Eight years ago this very minute, I was on the balcony level of a shoe factory-turned-art gallery, dancing my fool head off to the best of late '80's alternative, with a shiny new ring on my left hand and my new husband off in search off some more champagne. I was still embarrassed over crying at my wedding (helloooo??? I was exhausted! I cry when I'm tired and stressed!) But I was having a blast at our reception, with people I hadn't seen in years mixed together with my family and my best friends. I can't think of another time in my life that would ever be cause for that same group of people to gather again.

What I didn't know, as I twirled out of my slip again, was that my family,through death, dementia, pride and divorce, would fall apart.
I didn't know that I'd be the mother to three boys, much less a set of twins. I didn't know the depths of postpartum depression or the relief of asking for help. I didn't know that you could love a child with an intensity so fierce that it must be primal. I didn't know I needed so much sleep, or that I could function without it. I didn't know how to cook. I never imagined I'd live in another country. And if I were to imagine it, I never would have guessed that country would be Canada.

I didn't know that if I really let my guard down to someone, and let him see how ugly and ridiculous I can really be, that he'd still be there to tell me I'm beautiful. I never imagined that I could matter so much to someone that wasn't blood-related, and that he could matter that much to me. I didn't know that as bumpy as these past eight years could be, that he could still support me without judgement and even make me laugh.

All I knew, as I looked out over the crush of people to him, raising a glass to me, was that I was happy and buzzed and sweaty and thrilled to be dancing with everyone I loved on our wedding day. And that's as good of a way as any to start a marriage.

The twins are asleep and the Boy is happily watching The Backyardigans. I finally have a solid chunk of time to get dressed---- before 10 am!! So what do I kill my shower time doing? Unbelievable.....

I can't stop!!!!!

Just Because I'm From the States Doesn't Mean I'm George W's Best Friend

"Hi, Mrs. Cleaver? This is Dr. M's office. Your son's pediatrician referred him to us for allergy testing? Yes, well, we have an appointment open on November 3rd, but before we book that appointment, Dr. M needs to know your nationality. Specifically, whether or not you are American, because the doctor will not be able to see your son, if you are of American nationality."

Of course, I immediately returned her call, and demand to know exactly why the Good Doctor doesn't see Americans.

"Well," she spluttered, "I think maybe the doctor doesn't believe that Americans are covered by your UHIP plan."

"But UHIP specifically insures international residents. So he should know that I'm covered. Are you sure there isn't some other reason the doctor would rather not see my son?

"Oh, yes, I, ah, see the copy of your card here. I think the doctor thinks Americans aren't covered with this."

"They are," I said.

"Well, I see. I'll have him call you just as soon as he gets back from vacation on the 23rd."

Just to be sure, I called my insurance company.

"Of COURSE you're covered", the agent said. "That's like someone telling me I can't see a doctor because I'm black. There's something else going on here."

No shit. I saved the message, Dr. M., And once I've cooled down enough, I'll decide what I want to do here.

Justice, Thou Art a Woman

The three big relationships before my husband:

1991 (cue "I've Got the Power" by Snap):
I met D. in college, and thought at first he was nothing special. Then beer intervened, and he became my boyfriend for the better part of a year and a half. One night I called, and he answered, but he was clearly in the middle of having sex with some girl. Why he answered the phone, I have no idea. Fighting and screaming ensue, followed by ultimatums, and in the end, I stupidly take him back. Four months later, he dumps me for another girl, and marries her three months after that.

2002:
D. tracks me down online, emails me, sends pictures, calls. He's fat, bald, and alcoholic. He tells me that last Christmas, his wife waited until he went to work, then had her dad load up all of her stuff. He never saw her again. The morning before she left, he noticed there were no gifts for him under the tree. "I thought I was just getting something really big from her," he said. I'm the only one he's ever loved. I tell him to get over it, I'm married, pregnant and happy, and that being dumped by him was the best thing that ever happened to me. Otherwise, I would have been the sad case that married him.


1992 (cue "You Oughta Know" by Ms. Alanis):
R. was a busboy at the tres chic Olive Garden that Hausfrau and I worked at. He was nice, he was hot, and he was three years younger than me. I had to buy his beer when we went to parties. Overall, a great guy, I spent almost three years with him, until he dumped me for a 18 year old hostess. Sure, she liked to get into barfights and make out with girls, but he was sure she was The One. "You Oughta Know" came on during the Break Up Speech. "Um, this is a little uncomfortable,"he said. "Can we turn this off?" "No, let's leave it on, " I said, turning it up.

He married the hostess a year later.

I began to sense a pattern...


2005
I ran into R's best friend at a restaurant. Thankfully, I was dressed well and had on makeup. All three of my kids were with me, and all were perfectly behaved. He tells me that R divorced two years after he got
married, because his wife wouldn't give up her fights or her girls. I told him to give R my best, that as sweet as he is, I'm sure he'll find the right one someday. I flashed my diamond ring, packed up my kids, and hugged his friend goodbye.


1986 (cue "I Will Follow" by U2):
I had a dream in 8th grade that I had a crush on J., and when I saw him pass me in the hall, I noticed that--hey-- he IS kind of cute. He and I spent the better part of the next decade in that "will they or won't they??" mode that seems to work well only on sitcoms. First he said he liked me, then asked out another girl. Then he dumped her, but I wasn't having it. And on and on and on, through the years and through moves to other states and in letters and on the phone. The drama was quite intense, but the over riding theme was that I always felt I had to prove I was good enough. So I dressed better, became funnier, listened to better music, studied harder, thought deeper, got into some great schools, got my Master's. Then he called me "an overachiever," and I gave up.

2006:
I found out today that J., at age 34, "isn't sure what he wants to do with his life," and doesn't have a real job. Oh, and he lives with his mother. MWAH HA HAHA HAAAH HAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!