“Mom! His sword fell into the water! Mom! Look!” Spense calls as he manipulates his Playmobile.

I look. I stop whatever I’m doing to look. I always do. Sometimes it’s the hardest thing ever to abandon sweeping croissant crumbs mid sweep or put a dish down mid wash or stop stirring the sauce or stop folding laundry, but I do it. Sometimes, I just don’t want to look at another little plastic knight sword fight another plastic knight, that I’m supposed to recognize as the bad guy.But I do.

“Mom. Mom. Mom. Look,” he says. RELENTLESSLY. Until I look and give him my undivided attention.

Why do I stop everything to look and watch? Because:

  1. I can. I’m there. I’m home. I can stop what I’m doing to look.It’s part of being present.
  2. Because he wants to share what’s important to him with me. That means I’m important to him. I’m happy I’m important enough to him to want to share with me. I also believe that if I let him know his pose upside down on the couch means a lot to me, then in ten years, he may feel like he wants to share with me the kids who offered him pot or whatever. I want him to grow up knowing that I always have time for him. I want him to know that whatever is important to him is important to me.
  3. I believe that when I give him my attention, it builds his confidence. He feels that what he does or says matters. Because if your mom doesn’t care… than who will?

One time, I watched him make a stuffed animal and an Elf on a Shelf dance to Baby It’s Cold Outside for a good two minutes, possibly longer.  It felt longer. I was mid sentence, writing an email and after many rounds of “Mom. Mom. Mom, look. Mom, look,” I stopped typing and just surrendered with a big smile on my face watching the show. Anytime my eyes strayed down, I got a “Mom. Mom. Mom, look.”

It’s almost like he’s testing me. Does she really care?

There are times I tell him “Give me a minute…” but I don’t ever want to dismiss him.

“Mom. Mom. MOM, look…” this time, he’s boxing an imaginary opponent. Often, he’s pretending to knock himself out with those pchew pcheww sounds I remember boys in my elementary school made. Sometimes, it’s sword fighting he needs me to see.

He’s almost 5 now. He’s just started to play by himself, in his room. He’s not going to be including me too much longer. And that’s what I tell myself as I watch and smile and nod. I always want to be included in his thoughts. Today it’s watching his toys dance or sword fight, tomorrow it might be listening to his adolescent fears or concerns. I believe it’s connected.

Make these little guy’s days matter as much as possible.



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I just reread this one and really enjoyed it. Wanted to share it 2 1/2 years later….


I went to put something in my trunk this morning and stopped… where was my stroller? It’s always in the trunk. It wasn’t in my house. Was it stolen out of my car? Think. Think. When did I see it last…

It was Thursday night, when I met my friend and when Spenser said, “Crap!”  Was that his way of telling me I’d left his stroller in the mall parking lot? That’s the only thing I can think of… I’m going to just assume that’s what happened.

Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind. I never used to feel like that. I was sharp. I remembered details. I remembered names and places and food and outfits and who gave me what gift and where I’d been that week and if I’d taken my vitamins that day or not – I laughed at the idea of a pill planner

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Spense has been missing me. When I drop him at school, he doesn’t want me to go. It breaks my heart because I don’t really want to go either, but I know that it’s important for his (and my) independence.

His amazing pre school teacher suggested we make kissing bracelets … Spense picked the color and we tied them around our wrists, filling them with kisses as we looped the bow. When we are apart and missing each other, we just kiss the yarn and send kisses to each other.

I must confess, I kiss mine all the time.


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I had a lot to do. And there’s always cleaning to do and I had some paper work to finish and…  I started thinking about my old life. The life where I was out every night, having wine and socializing, wearing make-up and nice shoes. Sometimes a high kick in the street (while wearing beige underwear)

Hahahahaha… yeah, I remember that life. It was nice.

I like my life better now because I have Spense, of course. I’ve been in a bubble of love with my son.

I had a lot of bad dates, as you may have read about here (Oh, you haven’t? Well go over to the right side and click on the Category Dating and get ready for some laughs.)

I’m not saying I gave up on love – I just found love a different way. But maybe I did give up on romantic love a little bit.

The long term relationships I see around me are my role models. Some I envy, some I don’t.

Mostly, I don’t think of myself as on the market anyway. I feel my family is complete.

But, last night, in the interest of important procrastination, I got the itch to shop for a man on line. (Ewww. Don’t say it like that.)

I signed up. I posted a recent photo. A good one. Not a mediocre one like I used to use – thinking that when I met the guys in person they’d be pleasantly surprised. But this time around, I’m not even sure I want to meet anyone, so I put up a good photo.

I mean when would I have a date? At night?! God NO! That time is reserved for the sweet bedtime rituals of books and baths and negotiating teeth brushing. And getting a sitter is reserved for special people. People I already love and want to see and spend time with. I could have a date while Spense is at school. But any guy who can meet me for a date during the day is either unemployed or so rich he’s flexible… how will I know which? Not sure I can risk it.

I scrolled through all the men matched up to me in my age range and thought, “JESUS!!!! I’M OLD!!!!”  The last time I was searching on line was at least 6 years ago. My pool has really gone down hill. OY!  And the old guys are all looking for relationships and I’m… well, I’m… I don’t know what I am. It’s so hard to shop for a man on line!

I think I’m ready to hide my account.

Maybe I’ll try Tinder.

Oh yeah. I have so much work to do.



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I was set up with Patrick by a mutual friend. She didn’t say too much about him except he was a great guy.

Back then, I thought it was perfectly fine to let a guy I didn’t know pick me up at my place. The night of our date, I walked into the lobby of my building and there he stood, leaning against the wall, in a pose, leather jacket collar turned up, chomping on gum. “Hey,” he said – holding his pose for a lingering effect. He may have thought looking like a character out of Grease would be attractive to me.

Patrick was a big guy. He was tall, he was broad and he was loud.

We walked out to his car, which was the biggest pick up truck I’d ever seen. Like a boat. On steroids. I could barely step up into the cab.



He had an upbeat energy. Or was it hyper nervousness? “So I thought we’d go to Ruth’s Chris,” he said, referring to the steakhouse chain. “You ever been there?”

“Yeah, once or twice,” I said. “You have a really big truck.”

He laughed, but it seemed more like a laugh for show rather than for humor’s sake. “It’s my baby,” he said. He continued to chomp on the gum. “So, how’s the acting going?” He asked.

I’d told him this on the phone when we talked, but I didn’t know what he did. He said, cryptically, I’ll tell you when we meet. 

Once, I got into an email exchange on Jdate where they guy wouldn’t tell me what he did, because he said I wouldn’t want to go out with him if I knew. When I finally got him to tell me (via email) he told me he hosted a show on the Playboy Channel and then never wrote to me again. I think I still would have dated him, though. His photo was so cute.

I was pretty certain Patrick had nothing to do with Playboy.

“How’s your career going?” he asked.

Might as well have said, how successful are you? How talented are you? I didn’t know what to say. Should I tell him about the commercial audition I’d just had for Curves where I walked into the casting office and the casting director said, “Hmmmm. I’m not sure you are over weight enough for this. Turn around.” After looking at my butt for a few seconds she said, “OK, let’s put you on tape.”

“My career is… well, you know,” I laughed, also not for the humor, rather for the misery that was this date already. And also because I didn’t want to talk about my stagnant career.

“I can help you if you want. Coach you…. I’m a life coach.” He pulled into a parking space.

Ah ha. Yes, I wouldn’t have made a date with a life coach, if I would have known – for this very reason. “Oh, thanks, but you don’t have to.” I opened my car door and tried not to fall onto the street as I slid out of the giant truck.

A date with the Playboy guy would have been so much more interesting.

We walked into the restaurant and the hostess smiled, “Hey, Pat!” She said.

“Hey, Dianne,” Patrick said. “Table for two.”

“Sure,” Dianne said, as she picked up two menus and started walking us to the table. “How’re you doing?”

“Livin’ the dream!” Patrick practically sang.

“Hey Pat,” The bartender called out. “How goes it, brother?”

“Livin’ the dream, man,” Pat called back.

OK. OK. So livin’ the dream is his catch phrase.

We sat down at a table and opened our menus. “Order whatever you want. Get the lobster!” he said. It was a little paternal.

“Thanks,” I said. I actually wanted the lobster, but would not let him have the pleasure of deciding what I ordered. I selected the filet and shrimp.  “So, you come here a lot?”

“Not really,” Patrick said. “I mean, you know, once in a while.”

A waiter came over, “Hey Pat, how’s it going?”

“Livin’ the dream,” Patrick said again.

“Good. Good,” the waiter said. “Can I get you started with some drinks?”

We ordered. I didn’t believe him that he came here only once in a while, unless that meant only once and a while per week.

“How long have you lived in Los Angeles?” I asked.

“Uh, about eight years,” he said.

“Where is your family living?”

He looked at me for a second, the bravado escaping from him like a balloon losing air with a slow hissssss…..

“They are all back in Minnesota.” He gulped some wine.

“Do you have siblings?” I asked.

He took a breath and didn’t answer. “All right, let’s see if we can figure out why your career hasn’t taken off,” he said. “What are you doing everyday to help yourself?”

I tried to answer him, “Umm, well… I don’t know.”

“Maybe that’s why you aren’t working,” He was pumping the air back in. Inflating.

I thought about the casting director checking out my butt and deciding I was over weight enough to be put on tape. “I do a lot of theater, I go to acting class…”

“What kind of frequency do you put out?” he asked, interrupting me.

“Frequency?” I asked. “Oh, you mean like attitude?”

“No,” I watched as Patrick fully morphed into life coach mode. My date was gone. I was the student. I didn’t think I’d be able to get in an actual conversation. The lecture began, “You see, people’s frequencies directly correlate to colors…”

He went on and on, excitedly, passionately explaining his metaphysics. Though he was just trying to help, my date felt like I was low status. I listened to his lecture as our food came and waited for an opening to equalize us. “So, I’ve noticed you say living the dream when people ask how you are. Why?”  I asked, hoping to get him talking about himself rather than orating.

Patrick chuckled with a mouthful of food. He swallowed and said, “When you say livin’ the dream, you are that much closer to achieving your goals. When you say it, it becomes true.”

I knew it. I knew it had a programmed feel. “Like an affirmation!” I added.

He squinted at me like I wasn’t getting it. “Um, not really. You see, when you say something about how you wish to live, your frequencies….” he went on to explain what I still interpreted as affirmation. “So what to you do everyday to achieve your goals? How do you speak about your career?”

I thought of all the roles I hadn’t gotten. It was depressing. Acting was a painful thing these days.  I felt pretty awful in that moment. I felt low and stupid and like a failure. I tried to answer. My answers sounded pathetic. My date had turned into that nightmare where you don’t know the answers in class and everyone laughs at you. Why weren’t we just conversing?? I’d give anything for small talk right now.

“I’m gonna give you some $500 advice,” he said. I guessed that was the cost of his workshop. He spoke in more metaphysical lecture style. He signaled for the waiter and asked to borrow a pen and paper. He then began to diagram his , what I assumed was lecture from class one: intro to Patrick’s frequencies for success.

I needed this whole thing to stop. I was taking the date back. “Whatever with my career,” I said. “I just really want to be a mom. Do you think about having kids?”

Patrick was speechless for the first time all night. He turned a little red and cleared his throat. “Huh?”

The more questions I asked, the more uncomfortable he felt.

We took turns trying to take control of the date, thus making the other person feel crappy. I wanted to discuss LIFE, he wanted to explore COACH.

At the end of the date my head was spinning.

Driving home in the monster truck, somehow he’d managed to pop another piece of gum in his mouth and again chomped loudly. “So this was fun, right? Next time I can teach you about how to apply color theory to project success.”

It was clear to me we weren’t on the same frequency.



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“Why do you put all that pretty shiny stuff on your face every day?” Spense asked as I smeared oils, creams, illuminators and shimmers into my skin. “Is it so you don’t get old?”

“Yes,” I said, amazed that this was in his awareness. Then I thought better of the word choice. “Actually, it’s so my skin stays healthy. There is nothing wrong with looking or or being old. Everyone get older and everyone looks older. Our job is to stay healthy.”

I was thrilled that he agreed with me.

I’m overly conscious about commenting on the physical appearances of others. I shudder at the word “hot” being used to describe attractiveness in front of my son. I cringe at the word “fat” used in a pejorative way rather than just as a descriptive adjective.

Spense has already formed opinions about physical attributes he likes or doesn’t like – we all do that. But do we need to talk about them in such a way that we hurt peoples feelings? That we set standards that make people throw up their dinner rather than nourish their bodies?

Parents can start this thinking early.  Words judging people’s appearance should be treated like swear words.

Can’t we love people for who they are, not what they look like?





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Spense has seen the movie Into The Woods 3 times in the last year. We love it. I mean, it’s brilliant – the show is truly brilliant. I’ve seen it many times – many productions. Spense even saw a great production of it last year in the theater.

Watching it again today I realized what a love letter it is to parenthood… the parent/child relationships are so full here- the wanting a baby to not wanting your child to grow up.  What it means to be a parent. What it means to love a parent….

PI used to relate to the Baker’s wife character – who desperately wants a baby. Now I listen to it, aching for the witch who sings “Stay with Me” to her child – the witch is the mother who doesn’t want her child to grow up and leave – yes, already, I can relate. Did you know kindergarten is from 8-3???

In the car we were listening to the soundtrack. Spense listens closely, memorizing the words, singing to himself. His favorite song is Jack and the Beanstalk’s There are Giants in the Sky, but he likes them all.

Towards the beginning of the show, the Baker and his wife have a song in which they are arguing. Spense said to me:

“Mom, aren’t they married?”

“Yes,” I replied.

He was confused and asked, “Then why are they fighting?”

#singlemom #singlemombychoice


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I wanted to teach Spense about the legend we’ve lost. I wanted my 4 year old to understand that sometimes, people touch the world in ways that change it for everyone.

I turned on Pandora and punched in “David Bowie.” Major Tom began to play.

“When I was in school, this song was very popular,” I said.  Spense came over to the computer and sat on my lap. “This is a song about an astronaut.”

Spense seemed interested. I pointed to the small square on the screen, “and this is the singer. His name is David Bowie.” Should I have said was? His name was David Bowie? “I listened to his music a lot – mostly in high school and college. But his music is still all around. All the time.”

“Oh,” he said, starting to slide off my lap.

“He died today,” I said.

“WHAT?!?!” he said, reignited.  “Today?!?”

“Yeah.” I had his attention again. “He wrote beautiful, poetic songs. He changed his looks a lot and wore dramatic costumes and wigs and make up. And here he is with an eye patch!” I scrolled through some photos on Google Images.




“WHAT?!?” he cried again. “And he died?”

“Yup. Here he is as an older man.”


“But when you were little he was alive?” he asked.

“Yup. Actually he’s been alive all this time, but he died today.”

“WHAT?!?” he screamed. “TODAY?”

That wasn’t supposed to be the amazing part.

The Pandora song changed. Queen.

“This is another great band I liked in college called Queen. It was my college boyfriend’s favorite band.” I told him. “And that’s a picture of Freddy Mercury.” I pointed to the new picture in the box.

“Is he dead too?” he asked.

“Uh, well yes, actually.”

We danced a little to Bohemian Rhapsody. The song changed. The Beatles.

“This is The Beatles. You know The Beatles. They sing Yellow-”

“Are they dead?” he asked.

“Uhhh, two of them are. But two aren’t.”

Next up on Pandora –  Pink Floyd.

“Is he dead?”

Then Jimi Hendrix.

“Is he dead?”

After my informative (and slightly depressing) music history lesson and the 4 year old was sleeping, I felt strangely nostalgic for the late 1970’s. I wept a little for my tinted, frame-less glasses, my Pierrot collection, my dolphin shorts collection, my comforter with big yellow and orange poppies, my teal velour lined jewelry box that smelled like Easter candy, my eraser collection, my silver dollar collection… the simple days of no computers, cell phones or texting. Using a calendar. I ached for being a young girl in OP shirts just beginning to notice boys and waiting all week for the Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys shows on Sunday nights. I  could smell the chlorine and mildew in the YMCA women’s locker room. I felt the chalk and mats and beam from my gymnastics classes. I remember spending a good hour in a hot shower with my precious three step Vidal Shampoo set- shampoo, conditioner AND finishing rinse. I remember how I treasured my lemon Love’s Baby Soft body spray, with it’s chemically lemon sting.  I remember stashing my Halloween pumpkin in my bedroom closet. I’d stick my nose in that big plastic pumpkin – the smell of the candy growing more and more plasticy through the weeks and how I savored each bite, trying to make it all last. I especially remember the snickers bars. And how sometimes I’d lick the bitter wrapper, by mistake.

I read a lot. I had a dollhouse. I had records. I made fake radio shows on a tape recorder, playing the DJ. I wasn’t allowed to drink soda, which I thought was unfair.

My dreams were big. My hopes were huge. My world was small. I was safe and secure. I was feeling and learning and scared, but also excited. It was good.

I want Spense to have this. I want him to have music that sends him back to good feelings. I want him to have a strong grasp on his childhood; to feel it to smell it, taste it, remember it. I want him to have some simplicity too. The world seems so big and so complicated. We are connected all the time. I remember staring out my window at the green leafy hedges, wondering what kind of plant it was, as spring brought apricot like bulbs and purple flowers with yellow corkscrew twisty stamens. What were they? No way to Google it back then. Do I give Spense enough time to stare out windows, uninterrupted?

I am missing my childhood so much right now. I miss my mom. I miss her so much.

Spense has been asking to go to my mom’s grave.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I want to dig her up and see her,” he said.

I tried to explain that it wouldn’t be like that. We’d just be looking at a marker with her name.

Before he fell asleep Spense said, “When we go visit Grandma’s grave can we also go see Davey Bowie?”

“Sure,” I said.

I wondered what he thought it was going to be like at the graves of these two legends…. I imagined that he was picturing the Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyland – with Major Tom playing loudly as translucent holograms dance around.


His world is magical. His own journey unfolding…




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“I can’t wait till I’m a grown up,” Spense says on a pretty regular basis.

I know he doesn’t mean to say I can’t wait to get away from you, Mom.… but that’s what it feels like. I’ve spent years planning for this guy to be in my life, I devote my waking hours to him and yet….

“I can’t wait to be a man,” Spense said today. Again.

“Why?” I asked, trying not to take it personally again.

“So I can have a girlfriend,” he whispers, excitedly.

Oh, okay, so you want to get away from me so some other woman can tell you what to do. How can I not take that personally?

“What will you do with a girlfriend that you think will be fun? I ask.

“Kiss!” he whispers, shyly.

I wonder what makes some 4 year old boys dream of having a girlfriend, rather than dream of whatever else kids think about. Seriously though, this must be because I’m a single mom, right? This has to be why he’s fixated on having a girlfriend, right?!?!

“But….” I know I should just leave it alone, but I can’t… “I kiss you!”

“No!” he says, “A girlfriend will kiss better.”

And then I leave it alone.

When I tell people that he dreams of having a girlfriend, they think it’s adorable. But, it seems so strange to me – like that his unconventional family is pushing him into this unnaturally advanced direction – towards the normalcy he will choose as a grownup. OR, maybe this is normal. After all, lots of girls in his preschool play bride and have pretend weddings. Maybe he’s so secure with me that he wants to continue having relationships.

There’s the double standard; if I had a daughter, would this be less upsetting? Girls are expected to play bride; a game that I never played, actually. As you can imagine, I’m not a fan. When I see children playing marriage or wedding, I cringe. To me, it feels so gross. But I try to relax and remind myself – this is the world we live in. I am the one with the different opinion. Kind of like how my boy has a different view than I…. kid of like how he came out of the womb loving swords and sticks and weapons.

I’m working on nodding and smiling, when Spense talks about how he can’t wait to grow up and get married and leave me for another woman. I’m reminding myself that children always talk about what they will do when they grow up and just because he’s focused on a relationship instead of a career, doesn’t mean I’m a horrible mom. ;)

I wonder if this will last – will he be the boy trying to date early? Will he ever go through the phase  where he thinks kissing is gross?

Is this just who he is and will be? Or will he change? It’s quite incredible.

If he lived in a conventional home would he be so fixated?


Can’t know.

Whatever it is, it’s fascinating.

Nature vs Nurture. Amazing.




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I’d been writing with Zev, from Jdate for about a week. He was pretty flirty in our exchanges and we decided to meet in person.

“Can you meet me at The 17th Street Bar in Santa Monica?” he wrote.

“That’s kind of far from me,” I wrote back.

“But it’s a great bar,” he insisted.

So… was this a red flag that he didn’t want to meet me where I wanted or was he being a fun date planner; choosing an exciting location for our meeting?

I decided to go with the flow – that was always my philosophy. I’d let the guy choose the date (as long as I was comfortable with it) and I get to know his taste that much better.

On his dating profile, Zev said he was a talent agent. As an actress, it was an interesting thought to date an agent – though not really the most inviting. I know talent agents work very hard – round the clock. Some of them are the loveliest people in the world and some are tough and ruthless. And it’s not like it would do anything for my career to have a date with an agent…. if anything, the agents I’d met socially just told me how hard it was to make it and implied that I was most likely doomed..

I trecked across town to a Santa Monica, to meet Zev. The bar was… nice, in a dirty floors/sticky tables kinda way.

When I got there, we hugged. He was really tall and charming. He had that confidant swagger that makes guys instantly attractive; the kind you need to be wary of.

This date happened to fall under a very special time of my JDate history; the time when, on my dating profile I misunderstood the What Are You Looking For? question and instead of selecting A Relationship or Marriage and Children, I selected A Date. My logic was: how was I supposed to know if I was going to want a relationship or marriage, if I didn’t meet the right guy… like if I didn’t find the guy of my dreams, I’d just have a baby without a partner. So I’d start with a date. What I didn’t realize was, in guy code, A Date means a one night stand. This might be why I have a lot of weird date stories….

but anyway…..

Zev and I got some beers and after a few minutes of chatting, he grinned like either a half drunk idiot or a sober devil. “I’m not really an agent.”

“You’re not?” I asked. “Why did you say you were on JDate?”

“Because that’s how you get dates with actresses.” He chugged his beer and smirked.

I was a little pissed off, but mostly confused. “You would probably do better to say you are a producer.”

He nodded, appreciating the tip.

“So what do you really do?” I asked.

“I’m a teacher at a Jewish elementary school,” he said.

Didn’t see that one coming. He was kind of a jerk, but somehow still compelling.

We had another beer and for some reason, Zev mentioned he was lactose intolerant. You probably think that’s strange, but you’d be surprised how many many first dates mention their gaseous reactions to dairy. Lucky for Zev, it probably helped him keep kosher.

“I just made a batch of dairy free cupcakes,” he told me. “Seriously.”

“Ok, I believe you,” I said. I hadn’t really decided if I liked him or not. Maybe he was one of those Jewish bad boys, I seemed to be meeting on JDate so often.

If only I could send myself a text to myself back then and say “Hey! Change your dating status! A Date isn’t working for you.” But…. time travel texting hasn’t been invented, yet.

Zev and I chatted a bit more and finished our beers. After a while he said, “So, do you want to come over to my place for a dairy free cupcake? I live right down the street.”

It should have been more obvious to me why Zev had picked this location. But I was naive. All right, I wasn’t naive.  I said yes.

“Great, I’ll meet you there,” he said. “I have my vespa.”

Vespa Granturismo 200L

I reparked my car a block from the bar and went over to Zev’s.  The first thing he did was show me that he really had the dairy free cupcakes. “You want one?”

“No thanks,” I told him. And then, we started making out.

After a few minutes, Zev said, out of the blue, “You know, you will make out with a lot more guys.”

I looked at him for a minute. “What???”

He kissed me again and then said, “And I will make out with a lot more girls.”

I moved away from him. “Um, Ok. I’m not really understanding why you are saying this right now. Do you want me to leave?”

“No no!” he said. “I’m just saying you will make out with a lot more guys and I will make out with a lot more girls. That’s all.”

I looked at him for a second. What the hell,  fake-agent guy? “Why are you saying this right now? Do you need to tell me that this isn’t going to lead to anything? Because I already know that!”

He shrugged it off. “No, no… do you want to move this into the bedroom?” he was grinning again.

“No!” I said, moving away from him. “I’m going to leave now.”

He seemed amused. “Ok.”

As I moved to the door he said, “Would you like a dairy free cupcake?”

I looked at him for a second. “Yes.”

I walked back into his small kitchen and grabbed a cupcake and left.



I was recently on a kindergarten tour for a new school for Spense.  Yeah, KINDERGARTEN! I know, crazy!

As I signed in at the front desk, I saw a name the name Zev on the list. I flashed to my date from ten years ago and…. I looked up to see dairy free cupcake Zev next to me!!!! I looked away, but knew he’d seen me.

Our tour walked to halls of the school and I tried not to make eye contact. But, of course, I did look at him at one point and he was looking at me and our eyes met then darted away. I don’t know if he actually remembered that night or the making out or the weird/rude things he said or the cupcakes. Or maybe he just thought I looked familiar, but there was some recognition.

Zev looked a lot older. He didn’t look charming or like a Jew player anymore. He looked like… a dad; old, slightly pleated faded jeans, thinning hair, lined face. I wondered how different I looked, as my pants dug into my waist.

Just funny where worlds lead us; how our pathes end up crossing, or not. He was married and his wife was with him. I was pretty sure he hadn’t used the same lines on her, that he’d used on me.

I was very aware of being the only one in the room without a wedding band. It’s always the new situations that remind me, though I’m not bothered by it. All these years later, I don’t regret categorizing myself as looking for A Date. Whatever I did to get where I am now… was the right choice.

So… will we end up at the same kindergarten as Zev and his family? I don’t know! Stay tuned!!!


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