And now, I pronounce you ENGAGED

Saturday night, Dallas and I attended our engagement party which was hosted by the CEO, the president and their wives. I'd never been to an engagement party before so I had no idea what to expect. It probably wouldn't have mattered. Dallas and I were blown away. We walked in and the piano player launched into the opening notes of "Here Comes The Bride". And that hit me square in the solar plexus. I turned to Dallas and whispered, "Hey. We're getting married!"

I have discovered that you can go through several months living your life like a spectator. This is not to say that I wasn't in touch with reality because I can still taste the salt of the New Zealand air and smell the orange groves of Florida but I have not allowed my mind to ponder the actual wedding day. Dallas and I have certainly discussed the details at length but I guess I was approaching the whole thing in a clinical, businesslike way. When I heard, "Da, da, dada. Da, da, dada", I could immediately imagine myself walking down the aisle and THAT took my breath away.

I've been with my company for five years and my colleagues have become my surrogate family. I know without a shadow of a doubt that if I needed to, I could call any one of them for help. Dallas is in the same boat. New Zealand is so far away but he too, is fortunate enough to be surrounded by friends who are now his brothers. These are the people who were at our party. It was very humbling.

After we had mingled for a bit, Dallas and I were called to the center of the room for the toasts. My boss started things off and I felt my eyes sting. Following that, my CEO took his turn. My eyes started to leak. Then, one of the girls at work had her say and I struggled for composure. Finally, Dallas's best man gave a short, beautiful speech and I dabbed away tears. Then it was my turn to say something. I tried to articulate to everyone there how much the party meant to us and how grateful we were and I struggled with the words. I am emotional by nature so fighting back tears is second nature for me but to bathe in the love and heartfelt good wishes from everyone just rocked my world. Thankfully, Dallas stepped in and spoke eloquently for both of us.

I find myself overwhelmed a lot lately. Yes, there is a modicum of stress involved in planning a wedding and sometimes, the mechanics of my career can cause me to chew Tums like candy but when I look at the big picture, I can't possibly complain. My life, our life, is pretty damn great.

The truth is, it always has been but it's only lately that I've recognized that.

Rollercoasters Will Fry Your Brain

The trouble with a holiday is that you have to go back to work.

This week has been a little overwhelming. The president of my company walked into my office the other day and said, "What's with the factories puking all over themselves?"

I don't know what the hell is going on but NOTHING is running smoothly right now. It's like the work fairies have gone on strike. Even projects that have been ticking along without a hitch for over two years are experiencing hiccups. It's enough to make flipping burgers at the local greasy spoon look appealing.

So last night, to de-stress, I watched "Emeril Live" on the Food Network because even though I can't get within a mile of a carbohydrate (yes, I'm on that kick again), I can at least try to stimulate some feel good hormones by observing chocolate pecan pie being made.

I'd never tuned in to Emeril before but we ate at his restaurant in Orlando (TO DIE FOR) during this last trip so I was interested to see what his show was like. He was awesome! Very entertaining. He's even got this five piece band right there with him in the kitchen. During one quick shot of the band, I turned to Dallas and said,

"Look! I didn't know Randy Jackson played on Emeril's show." Dallas looked at me as if my nose hair were on fire.

I suppose I should preface this exchange by telling you about a discussion that we had had in Florida on the day that we visited the Animal Kingdom. We arrived fairly early Friday morning and started our day at the DINOSAUR roller coaster. It was awful. I used to love rides as a kid but something changed once I had children of my own. I am convinced that the Tea Cup horror in the Magic Kingdom is an instrument of the devil. See the picture below. That was from last year. Notice the green hue.


Olivia obviously recovered nicely but I wasn't right for the rest of the day.



Anyway...

After the Dinosaur ride, we ventured onto another roller coaster so by the time we hit the African part of the park, my brains were leaking out of my eyeballs. Understandably, I was easily confused. As we walked into the African section, I noticed a kangaroo on our left and was quick to point it out to my children.

(photo courtesy of www.turtletrack.org)

Dallas swung around, eyes wide in amazement and declared, "That is NOT a freaking kangaroo!!" He laughed and laughed and the kids, sensing the opportunity to get one over on their mum, joined in. Listen, it looked like a bloody kangaroo to me. Well, maybe one that had been in a scrap with a dingo or something and lost its tail...



Apparently, this little guy is a Patagonian Cavy. He's a rodent, a BIG ASS rat, not a marsupial. Whatever. He hopped.

So, back to last night watching Emeril and how I believed Randy Jackson was on the show. Wrong again.

This is Randy, of course.



Umm..this is not Randy.


After his initial shock wore off, Dallas took me gently into his arms. He softly stroked the back of my hand and in a quiet, soothing voice he said:

"Baby. That's not Randy Jackson. That's a kangaroo."

Cheeky bastard.

EDIT:
After reading this, Dallas informed me that a kangaroo hasn't been spotted in Africa for...oh...well, NEVER.
And it's rat look-a-like? Not African. South American.
So, my recollection of exactly where my Jessica Simpson moment happened is a smidge hazy. But hey, at least I know it wasn't in Africa or Asia. Excuse me now, I've misplaced my bottle of peroxide and I need to go find it.

Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

I know that we haven't spoken in ages but I wanted to drop you a note to update you on the last eleven years or so.

Back in 1997, my second husband and I were living in Michigan. It was there that I gave birth to your first grandchild, Dylan. He will turn eleven this May and I am constantly amazed at how his brain works. When he was born, he bore a distinct resemblance to you and it made my heart hurt that your conflict with me was more important to you than your interest in knowing him. He sometimes asks about you, especially now that he is older and I struggle with trying to explain to him why it is that you and I don't speak. The truth is, I don't have a good answer especially now that I am a parent. I guess that somewhere along the line, being your daughter required too much effort.

In 1998, we moved to Houston in search of better weather and some distance from my husband's family. You might have thought that our family closet held some skeletons but let me tell you, our dysfunction couldn't compete on that level. We didn't leave Michigan so much as we fled it. Texas turned out to be a really good move for us. I went to work for a major retailer and ended up being transferred to their home office in a buying capacity. I haven't looked back since.

In 2002, my daughter Olivia was born. I made the decision not to return to my job because even though I became a financial prisoner in my own home, I felt that I owed Liv at least one year of mostly undivided attention. I have never regretted that decision. She challenges my parenting abilities every single day. She is beautiful, smart and unbelievably naughty. I imagine you would feel some satisfaction knowing that at six years old, she has me pulling my hair out on a regular basis. Unfortunately, Olivia's birth while joyful, also served to illuminate the irreparable state of my marriage. In the late summer of 2003, my husband and I parted ways and while it was a hugely painful ending, it coincided with the start of a new job for which I am deeply grateful.

In the five years that I have been with this company, my life has completely changed. I have moved from a junior sales associate to a vice president. I have traveled extensively and had the opportunity to develop personal relationships with people all over the globe. I have seen the Great Wall of China, the Taj Majal, Chichen Itza, Stonehenge, Brandenburg Gate, Rangitoto and everything North America has to offer. I now know New York City like the back of my hand. But really, the best benefits of my job are my colleagues. The CEO, the president and their wives are hosting an engagement party for Dallas and I this weekend. Can you believe that? If I think about it too hard, a little lump forms in my throat.

Which brings me to Dallas. We met through an online dating company called eHarmony. At first, I was embarrassed to admit that but Dallas has this thing where he tells perfect strangers about how we came to know each other. We can be standing in line at the grocery store or waiting in the lobby of an office building for an elevator and he'll strike up a conversation with the person standing next to him. Within thirty seconds, that same person is extending their hand in congratulations and sharing a story about a friend of a friend who met their spouse online. So hey, who cares how we met, right? Unconventional, sure, but that's kind of been the theme of my life.

Dallas is kind. He is unselfish, romantic and extremely balanced in attitude and perception. He should have been a physician because he lives his life by the mantra of "first do no harm". He is very good to my children. Inexplicably, this man wants me to be his wife. I am so fortunate. I think that you'd like him. Everyone does. He's just one of those people that makes lifelong friends where ever he goes.

Well, I guess that is basically it in a nutshell. Of course there are all of the details but I think I've covered the important stuff. See, I wanted to tell you this because as we plan the wedding, I have found myself thinking about you and wondering how you are. It's not like this is the first time. Every Christmas at least once, my mind invariably drifts to you and I always hope that you are surrounded with friends and loved ones. I wonder each year if Father's Day is a painful holiday for you because personally, I cannot imagine a life without my children. I cannot fathom how you can do the shit work teenage years and not reap the rewards once your children are grown, successful and become parents themselves. I am a grandmother now (which is a whole other story) and let me tell you, it is like nothing else. You get to love and spoil your grandchildren rotten without a lick of responsibility. It's a wee slice of nirvana, really.

We all have major life-changing events. I am not talking the peaks and valleys of normal human existence. I am referring to those milestones that drastically alter the course of one's life. Besides the birth of my kids, there are four distinct happenings that have stuck with me.

-moving to the US
-divorcing the father of my children
-accepting the position with my current company
-turning forty

I am about to formally walk down the aisle for the first time in the white dress with the veil and the vows and the reception and the honeymoon and the man I didn't believe existed. I am deliriously happy.

And I know that this is one of those life-changing experiences.

And surprisingly, there is a tiny nugget of grief knowing that it's unlikely you'll be there to share this with me.

I hope you are well, Dad.

Beth

Eyes Wide Open

Wow! Going on holiday really interferes with blogging. I certainly had good intentions of trying to post once or twice but after a full day at Disneyworld, the only thing I was able to contemplate with any clarity was a nice tall rum with diet coke and key limes.

We arrived in Orlando on Saturday night after twenty plus hours of driving. Dylan and Olivia managed the journey down quite well. There were a couple of incidents where I threatened to leave them by the side of the freeway but generally, their behaviour was good. Originally, we had planned to take Dallas’s two children and an exchange student friend of theirs but the best laid plans……

Dallas’s daughter is in the throes of teenage angst. She believes her parents to be aliens that have been sent to earth to torture her. She doesn’t want to work or go to school or clean her room or shower or do much of anything unless it involves “hanging out”. A week before the trip, she had an enormous brain fart and sent a text to Dallas where she spat the “f” word at him which turned out to be the last straw so Dallas told her that she wouldn’t be joining us in Florida.

For weeks, we had heard about a sweet Japanese exchange student who had spent the better part of last year at our local high school. Dallas’s son and this girl dated. Then she went home. They stayed in regular touch. We got word back in December that sweet Japanese student planned to make a visit during spring break. Apparently, man –child had serious feelings for her. He told us that he wanted to see her so he wouldn’t be going on the trip. We suggested she come. Great! And that was the plan…

…..Until the morning of our departure. Man-child announced that he wouldn’t be coming because sweet Japanese student didn’t want to go. Well now. To make matters stranger, we also learned that man-child proposed, with ring in hand, to sweet Japanese girl. SHE ACCEPTED and in that moment, I am convinced that somewhere along the road, we slipped down the effing rabbit hole.

Engaged.

In high school.

Yep. Firm grasp of reality, there.

Listen, Dallas and I want to be supportive. We really do but JESUS H CHRIST! And the icing on this dysfunctional slice of cuckoo cake is that Dallas’s ex not only knew about but also supported the whole thing including the LOAN that newly eighteen year old man-child took out for the bloody ring. This is a child who, while of legal voting age, still needs someone to remind him to shower.

Boggles the mind.

Anyway, after bitchy teenage daughter antics, man-child romantic-movie-of-the-week nonsense and a reality-challenged ex wife performance, Dallas and I had an ugly epiphany:

We were enablers.

Yes, ENABLERS.

In that horrid, textbook psychology 101 way.

For months now, we have contributed to the issues by paying all of the bills and burying our heads in the dirt. We didn’t hold anyone accountable for bad behaviour and we chose to bite our lips and keep silent rather than make waves. Neither one of us much cares for confrontation and clearly, this “la la la, I can’t hear you” strategy didn’t work . So now, we have taken our pedicured big toes and drawn the proverbial line in the sand.

The bank of Beth and Dallas is closed.

There will be consequences for poor choices.

There will be consequences for emotional blackmail.

And while I have faith in the universal laws of attraction and consequently, have put my order in for peace, harmony and love, something tells me that we’ve just opened Pandora’s box. Those closest to us have advised that we hang on tight. Even though they believe we are moving down the right path, they feel that the ride is going to be a bumpy one.

It Was The Cat

I have a favourite pair of thin beige shorts. They require special nude coloured panties because any other undergarment choice shows through. I packed both for our trip to New Zealand.

Dallas's mum does laundry every day. EVERY DAY. So early in our visit, I threw caution to the wind and wore THE panties. But nobody told me about the cat.

Apparently, this feline figures himself some sort of stealth clothing thief. He roams the neighbourhood pinching apparel off the lines. People on the street have learned to check the porch where this cat resides because his owner routinely drapes the stolen goods over the railing for easy retrieval. One day, Bruce and Anne witnessed the cat dragging Bruce's sweatshirt across the street. Cheeky bastard!

Anyway, the day came to wear the shorts and the panties were nowhere to be found. I spoke with Anne and asked her where she thought they might be. She claimed not to have seen them. I could have sworn that I put them in the laundry bin.

"Do you think the cat took them?" I asked.

"I don't think so," she replied. "I don't recall washing them."

I went back into our bedroom, looked around the bed, under it, in the closet and in all of the dresser drawers. No panties. Then I got to wondering if I had brought them in the first place. Didn't I wear them while I was here? Hmm... couldn't be sure because once you turn forty, those senior moments occur with greater frequency and then there was the jet lag......

Aw, who cares, right? I promptly forgot about the problem......until we got home and I opened up my dresser to see that the panties were still missing. At that point, I just knew that the wretched cat had made off with them. Bastard!

Late last week, Anne text me, "Guess what I just found?"

Ever the smarty girl, I replied, "Did the kitty across the street bring them back?"

Anne's nonchalant reply, "No. Just got round to stripping your bed + there they were. Will return them on our visit"

Oh.dear.god.

My sweet, non-judgmental, tactful, soon to be mum-in-law found my panties tangled in the sheets at the FOOT of the bed that I shared with her boy.

I have NO idea how they got there.

That is one clever cat.

Eewwww: It's a Teenage Daughter!

Teenage daughters.

There is just nothing nice to say about them. They suck.

First, you've got the chronic hormonal thing going on which is like experiencing PMS every day that you live and breathe. One minute they can be syrupy sweet and seemingly vulnerable purring manipulative language like, "I don't feel good, Daddy" and the next minute they are sending text messages with foul language, foul attitude and thinly veiled threats.

Next, you've got the chronic hormonal thing which has them sashaying off to Shagville without contraception, convinced that unwanted pregnancies only happen to OTHER people. When told she won't remember this boy's name in ten years, teenage daughter whips her head around and declares, "I LOVE him!"

"Yes, of course you do," we say out loud but inside we think, "I loved your father, too.. right up until the moment I wanted to snuff him out as he lay snoring".

There are battles over curfew and homework and part time jobs and school attendance and bedrooms that look like war zones. You argue over clothing choice (me: apparent dinosaur, you: apparent hooker), hair colour, piercings, tattoos, cell phone overages and of course, money as in,

Parent: "How do you expect to pay for that?"

Daughter: "Do I have to pay for EVERYTHING?"

Parent: "You do not pay for your food, your shelter and most of your clothing."

Daughter: "(insert random friend's name here)'s mother is paying for hers."

Parent: "I don't care. I'm not (random friend)'s mother/father."

Daughter: "This is SO not FAIR!"

The point is that teenage daughters are awful. They are demanding and selfish with a wildly interpretive approach to the truth. They learn early on that Dad can be manipulated with a few crocodile tears, a pouty bottom lip and a hug or two. They are experts in deflecting unwanted attention by facilitating tension between the parental units. They know that to divide is to conquer.

I admit that I was not a model teenager. I made poor decisions and lots of them. My mother did that whole scary curse thing when she prophesied, "One day you will have a child just like yourself."

Um, yes. In bloody spades.

I've seen one through her teenage years (she turns 20 this Friday) and have recently witnessed the adolescent throes of another. God help me when it's Olivia's turn. Wasn't it Hamlet who said, "Get thee to a nunnery." Yeah, I like that idea. Lock them up the first time that the hormone monster rears it's ugly head and let the sisters beat them into submission.

Leisa and Shane

After leaving the Auckland airport, we made the decision to head out to Pukekohe, where Leisa (Dallas's sister) and her family live. Just as a side note for those of you who are not adept with the Maori place names and pronunciations: Pukekohe is not pronounced "puke co he", like something you'd vomit. It's "Pookie Co ee", like an endearment.

Right, then.

Dallas had told me all about Leisa. According to him, she was (and I quote), "wicked smart", "an excellent mother" and hell on wheels as a teenager. So, I was sufficiently terrified to meet her.


This is Leisa. In July, she will formally become my sister but in my heart, she's there already. She is everything Dallas told me and more. We had shared a few emails and text messages before I made the trip to New Zealand so I had a feel for who she was but I was still surprised to walk into her home that Monday morning and have her hug me like we'd known each other forever.

It is said (by the nuptial kings and queens) that the size of your wedding party should be dictated by how many people you truly hold dear. Leisa had six bridesmaids but could easily have doubled that figure with the number of women who comprise her inner circle. She is fiercely loyal, dangerously smart and classic in an Audrey Hepburn kind of way. She has her mum's grace combined with her dad's practicality and martini dry sense of humour. She is extraordinary and I'm thrilled we'll get to covertly Botox ourselves to non expression together. I love her.


This is Shane. He is a deadbeat father who refuses to financially support his children. He is a pathological liar and a thief who spent a few months in the pokey recently after fleecing a charity organization of some serious bucks. He nearly financially ruined my mother and father in law. He is a complete waste of carbon. You can read all about him here and here and here.

Edit: Leisa married him, unfortunately, without knowing that in less than six months, her life was going to completely unravel. She left him shortly before the end of 2008 and is now living happily with a new partner.

Introducing......Anne and Bruce

Oh hi there! Haven't chatted with you in a while.

My apologies.

Life is CRAZY right now.

Dallas and I were in New Zealand last week for his sister's wedding and it's taken me several days to get my head around the trip.

First of all, we flew Air New Zealand.

In coach.

For twelve and a half cramped, recycled air, Jesus-I-hope-this-is-just-water-retention hours.

I am not a business class snob. I fly coach all over North America. I have flown Air Canada several times and thus, my service expectations are not that high however, Air New Zealand has redefined the art of cutting corners. And for posterity: any flight over eight hours in coach is just this side of unbearable. Of course, we plan to take the kids (mine and his) to New Zealand for New Year's and since neither one of us is a Rockefeller, I see another ride in cattle class in our immediate future. Hopefully, it will be like pregnancy so that when it comes time to board that flight in December, I will have forgotten all about this last one.

In any case, we arrived in Auckland obscenely early on Monday morning. Both of us stood just inside the doors of customs to compose ourselves before heading out to the greeting area where Dallas's parents were waiting. I had been in a slight panic for nearly three hours by that point. No more text messages, no more emails, just the real deal...face to face interaction. They'd read my blog. Gulp.

And, of course, I worried over nothing. They opened their arms to me the second I arrived and I nestled there for the balance of the trip.


This is Bruce, my soon to be father-in-law. But you can call him "Slim". He recently dropped 23kgs. Umm..for the metrically challenged, that's 51lbs! From what I can gather, he did this by eating nothing but fish oil capsules. I have to admit though, with a wedding dress and a honeymoon that requires swim wear, I might have to choke down a few of those little babies myself. Bruce makes a perfect cappuccino and every morning, before he had wiped the sleep from his own eyes, I was handed a steaming mug. Yeah, easy to love him.

This is Anne, my future mum-in-law. She is grace and compassion and quiet laughter wrapped up in a fit forty year old's body. Seriously. She must exercise in her sleep. You see how her smile reaches her eyes? It always does. She is sincerity personified. In our room, Anne left a beautiful bouquet of flowers, domestic red wine and chocolates. There were gifts for my children and a card welcoming me to the family. I couldn't help but get choked up. Weeks before our visit, her text messages always included me and they always ended with hugs and kisses. After reading the card and seeing the pains that she had taken to make me feel comfortable, I understood that this outpouring of affection was pure. Like Anne. I love her, too.

to be continued