This weekend was terrific.
Saturday the kids and I got to play super heroes together. There are enough capes for everyone here.
I love to watch my kids play together. They are very open and affectionate with one another. N holds E’s hand, gives her kisses. She is ever the big sister. We still have to keep her from speaking for him or he won’t talk—or better, I like it when he talks over her. It’s hard to teach the don’t interrupt thing, when she’s the one interrupting him first.
Sunday, I went w R to have his tattoo done. So, it is official now. I have finally corrupted him. Despite the fact that he has wanted a tattoo longer than he has known me, I am officially to blame, since I am the one w several tattoos.
He got a teal ribbon tattooed on his upper bicep/shoulder, in honor of his mother’s passing from ovarian cancer. Sunday was her birthday.
If ever you need a tattoo—Jason Conrad at Cheap Trx in St Louis , MO. Weirton , WV
The ribbon has the texture drawn into it, as if it were really actual fabric. It’s very well done.
He also took me to see his mother’s tree. He’s driven us by it before, but this was the first time he took me over to see it. I was touched.
E and I spent the night as his place Sunday night.
Monday. E and I were on our own. It was awesome.
We took a walk. Just the two of us.
So, my original intent was to go look at a couple houses for sale within walking distance of R’s house. It turned into something else.
I hate to drive. The road is full of ignorant people who don’t care about anyone else other than themselves. I have always hated to drive. The only reason I got my driver’s license, really, was because when my grandfather died, my grandmother couldn’t drive. She was literally stuck at home. Not within walking distance of squat. She hated, hated, hated, to have to wait on people to give her rides. She also needed to get a job; she needed to be able to drive herself to work. So she had to learn. She was not the best driver in the world, by any means.
I hate to drive, but I wanted to know how, just in case.
See, I always thought I would get married and stay married. That’s what I had wanted all along, even as I figured out pretty quick when dating entered my life, I was not a one man type of woman, unless the man was extraordinary. I am still that same person in many ways too. For me, marriage was and is the same—it is a vow—to death do we part. My divorce didn’t kill me…heck, my divorce wasn’t a divorce except on paper. I was already dead before he asked me to marry him—his asking me to marry him was his way of making up for killing me. He told me that, in different words. More than once. We were already living together again before the divorce was final. With me pregnant by my after separation fling.
That final break was not the end of a marriage—it was a resurrection of sorts. Unfortunately, I chose poorly in my next choice. I was looking, but not, for a man to replace him. After having belonged to a single man for so long, after my upbringing and thought process, my conditioning, I had to find a man, right? But, I don’t go looking. I never have. I never do. They come to me. One way or another. This one came to my school as a teacher. I had to break with him in order to find me again. And, as I say every day, I am utterly grateful that he is such a colossal –whatever he is. If he were not so 180 from what he says he is, I would have never found what I needed to grow, to heal and/or to move on from that divorce. If he ever learns how to communicate with others in a real sense, a miracle will have occurred…I swear it. I tell you, the worst people make the best teachers. Seriously.
Technically, the ex brought my current boyfriend into my life. Does that count as him finding me?
It took several years after my son’s dad for me to heal enough to do anything. That man is a lying treacherous manipulative snake. But he swears it is because he has the best of intentions. What is worse is – he is being honest. He truly thinks the way he treats me and deals with me, since he met me in 2002, has been with the best of intentions and respect and etc etc. One day, the gods will turn his actions upon him and will show him the error of his ways.
I will not be there to see that. I do not want to see it. I wish it could be avoided, but the man has chosen his own path. He has to walk the path he has chosen. Not my stuff. Not my issue. I won’t have to deal with it when the time comes, even though he will reach out.
This is about the walk we took, isn’t it?
I used to walk everywhere. When I was in high school. After high school. I didn’t want the responsibility of a car anyway. I didn’t want to drive.
I liked walking. I could and would walk for miles and miles every day.
I won’t walk where I live now. It’s actually a fairly safe place, don’t get me wrong. If it is safe enough for mothers to turn out 4 and 5 year olds to run in the gangs through the streets, knowing that the other mothers keep an eye out as well, it is safe enough for me to walk.
Except—I tend to attract—the strangest elements. I seem to have this scent that attracts the lizards and Klingons. Lizards are the men that no one else would touch even after inhaling a bottle of cheap tequila in under five minutes. Klingons are not just women, but, for me, it's gay men or women who aren’t hitting on me, but ‘need’ me for the company—and they are not people I want to hang out or around with….like a complete stranger who is suddenly your bestest friend in less than five minutes…you already know her life story and the bartender just brought your drink order to you sort of person right after you sit down.
I will not take my daughter out in an environment where I know that one out of every twenty men that wander here will follow me home, trying to play their game and roll me with their sweet talk. I am not kidding or exaggerating. I get these guys trying to talk to me when I take out the trash, or mow the lawn, or get the mail. Really. Really annoying. Above all else, they do not need to be aware that I live alone with a young daughter and a dog that is useless for family protection. I spend more time protecting her than vice versa—although she is young yet—there may be hope for her.
My dog is actually my other reason. Yes, mothers keep an eye out on the groups of kids that wander. But no one really pays much mind to the people walking their dogs. One, when I used to walk my old dog, other stray dogs would try to start fights. My dog then was a coward too and I was the one fighting dogs off. And yes, I will. I have no compunction about stepping in between dogs. It’s only blood and it’s only stitches. I have the attitude. I usually keep my hair covered, since dogs/wolves/etc have less respect for the blonde as they are normally aberrations in the pack. Female and blonde means very inferior. Only—I am an Alpha. It may not always be immediately apparent. I have been the cowed down one for too long in my life. But I am the Alpha and I know the role. Plus, with all my studying and background, I know most breeds fairly well. It’s like dealing with people. You kick them in the right place, you win the fight –speaking of people. I have never had to do more than tap a dog on the nose, literally, not hit them, tap them. Although I did think my other dog was going to kill some stupid stray once. It’s not the pitbull half of her to worry about—it’s the chow part. Chows are scary. (yes, both of my boyfriend’s dogs are part chow…I know….) Pitbulls, I love, hands down, every time. The best dogs in the world. Ask Petey of the Little Rascals—he’ll tell you the same.
But I know there are a group of kids who walk their part chow dog around this neighborhood, trying to start a dog fight with any dog out. I have been told about them sending the dog after cats. The cats do not win. I do not want any part of that. Period. I will not take my dumb dog out into that, because I’ll end up going to jail for beating the heck out of some stupid little kids. Plus, my dog is dumb enough and friendly enough. Most people around here are afraid of her based entirely on her size alone. I want to encourage that fear, because up close and personal, this dog will lick you to death. Or pee on your shoe maybe. She is not a guard dog. Unless you are a bird or a squirrel. She’s a love puppy—she wants to be petted. She is uber needy. So not the dog I was hoping to get—even though I wouldn’t trade her for anything. Most days, at least.
The walk. Right. I wander. I know.
This walk was great. There were few people. Those we passed did talk to us, but that was good. I was never worried about anyone following us home. Plus, this is my favorite time of year. Chilly, wind blowing, leaves turning. We saw about four houses for sale. Got flyers for the two that had them. Found the yarn for W that I have been going nuts trying to find (red heart baby cloud) and bought two skeins, just in case….
We walked all the way to the thrift store and I let E look around to her heart’s content.
E found a funky blue hat. And a killer pair of boots with mega high platform heels. She is utterly proud of herself. I found a children’s book of Zen shorts. I will not classify myself as Zen nor Buddhist. But I do have a great appreciation for Zen, deep down. Thanks to the ex, Buddhism is in the distrusted organized religion category, along w so many others. It was a very fruitful day. Plus, as we were heading back to R’s house, he drove by and picked us up. He’d worked through lunch and was home early. It was terrific.
We even had a great dinner at a very nice restaurant.
My only issue was I took two different sorts of allergy meds that day, and they made me very tired. It is the only time I have not gotten out of bed to escort R to the door, after he’s brought us home and is returning to his. I don’t really think I was awake after I heard the front door close.
I miss walking like that. I miss feeling the air. Talking to people. Not worrying about the lizards and Klingons, well, at least not so much. And I love spending time w R, in any capacity. Even when I am tired, confused, groggy and medicated. He is an amazing man. He takes such wonderful care of me. It’s the small things he does that really mean so much. Not that the bigger things are shabby, but it’s the small stuff that touches me more deeply, that embeds itself in my heart and my memory. I like that. I am so not used to it. But I really like it. I could get used to that—without taking it for granted or taking advantage of it. It means a lot to me.
Here’s to more days like this weekend and Monday, well, without the allergy med fatigue and fugue anyway.
May we all live in peace together. Always.
