Posted by Kimberly on May 31st, 2008 — Posted in Just Like Riding A Bicycle, Facebook Guy, The Man I Didn't Marry
I have to confess, even though I’ve made it clear all along that my relationship with The Man I Didn’t Marry is not some sort of romantic comedy in which, after a decade and a whole lot of life experience, our favourite couple finally manages to get over themselves and figure things out, I did sort of think that this year’s unniversary would be a bit different than usual. For the first time since the year we didn’t get married after all (1997, for those of you playing our at home game), The Man and I are back in each other’s lives. Heck, we’ve been dating. So, I guess I figured maybe we’d hang out or something…You know, mark the occasion of our non-occasion with a couple of drinks and maybe some laughs.
Is that weird?
OK, I admit it. I was totally thinking that we’d go out to dinner, have a nice evening, and maybe toast the end of an era of estrangement and a friendship reborn. Until I logged on to my Facebook and saw this in my newsfeed, that is:
The Man You Didn’t Marry is in a relationship with Someone Who Is Not You.
Um..What?
True, we were just dating. And I’m really not looking to be in a relationship with anyone, let alone The Man I Didn’t Marry Who Just Got Out Of A Rebound Marriage But Whose Divorce Isn’t Even Final Yet. But….
What???
It’s not the fact that he’s “in a relationship” that bothers me. It’s not even that he was apparently dating her and who knows who else at the same time he was dating me (I honestly would not have cared; I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen Facebook Guy a time or two.) It’s not even the fact that my big unniversary plan is now kaput and I’m back to spending the day alone. What bothers me is that I found out about it through a FACEBOOK NEWSFEED.
Ouch.
Yes, ok, fine. I did, once upon a time, practically leave him at the altar. And yes, I pretty much blindsided him in doing so. And no, I didn’t have a better articulated reason than, “I think I’ve made a mistake and even though I love you, I don’t want to marry you.” (In my defense, I DID give back the ring. And I still think I was right.) But that’s not the point here–All that was eleven years, four kids, two careers, and a failed marriage ago. The point here is that in spite of that ancient history, I think that at the very least I deserved to hear the big news from an email, not a Facebook Update.
None of which changes the fact that apparently The Man I Didn’t Marry and I have come full circle after all. But you know what? I think I’m ok with that part of things. I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
7 Comments »
Posted by Kimberly on May 29th, 2008 — Posted in Zen Baby, Kipple
I’ve never participated in the Shape of A Mother project. I’ve read the stories and seen the pictures and applauded the idea of taking pride in our postpartum bodies as they are and not as the media would like us to believe they should be, but I’ve never felt compelled to submit my own struggle to embrace my maternal self.
Mostly, I guess I figured that I didn’t really have any issues. Not that I don’t have the same stretch marks, widened hips and residual 5 lbs that nearly every mother carries with her–I ballooned from 117 to 168 lbs with Diva Girl so trust me, I’ve got stretchmarks! It’s just that as a former “Fat Girl” gone tiny, I’d worked through a lot of my body stuff before I ever got knocked up. Or, at least I thought I had; the fact that nearly a decade later I still have total recall of those two numbers might possibly tell a different tale–one that is written by the stretchmarks scrawled across my belly.
Like many women, I’ve dealt with this scarred swathe of skin through the simple expedient of hysterical blindness. It’s not that I’m in denial about those sagging abdominal muscles and the roadmap of white lines that criss cross the; I know they’re there all right. But much like my red hair, freckles, and the mole behind my right knee, they are simply a part of the natural landscape of my body–something so familiar that I barely notice it anymore.
Regan, however, is four and therefore honourbound to notice everything–including the lines marring my belly that serve as a permanent reminder of the time I carried her (and her sister) under my heart as well as in it.
“What’s that?” She asks, pointing to the ruined skin.
How do you explain stretchmarks to preschooler? Especially one who bears her own scars on her belly?
“That’s where you pushed out all the skin when you were inside my fat tummy!” I answer with a smile and a tickle.
She giggles at this image, charmed as all children her age are that someone as big as themselves once lived in there. Then, in a gesture that takes my breath away with its gorgeous simplicity, she leans over and kisses those marks–and in doing so, heals wounds I didn’t even know I had.
5 Comments »
Posted by Kimberly on May 28th, 2008 — Posted in The Ladies, The Agony and The Entropy, Kipple
I didn’t really mean it the other day when I said I had too many shoes. Really, how can anyone have too many shoes? It’s just not possible! Unless, maybe, the shoes in question no longer fit the feet for which they are intended. Then there might possibly be an issue–especially if the owner of said shoes is unwilling to part with them, despite their apparent loss of functionality.
It’s been well documented over the years that I have a bit of a thing for shoes. What has been less apparent–although will probably come as no surprise–is that this fetish of mine extends beyond myself to include the feet of my children as well as my own. In fact, The Ladies might possibly have cuter shoes than I do. The problem is, unlike me, they keep outgrowing theirs. And therein lies the problem.
The very idea of simply throwing them away strikes me with the same visceral reaction that some other mothers have when it is suggested that they really need not save the baby teeth (ew!); what your baby’s molars and incisors are to you, my baby’s outgrown sandals and sneakers are to me. Except that baby teeth are so much easier to simply tuck in the back of your jewelry box.
So, what to do with the wee footwear that I can no longer force onto tiny feet, but also cannot force myself to part with? Well, used to be that I simply left it all in a heap on the bottom of the hall closet, but my recent organizational spree has eliminated that as an option. And somehow, storing non-functional items in the Magical Pockets of Delight seems….wrong.
Putting them on display so that I can continue to enjoy their form long after their functionality has fallen by the wayside, however? Seemed like the perfect idea. And so, the red dinosaur rainboots Diva Girl refused to take off in the store, the strappy rainbow sandals I loved so much I’ve bought a similar pair every year since, the sparkly pink jelly shoes that have long since faded to orange, the ladybug shoes that marry two of my favourite things, and the matching pairs of Irish dance slippers (No, they don’t dance; I just liked the shoes) now reside in style on shadow boxes on the wall outside the bathroom door rather than gathering dust in the back of the closet.
It pleases me to have them out on display like this, these random talismans of my children’s childhoods. It’s possibly a bit odd, creating wall art out of outgrown shoes, but it’s a lot less icky than putting a bunch of lost baby teeth on display.
4 Comments »
Posted by Kimberly on May 26th, 2008 — Posted in The Agony and The Entropy, Kipple
Wow. I’ve been a terrible blogger. It’s been more than two weeks since I’ve even logged in here to blather on about the minutiae of my life. And more like a month since I’ve actually done so. Not out of any plan or design…It’s not like I’m in any kind of self imposed internet exile or anything (at least, not consciously). I just…haven’t. Which sucks. I miss this place.
So, what have I been doing with all that time I haven’t been spending in the blogosphere? Believe it or not, I’ve been cleaning the house.
No, seriously.
And not just cleaning it–organizing.
I know…I know…It’s hard to believe. ME, the Queen of Domestic Chaos, on an organizational spree worthy of a TLC franchise, but there it is. I have fallen under the spell of Debbie Travis. If it weren’t for her and her damn home design collection, I wouldn’t be constantly scanning my apartment, wondering what I can contain next.
My obsession started innocuously enough, with too many pairs of shoes, a thwarted trip to Ikea, and a bored glance through the Canadian Tire flier. It’s just sort of spiraled out of control from there.
First, the shoes were finally all neat and tidy and not cluttering up anywhere! I could find them! Any pair I wanted! It was a dizzying feeling of exhilaration.
Then I started looking at all the hats and scarves and mittens that needed to be packed away…And that was another set of pockets filled.
For a while, I was content like that. I, one of the most cluttered people on earth, had decluttered the front hall and I was feeling pretty darn proud of myself. But everywhere I looked, I kept seeing more and more stuff. Stuff that could go in pockets. Like, the sunglasses, sunscreen, skipping ropes, and other seasonal crap that replaced the mittens and hats that had been safely stored away and were now messing up my newly neat front hall.
And, if I hung the pocket on the outside of the broom closet, it would all be within easy access for the summer! Even better, I could put the swim suits, ballet gear, and Guide uniform there! Sure, doing so would deprive me of the opportunity to play the ever popular “Where’s My…..?” Game, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make in the name of Debbie and magical pockets.
Slowly but surely, all the available doors in my apartment have been taken over by my new addiction. Makeup, hair accessories, Groovy Girls, underwear…all that random crap that never has a real place of its own is finally contained in what I once thought was that mythical state of being known as “a place for every thing, and everything in its place.”
What’s even more amazing? They’re staying there!
I don’t know if it’s the novelty of actually knowing where things are, or the see through pockets making it that much easier to find things, or simply the magical pixie dust Debbie Travis sprinkles over all her products, but for once, The Ladies actually seem to be on board with the organizational plan. For once, they are not only getting thing from where they go….they’re putting them back.
I’m not saying that there’s not room for improvement. Or even that there’s not still a significant amount of kid rash covering the surfaces of our home. What I’m saying is that for the first time, I think I may have hit on a real life workable strategy for dealing with it.
All I need is a few more doors…..
5 Comments »
Posted by Kimberly on May 12th, 2008 — Posted in The Ladies, Zen Baby, Diva Girl, Kipple
Mother’s Day really isn’t a big deal to me. I of course make sure to honour my own mother with a specially chosen mushy card and token of my affection, appreciation, respect, but for myself the day is a bit of a wash. Solo moms are rarely gifted with tiny velvet boxes and our kisses tend to begin with the kids, not Kay, so the anticipation factor tends to be fairly low–limited to whatever teacher generated craft has come home this year.
Not that the crafts aren’t lovely, wonderful, meaningful, blah blah blah…But really….It’s not like the kid thought this stuff up on her own. And after the “Mom&Me Cookies” debacle back in the first grade, when I was presented with a jar of dry ingredients, a recipe, and an overexcited six year old who spent the entire day nagging me to essentially make my own damn gift, I’ve kinda been soured on the whole teacher-driven maternal appreciation thing.
So, since it seems somehow tacky to encourage the children to remember to tell me how much I rock, I pretty much just let Mother’s Day go except for using it as an excuse to buy myself something pretty. It’s not like I really need the cards and flowers to know that I’m a great mom and they love me, and really, if I have to ask for them, I don’t want them at all. Needless to say, my expectations for this year were, as always, fairly low. I was planning on calling it a red letter day if I got to sleep past 8.
Motherhood is nothing if not surprising, however. And sometimes, even when they make you cry, they are even good surprises.
That, my friends, is my Diva Girl, growing up before our very eyes. Up until now, she’s been reasonably oblivious to the whole Mday experience; like most kids, any occasion that is not designed to culminate in her being showered with gifts doesn’t tend to figure high on her list of priorities. This year, however, for the first time my daughter celebrated Mother’s Day without any external prompting. According to my Mom, who witnessed this little project in the making, it was all Diva directed–she decided on the shape and picture for the card, and then spent an hour with the Zen Baby working on her sister’s poem before creating her own ode to my maternal awesomeness.
You know, little velvet boxes are nice (I got one of those too–also Sabrina’s idea), but they really can’t hold a candle to the genuine love that shines through a poem that contains a line thanking you for letting the kid play in your room. I never really realized just how much I’ve missed getting a Mother’s Day card all these years until I held that painstakingly created cardboard butterfly in my hands on Sunday morning. But that’s ok, because those two poems, a decade in the making, were totally worth the wait.
8 Comments »