My little Dumpling is reading and we spend many hours sounding out words. Many. So when her teacher pulled me aside, I didn’t expect what she said.

C- I think she needs glasses. She strains to see and rubs her eyes a lot.

I looked over where she was playing and began to worry. It’s funny how you can completely miss something until someone points it out. My mind started to mull over every detail of the last 5 years. How in the hell did I not know?

I picked her up that afternoon and started questioning her.

J- Do your eyes hurt? Can you see my face?

D- What are you talking about? I can see your head but my seat is behind yours, mama.

I tend to panic a little when something is potentially wrong with one of my babies. My son was born with a rare eye condition and we spent his first year in scary pediatric ophthalmologist hell. I’m aware this is routine for people who wear glasses.

I’m just one of those lucky assholes with perfect vision. It breaks my heart that I have it and she doesn’t.

She does not share my sorrow. She counted down the days to her appointment and marched in with glee. Her initial exam was difficult to watch. The Dumpling is blind as a bat. She could pick out one or two letters correctly, but even at 2″ tall, she struggled. I fought back tears, feeling like the worst mother in the world that my poor blind child has just been stumbling around in a blurry world.

That glee she rode in on turned to horror with a few well placed eye drops to dilate her eyes for the exam.  She climbed into my lap, buried her face in my chest and sobbed.

D- I don’t want glasses anymore.

Out of nowhere, the Long Island Medium of eye wear appeared.


Dr.- Full time. She’s nearsighted with pretty serious astigmatism. If she were just nearsighted then she’d see clearly up close, but with her degree of astigmatism, everything is blurry.

Thanks doc. I didn’t feel horrible enough yet. I do now.

The spikey haired screamer is handing my Dumpling a pile of pink frames. Oh no.


D- No thank you.


D- No.

She’s specific. She’s half shielding her eyes and frowning quietly at anything less than shocking pink. She will not even try another color on. Her patience is running low with the excited saleswoman.

D- Can we be done?

I love kids. I wish I had the balls to say the same.



VB Ada

She runs over and grabs a sparkling pink pair of frames from the top row of kids glasses. I know to stay away from the top row in the store. Regardless of where you are. It’s just as deadly at the liquor store as it is shopping for glasses. I see the tiny one sit up straight and grin.


She slips them on and flashes my own naughty grin back at me.

D- I want theeeeeeeeeeeeeeese.

Of course she does. She’s my daughter. Her father is equally as bad. We are absolutely doomed when she’s a teenager. I shoot a murderous eyebrow at the Long Island Medium.

J- Do I even want to know? Let me guess. They’re the very most expensive, aren’t they?

She smiles, guiltily and nods her head yes. Fucking awful lady. My patience is draining from my already strained face.

LIM- They’d run around $400 with lenses.

J- Absolutely not. We’ll take the $150 version and call it good. Thank  you.

I picked the Dumpling up and carried her back to the waiting room, where she gave me hell.

D- But I don’t want those. I want the ‘spensive pink ones.

J- Sorry love, we’ll find them somewhere else for less. That’s wayyyyy too much money for glasses. That lady is a jerk for showing them to you.

Yeah. I hope she heard me.

We went back for her exam after her eyes had time to dilate and I honestly can’t even put it into words. Seeing her take the test again after he’d fine tuned the lenses to correct her vision, was amazing.

The letters started to get smaller and she started to guess faster. I watched them shrink on the screen, heard a giggle catch in her throat… and I bawled. I can hardly wait for her glasses to come in. It’s going to be really amazing to see her see everything again for the first time.

That damn woman followed us out, shouting at the Dumpling that she had  14 sleeps until they were in. I could see the confusion on her face as I pulled her out the door.

D- 14 sleeps? I want to go to school.

J- Don’t listen to that woman. Two weeks and your glasses will be in.

D- WHAT?? That’s the whole reason we came here.

J- They have to make them for your eyes. Patience is a virtue.

D- I’m patient for those pink ones.

J- Damn that woman.


Life with a five year old co-pilot is hilarious. I’m awfully excited to see what she thinks when she finally gets to see the world around her. ♥

A Not So Perfect Ending


I knew this would end badly. I should say that right away because I don’t want to give the impression that I’m not fully responsible for the head and heartache plaguing me these days.

Years ago, he became the unwitting recipient of my wayward pregnancy dreams. I was horrified and my midwife assured me that my subconscious had a mind of it’s own whilst growing a human. My sweet baby was born, my whole world had imploded, and the craving only grew. He was never anything more than my Perfect friend. We worked together, and I could objectify him silently. He hung in the doorway with a whisk in his hand, asking me how the night had gone and I mentally undressed him, daily.

He met a horrible woman who moved him away. He continues to belong to her even though she’s moved away from him, too.

The first time he came to visit, I had no idea where he was coming from when he kissed me in the middle of the bar and we got a little too naked in the tent later that night. The hangover was intense, as he didn’t remember a thing and I erased him from my life with the horrified knee-jerk reaction of a broken heart.

Some people occupy space no matter the level of communication, or lack thereof.

Just the sight of kitchen utensils makes me fight back tears, and I love the kitchen.

So when I heard he was coming back this summer, I knew what I had to do. I didn’t do it, but I knew I should have avoided him, entirely. I offer fantastic advice that I never follow.

I knew it would be bad. I knew I shouldn’t see him and I knew I should leave well enough alone.

Shocker… I did it anyway.

One sight of him and I knew exactly how bad it would be when he left. I wasn’t wrong. I can’t cry about the state of affairs because I knew exactly what I was asking for, when he kissed me for the first time.

You can’t have casual sex with the man you’ve been in love with. Trust me. My retinas are burned with intimate images of me in his t-shirt, him under me, kissing him. I can’t get away from it and I can’t sleep. I packed the sheets away that he slept in because I can’t look at them without seeing him laying there. I had sensational sex with a friend in the hopes of changing how I feel about my bed. It hasn’t worked.

One text from him about the game he’s watching and I see his face on my pillow. He asks me how my day is and I can taste him. I’m torturing myself for anything of him.

Running. Trying to date. Doing my best to let go, then he’s back and I’m broken again.

Until today.

Today I quit him. I quit all of it.

If I wanted to feel shitty and insignificant, I’d date college boys. There would at least be some fringe benefits to THAT.

I wish I could say I felt better, but I’ll settle for smarter.




The unthinkable is upon us. I blame my darling Little Red, who surprised me with a visit last night.

LR- You should Tinder.

J- Oh god no.

LR- Come on! It’ll be a great distraction and you stand a better chance of meeting someone actually worthy of your time. Maybe even <gasp> someone you actually like.

J- The thought of writing a personal ad makes me want to bury myself alive.

LR- And you say I’m dramatic. Think about it. I think it’s safe to say if he hasn’t walked down the driveway in the past 5 years, that you’re going to have to go out in the world a little to meet him.

J- Meet who?

LR- Your +1. Make a list of what you love and hate. Be honest and I’m sure you’re gonna go like hotcakes.

My daughter, the saleswoman/prophet.

So I caved… and the thought of actually going on a date makes me nauseous, but I do know that it makes for hilarious writing, and I really am enjoying that again. So…. fuck it. Here goes nothing.

  • He must know how to tie a tie. I don’t care if he never wears one to work. He will be wearing one behind closed doors, with me. I like a gentleman who knows his knots.
  • He must be honest. I am not interested in playing on a team that I didn’t sign up to play for.
  • Huge points for smelling good. Cologne hangs in my mind almost as much as the things you say. If you hate it or think patchouli oil counts? The fuck out of here with that.
  • He must love his family & be willing to tolerate mine. That means family dinners, holidays and the whole 9. Antisocial partners ruin everyone’s good time.
  • He must be naughty. I don’t want to worry about horrifying him. I was seconds from an orgasm once, whispered “choke me” to my boyfriend and he leaped out of bed,  wide-eyed & wanting to discuss why I would ever want such a thing. Ugh. I didn’t say “to death”….
  • He must know how to kiss and like it. Same goes for biting. Bonus points for combining the two.
  • He must have control over his own life. No crazy babymamas or feral children. Been there, done that… never putting a toe in that crazy lake again.

So I’m being lazy and weird about it, not wanting to put any energy into writing a profile… digging deep into my blog for my original dating profile. 🙂

Wa LA!

I’m looking for the right man. Is that you? Do you do what you say you’re going to do?

Does your mom tell her friends what a great son you are? Do your kids complain that you’re too strict?

Do women tell you how good you smell and how nice it is to see a well dressed man?

Are you funny in the right moments, and sexy in the others? Are you a good ex-husband? Open to the idea of getting remarried to an amazing woman?

If you answered yes to most of the above….

Email me 🙂

I have a happy life of my own, and I’d like you to have one too. I mean what I say & I never break a promise… you should value your integrity just as much. I have two three great kids that mean the world to me and my friends & family know me to be a loving & consistent mother. I would be delighted to meet someone who takes pride in his role as a father. I’m an incorrigible flirt.

I’m pretty funny… and will love it if you can make me laugh too. I always smell good- and will tell you every time how much I love your cologne. I LOVE good old fashioned manners.  I’m a sucker for nice arms & a nice smile… and If you can dance & kiss too- I may spontaneously propose  proposition you at some point 🙂

I pride myself on raising nice people- no brats here. I share custody with my ex-husband. I have my youngest full time, If you have a crazy ex- I hope you’re nice enough to not email me. I’m really not interested.

My favorite man is… masculine, confident, and funny…sexy, and aggressive (in the right moments). Someone comfortable with me being an independent woman- while understanding too that I get tired of being the boss in my own life and relish the idea of a man who’s in control. If you are meek, mild or timid… we’re not a match. I can’t stand facial hair- no offense if you treasure your mustache/beard/goatee- it’s just not at all for me.

***I hate to have to add this… but… If you don’t have a picture, I’m going to assume you are either:
A. Married 
B. Unattractive
C. Chicken
None of which interest me. If you’re taking the time to browse- have the courage to do so with your face. 🙂 Also- if you’re over the age of 60- Please. Don’t email me.

Heeeeyyyyyy…. look at that! Minimal changes and I’m set! Now I just have to actually pull the trigger.

Unicorns, in a sea of cats.


Elbow deep in green beans with a depressing shortage of tomatoes, I was kicking myself for being smart enough to cockblock myself out of waking up in Las Vegas this weekend. Weepy even. I hate to admit it, but as soon as I saw her name on my phone,  those tears I’d been successful at suppressing, fell.

J- Oh my god. I love when you know I need you.

U- I love you, what’s wrong????

There’s just something about your little sister calling when you are feeling vulnerable. She doesn’t even know who or what I’m upset about. She’s just there.

U- You have a big heart, you love hard. Why are you so hard on my sister??? Big mistakes make the best lessons.  I’m so grateful that my shoes are so comfortable. I really like me. You should love you. I do.

That’s my Unicorn sister. The one who puts up with some insane bullshit from a crazy babymama, because she knows its an opportunity for personal growth and that’s just who we are.

J- It doesn’t cost you anything to be kind. Extend yourself. Don’t give her room to hate you and she can’t. That’s who we are. Don’t let a jealous woman change that about yourself.

U- You’re right. She’s going to make me a better person.

J- Bake her some cookies. Ask her to hang out. She can’t hate you if she gets to know you.

U- We’re not like other girls.

J- No. We’re not.

U- I’m glad.

J- We’re just a bunch of unicorns in a sea of cats.

The Unicorn got married too young, to a man most unworthy. I tolerated him, but I was thrilled to see him go. Living a Mormon lifestyle leaves a women wholeheartedly unprepared to be a dating, single mother, unless you stay within the confines of Utah. My Mormon roots are my biggest hurdle. Hers too. She does not live in Utah, so she brings Utah to everyone who hasn’t had the pleasure of growing up in the cradle of neighborly love.

We give, and give, and give more… even to the jealous bitches who hate us and especially to the men whom we adore.

We’re unicorns. That’s what unicorns do.

The Ugly Panties

Thank GOD I wore the ugly panties.

I realize that’s an awkward prayer, but today I am tossing thanks up to the heavens for my laziness in undergarment choice last night. I was getting ready for work, looking for substance, not style. They’re comfy, and cover the necessary parts… but if you were to find yourself in the arms of your biggest crush?

They’re a whole lotta cockblock in one not-so-sexy hunk of cotton.

From the beginning, I’ve had a crush on Mr. Perfection. I met him years ago, through some of my closest girlfriends, whom he also happened to be close friends with. There was a dia de los muertos birthday party and he’d shaved all his hair off and painted his entire head. I love a man who can dress up, but I worship a man who knows he’s walking into a bar as the only painted man with a handful of painted lady friends. He’s a beautiful soul, who loves his mama, works hard and tells everyone close to him how important they are. To be loved as his friend is to know what it is to have a family. I named him well, and it is no sort of exaggeration.

If you’ve read my blog for any amount of time, you know that he is part of a small group of good men I’ve been attracted to. More accurately…. Perfection stands alone. In my bemused quest towards cat lady status, he is my Achilles.

In the chaos of going through a breakup during the 11th hour of my pregnancy, I gave up on men. I really truly have. I am not interested in dumbing myself down to have a conversation that bores me. I can’t pretend  to care about having a boyfriend. My life is focused on raising my girls and growing too many veggies. My 40th birthday is this coming Tuesday and my pregnant cat is due with the most spectacular birthday gift an aspiring cat lady could ask for. I am wholeheartedly unavailable, and happier than I’ve ever been…

… so when Perfection walked in the doors last night, I was gobsmacked. He’s sparkly smiling and hugging me tightly while I’m fighting off goosebumps. It’s a scintillating rush after not having been touched in 3 1/2 years. I was a little speechless, and he was more than adorable. I have been in serious hermit mode, and don’t do anything socially. At the end of the day when I need to unwind… I knit. 🙂 So when he invited me out for a drink after work, I agreed. Who am I kidding… I watched the clock tick slowly while the last few hours of my shift ran out.

Seeing him for the second time, did not help my situation. Surrounded by mutual friends all celebrating his return, things started crackling. Accidental touches turned into some good ol’ fashioned temptation.

Which is precisely when I got my groove back.

I’d forgotten how good it is to be soundly kissed by the one you crave… which reminded me of a few other things I’d forgotten I miss.

Buttons popping. Teeth dragging along my neckline just enough to allow my reason to escape. His silky smooth hands grazing my hip were like a white hot reminder.

Dear God. I have my hot pink motherfucking ugly panties on.

FML… if it’s one thing we ladies know and can agree on- it’s that we certainly don’t want the first time we get wild and naked with someone we’ve adored for years, to be on a day we’ve chosen the ugly drawers.

Every woman has a pair, and I’d be willing to bet that you love yours too. Mine are smooshy soft in brilliant hot pink with BABYDOLL in rhinestones emblazoned across the ass.

It’s a childhood nickname and I was not buying them for style or a show.

They are also, quite possibly; the last thing I’d want to be  wearing in front of anyone, ESPECIALLY him.

My hot pink insurance policy helped me collect myself, my thoughts and my moral compass, which had gotten tossed along with his shirt. I’m kicking myself a little while his cologne lingers on my skin enough to torture me, but relieved that I’m finally in a place where I can decline momentary satisfaction. If it’s going to happen, I want it to be right, and if it isn’t right, then it isn’t meant to happen.

But gawwwwwd… of all the days to wear those damn underwear.

Along the way…


I’ve been silent… and just plain exhausted, for two years. Somewhere along the way, I got lost in my own head and stopped writing. Having my words held against me during my custody battle, stole the joy out of blogging.

I’m really sad that I’m missing those two precious years from my journal. Regardless of the very public nature of my blog, it keeps the significant moments in my life that run together in the daily chaos, somewhere I can find them. The struggle of single parenthood means you spend twice as much time doing, and half as much time reminiscing. Blogging has allowed me to do both.

I burn the candle from both ends at an Olympic level. Last week, it caught up with me. I’d been up for 3 solid days and nights with a sick toddler, and our entire world was peppered with vomit, diarrhea and snot. Hers and my own. We were a hot mess, literally. Flu, my ass… I’m pretty sure we had the plague.

And I needed to wash diapers. FML.

Sneezing, coughing and struggling to throw the wet bag full of ungodly-smelling diapers into the washer… whilst sterilizing jars in preparation to can chili and black beans, because I STILL have tomatoes from the garden this summer.

Oy vey… I had to sit down and laugh/cry… because this was certainly not the Happy Ever After I envisioned when I fell in love with her father.

I wasn’t all wrong about her Dad. He helps in the ways he can from a few states away. He lets her live the life of a normal kid, and not one forever split between two parents that wanted her more than they ended up wanting each other. It’s not her fault that we aren’t together, and I’m thankful her life isn’t fractured on a weekly basis. He got engaged this fall, to a woman that suits him perfectly. They’re a happy couple and he’s a father to her three kids. All is well that ends well… aka: I work hard to bite my tongue. I lose my temper and text war breaks out every now and then, because while his not being here allows her to live a normal life and I’m grateful, she also deserves to have her dad around.

After the most recent argument, I spent a little time cleaning up my blog and deleting random mindless crap from the past few years. Reading back through the blogs I wrote is always good for a healthy reminder of why things are the way they are. I don’t always like to read back, but it always reminds me that once upon a time, I thought he was the one. I’m glad I wrote about it because it reminds me not to be a bitch to him, now most of the time.

I do believe my ten days two years of puke, mucous and shit entitle me to a little righteous indignation, but my 39 years should also grace me with enough maturity to be kind. I’m grateful that I gushed embarrassingly then, so that I can remember now to not say what does not NEED to be said.

I’ve learned a lot by being quiet. Leaving something unsaid is far more powerful than having the last word, and given how short life is, I sincerely hope that the words I leave with people on a daily basis, are kind.

Except Thomas. That guy can still go fuck himself.

Love at first bite.

I dated a lazy hippie for 7 years. He was delightfully entertaining, but perpetually broke. He was pretty & funny… and when you’re a divorcee in your twenties, that’s enough.

Not so much in your thirties.

He was still cute, but aged rapidly in a smoky haze, and his stoned view on life was boring. I was sick of paying his way and sick of being ignored while he talked politics with random stoned strangers.

I extricated myself from our friendship… and the breakup was as miserable as the worst days of our relationship. I’ve been able to miss his sense of humor lately- but I’d probably still roll my eyes at him one last time.

I came to terms with being single again, at the same time as my mother was going through a messy divorce. I decided to take her out for Halloween, we dressed up… and someone drugged our one drink. The last thing I remember was a 22 year old boy leading my giggly mom out to dance, and me kissing the Dread Pirate Roberts.

I woke up with my mom, a hangover and a business card with a number.

Aaron was a great boyfriend, and showed me some of my very favorite things. I will never smell a fresh bay leaf and not think of him. It was old fashioned romantic, and he was quick to introduce me to his amazing family.

He took me on a business trip and introduced me to his mom and dad. He showed me the natural beauty of his beloved Santa Cruz and surfed while I wiggled my toes in the sand. I fell in love with every new and exciting element of him and his mom was amazing enough to overlook every last one of his personal flaws. His family was the one I’d always dreamed of having.

His Daddy took us to dinner at Alexander’s Steak House, where I ate an heirloom tomato salad that would change my life.

Simple tomatoes, balsamic, sea salt and black pepper. So phenomenal I asked for a paper napkin and saved a few seeds.

And the rest is history…


He married a friend of mine, I cut back to 150 tomato plants and adopted a kitten. ♥


In other words… I lived happily ever after.