As I was drifting off to sleep last night, my brain fell back into happier dating times. Like, when you thought about what underwear you would wear on a date… in case, yanno. But, thinking about this topic led me to thinking about how the underwear conundrum affects women in their 40s. Especially women who have been married for a long time and haven’t had to rely on cute underwear since… well at least 10 years ago.
I have a social distanced date with Tall Drink of Water on Saturday. (What does that even mean?) You know it’s 2020 when you’re thinking about what mask best matches the outfit you’re going to wear on a date and wondering where your 6-foot measuring tape is. Not like things are going to get frisky Saturday. (They are 100% not, thanks Covid-19.)
As I have mentioned before, dating after 40 is rough. Honestly, at least 50% of the reason I got married for the 2nd time in the 1st place was so I didn’t have to date anymore. Because dating in your 30s was no walk in the park, either. Too many fuck bois and crazy ladies. Boo-hiss.
I have spent a lot of time lately thinking about what exactly this blog is. Is it a Mommy Blog? Am I a Mommy Blogger? Or, is this site just like every other blog I have ever written in my life – a narcissistic diary for me to review my own life on? Does my writing have a direction?
Obviously, I write because I have to write. It’s in my makeup, my DNA. I don’t lack for topics, as I can always word vomit out some bullshit about my life and form it into a coherent narrative.
I am taking break from writing business proposals and SEO blog articles to mentally divert my brain, watch Bravo, and drink a shit ton of Diet Coke to keep me awake. I have literally been working since 7am, while trying to placate a baby who doesn’t have her Momma’s full attention today (a lot of Disney + and iPad, what can I do?)
Don’t get me wrong. I am super super happy work has picked up. If 1 or 2 of these proposals, or the job I am interviewing for on Wednesday, come through – I will be in a really nice financial situation within a couple of months. Which will lift a huge weight off my shoulders. And, will allow me to hire a part time nanny to play with Peej while I have to be working (which worked super well for us in LA, Sahar was a lifesaver, but we haven’t had a Sahar here in Chicago – as the reason for coming to Chicago was so I could be a SAHM. Now I’m a SAHWM -it’s a thing- and I could use some help.)
In an update to yesterday’s blog post: While they’ve opened the Lakefront trail, they have re-closed the far north Chicago beaches and the beaches south of us remain closed, with no plan to reopen them. Plus public pools are expected to stay closed all summer.
They have based this decision on observing the behavior of adults with kids on playgrounds and beaches. (See my rant about entitled parents on yesterday’s post.)
I can’t take her to the Lakefront trail without her making a bee line for the beach. We’re going to be restricted to the boring park and walking around the neighborhood (which she hates.)
I am screwed. This severely limits Peej’s outside options. I need to talk to our landlord and Ex British Husband about buying a kiddie pool/sandbox for her. =(
Or, beg my parents to let us come back to Lakewood.
It’s supposed to be high 80s and low 90s here all next week, with excessive humidity.
Saturday, the Ex and I took Penelope to Leone Beach in Rogers Park to go swimming. One of us has taken her up to the beach or it’s attached park every day since it started getting nice out. In April, that was mostly the Ex, as I was still locked in my apartment on quarantine. Since Peej and I have returned from my parent’s house it’s been me taking her up there every morning between 9am and 11am (when she turns into an absolute crank monster.)
What I have not done is take her in the water to swim. First, it’s ice cold still. I’m a tough broad who loves to swim and I still shouted “fuck it all to hell” when I dove into the water recently. Second, Peej is fast as a cheetah and still has a hard time listening and following directions. This is a recipe for a disaster.
I definitely needed backup there if I wanted to take her into the water past her ankles.
Okay, so Paul and I are getting divorced. I’m sure there is a contingent of the obsessed with my life #IStandWithYourHusband crowd out there who are doing cartwheels at me saying this publicly. But, it’s true – we’re separated. Living in the same house because we don’t have any other options, but separated none the less.
It has been an extremely long time since I wrote on this fucking mom blog. Is this a mom blog? I mean, I’m a Mom and this is a blog. But, is it a “Mom Blog?”
A lot has gone down since I last wrote about being sick or trying to teach Peej that iPhone cables are not binkies. I mean, I was SERIOUSLY ill for a very long time, all of January and most of February.