Happy Saturday! Who is ready to play? Today we are having Nic from Four Better, Four Worse over to have some fun! Sometimes I think Nic and I live parallel lives. She has two kids (older girl, younger boy) about the same age as Rylie and Bryce, so we definitely are having the same kind of "fun" these days. I love reading her posts and just nodding in agreement.
The thing I like most about Nic and her awesome blog is how she just says it how it is. I am always guaranteed a laugh or two when I visit her blog. I wish I had the guts to just go all out like she does, but I always hear my mother in the background saying "LeeAnn!?!?!?!" every time I even think of writing a "bad" word. But let's face it, sometimes a four letter word is really the ONLY appropriate word.
After you get done laughing your ass off (sorry mom!) at this post over here, head over to Nic's blog for some more laughs. Make sure you give her some comment love while you're there. This one may start out a little sad, but it sure doesn't end that way!
I have a confession before I get started: This was the first guest post I was ever invited to do and the pressure has been keeeeling me for well over a month now. I love LeeAnn’s blog (requisite ass kissing: CHECK!) but have been very concerned that I was going to taint it with my foul mouth. As a result, I have spent the better part of an hour trying to think of some p.c. words for some of the four letter bombs I am so fond of dropping. It’s actually harder than one would think, but I’m confident I’m
Before I get any further, I suppose it would be polite to introduce myself. Hi. I’m Nic. I’m 27, a stay-at-home mama to two, my daughter, Nut, a 2 year old RED HEAD (Lord help me) and Bug, my almost-1-year-old-non-sleeping-milk-allergy-having-attached-to-my-leg-at-all-times son. I also babysit two other little ones, just to further ensure that I wind up in the loony bin before they’ve all been shipped off to college. It is definitely interesting around these parts, and I swear the only reason I blog is so that I can actually get out a complete thought/sentence without someone interrupting me. As a result, I suffer from verbal diarrhea of the worst kind and don’t have much of a filter. I’m told this is good because it makes for hilarity, but it gets me in trouble
There’s a lot of change happening in my household this summer. Babies walking and talking, Nut getting ready for preschool, potty training (or not), me losing weight in an effort to locate my belly button once again. The biggest change of all though is a little known fact: by the end of this month, I will be a single mom. There. I said it. My husband is moving out in a few weeks, our marriage is done –over, finito, going- through-the-Big-D-and-don’t- mean- Dallas done – and I will be on my own with the kids. I’ve gone through a whole host of emotions the past few months but am still just really a giant clusterfu….er…. there’s not a nice word for that is there? Well you know what I mean. I’m a mess. I haven’t told a whole lot of people (until now obviously, when I decided to tell a bunch of strangers), mostly because I don’t want to deal with the inevitable questions. Besides the chorus of “OhmiGod, are you okay?!?”, more often times than not comes the
At first I would laugh in response, but then I realized people were actually serious. Am I looking forward to dating?!? No! Hell no, in fact, I’m not. I have a 2 1/2 year old, a (almost) 1 year old, and enough trust issues to make Mother Theresa seem shifty; let’s all say it together now: BAGGAGE!! I’m trying to sort through enough shit in my head, do we really need to add another worry? The whole just-getting-out-of-marriage-needing-to-work-on-myself thing aside (and that’s a biggie!), I have several fundamental problems with dating as a single mom. Let’s review, shall we?
First off, just where in the sam hell do these people think I’m going to meet someone? I’m a stay at home mom so work is out. The thought of trawling the bars is considerably less appealing than -let’s be honest -sitting on the couch in my pajamas and watching a Real Housewives marathon. It’s not 1890, nobody is going to show up at my door with their horse and buggy to court me. The only places I really go are Target and the grocery store, and neither is exactly what I’d call a hub of eligible bachelors. Online dating is out because I watch too many Dateline specials and am now convinced that anyone I meet would be a serial killer. Odd because #1) I know many people whose online relationships have turned into marriage and #2) I have no problems sharing with the interweb how often I poop, but finding a man? Nuh uh. I’ll encourage others to turn to the world wide web of mate-searching, but doing it myself? Not happening.
Now say pigs were to fly, the Cubs were to win the World Series, that monkeys flew out of my ass for an impromptu tap dance (i.e. Hell froze over) and I actually wound up with a date. Sheer panic would set in. I don’t remember how to date, I don’t even remember how to be sexy. Do you have to flip your hair? Bat your eyes? Draw attention to your boobs? What about…gulp!… sex? Having two kids in 18 months meant my husband was happy to get it when he could. The only effort I had to put forth was nudging him and saying, “Wanna do it?” and heeeeey baby, he thought I was a sex kitten. Possibly literally since the amount of hair on my legs made me resemble some sort of domestic pet.
Dating would require time. And effort. And since I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in well over a year, I’m tired, and don’t want to have to waste said time. Or effort. I hate doing my hair, am a ponytail girl all the way. I go more days than is probably acceptable between washing it. I take baths every night, but actually washing my hair? Blah. The lathering cuts into my US Weekly reading time. Can you go on dates in a ponytail? What if it’s day 3 and I haven’t washed it? Are baseball caps acceptable date attire?
I rarely wear makeup any more. I’m home with four kids ages 3 and under all day long , do you really think they give a rat’s ass if I’m wearing mascara? Nope! So now I not only have to do my stupid hair, I’ll have to go buy some new foundation, rather than continuing to use one that doesn’t actually match my skincolor. Does Clinique make a sallow, pale-except-for-the-giant-circles-under-my-eyes hue? Let’s hope.
Then there’s the clothes. Gaaaawwwwdddd, I don’t even want to think about the clothing required for dating. On any given day, I’ve got crap crusted all over me thanks to the kids’ grimy hands. I equate “dressing up” with a $9.99 v-neck special from Kohl’s and jeans that don’t have a hole in the knee. Anything in my closet that is date worthy may actually have been worn on a date, years ago before my husband and I met, back when my boobs were - *sigh* - perky.
Now that we're on the subject of boobs, a whole new host of issues springs up: I don’t even want to get into what goes under the clothes. Thanks to my children and the effects of gravity, it takes NASA type planning to get the girls where they used to be. I have two bras that fit at the moment. Two. And neither of them are attractive, I can assure you. And underwear?? Bahahaha. My Victoria’s Secret has been replaced by the $6.00 pack of Hanes Her Way and with the price of diapers, it will stay that way. I’m coming from a relationship where it’s understood that my “nice” pairs are the ones that aren’t period stained, who cares if they’re dyed an grey shade thanks to my loathing for separating whites?
And after all that, after the preening and primping and new clothing and the non-crusty mascara, then what? I don’t have much patience. All day long I have to sort through who did this or threw that and did your brother really trip or did you push him and okay, which one of you took Mommy’s phone? My bullshit tolerance? Waaaaaay low. I don’t feel like mustering the energy required to play coy. I have no time for games. If you say you’re going to call me, do it. If you don’t want to, don’t say it. Trust me, I’ve gone through much worse than somebody deciding they don’t want a second date. As the parent of a toddler, I like things cut and dry. Yes or no. Don’t beat around the bush or try to spare my feelings.
Ya know, now that I’ve got all these thoughts swirling around in my head, I’m starting to think maybe I won’t have to worry about any hypothetical dates because who would want to sign on for all that anways?? Maybe I should just print this out and hand it to any potential suitors as a disclaimer. I’m sure they’d run the other way, effectively leaving me alone. Hmmmm, diabolical scheme forming! So to the well-meaning people that want to try to set me up? Please don’t. At least not for a good while. I don’t need someone to take me to dinner and tell me I look pretty to feel better. I don’t need rebound sex to boost my self-confidence. I don’t need to get out of the house to take my mind off things on the weekends I don’t have the kids. Allow me to deal with this on my own terms: my couch, my pajamas, a bottle of wine – and if need be, two batteries and three speeds. If I want any men around, I can always fall back on Ben and Jerry. But best of all? With my version, I can still watch my damn Housewives marathon in peace!