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.