I was busy today running errands. I got the yarn I am swapping with Pat mailed off after making the international shipping (it's just to Canada for chrissake, what's the big deal? Whatever happened to free trade?) far more complicated than it actually is. I also had to get some stuff notarized and faxed for another contest I won. You guys aren't going to believe I won this when you find out. I think I'm probably not supposed to say anything about it until it's officially announced, but it was a bit of a hassle with all the paperwork. Still, I got it done. That was before the post office.
In my defense, I have only actually been to the post office here one time. I have, however, driven past it on numerous occasions. It's right off the main highway through town, not far really from where I live. And yet, today I could not find it. I drove past it no fewer than FOUR TIMES before finally seeing it and getting Pat's parcel safely off to her.
So by the time I got home I was stressed and hot (over 70 freaking degrees in February! I hate this weather) and still needed to do the grocery shopping. But first I needed to relax and eat something. So I did. I had plenty of time since EB (elder boy) had a boy scout meeting tonight and M wouldn't be home with them until almost 9:00. Around 4:00 the phone rang.
I hadn't been home very long and still was on edge from all the driving and having to deal with people and the unknown and such. It was M. I rarely hear from him in the middle of the day, so I was immediately concerned. Turns out EB and, to a lesser degree, YB (younger boy) was sick. Feverish. There would be no boy scout meeting tonight and they would be home in about 3 hours.
I went off... why, if a child is sick, do you send him to someone else's house? That was unheard of in my family when I was a kid. If my brother or I got sick then all activities were cancelled and we had to stay in bed. Apparently their mom, who otherwise coddles them so much I fear they will shatter upon impact with the real world in a few years, thinks that sending a feverish 9 yr old out to infect his father and the father's girlfriend with whatever nastiness has been bred in him is more than acceptable. To me, that is bad parenting. The child would feel better at home, in his own bed. He didn't go to school, but he's fine to visit daddy and Eve. Lovely.
I was angry and I am less effective when I am angry. I didn't get the usual cleaning done nor did I get the grocery shopping done. I got the boys' room tidied up (it is my craft room when they aren't here and all my yarn lives in the closet in there, so it gets kinda messy) and the table cleaned off so that they could eat their fast food. Then they were here. And EB, all sick and obviously miserable, begins throwing a fit that there's no room for his food on the table. All he had to do was move his chair to where he usually sits or move the postal scale (it weighs less than a pound, don't grief me about it) or the small vase of flowers. But no. Instead daddy had to come fix it for him. He's sick, I know, and I should cut him some slack, but dayum, does he have to be even more helpless than his mommy has already made him?
It's after the boys have had dinner, and all is quiet. EB is laying down in their room and YB is on one of the computers in there. I had made plans for all of us to go to the nature museum on Sunday for the animatronic dinosaurs, but that clearly isn't in the cards for this weekend. I tell M that that's fine, we can take the boys in 2 weeks when we have them again. It will be the last weekend of the exhibit, so it's all good. Then he drops the bombshell.
"Or we can take them next weekend," he says, ever so nonchalantly. I look at him, puzzled. "No, we can wait. It's open until the 24th."
"No," he replies, "we have them next weekend."
...
...
... the tears weren't immediate and I think they were quiet enough that he never noticed I was crying. I did let him know that I had made plans for us for next weekend for Valentine's Day. He tried the old "does it really matter which day it is" spiel. Well, yeah, it kinda does sometimes. For example, unless their mother changes weekends again before then (which she doesn't do often unless she knows it's inconvenient for us) we have the brats on my birthday. Most days I am okay with having to play second fiddle to the spoiled and helpless fruit of M's loins, but on my birthday (which is also just 3 days before our anniversary) I'd like to be first in his affection. I know that if I don't mention it to him he will never realize it, and even if I do mention it he might not mention it to his ex-wife.
If for some reason things don't work out with M in the long run, I think any man with children, at least minor children, is off my list.
Just for fun, since this has been so bitchy and serious, let's try to figure out what I would look for in a mate. I have no intention of things with M ending, but life is unpredictable.
- No minor children. Period.
- Not a musician
- smart
- funny
- computer literate
- not a raging alcoholic nor a complete abstainer from spirits
- non-smoker (funny how just a few years ago this would have said "smoker)
- no more than 5 years younger or 10 years older than me
- not too tan, too buff, too 'metrosexual'
- has a job that allows a decent standard of living
- has at least one hobby that he takes as seriously as I take my knitting
- isn't squeamish when I want to discuss my girly bits
- likes cats
- tall.
- fair skin, dark hair, dark eyes.
- long hair, worn in a ponytail while he is in a suit
- sense of style
- previously married, but only once and divorced for at least a decade
- enjoys the theater
- has similar taste in music to my own
- enjoys the same kinds of movies I like
- Understands my neuroses
- has had a vasectomy
- is from Massachusetts or Oregon and still has family there
- can teach me things
- listens
- allows me to fawn over him... and sometimes does so over me
- is a bit overweight
- has big, attractive hands
