So where do I go to get a good deal.  Well to me that’s the glory of internet shopping, because if I need say, bed sheets, I can check ALL the stores nearby without getting dressed.  I know I can’t touch them, but the packaging (and my guilt) prevents me from doing much of that anyway.  I’m a bargain shopper.  I love finding a good deal.  I have been known to get lost in Thrift Stores for hours, searching for a nearly new Tahari business suit or Ann Taylor pants with the tag still on them.  It happens, I promise.

So where does this bargain shopper spend most of her money…well it depends mostly.  I love the ability to price shop that sites like Ebay or Amazon gives for things.  I mean, holy cow, what can you NOT buy on these sites.  It’s downright incredible.  (I do not, however, encourage the purchase of things like celebrity owned anything or the face of Jesus on any household item. THOSE items are seriously NOT bargains.) I get the same satisfaction out of sites like Kayak for travel.  Once a month, I order a shipment from Alice, because I can use manufacturer coupons and I figure I save a BOATLOAD of money by not having to take my two kids into Target or Walmart or BOTH and deal with the almost certain request (and sometimes acquiescence) for impulse buys.  MONEY SAVED!   

A penny saved is a penny earned!

Angi

What?  You don’t agree? Well I have PROOF!  Let me lay out the facts for you.

About 3 months ago, the man approached me about starting a kickboxing class at 6 am EVERY morning (except Sunday, my new favorite day) I agreed at the time, and also may have mentioned that it would be the end of our then very active sex life.  It was all bravado.  All smack talk.  Just trying to get a rise out of him, if you know what I mean. 

It was tough, and getting used to getting up at very early o’clock did hamper things quite a bit.  I mean morning sex was out, because we were barely awake as we’d stumble out to the truck at 5:30 am.  Evening sex was out because we were staring at each other at 7:30 hoping we could convince the kids it was much later and that they needed to go to bed.  By the time the kids were actually asleep in bed, we’d already been mentally asleep for  hours.  Eventually, we worked out a new routine some mornings, but it just wasn’t what it once had been.  And then came RAGBRAI.  (For those of you who don’t  know, it’s a week long 500+ mile bicycle ride across Iowa.  It’s 1/3 bicycling, 1/3 beer, and 1/3 fresh baked pie)  I didn’t go, but the man did.  And he returned a broken man.  I don’t know if you can imagine what happens to a guy who’s riding his bicycle about 65 miles a day for 7 days in a row…but yeah, that.  Now, when he’s driving me crazy, I can call him “numb nuts” and he can’t complain.  *WIN*

Many of you might be saying, that doesn’t seem like it would be all bad.  And in fact, there is an upside…when we do find time to “get a little”, it’s never over quickly….EVER.  So, the quickies that were getting us through the day…GONE. 

So don’t exercise folks….it messes with your routine, it numbs your ass and other useful areas, it steals your energy for even a quickie before bed. 

I’m telling you friends, this exercise crap is deadly…it can kill your sex life faster than you can say…numb nuts.  So I’m back to surfing the web for a spectacular new “battery operated boyfriend” for me and a urologist for him. 

If I can save even one happy sex life or prevent just one pair of balls from going completely and utterly numb, by sharing my story, well then I have done my part…

Thinking only of naked Ryan Reynolds sans crushed nuts you

Angi

I don’t think of myself as superstitious.  Except, that I pause a moment any time I see a black cat, in hopes that it  won’t cross my path.  I do hold my breath when we go past a cemetery…because once upon a time, I decided it was rude NOT to.  I don’t bet on my favorite sports teams, because I believethat it would make them lose.  (not even a can of soda, I can’t take the guilt if they DO lose…) If I get uber decked out in my fan gear early in the season, and my team loses a game they shouldn’t…I will NOT wear their colors on game day for the rest of the season.  I will have a teeny moment of panic if I see someone (especially my children) even threaten to open an umbrella in the house.  I believe in the core of my being that a watched pot will boil slower than if I walk away…and then pray I don’t get distracted and come back to a pot of water that’s boiled away to nothing. 

But there are “traditions” I follow that do not have a basis in fear, guilt or general insanity.  I will sit under the night sky and watch for falling stars, just to make the wish.  I love to look in the early night sky and try to see only one star, again to make the wish.  I also will try with all my might to blow out all my candles on the birthday cake.  I love making wishes.  I love to take the time to envision in my head something that I really want.  I don’t wish for extra money, or power or THINGS. 

I wish for joy for my family. 

I wish for accomplishments for my children. 

I wish for simpler, easier futures for friends or family who might need some relief.

I wish for happiness for those whom I am closest to.

I wish for peace.

When I look at the difference between what I consider superstitions and traditions in my world, the difference is in my emotions attached to these efforts.  Stevie said “when you believe in things you don’t understand, you suffer”.  But wishes…they bring me joy.

Some days, that bar I set seems so far out of my reach.  I lose my temper.  I yell when I should just walk away.  I don’t leave us enough time and get all panicky and shouty when we’re running late.  I CAN’T. STAND. THEIR. FIGHTING…and so I send them to their rooms for alone time, or make them sit on the couch and hold hands until I’m no longer frustrated.  I forget things…lunches, bookfair  money, early school dismissals, you know the drill.  My biggest regret in my children’s life is that they will, for the rest of their lives, have two homes.  In the days when my divorce was imminent, I don’t think that in my mind, I could even see the bar from where I was. But I made sure that I found a place that would be home for them.  They each had their own room with their name over the door.  There would be no mistake that they belonged and that it was home.  It seems that it never gets easier, sharing custody of them.  I never want to see them go.  I call them every night they’re with their father.  I regret not being able to read to them before bed (yes, even at 11 and 7 we still do that) tuck them in those nights and kiss my daughter’s head or ruffly my son’s hair.  I am sad because I know that their father does not do these things with them. 

What I have learned is that in this quest for the perfect mother award, I have tripped and fallen on my face more than I care to admit.  I regret that I have to share my time with them and them with me.  I have to be careful not to let these small moments keep me down.    Because, what I do know is this…

I am the best mother for them that I know how to be.

I love them unconditionally.

Children need both a mother and a father…and while he may not nurture them like I do…I sure as hell am not going to pick up a snake and teach them all that I can about it.

No matter how much I want it, I will never be perfect;  no one is.  But I do know that I am the perfect mother for my children.

I may never win Mother of the Year accolades, but when my children look back on their childhood, they will remember me.  Always by their side. Cheering them on. Teaching them right from wrong.  Holding their hands.  Treating their wounds. Laughing with them.  Loving them wholly for who they are.  For that, I will gladly accept an Honorable Mention.

She could make us laugh until it hurt. She owned the room, just by walking in.

She commanded attention.

She was my support. She was my friend, no she was my sister.

At home, she was mom.  She was nurturing. She cultivated her boys to be good men.

But she was weak.  She was subdued. She was quiet so that he could dominate the house.

She chose to leave……

Then she met him.

He was energetic. He was charismatic.

He made her feel beautiful again. He showed her a good time. 

He told her she was amazing. He told her he loved her. He told her she should be like him.

Then he told her she was nothing. He told her she would lose her children. He told her no one could love her.

He was manipulative. He was controlling. He broke her.

He broke her nose.

He broke the walls in her house.

He broke her computer, her phone, her relationships.

With her friends, with her coworkers, with her sons.

He broke her spirit.

In the end, he took her, but I won’t let him win.

I will remember her strength and I will be strong.

I will remember her love and I will nurture as she would have.

I will remember her ability to light up a room and I will have confidence.

And I will work every day to remember the real her…the her before him.

Because she was my friend and I loved her.  And though I couldn’t save her, I won’t let one day go by without thanking God for the thrill of knowing her.

When I’m ready

I don’t know what it is, but the last couple of weeks have been really hard for me.  People ask me what’s wrong, why I’m crabby or upset and I try to tell them.  But putting it in words, just makes me feel selfish and petty.  Little things bug me lately.  I can’t seem to not sweat the small stuff.  I read the comments and the quotes about choosing happiness…and I do in small increments of time, but right now…it’s so hard. 

I was mowing my lawn last week…and with all that “alone time”, all I could do was, literally, seethe about all the things currently irritating me (one being the fact that I was mowing the lawn.)  Suddenly, I became aware that my whole thought process was about how angry I was…about stupid little things.  I looked up in the sky and directly above me was a dark black cloud that was churning and moving.  My first thought was…rain.  And then I noticed that nowhere else in the sky were there even clouds.  That this little black rain cloud had developed right over my yard, me….and my very negative thoughts.  It was a haunting awareness of my thoughts and my state of  mind. I worked hard for the remainder of time that I was mowing to think of other happier things…and the little black rain cloud slowly broke itself up, without ever truly raining.

 I’ve tried in recent days to remove myself from this place.  I have a lot of people that are relying on me heavily right now…and that prevents me from being able to really address what I need to with me.  More notably, I’m aware that there are people that want to help, but my inability to feel secure about what’s really bugging me prevents me from asking or allowing for help.  I’m hopeful that as the stresses of this week draw to a close, I’ll be allowed a little time for me…to work on me, to build me up again…to really hear what is bugging me, so I can work it out and move beyond this. 

I really don’t like to think of myself as sad, depressed or unhappy.  In general, I’m not.  But every once in awhile, a little black rain cloud parks itself, beligerantly, over my head.  Somedays, it’s all I can do to look up at that little cloud and pray for it not to rain down on me.

Weathering the Storm,

Angi

I dropped my kids off at their father’s at bed time and raced to his house for a celebratory drink and early bed time.  **Side note:  Who the HELL goes on vacation on a 5 am flight??? Me apparently**  When I got there, much to my dismay, he was working.  Because he’s a computer geek for a bank, his hours are highly variable.  He assured me that he’d still have a drink with me, we’d just have to celebrate in the office, instead of the bedroom dining room.  I poured us each a drink and went about putting the last few items in the bag.  I was wrapping up my fidgeting and stopped in to see how his work was coming.  I’ve almost got it, he said.  I sat with him for what seemed like an hour, quietly watching him work.  Then I kissed him on the head and told him I was heading to bed, as it was already 10 pm.  I was going through my nightly routine when I heard him get up from his desk and head into the bedroom.  I assumed he was giving up and turning in too. But when I got to the bedroom, he wasn’t there…he was back in his office.  I teasingly chided him for being too committed to his job and started climbing into bed.  He came in, grabbed me gently by the shoulders and turned me around.  He said a few things, equally awkward and sweet, and then in the most tender way, asked me if I’d marry him.  Now, with all the impending beauty of sunsets, beaches, oceans, boats, romance and RUM…this was the LAST thing I had expected, but I said the first thing that came to my mind.  I said, “Of course I will.”  It wasn’t a spectacular moment, not one for the history books or a Lifetime movie, but in his way, it was VERY romantic…and a moment I’ll never forget. 

This is where one would assume the proposal was over, however, it wasn’t.  After a sleepless night of anticipation, we were sitting quietly on the plane and he leaned over to me and whispered, “you never did actually say yes”.  I grinned coyly at him and said, “I didn’t?”  He assured me I hadn’t and repeated my words to him.  With a twinkle in my eye, I said, “well if that’s the answer you’re looking for, you’re going to have to keep asking.”  And ask he did. 

Day 1: He asked when we landed in St. Thomas.  “I’d love that”, I said.

Day 2: He asked as we watched the sunset from the balcony bar in the hotel. “Sure”, I giggled.

Day3: He asked on the boat, as we headed towards St. Johns. “Mmmhmmm,” I affirmed.

Day 4: He asked from atop the highest point on St. Thomas, as we shared an amazing rum drink and took in the view. “Okay!” I toyed with him.

Later that night, when we returned to our room, there was a live band playing on the patio directly below our balcony.  We ordered drinks to the room and sat outside, listening to them play and reliving the amazing moments of our trip, thus far.  The band slowed the tempo down and we danced together, so close and almost still, under the moonlight.  It was at that moment, he said, “Will you marry me.”  and the only answer I had for him was…yes.

So when Mike and I were first dating, I made some stupid off-hand comment about never getting married again.  And for just a split second, a look of hurt flashed across his face.  I never said those words out loud again…although, there was still a part of me that thought that.  Then months later, we were arguing about something small, and we both recognized early on that it was me…carrying my baggage of my past relationship.  He said to me, “I’m not him…let me make my own mistakes.”  And it hit me, like a ton of bricks.  Just because I’d failed once, didn’t mean I was destined to fail again.  In fact, I was now armed with experience and knowledge of what can happen.”  And so I let him be him…and he failed and I failed, but we did it together.  And when we fail, we talk about it.  And when we hurt one another, we talk about it.  And when we are feeling lonely or needy, we tell one another.  I learned to be vulnerable with him.  That if I tell him my feelings, he will listen and he will HEAR me.  I learned that a relationship is never cemented, it’s one day at a time.  Every day a blessing, every day a battle, every day important.  So Mike and I, we talk, every day.  We talk about little things, we talk about big things.  We share our frustrations of work.  We share our successes at work or fitness or parenting.  He and I, we’re a team…every day.

So when he asked if I would spend the rest of my life with him, the only answer I could have possibly given was yes.  (Well, actually I said, sure…which led him to ask me about 6 more times over the next 4 days until he heard the answer he truly wanted, but that’s a story for another day.) Because, together we will build a marriage, one brick, one talk, one kiss, one day at a time.  Never forgetting that to say I do, is to say I will, each day for the rest of my life.

Anxiously Engaged,

Angi