Free

EJ turned free in August.  Oh geez, I mean three...there I go again, speaking toddler.

He walks around saying "I'm free!....or me free....or I FaREE."  Whatever way you say it, the boy's free and proud of it.

That got me thinking about being free.  EJ really is free at three--free of burdens, free of deep sadness, free of stress, free of pressures, and free of all the small weights, constraints, tragedies, and hardships that growing up and the modern world inevitably place on you. I've heard that all changes when you turn four, but at least the poor guy still has some free time left.  I certainly hope he cherishes every minute of his oblivion.

I Know What You Did Last Summer

...probably more than me (no, I don't think you and Jennifer Love Hewitt ran someone over and fled the scene).

In fact, I don't have any stand-out memories from last summer, and that's a damn shame.  As a teacher, I've made peace with the fact I will never be a millionaire, but I will have summers off, and I'm okay with that trade-off. And, if any of you even thinks or murmurs that teachers have it so easy and blah, blah, blah....check yo' self immediately, and I promise I won't make erroneous sweeping generalizations about your job or life either.

Okay, we're friends again.

Back to business.  Thankfully, fortunately, and amazingly enough, this has been a wonderful summer, and I can't remember the last time I've said that in the recent past. And, get this: I've had a great summer as a lady person AND as a mom.  Thanks to day camp, my ex-husband's weekends with our son, and my lovely mother, I was able to separate these two roles several times in July and August, and let me tell you, going on trips and to the beach without lugging a ton of CRAP, being able to SIT, READ, and SIP COCKTAILS (rather than chug them in between trying to stream Mickey Mouse Clubhouse at restaurants with crappy wireless connections) is just divine.

On the other hand, I also have many fantastic mom memories from these past two months.  EJ just turned three and is now a big little boy.  He is hilarious, snuggly, and fun, and we've had many special summer moments, ones that I was smart enough to stop and savor because I know the mommy-is-my-world phase doesn't last forever.

Here is a rundown of what I will remember that I did next summer:

Lady person memories:
Trips and dates with the beau: Nothing super exotic--Mexico, a hipster concert at Yale, NYC, and the Jersey Shore a few times (I swear it's nice, non-New Jerseyians!)--but they were fantastic just the same. Sunny days, lovely bed and breakfast establishments that weren't dripping in doilies, the beach, bike rides, walks, good food, cocktails, lounging around...I truly had a break from the minutia of my daily life and had me some fun.  I even wore crop tops a few times and threw up in a parking lot just to keep the misguided youth part of me alive.

Girlfriend time: I had some nice jurl time here and there with lots of laughs and good conversation, be it sipping prosecco or mom power-walking through town with big sunglasses and arms at a ninety-degree angle.  One of my favorite jurl nights was in Atlantic City at the Borgata and ended with me cleaning up at the $5 blackjack table.  Winning that $70 was some pretty exciting gambling.

Alone time: I took hikes (I'm using that term loosely, think graveled paths through the woods at a zero elevation), enjoyed some silence, read books, blogs, and magazines (does Pinterest count too?), and I went through and then threw out, donated, and sold a lot of my stuff (thank you, The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up!).  For what it's worth, these simple little things that I did by and for myself made me feel lighter and happier.

Mom memories:
Amusement parks: As a parent in the summer, you know it's all about the theme parks, which are crazy expensive, oppressively hot, and awesome venues for some unique people watching (or rather, watching unique people).  EJ and I were lucky to enough to visit Hershey Park and Disneyland and had a fantastic time at both.  My favorite moment was snapping selfies on the race car ride as EJ steered and I had the pedal to the medal, hitting an extreme 7 mph.  Good stuff.   I'm also not too proud to admit that I almost yacked after the teacup ride. Is it me, or have those things gotten A LOT faster?

LA la la la la: We took a trip to visit my sister and brother-in-law in California for a few days.  They live in Hollywood, and man, is that a chance for some extreme people watching (or rather, watching extreme people). Luckily,  EJ was back to his old magic on the airplane, sitting quietly and sleeping, so the traveling part was super smooth.  He also slept great, was well-behaved and fun, and gleefully soaked up the adoration from his aunt and uncle.  Sure, he only ate shelled peanuts for dinner every night, but protein is good, right?

Pool and lake days: I live at the top of New Jersey, so unlike where I grew up on Long Island, the beaches are a bit of a trek. Therefore, it's all about the pools and lakes up here.  EJ loved the water this summer and I made him wear ridiculous hats and swimming apparatus that he will mock me for later on in life. And lord help me, the one day I did take him to the beach....an hour-plus drive each way...he cried in horror every time a wave crashed or a lifeguard blew a whistle.  Eesh.  That was our one and only mother/son 2015 beach trip.

I think I've used six or seven variations of the word fantastic throughout this post, so I'm going to end now before I throw up in my mouth. I sound obnoxious. OF COURSE I had some sad or ho-hum days and things that I didn't do this summer. I guess I'm so mushy and gushy because three years ago at this time, I had a one-week old, a husband who lived three thousand miles away with his pregnant girlfriend (still feels weird/trashy to even type!), and an intense fear that my smiles would never be genuine again or that things were never going to get better.  I'm thankful that they have and that I'm learning to enjoy and cherish the small stuff in life.  I hope you made some fantastic memories this summer too.

What Goes Around...

Time seemed to slow as I stood there, watching his mouth move, tears streaming down his face.  In that moment, I was only able to digest a small portion of what he was saying, but I knew that he was talking about her and apologizing to me.  It was déjà vu, only it wasn't the week of my wedding anniversary in 2012, and we weren't standing in our living room with my hand on my growing baby belly as my husband admitted he had cheated on me.  It was 2015, the week of his second wedding anniversary, and I held our toddler on my hip in a parking lot, my mouth agape as my ex-husband told me that his wife was having an affair and he was getting a divorce.  I think I heard him say, "Karma's a real bitch."

The first two years after I was cheated on were the worst for me, so I've tried to recall what kind of punishments I hoped my ex and his new wife would suffer.  They weren't as dark as death or illness (they do have twin girls, after all), but I'm pretty sure they involved them being poor and overweight, constantly bickering and miserable, while I was having some fabulous adventures with my son and new love.  Oh, and I had really great shoes and clothes. Regardless, over time, my punishment fantasies dwindled, largely in part thanks to my family, friends, therapist, and TIME. Over the past year, I've pretty much stopped thinking about retribution entirely, as love, life, and motherhood clog my neural pathways. Thoughts of my ex and his wife fire here and there, but overall, my brain and I have pretty much moved on. 

Sorry, back to me in the parking lot.  I bring up my revenge thoughts only because of my reaction to this bombshell.  You would think I would smirk, stifle a chuckle, do an imaginary or actual jig, or say something tisk tisk trite like, "What goes around comes around," or "When you lay down with dogs, you wake up with fleas." But, I didn't.  My mind went blank and I heard myself saying, "I know it's hard, but you'll get through it, and you will find happiness again." Then, I got in my car, drove away, and cried...real real hard, and I couldn't even bitch slap myself out of it.  The whole thing was just so sad, and my tears flowed heavily and freely.  I cried for my eight-year relationship that ended overnight.  I cried for myself and everything I had to endure.  I cried for my son because he will never know his family intact or live with his mother AND father.  All of this sadness because of a decision to enter a relationship that didn't even last past a second anniversary. How pathetic.

I stopped crying after about thirty minutes, and it took me a good four days to stop feeling the agita associated with once again finding out shocking news pertaining to my ex-husband.  After all, my life is good...this isn't my divorce, my mess, my custody arguments, my legal bills, my court dates, etc. I've already done that, and I don't have the will or the time to take on anyone else's marital troubles, especially his.  And in all fairness, he's not asking me to. 

Since the news broke, my ex-husband and I feel more like real friends (or as real and natural friends as we can ever be,) and that's amazing for our son.  I've gotten what I always wanted--an apology, an admission that he lost himself and made a mistake, acknowledgement that our marriage wasn't bad--the things I knew but needed to hear to really put what happened to rest.  I've been cautioned by many to not be a "doormat" in this situation, and although I appreciate the advice, it's unnecessary. I have absolutely no desire to return to or glamorize my former married life, nor am I offering my ex-husband a shoulder to cry on or any leeway in his personal and financial obligations to our son. Oh, hell no. I'm simply being nice, which feels like the right thing to do, as his life is messy enough without me sending snarky comments and bad juju his way.

If that is being a doormat, then I'm a damn sharp-looking one that lasts through all seasons and weather, welcoming you across the threshold into a new place. I'll see you all very soon.

What Words With Friends Has Taught Me About Life

No introductory paragraph needed for this one.

In my years of playing Words With Friends, I have learned:

1. Humility...because I suck at Words With Friends (even though I pride myself on having an expansive vocabulary).

2. Dignity.  I pretty much take losing in stride (and no one can hear the expletives in my head or see me hover my finger precariously over the resign tab when I'm really getting my ass kicked).

3. Perseverance. Even when I am down 100 points, I still forge onward and turn BAT into BATS for 7 points...making me 94 points closer to being in the lead.

4. About the glass ceiling. Boys are better than me at Words With Friends, like 98% of the time.  Go figure.

5.  Resolve. When life or your tile bag hands you lemons, make lemonade...or za, qi, haj, xi, xu, and jo and then keep on keepin' on.

6.  Optimism. With each new WWF challenge I accept, I believe the universe will take care of me, just like after my divorce.  I know that one day, I will get the perfect tile lineup and make a 100+ point word.   That day just doesn't seem to be today.

Up-to-date Updates

Wow, I've been doing this for a year.  Well, for a little longer than a year.  The anniversary was in February, but I'm too busy paying attention to other time milestones in my life--how old EJ is, how long I've been divorced, how long my current relationship has lasted, etc.--not how long I've been on blogspot.  For any anniversary in my life, I like to take some time to acknowledge, celebrate (read, eat dessert in honor of), and reflect on whatever it is that's made it for a whole year. So, in honor of my poorly-named blog's anniversary, I perused my story inventory and have decided to share some updates, in case some of you have been up at night wondering how things have turned out.  Here goes:

I have hit or exceeded 10,000 steps on my Fitbit exactly seven times (picture the monkey covering eyes emoji).

I am no longer out on the dating scene.  I've been in a relationship for over a year, so I have no new good material about awkward first dates.  One thing of note: I never heard from the pretentious boyfriend again after his break-up email, which I know is a shocker.  And, in case you are wondering, pinky swear, I have never looked him up and have no idea what places he checking into on Four Square now (is that still a thing?).

EJ's sleeping is a bit better, but it's still pretty jenky.  However, what's jenkiest now is his eating.  He no longer eats pasta, so the main staple of every meal is an open jar of peanut butter with a spoon shoved inside because he doesn't like bread.  Thank goodness for yogurt too, but other than that, all he will eat is fruit, those damn pouches, and snack foods.  I'm told it will get better and can only hope for the day when he will bite into a processed chicken nugget. My favorite (sarcastic italics) thing about the eating debacle is people's well-intended advice.  Kind friends and strangers are hoping I can change EJ's food aversions with these profound tidbits of knowledge:  "Have you tried making him a sandwich?"  "Have you given him mini waffles?"  "Do you know they make character-themed fish sticks?"  Yes, yes, and hell yes, but thanks anyway people.

I am getting away again in June, so stayed tuned for a new toe shot with a turquoise ocean in the background.  To keep it interesting, I will select a different nail color.

My best roomie, Mom, is very healthy and feeling great!

And now the big one: my post-divorce where are they now? update.  I don't know why I haven't gotten around to mentioning it, but, wait for it...EJ's father married the woman with whom he had an affair and they have twin daughters who are sixth months younger than EJ (pause for a quick math calculation).  I guess I took so long to tell because I was waiting for Jerry Springer to accept my submission to be on his show (is that still a thing?).  They lived in California for a year and a half, but moved back to the east coast last January and now see EJ every other weekend.  There is a lot more to tell here (I'm baiting you!), but I will tread carefully as my ex-husband and I are co-parenting successfully and getting along for the sake of our son.

Oh, and spring didn't friggin' come in Febrrrary.  Or March.  Boo.  But it's here now.  Yay.

Now, onto year two.

Febrrrary

I can't even stand it.  This month has been endless.  Icy, filthy snow covers every surface. Biting, frigid winds make you long for balmy 30-degree days.  Summer seems like it never happened. Spring feels like it will never come.

Winter is not a shock to me either. In the northeast, cold and snow are to be expected, but not like this. This is a soul-crushing sort of winter.

I think EJ feels it too.  We've been cooped up for what seems like eons...and mind you, I work full-time and still feel this way.  He and I are bored.  We've played with all the toys/games and done the crafts (and unfortunately, that idea pool is limited...a two-year-old ain't playing Candyland or doing decoupage).  EJ's grandma even got him into baking, and he had a pretty good run with that. Unfortunately, he ate nothing he created, so I got stuck eating cookies and muffins that I knew had eggshells and sneezes in them.  I put the kibosh on that activity four pounds into January. Soon after, the game "Blanket" became a hit.  For about 45 or so minutes, EJ would either cover me in a blanket and run in for hugs, or roll himself in it and walk around like some sort of Grecian philosopher.  I don't know what the allure was, but it sure helped pass the time.

And then February hit.  The temperature stayed in the single digits.  The skies were perpetually gray. The blanket game became stale for EJ, as did some other favorites like pretending to pencil in his toddler furniture.   A week into the month, our morale was sunk and our crankiness escalated.

But, something happened today while I stayed home to nurse EJ back to health after his tenth cold. We'd been awake since four, so by eight, I could tell he wanted to hit up the Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru for a large coffee, I mean a treat for himself, and I decided to oblige him.  

As we walked through the frozen tundra to our car, I squinted my eyes.  Wait a minute. What was that color?  Blue.  And that bright thing?  The sun.  In the car, the thermostat read 20 degrees.  A radio announcer said something about March Madness.  I thought I was hearing things.  At dusk, when I closed the blinds, I realized it was well after five o'clock. Eureka.  

These simple, unrelated things are all faintly whispering "Spring."   It is coming.  It is coming, and it's bringing with it renewal and freedom and fun and hope and warmth. And this year, I won't wait for the clocks to change, or a certain temperature, or a certain date to say Spring has arrived.  I'll know it's here when the whispers become louder and more self-assured.  I know it will be a while, but for now, in the monotony and drudgery of Febrrary,  I'll scour the scenery for signs and just listen.   

Not Fit One Bit

It's winter, and as the temperature has dropped, my weight has gone up.  I can list my reasons (ahem-excuses) for this.  It's really cold.  It gets dark at 4:30.  Cookies taste good.  EJ wakes up too early. My gym is crowded, and that's annoying.  I don't have any Lululemon workout clothes.  I think my running sneakers are old and I could get shin splints.  I'm tired. Wine tastes good. Bread with butter is everything.

So one morning, when I once again couldn't find pants that fit, I decided that I'd had enough and did what any other true American would do...I threw money at the problem.

I drove, not walked to my nearest electronics store and bought a Fitbit.  It was going to be a real game-changer, I could feel it.  I charged the device and downloaded the app on my phone as I ate veggie straws.  I felt fitter already.  I then scoffed at the goal of 10,000 steps daily...of course I could do that...I'm an ACTIVE teacher constantly flitting around nurturing young minds, and, wait for it, my classroom is on the SECOND floor, so I'm walking up and down stairs everyday...make it  more like 20,000 steps, Fitbit.

Astonishingly, I've been Fit-bitter, err, a Fit-bitter for a few weeks, and my pants are still tight.  I've only hit 10,000 steps once. It's quite shameful.  One day, it was only 4,000.  Gulp.  I thought I was SO much more active than that.

I've done everything except actually workout to try to up my step count.  I made a board on Pinterest about getting in shape. I read health magazines. I march in place as my students answer questions.  I climb the stairs a few extra times during the day.  I walk to the faculty bathrooms in the farthest bowels of the school (pun!).  But, 10,000 steps continues to elude me.

I've thought about strapping my Fitbit onto an animal while I sleep.  That has to be good for a few thousand steps.  I have also considered purchasing a Shake Weight (those things work, right?) in the hopes that I can at least tone my arms while the shaking motion increases my step count.  But, I've stopped myself from this type of scheming because when you cheat your Fitbit, who really wins?

So, I'm back to step, err, square one.  I guess all I can really do to reach 10,000 steps is move more.  Maybe even go to the gym once in a while.  I guess some good old fashioned hard work and mild sacrifice is called for...sacrifice beyond wearing a rubber bracelet that clashes with my outfits and jewelry.  I'll let you know how it goes.

In Memoriam

I remember you dancing a lot.  Whether it was a group or solo performance, it didn't matter.  The rhythm spoke to you...even that damn Electric Slide song.  My favorite dance compilation was to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.  Please find Patrick Swayze up there and show him your moves.

I remember you taking us skiing for the first time...four kids to only one parent.  We got into a car accident on the way there...flew over a snow bank and into a ditch.  After we were towed out, you felt like we still needed to hit the slopes and not waste the trip.  What a trooper.

I remember you telling us to just "let it go"...way before Frozen came on the scene.  You urged us to be more carefree and less uptight.  Very important lessons for Type-A worriers.

I remember you on vacation.  You had fun, which you always did, but it was really heightened by tropical drinks and sunsets. Good times.

I remember you being a good sounding board.  A second mom.  You offered me a fresh perspective on my life, another fork in the road I could take.

I remember Friday night sleepovers and pizza dinners.  We could stay up later at your house, and you were always willing to let us spend the night and try to get out of Saturday morning cleaning at ours'.

I remember summers with you.  Beach trips and backyard BBQ's.  Days that started early and ended late without formal props and plans, but were magical just the same.

I remember your "every day is a gift" attitude.  You really felt and lived this way.  I always found it remarkable...partly because I'm pretty cynical, partly because you'd been through so much.  You  never let things get you down for long.  You always stood back up and truly enjoyed life, grateful for the tiny moments of each day.  Coffee on the porch, sunsets, a good book, sharing Facebook messages.

I remember you always encouraging us to live freely and love fiercely...whilst maintaining our independence and self-reliance.

I remember you being there when EJ was born.  And at his first birthday.  And at his second.  Thank you.

One week ago, a lovely, loving, brave, funny, smart, sassy woman passed away. She will be dearly missed by those who loved her, and even if you didn't know her, her life and what she stood for should be remembered by us all.