The honeymoon is over

"I decided long ago never to walk in anyone's shadows.
If I fail, if I succeed, at least I live as I believe."

-- Greatest Love of All, Whitney Houston



I came home from work last night and fell asleep. I was exhausted! Going to work takes it all out of me.

When I woke up, Joe was feeding Zoe dinner. He seemed irritated, but when I asked him what was wrong, he told me nothing. In his passive-aggressive way, he did little things all night that were designed to irritate me, but he still denied anything was wrong. We ended up watching the Steelers game in separate parts of the house.

After the Steelers tanked, I went upstairs. Joe was already asleep, with the TV and the lights off. I got ready for bed and climbed in. And, he woke. And left for a while. When he came back upstairs, he was fuming about a missing flashlight. "It was in the basket in the bathroom. Where did it go???"

"What do you need a flashlight for?" I asked him.

"What does that matter? If I put something somewhere, it should stay there. No one needs to be touching my stuff."

I knew where he was going with this, but he didn't quite go there. He was pissed because Zoe made off with his flashlight. But he had been pissed about something all night. It couldn't be the flashlight.

"Well, put your stuff where she can't get to it if you don't want her touching it," I said. He had already rolled over and pretended to sleep.

The longer I laid there awake, thinking about it, the more pissed I became. Since we moved back in with Joe about a month ago, things were relatively good, but for the past week he's been badgering me about Zoe left and right, about her behavior and her appearance and the number of toys she has... everything. And he'll say disparaging stuff about her right in front of her. The more I laid there and pieced all this together, the more angry I felt myself becoming. So, knowing we had a counseling appointment the next day, I got up and slept in Zoe's room with the intention of letting it all go until I got to the appointment.

And I did. I fell right to sleep, and I spent my morning avoiding thinking about the whole stupid flashlight thing. This.... may have been a mistake. Had I thought about it more, I might have been able to frame a rational discussion in my mind for the counseling session, but instead I found myself going in with guns blazing.

I just didn't realize how fucking MAD I was about it. And I left there even madder.

Joe sat there and said that Zoe never listens to him. I countered: He doesn't speak to her directly, but instead asks me to correct her. Or he speaks to her so quietly that she doesn't even hear him. Literally. Or he'll say shit like, "There she goes again," instead of actually talking to her and telling her what he expects from her.

He complained that I don't back him up when he does correct her. Which is a flat-out lie, because at our last session I was charged with providing support when he corrected her, and I have, without hesitation, even when I didn't agree with him. Then the "discussion" (i.e. me yapping hysterically while Joe sat smugly claiming he was right on every point) turned to why I don't agree with all his rules. OH. MY. GOD. Because if we followed all his rules, Zoe would have to behave like a robot.

Hey, I'm the first to admit I'm too lax on my kid. But the other day, he wouldn't even let her sit on the couch because "she might jump on it." And you know what? I backed him up when he told her not to get on the couch. And I waited until she was out of the room before I asked him what the hell he was doing. In the counseling session, he claimed all his rules were in the best interests of Zoe's safety. What the fuck ever. How about the best interests of her self-esteem??

Here's an example of my rules:
1. Nothing except water goes in the mouth after brushing teeth before bed.
2. No kids near the stove unless closely supervised by an adult.
3. All dirty clothes must go in the dirty laundry basket.

Here's an example of Joe's:
1. No children are allowed in the bedroom or the study.
2. Zoe is not allowed to touch anything in the house -- including the walls -- except her toys.
3. At no time are bare feet allowed outside and then back inside without thorough disinfecting.

As you can see, we have slightly different parenting styles.

In the counseling session, Joe also told me that my sister had quizzed him about whether Zoe listens to him. He used that as evidence of my mediocre parenting: "See, even your family thinks she's out of control." When I called my sister tonight to complain, I asked her about it. She laughed and said he did in fact ask him that, but more because Zoe seemed to have no interest in Joe, nor Joe in Zoe in her observations. She said she was trying to get a feel for the relationship between them. Or the lack of one.

I felt like I got nothing out of the session today, except that I realized how much this stuff had been bothering me. I stated more than once that I felt like Joe was backing me into a corner with his ultimatums on how I handle Zoe in regard to the rules he wants set and enforced, especially when 1. I don't agree with most of them and 2. he isn't willing to "look like a bad guy," as he says, and try handling his wants himself. But considering I spent most of the session barking and swearing and yelling, I'm not sure if my communication was at all effective.

We have another appointment in a week. So far, 12 hours after this one, we haven't spoken a word to each other.

It should be a fun week.

Happy Labor Day

The past few weeks have been busy as hell. We moved back to Joe's, Zoe started kindergarten, work got nuts before Pittsburgh's mayor finally died, and Zoe turned five!


Zoe celebrates her graduation from preschool.


The first day of school: Zoe gets right on the bus and waves bye to Mom.


A birthday picnic at Pap Pap's house!


Zoe snaps photos around the house.

With all the recent stress, I'm so glad there was an extra day off this weekend. I don't know how I would have been able to keep going without it.

Work vs. play vs. work

"As sure as night is dark and day is light,
I keep you on my mind both day and night,
And happiness I've known proves that it's right.
Because you're mine, I walk the line."

-- I Walk the Line, Johnny Cash



I was all over my calendar today... marking up everything from car appointments to next year's camping trip with my cousins. Coincidentally, my boss had me double-checking my vacation days spent, which turned out to be a good idea; he had marked down Saturdays and Sundays -- my days off -- that were counting against me.

Emails were flying around work with various invitations to this and that, going-away parties, gallery receptions, company picnics, NFL exhibition games. This must be the busy social season in Pittsburgh: hurry up and do stuff before it starts snowing.

Joe came over and asked about me attending a city editor's going-away party, hosted by another editor and his wife. I had gotten that invitation in a mass email but promptly dismissed it: It was an editor I had barely exchanged words with. I know that Joe is close to few in the newsroom and these guys... are pretty much them. But I never expected he'd want to drag me along to this event.

In fact, it hit me like a ton of bricks when he asked me.

Joe is an extremely private person. In fact, last weekend, he told his parents for the first time about us having a child together. And as far as work goes, I figure a lot of people probably have put two and two together about us: High-ranking editor involved with young new hire -- and whoa, she's pregnant. But only a few close to Joe have confirmed with him our relationship, and no one I work with directly has even had the balls to hint about the rumors being true.

I noticed even The Editor has had me in his office only once since I became obviously swelled.

Joe and I have been getting along fabulously, so this isn't about any skepticism or trepidation I might have about our future. In fact, I have seen enormous changes in our relationship since our separation, which I think served as more of a wake-up call for us to get out of our short-lived dreamy new-relationship fuzz and get on with reality than it signaled any underlying deal-breaking obstacles. If I had any doubts at all about being in love with him before the separation, they are gone now.

But.... publicly outing ourselves... with coworkers...

....who are reporters and editors... and unnaturally curious....

I KNOW this is a case of me paying more attention to the circumstances than any of my coworkers would dare spend more than a few moments thinking about, but I just imagine me making a total fool of myself, or Joe, when these people are really his social circle and not mine. Or slightly worse, that I'll bear witness to them making fools of themselves. Or that my working relationship will change with them, for better or for worse.

Too much thought, I know. I should just go, and hang on the arm of my loved one and let people get over the fact that we're so damn scandalous yet so damn normal.

AC, or no AC

"Don't you know it's a pity
That the days can't be like the nights
In the summer, in the city"

-- Summer in the City, Lovin' Spoonful




We had a few days of heat, heat, heat. But then, as suddenly as it came, and lingered, and lulled, it was gone. It still heats up during the day, but it drops to the high 50s at night.



On Friday before school, Zoe declared she was cold. She went to school in hat and gloves... kept them on for outings for much of the weekend.

It's still August here. It's still August everywhere else, right?

Driver's ed

My assimilation back to Pennsylvania has been a difficult journey. That journey has gotten only more difficult the more my car clunks and clatters and beeps at me.

A few weeks ago, I finally went for my PA driver's license. That turned into an ordeal because Florida suspended my license there, oh, back in February. Seems my old insurance company has the power to get my license suspended, and then the burden is on me to somehow KNOW that and report my new insurance.

I got that mess straightened out, and even got to keep my Florida license because some idiot didn't confiscate it from me as many times as I offered to hand it over. And then I went for my plate; it took AAA only a few days to transfer my title. It was a sad day, switching the Florida plate for the PA one. I no longer have the assumed excuse that I'm an out-of-towner, so therefore I can screw up more than the average driver.


Dad and Zoe do the dirty work.

In PA, a bunch of people have to look all over your car and smear glue on the inside of your windshield and smack a piece of paper to that in order for you to be allowed to drive. I have not been able to get my car to pass the emissions inspection because of some "oxygen" problem, even though just before I left Florida I had a mechanic who claimed he had fixed all the oxygen sensors throughout my car, even the ones in the visor. The mechanic my dad recommended here wasn't able to do the work (only the dealer can, he claimed), but he was able to conquer a pesky turn signal that was out.

The mechanic did say something about a leak behind my bell housing (hey, that's personal!) and that the computer revealed a secret code that translated into engine work he did not know how to perform. Which all translates into a bill I don't want to afford.

In the meantime, my dad, being the handy guy he is, decided he was going to "fix" the panel around the inside door handle that has been busted since the last time I took it to the dealer in Florida. It seems every time I take the car somewhere to get fixed, it comes back with more things wrong with it. I avoid service like some people avoid dentists.

Anyway, my dad mentioned after driving my car yesterday that the door was sticking. Sticking is an understatement. When I tried to open the door last night, it was like the world's largest wad of bubble gum was wedged in the door. The entire door panel had come loose and was jammed, and at that point I was still unaware my dad had attempted his little "fix."

For my entire drive to return movies, the car chirped at me. Not in a consistent, rhythmic manner, but in the most haphhazard, annoying, screwball manner you can imagine.

Be-beeeeeeep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-be-be-beep. Beep-beep. Beeeeep. Beeeeeeee-be-be-be-be-be-be-be-beeeep.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

By the time I got to Joe's house, I was WEEPING. I figured the stupid mechanic did something to the car, and if I had his home number, he would have gotten an earful right at that moment.

It got better. At precisely 3:35 in the morning, the car alarm started blaring.



As soon as I hit my desk at work this morning, I was on the phone with the credit union. It's time for a new car. In the meantime, I have to remember to not set the alarm and to enter the car from the passenger side. In my condition, that's just damn entertaining.

Glad to be back in PA. There are plenty of gullies and hills and walls and valleys and rivers into which I can drive head-first if I get desperate.

Done deal

"I was alone, I took a ride,
I didn't know what I would find there;
Another road where maybe I could see
Another kind of mind there.

Ooh, then I suddenly see you.
Ooh, did I tell you I need you
Every single day of my life."

-- Got to Get You Into My Life, The Beatles



I'm going to be a grandmommy!


Yes, it's sort of true. Let me explain...

Joe has two grown daughters. They are nearly my age. And each has a son. And Joe and I made our engagement official.

I'm no math wizard, but I figure when we get married, that makes me a step-grandmother.

I just turned 33.

I have not met his girls, but since they live in Florida -- in BROWARD COUNTY, my recently abandoned second or third hometown -- I assume it won't be hard to cross paths with them at some point. I wish I could have met them before I have the baby, but it appears that possibility is disappearing. At this point I hope Joe tells them about our baby before it magically appears.



I got the ring last night, after my birthday dinner. Joe insisted on taking me to the Georgetown Inn in Mount Washington, (I think he is growing tired of my penchant for Eat N Park and my grieving for the defunct Chi-Chi's), and during the stroll back to the car, he kept asking me to hold things -- his wallet, his keys, some gum -- as he fished things out of his pockets. And then the ring appeared among the things he was handing me to hold. It wasn't the most romantic delivery, but I suspected it was coming and I think he knew that. The funny part is that he thought he had left the ring at the restaurant and was giving me his belongings to hold while earnestly fishing in his pockets for the prize.

It was no Chi-Chi's, but the food at the Georgetown was fucking awesome. And it's a beautiful ring. I thought about posting a photo of it, but I'm too embarrassed. Anyone who knows me and saw the size of the stone would laugh out loud -- it's worth enough to buy me my Payless shoe supply -- and my kids' -- for the rest of our lives. In fact, I've imagined the things I could trade it in for: A new kitchen, a roof, a new car....

But what's a girl going to do?

I'll probably just start sending my soon-to-be step-grandkids toys that are too young for them and clothes that are too small for them and stock up on hard candy, start misplacing my car keys and go get fitted for dentures and a cane........

Happy birthdays to come

"God damn the wounds
That show how deep a word can cut."

-- Before You Were Born, Toad the Wet Sprocket



Yesterday was my birthday. Few people remembered. Joe greeted me as we woke up in the cabin (see the camping blog below), gave me a mushy card and promised to deliver my present on Friday. Dad called. Rebecca and Bob both called AND sang. And my sister-in-law and another friend in Florida left messages. And my brother handed me a card when I got back from lovely DuBois.

OK, everyone important remembered. Everyone who had any knowledge of my birthday anyway. And I know my sister remembered, because my dad told me she called and mentioned it, but she and I apparently are going through a no-talking spell. Last time we spoke on the phone she hung up on me and she won't return my emails, even though I owe her money. That's impressive. Even I am sweet as pie until someone pays up.

But no one celebrated happily that I'm 29 again! I hope to see some sort of dessert topped with candles this weekend.

The baby's birthday is on target too, according to the ultrasound today. Mid-December. The sonagram technician was all syrupy, telling me I better have my holiday shopping done by Thanksgiving. And she asked if we were interested in knowing the gender. But of course.

Joe and I were leaving the appointment when I began text-messaging the news to my sister-in-law. He stopped me, and suggested that we keep that news private. I thought about it for a second. I decided the sentiment was silly, but felt I should at least give the appearance I was giving it some consideration. My quiet pondering drove him crazy.

"Why do you always get like this when I try to talk to you about something?" he barked at me.

We were driving by then, and the argument ensued. It wasn't even about the baby's gender anymore. He was mad that I didn't give his feelings any weight and I was mad that he was telling me what I was allowed to tell people about this nine-pound gut hanging off the front of me.

I told people anyway. My family, my close friends. I know that should be a decision Joe and I both make, but I had no idea it mattered at all to him, and he didn't bring it up until moments after we found out. It didn't seem fair.

It will be a fun counseling session on Monday.

After I got home and calmed down, I saw no reason to keep it quiet. I'm the one struggling with my lopsided body, living with my father with no permanent home in sight, and I need all the support I can possibly get. Joe hasn't even told his family yet that he has another child on the way.

Let alone that it's a son.




Zoe and I both have to warm up to having a boy, since we both professed our desire for a girl. "Let's call him Millie," Zoe says.

Parker Dam State Park

We had a long weekend of camping. I've been back one full day, and I'm still tired!

Zoe had a wonderful time, sleeping on the top bunk and taking a shower like the big kids. She got to ride her bike with the cousins and didn't mind that she had the only three-wheeler. We swam at the beach and went hiking and roasted marshmallows and hot dogs on the campfire. There were four cabins split among my family members, so Zoe made her rounds every half an hour or so, knocking on doors for food.

I got in a little fishing and a sunburn. Ahhhh. This is what moving here was all about.

Some photos: