What makes me, Me.

I think we are all aware that I do not post photos on this site. But this afternoon, I began composing in my head a List Of Things That Make Me, Me. And I planned the series of (non-identifying) photographs that will show (in a non-identifying manner) those simple, home-y things that I identify with most, those silly little things I can not live without.

And then I remember that I loaned Step-Son my digital camera for his two week trip to his homeland, Portugal.

WTF.

So, forced to face the world without photographic evidence, let me tell you about My Mugs.

I have two: the tea mug, which is pottery, purple, and just generally gorgeous. And the coffee mug, which is brown, plastic, and generally hideous.

The Tea Mug: as mentioned, it is both pottery AND purple, which therefore makes it spectacular. I have had it for 16 years, and am physically unable to drink tea from any other vessel. The people who live in my home know that if no other mug is in the cupboard, they should get a dirty mug out of the dishwasher and clean it by hand if they need a cup. Because, dude? NO ONE touches the purple mug but me. And if I want tea, but the purple mug is dirty? I will get it out of the machine and wash it in the sink.

The truly funny/ironic thing about the tea mug is that is was a Christmas gift to me from my "friend" Monica in 1992. Christmas, kids. And six days later, on New Year's Eve, she sluttily slept with my live-in boyfriend, while the Christmas gifts were still under our tree. No really, she did, and he did. And did I mention that My Live-In-Boyfriend was MY boss, and I was MONICA'S boss? Bad, bad scene all around. Needless to say, the office on Monday was particularly interesting. But despite all the emotional upheaval that followed, hell, I knew a good mug when I saw it. So thanks, Monica, for the fabulous mug, and you can have my boyfriend, too. Oh wait, you realized that a man who would cheat on his live-in girlfriend ONCE was liable to do it again?? Gee, I'm SO SORRY for your pain. Bitch.


But I DO love that mug.

Then there's my coffee mug. It is brown plastic, it is tacky, it is HUGE, and I unwittingly stole it from my Mom (and nobody had to sleep with anybody, thank the Lord). When I moved back to New Brunswick, my Ex-Husband (he was my Husband at the time) and My Son were four months behind. I moved for the career opportunity, and they moved east because of me. So I literally spent four months living in my parents basement, waiting for my Family to show up.

And during those four months, I fell in love with my Mum's Mug. As I just said, it was brown, it was plastic, and it was huge. What I DIDN'T say was that it kept coffee hot for a really, really long time. So when My Husand & Son finally arrived, when we moved in to a home of our own, it was only naural for me (apparently,not so natural for HER) for me to take the mug with me.

That was almost seven years ago, and I still pour my coffee in to the same mug every day. I feel about the Coffee Mug the same way I feel about the Tea Mug: there is only ONE, and God help you if you get in the way.

I take my beverages pretty seriously, you see.

Alone again...naturally

I have mentioned before how much I crave Being Alone. Periodically, I need a few hours by myself to recharge my batteries, to simply exist in absolute silence. There are usually three impediments to these luxurious hours: Husbandly One, Son, and Step-Son.

First off, don't misunderstand me about Son: I am a non-custodial parent (through my own, gut wrenching, selfless choice) so I am ALWAYS thrilled when he is here with me. All I'm saying is that sometimes my time with him occurs when I would otherwise get Alone time. (And the weekends when Husbandly One is around and we could have "Blended family time", something I consider very important? Well, those somehow end up being the weekends that Son is not here.)

ANYWAY, my weekend with Son ended a bit early this afternoon, as he had plans with his father, my Ex-Husband. (Plans I totally supported, by the way)

So one down, two to go.

Husbandly One needed to drive Step-Son three hours away to an international airport so Step-Son could catch a flight to Portugal. They are still gone, and THIS is why I am actually getting alone time.

See, usually, when I AM alone, I know someone will be walking through my door at any unknown second. I can not enjoy my solitude the way I usually do, because I never know when it will end, if you see what I mean. Could be in six hours, sure, but it couls also be in 19 seconds.

I know my Son has gone back to his dad.

I know Husbandly One won't be back for at least three hours.

And I know Step-Son won't be back for two weeks.

Therefore, I am officially ALONE until 5pm today...possibly even longer, but at least I know how much time alone I can 100% count on.

And, this feeling? It is wonderful.

I feel like my veins are no longer filled with normal blood, but with crystal pure water. I feel lighter and more creative. I feel giddy.

Want to read a book? Go for it. Want to take a bath? Knock yourself out. Want to crack a beer? Why not. Want to do some laundry? Strangely, YES, because no one is breathing down my neck about it.

Don't misunderstand me, I do not want to live my life alone, I need love and interaction and conversations and arguments and family jokes and excursions and kisses and debates. But I need this, too.

Why he's so sexy, Reason # 4522859

Tonight Husbandly One sat down to polish his shoes, and said, "Go get me your brown pumps."

My what? I'm sorry, it's the middle of July, I haven't worn pumps in almost two months, nor do I plan to wear them for two months more. I'm all about sexy stiletto sandals right now, thank you very much.

But, while throwing some stuff in the closet earlier today, his eye briefly fell on my discarded shoes, and he remembered. He remembered that those abandonned shoes looked a little dull.

So tonight, he got out the polish and worked it in with a cloth. Then he fit his hand inside each shoe, while his other hand used a brush to buff my shoes to a high gloss.

I said to him, "Do you know how amazing it is that you polish my shoes?"

He said, "But darling, I love to see you wear them."



I WIN, I HAVE THE BEST HUSBANDLY ONE ON THE PLANET.

Elton John tickets

Sold out in half an hour.
Got two.
Me.
Shitty seats.
Don't care.
Freaking out just a wee bit.

Older Men

Ok, I am the first to admit it: I have this Thing about older men. So shoot me.

I know the most popular theory about women who like older men is that they have Daddy Issues. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I had a fabulous father and I have no interest in re-creating him, okay? Because, umm, yuck? That's my DAD, people....soooo do not want to go there.

But I can not deny I have always felt the allure of the Older Man...most notably when I was 19, and my 37 year old boyfriend showed up at my house to meet my parents. I had already moved across the country, but he still wanted to meet my 'rents and get their "permission". To say this meeting did not go well is putting it mildly, but I want you to remember that 18 year age difference. When I was 19, my parents lost their everloving MINDS. But when I pulled the same stunt at 33, with my 51 year old boyfriend in tow, they were willing to listen.

No, I have not always gravitated to Older Men. My Ex-Husband is less than two years older than me. And prior to my marriage, I had a couple serious boyfriends who were actually younger than me. .. but they never lasted. So why the Older Man?

I have no clear idea. I always wanted someone who had not only "cut the apron strings" with their Mommy, but had FURTHER had the time to get their shit together, to make something of themselves. I am NOT talking about money when it comes to "make something of yourself"....all I ask is that you know who you are, know that you are willing to live that truth, and know that you are willing to kiss my neck in that exact spot. I am a simple woman with simple pleasures.

But now.

Now, for the first time, I am finding out what it means to love an Older Man.

Arthritis? Check. Bad back? Check. Crazy blood sugar? Check. Can't make love very often because it physically hurts him? CHECK.

I suppose that, if I was also in my late 50's, I'd have a better understanding. But DUDES, I am only 38 years old, I want to go hiking, I want to go camping, I want to play mini-putt, I want to make love. But sometmies, I can't have those things.

Who am I kidding, I can't have those things MOST of the time.

But -- and here's the kicker -- I really don't care.

I am so stupidly, mind-blowingly in love with him that nothing else matters. I GET TO HAVE HIM. He comes home to me every night. He kisses me "good morning" every day, he kisses me "good night" every night. And at some point during our work day, he'll look me up & down and declare, "You are so beautiful."

Did my life end up where I thought it would? No. Would I prefer a husband who was closer to my age? Frankly, yes. Would I trade Husbandly One for anything? Not in a million years.

I love you, baby.

Need a favour

Ok, I asked you guys to delurk and you didn't. I'm cool with that.

But really? Can I ask a huge favour?

My brother is a musician. My brother is talented in ways I can not even begin to describe. It looks like his band may be thiiiiiiiis close to finally getting some professional attention (ie, record deal.)

ALL I ASK is that you go to their website. That's it, I'm not asking you to like the music (I like some of it, but not all), I'm not asking you to buy anything. They just need traffic. (And NOTHING on the site shows how talented my brother is... he is the guitarist and if you could only see the video clip of him on their DVD, playing around with his axes, you would fall on your knees. I may be biased, but I ain't THAT biased....and I still say my brother could change your freaking religion.)

So, please, give me thirty seconds of your time for a good cause. Please visit www.automan.ca .
And, for some reason, it is FURTHER preferable if you then click in to their MySpace (shudder!) link.

(And the cover of the new album? My brother is the one standing up.)

(how come HE inherited the blonde hair and long eyelashes? Bastard.)

Happy Birthday, Daddy

Today, you would have turned 63 years old.

You preferred to take the first two weeks of July off, so I suspect you would have been on vacation today. Or maybe Mum would have finally convinced you to retire. Either way, I know you would not have been at work today.

You would have spent the early part of the day playing on your computer. Then either you and Mum would have gone to fly kites, or to pick up your gift, or maybe you would have spent the afternoon reading in the hammock. Whatever the activity was for the afternoon, it wouldn't have been too strenuous.

About an hour ago, I would have been on my way over to your house with my little family. You would have given me a quick hug, spoken fondly to my Son, and then pulled my Husbandly One aside to either tell him a dirty joke or show him your gift. Mum would have been in the kitchen, slowly sipping a beer while she barbequed dinner and made salad. My Sister would have stopped whatever she was helping Mum with to play with my Son. I would have stood at the end of the kitchen island, talking, and completing whatever small tasks Mum gave me: set the table, grab those rolls, get another chair from the basement.

Right about now, we would have sat down to dinner as a family. There would have been lots of conversation, lots of in-jokes, a few big laughs. After we ate, we all would have worked together quietly to put things in the dishwasher, wrap leftovers, make coffee, refresh drinks.

And then you would have opened your gifts. If Mum hadn't already given you her gift, it would be saved for the end, because everyone knows the gift from Mum was always a serious gift. You would open the little things from my sister and me, you would be thrilled with whatever we had bought. You would laugh over our birthday cards, the ones where we (traditionally) always vie to the declared Your Favourite. During the gift opening, my Brother would call from Toronto, wishing he could be here with the rest of us. You would talk on the phone, while the rest of us spoke quietly amongst ourselves during this pause....quietly to allow you to talk to Brother, but also so we could kind of listen in.

Eventually, the phone call would end, and we would finish the gift giving. If Mum had saved her gift for this moment, you would unwrap it and your jaw would drop. The most amazing smile would light your face, and you would say, "Nooooo....." And then Mum would smile and blush. Then we would all oooo and ahhhh over the new gift for a while.

Around nine pm, I would have stood up and declared it was time for me to get my little family home. Chances are I would not have hugged you as I left, or told you I loved you, because after all, I'll see you again in a few days.



That's how today would have gone if you were still here. It's not like I miss you or anything.

Homesick

You may recall me mentioning a few months ago that my Super-Intelligent-Curious-About-The-World-Around-Him-Fabulously-Literate-And-Omigod-Is-He-FUNNY twelve year old son won his school district's history fair and therefore won an all expenses paid trip to the other side of the country (Victoria BC) to do some historically minded sight seeing, and just genereally be rewarded for being Awesome. Only 165 kids in the whole country, people, and MY child is one of them.

Heh heh. I rock. Whoops....I mean, HE rocks....naw, who am I kidding, my superior genes rock.

He left this morning.

Huh.

I called my ex-husband at 5pm (which was probably before my son's plane even LANDED in Victoria) and wailed, "I'm homesick."

In all of Son's 4385 plus days, he has never been someplace where my Ex-Husband or I couldn't swoop in and control the situation if we so chose. He has travelled extensively with my Ex-Huband, far from my reach, and I have never questioned Son's safety for a second. I have taken Son thousands of miles away from Ex-Husband, and nobody so much as blinked, never mind lost any sleep. We, as divorced parents, trust each other completely, know that neither of us will ever allow anything bad to happen to our ultimate life's joy.

But tonight? I am near panic attack status. He has never been away from a parent longer than one night, and he has never been someplace we couldn't drive over and get him if he wanted to come home.

And I put my baby on a flight to take him 6000 km away from us? AM I NUTS?

Or am I just facing the first sign that my baby isn't exactly a baby anymore, and someday he will be (stop saying it) a grown man with a life of his own?

Is this really how it starts?


I'm homesick.

Been gone a while

First, Gill, you won the contest, thanks to a very scientific draw just held in my living room, with Husbandly One as the judge. Email me to let me know if you prefer a donation to your local NICU or to the CF Foundation. Thanks for playing.

Second, the rest of you? I SEE MY STATS, I know you are there. I am actually a little hurt that you couldn't delurk for charity. But whatever, I love you just the same, you look at me with mild interest, I call it a draw.

In other news...

Four days ago, my Step Son mentioned that his bedroom in the basement was starting to get a bit funky, a bit squishy, a bit WET. Hmm. Therefore, the next morning (did I mention I was on vacation this week?) I went out and spent $300 on a dehumidifier. I somehow grunted that heavy bad boy downstairs and let it rip. Four days later, it has sucked approx. 50 litres of water out of the air and is still running continuously. Hubandly One asked me, in a weird conspiracy kind of way, if the machine was perhaps manufacturing water on its own. Umm, no, darling, it's just pulling the bad shit out of our basement, because if it COULD make water, they'd have a million of those things in the Sudan.

So anyway, there I am four days ago, all proud of my purchase. It is sucking the evil water out of our home. I am hero. In the meantime, I have been hanging out in our livingroom, all smug that I made such a responsible purchase. Around 2pm, things start getting really hot in our livingroom, just like it does every single day between June 15 and September 1st. In past years, we have simply accepted it, peeled down to T-shirts and underwear, secretly wishing that we had never met because, ugh, at least that way we wouldn't have to get in to bed together in this HEAT.

I get up to turn on the fan.

Fan DIES.

Oh man, do NOT piss off Irma, not when it's hot.

I immediately fliped out, got in my Jeep and went to buy an air conditioner. $500 later, I had my Step Son lug it in to the livingroom (it was waaaay heavier than the dehumidifier). And that is why I was able to greet Husbandly One, at the end of his work day, by saying, "I spent almost $1000 today, AND NOTHING ABOUT IT WAS FOR FUN."


All of which brings me to my point. My point about boys.

I try to keep our house at a reasonable temperature. In the winter, this means you may have to put on a sweater, because, I'm sorry, the SWEATER is paid for, the HEAT is not. So when Step Son emerges from his cave in the basement (his cave which is heated by a separate electric heater he unfortunately controls) in a t-shirt, shorts, and no socks, and complains that it's COLD??? I flip out a little bit.

Bring it forward to today. It was hot. I wore shorts and a T-shirt, and was out for most of the day. When I got home, I turned on the new air conditioner to the level where I didn't want to kill myself anymore, and considered it good.

Husbandly One got home from work. In wool pants, dress shirt, tie, and jacket. He took off the jacket and sat down. After ten minutes, he said, "It is way too hot in here, I'm going to turn up the air conditioner."


No, how bout you take off all those CLOTHES? Why don't you put on a pair of shorts and see how you feel THEN?

No no, the easiest thing to do is turn up the dial.

Between people who expect to be able to go around half naked in February, and people who think they should be able to wear multiple layers in July, I CAN NOT WIN.