Blind dates, beers, bowling and let’s adopt

Staci asks:  What about telling a story about when you were dating Mr Moe Better. Or the first time you ever thought about adoption…

Here’s the funny part to that question, Jason and I actually talked about adopting on our first date.  For real.  There’s a backstory and it goes a little something like this…

I was done.  I was 35 years old, had my fill of bad relationships and decided, from here on out, it would be just my dogs and me.  And I was okay with that.  Really.  I had a great career, great friends and a great little house in a neighborhood I adored.  I didn’t need to be in a relationship, especially another toxic one, to make me happy.  I was already happy.

But when you make that kind of decision, there are consequences that come along with it, too.  For instance, you may find yourself spending some of the big holidays (i.e. New Year’s Eve) alone.  But then again, one of your best friends might take pity on you and invite you over to her house to enjoy martinis and prime rib with she and her husband.  That’s exactly what happened to me on New Year’s Eve, December 31, 2002. 

My bff, Angi, and I were sipping our cocktails while her husband, Tommy, was stuffing a jillion cloves of garlic into a prime rib.  Tommy, in mid stuff, looks up and says, “Steph, I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”  Now, even though I had sworn off men for eternity, my ears perked up, and I have to admit, I was intrigued.     

“Who?”  I asked nonchalantly while trying to mask my intrigue.  Tommy went on to tell me that he wanted me to meet his friend, Jason.  Now, I had heard of this Jason before, but I had never met him.  And here is where things get a little weird.  I had heard of this Jason before because Tommy and Angi socialized with this Jason and his wife.  Oh, and I also happened to work in the same building with his wife, too.  However, Jason and his wife were now separated, but still, big red flag, right?  My heart sank a little because, really, what kind of relationship can come from going on a date with a man who’s in the process of getting divorced? 

Weeks went by and I heard nothing more about the proposed set up.  Then finally, during the last week of January, Angi told me they had talked to Jason and he was interested in meeting me.  If I didn’t think the world of both Angi and Tommy, I would more than likely just have said to nix the whole thing, but they both really liked this Jason.  And on top of it, they thought I would really like this Jason.  So, a double date was finally set for the following Friday, February 8, 2003.

We were living in Milwaukee at the time, so it shouldn’t surprise you that we all met at a brewery.  It was the Milwaukee Ale House, to be exact.  Food was eaten and beers were drunk and then we decided to do the other thing you do when you live in Milwaukee – go bowling.  It was at the bowling alley where, between frames, Jason and I were finally able to get to know each other a little bit and talk a little  one-on-one.

We were sitting on those plastic adjoining bowling alley chairs, and out of the blue, Jason asked me if I wanted to have kids.  I replied yes and in the back of my mind I think I started to plan our wedding.  And then, he absolutely knocked my socks off with his next question.  Jason asked me if I would ever consider adopting.  What’s so crazy about that question is that I always knew I would never have biological children.  I had an ovary and fallopian tube removed in my early 20’s plus I had radioactive iodine to treat my hyperthyroidsm so it’s something that I just knew – without knowing.  If that makes any sense.  That coupled with my whole advanced age thing, I knew my chances of pregnancy were slim, but it was something that I had already come to terms with.  I answered Jason’s question with a resounding, “Yes!”

And even though Jason probably had no idea at that point that we would one day marry, I knew, that very instant, that I would indeed, marry him one day.

Flashback Friday

Founding members of FA (Forehead Anonymous)

Then came you…

Queue Dionne Warwick and The Spinners…

I never knew love before (oh no) then came you, you, then came you

 

 I never knew love before, then came you then came you

Oh, uh, oh I never knew love before, then came you (you), then came you, ooh

I never knew love before, then came you (ooh, ooh, ooh), then came you
Hey, hey, hey, then came you

Whoa, oh, uh, oh, oh, oh
I never knew love before, then came you, then came you
I never knew love before, then came you (you, ooh, ooh) then came you

 

“You are the butter to my bread, you are the breath to my life.”

–Julie & Julia

 

Thank you for the best five years of my life.

 

 

 

Wordless Wednesday

Blue-eyed soul sister.

Thank you for the questions and please keep them coming.  I’m going to start first with Beth P.’s question because she asked me about this weeks ago and I never answered her.  Sorry, Beth!

Beth P. asks:

I am a lurker and have always been curious about how you became a fan of funk and rap music.  So I’d like to know how it started and if you are passing your passion of music onto your son…I think I asked this before so sorry if it’s a repeat but you did ask for questions!!

First of all, Beth P. is not a lurker.  I met her in real life this past August in Chicago at BU ’09.  Plus she is funny and fabulous and shared her bottle of wine with me.  That nullifies any lurker status.  

For the answer, I need to take you back to the summer of 1982.  It was the summer that my brother passed his driver’s test and copious amounts of driving were done in our ’74 Chevy Vega around the streets of DePere, WI.  It was also the summer of my crush on Grant Wright.  He was a new friend of my brother’s and I was quite smitten with the boy.  Grant, on the other hand, was quite smitten with another girl – a girl named Vicki, or as I called her, hicky-sticky-quickie-licky-Vicki.  So this was also known as the summer of unrequited love. 

When given the chance to hang with my brother and Grant, I was always in.  In like Flynn as they would say.  One day, Grant wanted to go to this record store in Green Bay to pick up some new album by The Sugarhill Gang.  “The who gang?” I asked.  I had never heard of this group but I really didn’t care, I was being asked to be in close proximity with Grant and I quickly accepted the invitation. 

We arrived at the store and Grant found the album, 8^th Wonder.  He showed it to me and I thought he was kidding.  We were white kids, lived in Whiteville and listened to white groups.  I remember laughing at Grant and him telling me to just wait until I listened to it and that I would love it, too.  We drove home and quickly put the needle on the record.  And just like Grant told me, I loved what I heard.  It was the most infectious and catchy music I ever layed my ears on and before long I burned my Police albums.  

Over the summer, Grant introduced me to other R&B and Rap music and I think I must have felt the same way that people felt about The Beetles when they came out.  But remember, I lived in Whiteville and it’s not like I could just turn on the radio and tune to the local R&B station.  There were none.  However, there was an underground station at the local college, UWGB, and they played R&B and Funk on Saturday nights from 9pm to 1am.  Without fail, every Saturday night, I would put my little cassette tape into my boom box and record as much music as possible. 

Fast forward to 1986.  I’m now 19 years old, in my first “real” relationship and head over heals in love with a young man named Alonzo, aka Zo.  During the four years we were together, Zo taught me a lot.  Most of it was what not to take in a relationship, but he also taught me about some really great music.  I learned about and to love the likes of Marvin Gaye, Switch, Minnie Riperton, Teena Marie, Frankie Beverly and Maze, George Clinton and on and on and on.  And my love for this music continues today, except now I have an ample supply of R&B stations to choose from in Atlanta.

Am I passing my passion for this music to Moe?  Absolutely!  He hears it a lot in the car and at home, but I can’t say he’s a huge fan right now.  Currently, he’s a huge fan of Cat Stevens and will press skip on the CD player until he hears Cat’s voice.  Once he hears Cat’s calming voice, he sways back and forth and hums along with him.  This is quite fine with me, too. 

 

Is this month over yet?

How can it only be November 9^th?  This posting every day thing is no joke and it totally feels like it should be at least the 23^rd by now.  Whose dumb idea was this?  Anyway…  

I am going to utilize today’s post, to once again, give thanks to my most brilliant and most awesome readers.  Remember the sleep debacle last week, or rather the no sleep debacle?  Well, thanks to all of your suggestions, we are now sleeping a lot later in the Moe Better household.  We went with the advice that Moe was either taking too long of a nap or he was going to bed too early.  So, we first talked with Moe’s teachers about his nap, and as it turns out, he was only taking a 2-hour nap while at school.  We thought it would be best to leave his nap schedule as is and decided to try pushing his bedtime back a smidge in hopes of getting him to sleep a little later than before the ass-crack of dawn.  We agreed to put him down at 8:30pm and that first morning he slept until 5:30am.  The next morning he slept until 5:45am and then 6:00am the following morning.  This may still seem early to a lot of you but I’ll take this any day over the 3 and 4 o’clock range.  

But wait until I tell you about the silver lining to the later bedtime.  You see, since Moe transitioned out of his crib, bedtime has been somewhat challenging.  Gone were the nights that we would read, sing, say night-night, close the door and end of story.  The bedtime routine had turned into read, sing, say night-night, close the door and then repeat closing the door for the next 30 or so minutes because Moe kept getting out of his bed.  However, since we pushed back his bedtime, the additional 30 minutes are no longer required for Mr. Sandman to bring Moe a dream.  He is now either down for the count after the first door closing or he may get out of his bed once or twice at the most.  And the best part of it all, is that we have not had to push back  cocktail hour one minute.  And Amen to that. 

And now is the part where I ask for your help…  again.  I am quickly running out of fodder for the rest of November so I am opening up the floor to questions.  Is there anything you want to know about the Moe Betters?  Any subject you want me to write about?  Ask away.  Please…

ማኅበረሰብ

I really hate to cop to just a linky-loo during NaBloPoMo, but when she sums up a night so well, I can’t pass it up.  Plus I was far too busy chatting it up with friends and didn’t take one single picture.

See you tomorrow when I resume my regular scheduled musings.  And don’t forget to watch the season finale of Mad Men tonight.

Ain’t no party like a Habesha party…

There is a lot I love about Atlanta.  First of all, I love the weather.  Coming from the frozen tundra where winter pretty much lasts for six or more months, I can honestly tell you that I do not miss the snow or cold weather.  At all.  The summers can get a little steamy here, but isn’t that what sweet tea if for? 

And you will never go hungry here in the ATL.  Not a chance.  We have a superabundance of out-of-this-world-eateries ranging from my uber casual favorite rib joint, where you’ll hear free live blues, to my favorite Top Chef judge’s swanky joint where the Momma wears heels and where the Dah-dee requests a table for only two.  And in between, there’s my boyfriend’s restaurant that I haven’t even dined at yet but am thinking it would be a great place to spend our 5th wedding anniversary next week.  Unless my husband has a problem with me eating at my boyfriend’s restaurant on our anniversary.

But one of the things I love the most, and what makes me feel like this could very well be our forever home, is our Ethiopian community.  I read an article by Melissa Fay Greene, who just happens to be the idol of every person adopting from Ethiopia and who also calls Atlanta home, that we have the 2nd largest Ethiopian population  (Washington DC ranks first).  The downside of this is how to choose between all of the delectable Ethiopian restaurants that are within a stone’s throw from one another.

Also grouped into the Ethiopian community of love category is our local Atlanta area Ethiopia adopter’s group.  It has grown swiftly in the two years I’ve belonged and that makes our monthly gatherings even more merry.  We’re anticipating a whole lot of merry today because the Moe Betters are hosting the gathering this month at our other gig I plug when I’m not plugging our Halloween gig.

We’re expecting a big turn out today - over 30 adults and over 30 Habeshas.  Can you stand it?!  I can’t.  Each day this week, Moe has asked if today was the day he would see his friends or in Moe-ease he’d ask, “Momma, Emmett play? Max play?  Mimi play?  Kamu play?”  And today, I finally got to say, “Yes, Moe, today is the day!!”

Flashback Friday

This photo was kindly taken by another family from our agency while we were awaiting our court date.  I carried this photo with me wherever I went – ready to show anyone who asked to see it and anyone who didn’t ask.  It is and will always be one of my favorite photos.

I blame my mother.

I have several hot buttons.  And when one of these hot buttons gets pushed, I’m not so good at keeping my cool.  In fact, I’ve been known to get pretty worked up about certain things, to the point where my eyes bulge out and my neck veins protrude at the sides.  Not a pretty sight. 

I had a recent episode of the eye bulging and neck protruding (ebanp) while working at the Halloween store last week.  It was practically deju vu with the ebanp episode of ’07. 

Here’s a recount of my little run-in.  

I was working the cash register and greeted the next customer in line.  He put his goods on the counter and pointed to the Hillary mask and said, “That’s the scariest mask and that’s (see below) Obama.  Ha-ha-ha!”

 

Now, I know 1) I was at work and should have just bit my tongue and 2) I’m a paid costume ringer-upper and not a political pundit, but I’m too much like my mother and have a bad case of diarreah of the mouth.  So instead, I said, “You should be a little more careful where you spout your political opinions because this area (circles cash register area with my hands) right here is not of the same opinion.”  Well, he could hardly believe what just came out of my mouth and continued to spew some more nonsense about how the letters in Biden and Obama spell Osama bin Laden or some shit like that and then the vein popped in my neck and blood spurted everywhere.  Not really.  But almost. 

Seriously, I wish I could have just ignored those comments like my mil did but I couldn’t.  She had very similar comments from customers and she is even more liberal than I am.  That loser customer probably won’t be back to see us next year.  Oh well.

Do y’all have hot buttons?  Please share them with me and let me know if you’re of the keep your mouth shut camp or of the diarreah of the mouth camp.