My husband is upstairs wrapping my excellent Christmas presents. (We exchange on New Years. Lovely habit that.)

I know what I'm getting because he's awful at subtly but excellent at keeping secrets. I found him out though - because he had to measure my feet.

So I dont have time for a clever meme or a nostalgic post. Im sipping a glass of red wine after cleaning the basement from 7 something ish to 9:36 by the light of the kitchen stove.

So here's my quick notes:

1. Cindy and I need to get together. Cindy, can you come to our Wed plaything next week? Starts at 9:45. There. Done. Ive asked. I'll call you. I expect to see you.
2. I didn't realize I could use Google Reader and follow blogs. God I'm a dumbass.
3. I need to ask Cheek how he gets those music clips up. I have an o8 playlist to post.
4. I should check vmail. It's been days.
5. Lionel Richie should thank his lucky stars his daughter is such a douche bag (preHarlow) because it put him back on the map and he's significantly underrated in todays culture.
6. I'm inordinately excited that Idol is starting soon.
7. I'm sad that Pushing daisis is getting cancelled.
8. My feet are cold.
9. I need a snack
10. I have resolution sto think of. One includes making more pies in o9. I -HEART-pie.

Happy New Year.

What A Feelin'

My daughter loves headbands.
But she can't seem to get them UP on her head. So instead they stay across her forehead.
Kind of like Misha Barton or Nicole Richie.

Or Ben Stiller in Dodgeball.

Hey Jealousy

I haven't posted because I have nothing to say. Nothing I'm proud of that is.

I read other peoples thoughts and I am ashamed, I think. I'm petty. I'm boring. I write when it's late, or early. Thus i'm eiher tired or anticipating Eleanor. I don't use correct grammar. The things that are upsetig my lately aren't real. Thus why comment? I have a few favorite blogs. I read a lot but two stand out - prayig to darwin (she doesn't know me yet I love her mind) and The Cheek ogf God (who I feel I know better but am in awe of).

I very often now have only a few minutes online and so I read quickly - meaning to comment, wanting to sit and absorb. Instead I post a quick bitch and move on. I don't get a chance to let them know that I find their minds amazing and their writing style captivating.

And intimidating.

Other blogs I read, like aprils, discuss musicm thoughts, ideas, politics. And still other chronicle ther lives, their happenings.

I read of a world wherein people, these people, are living... feeling... thinking. Struggling.
Triumphing.

I just complain.

I have blog envy.

I'm neither as witty as some, as clever as others, as pensive, as introspective or as charming.
I'm not even cool.
I may be funnier in person.
In fact, often times I am.
But I have to be relaxed.
And that so ever so seldom happens.

I'm Never Having This Conversation Again

If you know me, or if you're a master of context clues, you know that having Ellie was, and I'm struggling for the right word, difficult I guess.

At some point during my labor my doctor said my pregnancy was arduous. I read somewhere after I had Ellie that if you are still talking about your labor a year after you've had your child then you have something unresolved.
A Gorilla in the Mist.

Im going to dump this here and now and try not to mention it ever again.
Outloud.

But it's not about my labor.

I'm still thinking about my pregnancy. About having Ellie and how it came about and why it's top of mind.

I think there's a quote from Alice in Wonderland that says when you don't know where to start, to start at the beginning.
But which one?

My husband was, at the time, my then fiance. We had moved in together in June of 06, with a ring onhand and another inhand, the intention to marry that fall and the idea that we'd try to conceive. We weren't desperate or babyhungry, nor were we in a hurry. But we knew we were going to get married and we assumed wed have children eventually so why not now?

I got pregnant the fist month. About 6 weeks in there was spotting, and at 8 some significant bleeding. I could look up the timeline, or the blog entry that summarizes it but suffice to say that during the first visit to the emergency room they called it as a miscarriage first. During the "factchecking" ultrasound they were able to detect a heartbeat. They assumed I had lost a twin.

The second visit to the ER happened 4 weeks later, again pronounced a miscarriage based on a trail of blood and chunks of tissue, discarded not analyzed in the er. I heard the call to my doctor from outside the room. The nurse found the ob on call and said that Dr. * patient was in with a miscarriage and were they going to do a d&c, have him do the exam or send me home with counseling to pass it naturally. Astonishment again upon finding the heartbeat. My placenta had detached more then a third of the way, and was showing wear on the other side as well. I had huge blood clots behind it.

After each visit to the er, there was a week to two of bedrest. By 18 weeks I had been on restricted movement for almost six weeks. I had the amnio, they saw a spot on the heart. The amnio was a risk given my placentas not being firmly attached. So now 20 weeks, wondering first is the baby going to live then will it have Downes.

They also detected that my cervix was funneling. The way it does before you go into labor. Normally it's measured in centimeters. I was at millimeters.

I was hospitalized at 23 weeks.
I was discharged after 28.
I was on strict left lying, no sitting up, no shower, bedrest for 88 consecutive days.
I was on bedrest totally for 124.
4 months of a 7.5 month pregnancy.

So simply put into paragraphs.
"Oh I had troubles"

I mean who doesn't have a birth story, a pregnancy story?

I've heard people talk about having liver problems, diabetes. Bad labors.
And god, I know its unfair to say this but GOD I just sometimes feel like "But at least you were taken by surprise. Your pregnancy was NORMAL at one point then went bad."

Mine was never ever good.

It wasn't good from the first 6 weeks, and it wasn't good after. I never went out pregnant. I never drove a car, went to the mall, wore maternity clothes. I never had a shower (bath or celebratory) I never had advice given to me. Old ladies never touched me. The magazine articles didn't relate to me.

I lay, trapped, in a bed. Day after day with everyone - nurses, doctors, neighbors, relatives friends and strangers knowing my business. I had to pee with help. My legs couldn't support me. I wished my child dead. For it's sake not mine. Over and over.

I cried every day, and more at night. I was trapped in my body with a ticking timebomb growing - maybe - inside me. Chained to me.

Would it live, or die?

In the earlier months it was easier.
A death is a miscarriage. Up to so may weeks there isn't a brain. It's simply a "could have been a life" But at 22 weeks, 23 weeks, the mythical baby becomes a "I'm likely going to live a few days after birth then die."

I was growing a monster. Because it wasn't really going to be a human being that early.

I never feel in love with my child, I never hoped. We had no names, no nursery, no dreams. It was just a thing. I thing I was committed to protecting because I was too scared to let it die.

Daily I worried that I would go into labor and deliver a mass of blood and tissue wherever I stood.

A trip to the bathroom was cause for an hour of panic.

I carried low. I could feel the pains.

The only reason we found out the gender was, at 26 weeks, infant girls had a higher likelihood of survival.

And this is only a story. It's letters strung into words, into sentences. I can't describe minute by minute moment by moment feeling a life inside you that there was no way to protect. I can't begin to describe the feeling of praying, literally praying for Gods will to be done, whatever that would be, because you were tired of trying to fathom it with your own mind.

I went into labor 6 and change weeks early, the irony being that my cervix wouldn't open. My placenta had detached and Ellie was swallowing blood but no one knew because I wasn't dilating. If not for an extremely clever nurse with a keen eye...well, I don't really know what the outcome would have been. They kept assuming my labor would stop. Not really knowing that I was really REALLY in labor.

I felt safe in the hospital though. No matter what someone would take care of things.
I didn't even then wish for her survival. I just wanted her out.
Not to get my life back. I couldn't have cared less about that.
I wanted her out because I couldn't stand the fact that she was going to die anyway - she was to me a thing that I housed. Certainly not a baby. A monster probably. She was going to have no brain I thought. No ears, no eyes, a mass of tissue. Retarded at best. I incubated an alien.

Doug saw her first. First in the NICU. We saw her only a second after birth.
About two hours later the labor nurse wheeled me up.
And was sharply reprimanded thereafter.
Because she didn't think to call.
And she wheeled me into a space where a team of doctors and nurses were rescuing Ellie from her lungs collapsing.
She wheeled me, a mother who was not a mother into a room where her baby was being attached to ...life support?
I can't say it correctly.

My first thought...my very first thought...was "She should have died"

It went from bad to worse.
That night I tried to go see her on my own.
My husband was asleep and I snuck out of my room. 30 hours of labor, no strength from months of bedrest, I tried to sneak into the elevator bank to get up to the NICU. I thought if I could see her alone I might fall in love. Feel something other then relief. Then fear.

I tried to reason with myself. If worse came to worse, if she lived, maybe my sister would raise her. Or I could leave Doug and he could raise her. Sure I'd have to move, start a new life, but the baby would be better off, happier without me.

The nurse saw me on the camera from the front desk. She was pissy. She took me upstairs begrudgingly and I know I heard sharp words to her from the NICU nurse. Probably because her attitude sucked. The NICU nurses were kinder. They left me there until the NICU nurse called down to have me moved back to bed. I still hadn't held Ellie nor would I that night. I can't remember when I did. The next day? Or maybe the day after?

When I look at the pictures, we seemed happy. Normal. In control.

When they told me I was going to be able to bring her home, I cried. It wasn't relief. I lay on the floor of my closet, hiding, and cried until Doug came looking for me.

He was, to this day, the biggest fucking asshole that ever walked in that moment. I don't dare write down what he said as my house, heart and stomach won't allow it but suffice to say that it was his opinion that she was alive, and fine, and it was time for me to move on and get mothering. How long would he have to worry about me?

Like it was my fault that he had worried the last 9 months?

We had a few visits - from the visiting nurse, from a doula, then a social worker type woman. All part of the follow-up services, part of her being premature.

Because although I was horrified and incapacitated, I also had the wherewithal to devise a plan for attacking it. Attacking my fear.

As it turns out, it wasn't postpartum. A woman from Jewish Family Services was able to correctly identify it and I spoke to a counselor - for post traumatic stress. Go figure. So apparently I was crashing from holding it together. My very own syndrome experience. Whee! And after talking it out, and hearing the horror in her voice, and receiving the assurances that any one of the traumatic incidences that had happened would send anyone reeling, that it was PERFECTLY normal for me to feel the way I felt.

I think it took my just over a week. Fortunately Ellie was healthy, as good as any baby could ever be, easy, and pleasant. I fell in love rather then knew I was in love, and I fall in love more each day. Although frankly, lately, she's terrifying as she is no longer my malleable baby but a little personality with fury to match.

So why why the long post? Why the poor me pity me?

It goes back to the much talked about, ballyhooed, Maybe Baby.

The house is small yet I save things. Why? For the Maybe Baby.
I need to join a gym but I pause. Why? Because a Maybe Baby will incapacitate me.
I need new pants (see Join Gym Above) but I won't buy clothes. Why? Because the Maybe Baby might render them useless.

Doug and I talked about "starting" (euphemism for knocking boots with intent) in September. Then we decided Christmas. And I just couldn't do it. Well, so to speak. So now January is coming. And the day of reckoning in near.

"Don't think about it" people say. As if I don't know when I'm ovulating. (Clockwork, thank you)
"God gives you what you can handle." Yeah, well, god thinks highly of me.
"Then don't do it." But that's not the answer. I'm not ready to say never. And if we aren't saying never, then we need to say now. Because I'm old. And there isn't going to BE a right time.
"You don't even know if you CAN get pregnant again." Why no, I don't. Thank you

So I've started teaching Ellie how to climb out of her crib. And down from the car seat. At 19 months. I need to get in the habit of kneeling to hug her. And we'll get the toddler chair so she can climb up on her own. I'll have step stools everywhere. I'll figure out a daycare now. Just in case she can't stay with me during the day. We've hired a cleaning woman. And I have a binder of takeout menus. Because while I can't be prepared for everything, or anything for that matter, I suppose all I can do is line up what I can.

Most people are excited to have a baby. A planned one. I hear my friends planning, plotting, stratigizing. "We hope we'll get pregnant" "We're trying." "We are!" I just can't feel that. All I can see is that I'm going to willingly give up a year of my life. And not in the "We all do to some extent way." And, of course, our biggest fear is "What if we aren't so lucky" What if the next baby doesn't stay in for 34 weeks? Seriously, Ellie made it because we had the shots. Will we get shots next time? What if my placenta detaches with the cerclage in place? Can I hemorrhage? Die?

I had reconciled myself, when pregnant with Ellie, to never even having a child. And Doug and I decided that, truly, that one, her, is enough. We feel complete. The second child is for all of us really though. A chance to love more, to have a sibling, to have a family at Christmas in our old age, whatever reasons you go forth. But if it's not meant to be, we'll reconciled to that too.

I just want it to be easier this time. For him and for Ellie. Because I can stand the laying down, the fear, maybe the heartache. Because it's just me. But it's hard to be the one that's ruining it for everyone else.

So I'm done talking about it. In words outloud and in print. You won't hear me discussing it again.
It's unlikely that I'll be ready in January though.

Sooner or later.
Sooner is looming.
Later is comforting.

Sooner or later I'll need to move forward. You can't sit at the cross roads forever.

In the Interest of Fairness

My day got better.

We made it to the gym, one of the donators offered to drop items off, the nephew was HUGELY helpful, the porch is clearer (not clear but close), dobations were dropped, the mailman and ups fellas were tipped and the tree is trimmed.

Im still tired but less bitchy. Because I realize even with a "helper" for the ENTIRE day, I didn't get everything doe.

Which means my expectations are ridiculous.
So that's that.

My Friends are Funny subtitled How I Lightened Up Today after Reading my Inbox

An email from Lucy:
Ryan came home from work the other night, took Liam upstairs to play "monster" on the bed and play as they always do when he first gets home. Later that night after Liam had gone to bed:

Lucy: "So, we went to the Community Center play group today...and, ironically, it took moving to MARBLEHEAD for Liam to have his first extended play session with an African American child. He spent the whole time with a great little boy he met named Thomas. They were really fast friends."
Ryan: Smiling.......pause.
Lucy: "What?"
Ryan: "I heard about him, actually. Lucy told me he met a new friend today at the playgroup...but all he said about him was that his new friend had REALLY curly hair."

A passage from April's blog:
add to my failing immune system, the fact that there's a lovely 'wintry' mix outside right now. to all of you not fortunate enough to live in the northeast, a 'wintry' mix is not a cool mix cd made for you by an old boyfriend. it's an irritating mix of ice, snow, and rain combined with bitter cold and bad attitude.

A comment from prayingtodarwin:
Another mom I know expressed it as such, "Men get to believe in Santa right into adulthood. Because they wake up on Dec 25, and Christmas JUST FUCKING HAPPENED!"

and finally, a post from my sisters occasional blog:

Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Pink Ribbons

I remember sitting at my baby shower 31 days before delivering Julia. I was unwrapping a present and broke the ribbon. "Oops!" I exclaimed. "I need to be more careful. I don't want to end up married!"

Andy's family did not find that funny.
me - I still crack up when I think about it.

The Power of Speech

A List of Ellie's Words at 19.5 months...

Up (aka Uppie)
Sit (aka Shit, Mumma, Shit)
Hot
Duck
Kitty
Doggie
Horsey
Fish/Fishy
Bubbles
Rock
Hi
Bye
Socks
Shoe
Book
Fly (for Butterfly)
Yes
No
No way (one of her first)
Keys
More
Milk
Mommy
Daddy
Thank you (heard infrequently)
Wow
Flush
Ball
Box
Light
Close

and just this week two whole sentences:
I don't know
I don't want

Argh.

I'm sitting here on my bed writing something that warrants no words, complaining when I should be working, bitter when I could turn it around to be pleasant.

I'm angry – not at anyone, unless of course you count myself. I have wonderful stories to tell, blogs to post, but instead the catalyst for posting will be anger and anxiety. A litany of looking at the tarnish on the back of the coin, being sullen where I could be sunshiny. Do I know what it will take to turn it around? Surely. Will I bounce up, a scant 45 minutes from now, positive and ready to aggressively tackle and wrestle ti the demons of frustration and anxiety? Yepper.
I will, and plan, to pull it together.

But before that, before 8am today, the hour I have decided to be far nicer, I will rant. And wail. And bitch. Likely I’ll feel worse. Not better. Bitter.

Hmmm. Bitter. Better. The only difference being the letter “I”.
Separate by the letter I.
Speaking of “I”.

I’ve already started the day badly. Generally, daily, I wake up in love. Regardless of the night before each day is a reset button, a chance to start again. Today I was up before 5. My sleeping partner aka Ellie was kicking kamikaze style through the night. Why was she isn't the bed you ask? Aha. Well, here's the thing. My husband does nighttime duty. Meaning specifically that Doug gets up for the wails, the fretfulness, the thrown binky. We never discussed it but it developed as a result of the fact that he has longer arms, better vision and the ability to forget the he woke up. The arms fr reaching in, the eyesight for finding said binky and the forgeting which makes his sleep that much less interrupted. Whereas I, once up, am UP. And it’s an hour to get back to sleep. Given little Miss Tubercular hacks up a hairball thrice nightly, well, Daddy generally handles it. I'm sure we should let her cry, but the crying wakens us both, so we assume that someday she’ll outgrow it and this is training for the maybe baby.

But last night I knew Doug was exhausted. And I knew that if I slept in Ellie's room, I could preserve him from a night of crying. Thus waking. Thus being exhausted. Stalling the inevitable heart attack that is sure to occur because we eat like shit and he works long days and exhaustion doesn't help.

So, busy saving my husbands life, I inhabited my daughters room, and slept with the darling dervish beside me. Slept in increments.

Awaking at 5, realizing it was futile, am now up. Designing a faux theater bill as a Christmas gift for my mother, whose gift certificate must be packaged with thought to prove the cash gift for a season of theater is based on love not inconvenience fueled thoughtlessness.

“Dear mom, here's a really fucking thoughtful gift that I want you to enjoy because you work hard and I love you but since you’ll just see it as a check and a cop out I’ll spend 3 hours custom designing a theater bill complete with graphics to enclose said check in - so you’ll be seduced by color and oh and ah that we don’t suck and you are luckier then most mothers.”

Where’s the dysfunctional hallmark card section when I need one?

Suffice to say that's what I'm doing. I'm designing a theater bill, wanting coffee, knowing that the downstairs ins freezing and knowing further that my daughter will cough herself awake soon.

Knowing that I need to get up, truss myself into jeans that shouldn't be my size, and foray off to The littlest Gym Ever for Ellie's pay to play gymnastics session. After which I'll shoot home to meet my nephew, who was SUPPOSED to come yesterday (see: Paying nephew to come visit and "watch" Ellie but really handing him insurance payment and hoping he's helpful). I'll then attempt to do the impossible where I'll go out and buy every last gift on my list, come home and mail upwards of 100 Christmas cards, finish decorating the tree, and make sure the snowblower works for tomorrow. Why all in one day? I'm glad you asked. Because its going to snow like a m'f*cker Friday and I'm furious - as usual - with the fact that I have 18 separate things to do and although I have been prepared, and ready, and willing, I am waiting - dependent - on the cooperation of others, who have decided that getting back to me, or fulfilling their obligations to me isn't a priority. Because - oh and let me just say it - I DON'T WORK. So therefore it's ok to not drop off the things you were supposed to, or not return a call, or not do any of the myriad tiny components that would take you ONE FUCKING MINUTE and now my day is hinged on it.

I'm pissed because my husband wants all te trapping of a traditional life, a traditional holiday but is frustrated by my evident lack of Donna Reed charm while executing it.

I'm annoyed with inlaws calling me from Target and asking me if Ellie would like "this gift". I'm annoyed with the people who've committed to donating to my charity drive but haven't finalized their donation so I cannot collect the gifts. So again, it's percolating on my to do list. I'm annoyed with my nephew for not showing up because I held back on completing things based on his assistance. I'm annoyed with myself for my failure to successfully execute my life.

So I'm starting my day - pissed. Tired. Unhappy.

There's laundry - literally - on the floor. I have sheets to change, things to iron, a tree to decorate, gifts to buy, cards to send, bills to pay, donations to pick up, a program guide to finish, custom cds to burn, and a child who I forget - hello - to give water to yesterday and all the things I'd LOVE to do - help my sister shop, wrap gifts with my neighbor, - those things are backburnered.

Sigh.
No ones fault, for all the blaming, but my own.

How Mommy Ruined Christmas subtitled Mommy is a Killjoy

An email to my family for this years Christmas...

Thx to those that asked for Ellie's list.

I wouldn't be me if I didn't say it...please go small! Ellie doesn't need to be treated “the same” or have “equal” money spent on her. One of something is perfect! Even if it only costs a $1! Also - toys can be found at Marshalls, TJ Maxx, Building 19, Costco, or even - my favorite - craigslist. (Virtually 80% of Ellie's toys and books are from yardsales, CL and toy swaps.) I would be thrilled for her to get something recycled or preowned. You can wrap it still, she'll love opening it.

Having said that, for those that want to buy new, here's a list of some things we like from Amazon and IKEA. (then there was a link)

Ellie is also interested in potty chairs (all her friends have them) and we are looking at a youth chair from The Mill Store. (Hints for Grandma's V & R) She likes: chunky puzzles, the lace up puzzles, puppets, books that you can "touch" and feel, and things that you can manipulate including toy cars with no small parts. We both like coloring books and the rolls of plain doodle paper ($2 at Christmas Tree Shop Grandma L). Anything that's Melissa and Doug or Montessori based is good too.

She's all set for shoes and socks, clothes (24 months/2t- 28lbs31"), crayons and stuffed toys/dolls. She doesn't have pierced ears or wear jewelry. It should go without saying but: no to any disney princess anything. And that's that. I know, not very compelling.

Email if you have questions...
Thx - Deb


ps
Ellie loves Fisher Price Little People and WEEBLES toys that do something (spin/roll/whir). BUT! I don't allow them in the house unless they were preowned. (Yep, let me just go get me a whole foods sack and stop shaving under my arms)So if anyone wants a FUN challenge, we are happy to receive a used toy or one dug out from your own house. Just look - you can hit http://boston.craigslist.org and search WEEBLES. See? TONS of cute stuff. Preowned. Good for the planet, good for the pocketbook, good for Ellie.

Who sucks more then Mommy, eh?

I Had No Idea

Until today that Holly Hobbie was a real person.

As She Lay Sleeping

Last week Ellie coughed in the night. All night actually for two weeks. It wasn't a new cold asserting itself over an old, it was the same lingering, malingering mucus.

I went in. Early? or Late? Depending on if you consider 3 am part of the night before.

I put her on the bed next to me and quasi-cuddled. I'm not a good cosleeper. I worry I'll suffocate her, I'll crush her, she'll roll, she'll stop breathing. I worry about any number of things but I worry too that my husband won't get his rest, and I worry about his heart. So I lay, half asleep, waking in increments, terrified that I have lost Ellie somehow in the bed.

Sometime in the wee morning hours I shifted. And she stirred. And rather then the little macaw cry of hers, the one she makes when startled at night, I felt two tiny hands reach out, and touch, each, the sides of my face.

During the day I will hold her face in two hands, like a grandmother. I do it often, but quietly. But never in passing. It's deliberate. I want her to feel the comfort of hands on her face. The deliberate touch that says "I've stopped moving. I see you. I love you."

To feel, in her sleep, her reaching out to me was...wonderous.
It was every mom email chain, every Hallmark moment.

My daughter will reach out for "Up-py", she'll touch me to get attention, to pull on my leg, she'll lay in my arms, sit on my lap, she'll hug and rest her head on my shoulder - but I hadn't yet, until this night, felt her deliberate caress.

I knew she knew me. She touched me with love, not motivated by need.

I've heard talk about the joy you have upon hearing first words, seeing first teeth, guiding first steps but how come no one ever tells you about the wonder of the first time your child touches you with pure affection.

The Little Post That Wasn't

It's a week later and I've snuck downstairs to write. Husband and child lay nestled in bed. I'm on the couch with a blanket over my head ala bat cave. The heat is on high but through an unfortunate series of events, when we took up the wall to wall carpet we somehow released a draft. I feel a breeze as I type and my fingers are cramping. The only consolation is that my body has to expend more energy trying to properly heat me. I'm burning calories just sitting here.

Cold comfort if you will.
I have a story to tell, but it's long and meanders. It's quite likely self serving, and possibly of no interest. But tell it I will and tomorrow I'll reread it. To see if it holds up in the cold light of day. Pun intended.

Cup of coffee in hand, wondering whether I can shrink wrap the windows on own and marginally upset with my poor, unsuspecting, and as of this writing, sleeping husband for not understanding that his wife and child are cold all day, cold in our electrically heated but alas, surprisingly NOT well insulated tiny home. Which by rights should be cozy. Cold in a way he doesn't understand because he doesn't spend hours sitting on the floor in a house that rests, heat on, at 64 degrees. With a breeze.

And where - fucking WHERE - is that god damn BREEZE coming from?

Cold fucking cold because he has a wife that panics about finances, abhors waste and is married a man better with his brain then his hands. So to speak. So she wont leave all the thermostats set to HELLFIRE on all day

Is the curtain MOVING?? The curtain is, my friend, moving.

Had I the will or energy, I'd go upstairs and get the fancy (read: stupid and wasteful) radio soother travel thermometer with 390 timezones Brookstone device of said husband and find out the actual temperature of where I currently sit.

Instead suffice to say that THIS is outside:


and inside feels only marginally warmer.
If I can boldly use the word warm in this context.

The other upside, other then my burning calories, is that once I looked on Accuweather and saw the sunrise and sunset times, I remembered that I like the music from Fiddler on the Roof. So I went to Limewire and downloaded Sunrise,Sunset.

And THOSE people...now THEY were cold.
So what am I bitching about really.

Ah Pollyanna, so good to have you back.

A Short Story About People In Our Daily Lives

Dear Ellie,
These are fireman.
Fireman are nice.
Sometime fireman fight fires.
Other times they make chili, or pat their Dalmatian Spot.
Sometimes they rescue kitties.
Other times, they come and get sleeping Ellie's out of locked cars.
We like firemen!
Love, Mommy



Ellie, barely able to withstand all the excitement.

As It Turns Out....

I also don't like the expressions "Hotlanta", "Working Hard or Hardly Working" and "Hot/Cold Enough For Ya?".

10 Things I Find Annoying

1. People who say "Happy Turkey Day" instead of Happy Thanksgiving
2. People who say "See You Next Year" on New Years Eve Day.
3. People who get married on three day weekend holidays. Inevitably they say "Oh but we had a ton of friends from out of town coming in, it just made it easier. People liked it." Saying it annoys me too. Make that number 4.
5. Wedding planners and realtors.
6. Facebook.
7. Close talkers.
8. Seeing a book open face down to bookmark a page
9. High fiving.
10. Voicemail.

Damage Control, Self Control

I'm frantically typing. I've given myself six minutes to post and I need more then six to think never mind type rapid fire with my right hand hunt and peck method.

My mother watched my daughter last night. Her (my daughters) cousin was over, and my mother thought it would be fun to have both. I worry that Ellie is getting too independent to be cuddled by her cousin for any length of time and that she'll pull away, hurt her cousins feelings, and somehow damage an otherwise perfect and gratifying relationship. I'm astonished at the love one 6 year old can have for one 1 year old. Point 9. 1.9 year old. Not that the point 9 is accurate. Fractionally it doesn't translate to one year and 9 months but at a glance your brain should complete the thought.

Anyway.

To thank my mother and make it easier I brought over: beef stew and mashed potatoes (for dinner) some leftover hamburger helper (for the girls), cinnamon bread and sausages (for everyone for breakfast) and some craisins for a snack.

Dr. Atkins would be so proud of me.

I portioned the hamburger helper into two containers. Both enough individually for the girls. In fact, the four of them, with a vegetable and some bread, could have made a meal out of the whole.

Before I left I started to heat the food, get plates ready and, in general, set her up to feed both prior to her own sitting down. As I watched her take the container out of the microwave, and stir the steaming hot faux casserole, I pulled two plates down.

She turned to my 6 year old niece and said "Do you want to eat this like this or from a plate?"

Innoculous upon reading surely but astonishing in person.

First of all, this food was thermonuclear. It was so hot the plastic was hot to the touch. was she truly going to put the container down in front of a six year old?

Second, more importantly, plate the food for crying out loud. I know "recycling and water waste" but really. Give a child the same respect and courtesy you give an adult. She's a person. Allow her to eat from a plate thank you. Not an alpo bowl.

and finally, and in my mind the most egregious.

LOOK at the portion. Good lord, this was enough food for an adult. An adult binging. This was certainly not a child's size portion.

I was completely aghast. Disgusted. Saddened.

My mother is overweight. Genuinely an innocently. She has spent YEARS frustrated, uncomfortable and saddened by her weight. She lies to herself about her size, and to everyone else about how nutritionally intelligent she is. She's not a "pig" or a "fat ass" or any of the stereotypes we inflict on heavy people. Contrary to popular belief not all heavy people sit around lazy, overeating and getting buckets of fried food. My mother is motivated, intelligent and hardworking. She just - literally - can't see what she's doing wrong.

I know after dinner she'll offer icecream, or cake, or cookies..."for dessert" - then a snack with milk before bed. She'll offer it to the older girl and then watch her eat it. At some point she'll chastise her "Are you SUPPOSED to be eating that Julia?" and then she'll take the milk away, publicly shaming her "And you've had ENOUGH of this - I'm not going to have you wetting the bed." Then she'll give my daughter ice cream. Which she doesn't need, which we don't give her, which prior to Grandma she had no taste for. But she'll eat it. All of it. And she'll poop in the night and awake, crying with a tummy ache.

And my mother will mention how well she didn't sleep.

I know she loves them. I'm not worried about the one day. It's just so clear now though, watching her with our daughters, what she did with her own.

I went to a playdate Friday. My sister hates the term playdate, actually a lot of people do. Something about the yuppification of society. I suppose I could say "I went for coffee Friday".

My hostess was someone I admire, I find her bright, entertaining and slightly intimidating the way that someone who appears to be Living rather then Coasting can come across. (I'm always impressed with someone who has Interests and Hobbies). Her other guest was another borderline typeA that?who? I also find interesting. And bright.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Oh sure, the insecure part of me wonders if I stayed too long, talked too much, revealed my plebeian nature or my ignorance manifested itself in some small way. But, just like a drunk day next, it's better not to ask outloud..."Did they like me? Did I make a fool of myself?"

I told another friend that morning that I was going over.
"I'm looking forward to it. I'm looking forward to talking with people who are verbal. Articulate. Who can carry the conversation. Who are just introspective enough to be self challenging. I'm looking forward to it."

"How'd it go?" my husband asked.
"It went great" I replied. "Ellie was terrific."
"Great. But I meant, how were the mom's?"
"Oh I know them. I like them." I stressed "I really like them."

As I turned from the sink I thought of something interesting heard that day.
"Did you know that BOTH of the woman I met today were married when they met their current husbands?"
My husband laughed.
I pondered outloud the irony of how I went from having no married friends at all just 3 years ago to now knowing woman married twice. And men married twice. Well, knowing LOTS of people...married twice.

"What I'm amazed by" he said "Was how it even came up. I'm amazed at the things you mothers share."
I looked at him. Not challengingly but questioningly.
"How open everyone is" he clarified.

"You know, like when you were having the knitting thing. I was upstairs astonished by what you guys were casually tossing out. Like the stripper thing. The woman who said she and her husband will go see strippers..."

I interrupted "Since when do you care about strippers?"

"No no, not that. It was how she was all casual. Like 'Not that we're swingers or anything' and she was so matter of fact. As if it didn't matter either way. She probably would have delivered it in the exact same way if they were swingers."

"Oh yeah. she would have." I said.

He continued to muse. "Although I suppose if they WERE swingers, I guess that's how you'd go about it..."

So my husband is entertained by my life.
Good fodder that.

People say the toughest job you'll ever love is Parenting.
Might I add it's because your boss is a prick?

Seperated at Birth

photo credit: Alexander Zemlianichenko, Associated Press








So, the headline from the NY Times: Aleksy II, Russian Orthodox Patriarch, Dies at 79

I'm thinking WHY wasn't this guy cast as Dumbledore???

I'm also thinking "Or is it just anyone who LOOKS like him dies a mysterious death ala the Poltergeist movie curse".

My Friend Linda - a Letter from Scott

I received this via email last night. My friend has lost a dear friend. I asked him if I could post this. I'm saddened for his, and her families, loss.

To those who knew my friend, Linda Sharron

Sorry for the group email, but I wanted to make sure I didn't miss
anybody. I'm not sure who knows and who doesn't know because I've
talked to so many people this week, but in case you haven't heard,
I'm sad to tell you that Linda passed away this past week.

(Click here to read her obituary)

In Memory of Linda

I have so many memories of Linda, but the one that stands out clearest in my mind right now is Linda leaping three feet in the air with a huge smile on her face yelling "You can do it! You can do it!"

A lot of people know that when it came to my music, Linda was one my biggest supporters ever. She included many of my songs in her screenplay, produced some awesome music videos and came to many of my performances.

What is not as well known is that she supported my efforts to run the Boston Marathon last year, as well as three more marathons after that. When I ran Boston, Linda gave my friends Joe and Frances and I a ride to the starting line. She decorated her whole car with words all over it rooting us on and she hand made big signs to hold up when we came running by. Linda, Scottie and Frank were rooting for us in Framingham, and then they cheered for us on Heartbreak Hill. I finished in just under five hours.

After Boston, Joe and Frances told us they were running another marathon in Maine the next month. I said I would go up there and run that one, too, and Linda immediately said she was going to run it, too. She only trained for one month, but there she was at the starting line, and sure enough, she completed the whole 26.2 miles in just under five hours, the same time I ran Boston.

The third marathon I ran was in July in Wakefield where we ran a loop around a lake nine times. Linda was flying home from Prague that day, but she had Johnny Mac pick her up at the airport and drive her straight to the course. When I was about 21 miles into the run with three laps to go, Linda showed up and ran with me the rest of the way, keeping my spirits up and getting me water to drink, and I finished in just over four hours.

My goal for my fourth marathon, the Bay State Marathon in Lowell, was to run it in a time under 3 hours and 30 minutes, which would qualify me for the Boston Marathon. The first time I ran Boston I was unofficial, and this time I wanted to be official. I trained hard, but I had many doubts that I could complete it that fast. Linda never did, she kept saying I was going to do it.

I never asked anyone to go to that race because I wanted to stay focused, so I drove up there alone and started the race without anyone there to cheer me on. But at the 3 mile mark, there was Linda with a big sign in her hand that said, "Run Hard, Damgaard!" She was smiling that big smile of hers and I smiled back and high-fived her as I ran by.

At the 13 mile mark, there was Linda again, with a big grin and a sign that said, "Pain Is Only Temporary, Glory Is Forever!" "You're right on pace," she yelled as I high-fived her again and surged on. Linda knew what time I needed to run, down to my mile splits, and she knew the window of time I had to be under in order to make it in three and half hours.

When I came to the 23 mile mark, I could see Linda looking down the road for me. I saw her first and I drifted over to her side of the road. I had three miles to go and when she saw me she knew I was on pace to make it and she leapt about three feet in the air, pumping her fist and yelling, "You can do it! You can do it!"

I'll never forget that moment. When I saw her doing that, I got goose bumps, and for the first time I thought, yes I can do this, I really can. Linda jumped on her bike and yelled, "I'll see you at Victory Park!" She met me at the finish line and had a nice cold beer waiting for me. I finished in 3 hours and 26 minutes, four
minutes ahead of the time I needed. Linda and I laughed and laughed with joy for about twenty minutes. I felt like she and I had won the race together.

I'm really going to miss that woman, she was so good to me. I can't stop thinking about her, and at the same time, I know I've got to carry on. Linda left me with so much inspiration and I'm going to use that to keep me going. And I know, every time I try to achieve something and work hard at it, I'm going to see a vision of Linda
jumping three feet in the air yelling, "You can do it! You can do it!"

I'll never forget you, Linda,
Scott Damgaard

Birthday

It's my husbands birthday tomorrow.
Not like I didn't have a YEAR, right.
Argh.

last years cake...

Step it Up

My husband watched me Monday night rapid fire stepping.

"Everyone should have such a disciplined wife" he said, beaming at me.
"Thanks" I huffed. "Me too?"
"You don't want a wife..." he said like a little boy "You have ME!!!"
I continued to step.
During the commercial breaks I rapid fire stepped.
Right foot up, left up, right down, left down and over and over again.
"Ooooh, you could do the tires" he said. "It's a good thing we had a daughter. I'd be a little embarrassed the Mommy was showing our son how to do football drills."
I kept going.
"Wow" You're really fast."
I kept going.
He kept staring.
I fell off the step.

I made it to just under 9000.

According to my team page if you do 25 kegels - and hold for more then 5 seconds each - you are allowed to add 500 steps.

What I'm trying to figure out, but can't ask, because really, I am an island of alone with what I think is funny, but - how many steps do you earn if you...how can I say this delicately...come across. You know, put out.

Because isn't that kegels anyway?
If you're doing it right...wink wink

Also, does anyone else remember the Adventures of Letterman?

Taking the e from kegel and replacing it with a u we get KUGEL.
Which is far tastier and more fun then kegels but likely why we need the challenge in the first place.

Sigh.

She's Making a List, She's Checking it Twice...

Ok so in honor of the holidays, I thought I'd bludgeon myself daily with the following 10 goals. Call them the 10 Goals of Christmas.

Let me let YOU know that these are printed in excel, landscape, with room to check off tasks daily.

At the end of the month maybe I'll get a Bratz doll or some new stickers...

December
1. Track every penny we spend for 1 month.
2. I am starting WW again. Counting points daily. Again.
3. Walking Challenge - 10000 steps a day.
4. Taking a vitamin EVERY DAY for this month.
5. Drinking enough water EVERY DAY for this month.
6. 25 pushups a day
7. Check voicemail daily (i KNOW. Can you imagine I have to TELL myself to do this)
8. Read Ellie 1 book a day.
9. Turn off the bedroom light by 11:15 EACH NIGHT!
10. tbd - still thinking of one

I'm open to suggestions for 10...besides Lighten Up.

Happy Thanksgiving...

Random disconnected thoughts:

1.
Today my niece showed up with boobs.

She's twelve. Girls HAD boobs when I was twelve but I was startled. She looks exactly like the boys. And like my brothers. And father. And uncles.
But with boobs.

Disconcerting.

2.
I don' like the menu at Thanksgiving. Don't like mashed, don't like ham, don't like turkey. Usually I like the stuffing but my dad won't keep it simple...and he likes onions. They forgot the squash in the microwave, and I forgot my lactaid. So this year for dinner I had bread and butter, 12 cookies, custard pie and sunchips.
I'm still kind of hungry but I'm saving my sisters lasagna for Ellie's lunch tomorrow. See the sacrifices moms make.

3.
I joined a 10000 steps a day challenge. It's 10K a day for 6 weeks. At the end you're not supposed to have gained any weight from the holidays. Today was the first day. I walked 3.5 miles this morning which somehow only translated to 4000 steps on my pedometer. Bitter? Party of one, if your shoe fits...

I believe I was led to believe that it's 2000 steps per mile.

At this writing I've logged 10540. That's thanks to my husband who brought my Original Nadia Comaneci Reebok Teal and Purple Aerobic Step System up from the basement.

I shit you not.
I'm thinking it's 14 years old this Christmas. Sears... $79 back then.
"Just the one step?" as he put it.

It was 10ish and I was only at 8790. So I old school stepped to THE most played ipod playlist ever. Belle, Love Child and Suite Judy Blue Eyes. At least a hundred high knees, a few hamstrings and a couple of kicks. My husband ate sunchips and cruised CNN online. He flinched a few times. As if I was going to kick him. HONESTLY.

I'm going to log about 35 more steps right now getting my eggroll out of the microwave.

I Used To Have A List

Every year for my birthday I'd write out five goals. Never for New Years. Birthdays and rebirth. I'd pick something that I wanted to change about myself, my interactions with the world, then I'd create goals around them...and execute them.

One year my goal was "Be nicer to Sarah" which was random because Sarah was a coworker, and not all that relevant in my life, but I think it spoke to my wanting to be more open to potential.

Having Ellie, being at home, my life is a microcosm. The things I want to focus on and change are so internal that they don't even bear discussion.

Am I talking about politics, the economy, the American dream, the lack thereof, soldiers, fortune, education....?

No.

I'm not.

I'm ensconced in a tiny world worrying about tiny things trying to perfect minutia so I can "stat living" the next phase. I think if I eat better, clean longer, organize more somehow we are going to be relaxed and happy.

Just one more task, one more goal, one more project - and instead I'm tired, physically exhausted today, wondering if I really really have to fold the wash. Buy food. Make a healthy meal. Or can my goal to live a disciplined, nae perfect, life wait another day.

I have a dozen calls to return, a sink to empty, a wishlist to create, a gym to join, an ass to minimize, a bathroom to vacuum, a tub to scrub, a husband who's cholesterol is out of hand and a baby that's sick.

I have a headache to beat the band that two full glasses of water hasn't cured, and a million forms to file. I'm tired.

I know people have bigger issues, bigger lives, more to do, less time to do it in...but I'm cooked. I'm done. I'm at capacity.

I'm taking a nap.

Just Call Me Norma Ray

“All progress depends on the unreasonable man. The reasonable man adapts himself to the world. The unreasonable man persists in trying to adapt the world to himself.”
— George Bernard Shaw


I need to change my name on my "second mortgage". Yes I was one of the 80/15/5 subprime mortgage interest only fools. Except I'm not defaulting....

It's a pain in the ass if you don't work in an office. The whole fax machine/copier thing. The other day I took a picture of my license, uploaded it, reduced it to a manageable jpeg, printed it - and attached it to the name change form for my brokerage account. Yes I was one of the invest now so you can retire later fools.

So I'm talking to the Antonio, my customer service representative, and he tells me that I can attach a copy of my marriage certificate with a letter.

Which.... I am, for the most part, happy to do. Except for the fact that our marriage certificate has our cities of birth, mothers maiden names and social security numbers.

Which.... I don't think the mortgage company needs.

Because see, here's the thing, the mortgage company may keep MOST of your information confidential. Say your social, your financials, to them, that's what needs to be secure. But a name change form? No one is going to secure that as confidential. That goes to the 'input" dept ie data processing.

Essentially what they are saying is send me the answers to your top four security questions along with your social and we'll file it, maybe, in data processing. Maybe.

I've decided that they don't need all that information.
What they need is to know that I have changed my name.

So I'm typing up a form, having it notarized and and they'll get a copy of my new social security card. Antonio says they "may not be able to accept it".

My feeling? If it's good enough for the government, it should be good enough for the mortgage company the government is bailing out.

So that's my cause of the week. I've fought it twice now, with two separate banks getting a third generation photocopy of my marriage certificate with everything blacked out but my names.

And while this may verge on the cusp of "too much free time" I'm willing to fight the good fight.

It's a.... BABY!

My girlfriend had her baby last night. I got a cell message minutes after the birth.
The subject line read "New Baby"
and attached was the following picture.
OMG. So amazing. This is literally a NEWborn. A teeny weeny baby. I scroll up, then down, then up, then squint. My eyes welled up.
"So what did she have" my husband said.
"I have no f*n idea" I laughed.

They didn't announce the name or the gender, just sent the picture!

Suburban Bliss

I went to a playdate yesterday. 3 o'clock date, Ellie slept until 4:20, we got there at 5. The hostess opened the first bottle of wine at 5:15. The husbands came in starting at 6. Intermittantly. All were curious as to why their wives were drinking on a Wednesday night, with no forewarning.

It was very Peyton Place minus the swinging.
We left at 8:30. I woke up at 4:30, parched. With a headache.

Lord love a good playdate.

I Just Don't Understand

So I went to a funeral Monday and during the "post" services luncheon, my cousin, in a frank and completely non insulting manner asked me a perfectly legitimate question.

She didn't even preface it with "Not to be rude" because she really really wasn't. She was asking out of simple curiosity.

The conversation started with her having a second child, the same age as my first, and how she was faring. It led up to the point that she works full time, and I stay at home.

Her question was, to me, but about her friends:
Why are stay at home moms always so busy? Like what do they DO all day? I'm working full time, and I'm not getting it all done but if I was HOME full time, I mean, you have so much more time.

She wasn't being rhetorical.
She wasn't being judgmental.
She genuinely wanted to know what it was we do.

I answered quickly "Well, you know when you leave the house, you pack a diaper bag and you pack snacks, right? Then you drop her off. Ok well, that's kind of all you have to do for her to get her out the door after you dress her. When you stay at home, you feed her the snacks, you have to wash hands, faces, bowls, wipe down the chair, change the diaper and then get her redressed to go out. So it takes time. Everything takes time."

My sister stepped in, ostensibly to diffuse the situation. But I don't think anyone was upset. I think it was just an amiable conversation amongst two people who both are satisfied and confident with their choices. The fact that we each think the other has it easier is moot.

No no, just kidding.

I, of course, think I have it easier. I get to see more, do more, and enjoy my daughter - not more, but at least with more frequency. I don't have to adhere to a timetable, I don't have a boss (my husband would beg to differ..) Oh wait, I do have a boss. She's 18 months old. I don't have a boss, a dress code, a commute. I have all the snacks I need at home, and the resources at my fingertips to entertain her. I don't have to rush to daycare, to force her into a carseat, to remember every single thing at 6am. I don't have any of the pressure that working mother have, and I don't have any of the guilt.

So I don't complain.

Now on the flip side, I think she does a better job living her life. I'm sure that if her wallet was missing, as mine has been since LAST Sunday (10 days hence) she'd have things canceled by now, she likely is able to make appts, return phone calls, answer emails, get to CVS for essentials and stop for groceries. Add to that likely when she IS home, she's coparenting. So they walk in and there's two people getting the job done. And she hasn't had to hear relentless whining and screaming for half her day (well, from kids that is!) Add to that there's likely less social networking to be done when you work. Let's face it, you have more contact with people daily so you don't have to create opportunities to connect.

I wouldn't trade lives, nor would she. I find her lovely, and a wonderful mother, as she does me. We truly truly see eye to eye.

But that doesn't won't stop me from listing what I did today from 7am to 2pm.
Just in case any of YOU were wondering:

7am - Woke up, showered. Shower woke baby. I allowed her to come in the bathroom and we brushed our teeth, our hair, and put away the misc toiletries. I let her use the phone to call Daddy and say I love you. We went down to breakfast (cut up fruit and toast). While she was in her highchair, I did a load of laundry, sorted my husbands drycleaning, and put away all his shoes in the closet. During that time, my friend from Ohio called and we talked for 15 minutes while I multitasked online. Specifically I created a song and circle time agenda, with 6 songs and 3 story books. All while feeding Ellie. Then down Ellie came from her highchair, she got crayons and a coloring book. I cleaned up breakfast. Then we went upstairs. Her walking one step at a time. SLOWLY. I called the other group leader, asked her to borrow a book, called a friend to see if she had a better version of a different book and called a third to see if she was in labor. The while time I was getting myself dressed, and Ellie dressed, I made the bed, put Ellie crib sheets and blankies all in order, packed up all the books, the songs, snacks, a bag of props and started the car. It was 9:10.
By 9:30 I was rearranging a room of furniture at the church.
By 10 I was singing and reading stories to about 17 kids ages 11 months to 4.
By 10:30 I was chitchatting with the moms and getting Ellie a snack.
From 10:50 to 11:15 I reset the room with the moms. With lots of help. But I was still the last one to leave.
By 11:30 I was home, checking voicemail, talking to the friend. Who now WAS in labor. I spoke to her, her husband, and his sister. I volunteered to take their daughter. I got off the phone for Ellie's snacks. Still haven't eaten yet. We went outside where I raked, bagged, put all the yard toys into storage and got out the mucher and mulched the pile. Ellie played. We did some jumping. I recoiled the hose, took the planters down and bent the nail back that was sticking out (hello pliers)
It was now 1pm. I changed Ellie's bum, put her in her crib, switched OVER the laundry, folded the first load, came up, cleaned the kitchen, the floor, the highchair talked AGAIN to the friend in Labor, then cleaned the toy room. I also sat down and filed all my emails for the Charity drive I'm trying to get started, I sent back the confirmation for my host night for the weekly knitting circle, I deleted myself of Reunion.com, I emailed back a friend about her stores grand opening (and made plans to visit the store) I updated mine and my husbands calendars to reflect the fact that I was hosting a knitting circle AND that I was meeting the store proprieter for drinks. I made four hard boiled eggs for Ellies lunch (and mine) when she gets up. I washed down the entire stove. Then I posted this post. But I got up 2ce during it to check the mail and the laundry.

As soon as Ellie's UP we are having lunch (pork ribs and eggs. Eww), going for a 3pm playdate and I need to stop at a mailbox to mail my nephews secret santa and 2 thank you notes. I also need to stop typing to make potatoes and carrots for dinner tonight. And fold the next load of laundry. Oh, and I also emailed a "new" friend to make plans for the week after Thanksgiving.

So yeah, I'm busy.
May not be work but I'm not watch Dr Phil either.

We're Off to See The Wizard

I'll be leaving the house in 10 minutes.
well, 10 after i finish this. And my eggo waffles.

Why are you going? my brother asked me. You know what he did, right?
"I know" I said. Then rattled off some ugly family lore.
So why?
"I'm going out of respect for his children. I'm not paying homage to him."
But why? Are they that good to you? Isn't it hypocritical?
"No. They have tried. I'm the one that keep them at an arms length. I'm going because if there's a moment that they are standing there feeling anything at all, I want to show my respect for them."
I'm not going. I'll go tomorrow. I'll see the grave. But I'm not going to stand up there today.
We moved on to other things.

My husband woke
Do you want me to come?
"No. It's not that big a deal."
Where's your mother?
"She's in Aruba."
Are you sure?
Am I sure she's in Aruba?
He gives me The Look
"Ok, yes. I'm positive. Honestly."
Ok, I love you. Ill see you tonight.

The phone rang once.
I was midsneeze when she answered.
What are you going to wear? I asked.
My sister replied Black pants, green sweater. You?
I dunno. Ever since I had Ellie I haven't bought new pants. All I have is dresses.
Do you want me to wear jeans? she asked.
No. I assured her. Don't go in jeans b/c I cant get it together. I have a black dress with long sleeves. I'll wear that. You think it's too much?
It's fine. Just wear it. You'll have a coat on anyway.

So I reached into the closet. I'm wearing a black dress. With ivory boatneck and hem. Looking very retro 70s. I bought it LAST November when i was even heavier post baby. It wasn't until I put it on that I recognized the irony.

I'm wearing my wedding dress to a funeral. On my anniversary.
Had it happened years ago I daresay my mother would have worn red.

Living The American Dream

So there I was, using my ptouch label maker to label file folders in our 4 drawer vertical, tippy as all hell, bought-off-of-Craigslist file cabinet. I filed from Auto, Auto Insurance, Auto Titles, etc all the way to Taxes. After creating a recipe idea, a knitting idea, a home idea(s), an Ellie activity ideas and gift receipts file, I got bored.

So I came downstairs, ordered 3 copies of my credit report online, fact checked them, and just got off the phone with Lauren from Ann Taylor who was "happy to close that for me ma'am".

It's 3:15 on a sunday afternoon.
I'm officially a loser.
Honestly. I need me some vices.

I'm off now. Going down to the basement to fluff lights and fold.
Catch me as I swoon.
Likely I'll come up and finish labeling all the power cords.

So Poor That We Had Only One Maid And She Lived Out

So I call my sister the other day, first on the house phone, then on her cell (because she really LOVES it when people do that!)

"Damn" she says as she picks up.
"What?"
"I smudged my nail getting the phone out of my bag"
"Oh I'm SORRY " I lament. "Can you go back in?"
I hear nothing. Obviously she's paused.
"Go back in WHERE?" she said befuddled "I'm at home"

At first I thought she drove real fast then...
"Really? You do your OWN nails?"

My sister was gracious enough not to call me an ass but not quite so gracious not to laugh at me.

IT’s NOT ME, ITS YOU– Part Two of a Really Long Two Part Post That Will Not Interest Anyone But Me (so you should skip it)

Ok, so why a part two? Why did I bring the whole thing up?

Ok, the latest email going around is an article in the Boston Globe called "The Perils of Mommy Dating". Two people sent it to me yesterday and one mentioned it in conversation today. It's quasi interesting. One of those lifestyle pieces that if you are already involved in it, you read it thinking, "Cute, trite, kind of realistic but not really" and if you aren't part of it, you think "Wow,. This is SO informative."

And I'm thinking. yes. Being a Mommy is like dating. But for me it’s not from the angle of it's "so hard to meet people". That’s never been my issue. More aptly, once again, I am not discriminating properly.

Really, talk about falling into the same hole.

Yep. I’m there again. Meeting people and adapting. Damn Gemini Sun sign. Shakes fist at sky.
My sister thinks it's being fake.
My father thinks I’m trying to be well liked.
My husband knows it the opposite.

I want people to feel good. I feel good, I’m happy, I’m blessed. And if I can in any way offer someone else some of that energy, spirit, happiness – it’s my, um, duty? It’s a mitzvah I think?

At this point are you thinking "Oh you arrogant bitch you Who are YOU, to take it on yourself to assume you can make someone else happy?"

Sigh. I'm not. I just know that when I look out, and I see someone sitting in a circle at the library, and her heads bowed, and she's tentatively smiling but painfully shy, and I know I'm capable of striking up a conversation. I know I'm capable of carrying the conversation until she gets more confident, so why wouldn't I? I don't do it to be charitable, I don't do it because i think she "needs" me, I do it because I don't want anyone else to ever lose hope, or get depressed, or feel like it's impossible to be a mom. I don't want someone to go home and cry about being lonely when all it took was a smile and a outstretched hand.

Pay it forward.
I'm Annie singing about the sun coming up.

I'm good at it. I'm good at networking. I'm good at entertaining.
And most people I've reached out to say to me, You know, I was feeling lonely, I was feeling blue. I'm glad we met.

The problem is, I'm doing all the same things I did when I was dating. I listen to things I don’t agree with …because that's the polite thing to do. But it's being mistaken for acceptance. I disagree in vague terms, or I stay in contact with a mom whose choices I don’t necessarily respect because… wait for it… I wonder who am I to judge? Who am I to say “Wow, I totally disagree with you.” I’m not going to be RUDE or anything. I need to be...argh...accepting. And suddenly, I'm being asked out, courted even, but not by the right guy. Girl. Mom.

Because I've let HER think we were simpatico.

WHEN WILL I EVER FREAKIN LEARN PEOPLE!!!!????

Yes I made some friends that are real friends. And more every day. I'm doing things I like with people I like and my cup is filling nicely. I'm not sitting here bitching that I don't know which dress I'm going to wear to the 4 proms I've been invited to. I'm just confused on how to navigate relationships with people who have an entirely different set of social engagement strictures.

I find myself, once again in the mist. Not midst. Mist. Can't see clearly anymore. I am - again - making the same mistakes.

Not addressing something out of respect for someone's different viewpoint, but frustrated at their continued insistence on expressing it. Letting something go 16 times and commenting on the 17th, only to have it backlash as me being intolerant. Participating in a relationship that I abhor, but have to sustain, to keep 13 other relationships that I am interested in exploring alive. Here I am again accidentally creating a false sense of intimacy with one person when all I really wanted was a gym buddy and chit chat pal, not a Friend friend. Once again I have confused someone by allowing them to think I cared about them personally when in fact I care about EVERYBODY personally and I was only trying to be nice. To help them. I assumed once they got on their own two feet they’d move ON. I didn’t think we were friends.

My friend Cindy pointed out that I might just be leading Mommy’s on.

“Think about it” she said. "You’re outgoing, you give them your number, you listen, you invite them over – they think 'Great, I met a friend' and you're thinking ‘Terrific, she feels better. Now fly away butterfly, for I have made you strong.’ It’s like approaching a guy and telling him how amazing he is...to set him up with your friend.”

And then i thought "Oh shit. I know what she means. Because Ive been accused of this particular crime before...

Am I? Am I a
…Mommy Tease?

Perhaps someone will create a new website for chameleon mommys. Call it match.mom

HOW I MET MY HUSBAND – Part One of a Really Long Two Part Post That Will Not Interest Anyone But Me (so you should skip it)

So I met my husband way back when (hello one year anniversary coming up) on match.com.

I love telling people that because they always want to point out to me how "great" they think that is, how they have a "friend" that did it, how sooo many people are "doing that now".

Tee hee.
Well THANKS! Thanks for validating me. Phew!
I was so stressed that I was a LOSER!!!!

Most people do mean it in a "so cool" way but there is oft an undercurrent of "Wow, so what, you were desperate, huh? Getting old, lonely, looking for love? Tick tock went the clock, eh?" followed by "So did your husband work for, like, a dot com? Tech nerd? Hard up?"

Noooo. Nooo. Not the case.
Here's the script on it.

I was cute. Personable. Friendly.
Not discriminating.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't mean "I had low self esteem and took anyone” not discriminating, I mean I was more "Oh that's so nice that you like me and while I don't really really respect you, who am I to think you aren’t good enough? Therefore, let's combine the conditioning of my Catholic upbringing i.e. turn the other cheek, sprinkle it with a little Love Story never saying you’re sorry, add a dash of good social etiquette and toss with a value system created with overarching maternal codependent guilt, and then pair the whole thing with a healthy sense of post therapy 80s everyone-should-be-accepted-for-‘Who-They-Are’ mentality, and sure, I guess we could date."

The fact is, I’m hard wired to be courteous. And by courteous I don’t mean polite, I mean 1 : marked by polished manners, gallantry, or ceremonial usage of a court 2 : marked by respect for and consideration of others.

So not only do I reservations about you, but I'm now going to be supremely interested in you because I believe in social courtesies.

Yeh. I’d be everyone’s favorite date. (Narcissist? Table for ONE!) I’d sit there, nodding and smiling, and listening to stories and thinking "My god, this guy’s a fucking idiot. Who works on 100% commission at 31? WHAT???? You have bad credit from a vacation with your ex? Huh?” but coming out of my mouth I'd be saying "Oh I can see how that could happen." Because, actually, I COULD see how it could happen. So he'd feel happy and understood, and I'd feel happy THAT I understood, and it would never occur to me to admit that "Just because I understand, doesn't mean I don't think you're an idiot."

PLUS I’d hear all these voices (and hey, not all internal voices either) saying “Oh so all you care about is money?” or "But is he a NICE guy, because that’s what really counts” and "No one's PERFECT Deborah" and I’d end up “Giving him a chaaaannnnnnce” because "you never know".

I’d lean forward, I murmer, I’d see his point of view. And if he was a nice enough guy, I'd just assume that my standards were too high. I’d convince myself that I had been mistaken. And then I’d be stuck. Dating someone with a Fatal Flaw that I sorta kinda doubted all along.

That was my dating MO. And, to a certain degree, some friendships. I’d meet a girl, and she’d be great in some super fantastic way but I’d hear an obvious warning bell. “Oh that’s just you being judgmental” I'd think. DANGER WILL ROBINSON And I’d ignore it. And eventually, could be years later, could be days later, the thing we’d end our relationship over would be…guesses anyone? Anyone paying attention? You got it.

One day, after many dark days, I woke up thinking “You know what? Fuck you. I'm not that stupid. I'm capable of being objective, of being discerning. If I think someone’s an asshole, they very well are. It's no coincidence that all the coworkers I've ever hated get laid off in the first round of downsizing. If I hated 'em, other people likely did to" So that’s it, I’m done. I'm done with giving chances, I’m done with turning the other cheek, I’m done seeing the other guys point of view. I don't care that you don't have money. I DO care that you are so stupid that you can't see that your boss is using you and that 100% commission is a bad idea unless you are actually talented. And what, you DIDN'T know you had to pay back a credit card? My issue is with your instincts and your choices. Dumbass.

If you grow up being told to “give everyone a chance” and “accept people for who they are” after a while, you end up with a coterie of narcissistic people that you don’t give a shit about, who don’t even KNOW you and you ask yourself “How Did I Get This Way?”

You've subvert your own instincts and intuition because you've thought something negative and that dogma doesn't allow for anyone to be wrong. The result: You attract and sustain relationships with people who engage in behaviors that OTHERS would reject them for.

Oh but I didn't mean Accept EVERYONE, I meant be OPEN to it.

Yeah, well no one taught me that. Apparently that critical piece of information is missing from the Free to Be Me and You handbook. Because their isn't a Chapter Titled "Some people ARE wrong sometimes and some people DO suck and It's Perfectly OK not to give them a chance."

As it turns out, and ah thank god for "Blink" because I don't need to waste a paragraph here explaining myself. I finally acknowledged that my judgment was sound. I started to agree with an old Dennis Prager theory that "No, it’s NOT intentions that matter, it’s actions." Instead of just handing over the benefit of the doubt, methinks I’m actually going to see if someone merits it.

"But didn't you think you deserved BETTER?" you're wondering. (Well you aren't actually. What you are really wondering is JUST HOW LONG IS THIS POST?)

Hell ya, I deserved the best.
And I DID insist on it.
I'd march right into a store, stalk directly to the sale rack and select the BEST of what was on clearance.
Do you want to find alligator cowboy boots they just put on sale?
But then that day I decided then that I was going to start shopping retail, Metaphorically.
I joined match.

"So rebound?" you’re thinking. “Anger?”
Good lord no.
Discriminating, actually.

Yep. I thought about the guys I had dated, the woman I had befriended, the absolute atrocities I put up with because "Hey, I wasn't perfect and who was I to judge" and I thought "But what would it be like set a standard of both traits and behaviors that I find acceptable and then hold to it?"

Ohhh, a novelty.
Setting the bar and making someone ELSE meet it.
So I did it.
...and I was RUTHLESS.
I stayed focused. I wasn’t going to talk myself into something, or somebody. I wasn’t going to peek at their cards and say “Oh yeah, I can be that. I can do that.” Oh, you need to give everyone a chance Well, no. Actually I don't. I'm not the UN or a social service agency. I'm not Catholic Charities. I simply decided that for once, I’d look at my checklist first vs filling someone else's.

It wasn't going on match that found me my husband. It was going through the experience of admitting that I had criteria, and actually acknowledging, to myself, that I didn't want the issues clouded.

Suffice to say, I dated the hubster, amongst other, till hubby said "I’m done with you dating other men". Although not IN LOVE yet, we both had the wherewithal to negotiate an agreement that if we fell in love, we'd marry, and if we didn't feel it, we'd end it in 3 months. I think my words were to the effect that I wasn't a lease car, you had to actually buy off the showroom floor. His were that he was an adult and was smart enough to snap up a good deal when he saw it.

Yes dearies, my husband thought I was a value buy.

And here we are today.
Super freaking happy.
And most of our choices are easy, because we had a similar value system and because we analyzed each other before even bothering to fall in love.

"Why's you get married" our table companion asked this summer.
In unity we replied "Taxes!"

What’s my POINT. Oh god, a whole blog for this one tiny fricking point.
Which is, really Part Two....of a Really Long Two Part Post That Will Not Interest Anyone But Me (so you should skip it)

Thinking Outloud

I went for a walk tonight and in no particular order had the following thoughts.

Q. What would happen if I put my ipod earbuds in right to left. Like, I put the R in my L ear and vice versa. Would it make THAT much of a difference? I grant you, if I'm listening to the Who (and I won;t be but I digress) and they want to get all stereophonic and come in one ear and out the other, does it matter which ear hears what at which time? Can my brain just as aptly process the sound is it's presented in the reverse ear?
A. No idea. Will google then ask brother T.

Q. If a crazy random mugger man ran up beside me and somehow pushed Ellie's stroller into the lake, and I ran down, pulled her back, would I know CPR?
A. No. I need to refresh myself. She's 18 months old. I've forgotten. Also, the hospital can't actually refuse to give me my child. Next time, if there is a next time, I'm not watching the stupid video the night I bring bring a baby home. Dumbasses.

Q. Who really drives bright red chevys anymore?
A. I saw a young Italian looking kid in what appears to be a newer version of what looked like an oldstyle circa 1985 Thundebird. Hmm. Really. And yes, I know Chevy didn't make Thunderbirds. It just looked like one. It may have in fact been an Impala. Or a Malibu. But it just seemed very Richard Gere American Gigolo.

Overheard

Husband wiping El after dinner:
"Calm down Ellie, we're not waterboarding . I'm just wiping your face"

While You Were Out

We were looking for a babysitter for Thursday. We had a few options,but none that fit quite right. On the one hand, I'm thrilled that of my two, one was going to Florida to teach at a Montessori school for a semester while the other was busy being inducted into the National Honor Society.

Good babysitters that.

But we were in a bind.

As a last resort, I called my mother. Tuesday. She's actually really really good with Ellie as is her husband. I just don't think of them because they aren't "those" kind of grandparents.

She's at work, we talk briefly. She says "Yes, but we'll confirm the details tonight." That night I head out for a knitting circle. The change over from me to Doug took some time. I intended to call her, but alas.

Soon after I got in that night, my husband says
"Oh your mother called"
"What did she say?" I asked.
"Oh we talked about the election. She voted no on taxes, no on pot and yes to get rid of dog racing"
"I mean, what did she say about Ellie?"
"Oh, she'll watch her. I told her you'd call her tomorrow."
"Was that it?" I said.
"Well, that was it about Ellie. But we talked for like 10 minutes. She was fine, she's so funny."

Great I thought. Perfect.

So the next morning I call her office. Into voicemail I leave a cheery breezy message. "Hey,it's me. I'm on my way to the church. This groups going until 11 then I have a pediatrician appointment until 12:30, then likely I'll be getting her down for a nap. Why don't i call you tonight? and hey, thanks again for watching her. We really couldn't go otherwise." etc etc. All casual and nonchalant. Thanks Mom!

That night (and bear with me, there's a reason for this long set up) in comes my husband.

"We all set for tomorrow
"I think so. I mean, I called her and left her a message."
"Good" he said, and left the room, taking his suit jacket off en route. "Cmon Ellie, lets go upstairs and do push-ups"

We get through pushups, dinner, a bum change and some playing before I finally said:
"Oh shoot" I need to call my mother."
It's 9:30 mind you. About 30 hours later from when she called.

"Hey Mom, it's me"
"Oh hi"
"What's up"
"Just laying down. I'm kind of tired"
"I'm sorry, I know you are beat with work. I feel so bad about having to ask you to sit..."
She interrupts "Really, it's no problem. We are looking forward to it"
a few more sentences then
"And I'm going to leave work early"
Now I feel like a shit.
"DON'T DO THAT" I said "My god, I don't want you to leave work just so Doug and I can go out. That's ridiculous"
"Oh it's FINE" she said "I told my boss that my father died. He doesn't know if I'm leaving for that reason or a different one. So it's not a big deal"

????
!!!!!
????????

"Your father died?" I asked.
"Yes. Didn't Doug tell you?"
"No. Oh my god. When?"
"Yesterday"

????
!!!!!
????????

NO. Oh my god no. No Ma. My husband did NOT tell me your father died. No, my husband told me about the election, your day at work, HIS day at work, the pushups he did, how he liked dinner, but no. NOPE. NO-PER. Uh uh. My husband did NOT in fact mention that your father died.

"UM. Honey? Sweetie? Can you come in here for a minute?"
"Sure. What's up"
"..Did my grandfather die yesterday?"

My poor husband. I have never EVER seen him so red. EVER.
Thank god my mother and I have a good sense of humor. I laughed so hard I sat on the floor coughing up 1/2 a lung. My mother told me she had tears running down her face.

"I forgot"

Yes, yes you DID!