failure to thrive

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

eclipse

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

don't step on my boundry

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

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

things i know to be true

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

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

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

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

ah, LENT

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

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

awake

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

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

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

Watermarks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

rank

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

auntie barbara

Dear Heidi & Shelly,

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

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

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

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

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

Please accept my deepest sympathies for this tremendous loss.

friday

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

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

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

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

thursday

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

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

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

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

wednesday

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

tuesday

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

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

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

monday

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

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

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

bits and pieces

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

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

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

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

a little ray of sunshine....

There are some reasons to smile lately:

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

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

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

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

The addition of new fish in the fish tank.

The last week of preschool!

New scent in my laundry detergent.

The love of Cooper.

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

Freedom to move and think without being bothered.

Caller ID.

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

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

Painting Emma’s toenails pink and red.

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

Daniel, Daniel, Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.

Venti Chai!

time ain't on my side

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

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

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

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

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

gesture

A selfish gesture

I am a narcissist

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

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

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

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

monday morning

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

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

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

subliminal pressures

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

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