Got Perspective?

How does one gain perspective? Is it thru life experience? Why is it so hard to say, “look who my child is today is not who my child will be in a year, in six months, in one month.” When I look at my children is see two beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, curious, healthy creatures full of possibilities. Why is it so hard for other adults to see this when they look at my children? Why can’t someone see that my daughter’s heart overwhelms her and that her shyness, while binding to her is some ways, is also a means of self-protection? I realize that my children are not perfect, but…..but….but they are so great. Why does it hurt me so much that other people don’t look at my children and see possibilities, but only limitations? Why does this hurt so much? My sad realization is not that my kids aren’t perfect, it’s the opinions of few who fail to recognize what gift my children are to this world. What really gets me is that these few limiting opinions may have an effect on my child’s personal opinion of themselves. In the grand scheme of things how important is one second grade teacher’s opinion? Will it really matter when my daughter graduates the top of her class at Yale Law School? No, but I will always remember the shortsightedness of these so-called educated professionals.

dead weight

Have you ever watched a documentary on television with really disturbing subject matter? One, in which, you see an ugly side of life, where the sadness and misery is so thick that is has a weight. A story with no happy ending, but you continue to watch, knowing that the circumstances will never improve. Have you ever witnessed a home with no joy and no peace? Have you see a couple tear into each other with no regard to their children, who are absorbing every single insult. Have you ever walked into a home where the ugliness and misery is palpable? Ever find yourself being the one bright light that a person clings to in the midst of all that sadness? Have you ever been part of that person’s day that they “live for” and it doesn’t involve their spouse or their children, but rather disconnecting from their horrible life thru drugs? How may hours did I spend sitting in that filth counting the minutes until I could return to my own safe home? The tighter her grip on my time the more my resentment would grow. What the true mystery is why I put this person’s life before my own. What was it that kept this dead weight around my neck? What I saw in that house made me want to come home and take a hot shower. How can a person live like that? With no love, no respect, no joy, no sense that things will ever get better. And the truth is that they won’t get any better. Is it that realization of this fact that keeps one person down in the mud, living in the filth, one day of sadness blending into another?

When I was a girl I wanted to adopt a 3 legged dog, blind in one eye, with only one ear. I knew that if I didn’t take this dog home and love it that no one would, but the truth is that sometimes a sick ugly dog needs to be put out of his misery. As adults we need to pick ourselves up and make a fresh start. In my case, I needed to go home and be with my own children, and revel in their happiness.

a new superhero.....mrs. invisible!

I found a little piece of heaven today. I was waiting to pick up my lovely monsters from their first day of school and I found that I was completely invisible. I stood alone among a large group of mostly moms all waiting for the end of the day, and all busy in conversation with each other. Lots of talk about all the new rules and the new principal and the new teachers and on and on. I noticed that no one noticed me listening to every word being said. No one asked me what I thought of any of these things. In fact, no one asked me a damn thing. It was bliss. Absolute heaven. No one knew me. I am not part of any group of gossiping moms, all bent out of shape over some nonsense issue regarding the school. I felt so peaceful and free. How long have I been stuck in a group of hard, ugly, judgmental bitches that feel like they are entitled to pass judgment on anyone and anything they see fit. So long mamma nostras! Fuck off you bitches! I am free. I will never again subject myself to the mean, petty, and small-minded loser moms that give women a bad name. This is the beginning of a beautiful year. I will forever be grateful to those cunts for showing me exactly what kind of women I don’t want to be around. What a great morning!!

fast friends

I am amazed at the ease at which my daughter makes friends. What surprises me about these fast friendships is the intensity that develops between these girls. One trip to the ballpark to watch her brother play and suddenly Evita has a new best friend. “So-and-so is so nice and sweet and she is invited to my birthday party, ok?” What the fuck? One minute I am watching my son daydreaming in the outfield and next I am being told not only who will be attending her birthday party (4 months away). She runs up and deposits information to me in a burst: “hey mom, so-and-so loves hello kitty, just like me, and she has those cool shoes I want, but you say I can’t have, and she has a pool in her yard, not a big pool, but little like ours, and she has a pink bathing suit like me, and she has the same my little pets as me, you know the little turtle that is sooooo cute, and she is bringing all her little pets over to my house when she comes for the sleepover on Friday, and she likes ring pops like me, and they are only 50¢, so can I have one, and can I get one for so-and-so, did Nik bat yet, my friend and I are going over there to talk some more, oh, I almost forgot, I invited her to my party, you know, my birthday party, we need to make the invitations, ok, don’t forget.” And then she is gone. All I see is a ponytail and flip-flops running away from me. Every thing is one long sentence with lots of enthusiasm. I can barely digest what is being said to me. I end up nodding mutely, getting caught up in her bright blue eyes and the purple ring around her mouth from the last 2 ring pops. I am busy daydreaming about what the dentist will say about the condition of her teeth when it dawns on me that she has “informed” me that she has invited someone to spend the night. I am not even sure who this girl is but this is a minor detail. All I know is that there is a new member of the “ring pop posse.” This ring of girls all meet at the baseball fields, buy several ring pops from the concession stand and quickly abandon their parents. Every now and then I rise from my chair to look for Evita and the ring pop posse. I find her blonde head among many pony-tailed heads, sitting cross-legged in the grass, engrossed in conversation. Later, when I ask Evita what they talk about I am “informed” simply: “oh, girl stuff. You know, they are like, my best friends.” I tell her that I like ring pops, to which she replies, “yeah.” I am getting nowhere. How sad is this? I can’t make friends with women my own age and I am so not going to ever be a member of the ring pop posse.

What impresses me is the devotion that Evita has to these girls. She may only see these girls once or twice a week, but she considers them “friends.” When I ask what she likes about these various girls she starts listing their admirable traits, as well as, what she likes best about each one of them. “Friend X” is so nice, she always says nice things to me, and she was wearing the same band-aid I wore last week, not the same exact one, mom, but you know, we both had a Spongebob band-aid, but mine was on my ankle and her’s was on her arm, and she likes watching “max and ruby” just like me, and once, when I fell down, she didn’t laugh, she helped me up, and that was nice and made me feel better, and I like it when my friends help me when I am feeling sad, and once, she tripped and her flip-flop fell off and I picked it up for her, and she has long pretty hair and blue eyes, like me, and I like her.” Wow!

I think the difference is that Evita just believes the best of these girls. She operates by the “I am nice to you and you will be nice to me and that makes us friends.” If only life was that simple. I know that she will learn the same harsh lesson that I have: “I was nice to you, but you were not nice back and I thought we were friends, but I guess we have different definitions of what it means to be a friend, and because of you I now am afraid to extend myself to others.” I relish in Evita’s ease in making friends because these friendships seem so genuine. I understand that we all must endure the bitterness that life brings, that these life lessons are a necessary part of growing up. There is nothing I can do to protect my kids from discovering that people are not always nice. They must learn this lesson. The thought of watching them endure this is painful to me. I take the Scarlett O’Hara approach to this: “I will think about that tomorrow.” Tonight, I will enjoy watching Evita and the rest of the ring-pop posse practicing cartwheels and planning birthday parties that are 4 months away.

mirror images

I am watching my daughter play in the front yard. She has her back to me, but I know that she is talking to herself. She is animated, carrying on a conversation with her imaginary friend. When I ask her later, she tells me that her shadow is her best friend. I am watching her when I realize why it is that we have developed such a close bond. She is me. So much of me it is scary. I watch her play and I realize that I am watching myself at her age. I think of how much life she has before her and how much I want for her to do and see, all the things that I didn’t. I wonder if my mother felt the same way as I was growing up. She recently told me a story of when she was about 15, going to see the movie “Lillie” over and over again. She was drawn to the story of a young French girl, searching for love, discovering a life of her own. I happened to see most of the movie a few days later and watched with great interest. What was it that drew my mother’s fascination? Certainly the city of Paris was appealing, so different from her upbringing, and mine. A young girl, just on the brink of her adult life, with an endless variety of choices before her. Was it this that intrigued my mom? Did she sit in the theatre and wonder what her life would be like? Did she imagine herself walking the streets of Paris searching for the meaning of life? Did she just want to be in Paris and fall in love with the “wrong kind of man?” When I was 15 I wanted that. I wanted to be somewhere else, in a strange land, meeting strange, but interesting people. Perhaps, being the “stranger” would make me somehow more appealing. Ultimately that is the draw: to be more appealing, to be different in an interesting way.

I watch my daughter play and I wonder if she will see more of the world than my mother or me. New York was the most interesting place my mother ever saw. I cannot even claim this. I find that I am almost pushing the idea of spending a year in Paris onto my 6-year-old daughter. “Wouldn’t it be fun to see Paris? If you want to learn about art, the place you must go is Paris. French boys are really cute.” Am I turning into one of those mothers who live thru their children? In a way, yes. As much as my mother talked up the idea of “seeing what the options are” she never pushed me far from home. As her life unfolded and became set in stone, did she feel regret? My sister did the “Europe thing.” I recall my mother’s pure joy when a postcard would arrive from Austria or France. At the time I was 11 and remember thinking, “I can’t wait until it is my turn.” But I didn’t take my turn. Not that I didn’t have the chance, I simply didn’t take my turn. I made different choices.

What choices will my daughter make? Will I let her make her own choices? How much like me is she? Is she different enough to take advantage of all that is offered to her? Can I instill in her the confidence to be brave and try something new? Just how much like me is she? Thankfully there is lots of time ahead of her. Time to grow into her own person. A woman different from me.

a pool seemed like a good idea....

Remember when you were growing up? Remember those long, endless summer days? Remember when you were a kid and the heat had no effect on your mood? Why should it? Let the temperature climb to 110 degrees? The solution for beating the merciless summer heat: a pool. If you were like me, the backyard pool was the safest toy from my childhood. I grew up in the era of jarts. Remember the kid-friendly game of lawn darts, with real darts? Fun! Nothing says a good time like a trip to the ER to have the sharp metal dart removed from your toes.

My pool held about 5 inches of water that remained ice cold, regardless of how long the pool sat in the blazing sun. What did not remain cold was the hard, plastic sides that either burnt my shins or cracked when perched upon, causing either permanent damage or a sharp edge that would impale the bottom of my foot. The pool took my dad all of 2 minutes to set up and was done with one beer in his hand. Cigarette dangling from his lip, he would toss the pool on the grass of the back yard and say, “there, get the hose.” Presto! One great thing about this pool was that it took about 5 minutes to fill to capacity. Once the pool was filled dad would turn off the hose, flick his ashes, take a swig of beer and say, “ok, have fun and don’t drown. Your mother will be pissed at me if you drown.” He would then retreat to the house to watch the game, leaving me to my pool. There was no such thing as “absolute parental supervision” with the pool of my youth.

The motherfucker of a pool my kids have is a bitch! A bitch to set up. A bitch to fill. A bitch to maintain. There is no quick and easy set, no matter what the directions say. I live in a house in which Dan and I have set up and filled a 2500 gallon pool only to have to drain and move said pool to more “level ground.” Can you say fun? I must admit that when faced with tasks like this, Dan and I maintain a united front. There can be no swearing or losing temper with each other. We work together, even if it is in a hostile silence. Once the task is done, then the potty-mouths have free reign. There is finger pointing and “helpful and constructive” criticism on how the task could have been “done better.” First we work then we “clear the air.”

When my kids want to swim I wish it was as easy as, “pull your suits on and jump in.” fuck that. No, first there is the argument about who is going to use what bathroom to change into suits. As if privacy was a main concern in our house. (Side note: I can’t remember when I closed my bathroom door. In fact, I often forget to close the door at other people’s homes. I have in fact, once had a hostess say to me, “let me just pull this shut for you, ok?” This is both sad, funny and true.) I don’t understand why they have this fight because enviably they will both be in the hallway, naked, discussing who is being more unreasonable. This can last up to 20 minutes, which I don’t even mind because I view it as a 20 minute gift of time, which I will spend indulging myself with something like, brushing my teeth or putting on clean clothes. Next comes the sunscreen. I can’t even begin to describe the sheer torture my children believe this to be, how medieval and cruel. I can’t remember my mother ever insisting on my wearing sunscreen for going out into the backyard. Beach yes, backyard? No. My son really hates this part of “going for a swim” in the pool. He fights me every single time, pounding me with “why” punches of questions. This ends with me saying, “BECAUSE I LOVE YOU AND DON’T WANT YOU TO GET SKIN CANCER. I DO THIS BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, OK???!!??” Nice, huh?

Before the kids can even set foot into the backyard, I must undertake the 2 tasks I hate more than anything. Scoop the dog shit. I don’t think I need to go into detail here. Check the pool chemical balance. This is hard because I fear that the kids will develop some sickness from swimming in dirty pool water. However, sometimes there is too much chlorine with results in my daughter crying, the whites of her eyes like tomato soup and goggles are no protection against this. Remember these tasks are both done with the sun burning on my neck and sweat pouring off my arms. Then the finale, pull of the solar cover, without letting any leaves or debris into the pool, and viola: time to swim.

The kids have been hopping around on the hot pavement, imploring me to move faster and ignoring my advice to wait in the air-conditioned house. They are forced to wait again while I go back into the house to get my cold beverage of choice; this is pure agony for the kids. I sometimes just stand inside watching them outside, listening to them complain, “she is taking FOREVER, we are going to melt.” Evil, maybe, but you try cleaning up dog shit in 98-degree weather. Now I can sit in the cool shade of the gazebo, sip a cold drink, and call out to the kids, “Be careful and don’t drown.” No one is allowed to drown on my watch. And a vigilant watch it is!

And a Baby Ruth to boot!

It was my idea of a perfect evening…..Chinese food, Tigers on TV (the return of Kenny Rogers) and a Baby Ruth for dessert. Snuggling in bed with husband made everything right. Kids happily indulged in junk food and a movie that thankfully we didn’t have to watch. Bliss bliss bliss. The way my hair looked in the morning confirmed that I spent the night sleeping. Yes, sleeping. The children often laugh at the creature that appears from my side of the bed claiming to be their mother. The worse my hair looks in the morning, the better I’ve slept. And a Baby Ruth!! Sex and chocolate! Absolute bliss!

panic

It is a mystery. One minute I am reading, the next I realize I have fallen asleep and begun dreaming. Then, I reach up and turn off my light. The minute the room goes dark, my mind begins to race. Instantly I am awake. I can feel the blood racing in my veins. Images fly through my brain; I pathetically attempt to swat them away with no success. I tell myself, let it go, don’t think about it, but in the end there is a giant elephant in my room. Not just in my room, but in my bed, lying on my face, smothering me. I can’t sleep. I don’t understand why. I am tired, exhausted even, and yet I know I will listen to the BBC news until NPR begins at 5 am. The news isn’t good. Even the “lightest” story will cause me distress. Tonight there is a story about the Simpson’s. I have enjoyed the Simpson’s for many years, not so much since the kids started taking an interest in what was actually on TV, but I like the late night reruns. However, this nice story about the Simpson’s made me think about how old I was when I began watching the Simpson’s and how much time I have wasted in my life.

This is a reoccurring issue with me, especially late at night when I can’t sleep. All the time I have wasted. All the things I was supposed to do with my life. I hear this voice in my head, screaming: ENGAGE IN YOUR DAILY LIFE!! GET MOTIVATED!! I hate this voice. I hate the world inside my head. I hate all the little “bugs” that swarm around my tiny brain, keeping me tense and nervous as the clock moves from 1:24 am to 3:21 am. SWAT!

I scratch the new mosquito bite on my thigh and switch tactics. Reading will make me fall asleep, but not stay asleep. TV has been a real disappointment lately, and causes Dan to fidget and say, “Turn it off and go to sleep.” This is what I tell my own children when I hear them “fooling around” in their rooms way past bedtime. Just go to sleep! Whenever they protest, “but I can’t” the answer is always, “sure you can, I’ve seen you do it.” Fuck me! I am such an asshole. I’ll add this to my list of ways in which I am failing my children on a daily basis. SWAT!

So, how shall I pass the time tonight? Last night I spent 2 hours shaking the bed as a means of ending Dan’s relentless sore-fest. Never mind the gentle shake or “gee honey, could you roll over?” no, I’m pissed. Not that he is snoring; god knows before my tonsils were removed I could shake the roof. I resent his ability to fall asleep and stay asleep. Even when he is stressed he can fall right to sleep. This is what makes me want to put a serving fork into the neck of the man I adore more than life itself.

Maybe I read some news on line. Or maybe I can read that blog from the girl in Germany who had an enormous amount of cat pictures on her site. I can’t read or understand anything on her site, but the cat pictures fascinate me. I am not even sure if they are cats. Maybe they are just large mice. SWAT!

I need to move out of my head. SWAT!

eyes like the madonna

isn't it amazing? i was feeling pretty low, thinking how i should be practicing my faith more in my daily life, watching ewtn and thinking i am not such a good catholic, when i had a phone call. a call from my surrogate mother from our old parish. i had forgotten i had sent her an easter card and she was calling to thank me. what was so amazing was that she said she had been thinking about me a lot lately and saw a statue of mother mary and couldn't stop staring at her eyes. the reason, she said, was because the madonna's eyes looked like my eyes. well, that made my blood run cold. the mere comparison is just to great for me to even think about. of course, i cried. mary has been and will always be, a symbol of patience, strength, and courage. as a mother, she is the gold standard for me.

this "second mother" has been such a good friend to me. when i began my faith journey she constantly told me how brave i was and what courage it took to make this journey without the support of my parents and family. her devotion to me and my children has brought me great joy. she has given me such a gift. i am not even sure she is completely aware of how much her love and friendship has affected me. i will be forever grateful. she keeps me well grounded in my faith and serves as a constant reminder to "live in the light."

thank you mary for the gift of marion. l love her!!

failure to thrive

this was what my son's pediatrican said to me when he wasn't gaining back his weight a week after being born. it took the wind out of my sails. "you are the food source and he is not getting enough food." well, only a week old and i have already failed him. little did i know that this was only the beginning of my failures. jacqueline onassis said that nothing else she did in her life would matter if she didn't do a good job raising her kids. if i don't get this right, what else will matter. maybe it sounds a little harsh, but i have nothing else in my life. certainly nothing that matters as much as my babies. why is it that i always feel like i have failed somehow. they are both healthy, well adjusted, loved to pieces, well cared for. and yet, i still feel like i am not instilling the right things in them. when will i trust that my best is good enough? do mothers ever reach that point?

eclipse

when i least expect it, i slip. a darkness passess over the warm sunlight and i find i am lost. it is dark and i am lost. how can i explain what it is that happens. i am not prepared. but then again, how does one prepare to have the rug pulled out from under you? when i lay down at night, i feel myself slipping away into sleep and suddenly i am awake. panic floods my body. ice runs thru my veins. my heart pounds in my chest. all the mistakes made that day hit me in the face. all the mistakes from yesterday, all the yesterdays crash thru my brain. i open and shut my eyes, blinking it away, but all i can see are tiny points of light that cut into my line of vision. i can't catch my breath. then the feeling of panic passes and i am left with shame. shame and self-loathing pour into me and fill me up. why? why? why? i can't answer that question. all i know is how i feel. i am tired, but i can't sleep. i pace the house, seeing all the things i should do to take my mind off my mind, but i can't. i look over at the clock and am amazed, how did the last hour pass? i push my rosary beads deeper into my hands, praying to mother mary to bring me strength, courage, and peace of mind. help me to rise to the task. help push that dark away from the light. let me feel the warmth again. how long will this last? will it be gone by morning? can i pull myself together before i pick up my children? will they see the darkness in me? can they feell how hollow i feel inside? how can i tell them it isn't about them? how can i make them understand when i don't? how do i even explain this to myself?

don't step on my boundry

i am not good at drawing boundaries. especially when it comes to making friends. i meet a mom and think, "ok, we are both moms, we may have our differences, but surely we can come together as friends." the problem is that i tend to choose people who have such a different definition of what it means to be a friend. i sit and listen to this mom tell me how hard her life is, how horrible her life is, how disappointing her children are, how unhappy she is and i feel sorry for her. i say to myself that this poor 3-legged dog needs a good home with someone to take care of it. however, this 3-legged dog comes with an anchor that weighs down anyone who comes within 5 feet of it. i end up drowning in the sad life of this 3-legged dog and push my own feelings aside. out of pity! i think, who else will love this dog if i don't? truth be told, this dog doesn't know the definition of love or friendship. instead, the only thing this dog understands is complete devotion. if i am not completely invested in this dog's life then i am not considered a friend.

what is the definition of friend? i understand that it should be a mutual relationship that involves respect. why do i have so much trouble asking for this? i need to learn to draw boundaries. anybody have some chalk?

things i know to be true

ever have something happen to you and you undergo a type of out-of-body experience where you can't believe what you just heard so you forget about it until later when you tell someone the story, then the person says to you, "oh my god, i can't believe that person said that! what did you say?" then you admit you said nothing because you were too stunned to say anything.

i know this really happened to me and it was like a switch was flipped in my head and i woke up.

i am standing in the parking lot of my kid's school. my "friend" is yelling at me because i am not able to come over to her house and sit in her basement to listen to her tell me how hard her life is and how unhappy she is. the reason i am not able to do this reallly fun activity is because i need to be with my children. my husband was spending the evening at the bedside of his friend who was dying from brain cancer. someone needed to be with the kids. i am mother, that is where i need to be. my "friends" response was....wait for it.....wait for it......"give me a break! what about me? when are you going to make time for me? you are always busy at home now. didn't your husband go over there yesterday? now he is going again tonight? give me a break! when are you going to make time for me?"

i was stunned! are you? is it just me or is this "friend" out of her fucking mind? it was as if someone threw a bucket of cold water on my head. friend? obviously i have a different opinion of what it means to be a friend. i just kind of looked at her, turned and walked away. what could be said in such a situation?

ah, LENT

tis the time of year when i reflect on what kind of person i am and what kind of person i want to be. i want to be the type of person who can give up coke and not feel like killing my family. you must understand that i am the type of person who would have a coke in the morning and think, "breakfast of champions." i am dreading the headache from the withdrawls. on the one hand, i will feel so much better, not filling my body with empty calories. on the other hand, coke is just about the perfect beverage. yes, i know how terrible coke is for you, the affect it has on your insides, and your teeth. i tell you....i don't really care. i love coke. fuck pepsi. coke all the way every day.....but not for the next 40 days. who knows, maybe it will last longer than the 40 days.

my monkey boy told me i should try to give up coke and using junk words. i love them both sooooo much. it is hard to give up one without falling back on the other. i will give up the coke, but i am going to need those junk words. cover your ears.

awake

ever have the feeling you have been completely asleep for days, weeks, months, even years at a time. i have just risen from a long and unhappy sleep. i was trapped in a black hole of bleakness, depression, and misery. and we all know that misery loves company. and what miserable company i have been keeping.

but now i am awake. awake and alive. i live each day like it is a gift. a gift to spend with my darling husband and children. blessed am i!! blessed to be free from an unhappy exsitance where a person lives for themself. where my daily life was not my own. where my judgement was clouded.

now i can be myself. i am allowed to live my life as i see fit. i live for my family. i am blessed to have this life. i realize each day that i am surrounded by love. love that i give and receive. i have no room for that empty and sad darkness of my past life. i am awake and alive!! amen!