Don't Let Your Backbone Play BlackJack in Vegas - a New Primer on Dating with Kids

Switching my Snowbird baseball cap to backwards....

Dating with kids, though.... I haven't figured out the magic recipe for their level of involvement...  Has anyone?

On one end of the spectrum, is the parent (probs most often the dad) who chooses his partner totally independent of his children and tosses everyone - including the new GF or wife, in the emotional deep end, figuring they'll all be able to adequately swim and later Kum-ba-yah together.

On the other end of the spectrum, is involving the kids in dating patterns from the outset and giving them a sense on who is spending time with mom, or sharing their attention.  Out of this, the shallowness of one's children will often be revealed:

"What kind of car does he drive?"

"Does he have good hair?  He has to have good hair."

"Yeah - but does he lift?  Is he fit?"

"Does he SKI?  I mean, does the bro really ski?" 

"Is he cool?  Can he hang?"

I'm ashamed to think what my children focus on first.  We need to work on this.

Anyone who knows us well, knows that my home is filled with laughter.  Right or wrong, we all roast each other a bit -- it's a sign of affection between us -- so you can imagine my single / dating life offers up prime roasting material.  It keeps everyone laughing really hard - including me.  As long as we can laugh together, it's so worth including them.  It helps us feel closer, too.  I'd like to think it helps them feel safer - that I'm not going to get serious with someone in a way that's going to dramatically impact their lives, without them participating in some way - even if just hearing about some things, from the beginning.

Oh - it's super fun when my 16 year old daughter dishes out dating advice to me  - especially when it takes on a lecturing tone.  She talks from the perspective of someone who has clearly never fallen in love and consequently never had her heart smashed into a gazillion pieces.  She speaks with quite a bit of authority on the subject, though.  Sometimes I scratch my head and say, "Wait, whose the parent, here?" 

My children have been easy through this.  The challenge for me has been, managing men's expectations around the level or non-level of my children's involvement.  One man insisted by the third date or so to take my kids to ice cream.  A well-meaning neighbor had taken the kids back to their house, thinking I'd appreciate the alone time with my date and probably wanted to spare my kids from the perceived stress of meeting a new man.  This turned circus-like when my date arrived to me alone in the house, folded his arms across his chest and said:

"Where are the kids?"  

I was all like... (nervously laughing) "Let me explain my neighborhood.  Everyone basically lives at each other's homes and my kids are all down the street and...." 

"Well let's go get them."

Awkward silence.... disbelief fills my body... I think I heard my backbone literally say "Buh-bye.  I'm off to Vegas-- you are on your own."

"Really?  I'm not sure that's such a good idea" I say, "and it would be nice for me to get out and away from them for a bit...I mean I do have them all of the..."

"Let's go get them."

"Wow. Okay."   (by this time my backbone was sending me selfies by the Bellagio Fountain). 

So awkward visit down to the neighbors we go, where I wasn't exactly ready to unveil my first kind of dating relationship yet - I mean the first one to last more than two dates... and now, the neighbors have to / get to meet this guy, while I attempt to retrieve my kids...who don't really want to go with us - they want to ride Vespas and play hoopes with my very cool neighbors.... Frankly in that moment, I did too.

After bribery with FroYo, my seven year old son...and the toddler... come along on the ice cream social...  It's all a very horrible memory for me.

Fast forward to a season later where a different man I knew as a teen but who I hadn't seen in 26 years flies across the country to visit and explore a romantic connection, and we have an epically long weekend jam packed with my kids normal life of activities and football games and dinners...  this man hadn't had kids of his own, or spent much time around them per say, so he was a little oblivious how to just BE intimately around them... but he insisted on maximum kid time in the planning - after all, he was very serious about me as a 16 year old so we must still feel this way about each other at 40, right?!?

In fairness to him - he bit off more than most people could chew to presume he could waltz in and manage himself around strong personalities of my particular children.  Let's not minimize the noisy toddler and the effect this can have on someone who has not had to spend intensive time around one of these specimens before....  All while trying to evaluate how he felt just being around me - while in FULL BLOWN MOTHERING MODE.  My kids may have put him a bit through the ringer. Meanwhile, I was so busy making sure my kids were okay that I couldn't take a sec to ponder, how did I feel about this man and myself around this man?  What a mess that felt.

Again - in attempt to see where this relationship might be headed, I lost all traces of my backbone... Like my backbone was once again playing blackjack and craps in Vegas and maybe handing out dollar bills, I dunno.

It's not always this way...I suspected one man became totally skittish when he knew my kids knew anything at all about his existence in my life.  All of these share a couple things in common:

1. They were out of balance with reality.
2. My role as mother who knows best for her kids and family was not trusted at best, undermined, at worst.

Why does my strong mothering backbone take a vacation when I'm dating?

Because I don't have any idea how to do this... Because maybe I've been too much of a "people-pleaser" in this process.

The right thing to do with children... is probably someplace in the middle.  My backbone needs to be on duty and on call.. no vacays allowed...

I think the most responsible thing a parent can do - or what I'd like to do going forward, is to spend a handful of times with an individual and decide - together -if this connection is going to be at least a little more committed than the others have been.  Then decide - together - what everyone is comfortable with on how to move forward and allow space to see if the kids can form a meaningful connection and bond with the new person in my life.    

I've been on - no joke - like 75+ dates last year.  A majority of these occurred before my mother's passing last year.  I really needed a hiatus to take emotional inventory after she died.  There were weeks where I went out 2-3 times for breakfast, cocoa or dinner with different people.  Where I couldn't thoroughly Google a man or had limited information on him, I often met him out in public to minimize people coming to the door to fetch me and to maximize my family's safety and privacy regarding my address.  I also live in a tight-knit neighborhood where people notice coming and goings and I've been trying to minimize chatter.

I have also determined online dating is the crutch newly divorced people use to force themselves to get out there, or people who are too shy to approach men or women in their normal course of activities.  I'm gathering that many of us who have used it were those left by spouses, whose egos and senses of self took big hits and we needed a platform to regroup and survey the scene while still being authentic Nervous-Nellies in real life about getting back in the saddle.

I've absolutely abandoned online dating because I've morphed into a more confident sense of myself that I can now flirt and make conversation at Whole Foods, the gym, the ski hill and any other place I find myself in... I've come a long way in a year.

Now it's time I get more serious about getting more serious, though -- I want to.  Which is why I'm laying better groundwork now in regards to my children.... musings and introspect on why I haven't yet become more serious about getting more serious is coming in the next post.

Ciao.

Chewbacca Ring Tones

Dear Outer Space: It's been so long since I've written!  I'm sorry.  I've been a bit preoccupied on a number of fronts.  We are almost to 20,000 views on our blog!  Maybe this post will knock us over that hump.  I'd love to know more about what people like that I'm writing, so that I do more of that.

My mother passed away this weekend.  I'll write more on this after I have time to understand all the feelings I'm having.

I'd like to update about my dating but I'm not ready yet.  First let me digress into the sphere of ringtones.

As I look back on my marriage with some time and distance,  it has been helpful to set some personal guidelines in my dating, so as to not repeat any cycles or draw in that which I had experienced before.  I found that it helps to use special ring tones to serve as triggers and a reminder that I am to hold out for that one alpha male who is really...well, really alpha.  Willing to stand up to me and not put up with any of my nonsense, but also willing to go the distance and be...well... ALPHA.  Anything short of full-on display of that, well....he gets a special ringtone.  Meet my special friend, Chewbacca.

I'm quite serious... It's a helpful reminder that when Chewie lights up my phone, there is a reason to not get swept up by the contact.  This is the ringtone assigned to the fallen soldiers who by either their choice or mine opted out, sexted, wanted me to sext, texted way too late at night for last minute plans or other behavior that I feel cautious around.

I love Chewbacca, but he doesn't speak English.  He doesn't speak my language and I don't really want to marry or be intimate with Chewbacca.  He's so nice and furry, but he's always second in command to Han Solo {swoon}.

Ciao!

Whole Foods Bones and Death Star

I donated blood for the first time the other day.  I've always wanted to do it, but wasn't quite sure what was involved.   I felt it was time that I donated a part of my healthy body to those who need it more than me.  I can make more.  Some people can't.

They took a pint.  One pint is equal to two cups.  More blood loss than this in childbirth and midwives consider it a hemorrhage and are breaking out the life-saving medicines.  Donating blood is a significant act on our bodies.  As I waited for the procedure to begin and asked how much they would be taking, I realized I had not eaten much that day and started to get a little nervous about how my 5'3" 115 lb frame would handle the loss.  I spaced eating.  What a dummy!  I probably nibbled here and there leftovers from my toddler or other children but it was just a busy day where I had neglected to eat well.

Well nourished women can withstand a normal blood loss of about a pint in childbirth and go on as if nothing happened.  Slightly anemic women with busy homes and other children to care for often take weeks to feel normal after blood loss in childbirth.  The Red Cross requires about 8 weeks spacing between donations to allow the body to recover.  This is almost as long as midwives treat the postpartum period and how long most surgeries take to recover from.

I am a total and utter morning person, but I woke up the next morning (12 hours after donating blood) feeling like I could sleep for days.  I begged my smallish children to let me sleep for a few extra minutes.  No dice.

I decided to give myself the standard midwife prescription that we ask mothers to prepare after giving birth to speed recovery.

Bone Marrow.

I dragged myself into Whole Paycheck - I mean, Whole Foods - and grabbed a bag of Marrow Bones and some veggies to make a nourishing broth.  Here is one of my favorite funny clips about Whole Foods to get you in the mood:

As I navigate the murky waters of divorce and feel generally balanced, happy, accepting and ready for a new future, my blood shortage took me physically and emotionally a step or two backward where I found a return to my personal divorce-survival rule of not making eye contact with anyone in public lest a conversation or human interaction start.

I give off the "DON'T APPROACH ME, I'M AN INTROVERT" vibe really well.  It's getting harder and harder to pull this off as I feel more and more healed and ready to step out socially.  But my depleted blood state tossed me right back into that "safer" isolated emotional place today in public.  Implement: No Eye Contact (NEC). A DEFCON 5 day. 

As I loaded my bounty onto the belt in the check out line, an older gentleman behind me broke through my DEFCON 5 and said,

"What are you using those marrow bones for?"

 The voice inside my head said, "Mr., You seem really nice and harmless and all but I have not given you eye contact and therefore not given you permission to acknowledge my existence, are you really talking to me? CAN'T YOU SEE THIS DEATH STAR IS AT A DEFCON 5?!?" 

I was polite and divulged to him that I donated blood for the first time and it kinda took the wind out of my sails and hoped a soup with bones would do the trick.

He pressed in asking me questions about how I planned to prepare the Bone Marrow and had I considered making a spread, and did I know gourmet restaurants charge $30 an ounce for a pate that I could easily make at home with my bag of bones, etc?

I was more shocked at why he bothered to ignore my OBVIOUS DEFCON 5 that I was intrigued and listening to what he had to say.  He had immediate credibility.

Maybe I'm not doing a good job with the DEFCON system when I'm feeling anti-social.  Maybe he used The Force on this Death Star.

In all actuality, the work on vulnerability I'm doing in area of Brene Brown is showing outwardly.  After donating blood, and feeling empty and lethargic, I had four irritating hours strait of Brene Brown between a workshop and my monthly book club.  Between losing half of my blood volume and feeling drained from self-reflection, my Death Star defenses are rendered useless.  Gone.  Gonzo.  Not a chance of coming back, especially walking around short of a pint of blood.

Whether I like it or not, strangers are talking to me - in the grocery store, at the gas pump - and I'm responding and ready to have human connection.  Maybe wholeheartedly and consistently for the first time in a long time.  It's good!  Because what came out of it yesterday is a new and quirky pate to try and share with you and a feeling of connectivity with another human being that I will never see again.

I smiled and relaxed as I thought of trying a gross pate made out of marrow, feeling it work in my body and telling you all about it.

Because I was already through checkout, I loaded groceries in the car then returned into produce for the herbs he suggested.  Walking around a pint short of blood started to feel better just from a little human connection that I fought and resisted going in there.

I'll post the Bone Marrow Pate separately.

Ciao!

Derivatives, Barbecue Sauce and Mozzarella

If you come here seeking professional grade photos and a gourmet recipe for pizza bagels you will be severely disappointed and you should seek entertainment elsewhere today.  If we share a dry sense of humor with hidden meanings in things, you might be entertained for a few minutes.

Three years ago, I was approached to contribute for compensation to a magazine based in the Pacific northwest on Dutch oven cooking. I chuckled when I read the invite because it was based on my previous posts on a lazy dutch oven pudding cake and some other open fire pit cooking with cast iron. You would chuckle too,  if you read the posts that elicited the invite. 

"Someone is wiling to pay me for this stuff that I call a coping mechanism?!?! SWEET!! " 

(envision my head tipped back in the kind of deep-belly laughter that makes your face hurt) 

 I would have loved to do it, but they had a problem that I would be a regular contributer to a magazine that championed Pacific Northwest things and I lived in rural Vermont. Also, the photo specs required a camera more sophisticated than my iPhone to conform into their online and hard copy publication. Although a tempting invitation for extra cash to do something really fun - dutch oven open fire pit cooking!! - I didn't want to make the investment in a camera for this purpose at that time. And would they ultimately require me to move to Oregon?

Shortly after this, I was invited to contribute to a popular homeschooling blog. The owner gave me a few parameters and a deadline. I was so excited.  I really let my creativity fly.  The topic was - what led me to homeschool - something I have a lot of passion about. I may or may not have weaved into it an important religious conversion story that is ultimately connected to my decision to home school. Ironically yet predictably, the article was rejected and she wanted me to take another go at it but with "less of me" revealed. After I emerged from the fetal position under the bed sheets, I expressed to my imaginary friend: 

"Wait a cotton-picking second!! She INVITED ME! ~And then rejected me...(sniffle)"

I took a couple days to ponder her offer to rewrite to conform to her reader culture and politely declined. I had spent a career with banks and  Wall Street firms using business writing in boiler-plate form to cover my heiny, the firms' heinies I worked for - always running it by legal before sending. Having just orchestrated for myself a major career change from WallStreet  to midwife to allow more of my natural nurturing self to be expressed than the days when I wore Ann Taylor power suits and heels - I was  not about to conform to anything. It was almost like the universe was testing my resolve to stay the course on finding myself.

This is a time in my life to exercise more of ME.... in every single thing I do. There is no budget for a legal department right now.

Okay, maybe there is a guy in a back office somewhere in the recesses of my brain who looks at things after they're already submitted and makes irrelevant suggestions. He knows he'll be fired if he asserts too much rigidity.  In my imagination, I hired him from Apple, where the culture to innovate and create is based in never letting shame or fear be allowed floor time. 

Somewhere out there exists a publication who is willing to pay money for me to write just as I do because it's a perfect fit for their mission and audience. 

 ...I just realized that all of this is a metaphor for dating and marriage... 

I can read your mind.  WHAT THE BLEEP does any of this have to do with barbecue sauce mozzarella cheese. Absolutely nothing (laughing...)  or I'll let you find the irony and your own deeper meaning in it all.  Hint: always add sugar to your recipes

Enjoy my iPhone photo of my latest kitchen and taste bud obsession: Finding as many ways to pair mozzarella cheese and barbecue sauce as I can. It started as a derivative to pizza bagels. 

Big hit with the little people I cohabitate with. Things I would add to this are sautéed purple onions and chicken pieces soaked in the barbecue sauce. 

Ciao.