Daddy's and Daughters

Happy Father's day to all the wonderful fathers I know. This post is dedicated to my ex husband. Although my profile says I am a single mother of one, and on paper that's definately true, thanks to Steve, I am not a single parent.

Many of the blogs I read have very negative things to say about ex husbands and fathers in general. I want to tell the other side of the story. We all have negative things to say about our ex husbands ( and they about us), that's why we are divorced. However just because you are not the world's greatest spouse doesn't make you a bad parent.

Steve and I had a very hard time when we first divorced. There was a lot of animosity and hard feelings, fortunately we were able to sheild Mo from most of that. As time has passed we have formed a very friendly relationship, we even get along with the other people in each other's lives. ( Except for that one woman, I won't name names, he knows who she is)

But this is about father's, not ex spouses. Lots of fathers and mothers are deadbeats, I'm not denying that, but tons aren't. Steve pays child support, pays for her braces, school fees, whatever else Mo needs. It's never an argument, she is his child and he loves her.

Steve is there when Mo needs him. When she had surgery on her mouth he took the day off work to come and hold her hand while they put her under and to sit with me while we waited.

When it was over he was the one who carried her to the car and up three flights of stairs because the anesthesia hadn't worn off enough for her to walk. He stayed with us when I had to give her pain medication, just to make sure she didn't have an allergic reaction.

When Mo is being a typical teenage and I'm at my wits end, it's her Daddy I call. We are in this together, we make decisions for her, together, we have difficult conversations with her, together. We are united as her parents and as much as she whines about being from a broken home, I think her foundation is much stronger than lots of children of divorce.

Daddy is the one Mo calls and uses her baby voice, not me. Daddy is the one she wants when she is scared, not me. Daddy is the one she talks to when I'm being unreasonable. Mo is a Daddy's girl and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Now in addition to our beautiful baby girl, Steve has another daughter, and he is just as atttentive to her as he is to Mo. Initially Mo was not happy about sharing her Daddy, she would much rather I have fifteen kids than to have to share her Daddy with one sibling. Mo was afraid, after all, she was Daddy's special girl. She was so afraid that this new little intruder was going to take her place in Daddy's world. Steve told her no matter how many kids he has that she would always be special, and then, he showed her it was the truth. Mo is able to love her sister with all her heart, and share her Daddy, because he showed her that some things never change.

Mo was born on Father's Day and I always joked and said Steve was never getting anything else for Father's Day, after all, how do you top that? The truth is that the three of us got the greatest gift that day. Steve and I got Mo, and Mo got the best Daddy any little girl could want.

Thank you Steve for giving our little girl the foundation and love she needs to grow into a strong, intelligent woman who knows she doesnt' have to settle. After all, Daddy loves her best.

It's all a numbers game

Dating, how much fun is that? Those of you who know me, know that I have been married three times, that's right, three, wanna make something of it? Apparently I'm really good at getting married, not so good at staying married.

I have all the typical excuses, it wasn't me, it was them, I made bad choices, they pretended to be something they weren't, yada, yada, yada. Oh hell with it, it was me. I wanted something more. I know what I want, I just don't know how to get it. How to stop thinking I can turn every frog into Prince Charming.

Dating is a numbers game and I was never very good at math. In order to meet your Mister Right you gotta kiss a lot of frogs. Ok, I'm puckered up, where are the frogs? You have to put yourself out there, go new places, try new things, meet new people. It sounds like a travel brochure.

I put myself out there. I think I've been a member of every online dating site there is, at least once, some multiple times. It's all fun and games until it comes to actually meeting people. I'm good with emailing, texting,talking on the phone, but as soon as he says " Let's meet for coffee" I'm looking for a way out.

I hate first dates. I'm goofy, I laugh when people trip and hurt themselves, I say inappropriate things, sometimes I laugh until I snort whatever beverage I'm drinking out of my nose. Not the best first impression. I try to rein that in and what happens?

The last man I dated thought I was very reserved. Me, reserved? We dated for two months and when he said that I wasn't even sure he had ever met me. I streak on New years eve, every year, I've been known to tell dirty jokes- to my gynecolgist during an exam, I taught my neice all the foul language she knows. Reserved, really?

I gotta stop that. I'm not reserved, do I really care what they think? If they won't like me I should find out up front, not two years down the road when I let my guard down.

I went on a date with the brother of a friend, I liked him, he told her he didn't think I was into him. Where is the middle ground? Maybe I'm reserved on the first few dates because I've dated so many weirdos who didn't respect my personal space.

Like Mr Winky. He is famous in my circle of friends, the only man I ever dated who, about two hours into our first date, was masturbating on the couch when I returned from the bathroom. We hadn't even kissed yet, not sure what made him think that was the next logical step.

I got him back though. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, laughing my ass off. He jumped off the couch and came after me. At the door we were greeted by his dog chewing on my tampon applicator, little present for him to clean up after making me need therapy before I could date again.

So, maybe I am reserved, maybe there is a reason for it. But maybe it's time to say the hell with it. Just be me, whoever that is, and see what happens.

Home Repair for the Single Woman

I did it! After five years of untangling and disengaging myself, legally and financially, from my ex-husband, I bought a home of my own! Nineteen hundred square feet of beautiful, wallpapered space, and it’s mine, all mine!

First thing I did upon getting the keys to my castle was to walk around and make a Honey Do List. How fun! All these tiny little things my home needs, and I am going to do them all by myself!

Ok, number one, the saddle valve from the water line to the swamp cooler leaks, so I get on line and research the repair. Piece of cake, they cost about eight bucks and take ten minutes to fix. I turn off the water to the house and head to the hardware store.

I strut through the hardware store; I am a woman on a mission, outta my way! I find the saddle valve without having to ask for help, one more point for this independent woman, use the self checkout and I’m back home before the dog misses me.

After neatly assembling all the tools I will need, (how very proactive of me), I unscrew the saddle valve, it starts leaking, just a little. No big deal, I think there is probably just a little water left in the line. I unscrew the valve and remove it, water starts spraying everywhere! What is going on? I turned the water off, where is this water coming from? I’m trying to shove the saddle valve back in the hole in the water line, no luck. As I try to cover the hole in the pipe, water is spraying everywhere, my eyes, my hair, the wall. I’m doing a very strange little hopping dance, hoping there is nothing in this room that will electrocute me now that it’s wet. Didn’t I see these moves in Flashdance twenty years ago? Of course, Jennifer Beals looked much better with wet hair than I do. What a feeling.

I’m standing in the utility room in the basement, dripping wet, with my finger over the hole in the pipe, like the Dutch boy with his finger in the dam, trying to figure out what to do. I’m home alone, my cell phone is upstairs, and what would I say if I could call someone? Hello, idiot alert, I’m flooding my basement, please don’t send firemen, they have water hoses, I need the opposite of firemen, someone to suck all the water up.

Finally, in a moment of inspiration I think about the trash can in the basement bath, if I run really fast I can get that, put it under the fountain while I run upstairs and get my phone and, well, I don’t know what, I haven’t gotten that far, but I’m tired of standing in the basement with my finger in a hole!

I let go of the pipe and run to the bathroom, dump the trash on the floor, run back to the utility room and the water is slowing down to a trickle. I guess since I already had my shower the house didn’t feel the need to let anymore water out.

Now I’m glad I didn’t call anyone. I choose to be alone with my soggy basement. I put on the new saddle valve, not quite as proud as I was when the basement was still dry and make a mental note- Always, always drain all water lines before unscrewing anything!

Next up, repairing sprinkler pipes- at least that water will drain down into the ground and not in my face.