One small moment of grace

I had this thought last week. Maybe it is more accurately described as a feeling. Yes, I felt strongly, surely, deeply that I needed to have a talk with the Almost Ex.

This was momentous for me because I make it my policy not to talk to him. There have just been too many names called, accusations yelled, tears and toxicity to engage in what should be a simple exchange. Something changed, though, and it became clear to me that we needed a real and live conversation.

And so I called and asked and he agreed. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to say but I trusted that the words would come. I was nervous but I knew music and prayers and a talk with my parents would help get me through.

Then, as I was grabbing my purse and putting on lip gloss, the doorbell rang. My flowers arrived.

I took a moment to pull them from the box, carefully unwrap them and put them into a vase on my dining room table. I propped the card up next to the 24 blooms, reading over to myself three or four times, smiling at how the universe works.

A half-hour later, I was across the table with the Almost Ex, drinking Calm tea and asking him if we could come to some financial resolution together, if we could speak person to person rather than parties in a divorce.

He agreed.

That could have been enough but then the table where were sitting, talking the most humanely and with the most connection we have in a year-and-a-half, turned.

He said he acknowledged the pain and confusion he put me through a year ago. He apologized. He said he'd been thinking about since our awful court date. The court date when I yelled and he obviously heard me.

There is was, not everything and not enough, but there it was. One small moment of grace. All these months later.

We talked. We agreed. We have a plan. Now, we shall see what the universe delivers this time.

Click to read more ...

How to make toasted pumpkin seeds in 18 complicated and disgusting steps

1. Close the preschool but not the interwebs, which means the kid spends an inordinate amount of time "researching" gender roles in PBS and  PBS-with-commercials-on-cable while Mommy tries to drown out the sound of Wow Wow Wubzy enough to write about important stuff like boobs and periods and meditation. Who the hell can write about meditation while some creepy squarish cartoon yells out "WOW! WOW!" every four minutes, followed by squeals of delight from a four-year old?

2. No one. Which is why the next step is to cram the BlackBerry earpiece into my head to drown it all out. Oh, and also listen in on a very important conference call. Very important. Something about something I am supposed to be writing although I can only think of the theme song of now, Bob the Builder.

3.  After cursing Bob, thank Bob for the new movie he's got up on the old On Demand that splices moral-ridden claymation construction with live-action building scenes.  This movie gets me through the remainder of my call, the Peapod delivery, another cup of much-needed coffee and is well worth the $4.99 viewing fee.

4.  Shut laptop. Turn off BlackBerry. Go idle on all IM programs.

5.  Pause Bob the Builder. Refill the coffee. Stop self from humming Bob theme while adding as much chemical-infused creamer to coffee as possible.

6.  Get the boy out of pajamas and into real clothes. Lie and say the Power Rangers shirt that is three sizes too big and is...well, Power Rangers...is still in the laundry.

7. Spread out a vinyl tablecloth, neatly lay out pumpkin carving kit tools like it is the set of Top Chef rather than our balcony. 

8. Try to convince child to choose one of the stencils in the Easy category. Give in like a Catholic girl on prom night when he chooses the only design in the Difficult category.

9. Make a big show of the pumpkin gut reveal. Totally gross the boy out who is currently obsessed with all things related to bodily functions and bathrooms and who also spent an hour this morning pretending to belch and then laughing evilly while saying, "Heh heh heh, I belched!"  Try to lure him into helping scoop out the guts, then to just touch the guts. Resort to calling it "pumpkin snot" just to ellicit a reaction and possibly some participation in the whole carving process. Fail miserably (not at the joke, just at the touching part).

10.  Scoop like it is my first day at Baskin-Robbins and I still think I earn a commission on waffle cone sales. Alone. While the small child sees if he can scale the brick wall or slide between the balcony railings.

11. Carve like a muthah until the little saw thingy breaks and the paper stencil is in shreds that has blown off the balcony and on to the yard, sidewalk and street. Meanwhile, the kid is hording the pumpkin carving tools that he will surely lose and will require a pre-bedtime hunt that includes yelling, tears and negotiation of some other kitchen gadget to replace the plastic puncher doohickey.

Click to read more ...

October 12th

I need to acknowledge this day. I didn't want to, at least after I gave up my idea to have a big dinner party and finally open up the wedding china sitting in my storage space. And then again after I decided that I wasn't up for a night out with the grrrls to see Dirty Dancing and then cocktails that make my head dizzy and then ache.

Instead, I wanted to have a quiet weekend with my boy, to enjoy the sunshine and falling leaves and maybe make some time to just be still.

As the weekend floated up to meet me, I realized I was slipping into conversation with my friends and family.

Click to read more ...