Dating Post Divorce and Pre Empty Nest

Sh*t’s tough, yo!

For those of you following along, I married a rock star a few years ago , and, as rock star marriages often do, it ended in a spectacular blazing inferno. I kid around about it a lot, but it was pretty traumatic, actually, and it took a long time for my daughter and I to recover.

In that time, I went through the typical stuff newly single people go through: the self-imposed depressed cat lady phase, the punch card rebound phase, and then the “friends with benefits” phase, which can I tell you? is the phase I enjoyed the most.

I made some mistakes along the way, too… I fell head over heels in lust with a guy and moved the relationship along way too fast, only to discover we’d both rebounded and weren’t right for each other. I had a dalliance with a colleague and found I couldn’t handle the pressure of imposed secrecy. I broke a younger man’s heart, and had my own broken by a much older guy. For a long time I was hung up on a man who was a terrible influence on me.

I also met some great people though, many of whom are in my life to this day, in one way or another. I have very much enjoyed my post-separation “single years” – I have very little experience being single as an adult, so learning how to date was ever so much fun. At first.

Recently, though, it stopped being so much fun. I logged on to OKCupid daily, but couldn’t find anyone worth talking to. I went on a few first dates, but never any second dates. I lost interest in people very quickly (which sucks, because they didn’t. I don’t like hurting people!). The casual, no-strings interactions stopped satisfying me. I spent months crushing hard on a FWB who didn’t return my feelings. It became very obvious that I needed more.

But taking that step – the step into Relationship Land – is scary. To begin with, I made a promise to my daughter when “we” became single two years ago that there would be no more stepdads. Our home is a boy-free zone, our personal sanctuary. I don’t bring my gentleman friends to my house ever, and neither does she. There is no question, at all, of moving in with a man while she is still a child living at home (she’s seventeen, so it’s not like a life sentence). She has been through enough. We will finish off her childhood on our own.

Another issue that’s become obvious is that in the last two years, I’ve become more independent than I’ve ever been before. Shouldn’t be a problem, right? Well, except that now I have personality traits that aren’t exactly congruent with relationship-building: I prefer to go home at night rather than sleep over. Holding hands or other public displays of affection make me feel uncomfortable, but only sometimes. I want to spend some of my time with a fantastic fella – but not every waking moment, which can be problematic because it makes that fantastic fella feel a little unwanted, which is certainly not the case. I don’t like being criticized – I really get my back up.

In the end, I suppose that taking it slow is a good thing – it’ll be at least a couple years before I’m ready to take any relationship to the next level (ie cohabitation) so I have time to spare. In that time, I can build a really solid foundation. I think I’ve even found a worthy candidate.

Then, in a year or two or three, when my daughter moves out and starts her adult life (sob), I’ll be looking to  make more permanent decisions, so now seems like a good time to delete my dating site profiles, to stop trolling Craigslist for shits and giggles, to stop gallivanting with inappropriate fellas, and to start declining well-intentioned offers from friends and colleagues to set me up with “the best guy ever”.

But it’s scary, yo. It’s like I’m breaking up with being single. And breaking up is hard to do.

Chère Mémère

On Saturday morning, my dad called just before six o’clock in the morning. Nothing good comes of a call this early on a weekend morning, I thought, as I reached for the phone.

I was right.

At about 3:00AM on Saturday, May 4th, my paternal grandmother, Louise Schaetz Miller, passed away in the village hospital she’d been rushed to with chest pains earlier in the evening. My father was with her when she passed. Thank god for that.

It’s been a sad, weird weekend for me. Mémère was very adamant that no fuss be made. No funeral. No service. No travel. And you know… that’s Mémère for ya. Practical and pragmatic to a fault, she didn’t ever want to put anyone out.

I won’t go on and on here; I’m feeling that since I’m tasked with processing my grief alone, that that’s exactly what I’ll do. But one interesting thing: think about it. How old were you when you lost your great grandparents?

My daughter is seventeen years old. What a blessing. What an absolute blessing that she got almost twenty years with one of the most incredible women I’ve ever known. Most kids aren’t so lucky. When I tell people that there ARE advantages to having a baby so early in life, this is exactly what I mean.

Here’s the other thing. I’ll never, ever, EVER hear that Star Wars reference again without thinking of her. And so, Mémère…

Teen Pregnancy for Adults

The fact that I was (am?) a teen mother will come as no surprise to readers who know me in real life or who have been reading my blogs for years. That’s right: long before teen pregnancy and parenting were made trendy by such shows as 16 And Pregnant and The Secret Life of an American Teenager, I was struggling to find my way in a world that could only offer me Spike Nelson.

I will leave the sordid tale of my pregnancy and against-the-odds struggle as a teen mom for another post. That’s not what I want to talk about today.

You know, there are a lot of resources and supports out there for pregnant teenagers, and for teen parents of babies and toddlers. When I first had my daughter and was struggling to finish high school, I was very active in the Collingwood Young Parent Resource Room. It was a fantastic place for me – a free, nonjudgemental place where I could learn to be a mom by accessing counselling services, support, advocacy and referral, parenting workshops and emergency supplies. It was a place I could be with other young women who were going through the same things I was – a rarity when the rest of my “mainstream” friends were shopping at the mall and going to prom.

But then, I graduated high school. Suddenly the title at risk youth was stripped from me. Then, I turned twenty. Even though I was a college student and had a five-year-old in tow, doors started slamming shut in my face. You’re too old – you’re not a teen mom anymore is what I was told over and over.

But wait! I thought. I still need help! I’m the only one in the audience at my daughter’s school play with purple hair and an eyebrow ring! All the “right age” moms look down their noses at me! I can’t get my daughter’s teachers to take me seriously! My student loan money isn’t enough to pay for daycare, so I’m worried I’ll have to drop out of college!

But no. There was no assistance for me then, and can I tell you a secret? There isn’t much out there for me now.

So this post is intended to provide practical, realistic advice to teen moms over the age of twenty – parents who have already overcome the major early-years hardships and now have to get down to the dirty, thankless task of raising their kids just like everyone else.

I know it’s hard to see beyond the “firsts” when you’re a teen mom. Your friends might throw you a shower. You’re going to go into labour and have a baby. The baby will be cute and you can handle waking up at night, changing diapers, and the occasional case of croup. Then the baby will start to walk and talk, how fun! If you get a job or finish school, you’ll have to sort out a daycare situation. Dad may or not be around. Sometimes your parents will babysit so you can do “normal teenage stuff” like go to the movies or a school dance. Solid foods? Upload the pics to Facebook! Potty training? Piece of cake!

Then, someday in the distant, foggy future, is the unknown. Hypothetically you assume that your child will grow up, you’ll get a job, and life will carry on for you like it does for everyone else, but it will be hard to visualize because right now it’s all about baby! But here’s what those years will look like, and what you can do about it:

First and foremost, don’t drop out of high school! If you have, go get your GED! I know that this bit of advice is something you’ve heard before, but I’m going to give it to you straight: Someday, your seventh grader is going to need help with math and you’re probably the one who’ll have to do it. Be smart for your kid’s sake. School teachers aren’t the only teachers your kids will ever have. Also? Someday your daughter will be fourteen and will want brand-name clothing and Manic Panic hair dye and money for concert tickets. Will you be able to afford all that on your McDonald’s salary? No. As a teen parent, you have a lot to prove, first and foremost that you can provide as good a life for your child as anyone else, and I promise that you CANNOT do this if you’re a high school dropout.

Okay, so: someday, your child will be eight years old and maybe not so cute anymore. Cute yes, but ootchie-gootchie-goo adorable? No. This kid refuses to clean his room, snoops through your stuff, stays up after lights out playing Nintendo DS under the covers, pulls the dog’s tail, sasses his teacher and behaves atrociously in front of company. You can’t attribute his misbehaviour to him being a baby and not knowing any better: now people are looking at you and judging your parenting skills based on your child’s behaviour. So it’s important to raise your kid right. Firm but fair. Don’t let the TV (or Grandma) raise your child while you’re out partying. Lead by example. BE THERE. It’s a thankless job but you and your child will be better off for it.

Take care of your finances. I’m thirty two years old and I don’t even have a credit card because I screwed up my finances early in life. Don’t be that guy! Save money, invest in RESP’s for your kids, clip coupons, don’t succumb to retail therapy. Kids are expensive when they’re little, but they’re REALLY expensive when they’re older and need sporting equipment, summer camp fees, school trip contributions, Girl Guide uniforms, iPhones and Ugg boots. For more on this, please see above for information on GETTING YOUR HIGH SCHOOL DIPLOMA!

In addition to finishing your education, keep your French and your math skills brushed up because when your kid comes to you for homework help, you’re gonna feel really stupid if you don’t know what to do.

One word I cannot stress enough: stable. STABLE. That’s what your home and your life need to be. No drama. No crazy insanity. If you want your child to grow into a successful, healthy adult, he or she needs to know what to expect, from who will be in their house to what will happen if they act like a shit.

The temper tantrums don’t stop when your child turns three years old. In fact, they will get worse. What’s worse than a toddler screaming in anger because you took away their markers? A sixteen-year-old screaming in rage because you grounded her for skipping class. It’ll happen. All those times you insisted that you were gonna do it differently, that you wouldn’t turn into your mom? Dream on. Putting your foot down will continue to be necessary until the day your child leaves home, otherwise you run the risk of raising not only a snot-nosed jerk with entitlement issues, but one who isn’t equipped to handle the very real, very scary curve balls life will throw at her.

Accept that raising a child as a teenager puts limits on your freedom and your social life, and continuing to raise that child as an adult will also limit your freedom.

Put love on the backburner. Sorry, sad but true. Your child is your priority, and as she gets older she will just gobble up more of your time and energy. Trying to satisfy your own needs (hubba hubba) and diminish your own loneliness with someone who’s not in it for the long haul will take time away from your child that SHE needs.

HOWEVER! That doesn’t mean you’ll be alone forever. I just want to stress that wasting time and energy on someone who’s not in it to win it is just that – a waste. When the right man comes along, alllll those puzzle pieces will fall into place. The RIGHT man will not see your child as unwanted luggage to be dropped off at the sitter’s. The RIGHT man will be cool with your third grader coming along on your first date. The RIGHT man will let you be the boss but will quietly and firmly back you up. The RIGHT man is one whose morals, ethics, ideas and actions are good enough subject your child to.

If the RIGHT man also happens to be your child’s father, well aren’t you lucky! If it doesn’t happen that way, don’t despair. You are strong, smart and successful! You can do this on your own!

I want you to do me a favour. Allllll those ideas you have about being more openminded, more lax, more understanding than your parents? All those teenage pledges to your baby that  you won’t get all up in their business, that you’ll let them do as they please, that you won’t be that guy? Toss ‘em. What, you want to raise a juvenile delinquent? You really think that people who grow up in dirty party houses with no rules become productive members of society? That by respecting your daughter’s privacy, she’ll be more likely to be open and confiding in you? Don’t make me laugh. By the time your child is a teen you will no longer be the teen mom that succeeded against all odds. You’ll just be another lame asshole parent like all the rest.

Make your child get a job. Teach her the value of a dollar. Make him open doors for elderly people and give up his seat on the train to pregnant women. Teach her about charity. Show him how to calculate retail sales tax so he never has to ask, “how much is that with the tax?”. Don’t give in to the if I just let it go there will be no fight and everyone will be happier mindset. Sometimes things’ll suck, it’s a fact.

Teach your child to wash dishes properly and do his own laundry, even if he bitches that you’re the biggest asshole in the universe. Put your daughter on the pill, but DON’T let her think that’s the only protection she needs. Show him how to prepare his favourite meals – he’ll learn the rest eventually. When the time comes for brand name clothes and expensive big-ticket items, balance needing these things with not needing them. You remember being that age.

Is there more? Oh God, there’s so much more. I wish I could remember it all. Maybe, if there’s enough interest, I could make this a weekly column. Because you know what? I didn’t even get to what I wanted to write about, but if I keep going you’ll drown in my words!


Oh, one more thing: you will screw up. The above was written in 2011, when I thought I had all the answers. In that time, I have occasionally picked my battles, let things slide, respected her privacy, and thrown up my hands in defeat when I should have stood my ground. As a result, my daughter skips school as often as she goes, raises exactly zero fingers to help around the house, hoards the condiments in her bedroom, and came home drunk last weekend. It happens. Sometimes, despite our best efforts (and sometimes because of no effort at all), our kids become jerks. I spend a lot of time recriminating myself for what I should have and could have done. It makes me think, sometimes, that maybe they were right: that I don’t have what it takes to raise a child.

But you know what? All kids skip. All kids are messy. And I double dog dare you to find even one teenager who hasn’t ingested alcohol or smoked a bit of pot. When I’m beating myself up, I struggle to find the bright side, but there is a bright side: my daughter passes all of her classes, she works part time, she makes me dinner occasionally, she gives up her seat on the train for elderly/pregnant passengers, she holds the door open for others, she respects her grandparents and other figures of authority, and she has goals. She does her own laundry, she understands when I’m broke, and she doesn’t lie, cheat or steal. The bad stuff? It’s par for the course. When I look at my daughter, I see the young woman she is becoming, and I am pleased. I did a good job – and so did she.

The Point of No Return – The #scintilla Project

As many of you* know, I have recently taken this blog out of hibernation and am working towards becoming a regular blogger again. What most people don’t know is why I stopped writing to begin with.

I’ve got writer’s block.

Well, I’m tired of having writer’s block! I’m ready to be creative again and I’m craving substance, not the fluff I’ve been outputting as I gear up again. Thankfully, my I noticed the other day that my good friend Casey over at CaseyPalmer.com is participating in The Scintilla Project:

We believe that who we are is informed by our stories. Here, we want to offer you a space to introduce yourself, and a guide to share your history and make some connections along the way. We’ll be offering daily prompts for two weeks beginning on March 13th. Make sure to follow us over at @ScintillaHQ and keep on eye on #scintilla13. Sit down and stay a while – we can’t wait to get to know you.

Sounds good to me! When I looked at the list of prompts provided so far – because, like every other party, I am arriving fashionably late – I thought of a dozen stories I could tell. And I’m excited. And so, without further ado, I present to you:

What have been the event horizons of your life–the moments from which there was no turning back?

KEEPING MY BABY

I left my small northern Ontario village after finishing the eighth grade and moved to the bustling metropolis of Collingwood Ontario (which sounds silly now, but was incredibly intimidating at the time, especially when my grade nine assembly held more people in one room than I had ever seen IN MY LIFE). I didn’t fit in, and I was awkward and nervous. I didn’t know how to make friends – the ones I left behind were classmates from the age of three. So here I was, fourteen years old, shyly and painstakingly making my way through the first two years of my “big city life”.  I fell in with the only crowd to accept me – a rough-around-the-edges crew that hung out in the parking lot behind the school. Soon… I got a boyfriend. An older boyfriend. A boyfriend that made my forever-alone young heart leap because hot damn, I landed a real catch!

Well guess what happened to fourteen-year-old me. Yep, I got knocked up.

I was afraid to tell my mom, and looking back, I can’t believe that in the early days of my pregnancy, telling my mom seemed like the absolute worst part of it. Oh my god. Anyway. Tell her I eventually did, and aside from one stiff drink and one shouting match (which happened simultaneously), my mom outlined my choices and told me she would support whatever decision I made.

Fourteen-year-old me had three choices: abort the baby, give up the baby, or keep the baby.

I’ll spare you the angst of the decision-making process, and instead share with you what I felt, and what I knew, in the moments before I made my decision.

I knew that there was no turning back. That there would be no more high school romances (because nobody wants to date the chick with the baby), no senior prom, no expensive exchange trips, and, quite possibly, no university.

I knew that my life would no longer belong to me. That until I was in my mid-thirties, there would be no freedom for me. No travel. No big ticket electronics. That my job would be to change diapers, and teach potty training, and help with grade four math homework, to talk about the birds and the bees. That my job would be to navigate the murky waters of getting my education anyway, of affording glasses and braces, of putting money away for someone else’s college degree. My life would be hers, if I decided to keep her.

I knew that we would be poor. That I would be unable to handle the challenges of a university bachelor program while simultaneously raising a small child. There was no babydaddy in the picture. There was no child support. My parents made a decent living but not enough to support baby and me AND provide luxuries that other kids my age were getting, like cars on their sixteenth birthday and graduation trips to Cancun.

I knew that it would be thankless. That nobody would pat me on the back to tell me how well I’m doing.

I knew that it would be hard. The hardest thing anyone I know would have to deal with.

I also knew that there would be no giving up. That if I made this decision, that if I stepped off that precipice into the world of much-too-soon adulthood, that there would be no turning back.

I struggled. I cried. I fought. I prayed, oh god how I prayed in those early days: I prayed that it was a mistake. I prayed that I would miscarry (shameful but true). Prayed that the jerk who got me pregnant would step up and be responsible.

Finally, though, I decided.

And it was one of the best decisions of my life.

I’m thirty two years old now. My daughter will be seventeen in May. We’ve had our fair share of struggles, of heartache, of jealousy, of longing, of compromise, of settling for less. And in doing so, we ended up with so much more.

I wouldn’t be who I am today if it were not for my daughter. I don’t regret for one moment the decision I made.

My Style: The Flower Power Blouse

You guys don’t actually think I follow ACTUAL style trends, do you? That’s crazy. I’m nowhere near cool enough to pull off fox fur or emerald green skinny jeans. I stick to clothing, jewellery and accessories that look good on me, won’t go out of style in three months, and can be worn in more than one setting.

Today, I’m going to tell you about my favourite shirt. It’s a sheer v-neck multicoloured blouse with a black embroidered pattern around the neckline, hemline and sleeves. I got it at a swap meet a couple of years ago – it just jumped out at me amongst a pile of t shirts and out of date high heeled sandals.

I’ve worn it on first dates, to job interviews, and as a beach cover up. I can pair it with either black boots/belt or brown. It looks good with jeans or leggings. I’ve even worn it with my green camo ballet flats! It’s so versatile and flattering. I know I won’t part with this shirt until it’s threadbare and faded.

I’ve worn it on photo shoots for my work’s pension plan annual statement:

optrust

optrusttt

 

 

I’ve worn it to showcase stupid new products on this site…

stevia

 

As a matter of fact, I’m wearing it right now!It’s a Guy Fawkes approved outfit.

photo (8)

 

What’s your favourite piece of clothing? Anything you probably should get rid of, but just can’t bring yourself to part with?

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