Manual labor

Which do you think is sexier? On a real body? A real 50-yr-old body?

My daughter said something to me that cut through me like ice and I had to blink away the tears. Some might say I am too sensitive, but I say I did an amazing job not letting on how hurt I was. Some might ask why I didn't let on how hurt I was, but I say it wasn't the right time, and it was my problem for being so sensitive. Mabel was coming up with all sorts of ideas that might get the house sold (She is an HGTV addict.) As she rambled on and on about this paint and that fixture and that hardware on kitchen cabinets, I said I was more than happy to go back home any weekend and help out with cleaning and fixing things up before we put the house back on the market. Then I added (and this is where things may have gone wrong), "I have always been willing and able to do my part when it comes to cleaning the house and doing my share in fixing it up for sale." (Remember my b'day weekend last summer???) And that's when she said it. "Face it, Mom, you've never been that good at manual labor." SAY WHAT? Sure, the girls' father was the one who mowed the lawn, shoveled the driveway, cleaned up the dog dirt, taking out the trash, and raking the leaves. But I wanted to ask, "Who supported the family with the better-paying job? Who always had the medical benefits? Who paid for your father's MBA? Who often worked all day and freelanced at night to pay for summer camps? Who attended every parent conference and Open House for both girls? Who planned every birthday party and bought every Christmas gift?" And if her father and I had still been married, I could have asked all those questions, and she would have said something like, "You're right, Mom. You were a great pair who, together, did a great job." But because we're divorced, I couldn't say anything because it would look like a competition. And it would look like I was being way too sensitive. I didn't begin to forgive my mother for 10 years after her death, and I didn't realize until this last year during my divorce how strong and incredible she was to go through what I was going through only alone. So given that math and thinking I will live until I am 90 (2047), I guess I shouldn't expect my daughter to figure things out until 2057... unless, of course, she is much smarter and quicker than I was. I need to stop being so sensitive when she says these sorts of things, don't I? (Please be kind when you answer that.)

On another subject, would you consider Mango Sorbet a fruit?? (Warning: Base your answer on the fact that I am on my period.)

Yogurt and Cheerios and some ranting

I don't know about you, but I had THE MOST FABULOUS 6 days with Sailor Boy which included meeting another sister and the other daughter as well as attending a dinner party for a handful of friends "back home." We got to bring in the new year together, the first of many ("many," as in the rest of our lives), which was absolutely fabulous. Am I gushing? Oh come on, I have tried to be so good on this thing and not say too much, but now that I'm divorced, the floodgates are about to open. I'll try not to embarrass us all.

While my "guest" was in my presence, we had the chance to share breakfast many a morning. With the exception of the morning I actually COOKED HIM AN OMELET (which was deeeelish, thank you very much), we had Yogurt with Cheerios. Or was that Cheerios with Yogurt? During my year of The Divorce Diet, I have been taking a container of yogurt to work for breakfast. Since about halfway through I start to realize I am eating "sour" milk, I like to add cereal to it for the crunchy effect. Mabel (daughter #1) hooked me on Yogurt Blast Cheerios so I always have a box at work to combined with my sour milk... I mean, yogurt. I sprinkle a few in the container of yogurt and pull out a spoonful of delight. Sprinkle, sprinkle, eat crunchy yogurt spoonfuls. So my "visitor" asks what's for breakfast (and since I rarely, if ever, cook in my humble abode), I say, "Yogurt and cereal," and I let him pick out his own flavor of yogurt. (After all, he is a big boy.) But instead of taking a tiny (since the opening is so small) handful of Cheerios and placing them on the top of the yogurt, he pours a bowl of Cheerios and delightfully, if not gleefully, dumps the entire container of yogurt into the bowl, sort of like it's milk. So I figure, why not try it his way. Which I do. It's efficient. He does not have to stop and sprinkle, picking up the errant Cheerios that fall out of the container. (You should see the floor under my desk at work.) I cannot believe I never thought of that. It's brilliant and so efficient. And even delicious... if I can stop thinking it's "thick" milk on my cereal I'm eating. And I have to wonder, "Can a relationship of two diametrically opposed notions of breakfast last? Do we have a future?" Of course, in my defense, I never thought of this because I don't have a bowl at work. But now I eat yogurt with my Cheerios instead of the other way around and read my e-mail in the morning while at home. Thanks, Sweetie, for the brilliant idea.

My landpeople had their cat put to sleep today. Clinger (no, not misspelled and not named after the cross-dressing character on M*A*S*H) was 20 in August (Yes, like yours truly, he was a Leo. Kinda fits, doesn't it?) and up until recently was still functioning quite remarkably for an ancient feline. The first time I watched Clinger for them I had to ask what to do with "the body" just in case. I mean, the thing couldn't live forever. This isn't a chapter in Tuck Everlasting. He was still performing the two top functions of old cats: eating/drinking and pooping/peeing. But they went out of town this week and I dutifully fed Old Clinger who would not eat a thing. I even held the spoonful of pulverized tuna that they had blended into a mousse before leaving. But he still drank water. I can't guarantee he did the other thing as I never had to clean out the cat box. They did not want to take him into the vet as the only time Clinger ever saw the inside of the cat carrier was to go to the much-dreaded vet. They figured the poor thing would have a heart attack if they tried to put it in the carrier before they could even get it to the vet to be put to sleep. (Don't say it. I know what you're thinking.) So they found a vet willing to come to the house. I came into the house tonight after my workout (swimming suit season is 5 months away... YIKES) and Clinger was walking painfully, awkwardly around his owner's legs as she told me the vet would be there soon. I leaned down and held my hand out so Clinger could sniff me, the woman who fed and watered him upon occasion who had talked to him every night I came through the livingroom as he has spent the last few months sleeping copious amounts. He couldn't have weighed more than 4 lbs now and was as mangy as any animal with, let's say, the mange since he could no longer bend the way cats must bend to lick themselves clean. (If I know cats, he was probably mortified of this last indignity.) I saw the tears in my friend's eyes as this has been her beloved companion since their daughter was in 4th grade. The daughter who is now almost 30 and the mother of 2.5 children. I gave my friend a hug as I walked to my apt in the basement. The family needed their time alone before they said good bye. We think Clinger had kitty Alzheimer's and would get lost in corners or forget why he had come downstairs in the first place which resulted in a cry, a meow so piercing that it could peel paint off the walls. I will miss that old feller.

And while I'm rambling here, I screwed up today both professionally and personally. While I won't go into detail with either, suffice it to say I found myself presenting a discussion in a location I am not allowed to enter. It happened so quickly that I didn't even think about it till I got there and then I couldn't back out. And I figured, "I wasn't exactly in the classroom but rather the cafeteria and she isn't exactly a teacher but rather a sponsor of this after-school group." Please bake me a cake with a file if I end up in jail. On my personal screw up, I blathered on too much about my ex to a friend in an e-mail. (We had been exchanging music YouTubes recently which is what started up the correspondence over the holidays.) I have tried to be good about not going off too much on that subject in this blog so I must have had some pent-up matters. She took me to task for "putting her in the middle," something she had asked me specifically not to do when we separated 18 months ago. I screwed up. (Should I add that she is my ex's high school girlfriend who I embraced at our first meeting and we have been friends, albeit long distance ever since? My ex was obviously attracted to the same kind of woman.) I said things like, "We celebrated Christmas together since that was a promise I made him when I left even though he didn't keep any of his promises." Subtle but still rude on my part. She admonished me, and I probably deserved it. She is a long distance friend I have not seen in years, perhaps a decade, and will probably never see again. I guess I could have replied with "I'm sorry," and then explained that I didn't mean to break my promise not to put her in the middle, but that seems lame. I really wasn't thinking that my comments about celebrating Christmas with him present ("It really wasn't that hard since he doesn't drink or make a scene.") were putting her in the middle since I wasn't telling her my side and asking her to take my side, something I would never, ever e-mail to my ex's high school girlfriend. We probably have only e-mailed 2 or 3 times since I left so I just can't see going on and on with my apology. It seems so futile now. But I was rude and thoughtless and for that I am sorry. But I just deleted the finger-wagging e-mail from her (esp since she admonished me and in the same breath said she would always be there to listen... say what?) and will probably write off that "friendship." Besides, in the scheme of things, he really should get custody of the ex-girlfriend.

I just reread that last paragraph and can't believe I actually said, "While I won't go into detail..." Who was I fooling? You didn't really believe me when I wrote that, did you?

And while I'm ranting about the ex, it is driving him nuts that I won't give him my current address. I have moved 3 times since I moved to town, and it just seemed simpler to keep my original address so I wasn't constantly informing the post office of my new location. But when he ranted "Why are you keeping your current address from me?" and went on and on about it, I figured (a) I no longer have to tell him my current address and (b) I'll tell him my address when he tells me where he's working. He doesn't owe me that information (and probably doesn't want me to know that he lost or quit his job from last spring and has another one). But it hit me the other day, "I wonder if he thinks I'm keeping my current address from him because I'm living with someone." That put a big smile on my face. If he only knew...

Oh well, may your morning bring you yogurt and Cheerios or the other way around.