tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88210295413285726052024-03-13T20:14:57.669-07:00Blogging for Sanity: A Mother's Time-Out
one woman's attempt to take a break once and a while and let it out.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-2100178529254937002013-02-22T13:42:00.000-08:002013-02-22T13:42:00.383-08:00Revelation Blues What happens when you learn something about yourself? Is discovery always supposed to be worth celebrating? Or is it possible that sometimes, what you learn could make everything else that already exists, more complicated. <br />
What if what you have learned is an inconvenient revelation? <br />
What if what you've learned doesn't actually go with your existing life? Like learning that the fresh fruit you've been feeding your children since they were wee, is actually a genetically modified organism laden with pesticides and chlorine and the risks of mass consumption of those "strawberries" outweigh the benefits. <br />
I know, I know, buy organic.<br />
<br />
But that's not really what I'm talking about.<br />
<br />
Is it a violation of your own conscience to ignore your newfound knowledge? <br />
<br />
Of course. <br />
<br />
So what if your epiphany is worse than strawberries? <br />
<br />
What if you have to continue to live your external life unchanged despite the change within? <br />
What happens to the soul when it has learned that it can sing again, it has remembered how to sing, but it's not supposed to sing. It's supposed to stay hushed and not make a sound. <br />
What happens to the soul then? <br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-81597333008806285232013-02-22T12:34:00.001-08:002013-02-22T19:53:13.726-08:00Slowly I Turn One might say the first press of any finger on any given key, is the hardest. <br />
<br />
Like the first penguin on the edge of an ice flow, despite the others in the waddle, huddling close, none will make that first plunge into the Leopard Seal - Killer Whale, infested waters until absolutely necessary. <br />
Until it is no longer possible to be any closer to the edge of the ice - then one falls...or...dives. So that's the question, is it the bravest penguin who makes a decision of conscience to be the first to take that leap, or is it a matter of dumb, cowardly-laden luck that he happened to be the one who got pushed in first? <br />
So the first word, is it brave or just lucky?<br />
Could it be a bad decision to begin to "publish" again (I love, publish), like using one's finger to rub one's eye, forgetting that the previous task that finger was engaged in was slicing a fresh lemon? Ouch. <br />
Or, is it a necessary evil, one that the perhaps great, certainly prolific, Stephen King suggests:<br />
Just Write.<br />
Doesn't matter what it is, just put words down, and eventually the words will get better. <br />
Ha. So says a great American writer. <br />
Be bold, take the teachings of a former professor who said: Simply sit down and open up a vein. <br />
So therein lies the risk. To bleed upon the page, or at least upon the laptop.<br />
The question being, what do my veins hold?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-72214885929039900222011-09-26T06:42:00.000-07:002011-09-26T06:42:45.153-07:00rolling camera and....ACT NATURALSo we were chosen by a cable TV show for a kitchen makeover. This is phenomenal for a number of reasons the least of which being that we are getting brand new appliances for free. It has been a crazy place around this house for the past several days, some of it has been fun, some of it....well not so fun. The crew could not be nicer, so we've been as accommodating as possible to their requests. We've been smiling and talking, painting and sanding, and acting like a normal American family, and now, well, I'd really love to get to the part where I'm standing all by myself in my freshly painted kitchen staring at my shiny new appliances that are humming away and feeling like "well that wasn't so bad." That part is coming soon I hope. But right now, the big Sears truck just pulled into the driveway, three separate times for the camera. Hope they got the shot.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-40732474180467183732011-09-02T06:18:00.000-07:002011-09-02T06:18:24.303-07:00Somebody Clone MeSomebody please duplicate me so that I can actually feel like I'm keeping up with my own life. This is a simple request no? <br />
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-45359247589471512322011-09-01T20:12:00.000-07:002011-09-01T20:12:57.097-07:00Running the gamut of emotions from 6:00am to ZzzzzzzzSo much happens in a day. What an understatement for anyone's life yes? To wake up each morning with inspiration and motivation and to play duck and cover all day long from the slings and arrows shot from the arsenal of three of the most important people in my life, well, let's be honest, it's just exhausting. <br />
By the time I force myself to sit down and type something half witty and meaningful, I simply don't know where to begin. The thing yesterday that seemed so hilarious as it was playing out, tonight just doesn't seem all that special, (trying to avoid a pink birthday cake for my son's 7th birthday, for example). <br />
My stream of consciousness is more like a babbling brook that drains down to a trickle, then becomes a raging river only to pool into a sedentary swamp. A SWAMP I TELL YA.<br />
Each day is a salad; a fair mix of joy, silliness, laughter, spontaneity, patience, loss of patience, eruptions, and interruptions, and as always, a dash of mind-bending tedium and repetition. <br />
There is a story somewhere in my soul, perhaps more than a few. I just have to pull the sleeping lion off the lid of the trunk so that some of these ideas could float up to my brain and out my fingers. Focus, focus, focus.......bed, I'm toast.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-16825316560897732292011-08-07T22:14:00.000-07:002011-08-07T22:14:08.215-07:00open letter to the ones who make me laughSo I had an accident last night. I went to help someone move something heavy. Something enormously heavy. With no story, I'll just say this enormously heavy thing landed on my left foot. Stars, searing heat, sharp, deep pain. Look down, blood, blury, don't want to cry, but seriously want to cry. I stay committed to moving this heavy, goddamedmutherfuckingpieceofshituseless THING and hobble my way back into the house (and out of the pouring rain) where I call to the woman of the house as discretely as possible and ask for a first aid kit. First aid is administered, and I decide, it's not that bad. There is little swelling, no immediate bruising, and the pain, after icing, has subsided. <br />
Fast forward to today....FUUUUUCCCCCKKQQQQQUUUEE! This is not good. I have what looks and feels like a club foot and I'm trying to keep from scowling so as not to increase the speed in which the deep lines of age divide my face. I've got a lot on my mind - but that is another letter for a different day - and I'm starting to feel like an old man. More specifically, Jeff Bridges in any one of his last three films. As many of you know, I'm a bit of an amateur when it comes to drinking. But I'm distracted, angry, anxious, and in a ton of pain that is not letting up. I'm trying to focus and just go to bed early, but I can't do that, because that would be a rational thing to do. So I'm limping and sliding my lame club-of-a-foot around the house and drinking....water....like it's straight scotch. I'm carrying my glass around with me and taking heavy sips imagining that this will numb the pain. I catch myself doing this as I walk past a mirror (scowling face, and lame hobble and all) and I realize how ridiculous I am, so I laugh, out loud, at myself; and I instantly feel better.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-44916494671504912732011-07-19T22:07:00.000-07:002011-07-19T22:07:58.406-07:00Silly, Silly WomanI've been avoiding this blog page like a relentless telemarketing phone call. And it just might continue. I've become paralyzed by my own thoughts. There have been thoughts, I've had several, I might be so bold as to say I've had many. Yet somehow, I manage to kill the expressive process with one simple thought: it's all been said. It has become my mantra. And though it is true, it shouldn't stop me from publishing, (I love, "publishing,") my ridiculous ramblings no matter how bland, foolish, or redundant. This is my little nook, my corner, my electronic notebook. No one reads it; it's about as hidden as my old journals I used to keep since the age of....well, eight. <br />
So I'm going to continue to have thoughts for a little while longer, and well, we'll just see I suppose.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-4018381977727535862011-06-22T20:46:00.000-07:002011-06-22T20:46:29.271-07:00There is Nothing New Under the SunIt's been so long that I nearly forgot my password. I am overly in touch with the feeling that it's all been said. Why bother when there is already so much out there. Despite the self-deprecating truth, I'm going to slowly brush off the rust and get back in the saddle. This is my Time Out Location. I'm going to use it; 'cause I need a time out.<br />
But that's it for tonight because I'm toast, once again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-79841773496126878922010-11-02T21:10:00.000-07:002010-11-02T21:10:19.687-07:00Halloween 2010 - it's a wrapSo, Halloween was a complete success - complete with cold windy weather, Claudia had to wear a turtle neck underneath her leotard and sweatpants under her tutu - both pink of course, Alicia was an eager trick-or-treating cow, and Alex was a very cool and studly Storm Trooper. I absolutely love Halloween for so many reasons, but not as an adult, as in: I can't wait to dress up as a tarty school girl/nurse/cop/bar maid/witch/you name it, but as in, I cherish the nostalgia of it for my kids sake. It is a magical time of freedom and maturation for them. I believe this. Our friends saw us and chided that we didn't bother to dress up and of course I just smiled and said some line about yeah, not this year, blah blah blah, but truthfully, I could care less about dressing up - it's my kid's turn to be kids and have the fun. I'm happy just to take in the senses - the cold air, the sun dipping down, the stupid decorations that people bother to put up around their front doors. It's all community fun. Anyway, I'm proud of myself for giving my kids a great Halloween this year with decorations, pumpkin carving, seed toasting etc... having my aunt here made it that much more special to share the time with. <br />
And now, it's November....Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-92222793861365699202010-10-24T19:46:00.000-07:002010-10-24T19:50:54.135-07:00So so sooooooo tiredMy brain is just flat-lining. The house is so quiet, I can hear the sound of the clock ticking, the dog breathing, (yup, he's still here) and my 18 month old wake and fall back to sleep, (thank you). Had a long conversation with a friend today on the phone. Wish I could stay in closer touch with all my friends. I miss being close with them, but life takes everyone on a different path and sometimes it takes more effort to stay close. How did life get so busy?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-47588826038862479722010-10-16T20:41:00.000-07:002010-10-16T20:51:55.538-07:00Halloween is coming and I 'aint got no costumeHalloween is just two weeks away and I have to put together costumes for the entire family. The baby is at least set with a hand-me-down, homemade cow costume that I created for her older brother when he was two and the only kid in the family. So, with the help of good storage, the baby is set - we've even got the bell. \<br /><br />Last year I managed to pull together costumes for everyone, even Daddy, (Indiana Jones) for a wild party we attended ("we attended" - yeah, it was in the basement of the firehouse) but this year, I don't know if I can pull it off. The three year old keeps changing her mind. The boy knows what he wants to be, but the mom knows that that particular costume runs about $40 at Target, so she's holding off hoping he might change his mind to something simpler, like say....a hobo? <br /><br />The weather is getting dramatic, the air is crisp and cool. I love this time of the year, but I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that my birthday is coming in two weeks. <br /><br />Yes, in truth I still love my birthday. Big deal or small, I actually love sitting around a table hearing people sing happy birthday to me. Is that narcissism or do I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">merely</span> have a case of Peter Pan Syndrome? Wait, could that be right? Peter Pan never grew up, so how could he have had birthdays?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-65979638792972857582010-10-16T20:12:00.001-07:002010-10-16T20:38:10.758-07:00my boy, the scoutWe went to the "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Thunderbird</span> Games" today up at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Croton</span> Park. It was fairly mild and sunny, but the wind was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">whipping</span> something wicked and the Hudson River was full of muddy chop. Alex and I wore our uniforms, so new they still had their original creases in them. I haven't put our patches and badges on yet, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">because</span> I made an attempt to sew them on and, well, that just wasn't going to happen, so I need to go out and buy some liquid stitch or badge magic - one of the two.<br /><br />The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Thunderbird</span> Games are huge - there are thousands of kids and parents participating in all kinds of cool activities from the stuff I can describe without much trouble (archery, sling shot, bouncy castle) to other stuff that would take a really long time to explain, (a kid is on what looks like a fashioned together easel that is tethered at the top with 5 ropes that 5 leaders are holding onto the ends of, trying to balance this kid as he moves across the field...? huh?).<br /><br />Alex was into it, I could tell, he tried a few of the activities and I stood and watched, beaming with pride I've never felt before. I'm a den leader now, that's where my life has brought me, and as long as my son has curiosity and enthusiasm for this, I will be right there with him.<br /><br />I actually led my first den meeting last night - nearly all our scouts turned out which was 10, though I think we have a few more that have signed up. I was up to the task and had done my homework, which paid off because the meeting moved along pretty well with our cub promise reading, our pizza making, and our discussion about conifer and deciduous trees. Part of me felt like a complete geek and part of me felt like Supermom, holding the attention of nearly a dozen 6 year old boys, making them laugh and follow my lead. The honest truth is, I'm just doing this for Alex. I hope he enjoys it and has a good experience. I think he has all the makings of a thrifty, brave, and reverent kid. At the moment though, I think he's just into the cool uniform.<br /><br />By the way, for those of you who are curious, the dog is still here. His paw is pretty bad, but he still manages to swipe food off the table when no one is looking, and today he barked a rabbit out of the neighbor's yard.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-33940851476156602572010-10-16T19:53:00.001-07:002010-10-16T20:09:46.103-07:00ABCDPBSOn 21, Ani DiFranco grates music out of her guitar and sings her poetry in front of a small and devoted audience of mostly females without make up / on 22 Jacques Pepin makes a chestnut cream Mont Blanc and uses some truffles a friend gave him, he uses a peeler to make thin slices while gnocchi begins to swell in a pan...<br /><br />I believe Edward R. Murrow was one of the original minds behind public television. He knew there should be programming on television of a quality and standard that mustn't be tainted by the need for ratings. Programming that provided art and information, that told the human story with public diplomacy was necessary, he thought, to make good television.<br /><br />I think if there were more PBS viewers, the world might be a better place. I seriously believe one of the things wrong with us as a society can be found in "Dancing with the Stars." I couldn't tell you exactly what that thing is, mostly because I don't watch it, but I'm almost certain I'm right.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-82223335640231208222010-10-14T19:48:00.001-07:002010-10-14T19:55:16.815-07:00too much livingLife is getting in the way of blogging. I started this project to make time for myself and alas...<br /><br /><br />I've had some thoughts I wanted to write about...<br /><br />1. My garbage collector looks a lot like my ex-boyfriend. This gives me a wicked sense of glee.<br />2. Babies are like lovers, you can't seem to get enough of them, you hold them, snuggle them, smell them, and cherish every strand of hair on their heads.<br />3. Politics is so depressing for the reasons of the pathetic politicians and the idiots who vote for them.<br />4. Waiting for society to figure things out (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ie</span>: evolution, homosexuality, global climate change) is tedious and unfair to the rest of us who are worried about real problems (clean food and water sources, renewable fuel).<br />5. Laughing with a friend is worth its weight in pure gold. The sensation of having to pee due to excessive laughter is like the thrill of going on an awesome roller coster ride.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-5882765867981505862010-10-03T10:22:00.000-07:002010-10-06T06:21:05.670-07:00the door doesn't fitAfter the man returned from a week away on business, he spent his first day back doing a screw-it-up-yourself-home-disrepair. The new garage door was going up and he was going to do it, (dag nabbit). It took him all day, but by 10:30pm, the damn thing was up - and inoperable. Excellent.<br /><br />He's now on his fourth trip to the hardware store.<br /><br />What's that thing they say about owning a boat? It's like a hole in the sea you just pour money into? Same goes for a house; one project after another. <br /><br />Soccer game in 30 minutes, I pray my son, Ferdinand the Bull, will chase after the ball on the field today, not the sea gulls flying overhead.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-35758733361411170012010-09-30T19:56:00.000-07:002010-10-06T06:23:27.889-07:00blow wind blowTonight the air is tropical-warm; the kind of night air you feel when you are on vacation in some lovely place that makes your skin glow. I've felt "breezes" like this in Mexico and the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Caribbean</span>, but in New York, wind this strong is unusual, with the kind of gusts that make you pause for potential impact. The wind chime on the front porch tells me in spastic fits when it's getting nutty out there. I have had two completely different friends, (different states, different time lines, different history) give me the exact same wind chime - several years apart - how nice is it when your friends know you in such a way that they would pick out the very same whimsical item such as a wind chime? I love the sound it makes, like a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">buoy</span> on the water, the sound of growing up. Joseph has been away all week, with luck he'll be home tomorrow afternoon, so tonight is my last night of a wild week of single parenting. And now the winds are testing my fortitude.<br /><br />I love foul weather, it's like something to survive, something to be sharp against, (got the flashlight handy? Matches/Candles? Got enough water and food provisions? Batten down the hatches, call on those who may need a hand). One of the best vacations I ever went on was a cruise. Not one of those bloated, floating shopping malls with swimming pools and food courts, no, a sailing vessel with a trim crew of 30 persons. The man who would be my husband, in a fit of rare spontenaity, once booked us on a trip through the islands and we had an adventurous blast; complete with night kayaking through a fosforescent laden lagoon, rope swinging over a beach bar, rock climbing through shoreline caves, and making fast friends with strangers.<br /><br />The best night of all though, was the last night. One that, if it were an option on a pre-package menu I would have paid extra for. The captain had been legitimately steering our ship away from a tropical depression that was making it's way around the islands. During the course of the cruise he had to use avoidence tactics and did not port at one of our arranged destinations as the island was getting clobbered by winds, and on this night, the storm was gaining on us. So here we were, on our last night together after 9 days of a roucus good time, a night when we were all to attend a lovely formal dinner, with champagne (even the crew dressed special) and we were starting to pitch and roll. Several of the other passengers were not digging the thrill, but with each increasing rise and fall, whenever a bottle tipped over on the table or a glass hit the floor, my excitement grew.<br />Dinner ended prematurely for many, and I took this as an opportunity to become a kid again and disappear onto the different decks of the ship. I searched for the first mate, and when I found him, I pleaded for permission to shadow him on his rounds. He agreed under the condition that I stay the hell out of his way, and that at any time he could order me below. I was like a friggen kid at Disney World, (and I've never even been to Disney World, but I could sure as hell imagine that it might feel as thrilling as this did). The air was warm and soft, but the rain, coming from all directions stung my cheecks. I silently followed the first mate and another crew member as they went around the ship making sure sails were trimmed, lines were tied, and all communication was clear. The sturdy, roughly 300 foot vessel weathered the storm with our bearded captain at the helm as if this was all standard stuff - well, to them I suppose it was. After two hours of walking the decks and taking the wind and rain in the face, I retired to my cabin (ha ha ha, <em>retired to my cabin,</em> who am I, Ysmael?) where my then boyfriend probably thought I was either a wacko or the coolest girlfriend he ever had. (I think he thought I was the coolest no? He ultimately proposed marriage didn't he?)<br />By morning we had arrived to port in Puerto Rico and I felt like we beat it. We survived the storm. What a ride.<br />Sadly, a year later, that notion would turn vividly tragic, as I heard news that an actual catagory 4 hurricane took down one of the fleet's other vessels and the lives of 31 crew members. Not long after that, the company went into bankrupcy and the family who ran it spiraled into lawsuits and scandal.<br /><br />Tonight, I skipper this homestead with my crew safely tucked in, the hatches battoned, and the eerily warm September wind blows.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-69782353776920555122010-09-26T19:33:00.000-07:002010-09-26T20:13:39.541-07:00Bright Lights in the Big CityOnce in a life time chance to go see West Side Story on Broadway - now, I know the reviews were, to be kind, "mixed" but I had to witness my favorite production live; so there was no question when we were given a choice - it had to be W.S.S.<br /><br />So we showered and dressed, and sent the children (all three) to Grandma's house (blessed, blessed Grandma) and drove into town. Found street parking on 48<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span> - what luck, and walked to Times Square....<br /><br />It has been a long while since I've even seen Times Square, and on Friday night it was like visiting another country. In fact it felt like <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Tokyo. People swarmed - like moths to a front porch light on a hot summer night - SWARMS of humans walking, wandering, standing, glaring. I couldn't help but feel sad for the old Times Square of five years ago. It was nutty then but it moved. This Times Square just halted - it was like swimming in a fish bowl. Lit up ads and signage everywhere; the night sky barely has a chance to suggest that it is no longer day. We moved through the human soup towards our theatre...will call...concession stand...$16 drink and chips, ha ha that's funny. </span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">I sat in my comped orchestra seat staring at the heavy red curtain, my hands holding onto my playbill, my ears filled with the din of the Friday night house, the orchestra just beginning to warm up....delicious anticipation. Then, the cell phone announcement, the lights dimmed and...then came the sound, that whistle, and the chills went up my arms the first of many times that night, I didn't dare blink so as not to miss a second. </span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">From pretty early on, like in the first three minutes, I realized what I was in for. The bad reviews were not wrong. But the dancing was undeniably the best I'd ever seen outside of Lincoln Center (save one Fosse review show I saw years ago with Joseph). The men leaped with such grace and suspencion and landed so softly they looked completely effortless. The voices were lovely, of course, but the acting was so bad they could barely tell the story outside of what Bernstein's music dictated them to do. </span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">There were so many things wrong with the production, beginning with the casting, most of the issues I had were directorial, but there were a few lighting gaps, and no joke, the orchestra hit a couple of cracked notes. The cast was young and mostly new (many Broadway debutes) but I don't know what to use as an excuse for the men who played Krupke </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">and Lt. Schrank. Oh well, they were all doing their very best...</span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">As bad as it was (Director Arthur Laurents, my deepest respect, but this one really needs help) I refused to be disappointed because, well, it's Goddamned WEST SIDE STORY - a fucking Opus of a piece of art. However, I will admit, that for the first time, I didn't cry when Tony died. </span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">After the show, we poured out into the city streets and tried to come up with a plan for dinner - when we didn't really have one. Joe Allen came through, it was close by (on 46th) and we were seated right away, which was a good thing because I hadn't eaten a thing all day except a carrot and a handful of dry Cheerios. I love Joe Allen restaurant. Not for the menu (Steak tartar, or meatloaf? - you choose) but because it is such a New York joint. It was filled with mostly theatre people (possibly musicians, possibly crew, and waitstaff of all talent) and some theatre goers like us - but above all it was filled with New Yorkers. I breathed a sigh of grateful relief after the fishbowl experience at the start of the evening. Here was old New York, unchanged, unfettered, un-influenced by media and commercialism. I ordered the pepper steak over fresh spinach, Joseph ordered the meatloaf and mashed potatoes...it was hot and yummy. </span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">I love New York.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-70086473001730952222010-09-23T10:21:00.000-07:002010-09-23T10:34:54.311-07:00The Sound of SilenceNumber 1 is at school (hallelujah), #3 is napping (damn straight, she had me up all night), and now, the gift...#2 has found her own personal Wonderland at the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">neighbor's</span> house next door. And bless her, my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">neighbor</span> delights in our charming 3 and 1/2 year old...Bless the Lord my soul it's the gift of a silent house for 90 minutes...in mommy time that's like, like, that's like a cocktail, compliments of the handsome gentleman at the end of the bar.<br /><br />Of course, because it is so rare an opportunity (as in, it never happens) I don't know what to do with myself, so I end up having lunch (hummus and carrots) while standing in the kitchen and drinking a light beer (in the middle of the afternoon - sakes alive) while I do the dishes...living on the edge.<br /><br />I have Friends who still work in the industry I used to work in, they meet dozens of people every week, their day is fired up, productive, full of accomplishments (that result in a bi-weekly paycheck) and I can barely admit that the highlight of my day is sipping a Corona Light in between washing and rinsing. Maybe this is all too sad to admit. Maybe I should just tap that delete button. Nah, I don't give a rat's ass. I'm embracing this life of mine. It may be dull, but it's mine.<br /><br />So publish, and onto the next big adventure. This one is no joke. I'm going to finally get to those weeds out front, AND I'm going to plant the bulbs I bought today. Look out.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-19962096912255836582010-09-03T12:49:00.000-07:002010-09-03T13:09:18.302-07:00Slappin' the BassOne of the saddest trade offs of becoming a "grown up" and in particular, a parent, is the loss of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">spontaneity</span> and benign irresponsibility. Coming from one who enjoyed and cherished her wilder days, conjuring up thoughts of some of those glorious shenanigans is most lamentable. Of course looking back on what was hilarious or some of the "best times" at age 18 or 22 is now pretty embarrassing to admit, (well, who could deny the beauty of a broccoli and cheese crossiant sandwich from Duncan Donuts devoured in the back of a van returning from clubbing in Providence, RI at 3:00am on a weeknight...really who could deny it?) but nonetheless, those silly times were mine, so I might as well own them. <br /><br />But wouldn't it be great, really really great, to retain or gain (depending on your stock of friends) one of those friendships with whom you can absolutely be the most relaxed and candid version of your self? A relationship where you can be the total loser that you are; let your geek-flag fly. A relationship where you can share the simplest of lifes joys like say...blasting a Duran Duran album without a hint of shame or irony, (or Ozzy Osborne, or Aerosmith, or Human League, whatever your pop poison of choice). Or actually go climb trees and sit in them and talk about anything, making sense or no. <br /><br />I know there are some <em>grown ups</em> out there who have this. Perhaps some of them have married their best friends and can act like complete dip-shit assholes in front of them. To those lucky few, I tip my hat. Cudos to you, you uninhibited, easy-going lolly gaggers. My honest admiration. Anyone listening?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-8835728094050286222010-09-02T09:35:00.000-07:002010-09-02T10:29:28.082-07:00Here's to You, Mrs. Robinson...and now I get it, I understand why there are women out there who are evening <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">alcoholics whose children </span>refer to the wine bottle as "mommy's soda," why they pop a few pills to get <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">through </span>each day and go running for the shelter of a mother's little helper. (<em>Doctor please, some more of these.)</em> And worst of all why, however horrific, some mothers lose it and do insane acts - <em>because they have gone</em> <em>insane.<br /></em>I can imagine that in the many "walks of life" their are things that are the most frustrating to people. Maybe if you are a statistician the most <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">frustrating</span> thing might be when the numbers don't add up. For a baseball player, maybe the most frustrating thing is when your injury won't heal and let you play at your best capacity. Maybe for a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">politician</span> the most frustrating thing is on the one issue you haven't actually manipulated and lied about, no one will be believe you. I don't know. But I do know that as a full time parent, the most frustrating damn thing is when I cannot get anything accomplished because of a constant stream of interruptions.<br />Recent example:<br />Prepare to sit down to finally register online for volunteer job I have volunteered for...put infant to sleep and set remaining children up with various games, toys and other. Announce to remaining awake offspring that I am sitting down to a project and do not want to be interrupted. Sit down. Type in three words - Respond to panicked request to kill a large spider that is crawling on the floor. Answer ringing telephone. Fix broken toy. Run upstairs to find three year old bouncing in the crib with now wakened infant. Toss three year old out of the room (she begins to cry). Attempt to sooth infant back to sleep. Listen as <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">eruption</span> of tears come from six year old downstairs because of another "broken" toy. Bring now wide awake infant downstairs and try to go back online to finish registering on website required for new volunteering....website shut down, user names and passwords lost. Mother: exasperated.<br /><br />Maybe this blog should be titled The Bitch and Moan Project...<br /><br />Whose idea was it to start a family? Whoever said getting married was the thing we should all want most in life? What is so wrong with serial <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">monogamy</span>?<br /><br />I am trying to envision that time in my life when I will look back and see how wonderful this all was, see how my children have grown into beautiful adults and have gone out into the world to build lives of their own...I look forward to that idyllic moment. I hope I am lucid enough to appreciate it. At the rate I am going, that moment may come as I sit in a sterile room wearing a bathrobe while my grown children speak in loud, clear voices telling me that they have brought me some ice cream, "PRALINE PECAN, YOUR FAVORITE FLAVOR MOM, OH BOY!"<br /><br />I got a phone call today from another mom. She was embarrassed to admit that she feels she is on the brink of loosing it. (She might be right, she recently went to the hospital due to a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">panic</span> attack.) I calmly soothed her into telling me what was really bothering her. I listened with zero <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">judgement</span>. I got it. I empathized with her completely. Of course it was easy for me to listen, express my care, and give her small doses of advice and encouragement because her problems are as simple and clear as the summer sun. As for my own problems - <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">solutions</span> allude me like the prospect of a size 6 dress.<br /><br />After a bit of decompressing, I find my three musketeers behaving themselves as if they were in a Disney movie. Even the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">under slept</span> infant is blowing me sweet kisses from <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">across</span> the room. My heart swells and I become eager to make them lunch and give them leftover birthday cake.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-38614675113354437882010-08-28T20:58:00.000-07:002010-08-28T21:12:19.547-07:00Bypassing Revolutionary RoadThe crickets chirp on a cool summer night. We hang at a friend's house, talking all things vital and inane. Small children move about, underfoot, making needs known, adding charm to the cheerful evening. We talk of recipes and where to get the best frozen burgers and how best to cook them. We share travel tales, what we saw, what we did, how much fun it was, how long the ride home lasted. <br />We talk about family members and how we love them and how we fear the roads they travel. Sometimes love is not given tenderly, but tough. We discuss the past and how it made our lives so. We offer one another empathy and compassion for what we have overcome despite all the hard turns. <br />We crack open bottles of beer and bottles of wine, we pass out ice cream to the already satiated children. When the candles are lit, we draw close, our words becoming more intimate. We tell things that we might never say at any other time to any one else, or we repeat, repeat, repeat. <br />Driving home it becomes clear that perseverance is half the battle. And sometimes, on certain Saturday nights, it is more than enough. It is everything.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-51060098042868174242010-08-26T19:45:00.000-07:002010-08-26T19:53:03.207-07:00walking under a bright moonTook Jackie Brown to the vet, and after a good consult, we are at ease that though yes, his tumors are going to continue to grow, he is doing fine. Got a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">prescription</span> for some ointment to put on his paw, bought some new stuff to wrap it up good and he is doing well. He is still limping and taking it easy, but he is happy to hang out with us and still eagerly looks for good crumbs from the kids.<br />Went running tonight in town, I finally filled my shuffle with some good tunes. The great thing about running is, when you are doing it right, your mind just...clears. Somehow running through an unlit park with great music in my head made me feel weightless and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">unstoppable</span>. Trick will be to keep that feeling going for a while. <br />As I came home, I walked down my quiet street where we live. I saw the moon rising up from behind the trees. It's been cloudy lately, so to see it again after a while felt good. It was one of those bright beautiful moons. As I stood, my heart rate still high, my leg muscles tight, I wished for all my friends to have good sex tonight. What an odd thing to wish.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-41701255640707437882010-08-25T20:36:00.000-07:002010-08-25T20:41:19.596-07:00A Higher ThresholdPerhaps I have a natural tendency towards disorganization. Perhaps I have a higher threshold for chaos. I don't choose to live in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">squaller</span>, I just....nearly do. Perhaps, like Neil Young once sang, A man needs a maid, and so too a woman. "Just someone to keep my house clean, fix my meals, then go away. This little passage is no less than the key to nirvana as far as I am concerned.<br />I'm just really tired, like, all...the...time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-27209749734785110362010-08-14T20:12:00.000-07:002010-08-14T21:16:58.474-07:00the brown dog still droolsJackie Brown is still alive. He had an appointment with death on Friday that we just didn't make. It is clear he is not ready to go anywhere despite the doomsday message from our <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">neighbor</span> about his suffering. Sorry, this dog still gets excited about the prospect of a pizza crust, he is not suffering. I put a sock over his bandaged paw because his daily activity started to focus around chewing it off and dragging it around the house, (did I mention this is all disgusting? I'm not sure how I am stomaching it.) I will spare a description of his paw; think about it for a second, that's what it looks like, enough said.<br /><br />Now, he looks a bit like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Barbaro</span>,</span> post-op. By days end though, my handy taping job inevitably comes loose. The white gym sock with blue painter's tape just flops this way and that as he pads around the dinning table then, he trips on it which makes me feel bad because well, like he needs one more thing to deal with. He doesn't complain. I take him outside in the evening and like a horse in the paddock, he just hoofs around the front lawn, former-Kentucky Derby-champion-like then settles down in the soft grass. He and I spend a few minutes just sitting together taking in the summer night air. As I pat his soft brown head I tell him everything I want him to know about how we love him, how loyal he has been since his days as a pup, and we have a few laughs recounting some of the zany misadventures we've had together....Ah fuck it, I don't really do that...perhaps in my mind I do just a little.<br /><br />The truth is, John <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Grogan</span></span> wrote the story of our lives...well at least the part about the dog...and the three kids...and how life has a way of becoming something you could never have guessed.<br />I'm sure somewhere inside my eternally insecure and unstable soul, I am grateful for it all. But despite the grounding that being married with a family provides, I still feel like that balloon, floating down the hallway half full, the morning after a grown up paid a dollar for it at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Chatham</span></span> Band concert. Whenever a door opens or closes, or someone walks past it, the balloon swishes and bobs along with the moving air, without direction, without the strength of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">helium</span> to draw it up to the sky.<br /><br />I am never not fascinated (one could say <em>I am always</em> fascinated), by people who have the ability to live their lives well. Who are not preoccupied with self loathing and shame, and move about the world with a natural inclination towards <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">deservedness</span>. Some of this I have overcome, but not without a fair amount of work, (some would say <em>with </em>a fair amount of work). I admire those who have built a life for themselves, however seemingly simple to them. It is an achievement to have a family, to be obligated to the lives of others and through that obligation, support them with love. <br /><br />Okay, time to end the emotional ramble. Point is, the dog is fine even if just for right now. Yes, his condition has made me a bit reflective on the journey we've been on together since he entered into our lives 12 years ago. Yes Joseph and I went through our ups and downs before we even realized we wanted to marry. But we married, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">JB</span> was there, with a not-too-silly silk bow tie, he was there on our big day. He was there each day our three children arrived home from the hospital by the river. He was there for every celebration, for every row, every night I spent alone and needed a watch dog, he did his best 10 foot dog impression. He ran away, jumping into neighbor's pools, he ate everything off the counter he could reach from hot steak fresh off the grill to two dozen chocolate cupcakes....then he puked up everything from his stomach and then some. He drove us fucking crazy every one of those 12 and a half years. But...but......a fuck it, I am either just too tired, or just too damn incapable of any worthy bit of wisdom at this point. Besides, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Grogan</span> already said it in a whole damn book. Which they made into a movie with some big time actors. You can see it on cable.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821029541328572605.post-37952210902665675242010-08-09T11:29:00.000-07:002010-08-09T11:41:26.097-07:00Three Little Angels...And then there are those moments when they are as sweet as any three children in the world could be. Their smiles beam, their laughter bounces from room to room and I remember that I am a blessed person. I am blessed to have the privilege to raise these three young, and innocent people. Each day is a day filled with hope and promise. I hope I can do right by them and give them what they need to take on the world, and I promise never to give up, even on the days when it seems so very difficult. <br /><br />Yes little ones, I love you to the very marrow of my bones, I would do anything in this world to protect you and give you all that I have to give. <br /><br />I just sometimes need to say a few bad words and silly things once and a while to keep the pipes clear, ya know what I mean? Kind of like pouring toxic chemicals down the drain to clear out the clog in the sink. Hmm, not sure that's what I mean to say...remember, chemicals are bad, instead, use vinegar and baking soda. It's more like opening the windows after a long cold winter and cleaning out the black junk that collects on sills, yeah, kinda like that. <br />Thanks little angels.<br /><br />love, mommyUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0