Alright, not to give away the punch line or anything, but....
Here goes, half a decade in a nutshell. Met a boy thirteen years my junior, dated six months, moved in together, gave it another three months, got married, had some highs and lows, earned my B.A. in English, bought a house, celebrated the big 4-0, sold a house, applied and got accepted into a MFA program for creative writing, but declined the invite, got a grown-up job as a bean counter that bled every drop of creativity out of me, bought another house, went to Disney World, got pregnant, had a beautiful baby boy we call Beans, got separated, quit my bean counting job, reconciled, gave it another go for eight months, and, finally, brings us to today.
About five years later, I find myself a soon to be three times divorced single mama with three kidlets (with three different daddies), and an unemployed college graduate with a mortgage and about thrity grand in debt spilling over on my plate. Good. Times.
Life is good. Really, it is. My daughters continue to grow into amazing, intelligent, creative, funny, young women and my little guy is just too damn cute. It's comforting to see I must be doing something right, I just can't get this relationship thing right.
My eldest, who came out to me two years ago at the age of sixteen, suggests I just need to "find a nice lady". She's married (courtesy of STL Pridfest) to her high school sweetheart and they are currently living with me and practicing in order to take their killer girl band, The Dead End Dreams, out on the road. For my undying support and devotion to the band, I'm promised a fabulous beach house once they make it big.
My younger daughter has aspirations to be a dancer, an actress, a vet, a writer, an artist, marine biologist, contortionist, and a singer. Know what? She'll probably be able to pull it off. At the age of 10, she's smart as a whip and is SASSY.
Beans. What can I say about Baby Beans? Well, for starters at 16 months-old, he still only sleeps a consecutive two hours at any given time. More important things to do, I suppose. Meanwhile, mom isn't handling it so well. There's a reason why they use sleep deprivation as a form of torture. I. am. exhausted. And I'm pretty sure I've aged at least ten years in the past two. I was so busy asking the universe to bless me with a healthy baby (as everything I read warned me not to have a baby at my age) I forgot to request that he might sleep just a tiny bit as well. He's got killer baby blues and a contagious giggle that he uses to melt the hearts of every person he meets.
Meanwhile, well-meaning friends and family congratulate me on being such a strong person, that this is just the close of one chapter and the baby steps toward a grand new adventure. One close friend assures me that it's just that my princes all turn into frogs, but really? After this many failed attempts at happily ever after, I have to take a good, hard, long, painful look in the mirror. I'm happy to report that I still like the person staring back at me and am working hard to forgive myself for being so wrong.
When the boy and I mutually decided to call it quits, we described our news to friends and family as sad news rather than bad news. There's really no bad guy in this scenario, just two people who made really, really bad choices. Fresh on the heels of horribly tumultuous relationships, we both wanted desperatley to believe that we were one another's "one". So much so, that we pretended a 13 year age difference and nothing in common would come out in the wash. We never bothered to ask ourselves the really tough questions about one another. For all my talk of independence, the truth, as I've come to realize, is that I really, really wanted, needed, someone to take care of me. Though the boy possessed all the chivalry I craved, he was still, after all, just a boy and I pretended not to notice that one too many of the no-no's were applicable. I grew to resent the boy as I realized that he too needed taking care of and was certainly not in the position to rescue me.
I wouldn't call my return to the blogging world a come back, but rather, a new start. I'm hoping I'll stumble upon a little of my old spark, but I'm mostly looking forward to the elation that comes with releasing all this craziness floating around in my noggin. I'll be busy trying to squeeze back into these single mama shoes and hoping you'll hop aboard the crazy train and weigh in on such tectonic issues such as:
*what I should be when I grow up, and, in the meantime, any creative suggestions to a part-time gig that would allow me to balance mamahood with paying the mortgage?
*short of selling my soul to the devil, how can I get Beans to sleep so I can get some shut eye???
*dating. again. ugh. does anyone know of a way to completely skip this part and go straight to the place where you feel safe, desired, and respected? The place that you call home?
I'm still romantic enough to go for that home run, even with the three strikes.