Well, I'll admit that my dating life has never been "glamorous", before or after Isaac came along. Before Isaac, I dated my high school sweetheart (and had a short-lived engagement) before we realized that we had nothing in common, except for the fact that we had known each other since before puberty. Then I dated the Marine who got discharged because he did Ecstasy with some Japanese girls in Okinawa. Then came the schmuck who loved himself more than anyone else. And last but not least, Isaac's daddy. Don't even get me started on that. So, even in my early 20's, before pregnancy gave me a muffin top, before diapers and skidmarks and snot, I was a dating failure.
Fast forward to 5 years later. I'm still terrible at it. Blond-haired, blue-eyed baggage or not. I've done the online dating thing more times than I care to admit in the last 4 or so years. After several "relationships" that stemmed from online dating, including one disastrous engagement (yup, I've been engaged TWICE), I finally gave up and deleted my profile and haven't looked back since. Even when my friend (who shall remain nameless) highly recommended that I try out sugardaddy.com. "You'll be taken care of, and all you have to do is be his arm candy!" Classy.
Some people have had a lot of success with online dating, like those sickening people on the eHarmony commercials. But I have NOT had that kind of success. Most dating profiles contain at least one piece of information that you will later find out is a flat-out lie. Not all of them; I've dated some honest people and my profile was completely truthful (at least, as far as I recall). But there's the guy who claimed to be a sports fan to woo me, but never wanted to watch hockey.....during the PLAYOFFS! What kind of hockey fan doesn't watch the Stanley Cup Playoffs? Pretend fans who are trying to date hockey fans, that's who. Another guy claimed to be "single" (as in never married), but it turns out I would've been #3. I dodged that bullet! Not to say that all online daters lie, or even that people you meet OFFline always tell the truth. You'll find dishonest people anywhere. I just decided that online dating wasn't the best route for me.
So where else would a single mom without a social life meet a potential significant other? Work? I work with kids and women. The grocery store? Unless I'm looking smokin' hot that day (which is unlikely since I tend to shop in sweats on a Sunday morning), they'll change their minds and go to the next aisle as soon as they hear my child scream, "YOU NEVER GET ME ANYTHING!!" Starbucks? I gotta say, there are some fine specimen that have been in line in front of me at Starbucks, particularly men in uniform....and they're ALL married. I check. Every time. So instead of bothering to make eye contact with them, I just gaze at their butts and pretend that my sexy, imaginary, police officer hubby is buying me a latte.
One place that has been suggested to me by many people is the gym. "Hey, at least you'll know they're semi-healthy." This crossed my mind as I pulled up to the gym on Monday. Not that I was man-hunting that day. I was most definitely not on the lookout, but I decided to consider it as an option during my visit. It didn't take me long to realize that if I'm going to attract someone at the gym, I have a 90-second window. That is how long it takes me to walk in the front door, check in, and walk up the stairs to the treadmill. Once I'm on the treadmill, all bets are off.
Within a few minutes of beginning my 3.1 mile run, I'm no longer even remotely irresistible or date-worthy. I'm panting like a dog in labor, my face is as red as a tomato, and I'm sweating in places I'VE never even seen. Add that to the fact that I've been told that I run like Phoebe Buffay from Friends, I'm pretty sure there is nobody behind me waiting for the opportunity to ask for my number. And if they happen to be able to hear Fresh Beat Band blaring from my headphones (What? It's a catchy song!), I lose another 10 points. At the end of my 5k run, I VERY slowly step off the treadmill so as not to fall on my face. Then I walk to the stationary bike. Not to ride it, but to sit on it for 10 minutes until I can safely walk down the steps to leave. When I stand up, as if I haven't already given you an image of the utmost sexiness, I leave a butt-print of sweat on the bike. Hot. I shakily descend the staircase and walk across the gym towards the front door. I look around at the men working out. Some of them glance in my direction, but in more of a "I hope that girl doesn't have a stroke in front of me" kind of way rather than a "Oooh, she's hot and I want to ask her out" kind of way. My 90-second window has long since passed.
I guess I'll just have to hope that my sister has another disabling episode of vertigo so that I can escort her to see her handsome ENT. Take one for the team, sis!
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
My 17 Kids
Only one is biologically mine. The other 16 belong to other moms and dads but have had such a profound impact on my life that I can't help but to call them "my kids". I never even realized that I called them mine until my actual child pointed it out to me. If he takes my work games out of my car, I say, "Make sure you put that back when you're done. I need it for my kids tomorrow." Or "I'll see my kids until 4:00, then I'll come pick you up at school." On Friday, he said, "Why do you call them your kids? Don't they have moms?" Part of me felt a little guilty. I'd never want him to think that he's not my #1. But I explained to him that they're just kids that I see for work and they're not actually "mine". They do have moms, but I care for them, too.
While they're not biologically mine, they're not "just a job" to me. They make me smile, they make me laugh, they make my heart break when they're sad or when they struggle. Most of them have brought tears to my eyes at least once. I worry about them when I'm not with them. I worry about them when they're sick. And they also have a tendency to drive me nuts when they don't behave. My child or not, each and every one of them has gotten "the look".
I have a wide range of kids who are all very unique, and all are special to me for different reasons. There's the 3 year old girl who was born with a laundry list of diagnoses and couldn't say more than one word a little over a year ago, but now tells me she loves me every day before I leave. And her 4 year old brother who has me wrapped around his finger, especially when he serenades me with his little guitar (while wearing only underwear and a cowboy hat). There's the 11 year old girl with cerebral palsy who used to slap me and throw tantrums (and still does on occasion), but more and more often, kisses my arm in apology for her behavior. There are the twin girls who remind me of my sweet nephews and make me laugh when they speak to each other (and fight with each other) in their own 2 year old language. Then there's the 4 year old, beautiful little girl who first came to me as a foster child with an amazing foster family. She's now back with her biological parents, but I still see her every week and worry about her daily. If she's clean and smiling, I tell myself she's OK and try to ignore the urge to grill her about whether or not she's being taken care of. You know the saying, "Don't take your work home with you"? Completely impossible in my line of work. At least for me.
Kids are literally "my life". They are my focus at work and at home. The sick and disabled children that I see every day make me extremely grateful for my perfectly healthy, smart boy. They teach me to not take anything for granted and to find joy in the little things. This is, by far, the best job I've ever had. Not just because I have an awesome schedule that allows me to work only 3 days a week, but because it's incredibly fun and rewarding. I get to wear comfy clothes, play games, color, have tea parties, get kisses and hugs from sweet kids who love me, and help them to conquer one of the most important skills in their lives: communication. It can't get much better than that.
While they're not biologically mine, they're not "just a job" to me. They make me smile, they make me laugh, they make my heart break when they're sad or when they struggle. Most of them have brought tears to my eyes at least once. I worry about them when I'm not with them. I worry about them when they're sick. And they also have a tendency to drive me nuts when they don't behave. My child or not, each and every one of them has gotten "the look".
I have a wide range of kids who are all very unique, and all are special to me for different reasons. There's the 3 year old girl who was born with a laundry list of diagnoses and couldn't say more than one word a little over a year ago, but now tells me she loves me every day before I leave. And her 4 year old brother who has me wrapped around his finger, especially when he serenades me with his little guitar (while wearing only underwear and a cowboy hat). There's the 11 year old girl with cerebral palsy who used to slap me and throw tantrums (and still does on occasion), but more and more often, kisses my arm in apology for her behavior. There are the twin girls who remind me of my sweet nephews and make me laugh when they speak to each other (and fight with each other) in their own 2 year old language. Then there's the 4 year old, beautiful little girl who first came to me as a foster child with an amazing foster family. She's now back with her biological parents, but I still see her every week and worry about her daily. If she's clean and smiling, I tell myself she's OK and try to ignore the urge to grill her about whether or not she's being taken care of. You know the saying, "Don't take your work home with you"? Completely impossible in my line of work. At least for me.
Kids are literally "my life". They are my focus at work and at home. The sick and disabled children that I see every day make me extremely grateful for my perfectly healthy, smart boy. They teach me to not take anything for granted and to find joy in the little things. This is, by far, the best job I've ever had. Not just because I have an awesome schedule that allows me to work only 3 days a week, but because it's incredibly fun and rewarding. I get to wear comfy clothes, play games, color, have tea parties, get kisses and hugs from sweet kids who love me, and help them to conquer one of the most important skills in their lives: communication. It can't get much better than that.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
The Big 3-0....
...one decade closer to middle age, Dirty Thirty, Doomsday, however you prefer to describe the 30-year milestone. Point is, mine is looming in the very near future and I haven't completely prepared myself for it. I'm not quite in crisis mode as I was from age 27 until age 29 1/2, but I'm definitely not buying into the whole "your 30's will be the best decade of your life!" BS, either. How is that even possible? In your 20's, you're young, have great metabolism, and your uterus is still in top working order. Not to mention, it's much more acceptable to be single. At 28, "you still have time". At 30+, it becomes "what's wrong with them?" I'm actually guilty of the latter myself. There have been many times that I've gone on a date with a man over the age of 30 and wondered what disgusting flaw they possess that has prevented them from snagging a wife long before now. Or I make the assumption that they have commitment issues. Now that I am staring 30 in the face, I've questioned the cause(s) of my own single status. Is it my obsessive love of sports and the fact that I can throw out baseball and football terms and stats without missing a beat? Or maybe it's the fact that I'm not the most feminine chick in the world. I've been known to exhibit very un-ladylike behavior, much to my mother's dismay. And the most likely cause of my current single status is the blond-haired, blue-eyed, so-called "baggage" sleeping in the next room. The one who reminds me almost weekly that 1) I'm not married ("Everyone's married....well, except you, mom", and 2) he's waited long enough for a sibling (or a puppy). He prefers a sibling and has made the (very good) argument that with a baby, I wouldn't have to clean up poop in the yard.
All of that said, I've actually gotten to a place in my life where I'm not stressing over my lack of a husband. Sure, it enters my mind from time to time, mostly after my son reminds me that I'm some kind of lonely cat lady. But the impending doom of my 30th birthday has mostly gotten me all rattled because of the loss of my youth, fear of my 40's a mere decade away, and a ridiculous fear that my health and appearance is suddenly going to plummet on December 16. Is everything going to dry up and fall out? Am I going to gain 50 pounds and wear mom jeans from now on? Maybe I'll buy yet another cat to add to our growing collection.
These crazy fears of mine (and yes, I do admit that they are absurd) may actually benefit me in the long run. My fear of my whole body falling apart has motivated me to eat better and become more active this year, particularly in the last few months. My goal for age 30 and 2012 is to drop the final 15 pounds and run one race per month. My next race is December 10 and I will be documenting them on the "Run, Mommy, Run" page on this blog. Until then, here's to the last 5 weeks of my 20's. :)
All of that said, I've actually gotten to a place in my life where I'm not stressing over my lack of a husband. Sure, it enters my mind from time to time, mostly after my son reminds me that I'm some kind of lonely cat lady. But the impending doom of my 30th birthday has mostly gotten me all rattled because of the loss of my youth, fear of my 40's a mere decade away, and a ridiculous fear that my health and appearance is suddenly going to plummet on December 16. Is everything going to dry up and fall out? Am I going to gain 50 pounds and wear mom jeans from now on? Maybe I'll buy yet another cat to add to our growing collection.
These crazy fears of mine (and yes, I do admit that they are absurd) may actually benefit me in the long run. My fear of my whole body falling apart has motivated me to eat better and become more active this year, particularly in the last few months. My goal for age 30 and 2012 is to drop the final 15 pounds and run one race per month. My next race is December 10 and I will be documenting them on the "Run, Mommy, Run" page on this blog. Until then, here's to the last 5 weeks of my 20's. :)
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