Captivity, Childbirth and God

My phone whistles and it’s The Farmer.

F- Are you still able to go to lunch or is it too late?

I’d just eaten lunch and am painfully exhausted after shoveling a metric ton of snow, three times, only getting 3 1/2 hours of sleep and an Insanity workout in. I’m tired, sexually frustrated to the point I can’t write and stressed to the point of snapping like dry kindling. I don’t look fantastic and am not in a great mood. However… I need some positive attention and I have the best time with the Farmer. He really likes me, in a respectful, hands-off sort of way. I’m not sure what to think about it. Date #3 is still ending in a chaste hug.


J- See you there!

I left work and spent the afternoon laughing with a delightfully handsome, successful man who is armed to the teeth and loves being present in every way, shape or form. He’s a reallllllllly good human. He volunteers in class, and teaches Sunday school. He personally thanks the waiter every time. He’s a good tipper. He cares about his effect on everyone around him, not just the people that matter to him or who can do something for him.

That is so damn refreshing, I can hardly put it into words.

and then he speaks.

F- Wow. You’re amazing. I don’t mean that in a generic sense, but in the way that I want you to teach me some of the really cool things you know.

J- Umm…

F- I mean no disrespect.

None taken. He’s a successful man with a plan and I’m awkward. He’s been freshly manicured and the beard has been shaped into a much less threatening profile. I’m thinking that maybe I should invite him to a movie so he can hold my hand. This man is redefining what it means to be a gentleman.

Then the real bomb drops. He mentions how old he was when his first child was born, and he’s told me their ages before…. so…it hits me like a truck.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

He’s 29 years old. Born in the 90’s, good grief. A friend and I had tried to narrow it down, but we were thinking mid to late thirties. 36ish.


Not even 30? I don’t know if I want to even consider that. 29 and done having babies isn’t so bad though. THAT, I can get behind.

Thirteen years younger than me. Good grief that’s scary. I’m stunned silent in my head and he’s talking about tattoos when he unbuttons his jacket and pulls an arm out.

Y’all. It’s a VERY nice arm, with incredible tattoos. I noticed the arm, but the tattoos were what made me sit up in my chair.

J- WOW. Those are unreal.

F- Yeah. I’m overdue for a new one, do you know anyone local that you love?

If it’s one thing I know, it’s where NOT to go. My beloved Miss Botany has the best tattoos I’ve seen before his, and I know her guy is the only one to go to. I shoot her a quick message and she responds. I tell him and he’s already met the guy. He’s serious, he’s doing his research and not willing to go to anyone sub-par… which means waiting indefinitely, as I’ve been doing.

This guy is awfully well rounded and so incredibly nice.

J- So what now? You’ve been on the fast track apparently. Marriage, done. Kids, done. Job, done. Relocation, done. Farm, done. Are you planning on hiking Everest?

F- I’d love to get married, have more kids, grow in faith and be happy.

Uh… I like being happy?

Welcome to dating.

Just when you think that maaaaaaaaaaaaybe this could be really cool, he drops captivity, childbirth and God on the table. My face must reflect my abject horror, because he starts laughing.

F- I will clarify if you’ll promise to breathe. I believe in marriage and know what not to do. I’m just not a player, I’m a husband. Teaching Sunday school has made me want to take a dozen kids home every week, and sometimes I do. So I’d like to adopt a bunch of kids who don’t have anyone else. I don’t need more babies, but I love them and would take one too. I have four neighbor kids that come to my house after school until their parents get home from work. The more the merrier in my book.

I’ve never heard a man speak like this. I’ve never met a man who loved fatherhood, more. That’s incredibly beautiful, but at the same time… I’ve been a mother for 24 years and am raising the baby, alone. I’m not really motivated to start adopting more.



Also church on Sunday for 5 hours will never happen. Ever. Not if the Earth caught on fire and Jesus himself came walking out of the flames. Nope. I’m staying home to be lazy on the last day of existence. Even if it costs me a halo. I work all week and the Dumpling and I have to be pried out of the house with a crowbar on the weekend. God understands.

Let’s not forget that captivity bomb. Marriage. I have absolutely NO intention of ever getting married again. I know the time and hassle of a divorce. I am still fighting to get my maiden name back and I’ve been divorced for twice as long as we were married. I want someone to want to be with me because we’re happy, not because we signed a legal contract.

That’s the kind of love I want.

I’m more playmate than playpen….more stilettos than Sunday school. I’m an incredible partner to have, but I want a man that looks at me like I’m a snack, not a nanny. I’ve done my time growing a family and between the farmer and I, we have 8 children. That’s a huge table.

That is a devastating amount of laundry…. and no man is that cute.



Miss Ruby Knows


My soul sister and best girl, Ruby… has a way with words… and everything else for that matter.

She came to visit when I was desperately trying to get the Dirty Boat Stealing Hippie out of my house and she cocked an eyebrow at me and said a few choice words.

RW- Excuse me? Trying?? What? Where is your kitchen table?

J- In the backyard. He took it out there while I was at work and put his camper on it.

RW- Why.

J- I told him he had to move out. Today is the deadline. So he bought an internet signal extender and I came home to his child here, and the kitchen table, gone. –

RW- Are you fucking kidding me?

J- No.

She walked out the door and towards his camper. I still don’t know how she got him to leave, but she did.

She’s met a few of my boyfriends in the decade since he and I broke up and always grins at me and shrugs her shoulders at me. Whatever makes me happy, makes her happy… no matter how stupid it is.

It goes something like this:

J- Well? What do you think?

RW- It doesn’t matter what I think. Does he make you happy?

J- Well… no.

RW- Well now you know why I feel the way I do. Ride it like you stole it, but don’t keep it.


I hesitated to tell her I’d started internet dating… but finally had to admit to it after some lunatic conservative brought me an Ann Coulter book when he was over an hour late for our date. He was also a foot shorter than he’d advertised himself to be.

I couldn’t wait to tell her. I fell all over myself to get the story out, as I watched her frown deepen and her eyes narrow.

RW- Wait just a second. You put your ass on the internet, like a yard sale? NO.

J- Hey, this is life now. It’s how it’s done.

RW- ABSOFUCKINGLUTELYNOT. That shit never works. You need to meet someone the good old fashioned way… drunk, in a bar.

Fifteen years of friendship and she’s been telling me the right way to do things, from the start. Her beautiful birds have grown into their own lives, she’s found the man she was meant to be with and a family that shows her what it is to be part of one.

Fairy Tales happen in the woods, every day… and in dive bars, too as it turns out. This sugarsweet farmer that’s old-school courting me, was where I would least expect to find him, and right where Ruby said he’d be.

Miss Lovely and I had gone out with the intention of flooding the bad men out of our hearts, and walked right into the lion’s den. It was a lot to handle, and when she wanted to retreat to the smoking shack for a little less light and people, I happily agreed… and just so happened to sit down next to NotCalifornia. Completely worth a truckload of secondhand smoke.

I live in a small town full of recycled dick and I’m weird about touching something my friends have touched, so the menu is limited, (to put it mildly). Nevermind the employment status, drug/drinking habits or amount of children the men that make it to the list, have. Not to be a cold bitch, but I’ve gotten accustomed to dating beneath me, and gave up hoping for a man with his shit together.

You can’t be disappointed about him not being a homeowner when he’s seasonally employed and has no desire to change that. I hate gold diggers and don’t love dating rich guys, but there’s a lot to be said for dating someone in the same boat as you.

I was sewing yesterday when a message came whistling in from my new favorite farmer.

NC- Hey you, how’s work? Two babies were born last night!

and a picture… Lord have mercy.

I have to preface this by admitting that I did lamb 4H as a kid, and with Buddhist parents that failed to mention they would be auctioning off my lamb, by the pound because someone intended to EAT her. I cried so hard that the person who bought my lamb, gave it back after paying me. My mother did not let me take it home, but the people that bought her did save her for breeding. From that point on, my family bought me sheep related, everything. I love their cute little fuzzy faces… and this man comes with a barn full.

You know what’s hotter than dating your equal? Dating someone who can teach you new things, and show you cool places you didn’t know existed.

I love a good volcano… but y’all…….nothing compares to the whole damn island.