The Idea Of Him

It’s incredible what 6 years can do to love. The shape it can take. What you feel love is in the early moments, early days – and then the transcendent truth love becomes.

6 years ago today I was going on a first date. A first date that I truly felt was going to be different than all the first dates before.

Not unsurprisingly I was sick. I had strep. An ear infection. And was on antibiotics.

Clearly the makings of a true love story.

But I had been talking to a guy. A special guy. It felt right. It felt natural. Dare I say, it felt meant to be.

Numbers don’t matter, but let’s just say the amount of firsts I had been on prior to this one – a movie could have been created from.

All that said. This was not going to be that. I could feel it deep, deep inside.

I loved the idea of love. But truth be told, my history wouldn’t show it. Flings too numerous to count, but nothing meaningful. Nothing that proved to me that love exists. I had been craving it for so long but was becoming certain it might not be mine to have.

Often discouraged, frequently disappointed – I questioned whether it was worth the effort, worth the struggle to keep searching.

And then I met him. And the flutter came back. And the hope came back. And the dream came back. It wasn’t just the idea of him. It was him.

So strep and an ear infection, ailments that debilitate me far too frequently were not keeping me from this date. This date, that the mystery man didn’t realize, was Valentine’s Day.

I often think about the movie sliding doors, I’m not sure I’ve actually ever seen it. But the concept at least. The concept that any step or any misstep or any different step can and will alter the course of your future, rings all too true to me. I was not going to risk what could happen if I didn’t take that step, that day, that moment, with this guy.

So just like Gwyneth Paltrow – as she stepped off the subway platform, and onto the train, the doors shut behind her; on February 14th, 2013 I stepped onto the M14, heading south, unable to swallow, deaf in one ear and the doors closed behind me.

Closing the doors on my history, and my worries, and my loneliness. And opening doors to a world that never in my dreams, never in my wildest fantasies – would I believe would be mine.

Not Good Enough

For the first time in a long time I had a full day where I felt wildly productive.

Felt good about the work I put in and proud of myself for what I accomplished.

And then, it all turned. As it can so quickly.

I had a moment tonight.

A moment where in the course of 60 seconds it was glaringly apparent that I am a failure.

I had three concurrent interactions that made me feel like I am not good enough.

My ideas are not good enough.

My actions are not good enough.

This all happened leading up to dinner time for my family. I was warming up a pre-cooked meat meal for my children that passed its expiration date. I tried not to respond to the messages while getting teary eyed looking for frozen vegetables (the only kind I ever have/feed my kids) that I knew weren’t there, because we ran out two days ago.

I was also fighting back tears while responding to suggestions on my Facebook post – where I asked the community how to do a basic, simple project for my kids, a project that literally anyone could do.

But I can’t.

I just can’t get my shit together.

And I don’t know how to do better.

I also didn’t remember that parent teacher conference is tomorrow.

I know I’ve written about it before – but sometimes I look at the life I’m providing my children and feeling devastated that I’m not able to do more for them. Is everyone around me really able to afford/cook/give their kids the luxurious perfect life it seems? I can’t even make a fucking Valentine’s Day card in time for the holiday.

Nathan came home with the kids, and his work challenges. I tried to offer empathy, sympathy, whatever I could. I was trying to put on a brave face at dinner, but when I reminded Harper that I’d be leaving for work shortly, she started crying.

“Mommy, don’t go.” Bottom lip trembling.

I lost it.

And cried in front of everyone.

I couldn’t stop.

I was sad.

She asked me if I was happy.

I told her I wasn’t right now.

She asked.

“Why are you sad?”

I said: “Sometimes it’s hard being a mommy.”

And she said. “Sometimes it’s hard being a mommy”.

It really is guys.

It’s really fucking hard being an adult.

A wife.

A mom.

A colleague.

A friend.

A business owner.

An entrepreneur.

A daughter.

A sister.

A cook.

A cleaner.

A human.

I know I’m not a failure. I do.

But sometimes, it’s just really hard being a mommy.

The Question

Five years ago today began like any other day.

Well that’s not entirely true. I was about to take my first real vacation with my boyfriend. A vacation, I believed, that was going to be the beginning of our history. This man – the only true real love, the only one I knew I could spend my life with – was going to ask the question we wait our lives to hear. I didn’t know for certain – but why else would you go away on a vacation together almost a year to the day from when you started dating?

Not a morning person, I giddily popped out of bed. Headed to the shower. Pondered the last day of work before this super special vacation with this super special guy. I got out of the shower, opened the bathroom door as steam billowed it’s way out, carrying me on a cloud with it. I was about to walk into my room and noticed the door was shut. Confident I had not closed the door behind me, my mind began to swirl. I just knew something big was about to happen. I opened the door and there in front of me was a glass table, a circle of candles dancing before my eyes, and Nathan, the love of my life, down on one knee.

He asked the question.

The question I had an answer for since the day we met.

Five years ago today changed everything.

I adored him then. I adore him now. But in so many more ways. So many deeper ways.

I knew he was one of the good ones. I knew he was kind, thoughtful, generous, caring, quietly emotional, unconditionally supportive. I knew our complements then.

Today, five years later, I fondly recall what days, nights and mornings once were. But I wouldn’t trade them for what they are now.

(Mostly).

Happy engage-eversary Nathan. You are the light in my life. You hold my heart. I still have to catch my breath around you. You move me deeply. I love our life with a passion I can barely comprehend. I’m thankful every single day for the person you are, and for the moment our lives touched.

I am not one for fate. But I truly believe we were destined for each other.