Diary of a MILF in Progress

Spring thaw

Progress is being made. The Husband actually called me yesterday, to remind me of his schedule and discuss dinner plans. He spoke to me in a normal fashion when I called to say I was on my way home. When he left for his evening event, he asked me if I was going to tape "Lost". He acknowledged that I had made a lunch for The Elder Son, and that The Daughter only needed a drink because she would have hot lunch at school.

And we did not speak of money or the IRS or the balance of our home equity loan.

Baby steps, perhaps, but progress nonetheless.

Well, that may solve the "togetherness" problem

The Husband and I are barely speaking right now. On Monday, we got a letter from the IRS about a screw up on last year's taxes. A screw up that I take full responsibility for, but one that opens up some old wounds. You see, I got myself into some serious debt because of running up bills and trying to take care of them without the Husband knowing about it. And I got further into debt as the money snowballed because of interest and the like. And when he finally found out about it last summer, the revelation was at a tense and awkward time (i.e., during a refinance on the house, right before we were facing a major health situation). And I completely forgot that I had screwed up some of the tax reporting in an effort to slip the information in under his radar last year, so in addition to the repayment of last years overpayment (i.e., we got a refund that was too high, so that amount will be deducted from this year's refund) we also have a year's worth of interest to pay on the extra money.

I suppose that all of the words he shouted at me on Monday night probably drained him of the ability to say anything more than absolutely necessary since then. Since "Good night" and "drive carefully" are not absolutely necessary, I don't hear those. Since "I fed the dog when I woke up, so you don't have to" can be said more succinctly and snippily as "I already did it", that's all I get. As restless as both of us are as we slumber, I didn't think we could manage to go so long with no physical contact at all, but he's managed to avoid touching me at all, no matter how briefly, all week.

I deserve some of the anger. But I don't deserve the accusation that I've reverted right back to the problems and behaviors I had before we sat down in September to work this all out and fix it. I have worked hard to earn back The Husband's trust with how I handle money. I closed all of my credit cards a year ago, and he has access to my credit report so he knows if an account is opened in my name. My paycheck is now deposited directly into an account where he keeps the checkbook, so he sees exactly how much money I am bringing in and how much I spend on my share of the expenses. The only discretionary money I have is when I get paid for my freelance writing or craft work, and he told me six month ago that he doesn't want to take away that freedom. But while my friends are talking about how they need to turn on the A/C because of our recent Spring temperatures, I only need to step into a room with the man who promised to love me for better or worse in order to feel a sufficient chill in the air.

I know I said I needed time for myself, but I didn't anticipate that all those unthinking pecks on the cheek or pats on the shoulder would be so conspicuous when they were absent. I wasn't ready to live in this bubble.

Come on, get happy!

Yesterday: quitting time. Time for giant blue drinks at two dollars off!

OK, not really. But by Tuesday, Natalie and I had determined that we were going to need to unwind from the hellish week, so we told a few people that we were planning to go to the local billiard cafe. A few people ditched us, a few were tentative, but we planned on going regardless. When I dropped a reminder to the boys, Casey promised that they would "make a cameo" after they had the final offsite meeting with our new employee from the international office.

Natalie and I hit the cafe a bit earlier than planned, and SURPRISE, the boys were already there. As the beers went down, so did the inhibitions. No holds barred- we talked about which VP's were asses and which ones have hot asses, whether the female companion of one senior executive was his beard or an actual romantic interest, and some guilt trips for the fact that Isaac was the only of the boys who noticed my new haircut (overall vote: Casey wants it grown out, Isaac was it to stay short, and Tyler was the only one smart enough to say that both styles look good).

Final verdict? The venue got a thumbs-up, but we need to do this way more often.

Crap, he wants to spend time with me?!

The Husband is pressuring me to take a babysitter on vacation so that we have more time to "relax" (relax=lay on the beach, etc. without having to actually have an parental responsibilities). When I revisited the reasons why this is probably not a good idea (having to get a different apartment, since our current one is only two bedrooms; additional expense; the fact that he chose to have children, so he needs to suck it up and actually take them in the water or build sandcastles with them or keep an eye on them so they don't run away...) he began to pressure me about having more "alone time" vacations, like the one we took for our anniversary a few years ago. Not necessarily big trips, maybe a weekend away to see a show, or a touristy trip to one of the local historical areas. Then he remembers that I have two out of town meetings every year. And he realizes that, while the Spring meeting is never at a time when it is feasible to take time off, the Fall one may be. And it's going to be in Florida this year! He'd like to go to Florida with me!

I'll be very busy, I warn him. I will be working 14 hour days, most likely. Some of the evenings will be dinners out that he can attend with me, but I will be on-call and not just be unwinding with him. No problem, The Husband, assures me. He is happy to go golfing while I am in meetings or working the registration desk. If I have to work an evening event and he is not included, he will fend for himself.

My mother agrees that accompanying me on my business trip will not be a "grown up vacation" for The Husband and me. That it seems that what he really wants is just a break from having to be a dad and be responsible for someone other than himself. That he may have an unrealistic expectation of how much time we'll get to spend together.

But she does not understand the real reason I do not like this proposal. Only one person is likely to understand, and she is the only one I can speak to about it.
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"Natalie! The Husband wants to come to the meeting in September!"
"NO," she exclaims. "He can't!"
"I know," I reply dejectedly. "He thinks it will be a nice 'vacation' for us. That it will be fun to get to go to the dinners and stuff. That he'll just take his clubs and go golfing while I'm in meetings."
"But...but..." Natalie sputtered, "he...No! Tell him...no, you can't tell him that...Tell him...Oh, shit, I don't know."
"I know. I'm totally fine with taking a trip with him. But does he have to come to this one?!"
"We have got to talk him out of this," she said.
"Yeah, we seriously do," I agreed.

Because the conference is my time. It happy hour on a much larger scale. It's the hotel bar and the staff office and the foxhole mentality of setting up and running meetings and a booth and networking events. Work Dana is mingling and schmoozing, she's witty and flirty and poised. Wife Dana has school pictures in her wallet and rarely curses and stays away from hard liquor. She's got stretch marks under that business suit and she buys "Mom went to Florida and all I got was this lousy t-shirt" t-shirts.

Wife Dana doesn't hang out with the Marketing boys.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

I cut my hair short last weekend. It made sense to do so, but it's taking some getting used to.

It's not super, boy-short, but it's a big change from the shoulder length "Baberaham Lincoln" layers I used to have. I can't hide behind it anymore, and tuck it behind my ears the way some people seem to find appealing.

Most of the compliments have come from older co-workers, contributing to my fear that it's a middle-aged lady haircut. The Husband liked it initially, but retained the right to amend his opinion once I wore my glasses with it (he was still OK with it once I donned specs, as long as they aren't the dark framed ones).

So now I'm worried. Is short hair sexy?

Maybe she doesn't know me as well as she thinks she does...

I was on the phone with Natalie, and she told me that she'd already gotten word that she will be attending this year's annual conference (anyone remember last year's conference? Yeah, that one.)

"And this year," she said, "I'm going to go out and do stuff and relax a little more. I'll take advantage of the hotel bar."

"I think I'll probably end up making out in an elevator with Casey," I said jokingly, "or God knows what."

"No you won't," she said. "You'll think about it, but you won't go through with it."

"Making out, or going beyond that?" I asked.

"Any of it," she said. "I know you too well- you'll think about it, you'll be tempted by it, but you won't take it further than anything that's happened in the office."

Now, if she had said I wouldn't take it any further than what I've already done away from the office, she might be right. Or, she might not. Stay tuned...

Smooth move, ex-lax!

What is sexy: a fitted shirt, distressed denim boot cut jeans and a lacy thong with matching bra.

What is not sexy: realizing that you put your leg through the waistband (and have a leg opening around your waist) so that you are essentially wearing your underwear sideways.

Further proof that men are sometimes idiots

While running some quick errands on Saturday, I stopped at the one store near my home where I can find jeans that fit me properly (Levi's Signature Low-rise or Mid-rise Bootcut, if you happen to want to buy me some new jeans.) When I returned home, I told The Husband that I had used the joint account to purchase said jeans, since I figured he would ask about it when he balanced the checkbook.

"I bought a pair of jeans, since most of mine don't fit anymore," I said.

"I thought you were working out," he replied. "Why are your jeans too small?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "They aren't too small," I countered, "they're too big. I've been focusing on my lower body, so the stuff I've already got doesn't sit right anymore. You have noticed that I've been working on my butt, hip and thighs, right?"

"Yeah, you're getting there," he said.

"Well, I've got good legs," I said. "I mean, I think I have good legs- those years as a dancer gave them a good shape, especially when I wear heels."

"They aren't bad," he said, in all seriousness.

By this time I was starting to seethe a bit. I've complimented him on how his legs are nicely toned when he rides his bike, and how some of the work he does has reshaped his shoulders. He knows that I'm working to firm up and get healthy. Could he not throw me a bone?

"Are you seeing anything that you actually do like?" I asked in exasperation.

"Well, your butt is getting better here," he said as he patted my lower glutes, "so you just need to work on this," as he indicated the upper/outer thigh. "And as soon as you do some more upper body work, you'll firm up your arms so you won't be so self-conscious about wearing short sleeves..."

"In other words, you saying 'Dana, you're not as bad looking as you used to be!'"

I do have to admit, he isn't a total moron. He was smart enough to wait until after we had sex to say these things. I think he knew, deep down, that he wouldn't be getting any action after he made those remarks!