Tag Archives: playing with heart

Changing Status

There. I said it. I have been keeping it close to the chest for a few days now, unsure of the reaction it would elicit (unsure of my own reaction).

It feels strange. Not that anything has changed per say, but just the fact that there is now another layer being added to our–uhh–The Us is an odd fit (saying the word ‘relationship’ when speaking of the romantic variety is hard to actually say…it gets stuck in my throat…it’s a work in progress).

For the past 5 months or so, Young Gun and I have been conversing on a friendly (but a little more than friendly) level. Butterflies, stolen flirty glances, and swift middle school kisses have floated in and out of our pretend relationship for a while. I made sure to keep all options open (as did he) and just simply enjoy the pretend. Funny thing about pretending–if you do it long enough, you are bound to start the real thing.

Quite honestly (despite the apparent inability to say the word ‘relationship’), I am happier. He does not expect me or want me to be anything other than myself. He totally digs my fro, prefers jeans, sneeks, and a naked face over 5″ heels and short skirts, and believes I can do whatever I put my mind to. When I told him about The Marathon, he didn’t double over in laughter for 10 minutes (yes…that actually happened to me before). When my hair is huge & ridiculously fro-ish, he gives me a high five and smiles. When he sees me in jeans and a tee shirt, it is like metal to a magnet. I can say weird stuff or laugh at terrible jokes or drag him to see awful chick flicks and he accepts it all. He constantly reminds me to not open the door for myself or carry things when he is around.  He knows which weekends are my free weekends without me ever saying a word. He is respectful of my children and the space I require for them. I. Am. Happier.

I am still riding this ride one day at a time. I am still just having fun. I am still just keeping pace. I am still putting focus where it is needed. There is no pressure to be anything other than myself; no pressure to do anything other than what I do; no pressure to go where I don’t normally go. He is simple. This is simple. We are simple. And after the long journey I had before, simple (and slow) is just fine by me. Now…about those wedding dresses….(NOT!)  😛


Valentine’s Day (Where For Art Thou [My] Romeo?)

Valentine’s Day. Completely and totally overrated if you ask me. It is basically men running around buying gifts trying to make up for 364 days of smelly farts, missed timing, and general ass clown guy stuff. Women stand at the ready waiting for said gifts and gushes of Hallmark provoked affection. I hate Valentine’s Day (Grinch style) which is why this year (technically next year since this is December), I plan on joining in the fray (gotta get passed what you abhor, right).  What do they say? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em? Yea. That. Only I plan on doing it better. I am celebrating alone.

When you go through a break up, the holidays are almost an automatic thought. What about Christmas? What about the New Year? What about….Valentine’s Day?! I will be all alone. No flowers (but he didn’t give them to you anyway), no cards (uh….ok), no presents (yea…another piece of jewelry you didn’t ask for), no dates (dinner and a movie…again)….just………loneliness (cue flat line for death by lonely). I cannot tell a lie, I totally had all of those thoughts, and when I verbalized them to a friend she told me she loved Valentine’s day. “I love on myself extra special that day. I don’t have to have someone else to love–loving me is enough.” Suddenly, finding Romeo didn’t seem so pressing….but I found him anyway.

This Valentine’s Day I will be spending a beautiful evening with Romeo…and Juliet….and a few hundred people. I will be at the ballet–alone and perfectly content with the company.  For a couple of years now I have watched The Atlanta Ballet’s Romeo & Juliet production sell out because I didn’t want to go alone, but this go ’round I refused to be victim to stupidity.

Love is not (and should not) be reserved for February 14th. Duh. We know this. However, it generally is and, because I have entered into a new relationship with myself, I want to treat me the way I feel I should be treated. And a romantic evening, dressed up, enjoying an expensive dinner at a restaurant with cloth napkins to celebrate the commercially decided day of love seems like as good a place as any to start. Oh Romeo. Romeo. Where for art thou [my] Romeo? For starters, he will be on stage dancing in pastel tights purely for my enjoyment. Now after the tights come off…well…that’s a completely different story 😉


Today I AM: A Choosy Chooser

At some point in life, you recognize that you have choice. You have the choice to make change, accept non-change, kick some ass, be non-violent, be skinny, be fat, float in confidence or be a wallflower. You. Have. Choice. When that sinks in–well–it opens up the world. Don’t you think?

Very recently, I was given a choice. No one actually gave me the (a) or (b) but I decided to give it to myself. I decided to make a conscious decision on my own. Stay. Let Go. Float. I decided to let go and just be. I actually enjoy being alone quite a bit. No muss. No fuss. If plans fold, it is only because I couldn’t make it–which is rare considering it is kinda hard to stand yourself up.

Anyway, the choice came when I was faced with two things: What I wanted to happen and what I was willing to wait for. I am impatient. I am also a believer in getting what I want. Neither one of those will feed a closed mouth.  So it was choosy time. After I decided to keep it hustling, it dawned on me that I was a choosy chooser. For once…I chose (can’t say if it was wisely or not–most likely. Nothing is fair in love, right? Better to be cautious than an idiot) solely based on what would make me happy (not to say it has never been done, but I am retraining myself here).

The choosier we are, the better our decisions will be. Now being choosy does not mean mulling over a problem for eons (remember the Thinker post), but it does mean that you get to choose. You get to choose. You! Imagine that. Every thing that passes your doorstep, you get to be the choosy chooser of it. Wanna date someone? Choose to. Wanna buy a new dress? Choose it. Wanna explore and experience? Choose. Every day is a choice. You choose to go to work. You choose to be in a relationship. You choose to be a parent. You choose to be yourself or like everyone else. You get to choose.

Pick you. Choose you. Once you do, don’t spend the rest of your days on Earth wondering about your choices. Just be a choosy chooser and make it. Be prepared for the fallout, good or bad. Be okay with the end result. Don’t spend the energy of actually choosing you and picking you on tearing apart your decisions with negative thoughts. Choose you. Pick you. You will be damn glad you did.


A New Pace: Smitten

Smitten: be strongly attracted to someone or something.

That’s the definition of smitten (well, smite actually but who’s splitting hairs). According to that particular definition, I suppose I am smitten at this juncture. Weird to say–even weirder to feel.

They say the best way to get over a man is to get under another one. Personally, I find that to be stupid advice. Luckily (even though it felt pretty unlucky at the time), I had the opportunity to get over a man the hard way–alone. And while I still hold gentleman callers waaaaaay far away, I must say this particular one has me…well…you know.

Recognizing the error of my ways previously, I am making no rush moves or quick judgements. I am still very much seeing other people. I do not change plans or make major attempts to make room. I also don’t make excuses nor do I hide who I am. He seems to be ok with it (well, except the seeing other people part) and the strangest thing keeps happening….he accepts me as is. It is a nice change of pace.

No egg shells. No dirty laundry. No pressure. When we talk, time flies. When we find ourselves together, smiles beam. We converse about nothing but everything: the importance of South Park, the heart of living life to the fullest, just letting go and doing, sports, hurt, love, and Family Guy. Nothing hard or harsh. No ridiculous expectations. What ever is just is. Stolen glances and shy smiles…it’s all so sweet. Such a delightful pace.

I keep reminding myself that it’s ok to be smitten. There is nothing wrong with it at all as long as all lines are drawn and no boundaries are crossed. I have to keep telling myself I deserve to smile (which is often because it appears I have been doing that quite a bit lately). It is funny, really. The smiles and the blushing and the giggles and the bubbly. He isn’t the reason for any of it. He is an addition to it. How’s that for growth? 😛


Second Dates Are Better

Slightly hung over from lack of sleep and abruptly absolved of morning parental duty (long story), I decided to take myself on a breakfast date. I could have argued or sulked but I chose to be good to me, instead.

I sat at the counter of Waffle House with the early morning dateless and the elderly, ordered a waffle and enjoyed myself. As stated before, I am used to being alone but I usually spend that time in a twisted web of thoughts, not really enjoying any of the alone time. This time was different. I was just there. There was no over thinking or wondering. There was no feeling weird or out of place (which I totally place on myself most of the time–my excuse to cut and run). I was just….there…just me…just enjoying a waffle.

I popped in my head phones, sipped coffee from the thickest coffee mug ever, and watched the waiters and waitresses zoom back and forth like busy ants. I smiled at myself for taking a breath and taking a break. I smiled at the second date….seconds are always better anyway 😛



Freestyle Friday: First Date


Today marks a major accomplishment. I am going on a date. Yes, an actual date with dinner, movies, make-up and everything. I have been on dates before, since the split, and they have been okay. One dude bought me drinks and dinner and we sat talking for hours. Another guy tried to lay his head on my shoulder–ummm, no. This one dude stood me up so I guess that can’t be considered as an actual date, and the last guy made me laugh and feel so comfortable I did not want the night to end. All of those experiences were nice, sure, but nothing is going to beat this.

Nothing is going to beat coming home, slipping into the shower, smelling great and looking better. Nothing will beat jamming to some awesome hype music, waiting to be seated and enjoying dinner. Nothing can beat standing in the movie ticket line, finding a seat, and hunkering down for a thrilling two hour ride.  Nothing beats doing all of that….alone.

Yup, alone. I am taking myself out on a first date. It was not exactly what I was anticipating for my first date. I had actually bought tickets to the symphony but seeing how they can’t get it together (strike situation) going to dinner and a movie (Gone Girl…yay!) is the next best thing.

It is important (so I have heard) to date oneself. I am finding that out. I have never been afraid of doing things alone, but purposefully having my mind set on making plans for me and only me is new. Getting dressed up, treating myself as if I am on an actual date (minus the out loud pleasantries–I don’t want to seem too bat shit crazy) is an entirely new experience. I have actually been excited for it since Wednesday. It has given me a chance to look forward to getting better acquainted with a VIP….me. Can’t go wrong with that 😛


His Girl

I’m his girl. No, not in the girlfriend sorta way (that would be both disgusting and illegal), but in a I-will-never-be-far-from-his-heart kinda way. It is a scary thought–to think of yourself as a permanent fixture in someone’s heart. What if you break it? What if you make an irreversible mistake? What if you just simply don’t do the job right? What happens then? Am I still his girl then?

I noticed it one September evening as he stood on first base. I have seen him do it so many times I just forgot to notice. He picks me out of the crowd. No matter how large the crowd, no matter how far away I may be–he finds me. He sees me. There is a silent communication, once he finds me. Sometimes its a thumbs up on my part or a nod on his. Sometimes it is a roll of the eyes or a shrug of the shoulders, but no matter what–he sees me. I am his girl.

He stood on first base during an easy game. The kind of game where the coaches didn’t really say much to the boys, they just let them do what they came dressed to do. He stood there, his back to second, hands on hips and winked. He has been doing it for so long it never registered until just then. I had had a long, odd day of stress, sadness brushing the edges, and at that moment it all got lost. I was the only one that mattered for a split second and he saw me.

It occurred to me, right then, he would always see me even when he wouldn’t. He would begin to see his girlfriend or his wife or his daughter or his son vs. me and, one day, I will no longer occupy a seat in Life but in Heaven instead–yet I would always be a permanent fixture. I am his girl.

That is a huge job to carry out–the protection of the heart. It is a delicate affair of knowing which threads to cut and which to leave untouched…when to walk away and when to stand guard. On the way home from the game, as we talked girls and teenage relationships, he put his hand on my shoulder and thoughtfully said “My girl has to be just like you, Mommy.” He paused, I smiled unsure of what to say beyond ‘okay’, and then “…only….prettier.” I guess that says it all, doesn’t it?  😛


Freestyle Friday: Stop and Smell The Roses


Every time I go into the grocery store I pass by the flower section, and each time I stop and smell the roses. Only the roses. It is something I have been doing for years…I really don’t know how it started or why. But each time I pass by those gorgeous, delicate pieces of God’s art I stop, smile, and inhale. No thoughts come to mind. No stresses take over the moment. No sounds are heard. No questions to answer. Just a moment in time where the world stops and it is okay. Every time I stop, it is a reminder that God created beautiful. He created gorgeous. He created delicate. He created breath and life and time. And everything He created was for a multitude of purposes, one of which is purely for our enjoyment. So the next time you happen to pass by a flower (doesn’t have to be a rose) make the conscious decision to stop and smell it. Take a moment, breathe it in and enjoy the gift of His art. I know I will 😛


Young Gun: Yoga Pants and Boy Stink

Ever decide to go against the grain and find yourself in your Friday cleaning clothes smelling of sweat & boy deodorant stink on a sorta-date? No? Never? Hmmm….Perhaps that’s just me.

Friday evening I found myself at the Old House packing up and throwing away. The plan was not to stay there for hours. The plan was quite simple: pick up kids from school, drop them off at The He’s house, do a little damage for about an hour, hug goodbye (uh…the kids…The He isn’t included in displays of affection), and go home to get dressed.

I had the perfect outfit all primed and ready to go. A cute little gray and black number with my fave pair of five inch black booties would suit the occasion just fine: Me Time. No, I wasn’t celebrating anything really…just a sorta coming up for air is all. A cute dress, some good eye make up, glossed lips, an amazing salad paired with a chilled glass of wine and a comfy bar-side seat was just what the Friday Teen/Pre-teen Child Free Doc ordered.

The He came to the Old House with a packing plan hatched. I had no formal plans, no dates to worry about canceling (just Me Time…sigh) so I stayed and moved and sweated and packed.

By 8:00pm I had worked up a sweat and all of us had worked up an appetite. Off to get food The He and I go. My phone rings and to my surprise its Young Gun. He wants to see me. Now? I look awful, I say. Ok, so, he says. He had sort of a bad moment at work and wanted to hang….with me. Yoga pants, dirty t-shirt and all.

I mentioned the fact that I looked like I had just left a random late night Wal-Mart excursion, but he seemed not to care. Besides, we are just friends and friends see one another in all sorts of get ups. Yoga pants and dirt t-shirts wouldn’t be the worst thing a girl could wear.

I put on the only deodorant stashed away in the car…Kid 1’s Right Guard sport something. The girly smelling Dove I kept in the car had disappeared. I found a practically empty bottle of girly lotion and attempted to cover up the boy stink deodorant. Not a great sorta-date first impression, but it was better than flat out stinking.

The moment I saw Young Gun, the terrible outfit and boy stink dissipated. No, not because he took my breath away in that Nicolas Sparks movie kinda way, but because I felt completely comfortable and accepted. It also didn’t hurt that when he saw me he said “You had me worried. I thought you’d be all tore up….but u still look pretty to me”.

We spent the next hour laughing and talking in the late summer night air. No make up. No heels. No dress. No perfume. No Spanx. Just me. Just little old me, giddy about the pumpkin spice latte and the good company.

With every passing day I am learning to accept myself where I am, how I am, why I am and who I am. And not that it matters much what Young Gun accepts of me or thinks, but that night I felt light….free. For him, in that moment, the bells and whistles didn’t quite matter. All he wanted was company…my company…sweaty tee, boy stink and all.


Girl Meets Boy: Introducing Mr. Young Gun

Single life has had its moments, both good and bad. The bad we won’t get into today, but the good has been pretty entertaining….especially recently.

A guy seemed genuinely interested in yours truly. I saw him regularly and eventually we sparked short, flirty conversation. When asking about a friend of mine I was setting up on a blind date and where said blind date should take place, he made a joke about me asking him out. So….I did.

Asking him out on a date and asking Cutie #1 out was completely different. With Young Guns it was easier…probably because he laughed and joked with me almost everyday. There was no mystery with him. I could tell he was kinda digging on me.

He’s fun, funny, sweet, hard working, artsy, a writer, a Walking Dead lover, & Spider-Man/Super Man/Fast & Furious enjoyer. He’s adventurous, active and a great caretaker. So…..what’s my issue? He’s a decade and a year younger than me. *shock n awe*

Talking to him is refreshing, mostly because he makes me laugh, but moments during our conversations make me cringe–just a little. When he mentioned something about being 6, I instantly realized the separation in age. His 6th year of life was the beginning of my senior year in high school. His 10th year of life was the beginning of my parental/marital life. Need I say more?

They say age is nothing but a number and in most situations that is true. I suppose this one is no different. It isn’t like I am looking to marry him, but do I want to sorta-date a guy that could potentially be my son….if I was having sex at 11? Yea, that is a tad dramatic, but it has entered my mind a few times. I am trying to live my life without making plans, and this falls right in line with that. Mr. Young Gun is my fun for now. The only plan I have for us (ugh…us is such a together word–which we are not nor do I want to be) is to just roll. Drinks? Sure! Rock Climbing? Let’s get it! Dinner? Movies? Music festivals? Check, check, and check. Why not….right? This should be fun.