Is That a Canapé in Your Pocket?

I was invited to a holiday cocktail party at the private home of a colleague and friend who lives right on the water. From previous experience, I knew this would involved high-end catered food, beautiful decorations, and a room full of interesting adults. Considering that the last 10 parties I've attended have involved cupcakes, juice boxes and ankle-biters, you can imagine I was anxious to attend.

The party was from 5-7pm on a Sunday evening --- not ideal from a Mommy perspective because Lucy is still awake. But considering that we spend every minute of the entire weekend together and are about to embark on a family vacation together, I figured she could survive without me for 2 hours.

My babysitter showed up at 4:45pm to find me on the couch in sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and dead old slippers reading Story #107 to Lucy. I had exactly 15 minutes to transform from the Mom-before-the-makeover to Sexy-professional-woman-on-the-prowl. Not an easy task.

I pushed past the cobwebs in my closet to reach back into my cocktail attire section. I pulled out a skinny, long black lace skirt, the type of low-cut, sleeveless maroon holiday top that is completely irrational to wear on a 20 degree December evening, and a pair of sexy heels that I last donned while shamelessly grinding with the lead singer at a wedding to, "Apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur" before Lucy was born. Could I really pull this look off when just days ago my #1 job was picking whole pieces of baby vomit out of the lint tray in my washing machine? Questionable.

I threw on the ensemble, perfume, and a healthy dose of make-up, said a Hail Mary, and dashed out the door.

The party, as expected, was beyond elegant. Asian dumplings were served in individual porcelain spoons. Tiny Vietanamese-inspired meatballs were skewered with a single snap pea. Shaved tenderloin sat precariously atop tiny pieces of toast aside carmelized onions. I tried not to inhale my 42 appetizers, which tasted considerably better than the instant oatmeal I'd been eating for the past 3 days.

All of the guests were at least 15-20 years my senior, and some considerably more. The two male servers were closest to me in age --- one in his early thirties (Server #1) and one in his mid-forties (Server #2). I noted that they were both well-spoken and very well-mannered, and suspected that this was a side gig for them both. They were polite and pleasant, but also busy, and our conversation was limited to, "Yes, I certainly would like another roasted tomato and brie tart".

At 6:45pm I glanced at my watch and realized I needed to leave to make it home for bedtime stories. Server #1 and the host pointed me down a hall to a back bedroom to retrieve my jacket.

I was diligently digging through a pile of coats and wondering if anyone would notice if I traded up to a mink stole when I heard someone behind me.

It was Waiter #1.
"Let me help you find your jacket".
"Great, thank you", I said, surprised to see him while the party was still going strong in the main room.
"It was dark with a fur collar, correct? It was very attractive."
"Wow, great memory", I said, as he helped me on with my coat.
"By the way, my name is Jonathan", he said, as he extended his hand.
"Oh, I'm Liv"
"Perhaps we'll see each other again"
"Yes, perhaps we will".

I walked out into the cold wondering, "Did that server just hit on me, or am I just high from the 3 raspberry brie tarts I just mainlined in the back corner?".

Maybe you can transform mom jeans into a MILF in 15 minutes?

The Coat

Two weeks ago I had plans to go out on Saturday night with a girlfriend. The babysitter was lined up and I was ready to rumble. The friend cancelled at the last minute due to health problems.

Last minute, Saturday night, babysitter already lined up = what's a girl to do? I decided (and those of you who know me well know how unusual this is) to hit the mall. Yes, I was going to force myself to go shopping.

I was armed with an agenda: new work skirts, shirts and sweaters. Perhaps a weekend sexy MILF blouse. A good fall-to-winter transition wrap if I could find one. Maybe one pair of sexy, yet non-blistering, kitten heels.

I started off strong, going into every store and pulling things off the rack. My resolve started to fail by store #3 when I hadn't even found anything worthy of a try-on. By store #5, I was thinking that I can get 5 more years out of my already ratty 15-year old cashmere sweater.

An then, in the middle of Saks, I saw it. The perfect coat. Black, fur (fake, of course) collar, beautifully tailored and a cut that is good on me. Tahari. Marked down from $450 to under $200. It was perfect.

I quickly shook it off. I already have several coats. And a small coat closet. This trip was intended to buy work clothes and one MILF blouse --- no coat on the agenda. And with that I walked quickly out the door without even trying it on.

Good for me. I don't need a coat. How often do I go out to a cocktail party these days? Would it even look good with a bulky sweater? Hasta la vista, chaqueta.

I made it all of the way to the parking lot. And then I had the brilliant thought, "I'll just try it on. I'm sure it has a fatal flaw and that will make me feel better." And with that I booked it back to Saks.

The coat fit perfectly, but I was still holding strong with my small coat closet reasoning. And then the harried saleslady walked in and said, "Oh my gosh, that coat was made for you." And I could tell she meant it.

So I now I own a perfect coat. This doesn't happen many times in life, but sometimes you just see the perfect coat, the perfect cocktail dress, or meet the perfect friend and you just have to go for it. Even if it means you'll have a cramped coat closet.

Modern Love

A few weeks ago there was a Modern Love piece in the Sunday NYTimes entitled, "Sometimes, It's Not You". It was the honest account of a 39-year old woman who hadn't been in a relationship in 8 years. She desperately searched for 'the answer' to her 'problem': Perhaps she needed to grow her hair out. Grow up. Quit whining. Adopt a positive attitude. Stop being critical. Take more bubble baths.

The list is familiar to me. And the quest to 'figure it out' is one that has become so familiar over the past decade that my therapist now simply presses 'start' on her 1982 cassette player and regurgitates the conversation we've had 1000 times since Clinton was in the White House. I've always felt that my failure to find the 'right guy' and 'settle down' is a puzzle to be figured out. There must be an answer --- and if I can find that answer, then I can finally finish the Rubik's cube.

And then comes the twist. The writer eventually found the guy she then married. She claims that the puzzle wasn't solved because she worked through her issues, grew sexy hair or channeled Jennifer Aniston 24/7 --- she just finally found the right guy. Could it really be just that simple? And if so, I want a refund on my hair extensions.

2-Year Old Psychic?

Lucy and I were going to a relative's home for Rosh Hashanah, so I left work early and ran a few errands on the way home. Mid-errand I stumbled across a comforter I liked, bought it, ran home and threw it on my bed to see if it matched. I wasn't convinced, so I yelled for my Nanny to come take a peek.

The Nanny ran upstairs with Lucy in her arms and said she liked it, "What do you think, Lucy". Without skipping a beat, Lucy pointed to the side of the bed that is currently un-occupado (I've been single again for 2 months) and said, "Man!".

The Nanny laughed, Lucy kept pointing, and I felt a deep red flush roll up my body. It suddenly became a bit too hot in my bedroom for a down comforter.

"I have absolutely no idea why she would say that," I protested, perhaps a bit too vehemently, "I'm not even seeing anyone".

"Well, Lucy predicts you will be soon!"

I felt my imaginary Mother-of-the-Year halo melt down my head and neck to create a tramp-stamp on my lower back. And on a holy day! Chr*st.

And then there was the incident at library hour a few weeks ago. In a room full of mothers, babysitters and grandmothers, Lucy ran up to one of the only men in the room and yelled, "MAN!" while pointing at him and doing a little dance. The 'Man' was definitely her favorite person in the room, and she neatly ignored Miss Mary the Storyteller, all of the children, and the craft project in her quest to win the affection of 'The Man'(which she did). My Nanny noted, "She obviously sees something in that guy --- maybe you should start taking your cues from her."

Lucy 2, Nanny 2, Liv 0.

Bringing Sexy Back

I've been dating the guy from, "Old Dog, New Trick?" (let's call him Jack) now for several months. He lives about 2 hours away from me, we work opposite schedules and see each other only one weekend a month. So, you can imagine, I try to make the most of that one weekend.

Jack came to visit this past weekend. I planned a homemade dinner for Sunday night with all of his favorites: filet, a rich mushroom sauce, fresh zucchini and corn on the cob. What could be nicer for a single guy that a home-cooked meal? He played with Lucy while I did the food prep. Finally, the meal was ready and we all sat down together.

Lucy loves corn, which I cut off the cob for her. She was chewing her first mouthful of corn when she decided it might be fun to stick a kernel up her nose. "Lucy," I warned, "we do not put corn up our nose!". Being almost 2 years old, that was all it took for her to not only stick the corn up her nose, but to follow it with a firm finger shove. And by then, my friends, it was too late.

The kernel of corn was wedged firmly up Lucy's right nostril and she began to cry. I'm not sure if she was crying because her airway was obstructed, or because her mother was holding her chin tightly while peering upside down into her nostril and yelling, "BLOW!". Either way, we rapidly entered into crisis mode. Lucy began crying so hard she couldn't breathe. I realized that this corn kernel was not coming down on its own and was about to enter her sinus. That meant one thing: Emergency Room visit. I took a 5-second visit down memory lane to our previous 2 ER visits over the past year. Four hour waits, exhausted baby, scared baby, crying baby, hysterical baby. Fantasies of raiding nearby cabinets for a fist full of valium. It was then I realized I could NOT endure another ER visit. Enter super hero mode.

I pick Lucy up out of her high chair and carry her to the couch. She is screaming, crying and is now hyperventilating. I pin her on the couch and suck the corn out of her nose with the only suction device available --- yes folks, that would be my mouth. Thirty seconds later the corn is out of her nose and into my mouth (yes, its gross, but I was so relieved I didn't care), the crying has quieted down to a roar, and I'm carting Lucy off to bed.

My date, Jack, has seen it all. This kind of sexy deserves a dedicated screenplay. I just hope Halle Berry plays me in the movie and not Roseanne Barr.

Deja Vu, All Over Again

A few weeks ago my father was in town visiting and we took my daughter Lucy, 21 months, out to brunch at a casual, local eatery. Lucy was delicately placing bits of her scrambled egg with cheese in her hair when I noticed another party being seated at the table next to us.

The woman was in her mid-forties and very pregnant. I immediately wondered which drop-down option from the fertility menu had worked its charm: clomid? artificial insemination? IVF? donor egg? I also noted that she was one of these women who looked the way I always thought I'd look someday: tall, thin besides the bump, fashionably, yet simply, dressed for a photo shoot instead of Sunday brunch at a hole in the wall. She was with a daughter, who looked to be my daughter's age, her mother and her husband. I was so busy checking her out and trying to unravel her fertility and fashion secrets that I barely noticed her husband. But when I did, I did a double- and then a triple-take. He was Greg from Jdate.

I corresponded with good old Greg from JDate about 7 years ago. I remember the pictures he'd posted of himself on various adventures around the globe and his love for farmer's markets and ethnic restaurants. At the time, he was about 39 and I was 35, but I was already past the sell-by-date on his Jdate advertisement. He, of course, wanted to date a woman 26-32 - doesn't everyone? But for some masochistic reason I e-mailed him anyway and we had a nice correspondence. Then we spoke by phone. He mentioned in passing that he used to be married, and I was confused because he'd listed himself as 'single'. I asked if he was now divorced (fearing that he was still married) and he said that he prefers not to use that word when describing himself. I asked why, and the conversation went downhill from there.

A few years later a woman in my 'Single Mothers By Choice' group described a Jewish man from her meditation group I should meet because he was 'looking for a wife'. I realized we were talking about Greg, and passed the afikomen.

My father, daughter and I finished our brunch and were heading out when my father felt the need to strike up a conversation with Greg and his bride, who - by the way - definitely didn't meet the sell-by-date, but managed to squeeze out 2 kids anyway (good for her!). I stood there, holding Lucy, and wondering if this guy had any clue who I was. All signs pointed to no. From the outsider's view, it looks like he got everything he wanted on his check list. Life is interesting.

20 Years

This weekend is my 20-year college reunion. Twenty freakin' years.

I remember being a senior in college when all of the 5-year alums crashed our fraternity parties. We thought they were ancient. Couldn't understand why in the hell they showed up at our parties and pretended they still fit in. We could spot them from a mile away.

A bunch of my classmates are meeting up at reunion this weekend. This past six months of no secretary, 6 temps, 2 maternity leaves, 1 maternity leave replacement, 2 trips, a pediatric ER visit, many sleepless nights and my computer crashing this week and permanently losing my inbox has really kicked my ass. I couldn't get it together to pack up baby and hoof it 3 hours to rally for reunion this weekend.

So instead I'm sitting at home thinking about those days with those people and what we all thought life would be like. It makes me look forward 20 years and wonder what the next two decades will bring, and if they'll flash by even more quickly.

Old Dog, New Trick?

When I dated my high school boyfriend my biggest long-term question was: am I going to take him to prom? It wasn't until I hit about 30 that I started weighing whether every guy I dated had 'serious potential'. I blame this frankly embarrassing phenomenon on survival of the fittest, evolutionary biology, and my eggs' primal urges and hormonal output.

That was my thirties. Now I'm in my forties, I have a baby, and it's time for a new trick. My latest dog-and-pony show is, 'Can I date someone, enjoy the moment, have fun and not worry about the future.' So far, I have to say, so good.

I've been dating a guy I first met about a year and a half ago. We dated for 2 months, it didn't work out, and we didn't correspond for almost 6 months. He texted me out of the blue this past fall to say he was moving and wanted to take me to coffee before leaving. We got together a few months later for dinner and then started speaking by phone. He has now come to visit twice and is coming again in a few weeks.

Is this the guy I've always dreamed of dating? On paper, absolutely not. Is he really good to me and my daughter? Absolutely. Does he have his life completely together in every possible way. No, work in progress. Is he Mr. Right? No idea. Is he Mr. Right Now? It's really working for me at the moment. Can I truly pull off the 'casual dating' gig? That is the million dollar question. Stay tuned.

Dicks Vs. Dictations

I have two vacancies: Boyfriend and Executive Secretary.

The first position has been vacant for almost a year now. Applications have been scant, interviews unimpressive, and skill sets lacking. The second position has been vacant for about 6 weeks. One applicant chewed gum through her interview, another looked like the 'before' picture in the before/after professional makeover, and I've fired two temps in the past 4 weeks.

Yesterday was a banner day in the search process for both positions. I spent 2 hours interviewing applicants, reviewing 4 new resumes, and checking references. And then I rushed home from work to spend a few hours with Lucy before putting her to bed, slapping on make up and a sexy shirt, and dashing to a speed dating event.

What's that, you say? Am I masochist?

I've never done speed dating before and had no idea what to expect. Half of the men - and half of the women - had ... let's just say, issues. The phrase that comes to mind is 'severe social awkwardness'. The other half were very nice ... just not a match in sight for me. (Favorite question of the night: "Do you mind if I ask why you waited so long to have a baby?" Thank you, 50-year old Revenge of the Nerds look alike).

As I sat at Table 11 interviewing each prospective applicant over and over and over again, I thought, "If I could choose a match today, would I pick a top boyfriend or a top secretary?". Certainly, it would be nice to have both. But at this point in time, I'd pick good dictation over good dick.

The Things People Say

Isn't it funny how relative strangers feel comfortable asking questions that would make your own sister blush? I guess there is comfort in anonymity.

On Sunday a guy I barely know asked me if I'm married.

"No."

And then he asked if Lucy's father is involved.

"No, it's just the two of us."

To which he responded,

"How sad ..."

before the next words rolled off his tongue, I had a million thoughts about what he'd say next. How sad that she doesn't have a Dad. How sad that she won't have a father figure to teach her to play baseball. How said that she won't have a father on Father's Day, how sad that ...

"How sad for him that he is missing out on her. She is incredible!!"

Happy Valentine's Day to me.

From the Outside Looking In

Today Lucy and I were doing our early Sunday morning routine in the coffee shop and she was hanging out with the regulars, who have become her weekend uncles. I overheard one of them saying that they are Lucy's uncles because, "the kid has to have a family".

Shock. The look on my face must have been priceless. I then put 2 + 2 together. Single mom here with a baby every weekend. No wedding ring. No husband, no father. These two must have no family.

I didn't mention the doting grandparents, the aunt and her family 3 hours away, the handful of great aunts and uncles, or the scores of friends-who-are-like-family we are blessed to have in our lives. I didn't mention the neighbors who think Lucy is half theirs or our loving nanny. But it did make me remember, once again, how different the world looks when you are the outsider looking in.

Lessons in Starbucks

It's another snowy day here in the Northeast and I'm sitting in Starbucks trying to work on a project deadline. One of my Starbucks friends (don't even know his name) asked how my daughter is doing, and I replied that she is doing well and getting big. This prompted him to share the following story:

"About 13 years ago I dated a woman with a beautiful 4 year old daughter. It was the 'perfect set-up' because I loved the daughter and if it worked out I knew I'd have an 'instant family'. The three of us did everything together -- shopping, sailing, playing at the park -- and I loved it. Unfortunately, the relationship with the mom didn't work out after we dated for two years and I hadn't seen her or her daughter in many years. The other day I was in the grocery store and a beautiful young woman walked by. She looked so familiar and I couldn't stop staring at her, and finally said, "Lilly?". She turned around and sure enough it was the little girl - now 17 years old! She remembered me too and we caught up for a few minutes. What a wonderful memory."

I didn't get much work done on my project this morning, but I learned a lot.

Brave New World

The metamorphosis is a bit more painful than anticipated.

My office manager of 7 years had her last day on Friday. She was just my office manager, right? A colleague. We worked together. She didn't die, or move to Siberia, she just took a new job. Employees come and go. Change is good. Things happen for a reason. No sweat.

So why in the hell did I find myself crying in the bathroom stall at work at 4:15 on Friday afternoon?

I've given this a lot of thought over the weekend. Granted, I'm under a lot of stress. One employee is on maternity leave, another is going out, the maternity leave replacement wears fishnets and stillettos, I've got a major deadline this week, we've had more snow days than Frosty, and my temp secretary has a color hair not found in nature. Yes, I'm under a lot of stress.

But why am I so upset about my office manager, Staci, leaving? I thought back to 7 years ago when she started. Soon after her arrival, my cat from college died - a huge life event for me. We were in a much smaller office and one of my two other employees was just moving away. Staci helped me coordinate the move to a much bigger office and a new phase of my career. I hired 2 new employees who have now been with me for six years. I met Glenn, dated Glenn, planned to marry Glenn, and then broke up with Glenn. Staci saw the whole thing go down and covered for me when I'd go home to lie on the couch and cry. Staci was the only one who knew about my attempts to get pregnant, my miscarriages, and my attempted corrected surgeries. She was one of the first to know I was pregnant via a gestational carrier and she was my right hand woman during my maternity leave and subsequent return to the office. She came to my house and held my newborn daughter. She told me I looked great when I actually looked like I hadn't slept in 47 years and had a formula stain on my shirt. We talked about working together until we were ready to retire. That is why I'm so upset.

So tomorrow is the brave new world with the temp, who has already stored an entire case of soda in our refrigerator without invitation. I hope we make it through at least a six-pack.

Metamorphosis

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Lessons from a High School Boyfriend

I started dating my first real boyfriend in the summer between junior and senior years of high school. Our sisters were on the same softball team and our families had known each other for several years; perhaps this made the 4 year age difference between us a bit easier on my parents (but probably not). I learned many things from this boyfriend (fill in the blanks here) ... but seriously, many of those lessons have stayed with me for 20+ years.

This guy - let's call him Jake - did not want to be sucked into the family business. But it was really all he knew and where he'd worked since he was a teenager. He went to college and aspired to go to business school, but didn't make it happen. He therefore moved home by necessity and started working for the family business. He once said to me, "Choose your life before it chooses you." I ran into him many years later and asked how his life was -- his answer, "The same".

Jake actually married a lovely woman who seems like a great match for him and I hope he has a happy and fulfilling life. But the point that always stayed with me is that you have to create your own life or, like a kayak on a river, you'll just be moved along with the current.

I've tried to embrace my own ability to change and shape my life. Even if it means taking a few minutes a week to work toward a goal, I'll do it. But certain things (relationships, fertility, health) are sometimes outside our control and cannot be chiseled, corralled, or shaped. Some of it is left to happenstance or luck. And perhaps then the only variable is how you paddle when your kayak is headed into rough waters.

When the Going Gets Tough ...

I turn to horoscopes

Wack, I know. And not a fact I'm particularly proud of, especially since I consider myself a practical, scientifically-minded rational person. But this is what I do when many elements in my life are spinning out of control and I like to pretend I have some tiny bit of control over the future. When the going gets particularly tough I've been known to visit a psychic.

My work life is tumultuous these days, a close friend's spouse was recently diagnosed with cancer, and my daughter and I are still recovering from jet lag and sleep deprivation --- so I took a hit on my old friend, the astrology pipe. Reading my weekly on-line wasn't enough so, yes, I turned to the $6 year-ahead predictions on-line.

What did I learn during this dirty little prediction call? Well, I heard lots of things --- some pretty far out, and some fairly mundane. But the overriding theme was that I will redefine the nature of my lifetime dreams in the coming months.

Deep, huh? and kind of Freaky.

Airport Screening

No, I don't mean the rather personal new pat-downs at security check points (I got one, and then smoked a cigarette).

I mean instead that I've discovered a great new 'true' personality test --- better than seeing how a person treats the waitstaff in a restaurant or how they treat their mother (c'mon, they know you're watching). Stick a person in a busy airport and see if they offer to help a single mom traveling alone with a baby. Anyone who does -- male, female, short, fat, bald, toothless, or hirsute -- scores big points for me in attractiveness.

I'm just back from an overseas trip with my 15-month old daughter and I was amazed to see who would help a single mom obviously in need of major assistance, and who would glance at their iPhone pretending not to see us. Amazed. Seriously, what the hell else do you have to do while you're waiting for your plane????

Here is my business plan: I will secretly videotape a person going through an airport and sell the raw footage to their prospective dates on match.com for a hefty price. Airport screening at its best.