drama mama

Got Perspective?

2007-10-01T20:43:00.001-04:00

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

2007-09-11T10:47:00.001-04:00

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!

2007-09-04T16:54:00.001-04:00

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

2007-07-11T23:25:00.001-04:00

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

2007-07-04T19:36:00.001-04:00

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....

2007-06-24T21:32:00.000-04:00

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!

2007-06-24T10:54:00.001-04:00

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

2007-06-21T23:42:00.000-04:00

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

2007-04-24T15:49:00.000-04:00

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

2007-03-14T10:31:00.000-04:00

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

2007-03-09T12:36:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-26T13:25:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-21T13:09:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-20T23:19:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-19T16:31:00.000-05:00

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!

Watermarks

2005-08-29T11:29:00.000-04:00

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?

rank

2005-08-20T11:59:00.000-04:00

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.

auntie barbara

2005-08-13T22:30:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-13T22:21:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-13T22:20:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-13T22:19:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-13T22:18:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-13T22:16:00.000-04:00

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!

bits and pieces

2005-06-09T16:56:00.000-04:00

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!

a little ray of sunshine....

2005-05-28T16:47:00.000-04:00

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!

time ain't on my side

2005-05-11T17:22:00.000-04:00

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!

gesture

2005-05-04T20:05:00.000-04:00

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.

monday morning

2005-04-26T11:36:00.000-04:00

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?

subliminal pressures

2005-04-23T09:58:00.000-04:00

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.

the quest

2005-04-17T08:02:00.000-04:00

“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.

battlelines are being drawn, motherfucker!

2005-03-29T09:47:00.000-05:00

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!!!!

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

2005-03-25T14:16:00.000-05:00

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

that's the fact, jack

2005-03-20T22:58:00.000-05:00

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.

mother from another planet

2005-03-17T14:38:00.000-05:00

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.

feeding my hate

2005-03-14T16:27:00.000-05:00

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.

the joy of a little M&R during the day

2005-02-23T20:50:00.000-05:00

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!

damn you, robert mccarthy!

2005-02-02T14:15:00.000-05:00

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!

love in the tub

2005-01-27T16:24:00.000-05:00

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.

are u there god?

2005-01-25T16:24:00.001-05:00

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.

making a list

2005-01-24T11:53:00.000-05:00

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?

about a boy

2005-01-22T16:30:00.000-05:00

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.

cat scratch fever

2005-01-06T01:15:00.000-05:00

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.

rockin' the suburbs

2005-01-01T21:14:00.000-05:00

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.....

Charlie's Angels

2004-12-26T20:32:00.000-05:00

christmas eve mass never fails to bring a tear to my eye. i don't know if it is the decorations, the music, or the sheer joy i feel when i am with my little family. this year was no different. my babies were not thrilled about going to mass, but little evita was calmed down with the promise that she could wear "magic sparkily shoes" with her dress. the best part of mass was the dimissial when "hark the herald angels sing" was sung, and both of my kids yelled, "hey, it's the charlie brown music!" both babies sang at the top of their lungs, using their own lyrics.

it was a pleasant christmas, and i do intent to stretch the holiday spirit throughout the week the kids are home from school. i haven't seen much of nik. he has been busy burning his brain cells playing xbox nonstop. i am trying not to feel guilty about this. emma is in good spirits, playing barbie in peril constantly, and thankfully, not requiring the participation of dan or me.

sadly, the tree is dead. it looks nice proped up in the snow at the curb. next year i must resist the urge to buy the tree a month before christmas.

blessing and peace to the world.

letting it go....

2004-12-20T16:00:00.000-05:00

tis the season for just letting all the petty shit in your life go. simply drop it from your fingertips. let it fall from your hands, like a feather caught on a breeze. i am really trying to let it all go. let all my pent up frustrations just go. i am taking a broom and sweeping my brain clean. i refuse, I REFUSE, to get all caught up in all the same drama/bullshit that crowds my tiny mind most of the time.

my little evita is talking thru her nose. thank you christmas colds. i know that she is suffering. her head is hot, her nose is raw, but she is so damn cute. why is she so much more loving when she is sick. it is as if she thinks, "ok, i am sick. i better not pull any of my normal shit here. i need this crazy bitch to take care of me. the only way i can get a popsicle is to sweet talk her."

and so, little miss stuffy-head has me wrapped around her finger. "tanks omma" i love her.

when i am in the process of letting all the shit go, i really enjoy talking to people who are busy getting themselves all worked up. it reminds me of lenny bruce. back when he was being sued by just about everyone and shooting a nice cosy mixture of cocaine and heroin, he stopped doing regular stand up routines. instead he would just read out his court transcripts to the audience. he was confused as to why the audience didn't have the same response he did.

problems, or communication breakdowns occur when your world has become so small that only you and your deluded personality fit. it is times like this it is best to step outside yourself and look in. if the picture isn't as pretty as you thought it is time to make a change. it seems like the holiday season brings out the worst in people. as if we should stop and say, "oh my god! i can't believe how unfair the world is to you. poor baby!" suck it up and LET IT GO.

my babies always help me put things back into perspective. why the fuck should i care about some-stupid-such-and-such, when i have one baby with a cold and one baby who has just given birth to a reincarnation of mickey rooney. everything here is swell. and why shouldn't it be? just let it go.....

THE BLUE SLOTH

2004-12-17T20:26:00.000-05:00

any one out there feeling a little empty inside? is there someone out there putting their kids to bed and then sneaking off for a good cry? anybody else sick of hearing, "parenthood is a process...there is no completion." is there another parent out there who is sick of being told, "nobody said raising kids would be easy." i am sure a frontal lobotomy isn't either.

please take a moment and read this particular entry of a great guy who has just about at the end of his rope. he is husband, father, artisit, and very very insightful on how it feels to be a parent.

the blue sloth
http://artweld.blogs.com

thank you phillip.....

the randomness of every day things....

2004-12-16T15:59:00.000-05:00

these are things that have made me say, "huh...."

rugby. can i say it? i love rugby.

what is nick rhodes obsession with being a space alien? is he not able to smile with all that lipstick?

why does jennifer lopez feel the need to make a video that replicates the movie flashdance?

is the manchester city team good enough to win this year?

why are the majority of my thoughts related to "all things english?"

how much is too much when pushing someone over the edge?

why does dan need to have a gameboy advanced?

if i don't eat anything during the day, why is my kitchen a mess?

is it bad to let your children go to bed at 6:30 PM?

what is the deal with all the reality tv? what happen to good old fashion primetime dramas?

why does the bbc america channel show nothing but english home improvement shows?

why must the office end?

why do people have to use the correct pronouncation when saying things like, provolne cheese or genoa salami?

did you know how inexpensive a trip to egypt is?

why did the black crowes break up?

what is with the new "elite" being rich, young and spoiled americans?

must it be so cold to have snow?

is sweden really covered in a blue haze this time of year?

how much kleenex can i use in one day?

why must emma play use the holy family to play her star wars games?

how did i ever get two children who are so beautiful......

that is a real mystery...

somebody up there really likes me....

2004-12-06T13:48:00.000-05:00

my beloved sparky. today is my love's birthday. we don't make a big deal about birthday's or christmas, i say "we" as in dan and me. we have learned to make every day special. i know i may sound completely corny, but we truly view each day we have together as a gift. i can't put into words how much this man means to me. i know i have written a great deal about him and all that makes him wonderful, but i couldn't resist sharing one moment.....

quite a few years ago (before babies) dan and i had gone out for an evening. this meant both of us getting dressed up in fancy clothes, a fancy dinner and staying out past 1 am. it had been a lovely evening and we both enjoyed ourselves and the company of friends. upon returning home we both changed into our p.j.'s, i made a big bowl of popcorn and we watched an old bette davis movie on tv. during the commercial, dan leaned over to me and whispered, "this is the best part of the entire evening."

this is what i love best about dan. you can take all your fancy dinners, fancy clothes, entertaining people and stimulating conversation. dan would rather be alone with me. i don't know if this is a sickness on his part. i know i feel the same way. sure, there is a lot of very interesting things to do and see in the world, but what better place to be than snuggled up with the love of my life. i realize i gush, but can you tell me what is better than stretching your foot across the bed in the middle of the night and touch toes with your love? the man can still make me blush.

daniel, you are my love and my best friend. i am soooooo proud of you. you take such great care of me and your children. you have my admiration and my respect. for now and always. i love you to death, sparky!!!

swimming in the deep river of denial

2004-12-03T13:25:00.000-05:00

this is what i should be doing. i should be cleaning my house RIGHT NOW. the babysitter is coming early this afternoon so that dan and i can go out for the evening. this means i have about 3 hours to put my house in order. i am not moving. i am sitting here contemplating what needs to be done and where i should begin. really this is just procrastination, but i am pretending that i am forming a plan of action.

the boy's room. my son's room smells. smells bad. i don't know why or what is causing this smell. he has no food, no strange animals, no toxic chemicals and yet, his room has an odor. it is a combination of feet and pent-up energy. i asked dan this morning, "WHAT IS IT?" his reply, "boy." his room smells like boy, pure and simple and incredibly stinky.

evita's domain. picture a room in which you can't see the floor because of the 1,000's of hair clips, pretty ponies, polly pocket pieces, dental floss (all pulled out of the container) and my maxi pads (some opened, some not). i asked evita, "what is going on in here?" her reply, "i am working on something." ok. fine. WHAT IS IT AND WHY MUST ALL OF MY MAXI PADS BE INVOLVED?

the basement. oh fuck off. can't i just put caution tape across the stairs and deny entrance?

the kitchen. come on people, throw me a bone.

the living room. this i can handle. i simply will take an empty laundry basket, fill it with all the stuff from the living room, put this in the basement, and then run the vaccuum. there all done. that wasn't so bad. now that i am all done i can take a quick nap, put my feet up and eat some bon-bons. ahh, this is the life.

crap. ok, now i need to go and clean. don't ask me why i need to clean for the babysitter. if you are asking this question you simply are not insane enough to understand the inner workings of my twisted brain. don't you know that all babysitters secretly work for child protective services. they come to your house and once you leave they start their inspection. how clean is the house? are the children wearing clean clothes? do their rooms smell of feet? is there any decent food for these kids to eat?

true story: last time dan and i went out, upon returning home our babysitter greeted me with the following:

"yeah, um emma peed all over herself so i had to give her a bath." (shit, the tub is one place that i never clean before she comes. the bottom of the tub is full of empty shampoo bottles that nik must have and barbie heads that emma loves. there is hardly any room for kids at all.)

"and, um, i gave them a hot dog because i thought they should eat something besides cookies, chips and pop. hot dogs were the only things i could find." (fuck!!!!!! can someone please scrape me off the bottom of her shoe? am i the worst mother? obviously the answer is yes.)

"they were so hyper, probably from all the sugar, they totally crashed. and i couldn't find their pajama's."

i expect to hear from the authorities at any second. now do you see why i must participate in this charade that my house is always clean, as are the children and that i have provided healthy things for them to eat? now do you see? this is why i hate going out at all. what the fuck was dan thinking by making me go out on a friday night? why must i do this. cleaning and i must make myself presentable, as well. now do you see why i am just sitting here?

i am going to end it. i am going to go into nik's room and close the door. hopefully the fumes will do me in and i won't have to go tonight. farewell.......

take my husband, PLEASE

2004-12-02T17:27:00.000-05:00

these are things about dan that cause me to dream about putting a steak knife in his neck and collecting the insurance money:

he spends 20 minutes in the shower EVERY SINGLE DAY. what the fuck is he doing in there? fuck if i know!

when i announce that the house is filthy and everyone must help me clean, dan decides this is a perfect time to start cleaning his office, or even better, the junk drawer. i nearly killed him before thanksgiving when i am scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees and he comes to me with the following: "hey, why the hell do we have 'icing that writes' in the house? do we really need this? there must be 3 packages of this crap in the drawer. and what about all those screws? what is up with that? are you saving them for some craft project with the kids. boy there sure is a lot of junk in that drawer!" no shit, it is a junk drawer.

at least 3 mornings every week dan will ask, "do i have any clean socks?" while looking in his sock drawer. as if i am the keeper of all clean socks. mine, they are all mine, hee hee hee! i am not sharing!

he insists, REALLY INSISTS that his nighttable be free of all "kid debris" no action figures, no hair clips, no "notes" no nothing! he must remove all items every night before he goes to sleep. why? there must be room for the laptop, cell phone, iPod, MacWorld magazine, dental floss and about 1,000 receipts from various purchases including a sub sandwhich, cd, socks (a silent protest against me) and various parts of computer equipment.

he puts my bras in the drier -- AFTER LIVING TOGETHER FOR 12 YEARS! DOES HE NOT KNOW THIS BY NOW!!!!

in the morning, when i am running around like a headless chicken, attempting to get the kids ready for school without killing them, he will stand in the middle of the hallway and ask: "what can i do?" capture the naked girl that just ran past you and put some underwear on her. or, take the toothpaste away from your son before he eats the entire tube.

he will come home from work and find me in a puddle of tears and ask, "what is the deal with dinner?"

this is how he saves himself from death:

toilet seat is always down.
trips to taco bell at 1:30 am.
new roll of toilet paper on holder.
brings home chai tea from starbucks -- venti-sized.
flowers for no reason.
diamond ring.
absolute devotion to his family.
folds clean laundry.
puts clean laundry away.
sings to me in the shower.
loves me UNCONDITIONALLY.
buys new sponges for kitchen sink.
puts kids to bed regularly.
reads to his kids, and likes it.
fills my gas tank, and wiper fluid.
tucks me into bed.
puts my clean pj's under my pillow.

ok, i guess i will keep him. i just needed to vent.....

wwjd?

2004-12-01T17:42:00.000-05:00

let me start by saying i am a roman catholic. i want this to be very clear. i wasn't born a catholic. far from it. my parents, both raised catholic, decided that it was in their children's best interest to not inforce any set beliefs onto their kid's young minds. instead, my parents preached education and world travel. they expected my sister and i to go to college, get a degree, travel thru europe and then move out on our own. marriage and children were never mentioned. my mother's thought was, "why marry? go see italy before it falls into the ocean. children? i didn't even have you until i was 36. by then i had a job and a plan for my life. surely your plan involves something other than getting married?"

um, well, it did. my perfect sister did exactly what was expected of her. she did go away to school (4 years at UofM and didn't see a single football game, much to the old man's chagrin). after graduation, she did travel for 2 months thru europe, got a fashionable haircut and slept on a boat in Amsterdam that carried in hash, and drank her way thru germany. upon returning home, she promptly moved out of my folk's house into a house with her boyfriend. the same boyfriend that she later married some 10 years later, once she was 5 months pregnant. never once did religion play a role in her life. her husband is jewish, but never saw the inside of a synagoge. since her children have expressed an interest, she provides both a christmas tree and a menora. although, she says that christmas trees have nothing to do with "all that jesus crap."

all that jesus crap.

well, i was supposed to follow her example. however, when i was 6 my dad's mother came to live with us. at the time, she had terminal cancer and had decided that she did not want to die in a hospital. she had been a devout catholic her whole life, and i can imagine it was hard for her to see her oldest son did not share her passion for a religious life. my grandmother never spoke to me about religion, but her religion surrounded her. her home was full of religious statues, she attended mass daily, and when she was living with us she brought the aura of her religion with her. her faith was so much a part of her. it was not something she separated from herself. instead her faith was simply part of her genetic makeup. i would always check on her after i returned home from school and i would often find her quietly praying the rosary. when i would ask her what that necklace was, she simply replied, "oh, just some faith beads." the faith beads were quickly tucked away under her blanket. she respected that my parents did not want me undully influenced into any faith. there was always an air of respect between my deeply religious grandmother and my communist parents.

those were the days. the whole idea of respecting someone's opinion, EVEN IF IT DIFFERS FROM YOURS is non-existant now.

i did not undertake my coversion to catholicism easily. it took a total of 3 1/2 years for the entire process to end. and it is not really an ending, but rather a beginning of my religious life. i spent most of those 3 plus years learning about the church's views on various issues. i wanted to understand why the church felt the way it does. part of me was afraid that i would become a right-wing religious nut. i feared becoming one of those hated women who stand out in front of abortion clinics, holding up a poster of a fetus. or, i would start questioning the right of men to live with men and raise children. i actually lost sleep thinking i was going to completely change who i was as a person.

i did change. completely. but not the way i thought i would. i am catholic. in fact, i am the church's worst nightmare. i am pro-choice, believe in birth control, don't give a shit about gay people getting married or having children AND i understand the church's views on such social issues. i have actually read the catechism that shapes the church's teachings AND i respect their position. it just has not become my position. i really do pray twice daily. i spend that time thanking god for my blessings and asking for help. not to make me that catholic the church feels i should be, but help to make me more like my grandmother. i don't want my faith to be something separate from my daily life, but rather part of my daily life. i don't have to go around converting every one around me. if someone asks me, i have no problem saying i am a catholic. but, don't ask me to defend my beliefs or my church. my faith is mine and mine alone.

i didn't try this religion on for size. i have made a committment to this faith, for me and my family. religion has become such a touchy subject, mostly because people try and convince you that their faith is the best or the only path to god. i can't tell other people what to believe. i don't even like to tell people why i choose the path i did. all i can say is that it is between me and jesus.

and yes, i do have a personal relationship with the son of my savior. and why shouldn't i? he brings me great comfort. who else can comfort me when i am wallowing in self-pity, overwhelmed by parenthood, frustrated at being me? good old, JC! can i get a whoop whoop for the big guy? i find it annoying when i hear people say that jesus instructed them to do such and such. as if jesus has nothing better to do then tell miserable, petty people that they should openly pass judgement on the world around them. yeah, that's the message i hear in church every week: "be mean and petty. judge those around you. hold humanity in contempt. be vocal about your hate." wwjd? i shudder to think what he would make of the world today.

of course, the 3 plus years that i studied to become catholic were really hard on my parents, who feared what would become of me. well, i survived and so did they. no, i am not going to attempt to bring them back to the church, even if it would get me bonus points with god. just as they are happy without god in their lives, i am happy with god in my life. what i have become is less tolerant of those "religious" people who make a showcase of their religion at the expense of people around them. i ask to be more understanding and patient with humanity in general, but these people push my buttons.

what can i say, i am a work in progress. hey, even the world took a few days and we are still working out the kinks.

me and the old man

2004-11-26T13:51:00.000-05:00

it is early thanksgiving morning, and although i am hosting thanksgiving dinner at my house, my father has insisted that he be the one to prepare the bird. we aren't eating until 2, so dad is over at 9 am to get things going. i greet him at the door in my pajama's, looking like i have been on a bender. "you wanted to do this, remember?" is his way of saying hello. i quickly turn him over to my husband in the kitchen. dan will be responsible for informing dad where he can find a decent knife because he forgot to bring his own. he does bring his own carrots, onion and celery because i can't be trusted to have these things available. dan will also be there to open various cabinets and drawers, since i haven't choosen my kitchen knobs yet. "well, i would like to throw out this turkey bag without spilling the blood all over the floor, but i can't find the garbage" is dad's way of asking dan where we keep our garbage can. turkey blood is all over my floor anyway, but dan is there with the bleach to clean up behind my dad. i am hiding in the basement with the children pretending to be cleaning. when i do climb up from my safe spot i meet my father in the kitchen about to pour coffee into a measuring cup because he can't find any coffee mugs, if we even have such a thing. i quickly produce a cup for him without saying a word. i keep telling myself, let it go. this is my first holiday without zoloft in 3 years. let it go.

my dad is an extremely intelligent man. dan says, "wicked smart." that's no lie. dad tells me about a movie he and my mom saw recently. i understood this movie to be one of those, "man redeems himself before death" stories. not so. according to dad, this was an attack on modern society and that all the world's problems can be solved with a solid dose of capitalism. corruption rules! my dad said that this movie should be on rush limbau's must see list. his commentary on this movie runs for about 10 minutes. i have nothing to add to the discussion. not only have i not seen the movie, but i don't understand what my dad is even talking about. i continue to nod and drink my tea, my head swimming with possible comments. anything that won't make me sound like a complete fool. after all these years, i am still incredibly intimidated by my father. i so desperately want him to think i am smart. in the past, when my dad and i have attempted conversations like this, i end up making some stupid insepid little comment to which my father responds with a shaking of his head and a deep resigned sigh as if saying, "how is this my child?" i pray that he won't ask me any questions and my wish is granted. he is deep in thought, probably about the inadaquacy of my oven size or lack of proper tin foil.

"no parade today?" this innocent question holds so many hidden meanings you would need a complete labotomy if i attempted to give you the entire family history. no, we did not take the kids to the parade. i am too lazy. and yes, EVERY SINGLE YEAR my father took me to the parade. he was more reliable than a mailman. thru rain, snow, or sleet -- dad took me to the parade. i knew what was coming. the story about the year that he nearly caught pnemonia taking me to the parade in the freezing rain. the temperature was about 4, the roads were covered with ice from the freezing rain that continued to pour down during the entire parade. dad wore his down coat which became the cloak of death. luckily, he had found a spot for us right in front of a bar. halfway during the parade he tapped my leg and said, "stay here. i will be right back." where was i going to go? dad had put me on top of his homemade scaffolding. he went into the bar and asked the bartender for a cup of coffee. the bartender took pity on my father and also provided a shot of bourbon free of charge. on the ride home i asked my dad if he thought the parade was as good as i did. "sure" was his reply. it wasn't until i was an adult that i understood that adults, parents in particular, don't always have a good time at things like parks, parades or the circus. there is so much that children don't understand about being the grown up: the person who drives, has to find the parking spot, carries the ladders and the large sheet of plywood, finds a decent spot, creates the viewing area, puts the child on the scaffolding, and then proceeds to wait thru the parade in the cold and freezing rain. not once did he try and convince me to go home early, or even discourage me from going at all. not once did he complain about being cold or bored. the resentment was there, but it was quiet and restrained. it was the kind of tension that kept me from bothering him. it was understood that i was to simply enjoy myself, by myself.

my old man. now i am an adult, married with a family of my own. yet, i am still that little 7 year old girl. i understand my job is to be quiet around him. to find a decent bowl to hold the potatos, supply coffee, have extra cans of chicken broth available -- this is my role this thanksgiving. all of a sudden my dad turns to me and says, "you know that bar we were in from of that one parade...the one where i nearly died?" he proceeds to share a story with me about he and his friend sitting in that bar looking out on jefferson avenue. all of a sudden a man passed the front window. my father turned to his friend and said, "did you see who that was?" his friend nodded and answered, "that was dick williams." dick had been my father's best friend and had died suddenly 5 years earlier. it was an extremely difficult death for my dad, one from which he has never recovered. dick is remembered fondly by my dad, but ony rarely and not for very long. it remains too painful for him. my dad says to me, "can you believe it. dick williams right there on jefferson avenue. dead for 5 years. didn't even stop in for a drink." he turns away from me, but i can see the tears.

all i can do is smile. to reach out and touch him would make him feel awkward and uncomfortable. that is something that we don't do in our family. sudden bursts of emotion are not met with comfort and hugs. instead we prefer conversations involving food or driving directions. "dad, do you think i have enough chicken broth?" this was his reponse:

"jesus, why do you buy these big cans. just buy the little cans. if you buy these big cans, then you have to use the whole can at once. don't tell me you can save it. it loses all the flavor if left in the fridge. where is your funnel? what do you mean you don't have a funnel. well, i will make do, but if this dinner doesn't turn out right i will just have to tell everyone that you didn't have the funnel."

ok dad. by the way, the dinner was delicious. and i made sure he took all the credit.

yo mama no love you no mo

2004-11-22T13:02:00.000-05:00

it is official. my mother does not love me anymore. i knew this would happen. in fact, i have just been waiting for it to happen. and now it has....

i was at my breaking point on sunday morning. it had been a loooooong week riddled with extra "harvest feast" stress with a deadly combo of drama thrown in. by friday evening i was in tears, ready to put on my p.j.'s and stay in them for the next 2 weeks. on sunday dan expected me to attend a reunion luncheon with a friend of his that he hadn't spoken to in 13 years. now we were to have lunch with he and his wonderful wife. why did i have to go? i didn't know this person. i didn't go to the wedding. why the fuck should i have to shower, shave (like they would be checking my armpits, no i didn't shave my legs--my own personal protest), wear make-up, attempt a "do" with my hair, AND FIND DECENT CLOTHES THAT WOULD BOTH COVER MY ASS AND BE CLEAN.

come on, i love my dan, but he was asking for trouble by making me do this. my mother calls to check in with me, "well, everything ok, hon?" NO! i am not fine for fuck's sake. i am angry. i am just so done with doing things for other people. look, i know how awful i sound, but fuck that. i am sick of getting shit together to put in my car and drive it somewhere else. fucking harvest feasts. i am done driving in rush hour traffic to my parents house with 2 high-strung nutcases to pick up a turkey, only to be told when i arrive that my kids are acting "kind of wild" and that i didn't need to pick up the bird after all. FUCK THAT GIMME THE TURKEY FOR FUCK'S SAKE.

are you getting the impression i am just a little fed up with all of humanity? well, i am. so now i have got to dress-up and showcase myself as "dan's wife." oh, fuck me. just what i want to do. smile, make small talk with strangers and hope my fancy face isn't melting. i am explaining to my mother --- this is the woman who gave birth to me --- that i want to stay home in my sweatpants. the stress of this event is too much, i am not up to being charming with strangers. my mom --- keep in mind this is my mother, the woman who is supposed to love me --- then says the following.

picture yourself on the other end of the phone, mouth open in schock, too stunned to reply which makes her fire-off these little nibbles of advice with such force that i am left completely speechless.....

"YOU ARE IN A FAT PHASE NOW"
"JOIN THE Y AND GET SOME EXERCISE"
"I KNOW YOU DON'T EAT WELL"
"DID YOU THROW OUT ALL THAT HALLOWEEN CANDY, YET"
"IF YOU ARE NEGATIVE, YOU WILL LOOK NEGATIVE TO PEOPLE AROUND YOU"
"I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU ARE SO HARD ON YOURSELF"
"TAKE A HOT SHOWER AND PUT ON SOME LIPSTICK"
"DO YOU EVEN HAVE LIPSTICK ANYMORE"
"MAYBE YOU NEED TO BUY CLOTHES THAT WILL FIT YOU"
"WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE SO MUCH LAUNDRY"
"YOU WEAR THE SAME THING ALL THE TIME, WHY DON'T YOU HAVE ANY CLEAN CLOTHES"
"IF YOU DIDN'T SPEND SO MUCH TIME AT THE SCHOOL, THEN YOU COULD GET YOUR CHORES DONE AROUND THE HOUSE"
"YOU SHOULD GET OUT AND MEET SOME PEOPLE"
"DON'T BE SO SHY"
"TRY TO SMILE, IT WILL LIGHTEN YOUR FACE" (note: i don't know what this means)
"YOU DON'T HAVE ANY REAL PROBLEMS"
"WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU"
"DANIEL DOESN'T ASK MUCH OF YOU, DO THIS FOR HIM"
"YOU ARE SO LUCKY TO BE MARRIED TO A MAN LIKE DAN"
"WHY CAN'T YOU HELP HIM OUT, REMEMBER HE IS UNDER TREMENDOUS PRESSURE RIGHT NOW"
"DAN IS SO WONDERFUL, THINK OF HOW LUCKY YOU ARE TO BE MARRIED TO HIM"
"I AM SURE DAN WOULD DO THIS FOR YOU"
"GET SOME EXERCISE, YOU WILL FEEL BETTER ABOUT YOURSELF"
"WHY ARE YOU SO DOWN ON YOURSELF"

why indeed? i knew that when dan's parent's completely rejected him that my parents would step right in and become his parents. in fact, they refer to dan as their son, not a son-in-law, but as their son. i have always considered myself lucky that my parents love dan. i just didn't think that their love of me would be the price i pay.

fine....deep breath. i can do this. i will not let this get me down. i am going to be ok. i have parent teacher conferences tonight. it will be fine. nik is a beautiful, charming, intelligent boy (true story: my mother after describing how wonderful nik is actually said, "JUST LIKE HIS WONDERFUL FATHER"). deep breath. calm calm calm. i so want to climb into bed and wrap my fat around me like a little love cocoon. just me and my cellulite. a match made in heaven.

that's ok, cooper thinks i rock. and he could care less how full my saddle bags are. and, his attitude is much better than my mother's. why shower, shave and put on lipstick. let's just climb onto the couch, eat an entire bag of mini carrots and fall asleep while watching british parliment on c-span.

don't eat the paint, baby

2004-11-14T20:25:00.000-05:00

all art projects in my house involve someone attempting (sometimes successfully) to consume paint, glue, or playdough. it is very common to hear me say, "hey, that paint looks better on your picture than on your teeth." or, "don't eat the glue, your stomach will close up and you won't be able to eat candy ever again." these empty threats are met with a smirk.

emma survived her birthday party, although i feel as if i am now harboring a tapeworm. she seemed really surprised that people brought her gifts, "why did my friends give me all these pretty things? did you see all the pretty hair things?" yes, i did see all the pretty hair things. after saturday i believe the total amount of hairclips emma has now reaches into the thousands. my feet hurt just looking at them. i can hardly wait to pry these little weapons of mass destruction out from the heels of my feet. the party has made emma love her friends even more, and has brought out a generous side of her. "i am going to make kate this pretty picture because she gave me the dora doll at my party." is this my child? her good mood has lasted all day and has even extended itself to her brother. "nik, come play with my new dolls, do you want to play in my new tent, why don't we get you a new tent, too." dan and i stood frozen in the hallway. did she just ask her brother to play? is that emma?

aren't we awful. instead of celebrating this step of maturity in our daughter, we doubt. we are suspicious. if you knew evita the way we do, you too would be skeptical.

i have made a decision....thanksgiving is my new favorite holiday, replacing halloween. i just like the name. and any holiday that the main focus is food is perfect for me and my big fat ass. the candy of halloween is always nice, but there is just something so warm and fuzzy about a holiday that carries over to the next day and involves me eating cold stuffing in my p.j.'s. and what other holiday allows you to eat green bean cassarole for 3 days (p.j.'s now replaced with sweatpants.)?

thanksgiving also has a peanuts special. thanksgiving, you are the shit!

anybody seen my anxiety?

2004-11-10T20:14:00.000-05:00

dan says that he can tell when i am in a very deep state of denial because i engage in "unusual behavior involving our pets." let me explain, emma will be turning 4 this saturday and will be having her first real birthday party. i know some mothers would consider me unfit for not having thrown her both a disney princess birthday and an american girl birthday party already. call protective services! so now we are having 5 of her loudest, cutest, wildest girlfriends over for 2 hours of "scream-a-palooza" fueled by an intense sugar-buzz. and of course, like a fool, i have also included siblings. so really i am looking at having about 15 kids, aged 3 - 13 in my house on saturday afternoon.

i am fully aware that there are things i need to be doing to prepare for this epic event, but somehow i haven't given it much thought. i can see all the piles of laundry to be put away, the vaccuming that needs to be done, the filth in the bathroom screaming at me, and yet....i do nothing. or rather, i do other things......

dan found me in the bathroom giving cooper, our beloved dog a haircut and a bath. his response was, "oh god, you are really depressed."

what? i am not depressed. i feebly attempted to defend myself until he reminded me about the time that i was throwing a world cup party (that would be starting in the wee hours of the morning) and he found me giving our cats a bath. (may they rest in peace, and no it was not because of the bath. i did not pull a silkwood on them, despite what dan says.) needless to say, the world cup party was a huge success, so much so that i took a nap in the middle of the event.

for those of you unaware of the world cup, what can i tell you? you are really missing something.

i am sure emma's party will not be as stressful as predicted and i will survive, and not take a nap during the party. i am not stressed. i feel no tension. i am dreading this event. really......i am not.....it will be fine.....don't worry about me. now, if you will excuse me, cooper needs a blow out.

into this life a little rain must fall

2004-11-06T09:01:00.000-05:00

being let down is a way of life. the love of my life is honestly surprised when he is faced with disappointment. he convinces himself something is always going to be as good as expected. and then he is heartsick when things aren't as good as he had hoped. this can be anything from the election to trying a taco pizza. he is so stunned when things don't turn out the way he had hoped.

i on the other hand am quite accustomed to being let down and disappointed. it starts every morning when i wake up. i think, ok--new beginning. a fresh start. a new day. things will be different today. then i realize we are out of bread and milk and this will be the day that i go to the supermarket. things don't really change. upon returning home from the grocery store i run for the bathroom, bladder about to explode, only to realize we are also out of toilet paper. funny how i didn't know this before i went to the store. things remain the same.

i make plans, try to be hopeful, but always am confronted with the ugly side of humanity. it amazes me how with one word, one inference a person can reduce me to tears. have i not learned by lesson? beware those who claim to be your friends...these people often do the most damage.

why is it that i am not surprised that this daily grind is my life, but i am truly shocked when someone hurts my feelings. do i expect more from people? these are the things i think about when cleaning my toilets, doing the laundry, cooking dinner (that no one but my husband will eat). what is it about some people who always fail you? i try to be positive and give people the benefit of the doubt, i make excuses for people, rationalize their bad behavior...and for what? to be left feeling angry? fuck that.

someone once told me: "people are stupid and it is always something." this shoe sure does fit. i will continue to try and be positive, but come on, let's get real here. misery loves company. i just don't want to be that companion anymore.

THE RETURN OF THE HERMIT CRABS

2004-11-02T11:47:00.000-05:00

ahh yes, election day. this is the day that we wake up our children so that they can be part of the election process. and let me tell you there is nothing that puts a 3 year old in a bad mood quicker than waking her up at 6:30, getting her dressed, skipping her breakfast and making her wait in line (in the rain). what fun!

to kill time (and yes, we had plenty of it, since it took almost an hour to vote) i talked and talked to my babies about how important this day is, this is not a right, but an obligation to vote. i reminded them that this is the proudest moment you can have as an american by taking a small part in the giant political machine. one man, one vote. when the children would get restless (weren't we all restless--what is it about waiting in line that triggers my bladder) i would remind them that men and women faught wars and died so that we could exercise our duty by voting. there i am, caught up in the moment, reminding them that there was a time that not everyone could vote. i made serious eye contact with emma, as if to use mental telepathy, so that she (as a woman) would understand that voting is a relatively new thing for us chicks.

nik, being nik asked: "hey mom..did the FOUR FATHERS have to wait in line back then to vote?"

not about to be stumped, i replied (in a high-pitched ranting voice): "YES! it is a long tradition that we wait in a long and confusing line only to be yelled at by the hermit crabs and then finally get our ballot and cast our vote. my parents always brought me and now i intend to inflict this cruel tradition on to you and your sister!"

nik: "mom, (long pause) i am not sure if i want to ask you, but are you ok?"

me: "yes, i am just so proud to be an american."

with that, emma threw her bag of cheez-its into the air. as the cheez-its rained down on me one of the hermit crabs said, "maybe next time you will leave your children at home." i want you to know that i did not say the following in reply:

NEXT TIME, YOU'LL BE DEAD

hey, i did not say it, but i could of. i swear to god, if kerry doesn't win this election i am personally going to go to boston and knock his teeth out. nik is also hoping that kerry wins. i asked him why he likes kerry.

nik: "i like the hair."

hey, people have used lesser reasoning when picking a president. it is still a free country....

what the......?!?!?!

2004-10-25T19:20:00.000-04:00

what the fuck is up with halloween? i thought christmas was bad, with it's months of good cheer, decorations, and parties. but now we have these week long, mind-numbing, teeth-rotting celebrations for halloween. it is halloween for fuck sake! what happened to coloring pictures of pumpkins in school, coming home and putting on your costume, trick or treating for 30 minutes, and staying up late to watch a monster movie? why the hell must these children have such elaborate celebrations? i can't believe that my kids have already attended a party in their costumes, a WEEK BEFORE halloween. HELP!

i think i would rather just sit in a very sincere pumpkin patch with linus van pelt and wait for the great pumpkin. i won't even be disappointed, especially if linus tries to hold my hand.

happy halloween, blockheads!

this life is gonna leave a mark

2004-10-25T19:13:00.000-04:00

anybody see the "skating incident" on tv? if you watch the today show you saw it. they played the video of those russian skaters over and over again. i haven't seen such an overplay of video since reagan was shot. that poor girl. katie c was interviewing both the skaters this morning. i found it very interesting that the coach had to sit BETWEEN the skaters. i am sure if she could have reached him she would have turned that rooster into a chicken.

katie: "wow. that really looks like it hurt.."

NO SHIT! how about we drop ms. c on her face, 10 feet up in the air, and have her land on ice. i am not russian, but if i were that skater i would be living on painkillers and vodka. she had this cool and solid determination about her, "i will skate again, very soon." i believe her. and i wouldn't be surprised if her partner soon falls victim to "an accident."

meeting notice

2004-10-14T14:31:00.000-04:00

hollendais!

those of you familiar with the uber-feminist club will recognize that greeting. we are planning our next meeting this week of the uber-feminist club (formerly known as the ladies auxiliary group). as you see, we have our new name, thanks to the committee for new names! in case you don't know, we chose "uber" because it sounded neat and fancy. and of course, we have "feminist" because that is what we are, the new feminists (not those pesky no-bra-wearing, working hard for the money, independent-thinking, outspoken nagging women).

i am so excited to be hosting the next meeting. the agenda is just packed full of things for us to discuss. leading the discussion will be Mrs. Ward Cleaver, whose latest book, "Vacuuming In Pearls" is just full of useful (and necessary) tips for the uber-feminist of today. Her talk will focus on the following points:

The importance of greeting your hard-working husband at the door with a fancy face, wearing a freshly ironed (and spotless) apron.

The joy of putting yourself second.

Why a daily cat-nap is equal to comitting a mortal sin.

Leaving the decision making to your husband, it is his job to lead.

Our last meeting was just thrilling! I thank our media watch committee for their report on the following:

"Why Oprah may be the anti-christ"

And here we were thinking it was ok to watch her. All that talk about taking "control of your life," "finding your true passion," and "the importance of being financially aware." YIKES! A true uber-feminist knows that all control issues are left to the husband. After all, we know who really is the most imporant person in our lives....us...god....NO SILLY, it is our husband. And isn't he just wonderful. Thank God we don't have to trouble ourselves trying to find meaning in our lives. Let the man tell us what he needs. It is the job of the uber-feminist to meet those needs. And what a full time job that can be, can I get an amen from the uber-femi's.

I would also like to send a thank you to our uber-feminist health issues committee, who provided information regarding the "our bodies, our selves -- lies for women" discussion. We are so bombarded with open and frank discussions about women and their sexuality. UG! Finally, someone has the guts to tell it like it is. Our "monthly girlie thing" is not to be a concern for our husbands. Can you believe some so-called wives actually have their husbands buying feminie hygine products for them? We uber-feminist know that this is our cross to bear alone and silently. And what is with all this "equality in sexual politics?" As uber-feminists, we understand and accept that we are to follow our husbands lead. When, where, and how is his decision, not ours. Can you imagine wives actually telling their husbands they want sex and how to pleasure them?!? As if a wife has the actual desire for such things.

So I implore all of you to attend our next meeting. Let's see how many ideas we can share on the following topics:

Why cleaning house really is women's work.
How to learn to leave your husband alone when he gets home from work.
Keeping up appearances, even if you are at the grocery store.
Learning to make your weekly allowance stretch for 2 weeks.
The importance of keeping your feelings to yourself.
How to learn to be invisible.
How to deal with self-loathing.
Keeping your suicide-fantasies to a minimum.

Ah, the uber-feminist. The world really is a wonderful place.....as long as we are home alone.....seen and not heard......stay out of the workforce.....keep our feelings of lonliness and isolation to ourselves.

Cous Cous

the cleavers, we ain't

2004-10-12T19:24:00.000-04:00

this is dinner at our house:

emma eating dinner wearing only a pair of summer shorts.

nik demanding to know what animal this "stuff" came from.

emma using her steak as a utensil to eat her ketchup, with her fingers

nik asking if i can still hear the music even though he is plugging his ears (yes, i can)

emma announcing how much she loves this "jango fet" music and dancing around while licking her fingers (for the record we were listening to django reinhart---not to be confused with the character, jango fet, from star wars).

emma screaming at the top of her lungs thinking she has blood on her stomach, which turns out to be ketchup.

emma nearly choking to death from the combination of laughing at herself and shoving a side of a cow down her throat.

me saying, "ALL RIGHT, DINNER IS NOW DONE."

dan and i laughing as both the children see how many mini cookies they can shove in their mouth and spraying each other with cookie crumbs.

miss manners would have a heart attack if she had to dine at this zoo. at least my kids are past flinging their poo at each other across the table. i am kidding.....or am i?

up & away in my beautiful balloon....

2004-10-08T19:32:00.000-04:00

WARNING -- THE FOLLOWING BLOG CONTAINS A WHIFF OF POLITICS. 'TIS THE SEASON.....

i have been talking way too much lately. i have been having an out-of-body experience while i am in the middle of conversations. my mouth is running a mile a minute and suddenly i float off. no longer aware of what i am saying. then, in an instant i am back in the moment. however, i cannot remember what i am talking about but am painfully aware that i am talking. and talking. and talking. so, then i am nervous and embarassed, my face turns purple and my conversation ends up in me saying something like:

"well, so, like i don't know. i'm just so crazy. who am i to talk. i mean, ya know, life is so funny that way....."

i trail off into oblivion, the stares of the people around me cause me to laugh nervously and i end up chirping like a crazed squirrel.

i so wish that all of my talking could be held in one of those cartoon balloons. that way when i zap back into the middle of my conversations i could politely excuse myself and float away.

"....so, like, ummmm...yeah, excuse me. i need to just grab these words and get the fuck out of here. it may seem rude, but really i am doing this for your own good. if i don't float away right now i am just going to keep rambling to you and i have no idea what we are talking about. bye bye......"

ah, if only life could be like cartoons. i can only imagine what i would look like. a frumpy watermelon-shaped-head creature with a long nose and giant teeth that fly out of my big mouth when i laugh. clown feet that trip me, even when i am sitting on my alaskan sized butt. a chirping voice that rises to ear-splitting levels when upset. tall and wide forehead that has a running ticker with the following: "WARNING! SOME MATERIAL NOT SUITABLE FOR ADULTS AND CHILDREN! PERSCRIPTION MEDICATION ADVISED. CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE. HANDLE WITH CARE!" what a pretty picture.

it is friday family movie night here. although dan and i are biding our time until the kids go to bed and we can really let our hair down. soft lights, the warm glow of the television, eating chinese food in bed....and listening to dan scream at george w. and me yelling at dan, "quiet! i can't hear a goddamn thing when you yell!" nik coming out into the hallway to see what all the yelling is about, "hey, relax you guys. we are all friends here. why is daddy yelling at the president?" emma coming out of her room to see what all the activity is about and deciding to climb up into our love nest/bed and eat all of my chinese food. both of the kids telling dan to stop yelling at the president. dan using some junk words and promising both the kids he will put $10 into the junk word jar. me saying, "ALL RIGHT. IT IS NOW TIME FOR EVERYONE TO RETURN TO THEIR ROOMS AND GO TO SLEEP." me making dan go back out to get more food. me falling asleep waiting for dan to come back. me waking up in the middle of the night and looking over at my husband sleeping soundly. i will look at him and feel a sudden rush of love. sometimes it hits me so hard i lose my breath. i will nudge him in the ribs and kiss him on the nose and i will be reminded of how lucky i am.

god bless and remember to VOTE!

the force is strong......

2004-10-06T14:01:00.000-04:00

watch for the cameo by "evita." see how seriously she takes this! oh, yeah, the lump on the couch...that is me. i managed to sleep thru all of this. well, if you were home sick with hand, foot and mouth for a week what would you do? you without the sin of boredom cast the first stone.

loves o' mine

2004-10-01T10:56:00.000-04:00

tell me i am not the luckiest woman in the world....

what says summer more than wet grassy feet

'tis a thing of beauty

oh, nik is sooooo mature for his age

me and evita

the spoils of summer

the lake holds many mysteries

these things will meet a horrible end when dan isn't looking

yes, this motherhood thing is hard, but sometimes they make my job effortless

i figured after all the ranting and raving i have done lately i should be more positive. this is my attempt at being suzy sunshine. i am a work in progress.....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOO

2004-09-30T20:22:00.000-04:00

today my firsborn, my beautiful son, Nikolas was born. he is now 6 years old. i can't believe it. i remember almost everything about the day he was born. mostly i remember, after pushing for an hour, whispering to my husband "what is taking so long. what are we waiting for?" dan just laughed and said in his loud voice, "sweetie, we are waiting for you to push the baby out." what had i been doing for an hour? was this pre-pushing? the dr. informed me there was no such thing. that if i wanted the baby out i would have to push him all the way out.

FOUR HOURS LATER, this beautiful purple and green lizard-boy with an extended head finally arrived. when they placed nik on my chest i actually gasped. the dr. said, "yep, a 10 lb. 12 oz. baby will do that to you."

i always laugh to myself when i hear of women who absolutely refuse to even consider any type of medication for childbirth. i salute you. me, i like the drugs.

but, this is not about me, although i am responsible for him being here. never mind the pain i endured. never mind the extra backfat i now carry with me. never mind my body looks as if an animal clawed his way out. i have nikolas.

nikolas is now 6. he is the most interesting person i know. he uses phrases like, "by the way" and "did i happen to mention." I LOVE THAT. he has a wonderful sense of humor and a very sharp intellect. he has lost so much of the momma's boy personality, but still likes it when i snuggle to him in bed. when i say goodbye to him at school he insists on just waving. no messy kisses allowed. but when i tuck him in at night he whispers in my ear, "momma i am going to buy a house near you when i grow up. that way i can still see you everyday. will you still love me?"

this is where the happy tears flow freely. i can't even imagine what this beautiful boy could do that would ever make me stop loving him. dan's parents haven't spoken to him in years. my parents forgot nik's birthday today. this baffles me. i constantly strive to keep what is most important in my mind. HUSBAND AND CHILDREN. it may not seem like a lot, but to me i am the richest woman in the world.

after opening his presents, we had cake for breakfast. nik and emma have been home sick all week with the damn HAND FOOT AND MOUTH virus. i have also fallen victim of this motherfucker of a virus. nik's mouth is covered with so many sores he can barely eat. nik was unable to eat his birthday cake and ran crying to his room. "this is the worst birthday of my life!" how small do we feel? i promised nik that once all the sores were healed there would be cake for breakfast again. this brought a smile to my boo's face. that smile made my day.

welcome to virus island

2004-09-28T09:44:00.000-04:00

DAMN HAND FOOT AND MOUTH!!!

what is this virus? i hadn't heard about this until last year. nik had managed to escape lice, rsv, chicken pox, and this hand foot mouth disease. why do they call it a disease? isn't this just a virus. the kind of virus that is reeking havoc on my life. leave it to emma to bring it home and share.

this is my life for the past 3 days:

emma with a fever between 100.9 and 102.8
emma yelling
emma covered in a rash that is painful to the touch
popsicle
popsicle
coke (for me)
emma yelling
emma sleeping for 20 minutes and then yelling
emma having a fever so high she is seeing bugs on her wall that aren't there
popsicle
popsicle
emma fever
emma yelling
me going to get nik from school because he is now sick
emma fever
emma now refusing to eat popsicle
coke (for me and nik)
nik in wizard costume sleeping like an angel
me crying in the bathroom from lack of sleep
emma fever hitting 102
me freaking out and actually yelling at the nurse in my pediatrician's office
me apologizing
me yelling again
emma crying her lungs out as i give her a tepid bath to break the fever
nik helping me (what a godsend, extra birthday presents this year)
hubby coming home to absolute nightmare
hubby bringing sherbert home for emma
emma happy to see daddy (this lasts for about 3 minutes)
emma yelling
emma having another tepid bath
emma calm and resting next to me in my bed
emma puking all over me
emma yelling
emma fever
emma not sleeping
family not sleeping
me hating to see my little baby so unhappy and there is nothing i can do about it

the best part of the past 3 days: kathryn, who upon hearing that emma was reallly sick with hand foot and mouth actually said the following:

"how can she have that? she isn't around any cows? when was she around any livestock?"

god bless kathryn. and god help me. this lie about fever lasting 3 days is bullshit. poor nik should be at his worst for his birthday later this week. nobody ever tells you this part of parenthood. sick kids and you feeling completely helpless.

pity party, table for one

2004-09-28T09:18:00.000-04:00

i know you! you were the girl on the playground that didn't participate with the group. you made yourself the outsider. you vowed revenge on all who made you feel so lonely. you were going to show the world. they would be sorry. gee, you are starting to sound a lot like carrie. remember what happened to her? personally, you could go up in flames and i wouldn't mind.

you think you have discovered something special and should be the only one entitled to use it. what make you think only your words are worth reading? what makes you think that no one else has any thing of any relevance to say? who the fuck do you think you are?

"this is mine and only for me. i am the only person who has something important to say. i am not going to share. see how smart and funny i am? don't you envy me, NOW? don't you wish you could be me? all you have are cheap imitations, i am the original and the best."

FUCK YOU!

i know you. and you know that. i know how pathetic you really are. i know how you feel when you look in the mirror. all your worst fears are true. you are the worst. you are still the same sad little miss nothing you were growing up. you haven't changed at all. you can pretend and rewrite history all you want. you haven't grown up at all. go on, have your big dreams of "being something." i know you are a great pretender, but i also remember everything you said. you told me things you shouldn't have and i will forever hold them against you. you make me sick.

enjoy your empty little existance. i know that each day you will wake up to the reality that you are not good enough.....for ANYTHING. but, hey, keep trying. i admire how you continue to try even though you know you will always fail. good luck with all that.

by the way, did i mention that your husband attempted an inappropriate intimacy with me? hard to believe? really....think about it. think about your sad little life, your desperate attempts to "keep things going." isn't it amazing how thin that string is...you know the string that is holding your entire "little happy life" together. a strong wind can and will break it...again and again. but, hey, keep trying.

you are one pathetic plucky little snail.

the lean, mean, processed-meat-eating machine

2004-09-19T11:49:00.000-04:00

i am driving in the car. evita is in the backseat. i come to an intersection and realize that because of construction, the road i need is closed. i decide to turn left, from the right hand lane. normally, i would never do such a thing, but it was either turn illegally or run off the road. apparently the bald guy in the convertable bmw behind me didn't care if i ran off the road because as i made the illegal turn he yelled, "bitch." to which i responded, "are you out of your fucking mind?!?!" then i hear from the backseat, "HEY, YOU MISTER, DON'T SAY THAT JUNK WORD!"

i have never been so proud! i apologized to emma for my use of the junk word and for yelling at the guy. emma responded with, "it's ok, momma. he should not talk that way to my momma. he is making bad decisions. i don't like that mean man."

emma. she may not always like me, but she always "got my back."

did you happen to see the most beautiful boy in the world?

2004-09-17T18:40:00.000-04:00

nikolas, the love of my life, overheard me telling dan that i was going to take kathryn (my mom) to target this morning. there is an entire blog entry coming on what it means to "take kathryn to target," but that comes later. nik has the capacity to hear me whisper to dan about birthday presents or cookies being in the house, but he can't hear me say, "5 minutes before we leave for school." amazing, isn't it?

so i am brushing my teeth, talking to dan (who is in the shower ---- we often have conversations this way, privacy no longer exists in our home) and nik suddenly is hugging me from behind. "i love you, momma. you are the best momma in the whole universe and earth, too. i think you look very pretty this morning, and your breath smells really good." i hug him and cover his face with kisses. i know that this is a ploy to win me over for something, but i love the attention so i play along.

me: "why thank you, nik. how sweet of you to say so."

nik: "you know, if you wanted to, you could buy me a teddy bear at target."

me: "well, what about the other 10 teddy bears you have already? won't they be jealous if i bring another bear into the house? you hardly have any room in your bed to sleep. how would your bears feel if they had to give up more of the bed to make room for another bear?"

nik: "mom, we all need to learn to get along. there should be room for any bear who wants to sleep in my bed. i don't mind. i could even sleep on the floor."

mind you, this boy has a bunk bed, filled to capacity with animals and pillows.

me: "that is very generous of you, honey. i don't think i can't get a new bear today."

nik: "mom, is it a money issue?"

me: "ummmm, ok, yeah, it is a money issue."

nik: "that i understand, mom. will you let me know when daddy has money and then you can ask him if it is ok for you to have some money so that you can buy me a new bear?"

me: "sure thing nik. i will ask daddy for my allowance and then spend it on you."

nik: "what is an allowance? why are you laughing? what is so funny? are you losing it, momma?"

yeah, i am losing it.

sunday blues

2004-09-12T16:23:00.000-04:00

my mother was the first person to explain the concept of the "sunday blues" to me. i could never understand why i felt the way i did on sundays. it is a combination of exhaustion and nervous anxiety. i am sooooooo tired, but my mind is racing. my legs feel like cement, but my heart is racing. my skull is throbing. i feel like my scalp is going to fall off the sides of my head revealing a pulsating skull.

help. my nerves are frazzled. between my school, the kids in school, the cost of our new kitchen, dan's employment situation, my dad's health, my sister.....blah, blah. don't get me started on the upcoming election, the death of the school children in russia, the starving children in africa, the homeless situation in america, the amount of families without healthcare coverage or even enough food to eat.......UG.

my fingers hurt, my brain is swelling, i feel like i can't breathe. i want to crawl into bed and sleep for days.

i take a deep breath and watch my daughter dance around the basement naked. i listen to my son tell me all about tornados and how a black hole can bend light. i watch my husband fold the clean laundry. i watch the dog curl up on the couch for another nap. i whisper a prayer to god. i thank him for all my blessings and ask him to watch over the world. people without any faith in any religion can't quite understand the point of faith. how can i explain how important it is for me to have something to believe in. on the one hand it is hard to believe in the existance of any type of god with the world we live in. then it is impossible for me to not believe in god when i see the rare moments of love, humanity and pure love around me. all the questions, how could god? why would god allow? fade from my mind.

i believe because i need to believe. because sometimes the sunday blues have me sooooo down looooooww that i need god to pull me up and remind me to take a deep breath. maybe i am not as evolved as some people who deny the existance of god on a rational and intellectual level, and that is ok. for simple-minded folk like me is is very simple: god is good.

the problem with being a grown up

2004-09-08T20:51:00.000-04:00

the problem with being a grown up is the you are aware of the world around you. when we are small children we are oblivious to all the pain and hatred going on around us. hopefully we were unaware. now when i watch the news i want to cry. how do i explain to my son that children in this world, in our very own country are hungry? how can i explain that people hate so much that they take another person's life? how long can i keep my kids from being aware of all the ugliness in the world? i made the mistake of having npr on in the car when i was taking my son to school. after hearing the report about the deaths of the school children in russia he asked me, "did little children die? why did that happen?"

i was so busy looking for a fucking parking spot at the school i didn't notice what i was listening to. "little pitchers" rather than tell him, "oh, it was nothing," as my parents did i told him the truth: some people make really bad decisions that can hurt other people. this he understood. how can he understand this? i don't.

sorry, guess the world is getting to me....

gotta love the chef

2004-09-05T11:36:00.000-04:00

this is the reason i love my babies.

nik: boy, i love this chef boyardee. ( he was eating pasta and homemade sauce. i don't have the slightest idea why he feels the need to reduce my home-cooked meals to something that comes out of a can)

emma: i don't like the chef. it is disgusting! (she says this as she is eating like i haven't fed her for weeks.)

me: when did either of you ever have chef boyardee?

nik: long time ago.

emma: yeah.

me: when? when did you have the chef? (now i am calling it "the chef." isn't it funny how we parents pick up and use our children's language?)

nik: BIG SIGH -- when we went to the north pole. santa gave it to us.

me: you went all the way to the north pole and all santa could feed you was the chef?

nik: i liked it. santa's busy. he showed me some karate.

emma: yeah. and ballet dances, too.

me: where was mrs. claus?

emma: she dead.

nik: yeah.

i see.

calling dr. feelgood.....

2004-09-03T09:20:00.000-04:00

so i go to see my friendly family doctor. i told him that i was there against my will. my mother made me go to see him. apparently my loving husband had informed her that i have been complaining of a headache for the past weeks. my mother proceeds to begin "working on me" to call the doctor for an appointment.

"while you are there be sure to tell him about your sinus trouble. and how you have been so tired lately. and let him know about your constant throwing up....blah blah blah."

this continues for another 20 minutes. somewhere in the midst of this, she suggests that i make a list of problems so that i don't leave anything out. when i decline, she offers to make the list for me.

this is my mother. i am slowing becoming my mother.

when i was 12 years old my mother put "the curse" on me. i had just returned from spending the night at a friend's house. this friend of mine was very "cosmo girl." she had taught me all about the word: fuck. how to use it, when to use it, etc. we had spent hours practicing. i enjoyed this very much. so much, that when i returned home i tried it out on my own mom. i was in my room, which was a complete mess for most of the 18 years i lived there. my mom came into my room and simply asked if i was ever planning on cleaning up my room. my response to this innocent question was: "MYO'f-ing'B."

ever have one of those moments when you wish you had the power to stop time and reverse it? as the words left my mouth and were hanging in the air i desperately wished i had this power. i could see the words just hanging there, floating from my mouth across the room to my mother. i wish i could have reached out, grabbed them and shoved them into my pocket.

my mother received this verbal assualt with all the composure of a seasoned general.

"you know, jennifer.....you and i don't have to like each other. in fact, there will be a period of time in which you don't want to be around me. i understand this and it is ok. because we will survive this period of time and will come out of it as friends. i just want you to know that."

i stood there frozen. i couldn't believe she was going to let me off the hook. didn't she hear what i said? didn't she hear that sassy pre-teen voice of mine? isn't she going to punish me? then she laid "the curse" on me. just as i thought she was going to leave my room, she paused at the door....gave me a look to melt the polar icecaps (bette davis would have been proud) and said:

"one day i hope you have a daughter that treats you the way you treat me."

HELP. i wasn't so young that i didn't understand the implications of her threat. and yes, it was a threat. i tried in vain to roll my eyes and shrug my shoulders, but deep down i was terrified. and i had reason to be. enter: EMMA. the chickens have come home to roost. and don't think that kathryn isn't loving every minute of it.

so, i tell the doctor that i am fine and that i am there against my will. i haven't been in charge of my own will for quite some time. he is so kind and patient. he decided that since i was there i should take advantage of the opportunity and enjoy the peace and quiet of his office. i asked if i could take a nap. he smiled at me and said, "you have 20 minutes," and closed the door. i left the doctor's office very happy, recharged, and with nasal spray and an antihistimine.

when my husband and mother asked what the doctor had recommended, i informed them i wasn't to do anymore housework because it irritates my allergies. i don't think they bought this....

actual events inspired by fictional characters

2004-08-31T09:55:00.000-04:00

these things have really happened:

at a wake of a family member, i informed a LARGE group of people that i believed the dearly departed had waited until the first grandchild was born before passing on. i said, "it was as if the baby gave her a new LEASH ON LIFE."

while out walking late one night, i discovered that i hadn't been kicking a piece of cardboard down the street, but rather a dead squirrel that had petrified in the heat of the day.

when responding to the question, "why would anyone have their nipples pierced?" i answered, "because it is an ANDROGENOUS ZONE."

when commenting on how my son had taken advantage of a situation, i once said "he is PLAYING YOU LIKE A BOOK."

while pregnant and waiting for a train, i threw up on a stranger's shoes. when i bent down to wipe them off with a wet wipe i proceeded to throw up on the stranger's briefcase.

while having a loud disagreement with my daughter in a store, she yelled at me: "you are hurting my penis!" i responded with, "YOU DON'T HAVE A PENIS!" to which she said, "THAT'S BECAUSE YOU BROKE IT. YOU ALWAYS BREAK PEOPLE'S PENISES!" the only logical response from me was: "THAT IS NOT TRUE! DADDY STILL HAS HIS PENIS AND IT IS JUST FINE, LET ME TELL YOU!"

it is ugly, but true. i blame my mother, who is forever asking me questions like: "who is that moody guy from 'bubblefish' movie?" this would confuse other people, but i am familiar with all things kathryn. i am able to respond: "you mean matt dillon from 'rumblefish'" i always know what she means. my husband being only with us for the past 14 years still has trouble keeping up. he asked me one day, "am i ever going to understand what you are talking about?" i told him, "hey, you LEARN SOMETHING NEW EVERY OTHER DAY."

ahh, men!

2004-08-30T21:07:00.000-04:00

i married a man. a real man. a man who was once a "guy" and then got married and had kids. a "guy" who grew up and takes his responsibilities seriously. even when he doesn't want to.

dan is on the verge, (and i mean as in tomorrow afternoon), of losing his job. while he doesn't think this is a personal reflection upon him (because it isn't) he is worried. he takes this "i am the only person with an income" business very seriously. i have been fortunate enough to stay at home for the past 6 years. i complain on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis about this mommy job of mine. i have been jealous of dan because he gets to talk with adults during the day and even goes out to lunch with friends. i resent him coming home late, i resent him complaining about his job, i resent him complaining about his boss. the truth is my man takes care of his family. he dutifully goes to a horrible job that sucks the life out of him so that i can stay home with the kids. he does this because he loves me. he loves his children. he wants us to have a good life. i owe so much to this man. i am amazed at this person. i knew him when he had a jar of "goober" in his college dorm. i knew him when he still had dreams that did not include a wife and kids. this man has taken jobs he hates for me and his children. how dare i complain? really, am i so petty that i engage in a contest of "whose job sucked more today?" i am not afraid to admit that i have done this. i am not proud of myself.

i am proud of my husband. he worries about money, mortgage payments, car payments, money, college saving funds, medical insurance payments, the well-being of his wife and children, and money. i don't know how many stay at home moms actually think about what their husbands experience being the only "bread-winner" of the house. my husband will rarely burden me with his worries because he thinks i have enough on my plate already. the sad thing is, i do. i sometimes forget all that he is dealing with on a daily basis. at night i am plagued with worries about the kids. i never really worry about him because he seems so strong. ------oh my god, am i turning into a hallmark spotlight movie of the week featuring meredith baxter as the dutiful wife and joannah kerns as her loyal friend? i see lots of meaningful conversations over coffee in a kitchen so clean it looks like no meals have actually been cooked there. sorry......

sorry, i guess i need to go watch tv. damn the republican convention, i know i should be watching so that i get a balanced view, but....come on. i watched the democratic convention, but something about kerry's voice lulled me into a deep sleep. i have a sneaking suspicion that the right wingers will have the same effect. is 9:30 too early to go to bed?

why can't rubber grow in a civilized climate?

2004-08-30T10:16:00.000-04:00

sick day? no such thing for mom. i feel as if i have been swallowing swords that were dipped in acid. our kitchen is being ripped apart and will be unuseable for the next week. nik starts school tomorrow (THANK YOU JESUS). dan has job interview this week. i still need to get books for myself for school (even though i am not going to go through with it). i need to drop off emma's health form to prove that she will not contaminate kids in preschool.....

I AM SICK.

our cable went out last night. this meant we were spared the closing ceremonies of the olympics. THANK YOU JESUS. that is my biggest problem with the olympics. i could do without the opening and closing. it encompasses everything that i depise. it makes me wish i could pass for a canadian or a german. don't get me wrong. i do like being an american. i find it one of the healthest challenges on the face of the earth. just when you think you can come out of the cave you've been hiding in, our country goes and pulls another bonehead trick out of it's bag and it is back to the cave of shame. i couldn't live in any other country because i am too american. i am set in my ways and love the freedom of complaining about my homeland.

am i patriotic? i don't think i can even spell this word properly. i don't care if you burn the american flag, but i cry everytime i hear the national anthem. voting in our country is our duty, not a exercise to be taken lightly. besides, you can't complain if you don't vote. even if your vote doesn't seem to matter or count. i don't care for the current president or administration, but i pray every day for the women and men who are fighting overseas. i don't like the idea that if you are critical of the president/administration that you hate america. i hate that people try to entangle god and politics. i deal with spiritual conflicts on a personal level, i don't want them played out on a political level.

UG!

i don't like where this is going....please excuse the rambling.....i have a fever......did i mention charlie manson is upstairs ripping apart my kitchen while i hide in the basement?.......please someone get me a popsicle.....

the three faces of eve

2004-08-28T14:35:00.000-04:00

emma has many moods, usually all of which we experience on a daily basis. her moods are intense and at times, exhausting. i swear her good looks are the only saving grace.

this is the emma everyone loves

be afraid, be very afraid of meatface!!

run as fast as you can.....

sweet peas

2004-08-28T14:25:00.000-04:00

a boy, a lake and one heck of a tanline

beach bunnies

see, you aren't the biggest loser...

2004-08-27T11:12:00.000-04:00

i have been keeping a secret. i am going back to school. i promised myself years ago that i would have my degree by the time i was 30. well, i have pushed that date back, quite a bit. i am so close to finishing a degree in anthropology, but really my days of going to dig in africa disappeared once i had nik.

so, i will be going back to school this september. and yes, i will be the oldest (and have the biggest butt) person there. i am really nervous. i told nik and emma that i was feeling a little nervous about going back to school. nik was very understanding and told me to relax. "just be nice, momma, and you will make friends. remember, you have to be friendly if you want friends." thanks nik.

emma said: "don't go. just stay home and be mommy." oh, that is tooooo easy for me! i have been mommy for 6 years. mommy needs to find the outside world. i used to know things. i used to be aware of the world around me. i need to know more than just what arthur and dw are fighting about and if spongebob will ever get his driver's license. although i do care about these things.

when i expressed my concerns to dan his response was: "hey, tommy lee is going back to college. there is going to be a whole new reality show about him going to college. and he is older than you."

i actually married this man and promised god i would stick it out through good and bad. the weird part is, i am strangely comforted by this.....tommy and me back in school. i will just die if he gets his degree before me!

happy happy joy joy

2004-08-27T10:23:00.000-04:00

i truly admire the enthusiasm that my kids have for ANYTHING. we were at the park earlier this week and they spent 30 minutes (a new olympic record for uninterrupted focus) playing with a catapillar. i was amazed at how tender and gentle they were and how they SHARED and TOOK TURNS NICELY while playing. it was as if god looked at me and decided i needed a reminder of just how fortuate i am. i seem to have moments like this on the days where i am seriously thinking about running away to live in a hole in the ground somewhere in the woods.

"wat'cha thinkin' mommy?" my daughter caught me daydreaming. i told her i wasn't sure and she decided that she would tell me all the things i was thinking about. her list was the following:

making cookies
butterflies
watching barbie in the nutcracker (AGAIN)
going to the store to buy cookies
getting a kitty cat
frogs
how pretty and sweet emma is
cookies
ice cream
giving me that new toy under your bed that i know is for me

emma will be a great detective. she can sense when i have been shopping for future birthday and christmas presents. and she found my hiding spot under my bed. i realize it wasn't the best place, but kids are funny. i could have hidden them in their rooms, next to their shoes or dirty clothes basket. things in plain sight become invisible to small children. emma "discovered" her birthday present earlier in the day, but thought enough to put on a show for me later on.

emma pretending that something was poking her foot: "oh momma, what is this? how lovely is this? what could this be? is this for someone special?" a future oscar winner.

nik is still unaware that there are presents there for him as well. that is until, little emma (the informer) not only tells him, but shows him as well.

suddenly it is very quiet in the house. i am here in the basement while the children have snuck upstairs, telling me: "we just need to get one thing, we will be right back." the concept of time is so amazing. right back for me means right back. for nik it means maybe 20 minutes later. long enough for an evil plan to be devised and hatched by the rascals. nik will come back downstairs saying, "umm, mom, umm you are going to be mad about this." he is mistaken. i will not be mad. i will shake my head in wonderment at how two small kids can reek such havoc on my home. i may frown, but inside i am smiling. i don't yell, even when they make a "creation" that involves putting flour and breadcrumbs all over the carpeting. or when they "decorate" the bathroom with 2 entire cans of shaving cream.

the fact is, i love them. i love the way they use an entire box of band-aids. i love the way they smell after a day at the beach. i love the way emma reaches up to take my hand to cross a street. i love the way nik goes around the house wrapping "presents" for me in his dirty clothes. me: "ohh, look, a barbie with no head, just for me. i love it. and i love that you wrapped her so nicely in your soccer socks."

today just might be a good day.......

how do i love thee?

2004-08-23T17:29:00.000-04:00

how can you not love a man who makes you a salami sandwich, miracle whip on both slices of bread, at 11:00 pm because he thought you should eat something before you go to sleep.

how can you not love a man who rolls over during the night and tells you, "stop worrying, everything is going to be fine." without you having to say a word, he knows you are riddled with panic and are about to spend another sleepless night.

how can you not love a man who has made it a custom to leave you a q-tip out, while you are in the shower, so you can clean your ears. without fail.

how can you not love a man who dotes on your parents, but still takes your back in disagreements between you and your mom (even though he secretly calls your mother to tell her she is right and you are wrong.)

how can you not love a man who claims the reason he needs satilite tv is so that you can watch the bbc news. really, it isn't for him, at all.

how can you not love a man who will get out of bed and make you popcorn simply because you said, "i need a little something."

how can you not love a man who always buys you socks for christmas because he knows you will never buy them for yourself. and when he gives them to you he says, "to keep those ugly things you call feet nice and warm."

how can you not love a man who will spend 20 minutes trying to justify his need for yet another type of toothpaste, "i have sensitive teeth and i need the baking soda." completely ignoring the 2 unopened tubes in the bathroom because they aren't "enamle protectors."

how can you not love a man who giggles like a school girl when you tell him about your latest humiliating experience.

how can you not love a man who makes you feel completely naked with one glance.

how can you not love a man who watched you deliver two babies (and the pooping incident on the table) and still wants to have sex with you.

how can you not love a man who can melt you with his smile.

how can you not love a man who will watch any bette davis movie with you....and actually enjoy it.

how can you not love a man who was the first person you knew who actually ate a movie theatre hot dog and enjoyed it. then he convinces you to eat one too.

how can you not love a man who cried at both of his weddings.

how can you not love a man who greets you when he gets home from work with, "hey, your butt looks really small today. have you lost weight?" and you can almost believe him because he is so damn cute.

how can you not love a man who can go without a shower for 4 days and still look so fucking good.

daniel, my love...now and forever

meeting mommy right

2004-08-22T12:16:00.000-04:00

ok, this could be it. i think i have met mommy right. she is nice, funny and sarcastic, smart, pretty, not too thin, was wearing no makeup, and -- the best part -- her daughter was sassy to her IN FRONT OF ME. this could be it. have i met mommy right? she said all the right things, she even complained about motherhood. i don't want to get too carried away. this has been my downfall in the past, but i think i picked up on THE VIBE.

THE VIBE is rare. it happens so infrequently. some moms only dream of experiencing THE VIBE. THE VIBE is the feeling you get when you meet someone like yourself. most single people search for THE VIBE as a future mate. i have been looking for the perfect friend. a mommy, like me, who has small and demanding children and doesn't care that her butt is the size of alaska. ok, mommy right has a very nice butt, smaller than mine, but not so small that i hate to walk behind her.

ok, i realize i sound like a complete nut, but you don't know what is like. i can't meet a normal mom. it goes without saying that i adore my kids. i love and adore my husband. i actually like being a stay at home mom (ok, 75% of the time). but i am only human. i need to vent. why is venting a sign that you hate your kids/husband/complete existance? i don't want to feel like i am the only mom on the face of the earth who could do without the complete sacrafice of myself for my family. doesn't any other mom feel completely invisible? since when did i become a "mam" instead of "miss?" doesn't any other mom feel like her head will explode if she has to answer one more question.

except the ones like: "do bees have butts? where do bees poop? what happens if your eyes fall out of your head? can i name the worm that lives in my eyelashes? why are you always holding your head and moaning? can my wing-a (read: vagina) fall out of my butt?" these questions i actually enjoy.

is it too much to ask that i find a normal, noncompetitive mom who isn't overjoyed at a lack of sleep and lack of her own personal existence? i may have found her. this is where the zoloft comes into play. hopefully i won't freak her out and scare her off. this is sounding a bit like a lifetime movie, isn't it?

"she thought she was safe. she had moved from state to state to keep her and her family safe. would this be a safe place? could she survive in this suburban neighborhood? or would she be found out? if only she could tell....is it....could it be.....oh no! run for your life, it's.....it's......CRAZY NEEDY MOM LOOKING FOR A NEW FRIEND! great, now she will have to move again."

i seriously pity this poor woman. she has no idea what she is up for. silly woman, gave me her phone number. honestly, i hope this works out. jesus, i didn't have this much trouble dating when i was single. is that what happens? i can't date my husband, so i date friends? someone to go to the movies with, eat dinner out, shop....? should i have been a lesbian? but i still want to have sex with my husband. am i experiencing "gender confusion?" has it passed from my son to me? does this mean i can stop shaving my legs?

ok, deep breath, time to go take a z.

well, there isn't

2004-08-21T00:19:00.000-04:00

when i was young, and yes i am old enough to be able to use this saying, i thought about how small and meaningless my life was, that there was something better and greater. i would spend hours dreaming about the life i would really live, once i got this preliminary life out of the way. it was if i was practicing for something great. as if i was an olympic hopeful, trying to establish my existence. that one day, i would grow up and this would all be some memory i would fondly recall, sitting at a fabulous dinner party, having one too many glasses of wine.

"....ah, yes, i did once wonder what would become of me. i once worried that i would amount to nothing. as you can see, with all my success in the {PLACE NAME OF FABULOUS OCCUPATION HERE, AS YET UNDERTERMINED} this is not the case, thank God"

the truth is, there isn't any OTHER great life waiting for me. this is my life. and, honestly, it isn't that bad. in fact, it is pretty good. life is what you make it, got to take the bitter with the sweet. this is my life, for better or worse. most days it is better. i know i complain and vent endlessly about my life, but i wouldn't trade it for any thing else. so, ok, more nap time and quiet dinners would be nice, but i have so much great stuff---not really stuff as much as people. hey, it is never boring around here.

my children are becoming very well trained. nik will enter my room in the morning and ask if i am awake yet. as always, i am not ready to get out of bed (why didn't the children inherit my hatred of early mornings?). nik then goes to the kitchen, opens the fridge and brings me a cold coke. yes, the breakfast of champions! nik always delivers my coke with a smile that warms my heart and a desperate plea for me not to kiss him with my "terrible and awful morning breath." emma wakes me up by pushing my eyelids open saying, "ok, awake now mommy."

i once dreaded the kids waking me up. i asked nik one morning why he insisted on waking me up as soon as he was awake. "i am lonely without you," was his reply. can you imagine? these fragile little creatures actually WANT to be with me as soon as they wake up. my husband isn't that excited to see his creature wife first thing in the morning.

why do they love me? what is it about me that they cling to? i am honestly not that nice of a person. nik and emma have supreme confidence in my abilities. this absolutely floors me. and even when i fuck up, which is at least once a day, they return to me sure that i am the one person who can fix their problems. i can't fix mine, but i am like a superhero to them. they don't care what i look like, in fact they are convinced i am the "pretty prettiest mommy in the entire world AND earth." they believe that i have the answers for EVERY SINGLE QUESTION. nik says it is because of my big forehead which apparently holds my gigantic brain. they are amazed at my courage at shunning the fear of dark and spiders. i have also impressed them with my ability to yell and swear at other drivers on the road. after a sudden outburst at an idiot on the road i heard my son whisper to his little sister, "see, mommy is in charge of everybody." emma replied, "i already know that, nik!" i didn't know that. i have always thought it would be easier to be in charge of other peoples lives instead of mine. there would be no sense of attachement.

truth is, i like this attachment to my life. i am invested in these children. i don't hate my daily life. it's just that sometimes i am hit with the realization that i am someone's mother. that is really scary for a person who has yet to grow up herself. my husband has made me a better person, but it is my babies that are making me a mother. it is the day in and day out grind of attending to their every whim. i am here, this is my place. yes, it is dirty and noisy and completely thankless, but it is mine. this is the other life i was dreaming about. only it is better than my dream life in so many ways. i will never understand why these kids think i am up to the task of being their mother, but their belief in me is astounding. it is my job to live up to their expectations.

does it get better than this? no, because it never ends. the minute these little people passed through my body into the world they became my life. day by day i am learning to embrace this gift. not to say that i don't dream about more peace and quiet, but...well, when you have children you understand that there just isn't any such thing.

don't mind me while i push this rock up a hill....

2004-08-18T09:23:00.000-04:00

these are things i could do without:

being a referee for my children

being a maid (and not a very good one)

being told "don't worry" which is like telling me hold my breath for an hour

being petty, so petty that i hate people for their successes

being completely indifferent to my own appearance, other than loathesome

being in charge of finding fun activites for the kids

feeling like i would rather be anyplace than where i am

cleaning up the endless amount of crumbs around my house

being my own best friend

let me just say that when the blues hit, they take no prisoners. this is something that people who have never experienced depression can never understand. i once scared the shit out of someone when i described how i was feeling. it was like a small, cold metal ball was rolling throughout my insides, flattening all of my organs until i was completely hallow. i had become a shell. this person i had become was completely unrecognizable. i would spend hours staring at my refection trying to find some sort of human existance. i was unable to leave the house, sometimes i couldn't leave my bedroom. life had become like a blinding white light that burned. this may seem very melodramatic to you, but try spending 48 hours without sleep, talking to your cats and staring out at traffic. yes, i once lived in the bell jar.

sure, my medication helps, but i don't like living with a crutch. but, without it i fall down. ironic?! beats me. now when i fall, it is not as bad. now it is more like, FUCK, I DON'T WANT TO TAKE CARE OF ANYBODY OR ANYTHING RIGHT NOW. i think this is not so much depression as it is motherhood.

SSDD

dream vacation?

2004-08-16T20:05:00.000-04:00

i spent the week before our family vacation telling myself that i would soon be relaxing. as i did laundry, packed clothes, hunted down beach towels, bought sunblock, i told myself that soon i would be relaxing. i will be up north, on the lake, taking morning walks on the beach, swimming in the waves, going to sleep with the sounds of crickets. this was my mantra as i did the dishes after the dinner battle we have with the kids every night.

finally we were up north. ah, i could exhale now. now i can breathe deep and relax. then i began unpacking the clothes, went to the grocery store, made dinner, hung beach towels on the line, scooped dog poop from the yard and did the dishes.

what is funny (or depressing, depending on your antidepressant doseage) is that this morning i woke up feeling recharged. i told myself that this monday is the beginning of a fresh week. a fresh start. time to get back to business with a fresh perspective. i was doing the dishes this morning (yes, from the dinner the night before, again, think about the serving fork in the neck of my adoring husband) and the realization hit me like a wall.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A VACATION FOR ME. I DO THE SAME SHIT UP NORTH THAT I DO AT HOME. THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE.

what should have been a moment where i burst into tears and run for my bed, i instead, found myself laughing. laughing so hard out loud that my daughter came in to check on me.

"what is it, mommy?"

yes, it is rare to see the mommy in her natural habitat in a fit of giggles.

"mommy just has the squirrels," i told her.

her face was frozen in utter confusion. i sat down on the floor of the kitchen and pulled her into my lap. i explained what "the squirrels" are and she enjoyed my ability to giggle like silly, just like her. i was caught up in this moment of recognition about my life and what kind of person i have become. i am coming to terms with my reality. sometimes it just doesn't get any better than that. i may not get a vacation anymore, but i can share a case of the giggles with my little girl.

there i was in my little moment of joy, my daughter in her princess nightgown, still warm and smelling of sleep. i hugged her to me and she whispered,

"mommy, don't get my beautiful nightgown wet. you know, your hands are wet. you should get a towel and dry them off. i don't want to be all wet. i will get cold and i will get sick. i will throw up and i don't want to throw up on my beautiful nightgown. it is my favorite one. see the princesses. they don't want to get wet. they don't want to get sick. remember when i threw up on you and all over your bed. was that disgusting?"

yes, it was. but i don't tell her that. instead i get up, dry off my hands on a dish towel. i turn to show her my hands are dry and there is no risk of contaminating her or the princesses on the nightgown, but she is gone. off to her busy schedule that nowadays involves me less. i am left alone in my sunny kitchen feeling dreamy and disconnected.

my mistake & my mistake: part 2 (the sequel)

2004-08-16T09:23:00.000-04:00

emma has a sippy cup that she got on a trip to the zoo. it is shaped like a polar bear and is affectionately known as "polarbearcup." yes, one word. when she is not sipping happily she is chewing on his plastic ears. everytime i see polarbearcup i dream about having him "sleep with the fishes."

the problem is that emma is really attached to him. she hasn't been this attached to anything (other than monkey, who is the exception) since her can of tomato paste. it brought me to tears watching her carry that can to bed with her, sing it songs, tuck into bed and kiss it goodnight. that can of tomato paste spent 3 months sleeping in her bed. once she would fall asleep i would sneak into her room and try and remove the can, but to no avail. emma always had a death grip on that can. she and her can had a very satisfying relationship until one night when she was in the tub and i had a pasta emergency. we acted very surprized at his sudden disappearing act. comforted emma at her loss. promised to find a new and better tomato paste can. emma replied:

"don't want 'nother. he dead now."

jesus christ. even dan turned on me demanding, "how come you had to use that can? couldn't you just go to the store and get another can?" (this was one of those hallmark moments where i find myself staring at his face, watching his lips move, not listening to anything he is saying because i am too busy imagining the thrill i would get from stabbing him in the forehead with a steak knife.)

so, emma and polarbearcup were in her room last week, spending some quality time drawing princess pictures, enjoying the good life, and a few nibbles on the plastic ears in between sips of juice. i was running around getting everyone packed for our week up north (again, love the husband, but totally MIA when it comes to getting ready for ANYTHING). in our haste to leave the next morning, polarbearcup was left in emma's room to ferment for an entire week, in the heat.

needless to say, when i discovered him on the floor, or should i say the smell of the entity found me, i was thrilled. at last, JUSTIFIBLE HOMICIDE. i quickly made my way to the kitchen, like a thief in the night, preparing polarbearcup for his impending doom.

i whispered to him, "well, it's been nice knowing ya." there i was, polarbearcup in hand, hovering over the garbage can, when i froze. should i open him up and pour out whatever is inside? i could remove it and send it to the center for disease control for the study of agressive molds.

my mind was racing, "no, 'he who hesitates is lost.' toss it!" suddenly i heard a small voice....

"hello, um, hi....ah, what are you doing? um, i know i smell bad, but don't you think this is a bit drastic? you aren't really going to throw me away are you? what about our little girl? what will she think? do you really want another repeat of the tomato paste can incident. you know, she told me all about it. she has her suspicions about you.....hey, now. stop right there. don't do it. please have mercy on me. STOP, PLEASE, THINK OF THE CHILDREN."

he had me at hello. maybe it was something about his disfigured ears, or the way his eyes met mine, all i know is i froze. that was my first mistake. children should be forced to wear bells around their necks to prevent sidling. emma caught me in a moment of weakness.

"NONONONONONONONONONO....WHAT ARE YOU DOING? DON'T THROW POLARBEARCUP AWAY!! I LOVE HIM! GIMME IT!"

this is where i made my second mistake. i attempted a rational conversation with my 3 year old. i tried to EXPLAIN the situation to her: polarbearcup is dirty, mommy can't clean him, he is old and yucky, you will get sick and throw up if you use this, i can't fix this problem, and even the gold standard: we will go to the zoo soon (remember -- no specifics) and get a new polarbearcup.

emma calmly evaluated the situation.

"WE WASH HIM."

so now, polarbearcup is sitting in a warm sitz bath in my kitchen sink. this is my punishment for even hesitating in destroying polarbearcup. i am forced to boil water, dunk him in holy water and pray that she won't get a disease using him. well, it was my mistake. as i passed thru the kitchen earlier i swear i heard a vile voice from the sink:

"bitch"

an island, unto myself

2004-08-04T21:10:00.000-04:00

friendships are hard to find. good friendships, i should say. god knows i have had my share of the absolute worst kind of friendships. i read these books about women who have been friends for years and years. they actually have someone (same sex) to share their life with. i miss that. i don't have that. dan is my best friend, and i must admit, the best "girlfriend" i have ever had. he is supportive, patient and honest (when necessary). but, i still feel a pang everytime i see oprah and gail going on and on about what a wonderful time they had doing such and such. why is it so hard for me to make friends. is there something horribly wrong with me? don't answer that.

i was under the "delusion" that once i had children i would be privy to an exclusive club in which i would be surrounded by other women who shared the same life experiences. after all, it isn't the "having of the baby" that makes a woman a mother. it is the actual raising of the child that completely transforms a person. no, i wasn't stupid enough to think that all women would feel the same way i do, but i was hard pressed to find even one in my "first time mommy" group. since then the majority of "playdates" have been really lame. is it so hard to admit that this "mommy" thing takes some getting used to. i know i am blessed with having these two perfect and healthy kids, but come on. this is hard work! is it admitting failure if i say that this is not what i expected?

motherhood, like life, has it's good and BAD points. am i a bad mother because i admit it is not always sunshine doing this job day in and day out, LITERALLY!!

what is with all the competition regarding how great/awful your husband is, how much weight you have lost since the baby, how much money you have, how many nights you go out and do something wonderful, how much shopping you do, how great your car/suv is, how big your new house is, blah, blah, blah. and not to mention the ugly and petty game of "how my child is so much more advanced, intelligent, creative, etc. than yours. do we ever get off the playground?

my insanity craves company. misery loves company. sometimes i wish i had someone to vent to, besides dan. i think he could use a break from me to.

i am a rock. i am an island.

i simply remember my favorite things and then.....

2004-08-02T09:42:00.000-04:00

i have been married for 10 years. this amazes me when i think about it. it seems like a long time, but i still feel like i am a recent bride. i think this is because of my choice of spouse. DAN ROCKS. these are just a few of the things that keep me insane about my love:

i love that, before we had kids, dan would rather lay in bed with me and watch movies on lifetime all day on saturday.

i love that he remembers what lifetime movie we were watching the night my water broke with emma.

when watching a tv promo for the upcoming "growing up gotti," i told dan i wanted to be victoria gotti when i grow up and he said, "i want to be her left boob."

at night, without my asking, dan will hand over the t-shirt he has been wearing to me so that i can sleep in it.

i love that he brings me a coke first thing in the morning.

he understands that when i have the tv remote (pretty much all the time) there is NO chance of any sporting channel being watched.

in the morning he asks what i dreamed about because he gets a kick out of my dreams.

he always loves my haircuts, no matter how god-awful they look.

he always puts a new roll of toilet paper on the holder.

he never denies it, he knows how bad his feet smell.

he adores his kids, and shows it.

he will take my car, fill it up with gas, clean it out and get it washed FOR NO REASON.

he says, "well, i bought us the losing lottery ticket." and then proceeds to be optimistic enough to dream about how he will spend the money.

he loves me enough to tell me when i am losing it.

he is really great to my mom and dad. (yes, they love him more than me, he will even admit this to be true.)

he knows he can't dance.

he makes noises when he eats.

when i shake him awake at night, he immediately wakes up and holds me. he will tell me long stories about when he lived in nebraska to help me fall back asleep. he then has absolutely no recollection of this happening the following morning.

he calls me during the day and leaves me messages like, "hey, it's me......LONG PAUSE.....so, ahhhh, yeah. listen, um, you know those papers i had last night, um.....LONG PAUSE.....i was reading them in the....um.....just a sec.......um....the papers, do you know where they are? ahhhhh, you know what, never mind, it is not important, i can find them when i get home. but, if you see them in the bathroom or in my office or by the front door in the mail basket could you call me and let me know. but, i can find them when i get home. ok, see ya later."

calls right back, "hey, it's me. don't worry about those papers. i love you."

10 years and counting. i love him, but i still have those moments when he is talking to me and i am picturing myself putting a fork in his neck and collecting the insurance money. i wonder where those insurance papers are..........

it's the most wonderful time of the year....

2004-08-01T23:30:00.000-04:00

i love the month of august. i haven't always loved august. as a child i hated the month of august because it reminded me that i would be returning to school very soon.

let the worry and anxiety run free.....

as you may have guessed, i was the type of kid that used to spend the entire month of august dreading the upcoming school year. i can even remember telling my mom that i couldn't possibly go to 2nd grade because i didn't know 2nd grade math. my mother would patiently try and explain that i would be taught 2nd grade math and didn't need to know 2nd grade anything. she would lovingly explain that i would be taught 2nd grade stuff, but i would just look at her like she was crazy. i was also the type of kid who would obsess about my testing scores.

"look at my reading level, i only read at a 4th grade level. kristin reads at a 5th grade level. and look at my math scores. i only reached 2nd grade level in math."

my mom would remind me that i was only in 1st grade and had nothing to worry about, but i knew she was lying. i wonder if she ever spent a sleepless night whispering with my dad about my future.

mom: "how can she only be reading at a 4th grade level at age 7? what will become of her?"
dad: "i don't know, but she isn't living here for the rest of her life."
mom: "what kind of life can she possibly have with those math scores? "
dad: "i don't know, but i do know she is not living here after high school."

what is truly sad is that i haven't done that much with my life, so maybe that testing really did predict my future. lucky for my dad i don't live at home anymore. can you hear the sigh of relief?

now i love august. the main reason for my love of august is because it is the month of our vacation. i look forward to one week up north with my little family, dog included. there is something very calming about staring out at the lake or watching your kids run naked up and down the beach in the early evening, or running to catch the train and waving at the conductor. i live for this week.

i also live for the end of august because it means the return of school, not just for me, but for the monkeys. now when i see all the "back to school merchandise" my heart fills with glee. it has been a really fun summer with my kids, but let's get real here. i may not be ready for all the drama that comes with the school year, but i am definitely running out of activities for the little people. i don't want to paint, paste, bake, go to the park to watch you climb the monkey bars, put the pool out, turn on the sprinkler, play restaurant, play magic princesses, paint your toenails, make "fun" lunches for an indoor picnic ANYMORE.

I AM JUST ABOUT DONE WITH FULL TIME ENTERTAINING. LET THE QUIET MORNINGS COME TO ME SOON.

does this make me a bad mother. at this point i don't really give a shit. all i know is i am packing to leave on a vacation that doesn't start for another week.

why the video store is no place for children

2004-07-31T00:20:00.000-04:00

see, we have family movie night in our house every friday. the evening includes pizza, orange pop and a video of the kids choice. the catch is that my husband and i must sit and view the movie with the kids. this is not always the case. there have been a few times (ok almost always) in which we inform the kids that we are going to the bedroom to "change clothes and go to the bathroom." read, sex. there was a time in which i required a lot more "wind up" time before the actual "act" itself. i am now living on "planet -- we are guaranteed at least 15 minutes before the kids come looking for us." save all the wining and dining romance crap for when we have more time. we are both realistic people who recognize the incompatibility of sex and children. having now entered the "hot spot," also known as the mid-30's, i ain't got time to fool around. i want what i want when i want it.

tonight we took the kids to the video store in search of the little mermaid movie. only our little princess (age 3 going on 13) informed us at the top of her lungs that it is called "THE ARIEL MOVIE, NO MERMAID!!!" whatever, let's just find the damn thing and get home. read frisky mom.

here is where the kids throw the wrench in my plan. read, beautiful release. of course the little---excuse me ARIEL movie is out. thank god little mermaid 2 was available and our little princess was content with the choice. she did require an extra 20 minutes in the kids section reviewing ALL THE OTHER OPTIONS. this means she picks up EVERY SINGLE MOVIE and must make some comment on it. i swear i am sending her to roger ebert. they can spend HOURS discussing how the care bears 2 movie just didn't due the original justice and the joy in having a sequel to cinderella. i am not roger ebert. i want to grab the first movie that they both can agree on and get to steppin'. little evita has other plans. SHE ALWAYS HAS OTHER PLANS. i am not privy to these plans. plans that cannot be changed or altered in any way.

my favorite thing to say about our little evita (not her real name, but should have been) is that she could slide in and take castro's place at any given moment. the girl rules with an iron fist. my husband and i worry endlessly about our son having his heart broken by careless girls. we comfort ourselves with the thought that we can send our little princess to kick some bitch's ass if they mess with her brother.

so, we are in the video store and i am angry. angry at disney for all the crappy movies that i will be forced to view and probably end up purchasing. and it doesn't end with a simple purchase of a movie. don't get me started on the tie-in merchandising. DEATH TO THE DISNEY PRINCESS COLLECTION.

we bring home "ARIEL 2 movie" and i am getting the kids all settled, i turn around and the love of my life says the male version of "i have a headache."

I AM JUST GOING TO RUN DOWNSTAIRS AND CHECK MY EMAIL REAL QUICK

guess who is enjoying the movie? it is a good thing i find such comfort in a cold can of coke (no not diet, i only drink the real thing) and buttered popcorn. oohh, can you feel the love??

my butt does! next friday i am renting any movie with alan rickman in it. yes, i know an odd choice, but it works.

tea and sympathy with nik

2004-07-30T00:35:00.000-04:00

this is how i know i am losing my grip on reality. my son and i were grocery shopping, yes i know it sounds like so much fun and i can see you are green with envy, please try and control yourself. this particular store has a "pet section," which is the highlight to any shopping trip.

"puuuuullleeeeeeezzzzzeee can we go see that furry thing and the birds?"

why yes my sweet prince. since you were so helpful in pushing the cart into every person we passed in the aisles. since you articulated so well, and so loud about why i am unreasonable for not purchasing every package of cookies in the store. of course, i would love to take you to see the animals.

it was in front of the goldfish tanks that i lost what little grasp of reality i ever had. inside one of the tanks was a fish who had died. he/she was sort of wedged into the back corner, it's vibrant colors already faded by death. for some reason, the site of this gray, dead fish pushed me over the edge. i began to cry. nik, mr. observant, noticed immediately. nik has a depth of empathy that continues to amaze me. he is always quick to comfort me and wipe tears from my eyes. i hate myself for ever letting him see me display that much of emotion. i am always afraid that it will frighten him. isn't it funny how adults always underestimate children. rather than being taken aback by my sudden emotional outburst, as were the other shoppers around us, nik calmly put his arm around my waist and said gently, "it is ok mom. maybe he is up in heaven now. don't worry, mom."

it took my breath away. i was frozen with awe. how could this small person be so mature, so able to understand, so able to reach out in an act of pure humanity? it was at this very moment, caught up in the glory of having the best son in the world, that nik proceeded to say the following:

"boy mom, your bottom sure is big. will my butt be this big when i get to be your age? how old are you now? does everybody's butt get this big when they get old? does your butt keep growing? how big will your butt get?"

that i informed nik was a great question. just how big is my butt going to get? i went from feeling pure love for my son to pure fear. i swear late at night when i can't sleep i can actually hear my butt growing.

there is a first time for everything....

2004-07-28T20:00:00.000-04:00

I AM SISYPHUS, HEAR ME ROAR

There are days that i feel condemened to repeat the same, at times, futile tasks, all day, every day. A therapist once said to me not to view motherhood as a task that ever reaches completion. Instead, enjoy the process, the every day aspects of raising children. Easier said than done.

Yes, i am one of the many women who feel that we have been sold a piece of swamp land.

"Hey, this isn't the motherhood advertised in your brochure."

What did i expect? Hard work, yes. Complete loss of personal identity, no. This has been the surprize. As if i have been given a box of cracker jack and my prize is a diamond tiara. More than i expected and more than i feel i deserve.

"Can't i have the nap prize instead?"

I am not worthy of the beautiful children i have. I struggle every day to come to terms with what is expected of me. The plain fact is, i am ill equipped to handle the job. Truth be told, only grown ups should be parents. I am far to immature and irresponsible for this job.

"Sorry, i really don't have the correct qualifications for this position. How much did you say the pay was?"

Forget it. Even Oprah doesn't have enough money to pay me for this job. And yet, i can't get fired. This is my job for life. There will be no reitrement, no party after 25 or 50 years. Is it bad to think that your children being alive at the end of the day is a sign of a good day? Am i setting the bar too low?

God does have a sense of humor. I prayed for healthy children. God answered my prayers. Two beautiful and healthy children. Nuclear family at it's finest: wife, husband, dog, boy and girl. Pretty as a picture. My children are anyway. And the dog, as well.

So it isn't what i expected. It is both better and worse than i ever could have imagined. I have truly been blessed with this family. Every day i tell myself to try harder than yesterday.

"It is a process"

This is my mantra. Move over Buddah. Only, did anyone else think there could be so much drama in raising kids?