I'm probably a really big idiot. You know how some women are completely blindsided when they find out their husbands are cheating? They never saw the signs and then one day something abruptly happens and husband's escapades are revealed while the wife stands there befuddled and betrayed.

I'm in a different situation: The signs are there that my husband may be straying — or thinking of straying — but I can't believe that it's actually happening. I just think I'm paranoid or hyper-vigilant. You tell me if this sounds off to you.

I planned a trip a couple of hours away for the kids and me to go visit some friends for two days while my husband stayed home. (He had to work.) Our babysitter (an adult woman) asked me what night I was leaving, and I told her Wednesday. She then turns to my husband and asks if she can swing by Wednesday night so he can help her with her college homework. He says sure, and I start to think about how the situation could be potentially inappropriate but then I bury the feeling because, after all, we're trying to save our marriage.

Halfway through the week I get a text from our sitter. Have I left yet? I reply that we hadn't left yet, and the unease comes back. I bury it again because, after all, why would my husband cheat on me when he's begged me to stay?

The kids and I wind up changing our plans to leave a day later because of the weather, which means I would be home for the homework session. An hour or two before our sitter is supposed to come over, my husband nonchalantly mentions that she cancelled because she figured her homework out all by herself. I raise my eyebrow, he explodes at me and says I don't trust him, and it all turns into a fight where I wind up apologizing.

Okay, so Peter from Pelham never panned out. But the hits, they keep on coming, complete with lots of pep talk ("we're excited you're interested in Joe The Plumber!) and mumbo jumbo about my chemistry profile: it seems I'm a negotiator/explorer who is gracious, enthusiastic, and flexible (why thank you very much) who would have "jolly times" and "hearty laughs" with my matches.

And so far, I certainly have had some hearty laughs over their idea of my matches. I couldn't have been clearer that I'm a card carrying, blue state, bleeding heart liberal. If there had been a box that said Would Bear Obama's Children, I would have checked it. So why is chemistry.com sending me so many conservatives?

Or liars, like Wayne, who billed himself as being 53: "I'm a creative, caring, and passionate renaissance man who is 68 chronologically, but 53 in mind, energy, and spirit."

And Stuart, with his "cool Riverside pad" who is "looking for a lifelong romp or casual encounters." He too admits to being 57, but says he "looks 45."

Then there are the scary, grammatically challenged guys like the 6'4" correction guard, who presents himself like this, verbatim: "Just a nice guy looking for a companion friend at first...Not into liars, cheats, or game players. Trust is big in any type of relationship. I don't {like}people who will do certain things just to curb their curiosity. If your (sic) a person willing to have an affair with a married person then your (sic) a cheat even if you say you love them. I don't like liars and cheats your (sic) hurting alot of people when you do. I like up front and honest people who don't play with your emotions." EEK! More than a little angry?

"Who is he?" the Good Doctor asked me about Jack, my new man. I looked at her quizzically. "Where have you seen this person before?" she said. "He must remind you of someone in your past for you to be so comfortable with him so quickly."

Oh. We'd agreed that my ex, Edgar, was my father. (Yikes!)

I thought for a moment (one of the very expensive moments that come in a 50-minute hour) and drew a blank.

"Nobody," I said. "He doesn't remind me of anybody else."

He was far more honest and open than the other men this sick puppy had been involved with. And he was eager to help me with pretty much anything — something else I'd never seen a lot.

I concluded that he was different from all who had come before, which made him ideal.

There are none so blind as those who will not see... 

Jack and I have been together for months now, and I think I've figured out who he is: both of my controlling parents.

Oh, dear.

This didn't occur to me until I read Elaina's post from Friday. "We seek," she wrote, "not only what we know, but what we know will force us to grow."

Great. As if living once again in the same town as my parents wouldn't be enough to stretch me.

I have no idea yet what I'll do with this insight. I have decided that running down the road screaming isn't an option.

For now.

I know that when I'm not mad at Jack, he's fabulous. When I am mad at him, I'll try to recall that my history may have something to do with it.

Either way, he's a blessing. And way cuter than many of the other hard lessons I've chosen for myself.    

I wonder if men would change their behavior if they could be a woman for just one day.

This thought occurred to me as I was walking in downtown New York this morning.

Still in my pajamas, donning a big, billowy winter coat and hat with a cup of coffee in my hand waiting for the walk sign, a man stops his car at the light, rolls down the window and shouts, "Yeah, baby" and "I'd like to get a piece of that."

His hollering then provokes the other cat callers in the neighborhood, and trust me, there are enough of them.

Yuck.

All I feel is gross and embarrassed as I try to quickly scurry up the block.

And how else should anyone feel?

Do these people actually expect me to feel flattered? Does that man think that just maybe I'll approach his car window and give him my phone number — or even the time of day?

What's even more shocking is that this kind of behavior is everywhere. It's in the cities, the country, it's even in other countries. The fact that it's so prevalent leads me to believe one of two things: One, that someway, somehow this kind of behavior gets desirable results. Meaning that this kind of talk works on some women. Or, two, these people are just stupid — or worse. I don't know.

All I do know for sure is that now that I'm single, men not only look at me differently, they treat me differently. If I had been walking down the street with Levi this morning, nobody would have dared to say anything. (I wish I could say the same if I were walking with my two year old son, but unfortunately, a child doesn't deter them.)

I guess I had forgotten what it's like to be a single girl out there.

I'm not sure I like it.

Last year this time, I was utterly alone in the dating pool and doing backstrokes. Actually I felt like I was drowning, until I hauled myself out of the pool, loofa-ed myself off and shed my old skin.

Internet dating was new for me, but I decided to boot up and list myself on Match.com, eHarmony, even Craig's list (that was a little scary) for the holidays.

First I had to determine the geographical area of my Internet dating pool. Westchester and New York City held no allure. The competitive, combative, and — frankly — sometimes untrustworthy Kings of Everything didn't interest me. Not anymore.

I was looking for the real thing and that meant doing a pretty in-depth self-analysis.

The best phrase I could come up with was, "Rugged Individualist." What else do you call a pink-haired, 50 year old rocker mom, mother of four, lupus survivor like myself?

I figured "Rugged Individualist" was a pretty good fit.

So where do Rugged Individualists live? Alaska seemed too far, but Maine was only a five-plus-hour car ride, which might do.

All my postings went out to Maine, and only Maine.

My ad said:

Lover of life, enthusiastic, even-tempered, smart woman, with high visibility job in the arts, seeks the culture, companionship, outdoors, sailing, sea-gazing, swimming, skiing, biking and walking. Currently at work on a book, I am passionate about living life to the fullest everyday. I care deeply about my friends & family. Very independent! Looking to move slow and make friends. Patience is a virtue and interesting people are a blessing. Since I live and breathe music, I don't need much entertainment at night, except I love good food, glass of wine and movies. Looking to learn, enjoy and be open to the wonders around me, with a big smile on my face and my car ready to hit the road at a drop of a hat.

I'm single again. And I'm just fine with it. After all, I was bringing way more to the party than S ever had and I didn't have time to miss him what with that sailing trip to the British Virgin Islands in May, family reunion on Hilton Head in August, weekend getaway to a fabulous little resort on the Riviera Maya with an old college pal in September. Life has been good, I have to admit.

And that idyllic weekend in Mexico, spent stretched out on white lounges tucked into a thatched cabana, just steps from the water, marked the end of Life As We Know It. While my friend and I were drinking in the views (and more than a few margaritas), catching up on the past five or so years, we were blissfully unaware of the storms roiling to the north. We didn't turn on the television; didn't read a paper. And were caught totally unawares when we returned to the states: Ike. AIG. Lehman Brothers. Bear Sterns.

Kind of killed my bliss (and that of untold others).

And then of course, was all the hoopla leading up to the election. I was riveted, appalled, engaged as never before — then euphoric when I watched Obama's acceptance speech, up on that stage with his beautiful family, once again feeling that little frisson of hope for the future.

But now what? Now that I'm not spending hours pouring over the media that informs my world view: The New York Times, Huffington Post, Media Bistro, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report (most of ‘em, all of ‘em!) obsessing over Sarah Palin and her missing "g"s, I have so much more time on my hands.

And with the weather getting colder, and two of my three girls deep in relationships of their own, I've started to think maybe I'm ready to tip-toe back into the dating pool.

Crack me up...Alec Greven, a fourth grader from Castle Rock, Colorado, hand-wrote a pamphlet called "How To Talk To Girls" to help out his buddies' love lives.

He was selling it for $3. Now he has a book deal with Harper Collins. Is he giving his buds good advice?

Alec tells them, "Comb your hair and don't wear sweats."

Yes, honey, we girls put in a load of effort to look good for you guys, so this is the least you can do.

Alec tells the boys, "Girls win most of the arguments and have most of the power."

Yes, Alec, we do have the most power but we rarely remember that when we see you with your hair combed and all dressed up.

Alec says, "The best way to approach a girl is to keep it to a simple 'hi,'" adding, if "I say 'hi' and you say 'hi' back, we're probably off to a good start."

Yes, yes, yes, Alec! We prefer you to make the first move, otherwise we may never open our mouths.

Alec warns, "A crush is like a love disease: It can drive you mad."

You're tellin' me, kid! You boys don't own the market on this, Alec. A crush can, has, and will continue to drive us all mad till we exit this planet. No word back on whether this goes on in Heaven.

Alec says, "Make sure you have good friends who don't try to take the girl you like."

Girls need to get the same advice, sweetie.

Alec says, "Girls always like the smartest boys."

Big smooch to you, Alec, from all the mothers of America needing a lure to improve homework skills.

Alec says, "Class clowns never make a good love story with a girl, if you catch my drift."

Must be an age thing, kid...guys who make us laugh are the smartest ones and get the most dates.