just people, and people are more than likely similar, and have the same stories in different packages.

So when did it become a terrible thing that I actually WANT to be in contact with someone I am getting to know?  No, I did not invite you to move into my house.  No, I did not ask you to let me move in to yours.  No, I did not ask you to come to my daughter’s debate team luncheon (I barely want to go to these events, I would not torture you with it), or be an umpire at my son’s baseball game, or help me sort books at the Friends of the Library sale.  I didn’t ask you to pay my taxes, or drive three hours for a lunch date, or meet my brother, or even ask you to stop dating other people (yet.  We haven’t had that conversation.)  I didn’t ask you to get a tattoo of our anniversary date, or buy me a ring, or get on one knee.  What I asked for was to say Good Morning back when I texted, maybe just once every couple days.  I asked you to actually call when you said you would. Like at 9 or so, after the game is over, and the kids are in bed, and you are not too drunk to hit redial. I asked you to plan a date you said you wanted when you left on Sunday morning, sometime before I accept another one with someone else because you didn’t make plans. 

I am not clingy or needy or bitchy because I want you to be interested, too.  Get to know me, too. Is it too much to expect you to find out a little bit about why I told you I like the new Maroon 5 CD, or why I am pouring a glass of the new Napa Valley Riesling, or if you had ever seen a particular movie, or if after telling me you were gone hiking without cell coverage on Friday, though the weekend, that you say you made it safely out on maybe Monday or Tuesday?  I am not trying to take over your world.  I am trying to share mine by whatever means we have available to each other in the limited amount of time and space in our very very busy universes.

That said, the fact that you are not coming through says something.  Maybe it is me.

Am I just flaky, or are you expecting me to be because of what society has said to you about the nature of commitment? Should I be a FWB, GGG, DTF, BDSM, 420, BBW, DDF, and HUR? Is that what I need to be to get your attention?  How about instead of all that, I just be myself? 

So this goes back to my original line about hoping my decisions stick.  I have made some of the decisions about relationships, and weight, and exercise, and cleaning before.  Resolutions, promises, plans, blah blah blah.  What I think has been missing is a really true loving kindness to myself.  I am kind to others, why not to myself? Why do I need to be sexy, thin, seductive, demure, readily available yet distant and uninterested, a mom, a cheerleader, super forgiving, never angry, AND have a clean house, no baggage, and the self-esteem of a mosquito to meet another person’s requirement?  And more importantly, do I HAVE TO keep beating myself up about it because I am not perfect?  Of course you didn’t call back, because I know all my flaws and I could not possibly live up to being normal, much less fantasy, material, right?  I know it, because kindness and forgiveness to myself is not really possible in this body, in this house, in this history.  I don’t deserve you.

So the decision is to not feel that way with EVERY.SINGLE.PERSON I meet. It is about finding value in exactly who I am and in the amazing things I offer. While at the same time being kind and willing to see my flaws, embrace them and change the ones I can, without judgement. I seriously wonder what that is gonna look like in practice.  Maybe like a clean kitchen.

*She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.* ~~Proverbs 31:26

 

 

 

 

The day to day of a working girl

Tomorrow marks the end of the first three weeks at my new job.  I am bored.

Don’t get me wrong, I actually like the new job.  I just already know it.  Like pretty much everything about it.  I have done this kind of work for years, and but for a couple little tricks and local policies, this is the same job.

The cons: 

The new office location is in the basement of a really wonderful building.  Truly, the architecture is wonderful, the grounds are wonderful, the artwork is wonderful. I just don’t have a window to see any of it. And worse, the basement means zero cell reception.  So while I can connect to the network and have internet on my personal device, I cannot receive any phone calls or texts. None.  Which meant that I changed all the emergency numbers for my kids’ schools to my actual office number and I now receive all of my school notices for things like PTA meetings and basketball games to my work voicemail.  The upside is that I have visual voicemail so it gets sent to my email to listen to or read.  The downside is I have visual voicemail so it gets sent to my email to listen to or read. It is funny that the same technology cannot enter TWO numbers at the school in case my child is bleeding to death, but it CAN call me 17 a day to remind me that my child needs a good night’s sleep. Basement location is a con.

The new office is super friendly.  Which means you say hi to everyone.  Every six seconds or so. We have a bell the clients can ring if, for some strange reason, we did not see you standing there, saying hi every six seconds. And more than a few people we have already said hi to think that ringing the bell is just sweet, like a noise that we would not find annoying because, well, they said hi while ringing it.  Super friendly like, and often while giggling about ringing it to begin with.  Three weeks in, and you would not believe how many people ring the bell when we are actually talking to them.

The work never changes.  There are no problems to solve (but for the little bit of learning curve already mentioned). It is the same thing, different person.  Truly it is the same questions, the same logic, the same concerns.  We babysit everyone, and (see above) they are super friendly about it, but really, three weeks in, and unless there is some specialized type of something that comes up, this will be it. Every day. Forever.

There is not enough work.  I know that this should not even matter, because I make the same money, don’t have to fight for parking, have a computer, nice coworkers, music to listen to, a fan on my desk, and a cool stapler. And a friend pointed out to me that maybe I just forgot what a normal workload looks like, because it had been so long since I had had a normal workload, that this just might be what people who have regular jobs do. Like they go home at the end of the day with a semi clean desk and having accomplished some things, and then the work just continues without being fucking stupid busy all the fucking time (clearly I still have some resentment about my last job). But I feel like I could use a little more work to fill my day.  Even if it was just more of the same, just a bit MORE would be good.

I see military officers all day.  Like fit, hardworking military officers.  Sexy, hot, funny, intelligent military officers.  This should not be in the con section, right? Um, yeah, they are all really young, relatively arrogant, and taken.  Yep, married/ engaged/ GF/ BF/ committed.  So eye candy, but not a single actual prospect for dates and stuff. 

The pros:

It is not my old job.

I have plenty of time to update my resume and apply for other jobs and it does not even effect my work.  Like not at all. Work is done, still got time. No one even questions it, like I am adult who can manage my time and all, all by myself. *snicker*

See this blog?  Yeah, I got to write it at work. Best. Pro. Ever.

 

 

 

A little sugar on the side

I have come to the conclusion that there might be a chance that I am a terrible romantic partner. Like truly sucky.  Totally fucking clueless.

Let me back up a bit and tell you where this is coming from.

I love men.  Truly.  Men are amazing.  They offer things that women just can’t.  It is not sexist, or bashing in any way a woman’s abilities (women are more badass than most give us credit for) but men offer me a point of view about myself that I crave.  Is it lust, or fierceness, or certainty? I don’t know.

Don’t get me wrong, I know where my boundaries are with most men.  Married men are off limits, though, honestly, I have seriously sexy married male friends.  The fact that they are in loving, monogamous relationships is probably one of the things I like about them most, and I would be stupid not to notice it.  It is hopeful that maybe, just maybe, one of those kind of men will show up and be like that with me.  It is not really that hard to imagine, because, contrary to the way I behave with some men, I am never ever stupid with my married male friends.  I respect them and their wife/lover/partner too much.  It is not an issue.

I also know what men are not right for me (or me for them, for that matter) for a variety of other reasons.  Gay, living in another country, in prison, underage, the maturity of someone underage, really long nose hair, drives an H2 for all the compensating reasons, hates their own children and has never paid child support, or votes based on Fox News endorsements all come quickly to mind.  I know better (you would think so, at least) that I would be able to clearly differentiate the “yes” and “no” list by now.

But maybe not.

I have, with the help of a very good friend, been exploring a concept I call “cupcaking”.  It is the thought that, inside of relationships, you give in completely to the other person’s desires, and even, if not intentionally, CHANGE who you are to meet their needs.  In the clinical diagnostic sense, this looks a lot like codependency. But being a cupcake can be deeper than that.  It is deeper because it is not always to the knowledge or desires of the person who is the cupcake, and it is not always bad.

For me, it happens almost exclusively inside of relationships where there is a romantic component.  I give too fast.  I give what they ask for.  I do not hold them accountable for bad behavior. I let them dictate how and when we see each other.  I ask for almost nothing in return.  I play the victim, I act perfect, I profess love and devotion, I spin perfect scenarios of community and connection.  Fuck, I must be exhausting.  Who the fuck wants that?  I mean, I am a cupcake.  I am pretty for a while, sweet as sugar, devoured in a temporary bit of normal human desire, and then easily licked or washed off as if I didn’t exist to begin with.  There are always more cupcakes, so what makes me special? Nothing. Nothing at all.

That is why I suck at romantic relationships.  I pick men who know this and will use it.  I am drawn to the devourers.  To the hot heads who confuse anger with intensity.  The ones who say they want something, ask for it even, but given the actual chance to prove it, will brush it off.  Not their fault, I picked them.  I know there are amazing men out there, and that boundaries for interaction are good (see a few paragraphs above for the things I know my place about), I just have no success at doing this when it comes to romance.

And I want it.  I want the men who are single, sexy as fuck, driven, passionate, honest, caring, focused, determined, trustworthy, to see in me what I see in them, and help me by not being an asshole in the process while we get to know each other, and accept each other because of and despite the flaws we both know are there.  Until then, I will probably continue to be fucking clueless.

I plan to explore my cupcake tendencies further.  See how many ways there are to cupcake relationships that I have been guilty of.  Try to work my way out of them, and ask for people (read that as both friends and men) to go ahead and hit me upside the head with a 2 x 4 when they see me doing it.

Today, I am going to go get my toenails all done instead.  I hope there is a cupcake bakery near the salon.

Single-hood-ness-ish-like

I have had a lot of folks around me in the last several weeks talking about their current relationships. 

Some of the relationships are ending.  Some are leaving marriages (or have been left).  Some are dumping boyfriends or girlfriends.  Some are even mutually agreeing to go their separate ways.   These always have reasons.  Reasons for some of them seem obscure and out of left field, and I am sad to see these end because in the world-that-I-spin-in-my-head these are the relationships I had pinned my hopes to, the ones that offered the best glimpse of connections that are working.  I feel shocked when I hear the stories, always from the side of the person I am closest to at the time of the split, because who are we kidding, none of us are really gracious enough to stay truly neutral to friends who were “couple friends” once they aren’t a couple any more.  I can say, at least for myself, that I have very few couple friends even among the friends who are still in relationships.  I wonder if they ever really were “couples”, and that was how I always saw them, or if I really ever only wanted to be friends with one of the two, and the other person was just part of the package deal. A two-fer that I didn’t mind, but would not have picked. So hearing that person’s side sorta divides the camp anyway, but there is still a person missing at the end.  I wonder who I miss.

And there is always some terrible story.  Dishonesty in heart and body; addiction and selfish behavior; finances lost; lack of sex and affection; complete and total loss of love.  It breaks my heart.  I so want them to work, right up until I don’t, and then I have an opinion and can’t go back even if I wanted to.  I get it that I will support the friend that is left, and help them through whatever emotional disconnect they reign upon themselves, even if they are (in my opinion) stupid for trying to get back together.  I mean, didn’t I just hear their entire story of adultery and betrayal.  Didn’t I just hear about the gambling, and the drinking, and the never bathing, and how he or she wouldn’t change a diaper, but had no problems hoarding the remote?  Wasn’t I supposed to form an opinion?

But those who eventually recognize all the misery they are leaving, even if it was by mutual decision, are not the ones who worry me.  They will be fine.  They found love, found their limits, let love go, and moved on.  There is an adjustment time, depending on the severity and reasons for the split, but eventually, they do okay.  Time will heal them, and, given the right amount of friends who landed on their side of the line and a good vintage on a few bottles of wine, they won’t regret it.

The ones I worry about are the ones who jump out of one relationship they have labeled as “bad” back into another one.  It is my friends who have just been cheated on and so the relationship ended, who started dating someone who is still married.  It is my friends who left a relationship because there was never any money who hook up with someone who is unemployed.  It is my friends who have been fighting with their children’s other parent about lack of child support coming on time and missed visitation who get involved with someone who hasn’t seen their own child in months, and can’t remember the last time they wrote a check or called on a birthday. I want to shake them and yell “What the fuck are you doing?”  What makes that guy who is still married and cheating so great?  Why is the chick who ran up $70,000 in credit card debt and asks you for grocery and cigarette money so hot?  Since when is the dude with his drug dealer on speed dial and a history of having domestic calls to his apartment all that?  Misunderstood? Doing his best? Really a great guy? Emotionally mature but just fearful of commitment?  Who are these losers, and why are you even speaking to them? 

Maybe my friends are just living the life I would live too if my head was wrapped a different way.  I used to think I needed to have someone (anyone?) in my life who would have me just to keep from feeling alone, being alone.  Yes, it is crazy making to be raising two kids on my own, and a little adult help would be awesome.  Yes, an adult beverage in the form of happy hour after work with someone of equal desire for a laughs would be so welcome.  Yes, sex on a regular basis with someone who has a toothbrush in the cupholder on the sink would be great. But what of myself do I have to give up (again?) this time to have that?

I have been legit single from my marriage for about 6 years.  I have been single from a boyfriend of 9 months for about a year.  I have dated several people for a couple months at a time, and also not dated at all.  I have had both the excitement and tingliness of new people, and the boredom of it when they are not the right one and I stay anyway.  I have both turned into a mushy little cupcake of wanting to please the person by becoming what they want most (I am actually really good at being a codependent little flake), and being exactly the opposite of what they desire on purpose so they can just go away.

What this says about me, mostly, is that I am no longer accepting of behaviors that don’t move me, my likes, my life, and my love forward.  It says that I actually kinda like my life, flaws and all, as something I want to not compromise.  That really strong feeling that I am happy, all by myself, and that if I am blessed enough to meet someone who can move me to believe I want to change that, I will be open and willing.  Whoo hoo, a whole person I do not have to fix, who’s best quality is going to be his love, and life, and authenticity as it melds in my world, as much as I meld in his.

Back to the relationships of others for a second.  Trust me when I say there is no judgement in my desire for my friend’s happiness, I mean it.  I want them to feel whole all by themselves, and feel valued and loved in healthy, happy ways.  I also want them all to find the line that makes another mistake minimized.  Not to cut off love before it starts, but to cut off heartache.  Is that really too much to ask?  Too much to model?  Too much to work every day for?  I don’t think so.  But then again, I am single, in a really amazing relationship with myself.  I will (continue) to let you know how that is working out. Maybe over coffee (or wine) and we can share some of it together.  Build a good relationship that lasts.  I’m in.

 

 

After the pennant

There are tons of anniversaries that are all about celebrating.

Today is not one of them.

One year ago today my father died.  Daddy.  

That pretty much covers the entire feeling of today.  Everyone knows exactly, or can imagine, what that feels like.  I miss him. 

That’s not really fair though, is it.? I have adjusted to life without him, and, to truly be honest, have to tell you that I had missed him for a long time.  He had been sick for so long.  The end of his 85 year long life had been capped with not being able to walk without pain, not being able to breathe without feeling like there was a brick on his chest, not being able to sleep, not being independent, and not having many friends left to commiserate with.  My mom would disagree with me. But my dad loved her so much that he stayed because of her.  He stayed because she needed him to. It was a gift.

Today I will find a way to connect with my mom, to acknowledge her hurt.  I will suck at it, because I am not sad the way she is.  I am much more like my dad that way, not afraid of carrying on, and not afraid of dying.  He wasn’t afraid of it for himself.  Maybe a little, like the rest of us, but he never showed it.  He was ready, in a way that was both resigned and graceful. I hope I can be that kind of cool.

So, to remember him, I invite you to read the blog I wrote about him last year, right before he died.  I loved him then.  I love him now. 

Top of the first, bases loaded:

http://wishesinthesand.blogspot.com/2015/04/top-of-first-bases-loaded.html

Black and white film

There are things in this world that make me go “Huh?”  At least I know I am not crazy.

I have talked before about my ex, and specifically about how my world was inside of my relationship with him.  Having been out of it for long enough now, I  know better than to ask my ex for anything and expect cooperation. So when he recently showed up for some stuff my son has been struggling with, and that I have been frustrated with, it was a pleasant surprise.  I saw it as a positive that maybe he was coming around to seeing my children’s needs without having to get too wrapped up in fueling out rather tamed animosity.  Go parenting 101!

Because of that very fact, and because I never have to interact with him for things that *I* want, I had forgotten.  Forgotten that every single thing that you want from him comes with strings, comes with a price.  The price is always framed as “of your own choosing”. For me, it was always affection that was withheld because of some error or task not completed to his liking.  Everything from the dishwasher not loaded correctly, to my socks on the floor in front of my closet, to not being sexually aroused enough when I was woke up in the middle of the night, were all fatal flaws worthy of his passive distain and active rejection of my desires for intimacy and shared activities.  He would withhold a hug or a kiss, or not participate in a scheduled activity, claiming to be too tired from having to complete said chore to be able to go.  I didn’t unload the dishwasher, so he would, but then it meant he would not go with me to the beach in a pouty fit of exhaustion.

I did not know that he had been doing this exact same thing to my kids.  

My son desperately wants his father’s attention.  He wants to please him and spend time with him, building male bonds and doing male stuff.  In my son’s head, shooting BB guns, playing video games, going for bike rides, and hunting the beach for seaglass at the local beach dump are all the most perfect activities to do with his dad.  He is, after all, 12.  So when given the option of helping clean out the car, or play video games, video games are an easy choice.  Even I get that one, duh. This however has recently been met with the same kind of dismissal of blame as I used to get.  Seems if my son chooses to play video games instead of clean the car, suddenly his dad is too tired from not having gotten any help with the task that he cannot possibly go on the hike they had planned.  Or bike ride. Or movie. Or beach day.  Nothing.  My son gets nothing if he did not comply.  And of course, my ex quickly points out all the reasons why this is now my son’s fault.  

Oh. My. God. This is gaslighting.

I had forgotten just how much this happened.  I no longer had it in my life, but never imagined that my children would now be the targets.  This is not ordinary behavior. This is narcissistic, selfish, sociopath behavior.  And worse, my son was starting to believe it.  Like literally thinking that he was a bad son because he was not helping his dad with chores and needed to be punished because he made normal kid choices.  His dad, according to him, was right to not spend any extra time with him because he had so failed his dad by choosing Mario Kart instead of a hand-held vacuum.  My son was beginning to believe that he deserved to have his dad ignore him.  He believed he was wasting his time playing video games when he could have spent it with his dad, and that his dad not wanting at some later point in the day was completely his fault, and that he was to blame.

I was almost in tears as I cuddled next to my son and told him it is not his fault.  I told him that no matter what he did, if the adult does not want to do what they had said they were going to do, this is not the kid’s fault.  I told him that people who make plans that they don’t follow through on over and over again never wanted to do them to begin with, but would find a way to make your disappointment at their bad behavior all about something you had done.  I told him about times this had happened while his dad and I were still together where I believed I had so failed him that I did not ever feel worthy of having even the small things I requested.  I was never ever good enough to get any form of affection, and in my head, that was exactly what I had earned.  I said I was sorry that it was happening to him.

Together we went through all the things that should be withheld for cause, and things that should never be withheld.  We talked about hugs just being given, but that chores need to be done before you get to play.  We said that planned trips should not be canceled, but that preparations that are required need to be finished first.  Changing the plans was not okay, especially when the requirements for the anticipated plans were never outlined.  You cannot be held responsible for not knowing there were rules. 

I don’t think I have him completely convince yet.  His dad still walks on water, and with the little bit of praise and attention my son gets it is natural that he holds on tight to every bit of it.  I get it.  That is a hard position to even grasp who you are, much less walk away from. I had this kind of blame in my life before, and you begin to believe that you must accept what you get because it is so fragile, and that it might be taken at any time, and then where would you be.

Where would he be?  I couldn’t even be angry with his logic.  He is, after all, 12.  I guess I will just have to continue to show him.  Stay so consistent and in his corner that when and if he realizes what little he is getting he will know where to recharge.  He will have a safe place to fall, and someone to pick him back up.  Every bit of parenting skill I have to love him through it, even when I know that the very things I consider consistent might be exactly what he fights against.  There is no power play at work on my end, but there are expectations.  There is no punishment for offered choices, but there are still required chores.  There is no canceling of already made plans, but there is a limiting on plans that can be made.  I will play the hard game when I have to, but I will also not punish by neglect when things are done right.  There may not be a lot of material rewards in the process, but I hope he can find consistent drive for himself without having to rely on manipulation.  I will be his biggest cheerleader when he succeeds, and know that, really, I will have taught him to trust himself without me.  I will be the good parent, even if I am not the one he likes.  Love is like that.

Maybe next time I think “huh?” my son will be looking in the same direction I am and will be thinking the same thing, and that it really is not us, and we are not crazy. Then maybe we will have to watch the Ingrid Berman film together.

Honey-Dos

I haven’t written a blog since July of 2015.  Yep, six months ago.

At my last posting I had just had my heart stomped at the end of a 9 month affair with someone that was not really every right for me, but who I loved just the same.  I don’t miss him, not really, at least not the actual him, but more what I loved about being inside of an “us”.  I realize I like the idea of being married or partnered, if not the actuality of being married, and want the stuff that goes with the partnership (and not just the sex, though…).

I got to have what I call a “husband” moment a few times recently.  By “husband” I mean that a man helped me with something man-like, and did it because I asked.  It was not that I could not have done it.  I could have.  I am actually really good at lots and lots of stuff that is traditionally male, and so are my girlfriends (we actually excel at this as a group, so this is not a feminist issue at all).  But there really is something kinda great about having a man in your life, outside of the bedroom, to just do stuff.

My daughter is working on a project that needs construction.  This involves power tools.  I own power tools.  I have a miter saw, a tile saw, a sander, a skil saw, a router and router table, and a wood lathe.  What she needed was a jigsaw.  I do not own a jigsaw.  So I asked a friend if he had one.  He did. He came over, brought his jigsaw and pack of saw blades, and cut the item she needed cut.  Could I have done it? Absolutely! Could I have just gone to the hardware store and purchased myself another power tool? You bet! The fact that he showed up, did it with me, and that we talked and laughed and worked as a team just because I asked is was what made it a husband moment.  I love him for it.

I have a queen-sized bed.  Well, really, I have a queen sized box spring and mattress on one of those metal Hollywood frames.  The frame is up on cinderblocks for the footing because I wanted the bed a little higher.  This, however, makes the mattress harder to turn and move, and the frame squeaks. I needed to turn the mattress, and tighten the screws.  So I asked a friend to help me. He did.  We moved the mattress, he moved the box spring, and with tools he carries in his car (people do this? Oh wait, um, men do this), he adjusted the frame, added a stabilizer, put felt pads on the bottom of the cinderblocks, and helped put the bed back together.  Could I have moved the bed? Yep, too easy.  Could I have found tools in my garage to tighten everything and add a bracket? Sure, no problem! The fact that he showed up, did it with me, and that we talked and laughed and worked as a team is what made it a husband moment.  And I love him for it.

A couple weeks ago, my son finally had the beginning of what I hope is his light bulb moment.  He has been struggling for a while with puberty, loss, existential thoughts of his place in the world, and boredom.  I am his mom, and though I get it that he is changing, I am still female, and even with a wonderful tribe of strong women, our estrogen is not really going to meet his testosterone needs. I needed a male just to talk to him, figure out what is going on, and try to explain it to me so I can participate.  So, I asked for help. And set up a Skype call to one of my best friends, a guy who understands my language, and could translate my son’s language for me.  After the video call, I got the debrief and heard, from a male point of view, what my son is saying and doing.  Could I have been there for my son for all the things listed? Of course, and I am, and always have been.  Could I have found a way to talk to my son the same way? Maybe. But my friend is male and that was the part that made the difference.  The fact that he showed up, did it with me, and that we talked and laughed and worked as a team is what made it a husband moment.  And I love him for it.

So, how does this translate in to my real world, and my desires?  I know that it means I know that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and my kids. I think it also means that I can recognize in myself that just because I am strong and able, doesn’t mean I can accept assistance.  I think it also means that I absolutely appreciate the things that only men in my life provide.  No, I am not changing my absolute knowledge that women are amazing and worthy and really do run the world with their energy and abilities and skills.  I know that, deep down, I have zero issues in getting things done when they need to be done. 

There is not neediness in the statement that I like the partnership that men provide me.  I love men.  I’d love to have one (even any of the ones listed above) in my life in a partnership beyond what they already provide.  I can see it, without any of the requirements to doing it in any traditional fashion, or even any of the moves to make it happen.  None of it is so pressing that I am worried about it, but it did make me realize that I like it.  I mean like in a way that makes me open to having partnership in a real way.  For the first time in a while (could it be six months?) this feels like an okay thing. It might just be happiness talking, or maybe just being more comfortable in my own skin to ask for help, but I like it.

If nothing else, it got me to write a blog.