8.29.2005

Watermarks

My mother had this group of women friends that she met while in college. Like her friends, my mother did not attend college right after high school. Instead she got married, a job and a divorce, in that order. She was an “older” student. This amuses me because I view myself as an older student. Of course, my mom was nowhere near 40 when she returned to college, but she likes to say that was the trend “in her day.”

This group of women friends was a tremendous influence on me growing up, although I didn’t realize this until just recently. It wasn’t until I was older and in school that I discovered that all mothers were not like mine and her friends. They were a different breed of women. Unique, intelligent and assertive and for a time, the center of my universe.

Their clothing had a lot to do with my high opinion of them. In the winter they hid themselves in thick turtleneck sweaters with jersey wool pants that flared at the bottom. Their thin wrists jangled with bracelets and they left rooms smelling like Channel No. 5. In the summer their long brown arms held cold gin and tonics and their shoulders freckled in the sun. They wore big hats and sunglasses on the beach. Pictures of them from that time look like a snapshot collection from the Baudelaire sisters circa 1957, visiting cousins from Connecticut for the weekend.

They all attempted to smoke, danced tipsily to Sam Cooke records, and painted their toenails “kissing pink” in the afternoons. The husbands of these ladies spent their time either on the porches smoking or in the kitchen arguing the best way to cook a lamb shank. All the men in these families cooked. It wasn’t that my mom and her friends couldn’t cook or didn’t know how; it was just that the men did the cooking.

My mom and her friends all had their various families’ vacation together. We rented a large hunting lodge up north. The walls with the living room were covered with the trophies of past hunts. Deer and bear stared at you from every wall. One of my mom’s friends was so unnerved by their glass eyes that she hung all the dishtowels over their faces. This left the husbands to grumble in the kitchen, forced to wipe their hands on their shirts that were decorated with pictures of hula girls and pineapples.

These women read and discussed books, wrote dissertations, attended political meetings, took naps during the day, used the TV as a babysitter, drank early in the day, never left the house without lipstick, went skinny-dipping with their husbands in their children’s pool, went to work. These women told their daughters to go to college, get a Master’s degree, travel through Europe, get a job and then get married and have a baby, in that order.

My mother made no bones about the trails of motherhood, but she was honest about it being a blessing and a curse. She never made me feel the resentment she must have felt, but made me believe that women are simply better able to “deal with all the bullshit” life throws at you. It was if she and her friends said, “sure it is dreary, but it won’t kill you.” I will be forever grateful for this. It has helped me immensely.

I wonder what my daughter will make of the circle of women around me. What impact will they have on her upbringing? What will she take away from these experiences? Will she remember?

I feel fortunate to have known these women as a little girl and now as a mother myself. The part that is heartbreaking is watching these women die. Having to say goodbye to these women has been devastating for me. I don’t allow myself to think of the affect their death has had on my mother. We simply cannot speak about it. Rather, my mom and I share stories. What I remember and what really happened. My mother and I grow closer during these little chat sessions. We share a coke and swap stories.

“Remember how Barbara never drove with shoes?”
“Remember when Joanne would make popcorn at 3:30 in the morning?”
“Remember Chris teaching me water ballet and how she never got her hair wet?”

These stories give my mother and I comfort as we say goodbye to these magnificent ladies. These women that became “extra” mothers to me. Mothers that offered extra pieces of gum, sprays of perfume, a turn driving the car (me age 9), kisses on ouches, sunscreen on my cheeks, soft strokes with the hairbrush (except auntie Barbara, who always took half my scalp off), silk nightgowns to play princess, hugs at nighttime. These “aunties” have been my entire female world growing up. My heart is so heavy with sadness. How do I say goodbye?

8.20.2005

rank

I remember the basement was dark and cold. The kind of coldness in which everything feels damp and a little rank. I was there with my boyfriend. Not my first, but certainly the most memorable. He had been so charming upstairs, in front of friends. Lots of smiles and sudden hugs from behind. He also kept my glass full of cheap liquor. I didn’t have to be forced to follow him down the stairs. I didn’t even get nervous at being alone with him, instead I was excited. He was so beautiful and I still couldn’t believe he had chosen me over all the other girls. Girls who were prettier, had more personality, were more experienced. But, I had no doubts as I followed him down the stairs.

“Careful,” he said as I tripped on the last stair. I giggled with embarrassment. He must think I am a total dork. But he just smiled at me and took my hand. He led me over to an area that was set up with a blanket and pillows. He lay down on the blanket, smiled and said, “Lay down.” I sat down next to him. “Lay down,” he said. And when I hesitated, he sat up and firmly pushed me down on my back. I wasn’t scared, just nervous. I wanted to be whatever it was he wanted me to be. I wanted to be special, to be part of something, what that something was remained indefinable to me. “Relax,” he says in my ear. It wasn’t a comforting whisper; instead it was kind of an irritated and harsh voice. I was becoming troublesome to him. This always filled me with fear. Whenever I would grow tiresome or he would become weary of me I would desperately try to change. I was like a clown, trying to please him, but his moods changed so quickly, I was always at a disadvantage, playing catch-up.

And then, I cease to exist. Who I am no longer matters. I am there for one purpose, not my own, but rather for the service of someone else. Someone who said they loved me. Someone who said I was the one they wanted. Someone who like to use force and manipulation to get what they wanted. I close my eyes and try and put myself somewhere else. I keep shivering, but I don’t think it is just because of the cold basement. “Come on,” he is really getting irritated now. The next time he tugs at my underwear, I know better than to push his hand away. Doesn’t he notice I am not participating in this? Doesn’t he notice I am not moving? Doesn’t he notice I am invisible? He pushes his tongue down my throat and tears into me.

I am 15 years old. I am in a very cold and dark basement. My underwear is torn, but I try to put it on anyway. “Hurry up,” he says. He is anxious to return to the party. I follow him up the stairs. When we reach the top he holds my arm and turns me to face him, smiling he says, “there. That wasn’t so bad? It was nothing.” It was nothing. I am nothing. And I knew in that instant that it would always be this way. I would always be nothing.

The next morning I stayed in bed and told myself that I would never see him again. He should have known better. He should have been more careful with me. I get up to use the bathroom. I see the blood in my underwear and vomit. What I really know is that I have a choice to make. I can choose to never go back to him. I can choose to do what is best for me. I can choose someone who will love and respect me. I can learn to respect myself. But I made the other decision. The one that has me go back to him. The one that has me hating myself. The kind of self-loathing that turns violent.

It was a choice that I made. It has shaped and defined who I am today. It also will define how I raise my daughter. Because I never want Emma to be left in a cold basement thinking that if she doesn’t lie there and take it, some guy won’t love her. Everything in life is a choice.

Today, I choose to get up out of bed, to care for myself and my family, to love my husband and to thank God that I lived through all those cold dark evenings to see the morning.

8.13.2005

auntie barbara

Dear Heidi & Shelly,

The news of your mom’s passing left me with a heavy heart. I understand she had been ill for some time, but this does not lessen your loss. I spent much of Friday thinking about “Auntie Barbara” and shared the many memories I have of her with my own children. Nikolas is familiar with my Auntie Barbara stories, in which your mom has been transformed into a type of superhero. One of his favorites involves Auntie Barbara racing about town in her little Carmen Gia, her auburn hair whipping about her face, adjusting her lipstick in the rearview mirror, on her way to retrieve candy stolen from children on Halloween night. In this particular story Auntie Barbara recovers the stolen candy to the town’s children and is hailed as a town hero.

This morning I told Emma all the things that I loved best about Barbara. To me she was pure fun and glamour. I loved her lipstick kisses, the way her perfume enveloped me when she hugged me, the heel on her shoe that seemed way too thin and precarious to hold anything more than a feather, her purse always filled with gum and candy, the way her laugh seemed to fill an empty room. I recall one train trip to Toronto in which Barbara indulged my every request for cokes and salt and vinegar chips. I remember sitting next to her, watching her read a magazine, peeking into her purse at her lipstick. She caught my eye and reached in her bag for the lipstick and with flawless execution; she reapplied her lipstick perfectly without a mirror. To my great joy, she turned to me and applied a slight amount to my lips. “Isn’t this fun,” she smiled to me. For me it was Heaven.

I can’t begin to imagine your loss, but I want you to know the memory of your mom will last forever in my heart and mind. My family has yet to spend a single day on a beach without sharing a Barbara story. There is something about being up north and near a beach that will call to mind stories about her. So much of my summers spent up north involve both of you and your mom. Evenings in the cottage are still spent with someone saying, “remember the time Barbara fed all the baby carrots to Molly,” our mutt of a dog that we dragged up to a cottage. Barbara always felt a kinship with dogs and was determined that all of their hardships should be rewarded with “treats” like coffee cake and ice cream. I see pictures of all of us at the Oak Grove Lodge and I long for those long summer days and endless nights, where music mixed with the grown up’s laughter.

There are so many things I will miss about your mom. As a little girl, she was everything I loved about being a grown up. I so wanted to have her elegant hands, finger polish matching her toes. I always felt special when she would say to me, car keys jingling in her hands, “ok kid, let’s go buy some chocolate.” Her mere presence excited me. Whenever she visited our home, her voice would float out from the kitchen, where she would be sampling Herb’s cooking, insisting she just wanted a “nibble.” Everything around her seemed to be charged with electricity. To me, she always seemed so full of life. This is what I will remember about your mom.

I loved her dearly and I will miss her terribly. I will continue to share Auntie Barbara stories with my children not only because they will remind me of my own childhood, but also because I simply treasure these memories so much.

Please accept my deepest sympathies for this tremendous loss.

friday

it is a beautiful day. the sky is streaked with pink and grey clouds. the tall green and brown grass bend in the breeze. i stare out at the lake and sip cold orange pop. the thick sweetness glides down my throat making my stomach ache. the children bring rocks from the lakes for me to observe. a flat black one shaped like a boomerang, a red one in the shape of a star, a green one with yellow freckles that looks like lizard skin. these treasures collect in the yellow bucket and will dutifully be driven home by me. each rock holding a special place in the kid's hearts.

nik squints into the sky watching a seagull scream across the lake. he turns to me with a huge smile on his face. "this is the life, mom." then, seeing the sadness on my face, stops smiling. this upsets me because i want him to know that even when their is sadness around you it is still ok to have some sense of joy, too. it is ok to smile.

emma stays close to me all day. she catches me crying while i am cooking bacon. she thinks i am upset because she keeps stealing the bacon off the plate before it has cooled off. i assure her that my tears are not over the stolen bacon. although, i wish they were.

i feel a giant hole in my heart. a person i loved very much has died. i am sad.

thursday

The clouds blow away and out comes the sun. we walk up the road and stand on the railroad tracks. Nik bravely walks the tracks ready to greet a train head-on. Emma is more hesitant, convinced that I will not tell them if a train is coming. I assure her this is not the case. She looks at me full of doubt. She is always doubting me. She second guesses me at every turn.

Later I watch my son swim in the lake. He has spent so much time in the water I think he has grown gills. He leads emma around the lake on a boogey board. Emma screams with glee and nik smiles back at her. I love watching them enjoy each other. I will remind myself of this moment when they bicker and argue later. They are finally arriving at a time in which they actually play with each other. I love to overhear their conversations in which they are planning a game and spelling out the rules for each other. I hear them being kind and supportive to each other’s ideas. I am amazed at the way they are able to resolve their conflicts.

My dark mood has lifted and dan and I agree that Wednesday would be the one odd day we have during each vacation. Nothing bad has to happen, it is just a day in which you feel out of sorts. We spend the rest of this glorious day peacefully with each other. Only arguing amongst ourselves for the bathroom.

Later that night I look at dan while he sleeps, amazed that he has chosen me to share his life. How I ever got so lucky I will never know. I thank my lucky stars and kiss dan’s nose.

wednesday

Thunderstorms greeted me this morning. This did nothing to improve my mood. For some reason I am having great difficulty in pushing the dark clouds from my head. Emma and I are acting like unfriendly cats all day. Tears and anger fill the cottage. All is better late in the day after a nap. Emma crawls into bed next to me, smelling like sleep, full of regret. My tears wet her shoulder and I ask for her forgiveness. We promise each other that tomorrow will be better.

tuesday

I linger over my book while sitting in the lake in my chair. The waves push me back and forth, threatening to soak my book. I don’t want to finish this book. I have enjoyed it so much. Whenever I read a well-written book I hate to finish. I desperately want to know what becomes of these characters. Will everything turn out? Will she move to India? Will he ever find someone to love him? But in the end I finish the book. The last 10 pages took me over an hour. Only when I have finished a book do I turn to the back jacket in search of an author’s photograph. I study their face; as if I will be able to see why they write the way they do, what their inspiration might be. None, if any, of my questions are ever answered.

Mostly I see the back of Emma today. Her hair is growing more and more blonde each day. Every now and then she turns her face and her profile makes my chest tighten. I remember stroking her soft nose while she slept in my arms. Staring for hours at her profile trying to understand this amazing little creature.

As I bob in the lake, Nik swims out to me. He is fearless in the water, or at least, wants me to think he is fearless in the water. “Watch this!” I tell him how amazing he is and what great progress he is making with his strokes. Then I impress the hell out of him when, after several failed attempts, I succeed in performing a handstand in the water. He swims over to me and says, “that was totally awesome, momma!” I swell with pride. It isn’t often that I knock his socks off. Usually it is me that is left feeling impressed with the ease at which he moves through his life. I am left speechless at the careless way in which I am being discarded in his life. I secretly relish the moments in which he still needs me. In which, I am the sole comfort to him. The quiet moments I have alone talking in his bed carry me through the days in which he seems to abandon me completely. At times, he is still my little boy and likes it when I remind him of this fact. I like it, too.

monday

I sit and gaze out on the lake. Such a feeling of peace fills me. My cup runeth over. I watch my Emma run up and down the shoreline, playing tag with the waves. Her blond curls dance in the wind and one of her shoulder straps slips off revealing her perfect tan lines. I watch the waves push the rocks over my toes, occasionally nestling small rocks between my toes. I reach down and pull up a handful of color, red, blue, grey rocks tumble out of my hand, returned to the lake.

Emma plays with a piece of seaweed that gets tangled around my chair as I sit in the lake reading. Or rather, attempting to read. My kids continually thwart these attempts with, “Mom! Watch this!” Emma names her seaweed companion “George.” Emma and George play a game that involves lots of running and yelling and Emma saying, “Oh my gosh, George! That was close!”

As I sink lower and lower into the lake by the rocking power of the waves, my legs start to float. I find myself feeling weightless. What a wonderful feeling. I give up on reading and swim in the warm green water. How refreshing. I glide along, allowing the gentle push of the waves to carry me along. I am tiny and alone facing out on the lake. A moment of calm. I turn and look to the shore to find my little brown berries playing on the beach. Nik is full of smiles continually jumping in and out of the water. Emma is running this way and that, talking all the time. What pure joy!

6.09.2005

bits and pieces

Standing in the shower at the gym I hear a woman practicing her scales. Over and over again her voice echoes down the brown tiled hallway, in perfect pitch, rising and falling over the notes. I am amazed when I witness someone able to do something so effortlessly. I dawdle in the shower listening and smiling at the ease at which she performs this relatively routine task. The comfort of this moment is collapses around me when I am greeted at the lockers by a woman who chooses not to wear any clothing in the locker room. The idea of politely covering yourself out of respect for people around you is completely lost on this woman. I don’t care if the body is worth looking at, I don’t need to see it. I extend my “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy to my body as well as other strangers. How this woman had the ability to talk to me about anything while standing there completely naked is beyond me. Keeping my eyes well above neck level did not prevent me from taking in this woman, or rather piece of “body art” in all her glory. Piercings in a place that make me shudder to think about, with metal studs no less. I suddenly felt a headache coming on and left without drying my hair.

I am sitting outside in a lawn chair watching my son play catch with his father. Dan has been waiting for this moment since Nik was born. The idea of having a son as our firstborn brought up all these “movie-inspired” moments for Dan having a “game of catch with his boy in the yard.” Now the dream is realized. Dan is beside himself. He glows with pride, not only at the strength of Nik’s throwing arm, but also that the incredible creature tossing him the football with exact precision is actually his son.

Emma and I sit on the back step and “chat” as I paint her nails. Red rose for her fingernails and Supreme Blush Pink for her toenails. Emma chatters on about her 7 sisters who live in Mexico and ride horses and I think about how I want to bottle this moment and keep it for a lifetime. I wonder if Emma will remember these moments. When I ask her “what was the best part about today?” she often will recall quiet, simple moments that involve her making her own jelly sandwich or helping me fold the towels or laying under the dining room table talking about the ball she was to be attending later that evening and the beautiful dress she would be wearing.

The children are reaching ages where they entertain themselves. And for the most part, their choices aren’t harmful to themselves, household pets, or our property. I am finally getting a chance to sit back and watch them experience their childhoods. What a time!

5.28.2005

a little ray of sunshine....

There are some reasons to smile lately:

When noticing how much our hosta has grown outside, Emma said, “look mom, look how your penne pasta has grown!”

Nik writing me little love notes and leaving them around the house for me to find.

Nik receiving his first love letter in the mail this weekend.

The color my face turns when I am working out at the gym.

The addition of new fish in the fish tank.

The last week of preschool!

New scent in my laundry detergent.

The love of Cooper.

Other people being on the receiving end of complete bullshit, rather than me.

Freedom to move and think without being bothered.

Caller ID.

Day lilies, day lilies, day lilies, day lilies, day lilies!!!!

Emma patting me on the backside and saying, “Mamma’s little butt.”

Painting Emma’s toenails pink and red.

Nik’s newfound sense of privacy when using the bathroom.

Daniel, Daniel, Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.

Venti Chai!

5.11.2005

time ain't on my side

Nik has really bad ear trouble. Really bad. So bad that he can’t hear anything anyone says to him…unless the person is me, and I am yelling. Dan keeps thinking I am angry and yelling at Nik in my “mean mommy voice.” This is not the case. Just to prove my point I told Dan to ask Nik a question about school. Dan smirks and asks, “Was today a library day, Nik?” No reply. None. Not even a “what, I didn’t hear you.” Again, “was today a library day, Nik?” Nothing. Dan looks over at me with a worried look on his face. Like this I say, “NIK, LIBRARY TODAY??!!??” Nik responds with, “NO, THURSDAY!” Not only do I yell to Nik, but he yells back. But these are shorthand conversations. We are able to leave out articles. Such pesky little parts of speech!

This means yet another trip to the doctors office. I am fed up with our doctor’s office. I tend to arrive 10 minutes early for my appointments. This extra 10 minutes will be added to the hour and a half that I will wait to actually go into the smaller waiting room, where I will spend at least 25 minutes waiting to see the actual doctor. The doctor will appear for 10 minutes and then I will wail another 15 minutes for the nurse to appear with another useless prescription. Wait wait wait wait wait wait! I am starting to feel like those refugees in Casablanca that are stuck waiting for an exit visa to get them to Lisbon. I really need to find a new doctor for the kids. Until then, we wait and wait and wait.

Everyone seems to be having a health crisis in our family. Dan’s sinuses are causing him to snore so bad I spend half the night kicking him in the shin to shut up. The kicking is a last resort. I start out nice enough, “Hon, um, could you please roll over on your side, thanks sweetie. Love you.” That lasts about 10 times. Then I become a little quicker to the point, “DAN, MOVE.” There is nothing like being woken up by a sudden snore and death breath in the middle of an otherwise peaceful night.

Emma is complaining that her “tummy hurts.” The only cure: suckers. Lots of tears and drama over the suckers. “Please please please…one more, I swear I only want one more, PLEASE!” Never before has please sounded so scary.

I myself have started working out with my PERSONAL TRAINER at the gym of death. Yes, I said personal trainer. Everyone else has been giving me such crap, why bother keeping it secret. There must be a word to describe what my body is feeling right now, but I am too fucking tired to think of it. Hopefully I will be so tired from the exercise that I will be unable to spend night after night fussing about life. And yet, not too tired to yell and kick at my little sinus boy. What a fragile eco-system this boy has!

5.04.2005

gesture

A selfish gesture

I am a narcissist

People are always telling me that I need to do something for myself. Take time for yourself. Take a class, join a gym, etc. But is this enough? Sure, I join a gym, but is it enough?

Think for a moment of the most selfish thing you are capable of doing. If given the chance, would you do it? Think beyond taking a vacation by yourself. Think beyond taking a class alone. Think beyond the unbinding constraints of your home life. What could you do that would be an activity that would be the most self-involved, narcissistic thing you could do? Something not only just for you, but only could be done by you. Even if it would be viewed as unappealing by others. Could you?

Think beyond taking a moment for yourself. A moment passes too quickly. Stretch out your mind. Think endless sublime. Not temporary.

Does it take great courage or great indifference to commit a selfish gesture? Purely selfish.

4.26.2005

monday morning

I have been attending daily mass. Yesterday I was sitting in church, I had finally found a quiet moment, when a woman discussing the dinner she and her son had the previous evening interrupted the peaceful serenity surrounding me. The voice in my head went from, “….the Lord is with thee…” to “….he had the fish, what kind of fish did he have, I don’t really care for fish, could she possibly talk any louder, what was I thinking…..” I got distracted to say the least.

Still I find the church itself very comforting. The walls are a rose colored marble and the candles project a soft light. The smell is a combination of incense and flowers that surround the altar. I am the youngest person at this daily mass by at least 35 years. Not that I mind. These are very old school Catholics. They don’t really go in for all that handholding during prayers. There is that awkward moment during mass when we must exchange “a sign of peace” by shaking hands with our neighbors. This is such a humors moment for me. All the people around me stand still with outstretched hands, requiring me to quickly leap from person to person. As I touch each papery hand I am engulfed in smells. One lady always smells of violets. Another man I am convinced must have pickles in his pockets. Driving home from mass I can still smell these people on my hands. The faces of these people stay with me throughout the rest of the day. The violet lady has eyes the actually sparkle. Pickle man always rattles the change in his pockets right before the end of mass. When I go up for communion, one lady always pats me on the shoulder and says, “Bless you.”

Will my life be like theirs when I get older? Will going to mass not only be something I do, but a reason for me to get up, get dressed and get out of the house? I believe that attending mass is the only social outing many of these people have, but I don’t feel sorry for them. In an odd way, I envy them. Many of their difficult life decisions are past them. They have face the daily torture of raising children, keeping a home and maintaining a marriage. I wonder if they would envy the position I am in. Would they trade places with me?

4.23.2005

subliminal pressures

while checking on my site, i glanced over the google ads. both ads are solutions for "paper piles" and "clutter issues." i think god is sending me a subliminal message, "clean your house woman!" and yet, i do nothing. i mock the clutter and paper piles. i laugh in the face of an empty fridge and lack of clean underwear. i refuse to bow to the pressure.

oh wait, i don't have any clean clothes. which normally wouldn't be a big deal, but i realize that dan is also out of clean underwear. yes, i wear his underwear. his drawer of drawers (aren't i punny) is what i consider my secret stash. when i have exhausted my resources of clean underwear, i simply move to the next dresser. usually i find relief there. sadly, this supply has now been drained. this leaves me no other choice. i may not be a boy's size 12, but i willing to try! pardon me while i raid my son's drawers.

4.17.2005

the quest

“Joy is sometimes a blessing, but it is often a conquest.”

Paulo Coelho


So I have started yet another book. Not that I wasn’t enjoying the other book, but the sleepless nights were getting to me. This new book is really something. It took me 2 nights just to get through the introduction (which was only 3 pages long). I came upon this sentence last night and can’t seem to get it out of my mind.

Dan and I constantly have these discussions about having a sense of entitlement. For example, people feel entitled to have a new and more expensive car even though there is nothing wrong with the affordable car they are currently driving. People feel entitled to things, even when this object will only bring more worry to them. I am always forcing myself to do a reality check. I have to stop and ask myself if what I am doing/buying/wanting is really necessary. Or is it only a temporary happy? I am tired of the temporary happy things in my life. Sure, I would love to have better clothes, a better car, better hair, better thighs, but at what price? Lately I have been asking myself to find my joy. Yes, I know, I sound “very Oprah” right now! Seriously, where is your joy? I don’t mean the last time you felt happy. I mean the last time you sat down and felt that things were all right between you and the universe.

My daily life is somewhat if not completely mundane. It would take more than just Zoloft to numb me to the daily wear my life takes on my soul. The problem is not to be defined by what you do. Sure, I could say I am the cook, cleaner, grocery shopper, the person who brings home window cleaner, the clean sock provider, the shampoo girl, the driver to soccer, the therapist, the united nations representative sent to unite 2 enemies. But is that all I am? “Stay at home mom” This phrase always makes me smile. It gives one the idea that I am home on the couch, basking in leisure. When I am at home, I am usually not staying in one place, but rather sprinting up and down the stairs for laundry, contorting my body (and scraping my spine) to reach under beds to retrieve some lost item, filling my lungs with toxic chemicals in the bathtub scrubbing away dirt, an amazing chef able to create separate meals to please every pallet in the house, dog walker and scooper of poop. I don’t “stay” anywhere.

I found myself at the brink of a deep depression, overcome with feelings of frustration that this is my life. And amazed that I got just what I asked for. I actually got down on my knees and prayed to God, begging him to let me have healthy children. I am truly blessed. I have amazing kids, a great husband, a nice house, everything I asked for. What I was naive about was the life that comes with these things. There are moments that I dream about getting in my car and leaving it all behind, but these moments don’t last very long. What I have discovered in my old age is that you can’t have a sense of entitlement about joy. Joy is something you have to find on your own.

Sure, go ahead and laugh, but this concept has finally opened my eyes. Who the fuck am I to expect that life with just present some sense of joy for me. As if a little magic troll will run up to me with a box of joy on a silver platter. I have no right to expect joy to find me. I have to do this on my own. It is far from easy, but every day I try. Yesterday as I sorted thru the un-godly mound of dirty laundry, attempting to find a load of absolutely necessary items, I had my magic moment. There I was in the basement, cursing like a sailor, muttering under my breath about “why I was the only person in the house who had this privilege” when I came across a shirt of Emma’s. It was covered in magic marker. Looking at that shirt it was hard to imagine she had used any marker on the paper. I was dreading the amount of stain remover and scrubbing I would be doing on this shirt and was seriously thinking about just throwing the shirt away when I remembered how this shirt became so dirty to begin with. I had been attempting to get some housework done and had asked Emma if she would play in her room. She wasn’t happy about this and complained bitterly. I was really frustrated and said something really awful like, “hey, mommy has other jobs to take care of besides playing with you all afternoon.” Not one of my finer moments. Emma retreated to her room and quietly closed her door. At the time I felt relieved that I would actually be able to accomplish something. A half an hour later Emma emerged from her room, covered with marker. When I first saw her all I could think was, “great, looks like one more giant mess for me to clean up.” She brought with her a drawing of her and me playing outside with the birds, I think it was birds. Emma told me they were animals, but was unclear about exactly what type of animals. In her perfect little voice she explained that this was a picture of us having fun. The pride and smile on her face made my job list vanish. I spent the next hour watching my beautiful daughter playing in the tub, washing all the marker off her skin.

Joy, people! That is what I am talking about. It ain’t gonna find you! You can’t feel entitled to a wonderful life if you never open your eyes to see all the little miracles happening around you at this very moment. Once you find your joy, then you can sit back and gloat over your conquest.

3.29.2005

battlelines are being drawn, motherfucker!

I am engaged in a moral and ethical war for the soul of my husband. I have been a strong force in his life, but lately I have sensed a new and powerful force in our galaxy. I sense this presence to be an evil one. One for whom there is an insatiable thirst for more. More of this more of that. I have tried diligently to turn Dan away from this evil force, to instill in him our mantra: “do I really need this, or is this just a want?” However, the dark one has it’s own mantra: “it is easier to beg forgiveness than to ask permission.”

The worst part about this moral war is that the dark force has the upper hand. Damian actually works with Dan and so has his ear from 9:00 am until 5:00 pm. This has forced me to make several “check in calls” during the day. Oh sure, I pretend that I am “just calling to say that I miss you” or that I am “just thinking about you.” But really, I am saying: “STAY AWAY FROM THAT DEMON SEED!! FUCK GOING OUT TO LUNCH; HE ONLY WANTS YOU TO GO TO BEST BUY OR CIRCUIT CITY WITH HIM. SAY NO. STAY AWAY FROM THE LIGHT!!!!”

I fear that my “love you’s” are falling on deaf ears. I can hear the distraction in Dan’s voice when I call. When I ask if he is really busy at work he replies, “ahhhhh, yeah…..(pause)……I just need to finish this…..ahhhhhh….thing up….ahhhh…..so, yeah…..can I call you later……” Oh hell no! I know what this means. He needs to finish something up so that he can “just run out with DAMIAN on some errands.” Dan will come home full of stories of all the purchases DAMIAN has made. Dan will pretend to be mystified at the ease at which DAMIAN can spend money without consulting his moral compass, meaning his wife. He will shake his head and mutter, “I don’t know how those guys can do it.” But what he really is thinking is: “easier to beg forgiveness….”

I have taken drastic measures by ichatting with Dan during the day. This is time consuming and difficult because one can’t do dishes or laundry while ichatting. This is why the phone had been my weapon of choice, but I am forced to adapt. DAMIAN is an elusive creature who uses his cell phone, (which I must memorize on our caller id), to contact Dan. This weekend I thought we, rather Dan, would be safe from contact. But DAMIAN does not hold Easter as a holy day. There is no greater holy day for evil spirits like DAMIAN than release dates for things like computers or the new playstation. Do you people see what I am up against?

A few weeks ago I was gloating. Dan was getting his vasectomy, which wasn’t easy on either of us. I convinced him, without much trouble, that I was entering the “danger age range” for women taking birth control bills. We knew we didn’t want any more monkeys, and I am not getting any younger or healthier, so this made sense. When DAMIAN and his little serfs balked at Dan undergoing this minor procedure, Dan stood his ground, even informing DAMIAN and his manservants that it was in their wives best interest to have this procedure. I was glowing with pride, until Dan said: “yeah, and besides, none of us husbands want our wives to die of cancer……that would leave us with all the kids.” DAMN YOU EVIL SPIRIT!!

Of course, DAMIAN has been very comforting to Dan during his recovery, which is the world’s longest. I can just picture Dan at work, limping around, whimpering softly, and here comes DAMIAN to comfort him. He swoops down, covering Dan with his black velvet cape (DAMIAN has a thing for black velvet) whispering in Dan’s ear: “buddy, you don’t look so good. You need to come out with us at lunch. We are going to the apple store to check out the FILL IN THE BLANK WITH SOME USELESS GAGET. Come with us, I’ll even buy you lunch. Do you mind if we stop at best buy on the way?” Of course Dan doesn’t mind. I mind!

DAMIAN has even suggested that Dan may want to go on a “boy’s weekend away” to get away from it all….meaning get away from his wife and all rational thinking. He is unholy! The forces of good and evil are deep in battle and it doesn’t help that Dan has been home all weekend with two very crabby kids. DAMIAN offers a life of luxury, with lots of useless and expensive toys. The lure of this Kavorka is strong. I see myself showing up at Dan’s work with a can of garlic spray and a meijer’s shopping list that has feminine hygiene products on it. I mean business! I have put a great deal of time and effort and mental conditioning to keep Dan on the straight and narrow and I am not about to give up his soul now.

DAMIAN, you will go down in flames. I have been hiding all kinds of mailers from Dan. And I can ichat until my fingers bleed. I will not lose!!!!

3.25.2005

a night where dreams come true......

Two words have changed my whole attitude: DURAN DURAN. I was fortunate enough to be a part of the way-over-30 group of screaming women last night. What absolute fun. I can’t remember dancing so much --- and in HEELS! And although my feet are still so swollen that the giant flesh bundles on my feet have swallowed up my bunions, it is a small price to pay. Sadly, john taylor and I were not able to rekindle our romance, but that is ok. The band’s performance last night will keep a smile on my face for the next few weeks!!!!

http://www.Duranduran.com

3.20.2005

that's the fact, jack

I am not always a good wife. It is not that I don’t care, because I do. It really means a lot to me to be a good wife, maybe not so much a good “wife” as much as a good spouse or life companion. Either way, sometimes I suck at this job. And yes, it is a job. Yet another job of mine in which I receive no financial compensation, but take advantage of all the sexual harassment.

So, I digress. I am not always a very good wife. Dan recently underwent a minor surgical procedure --- and let me make this absolutely clear…..it was a MINOR SURGICAL PROCEDURE. We are talking, he goes into the office, gets a shot of Valium, and is back out in the lobby within 30 minutes. Yes, brace yourselves men, I am talking about a vasectomy. Now, I won’t bore you with the inner-struggle Dan underwent in deciding to have this procedure. The back and forth, the hem and haw, the yes and no went on for months. MONTHS!!! Finally, Dan was able to reach his decision when it was made clear to him that I didn’t mind if we had 15 more children, but that I would NOT be able to stay home and would be returning to the workforce within 20 minutes of being released from the hospital, post-delivery. Look, I have heard of other women who threaten to withhold sex from their husbands until they agree to this procedure and I have always wondered why. Why should I punish myself? What is the point in that? Truth be told I am reaching an age where taking birth control pills just isn’t healthy. And my vagina and I had a long discussion in which we agreed not to “party like it’s 1999” ever again. So, my winga and I explained the situation to Dan and he saw our point and agreed to a MINOR PROCEDURE.

After weeks of stress, agony and worry, and one cancelled appointment, Dan goes in with a brave face and comes out with a small bag containing his balls. Just kidding. I’ve had those balls in my purse since our wedding day. Kidding! I kid because I love. I take the boy home and tuck him into bed with pain pills and ESPN on full blast. Ahh, paradise. Now I spend the next 7 long days having conversations (more like listening to him talk) about “how more aware” he is of his left testicle, how “intense” the tenderness is, how scared he is to cough, how nervous he is about the children “jumping at him”, etc, etc, etc!!! As day 9 “post-op” slowly and defiantly crawls towards me I prepare for another day listening to the daily play by play of how the fellas are holding up. I’m getting a little cranky and am complaining to my mother about how I can’t take anymore, she is telling me to be nice and kind while I am biting my tongue until it bleeds. Dan comes up from the basement to find me to give me yet another update about how he is doing, but instead of hearing about his stitch, and yes I said STITCH, as in ONE AND ONE STITCH ONLY (note: amount of stitches has no bearing on the size of one’s manhood), he looks kind of sad. When I inquire what is up he tells me he had been watching a rerun of a sitcom that focused on a married man with 3 kids. This particular episode was mainly about the kids and the kind of chaos they can cause. Dan said that something about seeing those kids made him kind of “sad” and he realized that we wouldn’t be adding to our current level of chaos. I was shocked. I sat him down in a chair, took his hand in mine, and calmly explained that what he was experiencing was normal, something we all have experienced. Quite simply, Dan had a bad case of buyer’s remorse.

3.17.2005

mother from another planet

I seriously believe that sometimes I am from another planet. It is a really great planet where husbands and wives are actually friends and enjoy spending time with one another. It is a planet where a husband/father sees housekeeping as partly his responsibility, not just the female unit. A planet where childrearing and decisions regarding the little people units are discussed between both parents until mutually agreed upon. It is a planet where the mom and dad do without all their little “extra toys” and focus their money on what is best suited for the entire family unit. It is a planet where “family game night” and “family movie night” exist. It is a planet where the husband and wife actually want to be alone with each other (read: love having sex and love talking about how great the sex is between them). It is a planet where the mother unit could not care less about things like what type of clothes she wears and is grateful her “I had two enormous babies so step off” ass is able to even fit in pants. The mother unit is always happy to help out at the children’s school, but isn’t interested in the petty politics of the parent organization. The mother unit from this planet loves to be with her children, but has never cried when school began. This alien mother is happy and content to spend her nights (and some days) in her p.j.’s enjoying the quiet of the house.

The truth is that I find that I don’t fit in with my so-called circle of friends. Yes, my kids can get on my nerves---hey, I am human people! Yes, my husband does have some odd behavior quirks that make me dream of putting a steak knife in his neck, but I ultimately love him. In fact, he is my best friend. I don’t say this in a “gee, we have so much in common, we are so connected on an inner-personal level.” I mean Dan is my best friend. I can literally say anything to him without any fear of retribution or score keeping. He is always willing to listen to me endlessly go on and on about how what I fed the kids for lunch or how disgusting the fish bowl was when I cleaned it, or how I found a great way to remove all the soap scum off our shower walls, how hard I worked getting the sink in the basement clean, etc. The fact that this man hasn’t blown his brains out is a fucking miracle, especially since the sound of my own voice makes me want to do this.

One of the best parts about Dan is that there is no game playing. When he says, we are friends, he really means it. He never puts his friends to the test, he is not judgmental (even when they are really fucking things up for themselves). He is supportive and kindhearted. He is able to listen without trying to always fix my problems (for the most part, come on now, this is a MAN we are talking about). I am really lucky to be married to a great guy and true friend (who is great in the sack, too, from what I remember, after all we are in a holding pattern until he completes his “healing process”). I have never had such a true and solid friend until I met Dan.

I don’t know if I have so much trouble with women because I am from another planet. I seem to be the “odd man out” in my friendship circle. I operate like most women: suppress your anger, be petty and gossipy, never confront a problem with another woman directly, lie about your hurt feelings, and hide. And yet, these things about me and other women are making me loathe the female species. Every day I feel as if I have just touched down on this planet and somewhere between the drop off and the pick up from school I develop a sudden urge to leave this planet and return home.

3.14.2005

feeding my hate

I seem to be spending a great deal of time trying to hide in the dark and quiet corners within my house. There is something troubling me, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. One possible reason for my inability to play an active role in my life is because of this book I am reading. A friend gave it to me after we had spent an afternoon complaining about the way women treat each other. We both agreed that we didn’t trust women on the whole, rather we viewed them with suspicion, as if waiting for the “real” face to be shown. Women wear masks. If fact, we wear several. Most are harmless covers we use to shield our true feelings. We don’t want the world to know that our lives aren’t perfect. Why should I complain about my life? I have all the blessings I could ever handle. How dare I complain? The truth is, my life isn’t perfect. There are times when I don’t enjoy my life. There are times when the responsibilities of being a stay-at-home mother are too much for me. One part that makes it especially difficult is being part of a group of other moms. You might think we could find a common ground, all being mothers. And we do. It feels good to vent, to share the feelings of frustration of dealing with little people day after day. I feel a sense of relief that I am not alone in hating the daily grind of getting kids up, fed, washed, dressed and off to school in the morning. After a while you start to feel as if you are losing your mind. Our routine in the morning is the same and yet I guarantee there will be at least one morning this week in which I will find one or both of the kids just sitting naked on their bedroom floors. When I ask (read yell) what they are doing they respond with blank looks on their faces and ask, “what am I supposed to be doing?” A few months of this and even the toughest, war-worn solider would crack.

There is some relief found in the quiet hours of the morning, sharing breakfast with these other moms, sharing stories and offering comforting shoulders. But, these few happy times are not enough to change my overall opinion that women are devious, manipulative, cruel, and insensitive. It seems to go against all we are taught to think of as women. We usually see women as loving caregivers who act as the glue that holds the many delicate ends of their family together. This is not always the case. In fact, within the last month I found my once “happy place” to be a cold and judgmental playground in which I again felt the target. It is hard to believe the ways in which women can suppress their feelings. These are my friends…..how many times have we as women uttered these words? And how many times have we come to realize that definitions of a friend differ drastically among women.

And forget about dealing with our problems head on, we would rather sit and stew in our anger and hurt feelings. Dan does not understand this and will often say to me, “just tell her that she hurt your feelings.” As if! When I really stop and think about it, if she were my friend she wouldn’t have said those things to my face in the first place. What I hate most is that I just stand there and take it. What a fucking coward I am. I am just so disgusted with myself.

2.23.2005

the joy of a little M&R during the day

My sanity has been restored. Glory Be! Max and Ruby have returned to the lineup on Nick Jr. There has been a serious drought in my life. I can’t explain how wonderful Max and Ruby are, except to say that I experience a serious calm when watching. I actually went on line last year to join the complaints from parents who were at a loss as to why these two adorable bunnies had disappeared. I found myself outraged at these “parents” who didn’t think M & R was appropriate TV for small children. The time and energy “parents” spend complaining about what their children watch on TV, listen to in music, wear to school. HELLO! Be a parent! Turn off the TV, monitor what your kids listen to, and since you are the one buying the clothes, say no to the hoochie-mamma outfits. I don’t expect anyone else to raise my kids but their parents. The job is tough, suck it up and do it right.

Now, let me step off the soapbox and sing the praises again of M & R! The way Ruby never loses her temper with Max. Max’s boundless energy and curiosity remind me so much of my little Nik. I wish I had Ruby’s infinite patience! She is always so kind and gentle with her little brother. I wish I could be a part of that family. So, what a perfect day for me, Emma snuggled up next to me in bed, our bellies full of homemade chicken soup (alas, not with the chicken feet), and a little M & R on TV. Perfection!

My husband has the perfect Republican mentality to fix problems. All solutions for him involve spending money, making some kind of purchase. The economy is bad, hell, just spend some money, go out and buy some shit. He sits next to me chattering away on the phone, giggling about the new iPods, this new thing or that new thing. The whole thing just makes me very tired. My solution to problems is to take a nap. Either that or a hot shower just about cures everything. When I was a new mom I used to spend days in my nightgown holding Nik and sitting on the couch. My mother called me one morning and before I could say hello I heard her voice saying, “get up off the couch, put the baby down and take a hot shower, and don’t put that same nightgown back on.” I think she saved my life. Of course I had to roll his bassinet into the bathroom and leave the shower door open so I could keep one eye on Nik at all times. God forbid the baby should die on my watch. It seemed in those early days that was my only job. It was the mantra I would hear in my head, “keep him alive, don’t let anything happen to him.” Eventually, I learned to exhale and fell in love with my little son. If only I knew how to relax back then. Maybe things wouldn’t have been so hard. Ah, the gift of time combined with life experience!

Hey, my butt may continue to grow, but I’m smarter, too. God help me I am going to really turn old this year. I am in such deep denial about my age it is pathetic. Whenever I start to stress about my “anything” Dan always finds a way to make me laugh. Recently I complained about my weight and asked, “doesn’t it bother you that I will never have the butt you fell in love with?” His response was: “the bigger you get the stronger my gravitational pull is to you.”

That is ten years of marriage talking! Years of professional training!

2.02.2005

damn you, robert mccarthy!

while my daughter is pretending to nap, rather she is coloring and singing songs, i have spent sitting in my living room, folding laundry, i have been watching old movies on tv. yesterday i spent crying while i watched "ice castles." today i am debating about watching a shirley temple movie. if only all my decisions were this irrelevant.

why do i love the phrase "alone, yes, but not lonely" so damn much?

emma and i are at a pass in our relationship. things are beginning to turn ugly. this love/hate this must end.

the thing that really upsets me is that she is so much like me.

robert mccarthy is the reason girls were banned from playing baseball during lunch recess. i was pitching no-hitters for 3 days in a row. i was about to face robert mccarthy, whose bat had suddenly turned cold the minute i started pitching. he strikes out, of course, and then runs home to complain to his father, who happened to be a big muckety-muck with the principal, and the next thing i know, girls are no longer able to play baseball with the "older" kids.

i could have played in the big leagues!

1.27.2005

love in the tub

i am sitting in my bathtub in a very hot bath when suddenly Batman comes floating by. this doesn't happen to me everyday. when i reached over to grab him, i noticed that he had something, or rather, someone attached to his cape. it was Velma from Scooby Do. i can understand her attraction to him. he is strong and silent. self-employed in a meaningful job. not the kind of guy who will come home and bore you to tears with stories about the "funniest thing that greg from the office did out at lunch today. what a scene keith caused at the thai place during lunch. what a backstabber that lisa is in accounting or how inappropriate debbi's outfit is."

of course, loving Batman does have some drawbacks. such as, he is not home as much as you would like. he can't keep regular hours so it is hard to make dinner for the guy. he can be moody and broods a lot. he tends to internalize a lot of things. has some trouble communicating.

Batman's attraction to Velma is equally obvious. she is dependable and reliable. always there when you need her. she has intelligence and a daredevil quality about her. she can make a guy feel safe. true, she can be a little annoying, like when she finishes the crossword puzzle before you have had a chance to look at the paper. and she is always pushing you to get more in touch with your feelings. but, she is there waiting for you when you come home after battling the forces of evil, drooling on your pillows and snoring ever so slightly and she has never seemed so beautiful to you.

can you belive that i find my self in tears in the bathtub. am i in desperate need of some romance....or simply a date? i'll take an evening with my beloved, snuggling under the covers.

1.25.2005

are u there god?

i am sitting on a friend's couch, giggling like a girl. i am telling a story about how "chick shit" has ruined a lot of my so-called friendships. we both agree at the hassle of crap and drama that women force upon each other is the reason women can be so destructive. so we are in the midst of discussing "clitty litter" when my friend says to me:

"you talk just like a judy blume book!"

i think this fits me perfectly. i am so caught in a time when i was not just a girl, but some kind of odd hybrid of girl/boy. i spent my time in jeans, with holes in the knees, catching fireflies in empty miracle whip jars, boasting about my collection of toads from the cemetary, and riding my bike to the park that had the really big swings. the kind that go so high in the air you feel like you are taking flight. the trick was to tip back in your swing and let your hair drag in the dirt. the girl who could make the biggest dust cloud with her hair was dirt queen for the entire summer. i miss the life of scabbed knees and boys who wished they could pitch a baseball like i could. push-ups were 25 cents and you could ride your bike with the banana seat around your neighborhood without fear. i feel comforted when i think of those long summer evenings listening to the rat-tat-tat of cards in my bike spokes as i rode home before the street lights came on. it was a time when a girl knows she is a girl, and not a boy, but still dreads that time when she will have to let go of some of the boy-ness in her personality. it is that time right before the division of the sexes takes place. i really believe my best years were the summers between 8 and 13. things were easier, messier, and more fun.

the best part is that my friend and i both have girls and will get to experience that time all over again thru our girls. i don't mean that we are going to live thru our girls. we understand that we had our moment, but we look forward to the time where we can be silent observers. i see us pretending to make dinner in the kitchen, all the while we are eavesdropping on the girls in the yard comparing the size of their scabs and boasting about how high they can swing. we both realize how special this time will be for our girls..and how quickly it will pass.

1.24.2005

making a list

these are things i need to do:

buy paper towel
buy something for dinner
get emma to dance
feed nik and emma before dance
put clothes in washer in drier
fold clothes from drier and put away
empty out dishwasher
put dirty dishes in dishwasher
clean toilets
clean up my bedroom
dust blinds in living room


these are things that i am thinking about:

a small hand holding on to the back of my knee as i do dishes
small hands finger painting my face
the smell of sunshine in hair
finding a collection of rocks in a pair of jeans
discovering a headless barbie in my bed
smelling the top of a baby head while they sleep on my chest
days spent in pajama's
finding dried out playdough under dining room table
a collection of my toothbrushes in a pillowcase
giggling in the morning
the magic kiss on a band aid
playing princess and dragon
baby monster
playing in the sink


as i reach a particular place in my life i stop and take stock. by letting one thing go i will not lose these memories. they are mine forever and nothing can take that away from me. things may change, but some things remain the same always. who says you can't live on love alone?

1.22.2005

about a boy

there is such a dynamic within my son. he is both loving and.... what is the other word for this behavior?

on the weekend, nik and i were watching a trio of humphrey bogart movies. during the maltese falcon, emma asked why the lady was crying. i explained that mary astor had murdered someone and was going to jail. emma persisted in asking why did she have to go to jail. nik was so practical and explained:

"she killed miles. miles was his partner. sam isn't going down for her. she is going to down for killing miles. it is what a man has to do when is partner has been killed."

emma accepted this without question. someone kills your partner, pretty lady or not, you've got to send them over for it.


the last couple of days have been dark ones for me. and of course, my kids must bear the brunt of my mixed emotions. this morning was especially difficult for us. the whole process of getting the kids into the car and on their way to school can be exhausting for all of us. this morning was quite icky.

as a result, nik made a picture for me in school today. this is a picture of me saying, "i don't like you." and nik crying with a broken heart. this has left me with an indescribeable feeling in my soul. i have never uttered these words to either of my children. in fact, i make a point of saying their decisions make me upset and that there is nothing they can do that would ever make me not love them anymore. am i not making my point? obviously not.

apparently my dark moods are not mine alone. how does he know how sad i have been? how does he know i don't sleep? that i come home after dropping them at school and cry? children are very smart and nik is extremely sensitive. how can i explain that my feelings have nothing to do with him. the fact that he doesn't remember his backpack or takes 20 minutes to get dressed in the morning is not the reason i hate myself. my darkness is not mine alone. this is one of those things that you don't think of before you have a child. your own worries and demons are no longer just yours. my son is sometimes more aware that i am sad than i am. my face holds no secrets. and this makes me very sad.

after a heart-to-heart this evening, i tell nik that i am a mommy, but that i am not perfect. he likes and understands the idea that even mommies make mistakes. he offered me encouragement by saying, "even if you make a mistake, i will still love you." i assured him this went both ways. he has trouble understanding that he is not capable of losing my love. he believes that he will do something so horrible that i will just forget about him. this is something i don't understand, but i hate that he feels that way. to me, this is a failure on my part. how can i change this? i promised him we would take things one day at a time. this he understands. this is also something i can handle. the concept of child-rearing is just so big i can't get my brain around it. i can't even think about next year, not even this summer. i must take each day for what it brings. i can't put off improving my mothering skills until next week, next month. i will focus on tomorrow. i will wake up and stand tall. i will take all the little missteps on the chin and move forward.

i must also be able to let the bad go, as nik does. when saying goodnight tonight he gave me a hug and said, "let's not talk about that picture anymore." i assured him that i would grant this wish, even though i was desperate to tell him how important this picture is to me. the fact that he could illustrate his feelings, as well as, communicate his feelings makes me proud. i can't explain to him how important this picture is for me as a mother. instead i just can say, "sure thing boo" and leave it at that.

the thing about this boy is that he will leave it at that. if he does think about the picture again, he will remember our conversation, the hugs, the way his mom came clean about not being perfect, and he will be ok with that. here is where he and i differ. if i think about that picture again, i will remember his heart being broken...and i will not be able to forgive myself. when i grow up, i want to be like nik.

1.06.2005

cat scratch fever

I have a fever. I must admit this because I am not sure if the events I am about to share are real or fever-induced.

Last weekend, Dan and I undertook the scary job of cleaning our room. That is not to say we have actually completed this task, but rather, we can see the floor. The angry piles of dirty laundry that were plotting a coup are now downstairs. And I have removed the 2 inches of dust off the fan blades, thus preventing any further damage to our nasal passages, since we insist on always running the ceiling fan even if it is 2 degrees outside. We also tend to keep our window open throughout the winter, this may add to the constant cold I seem to have. But I digress….

So right in the middle of the dusting, vacuuming, wrestling with the dirty clothes, I hear this sad and persistent meowing outside. There was no snow on the ground, the temperature was about 40 degrees, but there was a slight chill in the air. Out of nowhere this cat came to our front yard, sat in front of our bedroom window and began singing this sad song…..to me. It felt as if this cat sang this song just for me. I believe it was the tune, “I am a sad and hungry cat with no one to love me. I know you have a nice warm roasted chicken in your house. I know you are a soft touch when it comes to stray animals. I know you want to give me some of that chicken….NOW!”

As I looked out the window, these sad little eyes looked up at me….I was caught. Trapped in the lock of these little feline eyes. It was if he/she knew what kind of person they were dealing with. As if the cat had heard thru the grapevine that a sucker lived in my house. Dan sealed my fate with this cat when he said, “looks like Casey.”

Casey. Casey had been one of our cats when we first moved in together. This cat had to weigh about 65 pounds, mostly fur, really. He was so terrified to be leaving his nice roomy home in the suburbs to come and live in our tiny apartment among the drug addicts and male prostitutes. So upset by this transition that he wedged himself into the tiny space between a wall and our entertainment center. I spent hours coaching that fat cat out of that space, not realizing that he was actually stuck. I think Casey fell in love with me when I freed him from his trap and gave him tuna out of the can…the whole can. We quickly bonded and he began to sleep with me. When I say sleep with me, I mean he would crawl under the covers and sleep against my belly. Dan used to say he was surprised we didn’t scorch the sheets with our combined body heat. It was a sad, terrible day for me when Casey died. That is all I have to say about that.

So, now this cat shows up. In the middle of a Saturday afternoon, begging for love. What am I to do? Yes, I gave him chicken. Cooper our dog shot me the stink eye as I carried out some nice warm, carefully sliced chicken for this cat. But I didn’t care. Cat was happy. Cat purred and rubbed against my leg. Dan called out the window to me, “he had you at meow.” It was true.

I put cat out of my mind for the last few days. Out of sight, out of mind. Until……tonight. We are in the midst of a so-called winter storm. This means it will be a pain getting this kids to school. Our district hasn’t had a snow day since the blizzard of 1921. I have been battling a fever/cold/flu all day. I finally have lulled myself with cold tablets, diet Pepsi, and 2 hours of television featuring those goddamn Nazi’s when I hear it…..”meow…meow.” It is very faint, but it instantly wakes me up. I look out my window, but all I can see is snow. It is very cold outside. I open the front door and I can see little tracks in the snow. Oh, god. Cat! I can’t see cat anywhere. I whisper, but no reply.

Here is where things get a little fuzzy. This may or may not have happened, depending on what you hear. I may have then pulled on Dan’s boots and gone outside to look for cat. In my head, cat would be very cold and hungry. In my head, cat needed rescuing. Out in the snow, I follow tracks, little tiny paw prints, which lead me into my neighbor’s yards. I am greeted with great barks and growls of dogs being let out one last time for the night. After all, it is midnight. And what will I say if someone sees me in their yard? Just looking for cat? Standing in the middle of someone’s backyard, in my p.j.’s and Dan’s boots I come to my senses. FUCK THIS CAT! This is insane. I am out here, for what? This cat doesn’t belong to me. What do I care! I refuse to care. I refuse to worry about that damn cat. True, I once begged my parents to adopt a 3-legged, one-eyed dog from the humane society because I knew no one else would take him. And yes, during a rather dark period in my life I once went 2 days without sleep because I knew animals were starving on the streets, but no more. I have a steel heart now….sort of. This is what is pissing me off. My displaced agony over the condition of the world falls onto this cat.


Somehow I can rationalize staying awake at night, worrying about a cat. I can feed the cat. I can’t rationalize the rest of the world. Even my own babies. How can I keep them safe? How can a person like me even be a mother? The world is this big scary thing and we are all so small and completely defenseless. Sometimes our mere survival depends on the humanity of people around us. A hungry cat keeping me awake? No, it is not the cat. It is the world that surrounds that cat. But I get so scared; I can’t even allow myself to worry too much. If I really sit down and think about the world I have brought my children into I would never sleep again. I would keep watch over them day and night, never letting them out of my sight. But, who can live like that? I can’t. I can’t even think about it…that is why I am up in the middle of the night, looking for some cat. Does this make sense? Does anything about parenthood make sense?

My poor babies are at such a disadvantage having me as their mother. How can I be a source of strength and comfort when I am terrified? Last night Nik and I were talking about fear. I heard myself telling him to not let fear rule his life. There is a difference between being cautious and being afraid. Instead of always being scared that the abominable snowman is going to grab you and eat your bones, be cautious and brave. Be ready for him if he comes, but don’t waste your time sitting around waiting for him. Nik took this to heart and said, “yeah. If he wants me, he will have to come and find me. And I will have my light saber and that will take care of him.” I wonder if Nik would lend me his light saber.

1.01.2005

rockin' the suburbs

happy new year!

this will be a great year. and, fuck if i don't mean it. this year i did make resolutions. and no, i am not going to list every single one of them. but one worth mentioning is ATTITUDE. i am going to lose my negative attitude. you know, the one where i am full of rage and ugly feelings towards humanity in general.

i have reolved to reflect positively on what happens to me during the day. i believe that an improved outlook will go a long way. i am sure that this will completely change my personality, but i think it may be worth it. i am sick of myself for being such a petty person. ok, i am not really sick of myself. i am ashamed??? not really, but i should be. i should be kinder, less judgemental, even if the person i am complaining about totally sucks and deserves every mean thing i say, but...that was the old me. the new me will no longer make grand statements like,

"so-and-so is out of their fucking mind if they think...."
"what the fuck is so-and-so's problem?!"
"that is some bullshit right there, thinking such-and-such"

and yet, so much of this hate makes up my personality. don't get me wrong. i am full of self-loathing. i believe in spreading the hate all around. and the world is full of plenty of stupid people....ok, sorry. got carried away there. time for me to do my meditating.......

today is the first day of a new me. a kinder, gentler jen. i don't know how long i can keep this smile frozen on my face.....