Kids and Online Dating

Hi.

Hope you're well.

Seems like when I'm bursting to write something to you, I'm at work.  But, life is imperfect.  So, I'll make the best of the time I have tonight and I'll share a few recent thoughts with you.


Kids

Kids are great.

Even the ones who hate you and say you'll never see them again ... or their children.  They're your kids, y'know?

Makes me wonder how people who don't have kids ever really understand how much God loves them. 

Kids can crush you or make you obnoxiously proud; often in the same day.

Kids are worth the trouble.  Kids can be forgiven -- even if they don't ask.

Kids cannot become "unkids."  Even if you disown them, reject them, abandon them or show them zero love/affection/appreciation.

Your kids are your kids.  That's that.

As it is with being an imperfect child of God, through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

**

Kids in the Neighborhood

Came home from church on Sunday and a bunch of kids -- who had set up a lemonade and cookie stand -- absolutely went nuts when they saw me enter our shared cul-de-sac.

They ran toward my car with nothing less than angelic trust that they were as safe in the road where I was driving as they'd be in their mother's arms.

HUGE smiles.  Elation.  Giggledom at its finest.

Thought I'd play with them.
Put on my grouchiest face and gruffed with all my might, "Hey, you little monsters!  Get away from my car!"

They went -- instantly -- from elation to uber-glee. 

They. Loved. It.

Made me drive to their "store." 

[Somewhere there's a writer who could not only capture, but *relate* the fun/joy/playfulness we shared.  Alas, it's not me.]

Three little kids.  All shouting over one another ... BEGGING me to buy a cookie or cup of lemonade or ... whatever.

Played the Grinch again.

I reached into my car's ashtray and shoveled out a handful of change.  Showed it to them.  Their little eyes glistened and sparkled from my stash.  You'd'a thought it was a million bucks.

Told them I'd never spend money on a cookie.
That threw them into a frenzy.

Asked them what kind it was. 
Chocolate chip.

Asked them how they could prove it wasn't a poisoned cookie.
Had them each take a bite out of it for me.
They chomped it down with theatrical, histrionic, exaggerated movements.

Told them the cookie probably wasn't poison.
And played some more with them.

About why I should pay for a cookie *they* ate.

[You probably don't even get this, do you?  One of the happiest moments of my month.  Minutes that will inspire me to smile for years.  Kids are great.]

Told them to come to my car window.
Bang!  They were there.  Aglow.  Joyful. 
Kids in their giddy glory.
Had them all put their hands together.

Unloaded all my change into their tiny palms.
Overflowing.
Like their hearts and smiles.

Best money I've ever spent.  (Except for what I've spent on other kids.)

Gruffed at them to leave me alone, because I'm a grumpy old man.
You could've powered a small country from their energy.
Every time I said I was just a grumpy old man they howled more.
Larry the Cable Guy should have such an audience.

They hopped and leaped and laughed their way back to their money table, glorying in their loot.

With me watching in my rear-view mirror, as I made my way to my childless home.

Thankful for a few coins to cheer my heart so richly.
Ooops.  I mean "their hearts."

**

Went by them again on the bike an hour later.
They didn't know it was me, until I said,
"Hey, you little monsters!  Get out of my way!"

Where do kids get the energy to hop so high and laugh so hard?

Told them I'd give them a couple of dollar bills, if they'd let me go without bothering me or making buy another cookie.

What.
Fun.

All for a good cause.  A book fair at their school.

They've long since forgotten our game.

I do believe it will stay with me forever.

Several friends are going on a seven-day cruise tomorrow.
Doubt they'll have as much fun.

*

The Little Boy at Dollar General

I'd spent the day on The Bike.  Zipping and wiggling through my beloved hills.

Had a major case of helmet hair and probably smelled like I'd been zipped up inside a leather jacket in the sun all day.

Stopped at Dollar General to get some milk.  $30 later, I'm in line.  Moms and kids everywhere.

Cute little guy in line in front of me.  A "Leave It to Beaver" kid.  Respectful, but friendly.

The lady behind the counter looks at his mom and says, "He's so cute."

The kid hugged his mom's leg and looked all shy.
I caught his eye. 
Looked right at him and said,
"Back off, kid.  She meant me."

Thankfully, they all pretended that I meant it as a joke.

Kids are great.

*

Vanishing Tears

Little girl came rolling into where I work today.  Think she was with her mom and grandmother.  Kid was crying.

Not bratty tears.  Or bumped-something tears.  Or "just got whupped upside the head" tears.  Not scared tears.  Not fearful tears.  Not angry tears.  Not sorrowful tears.

Just sad-kid tears.

Strode right up to her and said, "I'm a grampa!  Are you OK?"

She looked at me.  Big eyes.  Stopped crying.
Shook her head WAY up and down a few times.

I said, "You sure?  Cause I'm a grampa!  I can help."

Should'a seen that kid smile.

Pointed at me to her family ... and made her way back to joy.

Kids are great.

*

Star

Asked my little girl (who's expecting her second child) what I could get her for Mother's Day.

She just wanted me to help her with gas money to make the 125-mile trip to have Mexican with me.

Kids are great.

Have all you can.
Enjoy everybody else's too.

And never stop praying for the day you'll be reconciled to the ones who say they'll never reconcile with you.

***

Online Dating

Still haven't unofficially dropped my unpaid profile on Match.com.

Haven't made any connections.
Certainly haven't met any women.
Obviously, haven't had any dates.

Still, I find it fascinating.
Especially the user names people choose.

Crummy ones, like:
gasassy -- Sassy from GA or intestinal issues?
grim## -- Seriously?  You want to identify yourself with the word "grim"?

I won't mock all the others.
Except for "PickMe!" -- the neediest of the herd.
OK.  Maybe I'll mention "puppet."

I dunno.

Not hard to guess why I'm so single.

I have no intention of taking anyone to a remote beach to stroll in the midnight moonlight.
None.

Talk about a perfect place to get mugged.

EVERY woman wants that in her dream man.

That's why all these women are single, too. 
They want a dream man.

Just *once* I'd like to read where a woman wants an average guy -- like her average friends are married to.  Like the men who previously weren't good enough ... who would be now.

Ladies, ask your married friends how many times they've strolled beaches in the moonlight with their husbands.

OK.  You're right.
Maybe more marriages would endure if husbands would.
Maybe not.

**
Full Disclosure:
I have walked beaches at night in Hawaii with two of my wives.
It ain't a deal maker.
**

I've learned to appreciate the depth of meaning in the phrase:

"I'll tell you later"

when it refers to body type; whether they're a smoker; how much money they make; how often they drink; their religion; their occupation or lack thereof; and, how many kids they have.

The pictures are amazing too.

Seems like every woman posts at LEAST one picture of herself with a former man's hand on her shoulder, like the face of a mink staring at you from one of those old barbaric shawls women used to wear.

Sometimes a portion of an arm remains.
Or a stray ear that couldn't be edited out without skronking the poster's hairdo.

It's weird.
Not wrong.
Just weird.

And how some of these decades-old pictures have been preserved in order to falsely portray the poster's puss.  You have GOT to be kidding.

What are they gonna do if they actually MEET somebody?
Wear a bag over their head until some poor sap falls in love with them?

The "stories" read the same:

"I long to be with my soul-mate.  To share my days with him.  To get away for long weekends -- just the two of us.  I love fine dining and romantic bed-and-breakfast hotels in quaint places.  I want to go to the theatre or maybe to dinner and a movie.  I want to dress up or go dancing until dawn..."

Sorry, lady.
So do your married friends.

Sheesh!

Do you actually think *anybody* can afford that crap?

Read a romance novel.
Then settle for a real man.
Not Fabio in the flesh.

In my humble opinion, it's better to marry Flabby-o than to hold onto unrealistic expectations for the rest of your lonely life.

sheesh

Loved the line from one sincere lady:
"I am loving, giving and caring.  And I expect the same."

That's not love.  That's a contract.


Here's the deal.

I won't make you bait my hooks or take fish off the line or gut and clean them for dinner ... if you won't make me spend hours in some gift shop from hell where the junk sells for prices only Neiman-Marcus could demand.

If you don't make me "ooohh" and "aaahhh" over every damn teacup or painted thimble in every crowded shop in Helen, I won't make you help me change the oil in my motorcycle or grease my chain after you get your nails done.

Want a real ad for Match.com?

Imperfect guy seeks imperfect woman.  Wrinkles OK.  Imperfect body OK.  OK if you're not rich or as horny as you were when you were 35. 

Would prefer if you can read and write, but a hug after a hard day is preferred. 

You don't need to be a master of a martial art, but would appreciate being defended in life's battles.  You don't have to solve all my problems, but I'd love to be with someone who solves more problems than they point out.  You don't have to be a great cook, but would love someone who'd enjoy a plateful of hamburger helper or canned ravioli by candlelight -- prepared by "her man." 

I know you'd like presents on special occasions, or *not* on special occasions, but it'd be cool if you'd settle for the best I can do ... and not compare my meager offerings with what someone in your past (who probably dumped you) would've given you (before they left). 

I don't care if you wear last year's clothes; that's better to me than having to toss them out to impress strangers with designer outfits.  Can you sparkle at Waffle House?  Can you drink water from a stream?  Can you hold me tight on The Bike on a twisty road?  Can you pee in the woods?  Can you split a plate of food or share a fork without having to spray your tongue with Lysol afterward?

Would you like to be held as we watch TV or a movie?  Will you fuss at me if I hold a door for you?  Will you be angry if I say "Yes" when you ask if your butt is too big -- moments after telling me how important honesty is to a relationship? 

Will you drive me to the doctor when I'm old?  Will you let me pray for you before you have surgery?  Will you allow me to believe you are beautiful when you're aged?  Is an honest, caring man enough?  Even if you don't ever have to wash sand out of your drawers?

**

God help me.  I'm willing to invite a lady to join me in life. 
And I'm almost willing to join her in hers.

Probably have too many strikes against me.
But I've paid my penance.
I've learned a lot from years of aloneness.

I can live alone.
Do it all the time.

But two are better then one.

Even when one is just me.