Welcoming 2012, standing on my own two feet. Bring it on!

A year of heartache, disappointment, fear and “newness” is behind me.

I started my New Years celebrations by going to a wedding of all things.  Surrounded by love, promises and new beginnings.  Even though my heart has been broken, I still believe in love and second chances.  I witnessed it first hand at this wedding.

I took my BFF of 28 years with me as my date.  I knew that I could make a fool of myself and she wouldn’t care.  I also knew she would get me home safe and not expect a good night kiss in return. 

I got a wee bit tipsy (ok, drunk), danced my ass off, had a young man ask me if I wanted to continue the party at the bar with him (to which I declined by slurring “you are waaaay too young for all this action”) and ended the night by falling flat on my ass in my garden.  Not a bad start. 

When I woke up this morning, I looked like a Ke$ha video reject…makeup smudged, hair full of what I think may be remnants of wedding appetizers, blood shot eyes and rose petals stuck to my body in various places. 

One thing I did not consider was the oil change appointment I made for my car…at 9am the morning following my drunken shananigans.

Yes, I made it to the appointment, yes, the guy at the desk was super cute and yes I felt like hell.  There I sat, voice hoarse, smelling like a bar, waiting for my car.

In a waiting room with 12 other empty chairs, a guy has to come in and sit in the one right next to me.  WTF, people…stop doing that.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he decides to start a conversation with me.  Oh come on!    Since my voice is hoarse from drinking and singing, he asks me if I have a cold.  I say “no, I am hungover” hoping he will leave me alone.  I keep reading O Magazine.

Nope…on he goes about Christmas, New Years, what he had for breakfast, the last time he was hungover, etc…

After the initial irritation wore off, I realized, he was kind of cute and without a wedding ring.  Great!  Hungover, stinking like a bar room floor and looking as fantastic as one can look after wiping out in the garden and sleeping in her clothes, I could be sitting next to a potential victim, ummm I mean date.

He told me I had nice eyes (apparently bloodshot works for me)  We chatted until my car was ready and I was kind of disappointed when they told me I was all ready to go.

I never did get his name, but it’s nice to know that even at my worst, I am worth a conversation.

Who needs therapy or self help books?

One of the best things I got for Christmas didn’t come from a store.  The kids complied a list of reasons why they love me.

Here it is:

Why we love our mama!  (yes they call me mama)

·      She is a good sweeper.  Our floors are always clean

·      She can read and write

·      She plays on the floor with us and never complains her back hurts

·      She is a good painter

·      She is a good cooker

·      She is funny and silly and makes us laugh

·      She is cute and cuddly, but not like a panda…those things will rip your face off

·      She is super smart and always answers our questions, even hard ones

·      She is organized and always knows where our stuff is

·      She is good at raising children (we highly recommend her)

·      She is good at wiping bums when I can’t reach.  Even bums of my friends who have trouble in the bathroom

·      She has good taste in friends (she knows who is worthy of her goodness)

·      She is good at sinus rinsing

·      She is nice

·      She makes sure we never lick a knife

·      She knows how to use her angry eyes instead of yelling

·      She is calm and peaceful

·      She is good at making magic potions

·      She is good at making stink bombs that really stink

·      She is not too girly

·      She is not afraid to try new things

·      She makes the best cookies and lets us help even if we are messy

·      She is the best at tucking in

·      She always wakes us up by saying “good morning little peanuts”

·      She is the best story teller…dramatic in the right places and never spits when she reads

·      She always knows where the sales are

·      She is bouncy

·      She doesn’t think our snotty noses are gross

·      She doesn’t let us eat play doh even though it’s non toxic

·      She has the moves like Jagger when we kitchen dance after supper

·      She always knows what herbal remedy to use

·      She is a tree hugger and teaches us about nature when we go hiking

·      She is not afraid to hold toads and thinks they are cool

·      She sings really loud in the car

·      She is responsible and doesn’t always give us what we want

·      She trusts us to make good choices, even when I ride my bike to the corner and she can’t see me from the driveway

·      She always tells us to just be ourselves

·      She isn’t afraid to catch our barf when we are sick

·      She never says no when we climb into her bed in the middle of the night

·      She is patient and helps us understand things that are hard

·      She is not afraid of scary basement noises or when the lights go out in a storm

·      She makes great fairy gardens

·      She believes in magic

·      She looks at us when we are talking to her

·      She plays in the rain with us

·      She teaches us to be grateful

·      She is the best hugger

·      She tells us that every day is a new chance to do something great

Like I said, the best Christmas gift ever…

And to all a goodnight…

Here I am, on my third (ok 4^th) glass of my favourite wine, reflecting on the last 24 hours.  I didn’t think I would get through it…but I did. 

I am pretty damn proud of myself.  I succeeded in completing all my baking on time, I decked the halls until I thought I would shoot garland out my ass and I managed to keep it together (well, most of the time).

The kids and I kept to some of our old traditions and started some new ones.  It was liberating and annoyingly easy. 

The kids were happy with the well thought out gifts I had purchased and Hannah reminded me once again that Christmas doesn’t come from a store. 

I found things under the tree for me that I had purchased for myself months ago, now lovingly wrapped in only the way a 10 and 7year old could wrap.  I had thoughtful gifts delivered to me, friends staying with me when I needed it and I shed more than a few tears of happiness.

Speaking of the gifts…

For those of you who don’t know me all that well…I suck at putting shit together.  I mean really suck.  I can’t follow directions, put peg A into slot B, or make sense of any of the “illustrations” they give you in the hopes of making the assembly of toys easier.  My brain just doesn’t work that way.  It took me almost an hour to put together the game Life…I am not kidding.

Anyway, I looked fear and confusion straight in the eye, grabbed every type of screwdriver I could find, an arsenal of batteries, scissors and every ounce of patience I could muster.  Without any swearing (ok…one f’bomb but it was totally justified and said under my breath) I successfully managed to put together 2 board games (yes, they need assembly…who knew), a death star (which almost killed me), managed to figure out the parental controls on not one but two DSi’s, built a Dr. Dreadful gross lab, put together a telescope and kicked some ass at our new Just Dance wii game.  Hey kids have to learn they can’t always win and learn that they will never win against my moonwalk.

These are big feats for me dear readers.  You see, I was always in charge of handing out the gifts, cleaning up the paper and making the grand Christmas morning breakfast.  I have never in my life built a death star (and let me tell you, the screws on that thing are TINY!)  I have never had to recharge a remote control Jeep and I certainly have never had the pleasure of figuring out the republic vs. the empire. 

In the grand scheme of things, I can’t remember a Christmas more relaxed, more stress free, more meaningful and more important than this one.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!

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Pissy Fit is officially over!

In August we celebrated 20 years together and December 20 would have been our 14^th wedding anniversary.  So in light of Sunday night’s negative karma vomit I spewed out into the universe, I have decided I am not going to make my “ would have been anniversary” a pity party.

Today is the day I remind myself about all the amazing things in my life that I am grateful for.

I am grateful for my kids obviously. 

I am grateful for my amazing family.

I am grateful for my amazing friends.

I am grateful that I have been able to keep my kids in our home.

I am grateful that even after my bills are paid, I still have some money left in my account.

I am grateful to have a job that I love.

I am grateful that my favourite wine still has a cork.  It just doesn’t feel right with a twist top.

I am grateful that I have found the strength every morning to get up and carry on.

I am grateful that I have enough.

I am grateful that my problems are small compared to others.

I am grateful for my health considering some of the struggles I have had this past year.

I am grateful that I can provide relief for my clients.

I am grateful for my car.

I am grateful to all of you who actually read my blog.

I am grateful that I can see the magic in the everyday.

I am grateful to know the difference between alone and lonely.

I am grateful for being shoved so far out of my box that there isn’t even a box anymore.

I am grateful that I get the chance to do something positive every day.

I am grateful that the people in my life love me for who I am.

I am grateful for Tylenol sinus.

I am grateful for Hershey’s Kisses.

I am grateful for the struggles that brought me to where I am right now.

I am grateful for pre-packaged cheese for the kid’s lunches.

I am grateful for the disappointments I have had so I can appreciate what matters the most.

I am grateful for Sunday morning snuggles with my kids.

I am grateful for bacon.

I am grateful for the delete button.

I am grateful for every person who has ever cooked for me.

I am grateful for a strong cup of coffee.

I am grateful to fall into bed after a long day.

I am grateful for my huge heart and it’s tendancy to be found on my sleeve.

I am grateful for pizza with bacon and mushrooms.

I am grateful for unanswered prayers.

I am grateful for my co-workers who maintain an open drawer policy with their snacks.

I am grateful to know when to walk away.

I am grateful for all the laughter that’s in my life.

I am grateful my phone has a GPS.

I am grateful for my front load washing machine.

I am grateful that I have been with someone when they pass to appreciate life.

I am grateful for gingerbread…really I am.

I am grateful for the opportunity to direct my path wherever I choose.

I am grateful my son has such a big heart.

I am grateful when my kids climb into my bed because it’s the safest place in the world for them.

I am grateful that I can successfully save a lego man from the drain using tweezers and determination.

I am grateful that no one can hear me when I sing in the car.

I am grateful that I have become more understanding and patient.

I am grateful for the invention of the push up bra.

I am grateful for my daughter’s quirky spirit.

I am grateful that I finally get to be “Carri”.

I am grateful for today.

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Merry F'in Christmas!

I know I shouldn’t be pissy so close to Christmas, but this is my blog and screw it…I can’t help but be a little pissed.  I have been very calm, very accommodating and extremely patient through most of this.  So…tonight’s post is one huge f’in venting session. 

I am pissed because I am 100% responsible all the f’in time, while he gets to do whatever the hell he wants.

I am pissed because he can waltz in, drop off the kids, their laundry and all their shit and leave me with the aftermath.

I am pissed because I just spent the last 3 days dragging my vaccume around, up and down the stairs, de-flea-ing my house, my carpets and my dog…and he gets to go to the gym, sit on his ass or whatever he does with all his spare time.

I am pissed because I selected, bought and wrapped all the Christmas gifts by myself.

I am pissed that it didn't occur to him that he would have to buy the gifts for his family this year.

I am pissed I have to shovel the stupid f’in driveway.

I am pissed because I have to explain to an old friend I saw at the grocery store what has happened when she wished me a “Happy Anniversary” for this coming Tuesday.

I am pissed because I made a shit load of Christmas baking with no one to eat it.

I am pissed because I still can’t cook for one adult and 2 kids and end up with way too much food each and every meal.

 I am pissed because I go to bed and wake up every morning alone.

I am pissed because I still feel like I have to babysit his ass and remind him to feed the kids meals other than fast food.

I am pissed because he still walks into the house, the one he couldn’t wait to get out of, without knocking.

I am pissed because when one of the kids has something exciting to share they have to call him and usually have to leave a message because he never answers his f’in phone.

I am pissed/sad because Grant lost another tooth tonight and he didn’t even want to tell his dad about it.

I am pissed because he was willing to give up his weekend with the kids to go out “clubbing” with his twice divorced, serial relationship, friend who didn’t give a shit about him when he was fat.

I am pissed because some of my so called “friends” haven’t called, texted or messaged me once to ask how I am.

I am pissed because I don’t see me ever letting my walls down to let someone else in because of the damage he has done.

I am pissed because I am getting along better without him.

I am pissed/sad that all Grant asked for in his letter to Santa was to have his family back.

I am pissed because a lot of his shit is still in the house and I would love to just set it on fire.

I am pissed because I had to sit alone at Grant’s Christmas concert while he f’d off to wherever was more important.

I am pissed at how f’in perfect everyone pretends to be in their own relationships.

I am pissed that he is so selfish.

I am pissed because this year has been a shitstorm from the beginning.

I am pissed at the fact that I strategically plan my trips to the grocery store just to avoid the awkward pity stares.

I am pissed because he still fights me on child support.

I am pissed because he owes me a lot of money and I know I will never see it.

I am pissed that he doesn’t want to spend more time with his kids.

I am pissed because I can’t let go of the reasons he gave me about why he was leaving.

I am pissed that he has changed so much and doesn't see it. 

I am pissed because there are wives out there way worse, way more bitchy, way more controlling, way more high maintenance and way more naggy than I am but I am the one alone.

I am pissed that I bent over backwards for years and it got me nowhere but alone and writing a blog about how pissed off I am.

I am pissed I gave up my business because he told me to and left me anyway.

I am pissed that he still makes me cry.

I am pissed that he only sees the kids 4 days a month and never asks to see them more.

I am pissed that I pretend everything is ok just to spare other people’s feelings so they don't feel uncomfortable.

I am pissed that I let all this stuff get to me and that I let him get away with it.

Venting complete.  Maybe I will I post a grateful list to reverse the negative karma I just puked into the universe.  Tomorrow is a new day.

I've got the moves like Jagger...

Ballroom dancing has been on my list for a while…even before I was single.  So, when the opportunity to purchase a Groupon for 2 free private lessons, 1 group lesson and one dance party came up, how could I resist? 

So, honestly, I am a terrible dancer.  Even 3 sheets to the wind, it’s like watching Elaine from “Seinfeld”.  I think I am a good dancer once a bottle of wine has been consumed and have been known to bust out the occasional sprinkler or running man, but seriously, I can’t dance.

The Groupon was lessons for two, but since I am a single, I informed the very pleasant, very perky young lady on the telephone when I called to make my first class appointment.  “No worries” she says.  “I will set you up with one of our fabulous instructors.”  This could mean that I am dancing with an 80 yr. old with a bum hip or a delicious little dancing machine just old enough to be legal.  Either way, I am nervous.

Off I go, dance shoes in hand, and butterflies in my stomach. 

Arriving at the studio just in time, I fill out the pre-requisite information card and wait.  Out of no where, twirling in like Prince Charming from Disney on Ice, comes Justin, my dancing partner and instructor.  Young and eager, he takes me by the arm and pulls me around the studio for the grand tour.  He asks me what brought me here, how old I was, did I have kids, have I danced before, my mother’s maiden name.  Ok…he didn’t ask my mother’s maiden name, but he might as well of. 

I was polite and interested and answered all his questions, knowing full well he was trying to break the ice and make me comfortable.

I first learned the “stance.”  This required me putting my hand on the upper half of a strong bicep, his hand on the middle of my back, our other hands clapsed in eachother’s and eye contact.  He is big on eye contact.  Immediately I wonder if I put enough deodorant on this morning. 

We started out with the foxtrot.  Sounds easy right?  WRONG!  Foxtrot sucks.  I couldn’t get my footwork to match his, my hand was sweaty because I was in the clutches of a young, attractive dancing machine and I was nervous.  I really wanted to do well. 

The whole time, we chatted and laughed as I stepped on his feet, side stepped left instead of right and eventually became more at ease with the idea of dancing and being very close to a very young man (who by the way smelled fantastic)  Mission accomplished.  My first fox trot.  I am excited!

Next we moved on to the tango.  I kicked ass!  The tango is definitely my thing.  Justin told me I was sassy enough to make it work and that he saw the passion in my eyes for the dance.  Mama mia, Justin.  It was a lot of fun and that is one dance I am really looking forward to learning more about.

Next was the rumba.  Holy shit Batman.  I couldn’t get the footwork right, he scolded me for looking at my feet when he really wanted me to look right in his eyes.  (His words not my imagination)  He made it very difficult to concentrate when he told me the rumba was all about passion and made me get close enough I could see the light reflect in his eyes.  (Insert harp music, a field of flowers and …wait a minute, where was I)  Talk about intimidating.  Young, and smelling so good (did I mention he smelled good?), with a great smile, I couldn’t possibly look right at him.  Here I am sweating and swearing like a sailor because I stepped on his shoes…again.  I was so flustered at one point I made some dumb ass comment about liking his tie.  Keep in mind, these conversations are happening while we dance.  We don’t stop to chat, we talk and dance…at the same time.  I can’t even drink from a water bottle and walk at the same time.  While I fumbled around with my footwork he asked me, “if you could go anywhere in the world, price being no object, where would it be?  I said without hesitation, “Italy.”  He proceeds to say, “Ok, you and the man of your dreams are in Italy.  You have seen the sights, maybe toured a vineyard, taken in the architecture and the museums, had a romantic meal in a café, drank a bottle of wine.  You feel the possibility in the air…the warm breeze caresses your face.  Night is falling, and in the background sensual music starts to play.  He takes you in his arms, right there in the café, fire in his eyes and you feel the passion. It’s the kind of night where anything could happen.  (long pause while he stares right at me)  Now we rumba.” I made eye contact, figured out my right from my left and rumba-ed my ass off. 

Our last dance and the most fun was swing.  I did pretty amazing if I do say so myself.  Besides, Justin told me it was the best dance of the afternoon and asked if I was sure I had never danced before.  I know it’s his job to be charming and encouraging, but leave me to my fantasy would you.

Swing is not as hard as you would think.  The steps are basic and to be honest, I really like being spun.  At one point, we were travelling a little too fast and I had to confess that I have a tendancy to get motion sickness…and regardless of how much fun I was having, I didn’t want to vomit on his shiny, black dancing shoes. 

He talked my ear off the whole time. We talked about Christmas cookies, movies, my kids, the weather, everything and anything.  He did he best to keep me from overthinking.  Number one to distract me from looking at my feet, number two so I would stop thinking so much and number three, because I am pretty sure it’s a teaching strategy. 

I only actually stumbled once and that was when he was spinning me during the swing when he said, and I quote, “This is the part of the dance I like best.  I can have my way with you and there’s nothing you can do about it.  The music and I are in control.”

Definitely looking forward to my next lesson.

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When the sh*t hits the fan

I had a great day at work on Friday.  Got lots accomplished, nothing too stressful going on.  We even celebrated a coworker’s birthday.  Until late in the afternoon, the busy weekend ahead, soon became the last of my worries.

The following is a time line of actual events (as I can remember them to the best of my ability) 

3:30pm  At the office

Starting to feel a little headachy.  I couldn’t be hungry, I had been eating all day.  Maybe it was the birthday cake that pushed me over the edge.  Note to self…stop eating so much birthday cake.  I put my head on my desk for a few minutes to stop the room from spinning.  No luck.

4:30pm  Leaving work to go home

Headache is worse and my stomach does a flip flop in the parking lot.  Oh, hell no!  I have way too much to do this weekend.  Christmas baking to finish, Christmas cards to make, a surprise party to attend.  I drive home as fast as I can.

5:00pm  Sitting at the diningroom table with my head down

By this time, I know…stomach flu.  Shit!  Well, hopefully not, but wow, my stomach was turning faster than the scrambler at the fair.  I was freezing cold, shivering and turning a very unusual shade of grey.  I prayed to be sick just to get it over with.  With my head on the table and the kids arguing over who is better (Star Wars or Harry Potter), I consider downing some gravol to stop the naseau until I can at least get them some dinner.  Gravol would definitely do the trick, but it will also put me into a coma.  Without another responsible adult here, who is going to put me in the recovery position if I pass out and choke on my own vomit?  These are the things I think about people!.  I decide…definitely no gravol.

5:30pm  The show must go on

No back up parent to make dinner, so into the kitchen I go.  Dizzy, sweating and on the verge of asking Hannah to just pour some cereal for her and her brother, I decide on macaroni and cheese.  Quick, easy, done.  Aside from the smell of it, I am doing alright.  Mac and cheese plated up, dishes left for tomorrow.  Little did I know then, that tomorrow would be spent in the fetal position on my couch.  While sitting at the table, I watched the kids load on the ketchup, slurping and stirring the offensive orange “dinner” until I really wanted to be sick.  It threw me right over the edge.

Ok…this could be it.  Up to the bathroom I run, half closing the door and prepare for the worst.  As I lay in a semi coma on the bathroom floor, with my head half in the toilet, my kids are out in the hall arguing.

“I am not going in, you go in.”  “No way, if she hurls, it’s going to smell like death in there.”  

So there they sat, not daring to come near me. 

This was when the questions/statements started coming.  I am not sure if they were trying to distract me, make me feel better or just kill me quickly.

“Maybe it’s PMS, not the flu.”  Yes, Hannah, it’s definitely PMS…see what you have to look forward to every month.

“What would affect my balance more…losing a baby toe or a big toe?”  Big toe

“Do you think we could go tobogganing when you feel better?”  No

“Santa is probably diabetic…I mean, his diet is so unhealthy.”  Yes, Hannah, the fat bastard is probably going to have a coronary on our front porch.  Break out the insulin and a digestive cookie for him.

“How come when I throw up, my macaroni comes out whole?”  Because you kids are animals and don’t chew your food.

“Are we still going to make Christmas cards this weekend?”  Yes

“Once I farted and I pooped in my undies a little.”  Once!  I have found more than one pair of “sharted” in undies stuffed under you bed.

“How do you spell Rudolph?”  a-s-s-h-o-l-e

“Are you going to die?”  Hopefully not today and hopefully not spread out on the bathroom floor.

“Are we still going to watch Christmas movies tonight?”  Yes

“How does Santa go to the bathroom on Christmas eve?”  He wears depends.

“What are depends?”  Diapers for grown ups.  (howls of laughter come from the hallway)

“When you come out of there, you should eat light.  That way your brain can send messages to heal your body instead of spending too much energy digesting.”  Thank you Dr. Oz.

I will be totally honest.  When I am sick with a stomach flu, I am a huge baby.  I can handle a cold/flu, migraine, a nail in the forehead, picking gravel out of an open wound, even other people’s barf…but when I am on the bathroom floor hoping for a quick death, I just want to be taken care of.  Even if it’s just moral support from the other side of the door and a box of tissue thrown in at me.

It sucks having no back up to count on when you’re sick. 

After gathering up the rest of my strength, I pull myself up, brush my teeth and snuggle in to watch Christmas movies with the kids.  They may not have given me moral support or thrown me some tissue, but they definitely made me laugh and that’s the best medicine.

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Personality plus…

So, here I am dating, and sometimes it feels like a job interview…questions fired at you left and right.  I’ll admit, I ask a lot of questions too, but seriously…

How long do you put on the “first impression” front before revealing your true self or do you put on a front at all?  Isn’t it better to just be yourself?

You know what I mean.  Sure I am naturally funny (ok, I am hilarious) charming and intelligent.  BUT, I am also a lot of other things.

I am emotional, unpredictable, sarcastic, stubborn, passionate, inquisitive, upfront, slightly blunt, honest, confident, independent.

I think you should be honest right up front…no surprises.  If you like the person I was on our first date “interview” then we will get along fine.  I am who I am, take it or leave it.  I would expect the same from my date.  That sounds harsh, but I think at this stage of the game I can be selective.

I am not perfect, nor do I claim to be, so when the tears start flowing because of that stupid Canadian Tire commercial, then tough luck for you pal.

Here is a perfect example of whether to be yourself, or put on a show.

The doorbell rang the other night and Hannah, bless her heart, even though she isn’t supposed to answer the door, lets in a couple of Mormons. 

Shit, now what?  I could be polite and listen to their pitch, I could tell them to get the “f” off my porch.  Unfortunately, the smartass in me was in full force.  I stepped out onto the porch and listened to their pre-written, rehearsed introduction about why they were in the neighbourhood.

The very sweet, very innocent young men asked me if they could come in.  I said sure, let me just put away my tarot cards.  They looked at me funny and took a step closer to the threshold of the door.  So, not scared of tarot cards.  Interesting.

I told them I was in the middle of cooking dinner, which I was.  They asked if Wednesday evening would be a better time, to which I said, “Sure, come by Wednesday.”

The blonde one then asked if my husband would be home.  I said no he wouldn’t, why were they asking.  It seems these young mormon men can’t come into a woman’s home without a male “figure” in the house.  Again, interesting.

I kind of laughed, which in hind sight, perhaps was rude.  I mean, rules are rules.  But, me being who I am, came out with, “What, do you think I would chain you to the water heater in my basement and have my way with you?”  Too much, I know. 

They stood there bewildered and I really thought the blonde one was going to take me up on my offer.

I told them there wasn’t a man of the house.  Then “Daniel” (he had a name tag) apologized since they assumed there was a man in the house, with the children and all.  Still not sure why he would think that, but whatever.

I thought for a moment about how to handle this.

I proceeded to tell them that I had been artificially inseminated, my lesbian lover would be home any minute and we were hosting a swingers party that night if they were interested in hearing the lord’s name being shouted out in a totally different way.

Tripping over eachother, trying to get off my front steps, the two young mormons thanked me for my time and they took off down my driveway.

I wonder if I will see them Wednesday night?