Ah, the romance.

Hot (and unsurprising) news just in time for Valentine's Day: Maddie and Riley seem to have no understanding of what a romantic relationship is.

I have not consulted The Literature to see what five year olds typically understand about the different kinds of love people have for each other, but Maddie and Riley are particularly and charmingly clueless about romantic love. They know I love them, and they could probably articulate some of the ways I express that: through direct speech (we are a big "I love you"-saying family), through physical contact (we are also big huggers, kissers, and general snugglers), through actions (although this might be too abstract for them to articulate even if they feel it, this notion of taking care of one another). M&R also see how I act much the same with other people I love: members of our extended family, close friends. But Maddie and Riley have never seen the day-to-day interaction of a partnered couple, which for many children is their first resource for understanding a romantic partnership.

This leads to some funny conversations. We've had plenty of talks about who you can and can't marry and why you'd want to or not want to marry any given person. To be sure, this comes up for all children, not just single-parent kids. Maddie and Riley have both expressed a desire to marry me, to marry their grandparents, to marry each other, to marry their friends, to marry their teacher. They've also expressed the feeling that it would be great for me to marry my dad (who is, admittedly, awesome). I've asked Maddie and Riley about why they want to marry certain people; they don't have a very clear answer on that, but it certainly relates to how much they care about the person in question. I've asked them what they think it means to be married to someone, and that's a mystery to them, but their explanations come back to an understanding that many—nay, most—of their classmates and friends have two parents at home, and that those people are, by and large (when the law allows and when then choose that option) married and that it's a thing for parents and grown-ups. For them, the notion of marriage seems to be grounded in a decision to want to spend a lot of time with someone, rendering age, sex, and bloodline insignificant. For now, I've told them that getting married is for grown-ups who love each other so much that they want to be a part of each others' families; that explanation seems to satisfy them and also helps them in some way to understand why they can't marry people who are already a part of their family of origin (no need to get into the genetics just yet, methinks).

Where Maddie and Riley's charming ignorance about romance intersects with our family life is clear: what does it mean for the twins that I am dating someone whose presence in my life—our lives—is slowly become more significant? When, why, and how do I explain that to them?

We are blessed to have many, many friends. We have people over to our house a lot, and we spend a lot of time visiting others. Maddie and Riley have had the good fortune to meet and love many people already in their first five years of life, and they've dealt many times already with the effects of moving, transitioning from one caregiver to another, death. Perhaps because of all this, perhaps because of their general nature, both Maddie and Riley are fairly quick to form friendships and are quite open to meeting new people and welcoming them to their lives. They also at this age seem quite adept at understanding that some friends come, and some friends go. They express that they miss people we don't see as much as we once did (hi, Boston friends!) but they have at every turn seemed less broken up about such transitions than I would have expected. There's a resilience to their dealings with the comings and goings of people in their lives that surprises me.

All of this leaves me at a loss when it comes to how to represent T to the kids. To them, he's a friend like any other friend, and I've just been rolling with that. They have said a number of things that clearly indicate to me that they have no clue that my relationship with him is quantitatively different than any other close friendship that I have, and I'm not sure what I'd say to them to explain the difference that would have any meaning to them whatsoever. The potential for that relationship to have significance in M&R's lives that transcends that of our other friends' is great, but for the moment, their rudimentary—if accurate—understanding of the situation is perfectly adequate. I don't want to make a big deal out of something that for M&R is not a big deal at all, but I don't want them wondering what's going on or feeling confused.

As I write this, I'm thinking, "Who am I kidding?!" Anyone who has met Maddie and Riley would laugh to think that those two wouldn't just ask me what was going on if they were curious about something. I can't quite put my finger on why I'm feeling somewhat of a need for M&R to have a deeper understanding of the situation. I think part of it is seeing their nascent attachment to T develop and knowing that there is a potential for the twins so experience loss there—and knowing that the same potential exists for me. Part of it is logistical: T and I are talking about taking a vacation with all the kids—how will that feel to M&R? We've vacationed with friends before, so maybe it's not a big deal, but T's kids are older and have a more nuanced understanding of our relationship. Will M&R sense that or pick up on that? What will that mean to them? What would they think if I told them T was going to spend the night at our house?

I tend to give information about Big Emotional/Adult Concepts to Maddie and Riley on a need-to-know basis. I answer their questions truthfully and completely, but when it comes to these types of constructs, I try to keep things as simple as possible. They aren't pushing me on this, and it's my instinct not to push them. But I want to be ready when and if they ask.

In their charming innocence of societal constructs around love, M&R are thrilled by the idea of Valentine's Day. They are looking forward to exchanging cards with their classmates tomorrow, and have somehow figured out that Valentine's Day and chocolate go together. They each picked out a box of cards at the store yesterday (Star Wars themed for Riley, puppies and kittens for Maddie) and painstakingly write "to my friend" and "from Maddie/Riley" on each of them. So sweet. I'm planning to make them heart-shaped toast with strawberry jam for breakfast, and I have a card for each of them. T and I aren't doing anything tomorrow, but are going out for a nice dinner on Wednesday. You don't have to know me very well at all to know that I'm not much of a celebrant of Big Days. But I confess that it's nice to be in a relationship that gives me a reason to enjoy the parts of this Hallmark holiday that appeal to me, like the excuse to go out for a nice meal and spend time with someone I care about. Not that I need a reason to do that, but if one presents itself, seems a shame not to take it.

Life. No fast lane.

I've been wanting to write lately, but feeling blocked by the usual: too much to catch up on, not sure where to start, only egocentric and nongeneralizable things to say. That feeling of wanting to write, though, is quantitatively different than the feeling I've had for most of my two months of silence. Most of that time, through the holidays and into the new year, I felt a pretty deep desire to partially hibernate from the digital world. I've been less active on Facebook, again silent (after a brief period of activity) on Twitter, making an effort to leave the computer untouched in the evenings at home. I'm as aware of and conflicted about my online presence and the ramifications of "screen time" as any thinking adult in Our Moderne Times, and I think my hiatus of sorts is a manifestation of the leery side of my digital identity.

A parallel, if equally esoteric and equally unoriginal, analysis is that happiness has rendered me mute. Blogging has historically been for me a way to work things out, a means to find a way to handle the negative, see a problem from a different perspective, reason my way out of a challenge. In the space I'm in now, blogging to share that I'm here, I'm happy, I'm doing stuff, feels self-indulgent and dull. I understand how to frame a post about a problem. It's not clear to me how to frame a post that's an update or an observation. I'm not the person who can in that Seinfeldian way make nothing into something.

I've written this post before, though, and I keep coming back to write it again because I do miss the frequent practice of writing. I'd like to try to find the point of interest in the mundane, or at least find a way to make it seem as though the broader point of interest is there because life is not actually mundane for me, it just seems to me that my life has become mundane as observed by others.

I offer for now, the cop-out, a bulleted list of the past couple of months of happenings, things that have been all manner of things to me—interesting, exciting, scary, fun, productive, creative, sad, happy. All those things that make a life:

• Best Christmas to date with Maddie and Riley, including instructions to Santa to have the reindeer enter through the back door.
• A cat! We have a cat! His name is Hubble, he's six years old, he's black with yellow eyes, and he adores Maddie.
• Trees! We have trees! We had a pear tree and an apple tree planted in our front yard. Someday, we'll even have pears and apples.
• Work. I have the same job. It has ups and downs. Lately, it has more downs than ups. I can't really say more.
• My birthday! I turned 40. I had a huge, crazy party that was ridiculously fun. So far, 40 is freakin' awesome. I think my use of the phrase "freakin' awesome" is an indicator of my advancing age.
• The beach. I went to the beach for a couple of kid-free nights. Fires, reading, hiking, eating, games, pajamas, amazing.
• Las Vegas. I went to Las Vegas for a few kid-free nights. Cirque du Soleil, Red Rock Canyon, Hoover Dam, jogging on the strip, zip-lining, hot-tubbing, amazing.
• Joshua Bell. I saw him in concert again. He's the real deal. Perfect seats, unreal performance.
• Running. I've been running up a storm. I've got my sights on a half marathon at the end of May, and maybe even one as soon as mid-April.
• Skiing. The kids are in ski lessons for the second year in a row. We're one weekend into four Saturdays of this. Riley is more enthusiastic than Maddie, but both had fun last weekend and seem ready for more tomorrow.
• Piano. Maddie and Riley are four weeks into their first round of piano lessons. No one seems overly wowed by playing the piano, but I'm glad they are getting the exposure.
• Harry Potter. M&R are officially obsessed with Harry Potter. We're halfway through book three. It's a real joy to read them books that I love and find they they love them, too.
• My Kindle. I got a Kindle for Christmas. Much to my surprise, I am completely devoted to it. I [heart] my Kindle.
• Mexico. I'm gearing up for a trip to Mexico, a repeat of the trip I took to Mexico around this time last year. CANNOT WAIT.
• Au pair. Having an au pair is the best thing I've ever done for our family. It's a huge gift to me, and a huge gift to Maddie and Riley. Anyone who is interested in getting an au pair, I'd be happy to tell you what it is about the experience that's so fantastically great. Life-changing, truly.
• Our house. I continue to love our house and feel fine about being a homeowner again. We are all capable of change.
  

That list does not include one item that seems worthy of more than a bullet point, although I do not know how to talk about it. I am still dating the same guy. It's totally great. He's totally great. Greatness! The only negative about our relationship is that we don't see each other nearly enough. We're working on that, but it's a long, slow process. We both have jobs, we both have kids, and we don't want to force things where it comes to the family blending process. But we're starting to test those waters and look for ways to spend family time—not just dating time—together. It's a very easy, affirming relationship we have. There are no hidden agendas or crazy emotional upheavals. We're two very busy adults with a lot of logistical complications and the willingness to talk about stuff and figure it out as best we can. We just wish we had the chance to do that more.

I realize that my description of our relationship sounds rather passionless, and that's what I mean about not knowing how to talk about it. The easiest way to explain it is that he makes me feel the way I felt when I was with John. Maybe that seems creepy or weird, which is why I hesitate to describe it that way, but it's true. I said to him (Must come up with nickname! Will go with T for now.) the other day that I could remember so clearly how I felt when John and I moved in together. I felt like I'd won the lottery; I was so excited to go home every day and find John! There! In our apartment! EVERY DAY!!! That thrill never wore off. I get the same thrill now, just not daily. More like twice a week in a good week. But I'll take the thrill when I can get it.

So that is the briefest of views into life right now. It's Friday night, I'm going to head home for a movie and quesadillas with the kids, then pack up an epic amount of stuff to take up the mountain for skiing tomorrow. May the rest of you be enjoying such unremarkable times.

"Let's go out for Korean next Wednesday."

That's what he suggested.

I'd been talking about Korean food a lot since my return from visiting John's family. One of my favorite things about taking the kids to Michigan is eating lots and lots of Korean food, both home-cooked and in restaurants. John was the Korean chef in our house and I never picked up his skills, so I use our time with the in-laws to get my fill.

And so, either tired of or inspired by my gochujang-laced sighs and daydreaming, the suggestion was made and it was decided. Next Wednesday, what is settling in to be our usual mid-week date night, we'd go out for Korean food. Who was I to argue? Most people I know--myself included--need more Korean food in their lives, and his interest in trying new restaurants and new cuisines is one of the many things I find endearing and appealing about him.

What I neglected to note is that tomorrow, the appointed day for the Korean food outing, is John's birthday. My Korean chef would be 39 tomorrow. And now it happens that I will find myself eating Korean food with another man, one who reminds me in many wonderful and meaningful ways of John.

In fact, in the important ways he could not be more like John. He is the embodiment of kindness. He is thoughtful and generous. He brings out in me the things I like most about myself, and being around him encourages me to be the person I want to be.

He's not Korean, not by a mile. Not by a million miles. But there's a bittersweet, unintended symbolism to the fact that he'll have his introduction to Korean cuisine tomorrow. And even better, that tomorrow, as the banchan arrive, I can explain to him the significance of the day and he will appreciate it and value it and understand it.

***************************

John's birthday has since his death been one of the hardest days of the year for me. Much harder than the day of his death. The day of his death seems more of a celebration to me, the end of a struggle whose time had come, even if was not welcome. His birthday, though, marks the days he didn't get to have. Birthdays are for thinking about the year that has passed and the year that's to come, reflections that in this case are hollow.

I'm not very New Age-y or metaphysical, but coincidences around dates and events don't seem entirely random to me, either. I feel John with me this year in comforting ways. I was shopping over the weekend and one of the stores I was in was giving away Charms Sweet & Sour lollipops, a favorite of John's before he had cancer and a help during his treatments as they kept the nausea at bay. I would buy those things by the case and stash them in his briefcase, coat pockets, and car so that he'd have them at hand if he felt queasy. I don't think I'd had one since he was sick, and then there one was, days before his birthday. Last Friday, I learned that a neighborhood friend shares John's birthday. Then I made the realization about the Korean food date. I don't take any of these things as a sign of any type, per se, but as . . . something.

I ate my lollipop today, I'll eat Korean food tomorrow. Maddie and Riley asked about baking John a cake, but he didn't really like cake, so we're not going to do that. I'm going to take Maddie and Riley to school, go running, go to work late. He valued time; I will give some to our children, take some for myself.

Happy 39th, Goose.

And then almost a month goes by.

It's no use, really, to try to update on a month's worth of activities, so I'm just going to jump right in with what's on my mind now. I continue to stew in my contentment and moments of discontentment (those continue to be mostly work-related). But the satisfaction of being where I am seems to be here to stay, and it's most welcome.

One of the last times I posted, I mused about my lifelong lack of long-term commitments. That theme has continued to be on my mind during my radio silence. As someone who married late-ish, then as someone whose spouse died, I've given my fair share of thought to the long-term commitment that is marriage. I have deep admiration for those who sustain a life-long partnership, to be sure, but also the realist's understanding that some of that longevity is circumstantial; if you meet someone later in life, biology prevents you from reaching the milestones that are within the realm of possibility for those who marry at a younger age. Wonderful partnerships meet untimely demises. Other marriages end more by choice or necessity. I proceed with caution in revering those with long marriages/partnerships as somehow inherently more worthy or generally better than those who have shorter partnerships, but understand all the while that to make any relationship work over years and years takes work and commitment and dedication.

It took me a long time to be ready to be in a long-term partnership, and I felt ever the more wronged by having that readiness mocked by the universe when John got his terminal diagnosis. Since John's death, my lack of long-term commitments has continued to grow, and I speak her not only of dating but of life choices in general. I moved out of our condo less than a year after John died, moved to Oregon months after that initial move, and have changed jobs twice in the 4.5 years since he died.

Making the commitment that John and I made to each other was the last time I felt the kind of settled contentment that I've been feeling over the past months. It's no surprise, I don't think, that the experience of John's death made me skittish. But here I am, 4.5 years later, getting it back again. Feeling settled enough to buy the house was certainly huge, and continues to be huge, and welcome, and wonderful. And my job is a commitment in a way, too; it's not perfect, but it's a long-haul kind of job that work every day to have peace with, and I make work decisions with the idea that I'll be there for the long haul, not with one foot out the door.

I'm getting there with the dating, too. I have a loooooong history—a lifetime, really, minus John—of dating Perfectly Fine but Wrong for Me people. To put a finer point on it, before John I dated either Smart, but Emotionally Unavailable or Dumb, but SO NICE! Then there was John who was smart, emotionally available, and nice: I finally got it all. Then he died, and since he died I have really dated Just for Fun. Which has been, uh, mostly fun. But I have found that Fun also gets Unfulfilling pretty quickly, so I've also dated Briefly. I've made nods at finding something real in the Fun, but nothing has been a natural fit to be sure.

But now I'm in this situation that is Fun, but also Real. Or that could be Real. This is a genuine person, not a career-focused guy who's about to move overseas or a bitter, recently divorced guy or a consultant in town short-term. No, this is a guy who like me saw the untimely demise of his partnership (although under different circumstances) and who understands how that feels, but also focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. He's ridiculously smart, incredibly generous, and funny to boot. Things are just meandering along in a lovely and happy way, slowly and sweetly. We are spending more and more time together, and talking about what that means, and musing about meeting kids. It's really great.

It's in fact great enough that I have been loathe to blog about it or talk about it much. I felt the same way about buying the house. I selfishly wanted all that goodness for me. Plus, I have that jinx-y feeling that comes from talking too much about a good thing and somehow thus causing it to implode. But it's what's on my mind lately, a lot. So I've said what I feel like I can say right now and hopefully it wasn't enough to hex it.

But just in case, I'll end by changing the subject. Halloween was awesome! Maddie was a Pegasus unicorn (thank you, eBay), Riley was a Jedi knight, and I was Princess Leia. Kindergarten has settled down and both kids seem quite content. Both of them are really into art projects now, Riley preferring to work in 3D and Maddie with a love of coloring/writing/drawing. We're going to Michigan on Saturday for our traditional Thanksgiving trip to see John's family; I always approach that with mixed emotions, but I'm always glad we go. We've been to the beach a bunch lately, and there's nothing but good about that. And then almost a month goes by, and we're still boringly happy and living our life or normalcy and about that, I have no complaints.

Speed

Life is all fast these days, all clichéd and fast. Summer, where have you gone? Kids, how are you already starting Kindergarten? Snick, how are you months away from turning 40?

I find myself without much to say, but wanting to come here and say nothing. The struggling continues, although it is letting up. A Facebook friend wisely commented that just when you can't take any more, you get your break, and that seems to be holding true. Work was complete pandemonium, then I got a bunch of stuff off my desk—not done, but on to the next cog in the wheel—and high-tailed it out for a five-day vacation with the kids and my mom and dad in Eastern Oregon. Gorgeousness. It smells so good out there, those pine trees with the sunshine and blue sky and lava rocks. I drank my coffee in the hot tub every morning after going running, took long walks with my mom in the evenings, let the kids eat sugary cereal and chips while watching movies, and read most of a book.

And yes, I was there with my mom and my dad. My stepdad was not there. Seems like it could be awkward, no?, to be there with my 35-years-divorced parents. But it was not; they have a real friendship, my mom and dad, for which I am grateful, and the kids and I delighted in their company.

We are back now, basking in the afterglow. Our re-entry to the real world after family camp was harsh and jarring, but this transition has been easier, thank goodness.

Work is still dicey. There's just so much to do. I'm glad I have a job, and there are many things I enjoy about my work, but I'm in a place right now where my shortcomings seem to be right on the surface for all to see and for me to witness. I try to take this as a learning opportunity, but it's hard to be Zen and positive and ready to grow all the damn time.

I had what would have been my seventh anniversary while we were on vacation. It was a nice day. It didn't feel any different than any other day, but I have had John on my mind a lot. On our way home from Eastern Oregon we stopped at state park for a picnic lunch. A group of about 20 Korean kids on some kind of organized tour were having their meal at the tables next to ours. One of them looked just like twelve-year-old John. The spitting image. It was kind of eerie, actually, and I kept staring at him, which I'm sure he found eerie in and of itself.

I went on a first date a few weeks ago, a very fun first date. My date asked me, "What are you looking for in a relationship?" and the question, which is perfectly reasonable, took me by surprise. Since then, I've been thinking about my marriage and what I miss about it—which we ended up discussing, as he's divorced—and also what I enjoy about being single. I didn't have a good answer for his question, whereas good is defined as well thought through. And after a few weeks of thinking about it, I still don't really know how to answer that. What I said was that if someone had asked me that right before I met John, I am certain that my answer would not have in any way reflected what I then got. Point being that you can think you know what you want, but all you can really be is open to the possibilities. Cop out? Maybe. But it's true for me, for now. Many days, I don't feel like I want to get married again. I'm overwhelmed by the idea of integrating another adult's life into my own, and into Maddie and Riley's. But I do miss some things: sharing a good passage from a book I'm reading, having someone who can give me perspective on things that I can't see anymore, being able to release some of the burden of making all the decisions all the time about everything to do with the house and the kids.

One thing I have learned a lot about in the past few years is being patient. (Mom and Erk: stop laughing.) Just as my wise Facebook friend said, you have to wait things out. When you think you can't go on, something will give. I have historically been a fixer, a people-pleaser. But I've learned that sometimes, even often, the best thing to do is just wait. Not that I always do that, but I have come to understand that it's a good choice. The right thing will either happen, or something will happen that will make the right way clear. Perhaps it's the same with relationships, or more generally with knowing what I want, what one wants, in a general sense.

I'm sure I'm overthinking it. I mean, it was a first date! I was just surprised by how little thought I'd given that question recently, and it's been interesting to try to sort it all out. The second date is this Thursday. I wonder what question I'll be stumped by this time?

And so it goes.

I have the emotional control of a toddler. In fact, my toddlers (are they even toddlers anymore?) often exhibit more emotional control than I do. The point is that keeping my feelings to myself is not a strength of mine.

This is a way in which I have fundamentally changed since John died. Until John got his diagnosis, my life had been all about keeping my feeling under wraps. I grew up being tacitly taught (oh how ironic that it was tacit!) that showing negative emotion was a sign of weakness. There was to be no crying, no stormy anger, no pissy sulking, no nerves. It was acceptable to show joy or exuberance, I suppose, but certainly the negative was to be kept hidden at all times. We were A Family Who Was Always Fine or Better.

To some extent, that served me well into adulthood, especially in the workplace. That training has made me even-handed and cool under pressure. Growing up avoiding conflict has turned me into someone who seeks peace and tries to resolve tension. I'm incredibly optimistic by nature—something that has perhaps surprisingly not changed since John died—and I think some of that optimism comes from a sense that life is supposed to be good, that the negative is fleeting and best ignored.

Finding out that your spouse is terminally ill just a few weeks after you marry is shocking to the point of near-incomprehensibility. That diagnosis awakened in me a range of emotions that was not going to be relegated to the back burner or ignored until it faded away. I cried buckets of tears and did a lot of yelling; the tears were private and public, the yelling all behind closed doors. I found that I didn't even know how to identify some of the things I was feeling, and was shocked to discover just how broad the "Wow, this is crappy" spectrum truly is.

Over the course of John's illness, through our experiences with various doctors and counselors, as we muddled through a lifetime's worth of living in just over two years, I got better at identifying how I was feeling. As I got better at naming my emotions, I found myself identifying how I felt not only in the context of all-encompassing grief, but also in my day-to-day life. I was shocked to discover that I felt angry all the time! Sure, some of that was feeling grief all the time, but some of it was an awakening to the fact that I'd been feeling negative emotions my whole life, I just hadn't been acknowledging them. And as I stumbled through life in those years feeling bitter about my crappy hand, emboldened by the recognition of my feelings, I became less and less willing to hide them. I no longer felt like I had anything to lose by going public with what I felt. The spouses of the terminally ill are given a lot of latitude to behave in ways outside what is tolerated in the general public, and I took full advantage. It became a habit.

So here I am, 38 years old, completely incapable of keeping my feelings to myself. Good or bad, they are all out there for the world to see. It's the no bullshit philosophy of living at it's finest. Why waste time pretending you feel one way when really, you feel another? Oh, sure, I'm still able to keep a lid on it when called for at work, for the most part. But outside work, it's a free-for-all.

The good news is that I'm generally pretty happy. I'm also generally pretty tolerant and open-minded. The bad thing is that I find myself to be a short-tempered parent (as has been well documented here) and somewhat volatile friend. I've gone from conflict avoider to someone who'd rather have a knock-'em-down, drag-'em-out fight, only to forgive and forget. I relish releasing negative feelings so that I can get to what I really think rather than having what I really think obscured by a bunch of repressed gunk. I'm quick to anger but equally quick to give a sincere apology.

Processing emotions in this way has made this week—which was Spectacularly Crappy with a Side of Awful—both more difficult and easier to deal with. It's been more difficult because I truly feel the bad in a way I never did before. I shielded myself from that in the past. Now I really feel it. And it's not pleasant in the moment. The payoff is that I get greater peace on the other side, and I get through the bad faster for just allowing it to take me over. But wow: it's both wretched and exhausting while it's happening.

We've had two students die at Reed in the past two weeks. I didn't know either of them personally, but as a now-sensitive soul, a parent, and a member of a small, intense community, I found both deaths disturbing. The most recent was earlier this week, a senior who accidentally overdosed on heroin. He was close friends with a student who works in my office, and between that connection, my mom instincts, and my glaring naïveté about all matters drug, I was pretty rattled on Tuesday morning. I work in the public affairs office, and while my job is shielded from media contact, my coworkers were under fire.

Also on the work front, a project to which I'd devoted considerable blood, sweat, and tears was shelved. I'd handled the editorial process poorly, but recovered and managed to find a way to work well with a challenging colleague only to have our labor cast aside. In the grand scheme of things, not such a big deal, but in the context of an already emotional work situation, it was that much worse.

And then. And then! On the flip side of the craptastic craptasticness of dead students and feeling like an inadequate worker, I was on a total Mr. Brady high. The thing about not having any emotional control is that it works both ways. When I feel shitty, I feel really shitty. But when I feel good, I feel really, really good. All that feeling good can make me impulsive and the intensity of the high can be freaky for anyone who's invited to the party.

And so the charming, witty, adorable Mr. Brady and I had been exchanging e-mail and we went out again this past Saturday and it was intense and fun and probably a little reckless, and just what I needed. The aftermath left me feeling a little awkward, but ready to see what happened next.

Except that what happened next was that Mr. Brady gave me the "just friends" spiel. That was a possibility that had not crossed my clueless little mind. He told me that on Tuesday on a midday, post-lunch walk, when I was completely reeling from the news of the student dying from a drug overdose. And even if I hadn't been reeling, I was completely caught off guard, and all I heard was the "wah, wah, wah" sound of the teacher in Charlie Brown specials, and then I said something, rather loudly, as we walked down the street, about being really angry, followed by the pronouncement, "OK! So! This is really awkward! And I'm too angry to be rational right now! I'm leaving!" and I did.

I've gone from keeping too much in to, at times, letting too much out. My interest in Mr. Brady was obvious and genuine. I'm not into the games. I don't think he is, either. But it was perhaps less obvious that my genuine interest was not the same as a need for things to be instantly serious. In the end, we went out on two fabulous dates and it didn't work out. The end. Yet I find myself analyzing, wondering if it was my emotional oversharing that forced the hand. I find myself thinking about finding a balance between keeping things in and letting things out, and about recognizing that letting it all out is going to freak some people the fuck out. In fairnesss, my emotional transparency was not what Mr. Brady cited as the reason for backing off. But I can't help but wonder if at some level, recognized or not, it was just too much too fast.

I also find myself thinking about what I even want from a relationship. It was unreal fun to go out with someone who was smart, funny, and charming. It was a great distraction to think about what to wear, what to say, to send flirty e-mails. It was fun to feel like woman, not a mom or a worker. I've joked with friends that what I really want in a relationship right now is to have that kind of interaction every two weeks or so, no expectations that it becomes something serious but no prohibition against it, either. I just want to enjoy that exhilarating, dating part, the getting-to-know-you part. The part about going to the movies and eating at restaurants and feeling giddy. I need to figure out how to enjoy that without getting so carried away by it that all I can do is feel, feel, feel. 'Cos I think the feel, feel, feel is pretty scary, scary, scary for most people.

What an exhilarating, draining, crazy week. Maddie, Riley, and I are headed down to my dad's house tomorrow; he's been out of town quite a bit and we're all having Plain Ba withdrawal. The plan is to get up, put gas in the car, hit Grand Central, and head out of town. I'm hoping for some sun and for some calm, for a plateau amidst the highs and lows of this last week.

Singin' the Time Change Blues

This stupid time change messed up the Kims something fierce.

Maddie and Riley made virtually no adjustment to their wakeup time on Sunday morning, so they were ready to go at 6:15 a.m. The new 6:15 a.m., or the old 5:15 a.m. Gar. I was not so ready, but I pretended I was ready and all was well until around 1:00 p.m. when everyone fell apart. We were all tired and cranky, we smelled like smoke from a failed attempt at a fire in the fireplace, no one felt like eating meals at the right time so everyone was hungry (but I didn't figure that out until much later), and while it had some real high spots, it was generally just a blah of an early afternoon.

Needless to say, we jumped on the chance for an imprompu invite from a friend to go hang out for a while, and that helped to boost everyone's spirits. Until, that is, both Maddie and Riley fell asleep in the car on the way home—at 5:30 p.m.—and could barely be roused to eat a bit of dinner and read some stories and collapse into bed, falling immediately asleep, at 7:00 p.m. They slept through, more or less, until 6:30 a.m., although both seem to have colds, which probably played into their bad moods yesterday.

All of this is a long boring way of saying that I wish we would just skip all of this time changing and keep the clocks in the same position all year round. Perhaps I will start a Facebook page dedicated to this cause. Or tweet about it. That'll get things done, right? That's taking things to the top! Ha.

But the weekend was far from all bad. There was park time, a great church service, good times with friends and family, and cookie baking. Oh, and a call from Mr. Brady. We'll be going out again on Saturday, details TBD. It's nice to have something to look forward to outside the usual day-to-day.

Back Out There

When I was in the process of interviewing for my current job, I had a really hard time blogging. I worried that blogging about it would jinx it, and in general, I feel like blogging about work—even potential work—is unwise. But thinking about the job and its possibilities took up so much of my brainspace that I couldn't blog about anything else, either.

I'm in the same situation now. No, I'm not changing jobs, not even thinking about it. My job is exactly what I need right now. But my brain is occupied by something that I'm not comfortable blogging about yet, so I'm left with nothing at all to say.

See, I went on a date on Wednesday night. And it was a good date.

A really good date.

But the person with whom I was out, let's call him Mr. Brady, is aware of my blog, and has read at least some of it. I don't know if he's keeping tabs here, but just in case, I don't think it would be wise to opt for total snickollet candor. I didn't ask him if he's comfortable with being blog fodder. And I don't know if he needs to be in on the girly overanalysis of our night out.

So I'll just say that Mr. Brady was charming, witty, cute, and a total gentleman. I am pretty sure we're going to see each other again. I'll be disappointed if we don't, which makes this experience different from others I've had since John died. Yes, I had an unhealthy infatuation with Mr. Coffee, but in my heart I always knew that he was a Mr. Wow I'm a Lot of Fun for Right Now—Seriously, A LOT of Fun. Ultimately, though, any of the dates I've been on since John died have left me wondering if dating is worth the effort.

That's not how I felt when I got home on Wednesday night. I have no idea what will happen next, but I'm happy to be reminded that it's worth it. It's definitely worth it.

Bitten Off; Unable to Chew

There was one night when I was in the Peace Corps that I was walking from a fellow volunteer's house to my house, and I was so unbearably tired that I actually entertained the idea of just laying down in the middle of the road and taking a nap right there. "There's not much traffic and everyone knows who I am; no one will bother me," I thought.

Moments ago, as I was walking from the kitchen to my office, I had the same thought. "I could just lie down here in the hall and stretch out, take a nap . . . hardly anyone is in the office today. I'm sure no one would mind."

My brain is addled. My head is spinning with thoughts on the house (thanks for your comments on that; meeting with realtor tomorrow to talk numbers, marketing plan, etc.), my job (took 10% pay cut last week; have a few resumes out there and a few bites), and the inauguration (so exciting! so many happy tears shed while listening to the ceremony!). Friends were in town over the weekend with their three-year-old twins, which was fun but exhausting. Much good food and good wine were consumed, and the nights were short indeed. Last night, I hosted my book club, got to bed late, and then got up with a pukey toddler at 3:30 a.m. (no real illness, just a cough-gone-wild thing, to which Maddie is prone, but still had to clean her and the bed up . . . and the power went out while I was doing it). Between the emotional tumult and lack of sleep, I feel a little pukey myself, or at least like I'm coming down with a cold.

And there's no rest for the wicked. I'm double-booked on inauguration parties tonight, one with the kids and one after they go to bed. Might have to cancel one or both. The second is actually a date of sorts; it's a small dinner party, and the host is someone one of the other guests has been trying to set me up with for a while. If I attend, I, along with all the other guests, am expected to deliver a toast in honor of Obama's inauguration. Pressure! Yeesh.

Tomorrow I meet with the realtor, Thursday boasts a job interview and dinner with a friend. Friday is another dinner. Saturday is another party. Last week, I had nothing scheduled on any evening. I'm definitely in a feasting phase in the feast or famine of life. Of course, I can say no to/reschedule/cancel some the social events, and I might. I don't want to sound like I'm complaining about having lots of fun things on the docket. I'm just feeling a bit overwhelmed today. And tired. So tired!

This post is totally lacking in structure, so I figure there's no better way to end it than with a Maddie story from our trip to Oregon, one that makes me laugh every time I think about it and that I've been meaning to share since happened. Hope you enjoy it.

[Maddie is sitting on the floor of her room, stark naked, inspecting her vagina at very close range]

Me: Mads, what are you doing over there?

Maddie: I lookin' at my vagina, Mama.

Me: I see that. What do you see in there?

Maddie [pause]: Oh . . . money. And strawberries.

Me: ??? !!!

That Person

At dinner last night, my friend and I talked about our respective That Person. You know, That Person, the person you dated who wasn't even right for you, who might not have even been all that nice a person, who you're probably not even in touch with anymore, who—perhaps even unknowingly—ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped on it and then kicked it and then spat upon it for good measure. The person who still makes your heart skip a little, tiny beat when you think of him or her, and for whom it would fully stop beating upon actual sight.

For me, That Person is a guy I dated very briefly in college. My self-esteem was not exactly sky-high in college, and I could not believe that this guy—this incredibly intelligent, amazingly good-looking, popular, witty, guy—wanted to date me. Me! Me. I have a thing for The Smart, and Jeff had a huge dose of that, and he was not suffering in The Esoteric, a quality to which I , like so many college women, was inexorably drawn. He had this odd hairstyle that required the use of a miniscule rubber band, the type used by teens on their braces. He gave great backrubs (wink, wink). He would write messages in cereal on cafeteria trays, messages intended for the food service employees, urging them to rise up against their oppressors.

Our story is not very interesting. We dated for a brief bit, I went overseas to study in London, and while I was away, he got back together with his high-school girlfriend. He didn't handle the situation very well, but neither did I.

At first, I was simply sad and hurt and under the impression that I could never find anyone of his caliber who would ever want to date me ever again. Once I found the line for self-esteem and managed to get some, I realized that he wouldn't really have been good for me anyway. He's emotionally distant; I'm emotionally needy. He's not particularly good at compromise; I require give and take and middle ground. He's not a bad person, but he's certainly not the right person for me.

And yet, even knowing that, Jeff haunts me to this day. If his name shows up in my Inbox, I get That Feeling in my stomach. We've stayed in touch over the years, mostly through mutual friends, and increasingly infrequently, but any news of him is like a little treasure. If I were to see him in person, I'd be rendered mute for a few minutes, and then I'd say something stupid.

John was not That Person. I think you can have more than one That Person over the span of your life, but a key element of That Person is that they are not the right person. You want them to be right, you yearn for them to be right, if you could be with them, you would, even knowing that they are wrong and knowing it wouldn't end well. There is an unhealthy element to That Person, and John was, despite his flaws and my own, definitely a healthy choice for me.

Mr. Coffee, however, was That Person all over again. I was knees-weak attracted to him from the moment I saw him sitting in the coffee shop, waiting for me on our first date. You could argue that I was feeling the effects of not having been on a date for a long time, but no, I was the one who was there, and I assure you that it was something else. Mr. Coffee had The Smart. He had The Exotic. He had The Sexy. But he also had The Emotionally Unavailable, The Never in Town, and The Obsessed with Work. And so, much as I wanted him to be right, he was not. And so now he has earned the title of That Person, v2.0.

After a long silence between us, yesterday I sent him an e-mail telling him just that. He's in the throes of looking for a new job, perhaps not in this area, and my Spidey Sense tells me that he's started dating someone else. It doesn't matter. I'm happy to be at a place in my life where I can appreciate the time we spent together, the role he played in my life, the good that was there, and move on. It's tempting to be mad at him for prickishly just disappearing rather than saying goodbye, but I don't feel angry. I feel like I got what I needed from him, and now he's gone. I suspect he feels rather the same.

In some ways, it's good to grow up. I'm glad I didn't spend years of angst figuring out how to recover from the effects of That Person this time around. But if Mr. Coffee's name should show up in my Inbox again, or if I see him walking down the street, or if I find a piece of Swiss chocolate in the back of my cupboard, I know I'm going to get that rush, that contact high, that wistful sense of what was not. That Person never completely goes away.

EDITED: Moments after I posted this, I got an e-mail from Mr. Coffee saying that he has been exploring job opportunities all over the world and has has nothing but that on his mind. I can still feel the lurch in my stomach from seeing his message in my Inbox fifteen minutes ago. He left the door open for us to get together, and it's very tempting. The lure of That Person! It's like crack! But I am saying no because I am strong, wise woman. Sometimes it sucks to grow up.

Holiday Lull; Decision; A Story

Lull

The past week has found me with a serious case of the blahs, hence my blog silence. 

I hate winter, but who wants to hear me whine about that?

I had a series of days where stupid, annoying things went wrong. Eh. Happens to everyone.

I'm worried that our flight out to Oregon on Christmas Day won't make it out because the weather is so bad in Portland, but I'm trying not to worry about things over which I have no control. I'm failing.

Had to cancel a dinner with friends due to weather. Memo to winter: BITE ME.

I've been letting the kids watch a lot of Dora.

I've been reading a lot of very emotional, beautiful, and painful writing by other widow(er)s. It's haunting and addictive.

My brain feels like it's in neutral. Coherent thoughts are not in residence. I actually do have some semi-coherent thoughts on the definition of single parent, but it's the kind of post that is going to cause controversy and I'm not in the mood for disagreement right now. Maybe in '09.

*************************

Decision

I miss John. I miss having a spouse. I talked to John the other day, out loud, for the first time in I can't remember how long. Oddly, I talked about Mr. Coffee. Why I chose to talk through my Mr. Coffee feelings with my dead husband is a total mystery to my conscious mind, but that's what happened. Upshot? Next time Mr. Coffee and I see each other it's so I can tell him that we're not going to see each other any more. No regrets, no harm, no foul, and I will miss him. But ultimately I need someone who can put me first, and I don't think Mr. Coffee can do that. And I don't think I can look for someone who can while devoting brainspace to Mr. Coffee. I am poor at multitasking beyond what my daily life requires of me. 

Not sure what my plan is for dating. I let my Internet dating service subscription lapse, not because I thought I'd found The One in Mr. Coffee, but because the profiles were starting to bore me. Maybe another service? Maybe a break? I'd be happy to go on some more dates, just not sure how I'm going to go about finding them.

*********************

A Story

Last week, the twins and I were in the car on the way to Whole Foods. I listened to Maddie and Riley engage in a long (for toddlers; must have been about three minutes) conversation/negotiation during which they determine that it is acceptable to both parties for Riley to borrow Maddie's panties.

They move on to the details of the arrangement.

R: I can wear the white ones, YaYa?

M [horrified]: NO! No, Riley! Those white ones are on my vagina. [Ed.: Not true; she was wearing pink panties that day.]

R [thinking]: OK. I can wear the pink ones?

M [complete with sigh and eye roll]: Of course. Of course you can, YaYa. Of course you can wear the pink ones.

So the next morning, I offer Riley a pair of Maddie's pink panties, which he accepts with delight. We discuss the fine details of panty-wearing.

Me: So, what do you do when you need to make a wee?

R: I say, "Mama! I need to wee!"

Me: Absolutely. And then what?

R: ????

Me: You make a wee on the potty!

R [horrified]: I NO WANNA MAKE A WEE ON THE POTTY! WHERE IS MY DIAPER!

And here I thought we were making some potty training progress. Perhaps not.

Date #11 Plus General Mr. Coffee Update

This post is not off to a good start. That is the most boring title for a post ever. Maybe I should have called it Date # 11: Boring! Plus Not Much Else to Say! but that would have given it all away.

For the record, I'm writing this post while sitting at my desk wearing my pajamas, the same pajamas I put on at around 9:00 p.m. last night before crawling into bed with In 10,000 Pages the Harry Potter Series Will Finally Be Over (or whatever HP #7 is really called, and which, for some reason, I have not yet read). That I would wear the same pajamas two nights in a row is of absolutely no note whatsoever; the noteworthy item is that the pajamas have been on my body since 9:00 p.m. last night. Yes, I spent all day in my pajamas, and it was awesome. Maddie and Riley wore their PJs all day, too, until bath time. Our day included brunch with friends (preplanned to take place in pajamas for all), and a trip to Trader Joe's (no one blinks an eye if toddlers are out in pajamas, and, as an adult in a very cold clime, I can just throw a Sleeping Bag Coat over whatever I'm wearing and no one is the wiser). I'm thinking that, if at all possible, every Sunday should be a Pajamas All Day kind of day.

But this post is not supposed to be about pajamas! It's supposed to be about Mr. Coffee.

We had Date #11 over a week ago, on a random Thursday, exactly one week after Thanksgiving, to be precise. We had dinner near his house, then went back to his place and had a nice talk and it was fine but kind of boring and he spent A LOT of time talking about how stressed out he is at work and how he's looking for another job and blah blah blah. That's fine; I don't mind listening to him vent about work. Listening is key part of any relationship. I did my own venting, too, as this was merely two days after we had big layoffs, and he was good about hearing me out and being appropriately sympathetic. We also had some very vague semblance of a relationship talk in which we both spoke in major generalities about how nice it can be to have a meaningful relationship in your life but how it takes a long time to build that kind of bond. Eh. The whole thing just felt . . . flat. It was a perfectly nice evening, but kind of blah.

Our only contact since then has been one e-mail exchange in which I said, "Hey, ho, I'm around but I've got some holiday plans so let me know if you want to try to get together," and he replied, "Hey, ho, I'm swamped with real work and work holiday obligations and I'd love to see you but I'm just really, really busy, so, who knows?" I replied and said, "Well, then, let me know if you want to get together, good luck with all the work stuff, call if you want to talk anything through or whatever."

His message could mean many things, from exactly what it says to, "I'm too busy screwing Lufthansa* flight attendants to talk to you." I chose to take it at face value, let him know that I was around, and see what happens. The ball is in his court. He can call if he wants, or not if he doesn't want.

If he does not call, I will be a bit sad but not brokenhearted by a long shot. Mr. Coffee has been exactly what I've needed in my life: sexy, exciting, casual, a breath of fresh air. It's starting to seem that we're not meant to go the distance, although us continuing to see each other is not off the table. I'll be a little annoyed and quite surprised if he just fades away rather than having the balls to at least call and say, "This isn't working for me anymore," but I'm also not going to waste my time fretting about it if that's how it plays out, and I don't feel a need to read him a riot act or get some kind of explanation or anything from him.

And who knows? He might call. Frankly, I think he will; it's just a matter of if he calls to say hello or goodbye. If he says hello? There are lots of things about our relationship that work great for me. It's not a demand on my time (of which I have little), it's fun (although somewhat less so lately), and it's a grown-up diversion. Ultimately, I would like to find someone interested in getting married, being a parent to Maddie and Riley, and working on the whole family dynamic. Mr. Coffee has always been completely up front with me that it takes him a long time to build real emotional connections, so I think if he's interested in us continuing to see each other, it's up to me to decide if I want to be patient and see where things go. I'm not sure I have the time to see if things get real.

Lordy, this whole post is as boring as the title! Upshot: things are the same as they've always been, and I'm OK with it. Sure, we could have "The Talk." But for whatever reason, I don't feel a need to force that. Will things fizzle out? Straggle along? Take a dramatic turn for the serious? Who knows! I'm so focused on making it through the holidays in one piece that I've devoted little brainspace to the whole dating thing, and, honestly, I think it's the same for Mr. Coffee. Stay tuned to see if we reconnect in 2009! The suspense it killing you all, I'm sure.

*No, not a clue to his nationality.

We Came, We Saw, We Thanked

The short version of our Thanskgiving trip is that is was good.

The flights went off without a hitch. The kids were really happy to see their grandparents, aunt, and uncle, and the relatives were equally if not more thrilled to see the kids. Maddie and Riley were showered with gifts, love, and attention. The twins did not sleep very well, but that's to be expected being in an unfamiliar place and in Pack'N'Plays, for which they are really too big. Riley was sick one day we were there, and now I have the parental rite of passage of Kid Barfing in Public out of the way with one of my two. I got out for a run one day and did a long session on my brother-in-law's gym-quality elliptical trainer on another day. The exercise felt GREAT.

The details of what we did on the trip are not very interesting, really, as evidenced by the above paragraph. We spent time together. We ate some great food. We took the kids on a couple of outings. We had what feels to me like a typical Thanksgiving weekend.

In some ways, being at my in-laws' house was easier than I expected. I realized while we were there that my parents-in-law and I don't really have anything to argue about anymore. When John was alive, everything was a battle. We fought over John's time. We fought over John's treatments. We fought over what John should eat, when he should rest, how our house should be decorated. We fought and fought and fought. We were stressed out and frustrated and angry and we took it out on each other at every turn. Now that John is gone, we no longer have anything to argue over. My in-laws are remarkably tolerant and non-judgmental of my parenting, so that possible point of contention is happily not an issue. They want to spend time with Maddie and Riley, help me, and support us in any way they can. I'm able now to see my parents-in-law in a way that was not possible for me to see them before. I've always known that they are loving, caring people, but in the past, the way they've expressed that has often felt abrasive or intrusive to me. On this trip, it didn't, and I was frankly more comfortable in their house than I've ever been before.

There are some things I will do differently when we next visit. One of the things I'd been looking most forward to was being able to get some breaks for myself. I figured with all of those relatives around to help, I'd be able to sneak in a few solo outings or grab a nap here and there. That didn't really happen. My in-laws were all so respectful of how I manage the twins' time and behavior that they didn't step in much unless I asked, and I was not very good about asking. I struggle with asking for help as a general rule, and then there's the fact that when it comes to parenting, I generally don't have anyone around to ask for help from. If I'm at a restaurant and Maddie and Riley start acting up, it's up to me to control the situation. There's no one else around to pitch in. If things go haywire at home, I'm the one who has to find the calm. Because I'm so used to doing things on my own, it just doesn't occur to me to ask for help. I'll be more aware of that next time, and I think we'll all benefit.

Things reached a critical head on Sunday afternoon. Being around so many reminders of John was hard for me; the family home is filled with photographs and mementos. The five-year anniversary of our engagement was the day after Thanksgiving. And just being together—the bond all of us share is John. There was So Much John, All the Time, even though we spent remarkably little time talking about him. All of that was weighing on me more than I realized, and by Sunday, I was a potent emotional cocktail of anger and sadness and frustration and resentment and tension. I was weepy and short. Riley was not in the best of moods all weekend, and he was really pushing my buttons. We had planned to take the kids to the library on Sunday afternoon, and when Riley staged a full-scale whine-fest about putting on his coat, that was the straw that broke the camel's back for me. I told both the kids, in a rather nasty tone, that I was staying home while they went to the library, have a good time, see you later. My father, father-in-law, and brother-in-law packed the kids off to the library and had a great time; I spent the afternoon crying, stressed out, and upset. We all needed that time apart.

It's embarrassing for me when my family sees how hard our life is and how poorly I sometimes do at managing it. It's shameful to lose my temper with the kids in front of my relatives, and I felt overwhelmingly vulnerable when, after the kids left for the library, I sat at the kitchen table and just cried out of frustration and sadness and grief. I want people to think we're doing OK, not see that I'm barely holding it together. If I've learned anything from the past few weeks, however, it's that I need to be more honest with myself and everyone around me about what my life is really like. Filled with good things, yes, but also filled with grief and anger and stress and too much stuff for one woman to handle gracefully. I'm doing the best that I can, but my best feels like utter crap and it would be better if I would get over my need to be perfect and let people help me.

We had a bit of a rough re-entry upon returning to Boston. I woke up on Tuesday morning to a screaming Maddie wailing, "My neck! My neck hurts, Mama!" Much frustration from everyong and a trip to the doctor later, the diagnosis was wry neck, a crick from sleeping in an awkward position on the plane. It was scary and not fun for anyone, but the good news is that she's totally fine now. After a back-to-reality doctor's visit with Maddie and subsequent late arrival at work and daycare, I was greeted at the office by the news of massive layoffs. Thirty percent of the staff. Not me. But not good news ever, especially at the holidays. Ugh. To add to it all, Mr. Coffee and I have exchanged a frustrating series of phone calls and messages, and I'm not quite sure what's going on there.

So we're back. We're trying to get back on track. My dad flew back from Detroit with us and has extended his stay until Sunday, which will be great. An extra adult in the house is always good for my mental health and the extra set of hands is great, too. When my dad asked me last night if I'd like him to extend his stay–his original plan was to return to Oregon today—my initial thought was, "Oh, that will be expensive, we'll be fine, etc." and then I thought, "FOOL, HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING?!?!" and told him I'd be thrilled if he could make it work. Much better answer. My mom and dad colluded on the phone yesterday to come up with a plan to keep the twins in Oregon for an extra week at the holidays while I come home and enjoy some time to myself; again, my first thought was, "Oh, that's too much for them to do, I can't take them up on that, etc." but I came around rather quickly and am now quite liking the idea.

I'm learning, slowly. I'm letting people help, but it's not easy and I'm not ready to let everyone be part of the solution. Yet. I'm getting there.

And so that was our Thanksgiving, at least the Thanksgiving that went on in my head. Now we shall gear up for Christmas. I actually thought about buying Christmas gifts today, an idea that I did not think I'd be able to handle at all, so amidst all the tough stuff that Thanksgiving brought up for me, there must have been some healing, too. And for that, I am grateful.

Date #10: An Overdue Update

The last couple of weeks have been draining. Processing anger, being sick, caring for sick children, hosting out-of-town guests, and prepping for holiday travel have all left me feeling like I'm behind on everything, blogging included.

Among the many things that I have not blogged about is Date #10 with Mr. Coffee, a sleepover at his place last Friday. The truth is that my general lethargy is not the only reason I've put off writing about it. Here's the thing: it wasn't a very fun date, it's left me with a lot of questions. I haven't been sure how to write about it because I haven't decided how I feel about it. What I decided today is that perhaps writing about it will help me figure out how I feel.*

It's no secret from the Internets that I had a tough week emotionally last week. Mr. Coffee had an equally tough week but his stress was work-related rather than personal. The manifestations for both of us were similar: neither of us had been sleeping or eating well, and we both felt totally depleted, physically and emotionally. I was really looking forward to our date as a time to recharge. I knew I'd get a good meal, a good night's sleep, and some TLC. I know Mr. Coffee was looking forward to the evening, too, and I think it was for the same reasons.

The problem with this plan was that we both needed a lot and neither of us has much of anything to give. I wanted to be loved and taken care of; so did he. We both needed that, but neither of us could provide it. We ended up eating a lame dinner, talking about all of the stressful things that had happened to us during the week, feeling stressed out by talking about the stressful things, snapping at each other, and falling asleep on the couch at 8:30. Along the way, I was annoyed by the fact that he suddenly couldn't remember if I like white wine or red, felt a need to tell me a story about the flight attendant who hit on him on his last business trip, and lectured me about how I need to get better at controlling my emotions. Bah.

This is being in a relationship. It's not all fun and pampering. It's just unfortunate that Mr. Coffee and I both had such bad weeks at the same time. We've since talked on the phone, and that was nice; while we didn't specifically talk about Unlucky #10, it felt good to reconnect when we were both in a better place (although I'm still stressed about the holidays and he's still struggling with work). It's tough when we don't get to see each other very much as we only experience segments of each others' lives. Up to this point, I feel like we've worked on enjoying the time we spend together and not letting the Negative Life Crap intrude. It's been nice, but it's not reality. Now we have to figure out how to deal with the bad along with the good. As we struggle to do this, it becomes clear that because we haven't spent all that much time together, we don't know yet how to support one another. 

We'll see what happens after Thanksgiving. I asked Mr. Coffee if he could take me, Maddie, and Riley to the airport on Thanksgiving day, and he can't as he has his girls in the morning. It felt like a big step to ask him to do that, and he was very sweet about it, and he offered to pick us up, but we don't come back until work hours on Monday. I was glad he was willing to be there for me even if it didn't end up working out. We'll try to see each other during the week next week once Maddie, Riley, and I are home. I hope we're both less stressed then, or if not, that were better able to help each other deal with the stress in our lives. 

I think all relationships hit this point, the point where you realize that partnerships require work and effort. Not everything about life is pretty. Once you let someone in, you're eventually going to get to the ugly stuff, and then you have to figure out if you can handle it. If you can handle it, you have to make sure the way you handle it works for the other person in the relationship. Mr. Coffee and I are starting to let each other in. I have a feeling we can both take it, but I need someone who can jump in with both feet and be really present both physically and emotionally. I'm not sure he can do that, given the pressures he has from work and his family. We'll see where things are headed in the next few weeks. There's nothing like a little Relationship Drama during the holidays, right? Right.

*Which leads me to an interesting point of discussion: Do I process things before, during, or after I blog? It's a combination of the three, but the truth of the matter is that I don't tend to blog about something until I've given it a lot of thought, planned the structure of the post out in my head, and come to an initial conclusion about my feelings. Oh, sure, during the writing, I will often find myself in uncharted waters, surprised by the turn things have taken; posts sound one way in my head and another way entirely on screen. Julia over at I Won't Fear Love has a thought-provoking post up on the subject of why and how one writes, so I've got this on the brain. She, too, in her post discusses a difficult event that she has struggled to find words to explain. I guess it's going around.

Date #9: In Which Nothing of Much Note Happens; Plus: Random Updates

Last Friday night, Mr. Coffee finally got home from his latest two-week business trip. He checked in with me right away and confirmed what we had discussed before we left: a date for Sunday night. Since my mom was around to watch Maddie and Riley, I went over to Mr. Coffee's house for an early dinner. He was exhausted from his trip and was still adjusting to U.S. time, and I was exhausted from dealing with sick kids and being out late at a concert on Saturday night,* so it was a pretty low-key evening, which suited me just fine.

He usually has me call when I arrive at his place, and then he comes down to walk me up from the car. This time, he was watching for me, and as I pulled into my parking spot, the door to his building opened, and there he was. Very sweet.

He always serves awesome snacks. Every time I'm over, he has some new, delicious cheese I've never heard of, plus an array of other goodies.

He has a fireplace. I love fireplaces. I was very, very happy to sit in front of the fireplace, drink some good wine, eat some great snacks, and get caught up on an eventful two weeks.

He showed me pictures from this past trip, during which he celebrated his birthday and his company hosted a massive party for him. It was fun to put his travels in context.

He had downloaded a "virtual zoo" onto his iPhone thinking that Maddie and Riley would enjoy looking at the photos and touching the animals to hear what sound they make. I doubt he imagined how much fun the two of us would have quizzing each other on the animal sounds. I got hyena! I rule!

This is going to sound really odd, but he smells so good. Not like cologne or anything, just the way he smells is the best scent ever. I've had friends tell me that they love the way their significant other smells, but it's never really made sense to me until dating Mr. Coffee. Now it makes perfect sense. He smells divine. He probably thinks I'm nuts because I'm always sniffing him.

The last time I was over, I had teasingly given him a hard time about the fact that the water in his shower didn't get hot enough for my taste. Last night he told me that before he left on his trip, the building maintenance guys came and adjusted the water so that it would get hotter for me. I did not try it out last night, but maybe next time.

I was sent home with a big bag of chocolate for Maddie, Riley, and me. Yum.

We discussed seeing each other during the week this week; he'll know more about his schedule once he's back in the office today. I told him I was free on Tuesday or Thursday evenings. His ever-so-charming and totally-correct-but-just-so-slightly-off reply was, "I'll commit that to memory." I love how he says these things that are not wrong, but not exactly what a native English speaker would say. 

Here's hoping for a midweek rendez-vous.

********************************

I reread my Brain Dump post this morning and realized that I'd made a massive mistake in the first line. For all you interpreters out there, this one would have been classified as a Major Meaning Error. In my first sentence, when I said that everything is crappy in the middle of the night when your children are sleeping, what I meant is that it's crappy when they AREN'T sleeping. 

Sorry for any confusion. I've corrected the post.

But speaking of that post, I love the idea of screaming and yelling in my car. Awesome. Will have to implement that, perhaps during my commute.

Also speaking of that post, the sleeping is getting better. Both kids are feeling much better, coughing less, sleeping more. As with last weekend when I was sick on the farm trip, I'm feeling both grateful that my mom has been here to help and a little bummed that there has been illness to deal with during her stay. 

We've made the most of things, though. Mom and I took the kids to IKEA yesterday morning, which was a hoot. We got there just at the cafeteria opened and had free breakfast. Yum! Maddie ate enough eggs to turn her into a chicken, and Riley enjoyed feeding himself applesauce with an oversized spoon, the only one we could find. Then we hit the children's area where Maddie discovered this chair:

She hopped right in and said, "I in my office! Riley, you see my office?" She loved it. She and Riley each got one for Christmas, along with some kid-size kitchen utensils and a little doll bed. Yay! We got an ice cream cone on the way out, too, which Riley ate with his usual unswavering concentration. Maddie and Riley have mentioned the glory of our IKEA trip too many times to count since we got home.

We've also done lots of playing and lots of eating. Other than the illness, we had a good weekend all around. Tonight we're going out for dinner, then tomorrow we have to say goodbye to my mom. Waaaa!

*My Favorite Anon.: Are you reading? Did you notice that I went out without the kids TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW! Quick, call Child Protective Services! 

Q&A

One of my readers, masteroftheuniverse, recently widowed himself, asked me this question in comments:

When your husband died, did you first say, "I'll never be with another person for as long as I live?"

The answer to that question is a resounding, unequivocal yes. The idea of being with someone other than John was initially so alien as to be incomprehensible. I missed John so much that I could not imagine anyone else filling the void he had left in my life. Add to that the stress and logistics of dealing with the twins by myself, and I couldn't comprehend how or why I'd want to find another partner.

I felt that way for about a year, I'd say. During that time, I gradually came to realize that I missed not only John, but just having a spouse. As that realization hit me, I began to think that perhaps I could figure out how to integrate another person into my life perhaps when the twins were older, in school. I thought that once they were a little more self-sufficient, I'd have some time to think about myself, my needs, and my desires.

Then I went through a really, really rough period of very deep sadness. I was angry a lot. I was short with the twins all the time. I was cranky and tired. And it lasted for months. Then in August, I had an epiphany. I had been assuming that I felt like utter crap because I was grieving. I'm sure that was part of it. But I realized that some of my anger, sadness, and crabbiness came from other sources. The grief felt completely out of my control; if the grief experts agree on one thing it's that you just need to feel the feelings and experience the experiences. You can't control them and you shouldn't try. Fine. I can try my hardest to accept that. But the anger and sadness in my life that's not grief-related? I'm going to do my best to fix it, because it feels like total shit.

And thus I began dating, because I realized that at least some of my anger and sadness came from a place of loneliness. The twins and I are blessed to have more friends than we can count, more friends than we can see on a regular basis. I never felt isolated, or like we didn't see people enough or have enough support. In fact, I often found that I craved less social interaction, which makes dating seem like a counterintuitive leap. The thing is, all the friends in the world don't make up for having an intimate partner. There's something (obviously) physical but also emotional about dating someone that your friends can't give you. Sure, it takes time to find an build a relationship that's really meaningful, but I personally have always enjoyed the process leading up to that, so I was not daunted by the thought of being back on the dating scene. In fact, I looked forward to it. First dates do not make me nervous. I could talk to a wall for a couple of hours, so I never worry about conversation (other than me dominating it). I truly enjoy meeting new people; you never know what someone will have up his or her sleeve. And I do like that thrill of the chase, that giddy potential of wondering: Could this person be the one?

And thus began the well-chronicled tales of Mr. Coffee and the brief meetings (or lack thereof) with Mr. Nice and Mr. Tango.

Here's something interesting. Jeff (aka masteroftheuniverse), continued his comment from above by saying:

Plus, what [my wife and I] had was perfection and anyone else would pale compared to her.

I have had pretty much no problem comparing my current relationship or any of my potential dates with John. The main reason for this is that my relationship with John was not perfect. In the time immediately following John's death, I did remember our relationship as perfect. I totally forgot about some really difficult stuff we went though before we got married—things I'm not ready to write about in this blog mostly because they are thing that John would never want Out There, and even though he is dead, I feel a need to respect that. Suffice it to say that there were some things we worked through that were very challenging. His cancer diagnosis made those things seem like trivial bits of a long-lost past, but they were in fact real issues that could have—and I think would have—continued to plague us if he had not been sick. Do I think they would have been the demise of our marriage? No, or I would not have entered into that marriage in the first place. Do I think John was a wonderful, amazing, supporting, loving, caring partner? Absolutely. But lately the imperfections of our union have been more on my mind than the good parts, even though the good parts were more plentiful.

I think there's a bit of self-protectionism in this. As I open myself up to another person, I need to remember that my relationship with John had flaws so that I don't make unfair comparisons. I don't want to put my relationship with John on a pedastal as some kind of unattainable goal. Cloaking my relationship with John in perfectionism feels, for me—and I do not generalize this feeling to others—like an excuse. It's risky to think about being open to another serious relationship, even a marriage. I did that once and suffered a big loss. The idea of experiencing that kind of pain again can feel foolish and reckless, and if I manage to convince myself that there was no way anyone could compare with John, I wouldn't have to open myself up to the possibility of that pain again. The thing is, the payoff of being open could be huge.

I was recently in touch with a young widow Internet friend of mine, and she said something really profound to me. Her husband died a year (or more?) before John, and she is now in a very serious relationship with someone else. She told me that the man she is with now is actually a better match for her than her late husband was. It had never, ever occurred to me that I could find someone who would be a better match for me. When I started dating again, it had crossed my mind that I might find someone who was an equally good match, who made me feel as fulfilled as John did, albeit in a different way. But better? No. Hadn't considered it. Frankly, it was a thrilling thought. I have lost so much, felt so much pain. The idea that the experience could end up leading me to something better is oddly comforting.

This isn't to say that I will find someone who is a better fit. I might, I might not. But one thing is certain: if I do, that has no bearing whatsoever on the love I shared with John. Young widows and widowers face a lot of judgment about this. Some people (and I am not pointing fingers at any of my readers) would have us unfortunate souls believe that if we move on, if we find someone else to date or someone else to marry, we've somehow diminished the love we have for our late spouse. These folks want us to think that the only way to prove that the love we had for our spouses was pure and true and perfect is to martyr ourselves and be resigned to never finding love (or just having sex!) again. To that, I say: BITE ME. I loved my husband deeply. But he's never coming back. Nothing I do with the remainder of my life will change what I had with John, or the depth of my feelings for him, which were as deep and true as I was capable of at that time in my life.

So to Jeff: There is a very long answer to your question. Thanks for the food for thought.

Sassy

I feel very sassy today. A night on the town will do that to a girl. Never mind that I am 36 and was at an event where a remarkably high percentage of the attendees were young enough to be there with parental chaperones, but whatever. Either I am young at heart or need to start acting my age.

Speaking of which, when is one too old to wear short skirts? I'm not talking super-short here, but above the knee. I just stood up and measured: from the top of my kneecap to the bottom of my skirt there is a four inch (approximately 24 pica, in the parlance of my industry) gap. I am short (5'2", not sure of the pica conversion), so this is a reasonable percentage of my thigh. Clearly, I don't think I'm in poor taste or I would not have worn the outfit, but should 36-year-olds be wearing skirts that end four inches above the knee? It is an orange corduroy skirt, and I have black tights on underneath. It's all in honor of Halloween, of course, and I'm wearing black boots, with a heel, all of which is adding to my already sassy demeanor.

[The next two paragraphs are about So You Think You Can Dance; skip them if you don't care.]

But back to being out on the town last night. It was so fun. I expected to enjoy the So You Think You Can Dance show, but it totally exceeded my expectations. Sitting in the fourth row really helped. It was awesome to be able to see the dancers' facial expressions; all of them are great performers. I'd forgotten about a few people, such as Thayne. Wow, is he boring! Poor Thayne. But on the flip side, I'd forgotten how much I love goofy, quirky Mark. And Kherington! She is so very pretty, just PRETTY, it's quite amazing. There was something a little wrong or ironic or just plain gross about the fact that I was quaffing beer and stuffing myself with a hot pretzel and cheese while watching these amazing human specimens perform physical feats of greatness, but perhaps my fervent cheering and brisk walk to and from the car constituted a workout?

In any case, I got to see all of my favorite dances from the season, plus many I had forgotten about, and it was just plain fun. I also enjoyed seeing so many families in the audience and wondering if someday that's the kind of thing Maddie and Riley and I might do together. How fun would that be? They would probably be seriously embarrassed by my SuperTwitch shirt, but hey, embarrassing your kids is a parental rite of passage.

[Thus endeth the SYTYCD commentary.]

Receiving a lovely e-mail from Mr. Coffee this morning, the first of this trip, is also contributing to my bouncy mood. He informed me that he's been thinking both "good and dirty" thoughts of me (naughty!) and that he will plan to see me "as soon as it is feasible." Then he signed it "Bisoux," the charming French equivalent for "XO." A nice way to start the day.

I'm planning to take the twins trick-or-treating this evening after school; after postulating that they had no idea what Halloween was, I went in their room this morning ready to explain why they would be going to school in costume. "Today is a special day!" I said. "It's Halloween!"

"OOOOOOOH! We wear costumes!" squealed Maddie.

I guess someone else explained it to them. This is what happens when your kids spend all day in the company of others and are at an age where they can't and don't tell you about everything that happens to them during that time.

I did teach Maddie and Riley how to say "Trick or treat!" which they found hilarious. Maddie was thrilled to put on her bee costume. Riley was hesitant about his ladybug garb. "I no wanna wear tights!" he protested as I tried to shimmy them on. "Oh, honey, these aren't tights. They are Special Black Pants!" Thankfully for me, he bought that line, although as soon as we walked through the door at daycare he said, "TAKE THIS OFF! I no wanna wear this costume!" So I might be trick-or-treating with a bumblebee and a . . . very cute little boy. My plan is to pull them around our neighborhood in their wagon and visit just a few friends. It's supposed to be a clear, relatively mild evening, so it should be fun to be out and about.

Happy Halloween, everyone. May the treats outweigh the tricks.

Well, Wouldn't You Know

Sometime in August, I bragged to my mom that Maddie and Riley were never sick.

The next day they both got some nasty virus and were as sick as they'd ever been.

I clearly remember a trip John and I took to Vermont before we were married during which I was telling him about this blog I read written by this woman who had lost her husband to cancer. She was trying to conceive their children with sperm they had banked before her husband started his treatment. I was telling John how much pain I felt for this woman for her loss and for her having to create a future that honored her late husband but didn't include him. I expounded on how I could not imagine being able to make the decision she was making; it just seemed too hard.

Well, it's not so different from my situation now.

When we found out that John had "spots" in his liver (ha! spots! the doctors really call them that. sounds so innocuous.) but didn't yet know what his actual diagnosis was, we naively thought he must have liver cancer. Liver cancer is pretty grim. In an attempt to cheer us up, a friend said, "Well, at least it's not pancreatic cancer! That kills everyone!"

Ha, "joke" was on us.

My point here is that I find examples large and small in my life of instances that prove that I should follow the old adage and never say never. It's when I say never that karma or Murphy or God or a god or who- or whatever shows up to prove me wrong.

Three days ago, I stated right here on this blog that I don't dream about people I know well. Last night, I dreamed about Maddie and Riley in one dream and Mr. Coffee in another. My dreams, like my personality, are usually very practical, the kinds of mundane things that could happen in real life.* Last night was no exception. In the dream about Maddie and Riley, I was all excited because I was out shopping and found these cute little wallets for them. They are obsessed with my wallet and have been asking me for wallets of their own. In my dream, I was at some knick-knacky kind of store, and I found a two-pack of old-school velcro wallets that would be perfect for M&R. So I bought them and took them home and the kids were all excited and that was that. Snooze.

I woke up from that dream, quickly feel back asleep, and promptly dreamed about Mr. Coffee. We went out to dinner. It was nice, romantic. At the end of the meal, I quite without warning or any lead-in whatsoever said, "You know what? I love you."

And then I woke up for the day.

Dreams have never felt to me like some kind of expression of unspoken desire or working out of troubled thoughts. I rarely remember them, and when I do, there's not much worth telling.** I've certainly in real life had no urge to blurt out "I love you" to Mr. Coffee. We have yet to establish what our relationship is/could be/should be, for crying out loud. In any case, the dream was surprising. Ultimately, it's just a dream.

*Of course, now I'm going to have some crazy time-travelling fantasy dream.

**OK, once I dreamed that I was the second coming of Christ, but that's something that I should probably discuss with my therapist.

Three Quotes

[Riley, pointing at a basketball hoop]
Mama, look! A basketball hula-hoop! It for the big boys.

[Maddie, pulling a large, green plastic bug out of our bucket o'animals]
Mama, this one a praying mantis. [and another]This one a cicada. [and another]This one a dragonfly. [and another]This the cricket.
[Can you tell we read The Very Quiet Cricket a lot?]

[Mr. Coffee]
I'm developing quite an addiction to you.

Date #8: Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow (no breakup, just another business trip)

Mr. Coffee and I were supposed to get together on Friday, but we totally got our signals crossed.

I am a Language Professional. I have a lot of experience living in places where the predominant language spoken is not my first language, and, on the flip side, I have a lot of experience speaking English with people whose native language is something else. In my professional opinion, the crossed signals Mr. Coffee and I experienced were a function of Linguistic Breakdown. I outlined our plans in a way that seemed perfectly clear (to me) in e-mail; he read the message both inattentively (busy at work, not much of a written communicator) and filtered through two other languages before he got to English. Voilà: suddenly he thought I was coming to him and I thought he was coming to me and it just didn't happen.

I notice this kind of thing often in our communication; for example, I'll ask him a question, and his answer will give away that he's understood something subtly different. I think some people might write it off as him not being a good listener, but from my own experience and from our interaction, I know he's listening. His English is excellent, but it's not perfect. It's a language thing. It happens more on the phone and over e-mail and less when we talk face to face, which is a giveaway to me that it's linguistic.

John and I actually used to get into debates about this in regards to his parents. When John spoke to his parents, they spoke Korean and John answered in English. I always felt like there were times when they had Linguistic Breakdown, and either John didn't totally understand the Korean or his mom or dad didn't totally understand the English, or both, and suddenly they would be talking about the same subject but missing each other's points. John maintained that his parents weren't listening, but based on my own English-English conversations with his parents, I don't think it was that. They were listening as hard as they could, but sometimes, they missed stuff. Neither of them really learned to speak English until they were adults. Their English is excellent, but this language stuff can be sneaky. The same is true for Mr. Coffee. He didn't really learn English in a practical way until he came to the U.S. in his mid-twenties. He's at a disadvantage.

The bottom line is that Linguistic Breakdowns can be frustrating, but I am very forgiving of them. Also: I think Mr. Coffee and I should speak more French, a second language for both of us, which would put us on equal footing and be sexy to boot.

Anyway. I'm two glasses of wine and a lot of good sex into my night, so I'm having a hard time keeping track of my point. Here it is: Mr. Coffee and I had Date #8 tonight, Sunday, instead of Friday.

He got here in time to see Maddie and Riley before they went to bed. They were both very excited to see him, and he was equally pleased to see them. I like that he makes a point to come over when they are still up. He could just as easily wait until they went to bed, but he makes sure to get here in time to spend a bit of time with them; we're usually getting home from being out and about with friends, and the twins enjoy telling him about our adventures and day. Maddie wanted him to join us for story time, but Riley wasn't quite ready for that. Maybe next time.

After the kids were in bed, Mr. Coffee and I spent some good time getting caught up on our weeks (both of us were very busy) over some wine and snacks. Then we did less talking and more, um, yeah.

He leaves on Tuesday for a nearly two-week trip. Grr. He's more frustrated about it than I am in the sense that he's sick of the work travel; it's fun for a while, but then it just gets old. He's at the point where it's old. He misses his kids. He misses me, or so he says, and I believe him. His travel schedule looks calmer over the holidays, which is something to look forward to, although the twins and I are away for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I didn't go for any Relationship Talk tonight. I feel like it's something I need to do, but tonight my need for a night off trumped that. It was delightful, just what I needed. I predict that I will sleep well.

Now it's nose to the grindstone for the next two weeks while Mr. Coffee is away. Good lord, I need to exercise and take care of some stuff around the house. For now, though, I need to sleep.

As an aside, I wish I dreamed about people I know well. I usually dream about people I know, but wish I knew better. For example, recently, I had an awesome dream about a guy I had a crush on in high school, and I frequently dream about people I've met and think would make great friends. I'd love to have a dream about John, but I can almost guarantee I never will. And as I fall asleep tonight, I'd love to have a dream about Mr. Coffee. Alas, although we haven't known each other very long, we already know each other too well for that to happen.