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.
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Posted by Kimberly on April 1st, 2008 — Posted in Kipple, Just Like Riding A Bicycle, The Man I Didn't Marry
The Man I Didn’t Marry gave me a ring for my birthday.
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Posted by Kimberly on December 9th, 2007 — Posted in The Agony and The Entropy, Kipple, Just Like Riding A Bicycle, The Man I Didn't Marry
Illness can be neither created nor destroyed, it can only be transferred.
In layman’s terms, if you mock the barf gods by noting your good fortune in having been spared their most recent visitation, they will make you pay. And pay hard.
I honestly thought I’d dodged this particular bullet. In fact, I was so sure that I was in the clear that, once it looked like the Zen Baby was well and truly on the road to recovery, I sent The Ladies to my mom’s for the night and went ahead with my original plan to go out for dinner and a movie with The Man I Didn’t Marry. And I was fine. Maybe a little tired, but we both put that down to my extended stint as Florence Nightengale, not the onset of the plague.
So, um, sorry about that, MIDM. The puking and moaning that are probably tearing their way through your house right now? Totally my bad.
On the upside–if there can be an upside to repeated attempts to catch a glimpse of your own liver–I at least didn’t barf all over the sheets. Thank goodness, because I don’t think I could have handled the laundry room on top of everything else. At least this way, in between visits to worship at the altar of the porcelain god I was able to lose myself in the sweet unconsciousness that can only come from freshly washed sheets.
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Posted by Kimberly on November 30th, 2007 — Posted in The Ladies, Just Like Riding A Bicycle, Facebook Guy, The Man I Didn't Marry, NaBloPoMo
I have not one, not two, but three invitations for tonight. Both Facebook Guy and The Man I Didn’t Marry have asked what I’m up to, indicating that they’d be willing to fill any holes in my social calendar. Plus, an old “friend” from school will be in town and wants to take me out to dinner. At a restaurant that doesn’t provide crayons for the patrons. Tempting…
I’ve never been in a situation like this before, so many desirable men all desiring to spend time with me. It’s a pretty heady ego boost, let me tell you. But what’s a girl to do when there are so many choices, but she doesn’t want to choose?
Luckily, I won’t have to make any hard decisions this time; I’ve already got plans. Plans that don’t involve great ass jeans, hair drama, or fancy underwear. Tonight I have a date with The Ladies.
There was a time not too long ago when the idea of another Friday night spent with pizza, pajamas, and picture books seemed like just one more tick on the wall marking time in a life sentence of boredom. But that was before I had options. Somehow, when it’s a choice to stay home, rather than an inevitability, the idea becomes much more appealing. All of my other offers for tonight were tempting in their own ways, but none of them held quite the same allure of curling up on the couch to watch Christmas specials with a daughter on each side of me and bowl of popcorn in the middle.
This is the hidden perk of dating, and one that I just recently realized. I’ve long been a proponent of “me” time. I truly believe that if we don’t get some time away from our kids sometimes that we’re actually doing them a disservice, burning ourselves out in the name of some sort of ridiculously unattainable holy grail of maternal martyrdom. So, last week’s date with myself wasn’t really that far outside the norm.
Much though I enjoyed the opportunity to reconnect with me, though, it’s a fundamentally different experience than connecting with another adult. I’m honestly surprised by how much I’m enjoying that connection (oh, get your minds out of the gutters people! And keep the gutters out of the comments, mkay? My Mom reads here.) I don’t have to put any effort into dating myself. In fact, I’m a pretty bad date for myself–no makeup, comfy jeans, often times more focussed on taking the opportunity to finally scrub the kitchen floor or tackle the toilet without “help” than in participating in a scintillating, mentally stimulating evening. But with another person, that excitement is there. That sense of possibility that leads me to try out new lipstick colours and take the out the hairband. To move beyond myself into new areas interest and fresh topics of conversation. Dating someone else forces you outside of yourself; it’s exhilarating and exciting and the best part is, that feeling spills over into real life, making that time that you do spend engaged in every day drudgery just a little bit more exciting.
My routine Friday night isn’t quite so routine anymore. I now know that just because I’m spending tonight in momsville doesn’t mean that I’m destined to spend all of my nights there and that makes it so much easier to embrace this life, to curl up on the couch with the remote and the bickering over the popcorn and just let everything else go for a night. There’s always next weekend, after all.
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Posted by Kimberly on November 3rd, 2007 — Posted in Just Like Riding A Bicycle, The Man I Didn't Marry, NaBloPoMo
[Ed. Note: I wasn’t being coy making you all wait. I had this post about half done and then left the computer for a few minutes. When I came back, I found Webkinz where my words were supposed to be.]
The last time I went out with The Man I Didn’t Marry,it definitely wasn’t a date. It had some of the hallmarks of a date–I dressed up, he picked up both me and the tab (although I was fully prepared to pay for my own drinks), and, even if it wasn’t acted on, there was the desire for a kiss at the end of the night–but it definitely wasn’t a date. I’d say that there was too much water under the bridge for that to have been a date, except I’m not sure that at that point there even was a bridge. A lot of water, but no bridge. The way things ended–I gave back the ring, we stopped talking, I had a baby (not his), he got married (not to me)–there wasn’t really a lot of time for bridge building back then. Both of us were so busy getting on with it, I’m not sure we really spent much time getting over it.
Not that either of us has spent the last ten years pining and obsessed with what could have been; we’ve both had fairly busy decades, after all. I just know that while I haven’t really spend my time dwelling on that part of my life, when I have thought about seriously and not in the “fun stories to tell at parties” kind of way I’ve had the sense that it was unfinished business. And, up until he popped up on Facebook, I was fine with that. After all, much though we might wish differently, life’s loose ends don’t always get tied up in a nice, tidy bow.
So, last time we went out, it wasn’t about dating. It wasn’t even exactly two old friends catching up. It was about putting the past to bed. It was about closure. The thing about finding closure, though, is that it allows you the opportunity to explore the possibility of new beginnings.
Which brings me to a question….Can you have a first date fifteen years after you first went out? One the one hand, it feels a lot like a first date. That sense of excitement and possibility are definitely there–that fluttery feeling that comes from not knowing how the evening is going to turn out, but hoping that it will live up to the promise that lead you to accept the invitation in the first place. On the other hand, however, there is five years of shared history backing this evening up. Sure, those five years of shared history have been tempered by ten years during which we each grew up in different ways, but they’re still there, tinging the excitement with a sense of familiarity that is always there in the background and almost borders on deja vu at times.
Not that there was anything deja vu about our dinner at a fancy restaurant, unless you count the fact that we were both able to predict what they other would order with 100% accuracy. Last time our first date was a trip to the movies. Eating out at a chi chi restaurant (the kind where crayons and kids menus are replaced by cloth napkins and candle light) couldn’t have made it more clear that this was a whole new experience for both of us, and one that we were both looking forward to embracing. Still, there were some very familiar undertones, like the moment we both flashed back to our first kiss. And then decided that some magic just can’t be recaptured.
Not that there wasn’t kissing. Just not then. New beginnings require new moments and new memories, not the same ones recycled and repackaged for a new generation; to do otherwise would be to deny the power of that magic, and wouldn’t be fair to either the past or the future.
I’m not certain what the future will hold for The Man I Didn’t Marry and me. I do know that with 4 children, 2 cities,1 driver’s license, and an ex-wife between us it’s pretty crowded on that bridge and any future there is will probably be complicated by more than just echoes of the past. However, I also know that, even with all that, I’m looking forward to seeing what happens next.
(And not just because dinner was delicious, drinks were fun, and I feel like I missed out on something when we didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to play a round of pool–even if my dress really wasn’t suitable for leaning over a table).
[Oh, and Kirs? He doesn’t think you can possibly guess where he took me this time.]
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Posted by Kimberly on November 2nd, 2007 — Posted in Just Like Riding A Bicycle, The Man I Didn't Marry, NaBloPoMo
I don’t have a lot of time to post today; I have to get ready for my date.
Yep, I have a date. And not one of my handwringing, neurotic overanalyzing Facebook Guy dates, either. This is a real live, bona fide date. The kind where the gentleman requests the pleasure of your company well in advance of the event and makes it clear that you won’t be going dutch. He even used the word “date.” Which in my book is totally the clincher.
Even better than that, though, it’s the fancy kind of date. I don’t know exactly where we’re going, but I do know that this date is the kind you dress up for. The kind where you break out the special dress from the back of the closet and maybe give the red peeptoes another chance.
I’ve felt giddy all week as I looked forward to tonight, and not just because my parents are keeping The Ladies overnight (although that has certainly played a part). I’ve been planning my outfit, picking out my makeup, and pondering hairstyles all week. In short, I’ve been positively girlie with excitement about this date. Is this what I’ve been missing out on all this time? Because this part of it? This part is actually kind of fun.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, The Man I Didn’t Marry will be here any moment and I still have to get dressed.
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Posted by Kimberly on October 21st, 2007 — Posted in Just Like Riding A Bicycle, The Man I Didn't Marry, Blah Blah Blog
Red alert! Red Alert! Danger Will Robinson! Danger! Danger!
This is why I don’t drink.
Apparently, feeling all relaxed and good about the world, I really, really let my guard down. I was prepared to go into the past. To talk about things that we never really talked about before. To finally talk about why I had to give the ring back, and why I couldn’t just postpone the wedding instead of calling it off. But I wasn’t prepared to to give The Man I Didn’t Marry an all access pass to my life. Which I did.
I gave him the url for Parenting Without A License.
Yeah, I don’t know why I did that either. I mean, it’s not like I’m blogging anonymously anymore; I am googleable now.. And the url is listed in my Facebook profile. But The Man I Didn’t Marry is not the most computer savvy guy and while there was definitely a trail of breadcrumbs, I doubt he would have bothered to follow it. A big, blinking neon sign is a whole different story, however. Anybody would follow that.
And before you all start rushing to reassure me that it’s all ok, that I’m probably blowing this all out of proportion, that he won’t bother to go read my blog, he already has. I know that, because he told me. And he commented.
I’m trying to decide how I feel about this new development. Does it really change things? Lots of people I know read my blog–my parents, my family (Hi Aunt Debbie!), various RL friends….Heck, Diva Girl’s biological father reads (long story, and no, not one I’m going to tell you. Not even when the ink dries on the court orders). So, does this make all that much of a difference? I don’t know. I hope not.
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Posted by Kimberly on October 21st, 2007 — Posted in Just Like Riding A Bicycle, The Man I Didn't Marry
I’m not drunk blogging tonight, but I’m not exactly sober, either. Even though I’ve had a few glasses of girlie vodka drinks tonight, I’m actually not much of a drinker. It’s really not an indulgence you can afford when you’re a single parent; all it takes is one episode of parenting through a hangover to convince you that there are much better ways to unwind. Sometimes, however, exceptions need to be made. Like when you sit down with your Ex for the first time in ten years and talk about how you got there.
So, yeah. After exchanging a few virtual drinks on Facebook, The Man I Didn’t Marry and I figured that maybe a few real ones were in order. So tonight, for the first time since the night I refused to take back his ring, he and I went out. Together.
You’d think that it’d be easier, figuring out all of the hidden currents and unspoken codes with someone you know, but really? Not so much. Somehow, in the face of this new challenge, all that handwringing over Facebook Guy seems kind of minor. Not that I won’t continue doing it, mind you. I’m just saying that figuring out what to wear to go out to drinks with the guy you left at the altar is a whole new level up from figuring out what to wear for an evening out with a guy you think maybe you might like to date, but aren’t sure you actually are.
How dressy is too dressy? Would jeans and a tee shirt be too casual? Would it send the wrong message to wear the great ass jeans? What is the message here, anyway? It’s kind of hard to dress the part if you can’t quite figure out what part it is you’re playing. Look too good, and he’ll think you think this evening is more than it is; don’t bother putting any effort in and he’ll think that it just wasn’t worth the effort. Maybe I should just stay home in my jammies. That would solve the whole problem nicely.
(For the record, I wore the jeans. And the boots with the 2 inch heel. Because I’m vain. But cute. It’s all about the priorities.)
He came bearing gifts–Not flowers, which are so not me–a beautifully bound copy of The Scarlett Letter he’d found today while inventorying an estate. I nearly laughed when I saw the title, but that would have been cruel, particularly when I was genuinely touched by the gesture. You see, he didn’t choose it as some jab at my parental status. In fact, I don’t think he even realized that that meaning could be inferred by his choice. He gave it to me because I made him sit through the terrible Demi Moore movie the year I studied American Lit, and finding it in one of the boxes reminded him of me.
It’s embarrassing to admit, but once we were in the car, we were at a loss as to what to do next. Like two newly legal kids out on the town for the first time, we had no real clue where to go to sit and have a few drinks. Unlike those hypothetical kids, we weren’t looking for a hot spot or a great party, just a quiet booth where we could sit and share a few old memories. And alcohol. Because this trip down memory lane was going to require some liquid courage on both of our parts.
We found a place–an old haunt from the days when I was defined by “and” not “mommy,” and beleve me, I could feel the irony swirling and the universe chuckling as we walked in–and finally sat down to Talk About It. We came up for air over 4 hours later, a little older, a little wiser, and a little more at peace with ourselves and our lives I think.
It wasn’t easy. At times it was downright awkward, balancing that odd combination of distance and closeness that marks our relationship now. There’s a formality between us, born not of hurt feelings, but the desire not to hurt. The care and respect we have for each other is its own barrier as we try to explain and understand what happened, and to keep from hurting each other more than we already have in doing so. And it was very weird in some ways, talking about these lives that are so similar–each of use with two children, both sets of similar ages–and so close to what WE had planned together. And yet, so remote from each other, and not at all the same.
I know, I know, you want me to stop rambling. Get to the good stuff. Dish the dirt. So, was there still chemistry? Yeah, I think so. I may not be able to make heads or tails out of Facebook Guy, but this man? I know this man. He’s certainly changed and grown in the past decade, but at his core? He’s still the same man. And being held in his arms? I still fit there, and it still feels like a safe place to be.
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Posted by Kimberly on October 19th, 2007 — Posted in Just Like Riding A Bicycle, The Man I Didn't Marry
This whole Man I Didn’t Marry thing is really throwing me for a loop. I don’t know why, exactly. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, it’s really not that big of a deal. So my ex is on Facebook. Lots of people’s exes are on Facebook. I’m hardly unique or special in this. Plus, it’s not like I’ve thought about him much in years.
I certainly don’t regret not marrying him. I mean, I have regrets, but I always felt it was the right decision, for both of us. Much though I loved him, much though I wanted to , I just wasn’t ready. I wanted to be ready; it would have made things so much easier if I had been. But in the end, I just couldn’t put either of us through that. I could live with not marrying him in the first place, but I couldn’t bear the idea that I would be his ex-wife someday. I never wanted to hurt him like that.
I never wanted him hurt like that at all, and not just because it gave me a certain amount of comfort to think of him happily married and living the life he always wanted. I don’t have that anymore. And all the regret, all the sorrow and confusion I’ve held at bay for the last decade–that I really didn’t even know I had– is rushing in and threatening to pull me under.
And now, I find I can’t stop thinking about him. Memories that I never even knew I had are rolling about in my brain, and in the sneaky way of nostalgia, it’s only the good ones I keep pulling up: The sound of his laugh, his easy, laidback attitude, the way it felt to be held in his arms…
On the advice of our mutual friend, I did end up sending him a message on Facebook. I thought about what to say for a few days before I eventually worked up the courage to hit send, and finally settled on, “um…hi?” I figured that was enough of an opening to let him know I was interested in talking if he wanted to without being pushy or leaving me open to feeling like a giant tool if he ignored me. Which, to be fair, he would have had every right to do.
He didn’t ignore me, and we’ve talked a bit. It’s strange to be so formal and awkward with someone with whom you used to be so close. But really, when you think about it, for all our shared history, for however much we once meant to each other, we’re essentially strangers now. I used to be ok with that. Never even thought of it, in fact. But now, I’m not. I miss The Man I Never Married.
I don’t miss him because he was The One. I’m not sure that he was. I mean, if he were, he wouldn’t be The Man I Didn’t Marry, would he? I miss him because in addition to being my lover, he was once my friend. And I think, maybe, that part of me has missed him all along.
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Posted by Kimberly on October 14th, 2007 — Posted in Just Like Riding A Bicycle, The Man I Didn't Marry
I’m not a scrapbooker; cutting up pictures and artistically gluing them to acid free paper has never been the way I manage my memories. That’s not to say that I don’t indulge in keepsakes; it’s just that my mementos tend not to fit neatly between two pages. Kind of like life itself.
My reminders might look like an untidy jumble of meaningless bits of paper and random objects, but to me, they are touchstones of immense power; each one of them has the ability to send me back to a specific moment in time. Like most women, since I’ve become a mother these tokens tend to centre around my children–report cards, baptismal candles, special rocks, outgrown toys, and tiny outfits fill the battered shoe box that holds my memories now. But once upon a time I had a different memory box, one covered in rose velvet with a tapestry lid. The box itself was a memento, and inside it contained the story of a relationship told in movie ticket stubs and stray bits of this and that picked up along the way.
I kept that box long after the relationship it chronicled had joined the ranks of memory, moving it with me from apartment to apartment. It was always unopened and tucked behind the Christmas decorations on the top shelf, but there nonetheless. A touchstone of sorts, although of what, I’m not quite certain.
Evidence of another time? Another life? Another girl who had been loved once? Who had done all those things that lovers do, saving the evidence of once upon a time to remind herself that fairy tales do exist, and that the princess doesn’t always have to rescue herself?
Eventually I gave up the box, first delivering it into Kirsten’s safekeeping during a move, and then, on the eve of Regan’s birth, leaving it behind on the curb. It was time to let it go, and I was ready. And yet, even though I haven’t seen it in over four years tonight I find myself thinking about that box.
Not surprising, really. What is surprising is that even though it’s been years since I opened it, I have no trouble recalling many of the treasures inside. A ticket stub from our first date–Jurassic Park. I misunderstood when he asked me out, and he lifted me down off of a wall into a terribly romantic first kiss. A broken knife from a silly lunch with friends. A pebble from the day on the rocks at Presqu’ile and a programme from the Montreal Jazz Festival we never attended on our camping trip that was equal parts heaven and hell. My Miss Saigon ticket–the first musical I ever went to, and still my favourite, even though I was a sobbing mess by the end and he laughed at me. A bit of ribbon from the first piece of lingerie I ever received as a gift. The ring pop he proposed with that left me laughing so hard I could barely say yes. The green apple box the real ring came in (the ring went back to him, but I kept the box). A wedding invitation that was never sent. A wedding gift that was never given.
I can see it all as plainly as though the contents were spread out in front of me and a thousand memories I didn’t even know I had come flooding back. That’s what happens when you open Pandora’s Box, I guess. Everything you’ve been keeping stuffed deep down inside flies out, clamouring for your attention, demanding acknowledgment.
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