In Defense of Dooce January 26, 2007

I know you can see the links on my blogroll and therefore have a pretty good idea of who I spend my free time obsessively keeping tabs on via their blogs. I know that Dooce is on the blogroll. I also know that she is a pretty big deal in the blogging world and, therefore, thousands of people probably have her on their blogrolls as well. And that, being on so many blogrolls, she must have thousands of devoted supporters. But I’m gonna take a minute to pay a little tribute to her because her most recent post has been irking me all morning (though, really, it can only be one minute becuase, though I’m unemployed, I still have a long laundry list of things to do today… I should really add laundry to that list…)

I discovered Dooce from a fellow bloggers’ blogroll. The first night I read her entries, I laughed aloud. Two nights later, as I was reading a new entry of hers, I commented to the Stud that “this girl makes me think it might really be possible to have children and have a sense of humor.” In essence, reading her experiences makes me less afraid to have children of my own. This, to me, is an invaluable gift.

After the Ex-Fiance and I broke up (dissolved, shattered, imploded, whatever) I was lost and aimless and unable to cope with the stress of the job I was in. I needed to be valued. I needed to matter. I needed to make a real impact in a tangible way in the life of somebody. I became a nanny. And I mattered every day to those little munchkins. It was everything I hoped and expected it to be and so very much more. I was great at it. But I was still apprehensive about rearing children of my own one day, still concerned that I would be unable to rear them in the text book way, in a way my grandmother, or even my mother, would approve of. That I would screw them up beyond repair, that I would damage them with my own imperfections. I was caught in the dilema of, yeah, I want to have one, but should I?

Dooce is funny, witty, clever, awkward and imperfect. And she is raising one great toddler. And her methods may not be in a parenting manual, but her daughter will grow up surrounded by love and humor and imperfection, learning that it’s ok to just be yourself, no matter how imperfect that might be. And I respect her for having the courage to live her life, displaying her marriage and her parenting, in a fish bowl so that other readers can have the courage to recognize that maybe living by a textbook is overrated. I hope one day, I can pass on as many great lessons to my kid as she is to hers.

Alive… January 24, 2007

I’ve been absent for the last week or so. Remarkably absent for me. I know you may have been concerned, imagining that I had literally fallen off the face of the earth or perhaps to the bottom of an abandoned well where I could have been lying, crying for help, for any number of days, with no one to actually hear me or help me since the well had, obviously, long been abandoned. Yes, I have an overactive imagination. And I grew up on well water. Rest assured, though, that I am not dead, or even injured, in the physical bodily sense. I just lost my job.

A Conversation with the Original Engaged Sister January 12, 2007

“The strangest thing just happened to me. I went to Starbucks today on my lunch break, because I had this coupon for a free drink, and the guy behind the counter is this very nice, very good looking young guy.”

“Not that you’d notice, because you love the Stud.”

“Right, but he is anyway. So we chat while I order my coffee and a sandwich and he seems normal enough. I eat the sandwich and coffee in the Starbucks and then I run in to the shop next door to browse around.”

“The shop with the funky jewelry?”

“Yeah. And after I browse, I head to the car. I get in the car, turn it on and get ready to pull out when I see the Starbucks guy. He comes over and knocks on my window. Naturally, I think I must have forgotten my wallet or something in the store and roll my windown down a bit.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did. And he asks my name and introduces himself and then proceeds to put his arm through my half open window to shake my hand. And then, he wouldn’t let go of my hand! He stood there for a full two minutes talking to me, blatantly hitting on me, holding my hand through the half open window!”

“Why did you roll down the window in the first place?”

“Because I thought I had forgotten something! Why else would the Starbucks guy be coming over to my car 15 minutes after I’d left!”

“So what did you do?”

“I told him I had a boyfriend. And that I had to get back to the office. And that I came into that Starbucks a lot so, yes, I was sure I’d see him again. Not that it’d do him much good because I have a boyfriend and because he was now scary, even though he was good looking and articulate.”

“Well it’s flattering that he was hitting on you. Did you tell him he was good looking and articulate?”

“No. He was holding my hand inside my car and I was freaked out. I just left.”

“Wow. You’ve got to find another way to make friends.”

“This coming from the woman who actually answered some guys in an unmarked van when they asked her if she wanted to buy some “quality speakers” and then got in the van to catch a ride to her car…”

“OK, you have a point. Maybe I shouldn’t give the advice.”

Man, listening to us, you’d almost think Mom and Dad did something wrong…

Um… January 10, 2007

So, last week, I felt unsure of the Stud’s feelings about me and our future and, therefore, was a bit unnerved by any discussions of engagement. And you’d think that when a girl says to her boyfriend “Babe, we really need to quit talking about all of this Engagement/Wedding/Marriage stuff”, he’d be relieved. You’d think that he’d follow those instructions gleefully, gladly wielding a get-out-of-commitment-conversations-free card. You’d think that, after admitting to this girlfriend just less than a week ago that he wasn’t ready yet for marriage, he’d be ecstatic about holding static in their current state.

But not my boyfriend. Nope, he wants to shop for rings and have me sized.

What was supposed to be a casual evening at the mall grabbing a quick bite and window shopping turned into a serious inquiry at the jewelry store. The sales girl and he were intently discussing pricing and sizes of stones and sticking shiny things on my pudgy, trembling fingers “just to see how they looked.” The whole thing was kinda surreal and I just kept thinking “Why the hell am I here?” I don’t think I even looked at him the entire time we were in the store. Or after we left. And he was so intent- he needed answers, damn it, and he wanted to know what I liked because he didn’t want me wearing something for the rest of my life that I was apathetic at best about.

Doubts January 9, 2007

New year, new chances, right? And yet we deal with the same old issues…

New Year’s Eve was a blast. The Stud and I decided to hang out, take it easy, relax, and had just a few friends around to share that laid-back mentality. That mentality, however, didn’t mean a lack of alcohol indulgence and we managed to get ourselves very drunk. This was a decision we paid dearly for the next morning. It was delightful, however, to see the Stud don my new winter hat- a white, angora bucket hat, which he generally detests- and prance around the living room. That man is hot stuff ladies. And it was lovely to hear the profuse professions of love from the man, even if it was brought on by my drunken admission to hatred for his ex-girlfriend. 

What was not a blast, however, what was no fun at all, was our conversation just 3 nights later.