Single And Fabulous?

A few weeks ago I was approached by a woman I’d never met. She told me she reads my column, and she wanted to tell me her boyfriend has left her,
‘For someone younger, of course. Like that isn’t the biggest cliché in the book.’ I made sympathetic noises, not sure what to say in return. While I awkwardly stirred the froth in my coffee she added, ‘I figure what the hell? I’ll take a page out of Jennifer McGuire’s book. I don’t need a man to be happy – I can do it on my own.’
I say again, I’ve never met this woman before in my life. Which, in her opinion, was neither here nor there.
She waited for me to say something, to offer her some sort of advice. To tell her that yes, my life is pretty terrific and yes, I am much happier without a man. Which is true, most days. But do you know what is more true?
There are still moments - like when I am crying in frustration about some bill or a broken whatever or the futility of ever planning a family vacation – when I am genuinely surprised there is no one there to make it easier for me. No one is stepping in and saying, OK, clearly you’ve had enough today. Let me take the reins.’
So I suppose my advice would be this; don’t mistake positivity for a perfect life. Sometimes a big smile is just a front. And I think that’s probably okay.
This has been happening a lot with me lately. I’ve gotten some beautifully written emails from women who feel connected to me through our shared experiences. One woman actually wrote to tell me she loved my book so much she finally decided to leave her husband. I think she was kidding. I hope she was kidding. I also hope her husband is not a vindictive man driving the streets of Owen Sound at night with my address clenched in his sweaty hands. Either way, my publisher and I are hard at work on a new disclaimer for the back of my book (you know, something like WARNING: Contents may make your marriage seem worse than it really is. If you experience a loss of sexual appetite or an increase in eye-rolling when your husband calls out ‘Have you seen my keys? I know I put them here...did you move my keys?’ PLEASE step away from the book for no less than forty-eight hours. However, if symptoms occur, pleases consult your nearest divorce lawyer and/or mediator depending how messy you feel things may get.
Despite the emails from moms on the brink who seem to trust me or the girls on the street who want to talk, I have fought the ‘single mother’ tag. Despite it being exactly who I am, all the time. I didn’t want to become a one-horse pony show, you know? Like how Kevin Costner could never really play anything other than a slightly funny, well-spoken accidental hero with an American accent. Even when he was playing Robin Hood. I wanted to try my hand at other roles. Matchmaker (more on THAT later), teacher. Butcher, baker, candlestick maker. I wanted to shrug out of that coat and try on something a bit lighter, like maybe a movie critic. Challenge myself. Being the boys’ mom, it’s what I know. It feels as warm and comfortable as a well worn pair of slippers at this point. We’re a team, the five of us. And not to get all gross and mushy here, but they’re it for me. The loves of my life. So why the hell do I fight my role so hard? I don’t think I want to fight it anymore.
Because there are a whole bunch of women out there exactly like me. Reinventing who they thought they’d be as women and moms. Trying to figure out how to change the stupid bathroom light bulbs (we’re down to one right now, and there is just no way I am finding replacements anywhere, they’re very weird looking) and trying to do right by their kids.
So maybe I’m not Kevin Costner. Maybe I’m more like Harrison Ford. See, he could have gone on trying to reinvent how people saw him too. Anyone remember Regarding Henry (DON’T see it)? He tried on other roles and no one wanted to see it. Instead, he embraced his role as accidental, affable hero. Made a long career out of it, in fact. He realized something – there is comfort to be found in sameness, in knowing what to expect. And there is even greater comfort in finally letting yourself be...well, yourself.
That being said, I do still plan to keep you on your toes every once in awhile. Next week – elective hysterectomies, love ‘em or hate ‘em?

Good Riddance To Bad Rubbish

It's really tough to figure out when someone is stalking you. All morning, my friend and I have been on the phone. Talking about good stuff like her french onion soup recipe that turned out great, some boys we remember from back when we were girls. New jeans she got for $2 at the Goodwill that make her legs look super long. And then she gets a text from an ex. Another text from this ex.

The two of them broke it off months ago - in fact, he was the one who broke things off before he realized she was an excellent catch. She's moved on as people do. And he just won't let it go. At first it was just sending her texts every day, stupid poems about how much he missed her and telling her to 'touch the ocean and feel my heart beating beside you.' Which just goes to show he wasn't much of a loss. Sidenote : I never liked this dude. First of all, he was too old for her. He said he was 50 years old but I'd like a gander at that birth certificate. He looked like the guy in the painting in Ghostbusters 2, Viggo,the one who wants to take over the world. Also he was a bad guy in Die Hard. But I digress.

He wasn't just physically too old, but emotionally. While also managing to be simultaneously too immature for her. He could never keep a job, was a terrible father to his grown-up kids.
I remember once he told me 'If my kids don't side with me in the divorce (Oh, he also wasn't divorced yet) I'll be like a ghost, I'll be gone. I'm using these kids in the divorce to get what I want.' Which is perfect, since that's exactly what all the experts recommend, right?

Anyhow, he was texting her all the time and we all said Ignore it. It's no big deal. But then he started calling her sisters. In fact, once he even parked outside her sister's apartment overnight, chain smoking and watching the door. That was creepy. My friend called him to say Get a hold of yourself and his response? 'Hi Baby, how are you. I miss you...' Jesus.

Then he started calling her very pregnant sister at her office, pumping her for information and upsetting her. The texts kept coming, except this time her new fiancee started getting them on his cell too. She threatened to call the police. The texts kept coming. We thought I should maybe go over there with a baseball bat and rough him up a little, but figured he would just love the attention. So she just kept ignoring him. Ignore, ignore, ignore...

Until today. Because c'mon, enough is enough. I told her to call the police. She hesitated. It's just texts, what are they really going to do? Does she want him getting in trouble with the law over something so small? Except is it that small? Is it? She said to me 'Do I really need to call the cops because someone is texting me too much?' and isn't that just so convenient for him, the way we can minimize it. Our problem is, we laugh everything off. When he was stalking her sister, we laughed about it. When he called her boyfriend, we laughed. On account of how ridiculous he looked. We laughed like we did in high school. Except it isn't high school. We have families now, she has a daughter and a fiancee and a new life she's trying to build in another province. She's trying to open the next door and walk on through but he has this firm grip on her wrist, keeping her between the two doors and she can't get away. She's having nightmares, panic attacks. She's never free of him. And it's not that funny. It's scary.

I wish I could be there when the police go to his door - and by the way for any of you going through the same thing, ten minutes of phone calls to the police and there you have it. You've got official back up. I hope they scare the shit out of him. I hope he slinks back to his parents' house with his tail between his legs and never calls her again. So we don't have to talk about him anymore.