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Archive for the ‘single mom’ Category

Hottie Spotting

You know how you always hope the UPS guy really is going to be a hottie?  And how you think that it’s really just urban myth that the UPS guy is going to be a nice piece of eye-candy?  In reality, UPS guys actually are quite attractive.  I’d honestly say about 75% of the time.

I don’t really understand it.  Maybe lifting heavy boxes induces hot hormones.  Or maybe they arrive exactly at the moment you need the most distraction so they look extra attracive.

But can you say the same for Starbucks Barristas?

I can’t.  You’d think anyone handing you coffee heaven in a cup would automatically place them in the top ten for hotness.

Starbucks Barristas are friendly, because the y have to be.  Sweaty and frizzy, from slaving over steaming vats of coffee.  Acne-full, because, well, I don’t know why, they just are.

Today, however, I discovered that my local Starbucks just hired Superman.

Zit-free, over six feet tall, tan, muscular, cute, sweet, well-spoken (he asked his manager “what is the proper way to put on the sleeve when there’s a tea bag tag?”), and, ahem, huge hands.

I blushed so many times in only three minutes that I believe I now have a permanent flush.  And when he placed my tea on the counter and beamed “my first tea,” I had absolutely nothing snappy to say, so I just blushed again and let out an absurd half giggle and turned away as quickly as possible.

At least I can claim exhaustion as a viable excuse for idiocy.

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Mouse is Avi’s imaginary friend.  She’s been around for close to a year now.  Her and Mouse’s Sister.

Now that Avi is playing with her friends rather than simply next to her friends Mouse is frequently addressed by her friends as well.  Avi usually corrects them; she alone knows Mouse’s true whereabouts and feelings.

And then, there are times like the following.  They make me laugh so hard I cry. And I can only blame myself for the language since, as my ex just informed me this morning, ‘Damn It’ is apparently my curse of choice.

This was emailed to me by Avi’s once-a-week sitter, who is also one of my girlfriends, and is published with permission.  W__ is her son who is the same age as Avi:

Ok, so we pull away from your house and W__ talks into his cell phone and says “hello, Mouse” and Avi says

“Mouse isn’t here…I forgot Mouse! DAMMIT!!”

And W__ is staring out the window completely oblivious.  And Avi says again,

“I forgot Mouse, DAMMIT, can you beweeve I forgot Mouse, DAMMIT”

And I’m biting my lip SO hard because I don’t want to laugh and call W__’s attention to it but at the same time, I don’t know what to say to Avi about it… So I’m just driving and hoping that she just moves on and then she says,

“DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT!

I cant beweeve I forgot Mouse, can you beweeve it L____?”

And I say, “no I can not believe it Avi, that is too bad” and she says,

“Oh wait! There she is, walking on the sidewalk….”

and that was the end of the dammits.

And will I stop swearing?  Damn it, no.  And do I still love Mouse and Mouse’ Sister?  Absolutely.  I never knew so much fun could be had from fictitious friends.

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I have two new roomies.

One is another single mom.  She’s super cool.  We met through my mother’s group.  We became friends when both of our marriages fell apart.

The other is her daughter.  She’s also super cool.  She’s a year older than Avi and they already get along like two peas in a pod, which is good since they share a bedroom.

We now live in a house.

With a playroom, a dining room, a dishwasher, a laundry room, a walk-up attic, and a yard.  It’s the biggest house I’ve lived in since my childhood.  It may even be bigger than my childhood home.

I haven’t slept all by myself in a bedroom this size since I was 17 and still lived in that childhood home.

I’ve had a hard time getting used to all the space.

Everything is so far apart.

I can’t cook dinner, pee, see my child bouncing on her bed, check my email and watch a movie all within ten steps.

Bed time takes 45 minutes longer just because of all the going up and down of stairs and running down of hallways.

Cleaning up my child’s scavenging trails is an hour long event instead of a 10 minute chore.

I never realized how I had grown so used to small space.  Small, airy spaces.  Not caves.  Just cozy.  I have a feeling, I may grow to miss cozy and will seek it out again one day.

But, in the meantime, I’m liking space.

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Chocolate Champagne

My neighbor told me yesterday that my new car is sexy.

“Really?!”

It’s a 2007 Honda Accord. I’m proud of it (and my awesome haggling skills to get it), but I couldn’t be picky about the colors because it’s used, and it’s wide to accommodate kid-life, so it feels like a mom-car to me.

But, she thinks it’s sexy.

She likes the color.

I replied, “The inside is brown.”

She said, “It’s sexy” Again.

So, I’m going to embrace this new label.  Because, if my car is sexy, then so am I.  It only stands to reason.  I’m officially calling her C.C. for Chocolate Champagne.   You can’t get any sexier than that.

But, in my heart of hearts, I will always call her by her original name: the name I gave her as I drove away…

Ka Ka.  Because she’s the color of Ka Ka.

Or, to make the initials match: Cah Cah.

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This is a quote from Ann Coulter’s new book (a crazy ultra-conservative I’m only just hearing about.  clearly I’m behind the times):

…Countless studies on the subject make clear:  look at almost any societal problem and you’ll find it is really a problem of single mothers.

I was made aware of this accusation only tonight.  A fellow single mom blogger who said she had to wait to write about it because

I was so infuriated by Ann Coulter’s recent declaration that Single Mothers are to blame for most of society’s evils (including rape and murder) that I thought I might start involuntarily dropping f-bombs if I started writing about it.

Let me do it for you.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT.  What’s the fucking deal? We choose to leave a miserable family unit to make a better life for ourselves and our children and therefore we’re raising murderers?  We choose to have a child out of wed-lock, on our own, because children are sacred and we have the right to bring them into this world and therefore we’re raising rapists? Our husbands perish keeping your country safe and therefore we’re raising drug-dealers?

Perhaps we should just send all of the children of single parents to the fucking gas chambers.  Then there would be world peace.  That, my friends, is satire.  Don’t you dare go misquoting me out of context.

Single mothers come in all shapes and sizes.  We come from a variety of living, family, economic, and religious situations.  We have made very hard choices in our lives.  Some of us, have been through some very hard times.  We are doing our very best, just like everyone else.  And we are doing one helluva job raising strong, healthy, smart children.

Don’t you dare tell us that our choices and our children are fucking up your fucked up world.

Go see another response and her interview on the Today show.

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My daughter is very sick.  So, last night, instead of doing my very small chores and going to bed to get in a nap before she woke up again, I sat in front of my computer screen and fiddidled the night away.

When we awoke at 7am after a sleepless night, the sink was filled with crap, including every single frying pan.  The quinoa from the night before, of which I made extra to freeze, was still sitting in its pot on the stove top, now unsalvageable.  I swore and got pissed off as I tripped over the toys scattered across the floor, glaring at the crumbs all over the table, and then I realized it was my own damn fault.

So I’m grounded.

One week of no blogging, no blog-stalking, no message-boarding, no surfing.  Essential emails only.

See you in a week.

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