All posts tagged: kids

stick figure family

Breaking Up… with the Kids

The saddest thing, by far, about this relationship ending is that it hasn’t left just one hole.  It’s left three. TWD’s youngest accidentally took a pair of my jeans when flying home after the holidays.  There was some confusion with the laundry and well… teenagers are easily confused. I don’t actually care about the jeans or the fact that I’ll never get them back now.  What I care about is that fact that I’m not going to be there when TWD’s kids graduate from high school, that I’m not going to get to see prom pictures, that I’m not going to know if they end up becoming authors or veterinarians or video game designers. I was looking forward to going on college visits with them and helping them edit their entrance essays.  I was going to be the cool stepmom who sent them awesome care packages because it wasn’t all that long ago that she was in college herself, and secretly, because I knew it would make their father happy, I was going to work …

plucking eyebrows

Just the Seven of Us…

Did I mention that TWD and I are going on another cruise?  Well, we are.  Only this time it’s going to be a bit different from last year’s trip to Bermuda. Firstly, I’m not worried about us breaking up this time.  (I was, admittedly, a bit concerned last summer—the longest we’d ever spent together was two or three days—but we got through it, didn’t kill each other in the process and rather enjoyed ourselves.) Secondly, his entire family is coming.  And yes, I do mean his entire family: kids, parents and even his maternal grandmother. I’m a bit nervous.  I don’t like traveling in groups.  In fact, I don’t really like traveling with anyone.  But this, I suppose, is one of those times when the journey is more important than the destination.  And I’ve already been to the Bahamas, so if I don’t get to check every last tourist attraction off of my to-do list, I can live with that. I’m still doing my best not to reveal the age or gender of TWDs kids …

no-chocolate

Chocolate is (not) for sharing

I know that relationships are supposed to be love and sharing and all but sometimes I don’t want to share.  Especially when it comes to chocolate.  And especially when it comes to my boyfriend who thoroughly enjoys dark chocolate but never gets around to actually buying any of his own. For the past year and a half, I’ve been the sole chocolate-provider in our relationship.  And while I don’t mind doling out a few squares between numbers when he’s been kind enough to accompany me to some wacky venue for some wacky post modern dance concert, I do mind when we’re at his place and the dessert offerings are limited to Chips Ahoy. The Chips Ahoy, of course, are for his kids.  And I understand that as a father, he needs to keep a certain amount of milk chocolate around the house (and whole milk, and Pop Tarts, and Chex Mix).  I’ve even come to tolerate the seemingly endless supply of Doritos (not that I would ever eat them, at least not more than 20 …

Star Wars Gingerbread

Too Cool for Apple Pie?

Sometimes I have a hard time remembering that The Wedding Date’s kids aren’t six-year old girls.  You know: the kind I teach on a regular basis?  The kind who love stories and stickers and the color pink?  The kind who think I’m cool and raise their hands in class to tell me they like my earrings? It’s not that I don’t like The Wedding Date’s kids (or mind the fact that they don’t notice my jewelry), it’s just that sometimes I wish they were six-year olds girls.  It would make life much easier.  Especially the holidays. I’m spending Thanksgiving Day with The Wedding Date’s family and on our way down to Hooper’s Island this past weekend I had what I thought was a brilliant idea. “We can make an apple pie!” “An apple pie?” “Yes!  Me and your kids.  And we can bring it to your parents’ for dinner.  Your mom will be so impressed!” “Nena…” “No!  We could do it!  Apple pies are easy.  Heck, I made them in college!” “I don’t doubt your …

vintage pajamas

Soccer Mom PJs

A while back, we had a slight incident at The Wedding Date’s house.  His children were over, a door that should have been locked wasn’t and… well, without going into details I realized it was time to invest in some grown up pajamas. And this time I mean “grown up” in the maternal sense. I bought a blue and black capris-and-tank top combo in addition to a knee-length nightgown.  I’m not generally a fan of nightgowns—I’m not a fan of grown up pajamas period— but this one has a little ruffle around the collar so you can’t tell whether I’m wearing a bra or not. I’ve taken to referring to my new duds as my “soccer mom pjs.”  They’re comfortable but they’re not particularly sexy… which is, of course, the entire point. I’ve also started bringing a change of clothes into the bathroom with me when I shower, lest I find myself running around the house in a towel when TWD’s kids are around. Finally, I’ve selected a half dozen “soccer mom outfits” from my …

A Chink in the Armor

Today marks the start of the Philadelphia Writer’s Conference.  This means—amongst other things—that I will probably find myself in the throes of an existential crisis in approximately 24 hours.  I’ll likely decide to quit my day job (again), make plans to run off to Europe (again), and attempt—albeit subconsciously—to end my relationship with The Wedding Date. Oh. Wait. I already did that. Fortunately it didn’t work, but I suppose I should explain, shouldn’t I? We’ve been together for nearly ten months now.  He has become—without a doubt— my best friend.  He’s the first person I think of when I wake up, the last person I think of when I go to sleep and we call each other every day—sometimes several times a day, in fact—and for me, this is a first.  He’s also the first person I want to call when something good has happened (or, unfortunately for him, when something bad has happened) and everything is more fun when he’s around, whether its rescuing a turtle from the side of the road or accidentally …

Part 2: The Art of Sleeping Together with Kids

It’s 7:00am.  I should be in bed, snuggled up to The Wedding Date, but instead I’m standing barefoot in my parents’ garage in my pajamas, trying to clamber my way into the elevator so I can sneak upstairs and across the hall without being detected.  Why?  Well, let’s just say dating a man with kids makes the art of sleeping together even more complicated than it already is. Several weeks ago, my parents lifted the embargo on The Wedding Date and I sharing a room when he spends the night in Philadelphia.  This means—as I discussed on Monday—that I’ve been getting way less sleep than usual.  When I showed up to work the first morning after we’d spent the night together in the guest room, I was so exhausted that I decided to take my preschoolers to play outside in lieu of their usual dance class. I brought a set of miniature tennis rackets with us and despite the fact that the majority of my three year old spent the entire morning complaining that they …

Queen of the Whack-a-Mole

My plan, upon arriving at the arcade with The Wedding Date and his kids, is to kick butt.  This way they’ll know whose boss even if I did spend the past hour telling dumb blonde jokes. Unfortunately we start with one of those car racing video games.  I come in 8th out of 8th place the first time and 7th the next, not because I improved but because I ran another car off the road just before crashing through the window of a car dealership. We move onto Skee Ball except it’s called “Ice Ball” at this particular arcade and the balls are white.  This, ostensibly, is why I lost at Skee Ball as well. By the time we move on basketball, I decide the polite thing to do would be to offer to hold everyone’s jackets (especially as there aren’t enough basketball stations for everyone). When the eldest challenges me to a game of air hockey, I end up knocking the puck into my own goal more times than not. At last we move …