A sad day

Today, our next door neighbor, Orna, goes into a hospice. She is in her eighties, has bladder cancer and is unable to take care of herself any longer. Her daughter is coming to get her today.

Liv and I both loved Orna. She was wonderful to Liv, an extraordinary babysitter, a great baker of cakes, and the funniest Republican I ever met. When Liv and I would show up at her door, she would always say, "Wait a minute, dearies, I must go tell the lions to hide. If I let them jump on you, they will lick you to death." She would walk into her house a bit and trill out, "Boys! Time to go into the bedroom closet. Liv is here. I'll call you if she would like a lion ride later!"

Liv thought that was the coolest thing in the whole world. Even when she reached the age where she knew that Orna was fooling, she would buy into it. They would bake cakes together for "the boys" and sometimes sing songs for them outside the bedroom closet door.

We will both miss her. We will visit her, though, and maybe bring the boys for a visit. They are staying at our house now.

Cozy

I'm starting to appreciate the coziness of this blog. In my last blog, I wrote for an audience. In the beginning, I just wrote for my family and a few friends, but for some odd reason, that blog took off like gangbusters and I ended up with a daily readership of nearly 50 people! Not only did I feel like I was "onstage", I felt obligated to read all of their blogs too, so I often sat at my computer for hours at a time.

No more. This blog is not going anywhere. It is more of a diary for my family and few close friends. Perhaps a few other bloggers. I am going to intentionally keep it very small. I like the idea of only reading 10 other blogs a day instead of 50.

The downside? My ego. I LIKED being popular the last go round. I liked it that I had so many readers. But I also felt intense pressure to write, even when I just didn't feel like it. This blog is different. It is just me and my thoughts for family and a few friends eyes (and well, ok...the peeper might show up). Much more manageable.

It is COLD outside. 1 degree with a wind chill of 15 below. I just can't WAIT to get in the car to take Liv to school and then go to work. I have a hat that I wear in this weather. It is a fluffy bright red one. Bing calls it my "Dr. Seuss hat." She pretty much detests it. ("You sort of look like a deranged Carol Channing. I keep expecting you to start belting out, "Hello Dolly!") Liv detests it. She used to love this hat when she was a toddler. She would reach up her fat little fingers and stroke it, enthralled.

She is no longer enthralled. She is seven. Old enough to be embarrassed by me. (Finally!) The last time I wore it, she suggested that I didn't need to walk her into her classroom, that I could just drop her off at the front door. I said of course not. Since the peeper, I ALWAYS walk her right up to her classroom door. I did consent to take off my hat. I'm not cruel.....

Cell phones.

I have a cell phone. It is called a "razorback." I only mention this because I am unable to really use it and it occurs to me that this is sort of a shame. When I turn it on in the morning, it shows me a page of all the stuff I can do. I can get movie clips, songs, my e-mail, you name it.

The thing is....I don't give a frack. All I really use it for is for when I am away from home and need to call Bing to remind her to put in the pot roast. I only got one after she convinced me that I didn't want to be stuck on a deserted highway somewhere and have no phone when Jason or Voldemort decided to show up at my window. I have yet to be stranded anywhere, but I suppose it will come in handy when it inevitably happens.

Liv taught me how to take pictures with my phone. I never knew what that little camera icon meant before. She took a very funny picture of me braying her while I was driving her to school one morning. I look like Phyllis Diller. It is one step up from my driver's license picture. Which reminds me, I need to renew that this year. The good thing about this is that I have lost nearly 30 pounds since the last photo was taken and this can only be good.

I guess razorbacks are fashionable. Mine is pink and when I was with Liv waiting at the dentist's office the other day, the phone rang. It was Bing asking how Liv was doing. (She was going to get three teeth taken out. Apparently her dentist believed that her jaw was too small for her upcoming teeth.) As soon as I answered that phone, the teenage girl sitting next to me breathed, "Oooooohhhh! You have a razorback!" She said this like I had a jaguar or something.

So, I suppose I am a stylish cell phone user. I don't look or act the part, though. When someone asked me once if our cell phones were compatible, I looked blankly at her wondering if our phones were able to date now. She sighed and asked me what brand mine was. I had no idea. I handed it to her.

"OOOOOOH! Verizon! You have a razorback!"

Leave it to me to be on the cutting edge and not even know it.

At the end of the day.

Ok. It is nearly 8:30. Liv is in bed and I am tired of holding this anger. I suspect that there will indeed be some cuddling under the throw blanket while we watch Battlestar.

My grandmother always said not to let the sun go down on your anger. I think that is bullshit. Some days, you just can't throw it off. But, tonight, I can.

When it doesn't work.

Having a partner is great. Except when it sucks.

Bing and I got back together a couple of months ago. It has been good for everyone involved. Good for us because we missed each other. We had one of those "you complete me" talks and knew that it was probably fate that we be with each other. Liv is happier, I can see that. She has always loved having Bing in her life, but now she has her around on an even deeper level. She is thriving. The last time we were together like this, Liv was a toddler. She doesn't remember it. But, she knows that she likes having her two moms officially together. No matter what, I won't mess with that again. She is old enough now that if I make the choice to be with someone, I better stay put. I don't want to put her through any heartache.

But, today....well, today I am ready to throw up my hands and yell, "I give up. Uncle." I have always known that I pretty much stink at relationships. I warned Bing when we got back together that she was in for a bumpy ride. She responded that roller coasters were her thing. What I hadn't counted on was the fact that it is me who gets queasy on roller coasters.

My problem is that I am a logical thinker and an emotional mess. I want to be with someone who thinks like I do and caters to my heart like it is a priceless pearl. That doesn't always happen in a relationship.

Liv had a basketball game today. Bing always does her workout at noon on Sundays. Liv's basketball game was at 12:45. Therefore, in Bing's thinking, she would have to miss this one. No big deal as I never miss the games, right? Wrong. I told her that she needed to be at Liv's game, that she could do her workout afterwards.

Bing: I don't like to do my workout in the late afternoons. I prefer the early afternoon. I work better. Besides, you will be there. She won't be alone.
Me: So the fuck what? Make a compromise.
Bing: No. Sorry. This is how it has to be.

I wanted to smack her. But, mostly, I didn't understand how she couldn't WANT to go to Liv's game, WANT to postpone her workout. I don't get that brand of thinking.

I accused her of being rigid. Actually, I believe what I said was that she was a selfish pig. She suggested that I stop looking at it personally and start looking at it logically. After all, she mused, "You ARE the logical one in this couple, are you not?"

I'm never logical when it comes to Liv. I'm bloody emotional.

So, she ended up going to her workout. I slammed the door as she lumbered out the back door, gym bag in hand, so hard that a picture fell off the kitchen wall. Liv wandered out of her bedroom, wondering what was going on. She hadn't heard our argument as we have a pact never to scream in front of her, so we had been hissing in whispers. I turned around smiling my false mommy smile.

"It sure is windy today! Be sure and wear your heavy coat when we leave for your game, ok?"

We went to the game. And I noticed something. The onlookers in the bleachers were mostly women. Moms. Grandmothers. Often towing younger children. A few dads. Not many. They were far outnumbered by the Moms. And Bing is sort of the father figure in the family. I chatted with the woman next to me. Asked where Mindy's dad was.

"Oh, he is home watching football. He doesn't get much into the games until the kids are old enough to really play ball. He thinks it is boring that they don't keep score yet at these games."

Mindy's mom sure didn't sound resentful. I, on the other hand, thought that Mindy's dad was a selfish pig too. So what that they don't keep score? How do you think they learn to play the game? They are only a bunch of second grade girls for godsakes.

Liv was the high scorer on her team. FOUR baskets. I was so proud of her.

Afterwards, Liv and I went to the mall so that I could pick up some of that honey shampoo that I love from The Body Shop and so that she could look at ice skates. She wants a new pair and I've told her that maybe, just maybe she can get them if we can find some that aren't too expensive.

We stopped at Orange Julius and got two large ones for both of us. Slurped them all the way home. When we got back, Bing was on the computer working on a project. Liv went running in to tell her how she made four baskets. I heard high fives being exchanged. Praise. Liv came out grinning. It never seemed to occur to her to ask why Bing wasn't there. Now, if I wasn't there, she would have wanted to know exactly why.

Bing came up and tried to hug me. No way, ray. Get your paws off me. She offered to make dinner tonight. Spaghetti. I said fine. I went into the kitchen and made garlic butter for the bread and got it ready so that she could throw it in the oven. That was my sole contribution for dinner.

Dinner is over. Guess who is cleaning up? Not me.

I believe that this is called withholding affection and punishing. I believe that I don't care.

Battlestar Galactica is on at nine tonight, after Liv is in bed. We usually watch it cuddled up under the throw blanket on the couch. We'll see.

I am good at holding grudges and that sort of bothers me and sort of doesn't.

The reason that I left

Once upon a time, there were three little girls who wanted to go to the police academy. Wait. Whoops. Wrong story. Try again.

This is my second blog. The first one was a...lesson. I will try to keep this brief but, boy howdy, it will be tough.

Last summer, I decided to start a blog. I did just that. My ex partner, who was still in my life as a parenting partner did not want to be in my blog. She was not out at her workplace and didn't relish me telling quaint little stories about her. We settled on a pseudonym, she would be portrayed as my next door neighbor, a gay man. Seemed simple enough. I told all my friends and family (whom I was sure would be my only readers) and set to writing.

The blog took off.

I had me some readers. Lots of readers. One reader was a woman whom I had known online for years. I will just call her the peeper from now on, although I didn't know at the time that she was a peeper.

I wrote for several months. What fun. I made many friends. Then, a good friend of mine (not a blogger) died of cancer. It was a hard time. That sentence looks so cut and dried. No other way to say it. It was a very hard time. My ex partner and I wrote a letter for a memorial blog that another friend started for her. I signed my name.

Hence comes the peeper part. The peeper discovered this memorial. I found out much later that she had been painstakingly trying to dig up anything and everything she could find on me for months. She is wealthy, had time on her hands and this was not a big job for her.

The peeper was furious when she read the memorial written by my ex partner and I. She sent me a scathing e-mail full of expletives accusing me of hiding a "secret" partner from her. Well, okay. I suppose I was and I wasn't. My "secret" partner was not my partner any longer, though. So what? She didn't take it well. She launched an even more intensive search. In her next e-mail to me, she announced that she had found out everything and anything about me. I discovered that she not only knew my place of employment, but my ex-partner's place of employment, my child's school, and this is what scared the frack out of me: She had the blueprints of my house.

Now, THAT gave me pause. Why on earth does anyone need the blueprints of someone's house? What purpose, besides harm, could one possibly have?

And then the peeper took it a step farther. She outed my ex partner in her blog. Called me a "pathological liar." It was at this moment when I realized that I was dealing with a very sickening problem. This woman, this peeper, might actually mean me some real harm.

I yanked the blog. I didn't know what else to do. It sickened me to think of the peeper reading little bits about my personal life. I figured that it was possible that she was actually watching me anyway. As I said, she is very wealthy. She had also notified all my blog readers (whom she referred to as my "fawning friends" in her e-mail to me) and notified them that I was again, a pathological liar. This was all because I had not told her that I had an ex partner who was now my parenting partner. Go figure.

I consulted a private investigator. He chided me for being so open in my blog. Told me that I had given the peeper everything she needed to make my life miserable. He asked if I wanted to investigate her in return. I didn't. I had by this time been receiving many e-mails from others who the peeper had taken on and they were generous about giving me lots of information about her. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with this information, except to be scared out of my pants, but nevertheless, I had it.

I spoke to my brother in law, a retired police officer. He told me that there was little I could do to fight back unless the peeper decided to trespass or accost me.That about all I could do was list her as a "person of interest" in case something ever happened to me. I did that. I alerted the administration of my child's school. My ex and I both told our co-workers and supervisors that the peeper might come a-calling. It was embarrassing for both of us, especially for my ex who had not been "out" until that point. We just didn't know what to expect.

Months passed. Nothing happened. Well, with the exception that I was now getting tons of gross spam in my e-mail and stupid things in my home mailbox concerning bladder comtrol products and STD protection. High school high jinks. I did get two phone calls from weird men offering to be my "sex slave." I changed my home phone number.

I have been asked by several friends and family to start up the blog again. Their argument is that the peeper is already around, no way around that. Why let her intimidate me by shutting me down? I thought hard about that. I have sorely missed my blog, missed my blog friends. And with that thought, I am going to start a new blog. With a few changes. ALL names will be changed. Not that it matters. The peeper already knows everyone's names (and much more, I am sure). But, I figure if there is one peeper, there is another. And no pictures. I had just learned to post pics when I yanked the old blog, but there will be no pictures in this one. I can deal with her reading my blog, but looking at pics of the people I love? NO. Not gonna happen. And I am stating here and now that I reserve the right to protect people's identities by using pseudonyms.

And there is some news. My ex and I are back together. Thanks, believe it or not, to the peeper. All the stress of having the peeper doing her peeping thing drew us together and once there, we decided to stay put. Better for us, better for our child, better all around. So, the second time around is really the second time around for us too.

If you are new, I am sure that you will meet the peeper. She will rear her ugly head again. If you are returning, you will recognize her. Or maybe she will stay away. I don't fancy that will happen, she is a persistent little peeper, but miracles happen daily.

And now on to the rest of the story.

Today was a pretty good day. I woke up early. My partner, Bing, left to go clean up some leftover work problems at the office. No, her name is not really Bing. Bing is one of those insipid pet names that you use for a loved one. Once, years ago, I was unable to see my family at Christmas and very depressed about it. I woke up on Christmas morning to the sounds of my partner singing (very badly) the song, "White Christmas." Since then, I have called her Bing. As in Bing Crosby, for those of you who are old like me. Old being in your 40's. Which, yes, seems old to me. I still feel like I am in my late 20's. Unfortunately, I look like I am in my 50's and have even had one silly girl in a boutique ask me if I was eligible for the "senior discount." Well, if it gets me 20% off, you damn betcha.

We are planning to go see the movie, The Queen, this afternoon. This means that our child, (I will be calling her "Liv" this go around, no that is not her real name. See above) Liv, will be going on a playdate ice skating. She is excited. Not only does she love to ice skate, she will not have to deal with me standing on the edge of the ice screaming, "Honey, be careful! Ice is slippery!" No duh? I am nursing a bad back. I managed to pull it out carrying Christmas decorations up from the basement and just the thought of slipping on ice gives me the serious willies.

It is cold as a witch's tit outside. Now, who thought up that silly saying? It seems unfair to witches. I like a good witch. Hermione is a witch and I don't fancy that she has cold tits. Professor Macgonagal is a witch too. Maybe her tits are slightly cold. Can you tell that I read Harry Potter every night to Liv? At any rate, it is frackin' cold outside. I use the term "frackin" for all of you who also love Battlestar Galactica.

I am debating what to do with my poinsettias. They are still doing okay, looking a little ragged around the edges. That seems like a poor excuse to toss them, but the truth is that like most people, I just dislike poinsettias when it isn't Christmas. But, pitching them seems so....mean. It isn't their fault that they are poinsettias. So, I suppose I will do what I always do. I will keep them around until May when they start looking really sad and then I will take them outside to the back yard where they will mysteriously be eaten overnight. I will never know if this means that there are some very sick, possibly dead bunnies or squirrels wandering around or not. I mean, poinsettias ARE poisonous aren't they? I always read that they were and I spent most of Liv's babyhood making sure that she wasn't within ten feet of them.

Oh, and I am sure that someone out there is wondering why I named this blog, "just eat your cupcake." It is another one of my long, meandering stories that I will try hard to shorten up. A few months ago, I found out that I could get a tuition cut at my child's school (she is a second grader) if I worked the lunch hour. Since, I am well, poor, I decided that this was a grand idea. I applied for the job and got it immediately. It should have possibly occured to me that they seemed almost giddily glad to hire me. I know this in hindsight. Another mom, my new bff, Harriet, applied too. Her daughter, Hope, is in pre-school. We were assigned the pre-school/kindergarten lunchtime. There is no way to say this nicely. Lunch is hell. We supervise 50 children, 50 fumble fingered 3-5 year old children eating lunch. Hot lunch is catered and served on Wednesdays. All other days, they bring their own lunches. Both Harriet and I have developed a black humor that is reminiscent of combat survivors. We both have declared a boycott of Dole fruit cups. (Try tearing 20 of those plastic lids off those little cartons a day and see if you keep your sanity). We also dislike peeling oranges (time consuming). One Wednesday, as we were supervising the hot catered lunch (bean and cheese enchiladas, chips and salsa, banana slices and a cupcake for dessert), we both sort of went a little nutty. The rule is that the children have to eat some of their lunch before they tear into their cupcakes. We had a gang of children frantically waving their hands and grabbing at our shirts begging us to please let them start in on their cupcakes. Harriet, in a moment of impatience, rang the bell (this is our signal for everyone to shut the hell up for a second as an announcement is pending) and just quietly sighed, "Okay, kids please just eat your cupcakes now and leave me alone for ten seconds." She realized what she said and looked at me in slight horror. I laughed. It was fine. So now, that is our key sentence to each other when we are having a bad day. ("Harriet, please just eat your damn cupcake!") It never fails to make us guffaw. Lunch ladies have such a sick sense of humor. I know that she will read this blog and so now, I bow to her. Eat your damn cupcake, Harriet. Stuff that sucker right in your pie hole! :)

And oh...my new name that I have chosen for myself on this blog is Maria. It is also based on a story. Stop rolling your eyes. It is a short one. When I was in college, some boy developed a crush on me. I didn't want to pop his balloon by telling him that he was so barking up the wrong tree, so I tried to gently let him down. I told him that I was into studying, not dating. He told me that I reminded him of that much loved song, Maria. I thought he meant the one from West Side Story and was so flattered that I almost accepted a date with him. It turns out that he actually meant the country western song, "My Maria" (Marriiiiaaaaa....). I was still flattered, but not enough to go out with him. So, that will be my name in this blog. Just call me Maria. As in, "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" as well.

And with this, I am going to end this first post. It is good to be back. To my family, thank you for encouraging me to not be a "wussy butt" and come back. To my friends, if you stay, thank you. If not, it was nice knowing you and oh...beware the peeper, okay? Not the reaper, the peeper.