Christmas 2009

Lester & Me

I have this lump.
It's big - big big for a lump. Maybe 2 inches, a little less.
It moves, shifts if you will, - anchored in place by connective tissue but like a ball under a sheet you can press around it to rotate it.

I also have the TINIEST boobs on the planet.

So it's like "Here's NearlyA boob one, here's NearlyA boob two, and here's Lester. The lump."

I saw a doctor a couple of years ago.
"Oh what a lovely lipoma! It's just beautiful."
me: "LYMPHOMA??"
Him: "Lipoma. Fat. It's a big lump of fat."

My husband can see it from outside of my clothes.
Him: "Your shirt's wrinkled"
Me: "That's Lester"
Him: "You should get that checked"

So it's now really five years or so since I had Lester checked. He's not growing, not painful. He just...sits there. When I work out he looks bigger, when I don't, he retreats into the company of other fat cells.

Back then I asked my doctor.
Me: "Can I have it removed?"
Dr: "You could but why would you undergo a procedure when you can just leave it alone. If you treat it, you'll have a scar. So scar, or lump?"
Me: "So what can I do?"
Dr: "Well you could gain weight." chortle chortle "Then you won't notice it."

That doctor. He's a barrel of fun.

This morning I put on a pastel pink lycra tank top.
For BootCamp.

And saw my third boob.
Prominently.
One.
Two.
Three.

And I think Lester days are numbered.

There's a Spy Amonst Us

So my girlfriend posted to facebook today about their Elf on the Shelf. Apparently it's inspired by a children's book and this elf sits on your shelf, watches your kids and reports back to Santa as to whether they have been bad or good.

I'm sorry but creepy much?
I think.

Not that I don't see the inherent cuteness.
I used to wish the "good fairies" and "bad fairies" that lived on our shoulders - as told to us by MaryJean Rafferty, babysitter - were real, and I think children should believe. In something.

But threats?
Covert operations?
Spies amongst us?
Rewards for good behavior?
Bribery?

meh. I think not.

And as far as a fairy overseeing our shenanigans? I have enough difficulty with Jonathan Edwards style "crossing over" - thinking my poor dead grandmother is watching me shrill like a fishwife. I don't need some snotty little fairy carrying tales.

Nobody likes a gossip.

My husband’s parents left about an hour ago.
We’re both still a little confused.

Out of the five of us, four cried at the door. My father-in-law, who himself walked away from Ellie’s tears. Ellie, who spent two glorious days in arms, M&M’s aplenty but moreso with her two best friends, me for her loss and my only sadness that they live so far away and my mother-in-law. Who held it together regardless. My husband, the most practical of us all, had two helpings of chicken potpie. On the couch, as I asked him to leave the room while I decompressed.

For two days my house felt homey. Maybe it was the warm weather, or the fact that we raked, we fixed gutters. Maybe it was the frosted pumpkin bread, the 24 hour soccer match with the television remote set to toggle back and forth to Noggin. Maybe it was four of us sleeping peacefully, my husband and I knowing that should Ellie cry Geandma was in bed nearby, and she and her husband sleeping knowing that the dogs neednt be let out. Maybe it was all four of us, united, enjoying my daughter, enjoying the company of one another, the home, the food.

My fathering law and I raked in the dark Friday night, by the back porch light. We had two bags of our own, plus five from the neighbor, then another one borrowed. We didn’t talk much, we alternated blower vs rake. Maybe we talked about overpaying for the landscaper who bricked off the side, and who dumped bad loom onto our land. Later Saturday, my father-in-law raked up over the bad patch and pulled up a bucket full of stones and glass. “Lazy he was, I tell ya and I’ll not be talking about another mans work” in his thick brogue. Over 30 years here and he still has the soil of Ireland in his boots.

I must have left the room a dozen if not two dozen times. My daughter certainly didn’t need me. I sat, then stood, paced then sat again. What DO you do with free time? I plotted and planned to eat less this week, I strategized what I could sneak into their bags home. I combed every conversation for clues as to Christmas wishes and gift ideas. While they both played with Ellie. On the floor, from the couch, for walks and bike rides. I’m not sure if Ellie’s feet touched the ground and I know that other then a few stolen kisses and a bum change, I mostly washed dishes around everyone.

I spent a few minutes on the porch and my husband and I shared a rather more thoughtful deliberate kiss in the kitchen. Tomorrow I will wake up happy for having seen them.

But for the rest of today it feels like Christmas is over.
The house less vibrant, the walls less warm. the energy, the crackle. It's gome for a couple of hours until we call them again on the phone. "On the 'pooter" Ellie cried out for several minutes into her nap.

We'll have to wait for Grammie and Grandpa to get home before we can all see each other again.

PSA: Tips on Leaving Voicemail

After the beep, leave information that is concrete. It's not necessary to leave a frantic message with the cryptic "Call me back please" just to ask if I received the pictures you downloaded last night.

Further to that, if you want the name of the shoe store "where we got the purple crocs last fall" you can ALSO leave that as a message.

It goes something like this:
"Hi, it's me, Carla. Can you give me a call back. I'm looking for the name of the shoe store we went to last fall. The one where we got the purple crocs."

instead of:
"Hi. Its Carla" breathe heavily, frantically "I need you to call me right away. I have a question I need to ask you."

It's unnecessarily dramatic for a voicemail.

Coffee Talk

A actual conversation, or what passes as one.
This morning, 7am

Husband: leaving late for work, peering outwindow, observationally: "Oh, Steve's up early."
Wife: "Yeah, he goes to breakfast everyday. The Captains Place."
Husband: "I thought that was only sometimes."
Wife: "Nope, everyday."
Husband: "Huh" pause "Ahoy Matey" (waving to Steves truck)
Wife: "Thar he Goooooes"
Husband: "Aye Aye"
Wife: "YAR!"

The Final Straw... My Letter As Sent To My Mother...

I’m sorry that I lost my temper. In thinking about it I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m pretty angry. I think the conversation triggered an issue I have with you – with me about you. I can’t help but get mad at you for what I perceive as a lack of ownership as to how your actions and thoughts impact your reality.

I’m sorry that Laurie sending you the medal brought up feelings of sadness – and loss. Loss of what you want and desire in relationships with your grandchildren. And too, it must feel to you like “Why? Why am I on the outside looking in.”

Through the years I’ve tried to talk to you. And at times tried to cushion you from pain. I have tried to guide you to realizations that in part, your actions play a role. But you have assumed I was blaming you. Im not. One of the things you learn in business, and in therapy, and in life – is that at times you have to cope with what’s in front of you – as it is – not as you want it – and that from that, you create the best possible outcome. And given a choice, at every choice, you seem to always pick them one that will inflame the situation.

While I felt bad that you felt upset, - I even told you how stupid I thought she was - I wanted to illustrate to you that sending BACK the token seemed reactionary, and yes, childish. And that fuels what is bad in your life – not good. I know you tend to hold on to that boomer post therapy mantra that “you need to do what’s right for you and why should Laurie hurt you but not you her” but that is so so typical of YOUR generation. You guys are stuck in the “I need to do what’s right for me” and yet you wonder how you raised a generation or what you perceive as people not doing what’s right for the whole.

In part YOU need to rise above things FOR YOU. Not because you owe it to Laurie because at what point can you acknowledge that you were not included or don’t have the relationship based in part on who YOU are. Accepting that is painful but lashing out, blaming, and pointing fingers without ever having the introspection to see your own part – is, well, not something I am going to continue to support.

People choose the relationship they have with people. As soon as you recognize that YES, people disappoint – and that you make a meal out of the leftovers – that’s when you’ll be happy. Every relationship I have is not fair, or good, but I let it be for the sake of having at least SOME relationships. Im not going to point out how I think your relationships could be cultivated because we have had, and hashed, that conversation – but I also am at a loss for what is a safe topic zone for us. I know you are hurt by the lack of a decent relationship with Bill and Melissa kids – blaming her that there is no relationship – but although she started it, your actions then contributed to it. You can’t acknowledge that its in your power to change it, and you don’t like the cost of doing so or the feelings of rejection around it.

The simple fact is over the last several years, I think you settled into a reality that places you as an outsider, and you as the victim. You are always well intentioned and you want to be seen that way, but you seem incapable of jumping into the shoes of those around you. To a degree, you desire that everyone treat you a certain way but appear unable to reciprocate. You cannot accept criticism, or blame. And even well intentioned suggestions – because honest to god your perfume IS too strong – are scorned. You disrespect what others ask of you (I say “please don’t do this and you say I’ll do whatever I want” then laugh -) You disrespect others opinions – yet demand people respect you

Im at a loss for how to say this so I’ll speak plainly. I don’t want to be a part of our relationship any longer. I take no pleasure and no comfort in it. As much as you feel sad about what you don’t have in your relationships, I too feel sad that my mother is who she is and that I don’t have the relationship that I want. I don’t like the way you act, and I don’t agree with how you think. You are a good warm funny kind person but all that is buried under these layers of anger, defensiveness and bitterness.

You point to the fact that we aren’t there because “This generation doesn’t respect their parents” You need to respect people to get respect. I hate talking to you because – for one, you are so so disrespectful of people. Of me, of peoples opinions, of others thoughts – feelings. Its so rare to have a glimpse of the soft, fun, personable you. For example - You have talked endlessly about things I have no interest in but I listen and talk about it with you. In fact, it’s ridiculous but when I picked you up at the airport you talked for 25 SOLID minutes (I started looking at the clock) about Danielle, her wedding, every minute detail down to the food – and when I interjected at 28 minutes about my life you actually said “This isn’t ABOUT you, we are the ones that went away.” A relationship isn’t a monologue. Its not about listening to you talk about your life, your job, your travel plans, your house renovations and your interests. It feels like you have no REAL interest in other peoples lives and when you DO ask me about something, and I tell you how I feel, you proceed to devils advocate and point out the other side.

Over 7 years ago, when I lived in W**d on E** Street, I told you our relationship was in jeopardy and that it needed to change. I’ve had therapy And I think that it might be time for YOU to consider talking to someone too.Not because of ME – but because I think I see IN YOU the need for it. And I don’t think I’m alone.

I don’t know. I feel bad. I know there are so many good things about you – you sense of humor, your love of silly things, the way you play with Ellie on the floor, with ALL the grandkids. That you like beaches, and North Conway. I see an awesome person I’d love to spend time with – but in your mind, there is so much shit. It’s a landmine. And its just not easy to be authentic with you because you REALLY and I mean REALLY wont look at reality. You and I aren’t capable of having a good or honest relationship and I think it’s you now, not me.

I think for the last several years I’ve “shown up” because I am trying to protect you, I don’t want you to feel the pain of not having relationships, or holidays, or whatever. But as you know, seven years ago I asked for change, and even more recently. And you are the same. So I hold you at an arms length because YOU are unable to be truthful with yourself. And to be fair, you don’t really want it to be better. You just want the trappings. The dinners, the vacations together, the obligatory holidays. You just want us to toe the line. Im not going to do that anymore. Im not coming for Christmas. I don’t want to. It isn’t my job to show up at every occasion, birthday, holiday etc because no one else does and try to “create” the illusion of a family event. It’s not fair to me, or to Doug. And I’m sorry. And I don’t value the time together any longer because our relationship just isn’t that good. I don’t want to be in it – and its not possible to work on it any longer.

When you moved to NJ, you said “Ive paid my dues, it’s my turn now. You kids will grow up and leave, I need to put my husband first” Understand that it’s my turn now. I’ve paid my dues.. I’ve come up when others haven’t. I’ve tried to make up for the fact that your other kids have been shitty. But its not fair to me. I thought years ago that it was worth having a relationship and that Id just set boundaries – and I thought too that once you felt the wall, youd feel the loss and maybe get help. Or ask why you were shut out. But you didn’t. And now, sadly, I just am at a crossroads. I don’t want to fight with you but I’m not interested in being in this totally fake cant say anything relationship. You like who you are and you don’t want to change. I don’t like who you are becoming and I’m not interested in being in a relationship UNLESS you change. So we are at an impasse.

As far as coming for Halloween, that’s too bad. For you. Again, you are making the wrong choice I invited you to share what I’ve created here, to be a part of a nice holiday. I invited you to partake in something that was about Doug Ellie and I - to reach out to you and have you share in a “family” thing like you are always wanting to create. You want to lash out because you are angry.. So what have you gained? You’ve isolated yourself further. Is that what you wanted?

Listen – I think you were acting like a baby. A huge baby. A pain in the ass baby. That’s the facts. And maybe if I didn’t bite my tongue so often, I could have let it go. But I didn’t. So the cat is out of the bag, and the milk is spilled and perhaps this is for the best.

But just so you know, I’m not planning on calling or reconnecting this year. I think you should consider getting therapy and I have a terrific referral for a practice in Winchester. If you go, I’ll go with you. But otherwise, I’m not going to reconnect this year. I’ll email you after January 1, 2010 to see where we are.

That's ok, Sometimes Things Happen

I'm sitting at the table eating my third Reeses Peanut Butter Cup.
Wait, I'll be right back.
Make that my fourth.

And very likely I'm going to regret it.

Considering I just chased a bowl of cold pasta, tossed with tuna, sweet relish, mustard, celery and mayo. At 8:30. When I had popcorn at 7:30. and I think RitzCrackers with peanut butter at 7:00. Just after the spoonful of sauce I had at 5. Which followed oh, something or other at 3. Was it salad? I think it was.

I should feel bad. In fact I do feel bad.
Because it's wholly repugnant and shows a complete lack of respect for myself - and the myriad yet shortening hours at the gym I've spent since August 1. With nary a pound off and only slightly firmer thighs.

I also feel bad that I'm sneaking a post in when Ellie is clearly UP watching wonderpets, without a bath, with a proper bedtime story, awake. Something I will, in fact, pay for tomorrow.

Her Halloween costume for tomorrows parade is ...somewhere. As is the glass of water I pour but never drink, and I think very likely I owe somebody somewhere an email and a call back. I also need to figure out a primary care physician tomorrow and why the list won't download off the physician site, and I should check exactly when we got the first of her two flu shots, who the contact is at SBLI my husband used and how I can tie my auto insurance to his at Progressive. I wonder how I can create outfits for her two skirts I impulsively bought full price at the Childrens Place and never returned thus finally took the tags off. There is laundry needing to be folded, and other laundry to be put away, and a box of craft supplies in the car from last weeks church group.

And instead of moving forward, I ate.
Ate and ate to no good effect because it was simpler and quicker then making a real meal. So I snacked through five thousand calories. In one day.

Instead of doing anything productive, worthwhile or that would make me feel better.

And you know what.
That's fine.

Because tomorrow is another day.
And it's actually ok.
Because sometimes things happen.

You Are Not Alone

My sister's sense of humor is notable.

For it's quirkiness, for her straightman to your clown, for the fastest barb in the west. She changes her ringtones to suit her, and your, mood. For a while her phone rang with the dulcet lisp of her 4 year old (now 7) chirping "Oh shit, it's Daddy again" and a few moments in lifetime ago "You are Not Alone" by Micheal Jackson. Not because she needed a pep talk - but because , dammit, with two kids, two jobs, sports events, dance practices, and being the pied piper - the woman was, is, NEVER alone.

Which isn't my point at all. Nor will it even point to where I'm going next. It was just the title that struck me today.

Because I have a dirty little shameful secret that's not so shameful or secret.
I have - as I have said - something akin to jealousy for someone. For two someones in fact, but truly for one, someone I don't know.

I stumbled across her blog a year? Two years? ago and I read her, and another - man - almost exclusively. I follow a few of their friends via their blogrolls, I click, I loiter - but it's these two that I read religiously. Because they amaze me. I like them. I like them as people, I like them as writers. I like the way they think, I like who they are. I like the way they parent, the way they participate in life, and I like - very much - what they have to say, how they say it and how they frame it for the world around them.

When things go wrong (as they sometimes will...) I hide from these two writers. Why? I have no idea. I think because what consumes me is so small, and then I read them and feel smaller. They don't know if I read, if I'm looking, if I'm "listening" but I hide nonetheless because I realize that I'm petty. I'm less when I should be more. And just the narcissism of not bothering to READ someone elses viewpoint because you are too consumed with your own, is, for me, shameful.

So I've hid. I've avoided their blogs because they make me feel ashamed for not being a better version of myself. Their world expands while I'm consumed by narrow. And in trying to insulate myself from...pain for lack of a better word...the pain of being embarrassed, I shutting myself off from something that could instead inspire me.

So I struggle with that. the "Getting Over Myself" aspect of it. I get mad that instead of coming out I retreat in.

And then one day, I wake up stronger - and decide that I don't suck - that I feel human again, so I drag out my bookmarks - and I find them again.

And today I read that one of my two. Is. Depressed.
Chemically so.
And that she struggles too.

And I know that I walk through my life undiagnosed. I know that my issues are chemical, I know that it gets dark, then light again, and I fight it "on my own" but really if ever there were a candidate for medication, it would be me. And I think this hereditary battle is one that has been with me for so long that I can't conceptualize a life without it. But I know that the wagon wheel turns, that the ferris wheel of life has ups and downs, and that in the end, this too will pass - both the bad AND the good. So I push through. Sometimes head high, sometimes head down. Sometimes I stop other times I'm running. But most importantly, I move forward. And imagine my surprise when I saw that the blogger I very likely admire most - feels - ,in some ways, similar.

You are not alone.

So little blogger gal just so you know, I admire you in more ways then this post has words. And thank you for sharing.

"Right" Said Fred

After a riproaring night of my emasculating my husband over our nonexistent sex life

(this went something like...
Him: midsex Nah. I'm just not that interested. Are you tired?
Me: annoyed. am ovulating. supposed to procreate, his choice moreso then mine "Why do I always have to bring my 'A' game? Can't you be interested anyway???? I mean it's like pizza at a hockey rink. So it's not the best pizza but it's still food. I mean, unless your getting it somewhere else this is the only sex your getting so even if it's not that great you could still act interested..."
Him: sighing, eyes rolling "Right...

today I received The Company Store catalog

A feat unto itself, by the way, as I am on every "Do Not Direct Mail" list ever.

and I see the Holy Grail of Christmas gifts.
My must have.
My gimme gimme.

I see:
Which, of course, I run to price at Landsend.com and check to see if they have it in my sisters colors and size too. Ah, what could be nicer. The gift of softness, and with a hood too, in 6 "luscious" colors. Or is it colours when they are called "baked apple" and "otter"?

I love it.
I need it.
I must have it.

I start to build a weekend around it. I picture cozy night in, watching tv. Maybe some fuzzy socks, my knitting, some tea. Cuddling with Ellie.

Then I saw it.
In the far right corner.
And I realized "It's Not All Your Fault, Husband"



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My Horoscope

Group relations
Valid during several days:
During this time you tend to think about your goals and expectations in life. You will examine your ideals to find out exactly how well they have served you and to what extent you have attained them. You should also think about whether your goals are really your own or whether they are in part other people's goals that you have adopted for yourself. In the latter case, decide whether these goals are appropriate for you. At this time you need and will have more verbal and intellectual exchanges with friends and with other groups that you are associated with. Talking over your problems with friends will be especially helpful in reaching an objective viewpoint. But keep in mind that talking things over with friends cannot free you from prejudices and preconceptions that are held by the entire group.

I woke up this morning thinking "My husband is going to have a heart attack"
Not now, not lying next to me - but someday.
Because we eat late, we eat poorly, he sleeps terribly, his commute is awful, and our life is no fun.
Pretty heavy shit for 4am.

So I did what I always do.
I got up, went downstairs, and imposed order on our lives.
I took everything not related to food or food prep off the kitchen counters, washed dishes, then I baked.
I checked my online calendar - I stopped writing this post to send an email - I came back.
I canceled myself out of knitting tonight - why pay a sitter to knit when Ellie can just go to bed early and I'll be home when he gets here?

And I thought.
Then I looked up real estate closer to his office.
Because in as much as we may like our lives "up here" - at what cost? Commuting over 2 hours a day and locked into a pattern taht isn't rewarding. His getting up at 6, getting home at 6:30 does what for him? For me? To us? For who?

Lately I've been sad. Not depressed but struck dumb somehow by the familiar lament of why does everything seem so much work. Why are we having the same stresses, same conversations, same feelings and why aren't we moving past it.

Or more aptly said "What am I doing wrong?"

This morning it occurred to me that the mantra I've lived by - "the key to being happy is being happy with what you get" is teetering closely on codependent claptrap. If you have something that's not GOOD, reconciling yourself to it over and over, and failing to recognize that it just isn't working, well that's not really being happy with it. That's hiding from the fact that its not going to make you happy.

Oh sure would uprooting us be a good thing? Leaving friends, leaving the library, the schools, the community, the familiar. Is chucking it all so my husband can have better quality of days - maybe a gym in the morning, a less stressful commute on the way home - is that overall trading one issue for another? Possibly.

But we've given living this way, this life a chance and neither of us is enjoying it anymore. And it's insane to think that picking yourself up by the bootstraps each day, and "girding your loins" for a new day is changing things.

I keep thinking "maybe if I were more social, maybe if we did more social things, maybe if we weren't so insular, maybe if I was willing to fly" - I keep looking at what's not fun and I know with every fiber of my being that it's me. I'm not fun. I'm not adventurous. I'm a boring dull plough horse that knows how to work, work, work. I get "things done" but I'm scarcely fun - and I think "If only I were DIFFERENT" we'd be having a better time.

I try to reinvent me. Us. I go online, I look up festivals, carnivals, outings. I create scenarios that I think will engage us, that weill make us more outgoing creatures.

Then my husband is indifferent. So we fight each weekend that we never DO anything - yet he never wants to do anything and he bitches and begrudges going to things - then laments that we don't. I canceled us out of every weekend birthday party this summer because he felt they were "holding us back" from doing things - then we never did things.

I keep thinking that I just need to pinpoint the RIGHT thing. That if I create the right situations, the right intimacy in friendships, that if I strike the right chord - it will resonate and it will all make sense. I keep thinking "We have this foundation, we can't abandon it" but really, what's the point in staying up here connected to all these "friends" that we never hang out with, never have dinner with, never socialize with - friends that are friends in title but would they really miss us (see: water in bucket theory)- what's the point in staying here if all we do is stay here.

The Roof Is Leaking

I go back in my head to times long gone, better left unreviewed. What is it, what is it about having had a child that makes me flash back and further back into a life that I neither care to examine, nor frankly care to remember.

Is it having too much time?
Is it having my metaphorical house (relatively) in order therefore my mind has decided to clear out the attic of the rest of the boxed away stuff?

I drove down the highway today thinking about the prom my school had junior year, an ex I had when I was 30, and how much god awful horribly painful stuff lingers in my mind. I know that's it fear, and shame, that cement memories, so much more then love and guidance but honestly, isn't there a corner of my subconscious that has a nightlight on?

You know when they say "Think back to a happy memory"?
I tend to be like "Where? When?"

It's not that I'm unhappy now, in fact just the reverse.
So why - and I really wish I knew why - why in gods name is everything coming back to me now?

Growing Up

"I hate to dispel the myth" he said as he walked up from the basement, roll of Bounty in hand "but there is no paper towel fairy. It's me. I'm the one who changes all the rolls."

Yesterday, All My Plastic Seemed So Far Away

From my "I have no garage thus garage sale" sale... Selling: Little Tikes primary color "Wave Climber". Used outdoors (surprise!) this toy has been scrubbed yearly with baking soda and vinegar mixture as well as sprayed periodically with a vinegar hydrogen peroxide solution to discourage backyard(igan) animals from nesting (and ants from gathering). So it's relatively clean. Fading consistent with age. Can be disassembled (with swearing and elbow grease) and my hose is your hose to clean the corners. This is good for smaller backyards.

Feeling guilty about selling so likely won't negotiate on price (unless you buy all my other listings) - $15.

colors (and age) differ
http://www.littletikes.com/toys/wave-climber.aspx
Product Size 51.00"L x 42.00"W x 52.00"H / 80.00 lbs.

Also for sale: Pink Cozy Coupe - no seatbelt $5, Red rideon thing with door and canopy cover (too lazy to look up name - totally beat up) $1, pink bigwheel (no foot pedal) $1, Little Tikes Basketball Net (photo shows no net. Net was washed today with vinegar and dishsoap and is line drying in basement) $3

We cleaned out the yard, washed off some things, and I sold Ellie's "wave climber" and her little Tykes Pink Pushcar yesterday. I've gotten rid of some toys, some clothes, but the climber and the car have done me in. I'm not sure why. Am I pushing her through stages? She played with it all through April, through May - then we had all the work done and the yard was useless. Doug said she outgrew it, I say she had other things to do and would have come back to it. When other kids played here the climber was toy celeb.

Is this part of wanting your children to have what you didn't? Is this about the vision of her playing on it throughout childhood? Am I projecting into the future her sitting on the shelf playing peekaboo and laughing. She is so young. Did I get rid of it before she was ready? Why oh why was it so important yesterday?
Oh sure it collected spiders, and leaves, and dirt. It killed the yard, it killed the aesthetic, it's about to be winter, it seemed like a good idea.

Was it the $15 dollars? Surely not. We turned around and spent $15 on face painting and icecream at the pumpkin fair. Why oh why did we sell it and why am I so upset? Will the yard look better? Surely. Do I miss it? Likely not. Will she miss it? Meh. She may. Possibly but she got - instead - 2 scooters and a bike. So what's the issue today?

I don't really want to think about it.

Dear Facebook "Friend"

Thanks so much for reaching out to me via Facebook the other day. Imagine my great delight when I saw your face flash across my screen. Has it been 25 years? It seems like just yesterday that my childhood and teen years were horrendous beyond lifetime movie belief and even after all those years of therapy, I love how seeing your face puts me right back in time. HOW FUN! And look at you! You look totally different - like someone I don't even know. Well, I suppose that's accurate because I don't even know you.

Other then the fact that we used to be friends and ....wait a minute...that's right....we aren't now. Because something happened. We either grew up, moved on, or parted ways because one of us hurt the other. What was it again? Try as I might to block it out I vaguely remember you vividly in detail. Thanks for reconnecting and bringing it all top of mind.

Seriously? Whyever would we talk again? Ever?


I cleared my friend requests box of 7 different people.
God love those with reasonable formative years.

For Sale

I'm down in the basement looking at all my gently used, only one child owned items and am already plotting my future yardsale.

INFERTILITY YARDSALE!
My losses your gain!

The prices are IN-CONCIEVABLE!
Something for every ONE.

Sigh. I tried this line out at a playdate, no one laughed.

"It's hard for people who work full time to understand why someone who's home full time is always busy."
- god it still haunts me.

So just in case he calls tonight:

WHAT I DID TODAY - EST

5:41am Woke up to sounds of child crying woefully for stuffed dog by name.
6:00am 20 minutes later being kicked by said child who cannot sleep
6:21am Berated by husband for not informing him of alarm clock malfunction.
7:00am Showering. Shaved Nixonesque 12-hour leg stubble.
7:10am Using ecofriendly coffee pod. Wash, rinse, repeat. The coffee, mysteriously, sucks
7:20am Reading and responding to email messages
7:25am Drafted invite to psychic party
7:28am Emailed psychic to gauge interest
7:40am finish feeding cherub
7:45am Washing dishes, cleaning kitchen, recycling
8:00am Change cherub, coordinate daily schedule, gather receipts, returns, bring in paper, bring up shoes, bring down "to go" items. Dress child. Wonder if fingerprint size bruise on leg will be understood as changing injury vs child abuse.
8:35am Leave for childrens gymnastics at "the baby gym"
8:40am Arrange afternoon playdate via tel
8:43am Call and berate...call and ASK...contractor to please please please finish work
8:55 am Arrive at "baby gym"
9:00 am Chase child on equipment 1 hour, chase runny nose for what feels to be several more
10:00am Call Dr to request earlier appt time
10:01am graciously accept denial for earlier appt time
10:10am Arrive at TJMaxx for returns
10:14am Return neatly presented and receipt accompanied purchases to sullen, morose moody shop girl
10:22am Practice what appears to be deep knee bends and hatha yoga positions while in actuality writhing on filthy floor looking for binky
10:25am Explain for 4 minutes to hyper-intelligent toddler that the binging sound is not if fact a microwave but the stores alarm system. Continue to explain.
10:42am Gather purchases to include 1 birthday gift and 2 Christmas gifts (yet no Halloween costume)
10:46am Call HIV positive crazy lady shut-in to ascertain if shes alive or in a heap at bottom of steps. No answer. Mildly curious.
10:47am Endure cries of toddler - overtired & not wanting to see Dr for fear of shots
11:00am Arrive Dr - promise child repeatedly that today is a "no shot" day. Assure and reassure.
11:20am See Dr to discuss respiratory issues.
11:30am Reminded that child needs flu shot.
11:33am Stare into tiny face and apologize. Receive flu shot
11:45am Leave exam room for front desk to pay outrageous copay
11:55am See attractive SAHM, feel jealously for her innate style and fashion sense, internally admire hair and figure, secretly think child (mine not hers) is cuter, thus only salvation in this equation where I am obviously so unequal - engage is remarkably chatty chit chat only to have uber fashionable SAHM remark on familiarity, and realize woman recognizes self from old job. Kibbitz. Find out she hates former boss (mine own good friend). Glance at log book. Notice name of first boyfriends daughter, conceived out of wedlock while boyfriend was dating self, realize self is in waiting room with wife of first boyfriend who purportedly hates self as boyfriend still carries 20 year old torch (and even older high school photo) causing wife anguish and apparently at least one case of vomiting after tears over apperent beauty of self.
11:56am Freeze and look around. Cannot see wife. Breathe out slowly.
12:00pm Call HIV shut in. Still no answer
12:04pm Tel again. Different exboyfriend. Can't be unhappy about his unhappiness with life, wife and teen child. Feel no compunction hanging up for pb&j.
12:10 No j.
12:13pm Feed child 3 oreos as "treat" (=reward) for inadvertently lying about the "no shots today" at the Dr.
12:20pm Clear entire table, pink shirt, two tiny hands, frothty tulle skirt of oreo debris
12:22pm Send email to church following up on our losing space for toddler group
12:35pm Call local "social club" (think KofC, VFW, Elks) to request space donation for toddler playgroup
1:oo pm Tear child from Wubbzy to take nap
1-3pm Call: Electric company about potential live wire uncovered under yard, write check, clear yard toys into neater pile, read friends blog, comment on blog, walk yard to ascertain state of bushes, rewash dishes, peel potatoes, carrots and chop onions, dice meat, make beef stew, notice electric company has been overpaid
3pm Child UP
3:10 Snacks
3:30 TV
4:00pm Feel guilty about leaving child in front of tv. Take child outside for scooter play and walk. Walk 1/2 way around block.
4:15pm Child wants big wheel.
4:16pm Walk home carrying child AND scooter.
4:20pm Get bigwheel.
4:24pm Chase child on bigwheel
4:45pm See neighbor. See other neighbor. Discuss paint colors. Admire renovations. Play on swings. Invite neighbors wife to structured church playgroup.
6ish Drag child home.
6:25 In Tub for Poop Fiasco Cleanup
6:40 Beef Stew for dinner (set table, pour drinks)
7:00 change and gather yarn for knitting
7-eternity Explain to husband that it's NOT helpful to rip wee child out of Mommy's arms while Mommy is trying to comfort child and say goodbye.
7:25 CVS for emotional eating candycorn binge to follow
7:35 Arrive stitch and bitch
7:36 Start candy corn
to 10 Stitch. Bitch
10:10 Arrive home
till 1 Prep preschool cirriculum - including songs, stories and crafts.
1:15 am BED!

so thats what I did.
Tuesday.
exciting? not so much. Interesting? only if you're me. Tiring? Yep.

A hanka for a hunka, a slab, a slice, a chunka

The thing about my sister having surgery is that it makes you rethink food. How much do we really need to eat? Do we chew? Why do we eat so much? So fast? What are we really putting IN our bodies? Is it really necessary?

I say this because I am craving - desirous of - coveting - plotting for - fantasizing about....

candy corn.

And I know if I get a bag, I'll eat a bag.

And I hear Ellie mewling from a late late nap upstairs. And I think to myself "It's 5 o'clock, Doug is not coming home, and we can walk to the park, by way of CVS, and she can climb and swing, whildst I have a candy corn dinner."

And it's a terrible terrible plan.
Yet one I'm about to execute.

And then I think about my sister with 32 oz of liquid food a day and I think "Really? a 16oz bag of sugar?"

Michelle Farted.

You know, like "Jesus Wept". The shortest verse in the King James Bible.
The quickest blog post ever.

So what happened?
Meh - what I always say. Things got busy, life got stressful, time was wasted, choices both good and bad were made.

Time Passes.
Michelle Farted.
Jesus Wept.

I can't go back and recreate the three months I didn't blog. In my head I can sort and sift and maybe I could piece together a semblance - some history - but to be frank I need to move forward so I can blog again.


So:
STUFF THAT HAPPENED
- My nephew went into the Marines. Time spent writing letters to him.
- I launched the Smallfries playgroup again, this time without the dubious benefit of my former partner aka Karen. I don't miss her. But it is in fact a shitload of work.
- We went to a wedding on Fire Island. I'm not laid back, we didn't enjoy it per se. Folks say "Oh but you had 4 days without Ellie, that must have been relaxing." Not really. It was 4 days in making chit chat. But it was beautiful, and we made friends, better friendships within friends I hould say, and I'm glad to have had the experience.
- My sister had bypass surgery. Thus "Michelle farted" My mother was obsessed - is obsessed - by whether she has "passed" anything. Many phone calls to her here. Time passes.
- My fathers wife (stepmother seems removed, second mother fine in vernacular, awkward in print) being a pain in the ass. Annoying me so. Annoyingly so.
- Visited the inlaws several times. Delightful. Dirty. But they love me daughter o' mine.
-Child. Started gymnastics again. Loves it.
-Child. Looking at preschools. Found one, too lazy to look for more. It's a montessori home school. 10 kids, private house. Don't love the other parents (but when do I ever?) But am content to have a January start.
- Decided on a Thursday sitter. 3:30 to 7 every week. Husband thinks it's a waste. I think I don't care. Will give me time to get a manicure, go for a walk, go to the library. Shop. Exercise. Whatever. Metime is a cliche but it's what I desire. Is it a waste of money? Maybe. Do we have the money? Yes. Is it ours to spend? Yes. Do we vacation? No. Do we own fancy cars? Hyundai and Honda? No. Do I buy full price? Retail even? No. Am I going to keep defending myself for having a cleaning woman and a weekly mothers helper? Yes.
- Realize I have no hobbies. Sad state of affair.
- Selling stuff on ebay, on Craigslist. Clearing out the house. As always.
- Undertaking cause ala Norma Ray. Gym needs vibrant playroom not empty running (read: dangerous) space. Drafting proposal to corporate. Annoyed with self.
- Still living like it's groundhog day (the movie) Still waiting to have fun. Annoyed that I'm a grind. Resolving to lighten up - make plans - have fun.
- Angsting over Halloween costume for child. Why? no idea.
- Almost done knitting poncho.
- Still coordinating the eventual production of "the maybe baby"
blah blah blah.

SUMMARY OF THINGS

Favorite recent memories:
Beach with Cindy, Yardsaling with Jess, A night in at Nicole's, going to the gym on Mondays and Fridays, shopping in Kittery with just Ellie, seeing Ellie ride her "bike" (big wheel) for the first time, getting letters from Greg, chatting politics with April, laughing lots with Doug, seeing cousin Chrissy in Maine and laughing on the blowup bed until our noses hurt, rasberry picking with Megan, sitting on Sharons porch knitting, all the summer birthday parties.

Funniest lines:
At a yardsale with Jess, birds chirping: Jess: "And obviously we've reached Snow Whites House..."

Via Cell phone, self to sister upon opening of Asian Food Superstore: "Well sure the lines were short but it took 25 minutes to get out of the parking lot" followed by "And 1/2 hour later I had to go grocery shopping again"

Things Ive decided I hate and will not do now that I am 40:
1. Eat at a Japanese Restaurant where they cook the food at the table.
2. Go to any in home parties (Southern Living, Mary Kay, Pampered Chef, Party Lites, Lia Sophia need I go on?)
3. care about my inability to wear a bikini

Things I miss doing:
1. Seeing my neices and nephews
2. Reading the blogs of friends
3. Dancing

Things I've recently rediscovered that I used to love doing:
1. exercising at the gym
2. watching LOTS of junky tv
3. drinking red wine
4. Talking to my sister on the phone

Things I want to do more of:
1. Spend more time at night with my husband vs doing house chores
2. walk outside
3. cook things I like
4. learn to golf
5. sit on my front porch
6. KNITTING

Things I thought I cared about but am sort of losing interest in:
1. woodworking & refinishing
2. Facebook

Whew.
So - we all caught up?
Pics to follow.

Money for Nothing

We waste - waste - money. We don't mean to and it sickens me but clearly we spend. I get manicures (maybe once a month?) I get pedicures (6x a year?) perhaps more. I pay to belong to a gym, as does my husband. We have FIOS, cell phones, a blockbuster online service (but we don't watch movies) two cars (gas and insurance) plus myriad plug and play devices leading to a larger electrical bill. We have label makers and headsets, and ipods and handsfree bluetooths. GPS for one car, Sirius Satellite for another.

It's awful.
I stress.
A lot.

We just finished a relatively expensive homerepair (siding and porches).

And yet.

We continue to spend.

We supplement his parents income monthly, I just wrote a check for gymnastics. I called a landscaper to fix the final piece of the home repair/renovation (unlevel side of house rendering planned for storage space useless)

I try. I try to contain things.

I don't allow bottled water (environmentally bad + waste of money. Use Brita) I try to recycle EVERYTHING (extremely stress inducing). I don't shop for Ellie (secondhand from cousin, friends or Walmart) nor do I shop for myself (oh but I should b/c my clothes are horrendous). Food I buy basics, fresh and onsale only. Takeout, we limit. Vacations? we never. Yet we spend. And spend and spend and spend.

Before I met my husband I spent 8 years in a 450 sq foot apartment. I had one set of dishes, one set of pans. Only three things plugged in - the microwave, the alarm clock and the tv. I didn't have cable, a computer, and my cell phone was considered newfangled. My Honda was 13 years old, and my tpass was well used. I was frugal - not cheap - and everything I owned could be stored, comfortably, in my apartment.

Here I am at wits end. I am like a dog circling before bed. I am George Carlin forever looking for a place to put my stuff. I am two hours into sorting a bagful - a BAGFUL - of papers. Of receipts, of invoices, of statements. Two hours in and in can't make hide nor hair nor head nor tail of half the shit I'm sorting through and it's causing my grave - and terrible - anxiety.

I am Lily Tomlin in search of a bathtub to sleep in.
I'm sure that reference is far to obscure. Even Google couldn't back me up.
What I mean is I am so friggin anxious that I'm about to break into a million pieces of glass shards if someone taps me on the shoulder and I'd feel a lot better if I could just hide in the bathtub.

The tub full of alphabet letters and special boarshead bristle shave brushes and razors that vibrate and a mirror that lights up and gets am/fm and three types of shave cream and two types of shampoo - none of which are mine because I don't believe in shampoo as the Sodium Laurel Sulfate isn't goofd for my aging coarse hair or the planet.

I blame myself but oh I want to blame Doug.
Because the more he buys and the less he takes care of things, the more I panic and try to establish order and contain things.

And lest you think me OCD and controlling, that's not it. I simply can't imagine why we have so much, need so much when it doesn't make life easier, me happier or either of us richer.

So I'm going back out.
To the office.
To continue sorting,
and filing, and stressing.
to reveiw the tangible reminders of money wasted.
Not well spent.
And to cancel Blockbuster.

When I am Old I Shall Not Wear Purple but I Will Be A Catakerous Old Bitch

I'm just ready to call Benjamin Ben, Matthew Matt and Nicolas Nick. Parents: Enough already with your narcissistic individuality. "I hate nicnames" Fine. So name your kid a one syllable name and be done with it. But please don't expect the rest of us to waste 16 vowels, 19 consonants and three syllables meticulously pronouncing your sweetums moniker.

Our Stance on Drugs in America

Tissues, wet, in front of the computer.
"Ew" I pick them up with a drier tissue.
"I'm sorry" he apologized. "I don't have a trash barrell"

Because at some environmental point in time I stopped getting trash bags at the grocery store thus no liners. Ergo the barrells go downstairs daily to be dumped, and washed.

"It's ok" I said to his rumaging back. "What are you looking for?"
"Something for my allergies." he muttered into the cabinet.
"Do we have..."
"Did you find..."
"Sudafed"

" I think it's on a lower shelf" I pointed.
He rumaged somemore.

"Down. Eat. Mommy? Ellie eat."
I picked up Ellie - binky in mouth, doggie in arms, as she thrusts her OTHER doggie, her bear, her spare binky into my arms.

Downstairs into the kitchen.
Coffeebrewing.

My husband, the mad professor, walks by ranting to himself.

"....stupid meth addicts..." rummages more in the downstairs cabinets. Gives up.
"I wouldn't care except Sudafed used to be cheap."

It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times

"I've been checking your blog" she said to me "but you stopped writing."

And not for any reason. Well, time I suppose. And the heat. And being tired. Too tired to write, too uncomfortable to type onehanded as my laptop resides under the bed then on it sporadically.

I joined a gym. So that forces me up, and out, and out early. Then we go - someplace - for the remainder of the morning. Then it's home, for lunch, a snack, and then I spend - could it be an hour? - cleaning up. The snacks, the car, whatever bags I packed for the morning. Swimsuits and sunblock, juice cups and cracker packets. Cell phones and gym shoes, they tumble in then out again. I vow before bed "I'm going to start packing at night - so tomorrow is easier. But each day I climb into bed tired - thinking "I'll read email - I deserve a treat." And the packing never happens.

My father said to me "It's not easily understood - to someone who works - who works outside the home, how someone who is home all day can't return phone calls and is always busy."

Well sure. I suppose. If I were "home all day".
If I were to have a lament, any lament, it would be - it has to be "What am I doing wrong?" How do my days bleed into the next day after day. How is it I'm frantic, barely sleeping at night, marginally putting away things during the day. What pray tell am I doing? And why, for the love of god, does everything take me so long.

Oh I have tons TONS of excuses. "I get up early" "I'm at the gym everyday" "I cook from scratch" The list goes on. And it's true. Crazy true. But is it enjoyable? Is it fun? Who am I doing this for - because there are days when I forget.

So today. Where did I go wrong today?

I got up - on the cusp of 7am, marginal minutes either way. I made coffee, just a cup, moved my car, cooked a high protein breakfast (eggs and cheese, no carbs), watered the lawn, the plants, and recoiled the hose. I checked email, vmail, facebook. I quickie showed and dressed in workpout gear. I gathered Ellie, changed her bum, clothes, gave milk and a waffle, some berries too. I gathered her toys, poured us both drinks, grabbed phone and keys - and we went to the gym. For an 8:30 class. And made it ontime.

From the gym we saw Carol, in the parking lot for a few. Crayons and hugs exchanged. A trip home, a switch to my bathing suit. Repacking the bags. Suits, towels, sunblock for her. Swimmies, a snack. Sunblock for me, extra diapers and clothes. Back in the car to the playdate and pool for an hour. Plus? She was tired and I pushed her. Unhappily so. I haven't enjoyed our Monday playdates for months but I continue to go. I like the people. I dislike the playdate. But we go. Because I think I'm just being a baby. Home we arrive, and out we come. A nap for her, another quick shower for me. Off to wash dishes for over an hour from the dinner "party" the night before. Lunch for me. Get mail, water forgotten plants, go online for childcare search. Fold clothes. Child wakes. Hungry. More food prep, more clean up. Now reading books. Several for almost an hour. A phone call. a recipe idea gathered. two more calls for fresh basil. The neighbor goes for me, and we chat in the driveway. It's all to the potty. Then Daddy walks in. Early. It's dinner, the cleanup, then coloring, a call to Grandma. A tubbie. And now here I sit. Tired. From groundhog day. Hating food, food prep, the time it takes to run this house. For nothing gained but sleeping and eating.

But I don't mind. Per se. Because this is my job, and this is my life. And within the routine are moments or perfect achievement. Not that it "makes it all worth it" but moreso how do you have more moments and less wheel spinning.

Try harder? Maybe.
I think there's a passage somewhere that says the myth in America is that if you try hard enough you'll eventually succeed. Tell that to the man flapping his arms off the roof. Hey good luck there Icarus.

But I'm off on a tangent and certainly not the one I intended to segue to. The point is, in terms of priorities, I'm still sifting. Shifting. Sorting.

And I haven't been able to make everything number one.
Yet it hasn't stopped me from trying.

That's ok though, right? Because insanity was long overdue for redefining.

Poetry Slam

My sister bought her her new car in fifteen years.
The next day, in my inbox, an email sent. Verbatim.

Aug 14, 2009 12:56:40 PM, miki wrote:
I wish I could lie
and say things pretend.
It's just not right
because you are my friend.

I'd say I ran late
I'd say they were gone
but that's not the truth
and lying is wrong.

I drove here to work
in my van that is red
because my shiny NEW van
is home - battery dead.

My response:
Aug 14, 2009 2:09:23 PM

I find myself worrying
about you all alone.
Were you stuck? Were you stranded?
Was there someone to phone?

Was it human error, in part
or a door left ajar -
that killed the battery
in your shiny new car?

And what sayeth you
to those that twitter
are you laughing along
or just temporarily bitter?

Because surely you found
it isn't much fun
to be baking and broiling
waiting in the sun

And while I'm hoping the battery
will soon resurrect
it's going to be hard
to gain back respect

For what kind of fool
can not turn off a light?
Too much automation
has begat this plight.

So learn you have
and learn you will
to shut off manually -
a hard habit to instill

Good luck remembering
and I hope it sticks
But I suspect it unlikely
you know: old dogs with new tricks.

"oh you two. You think you are SO funny" my mother would say "You're JUST like your father." A condemnation, for sure, of her ex these 38 years.

My father? Oh he certainly DIDN'T let it go:
From: "BZ" To: miki Aug 15, 2009 3:39:42 PM


How much horsepower in that new van?
Must be like a bunch of young colts.
To bad it sits in the driveway at home,
All for the lack of a few lousy volts.

It used to be a pain and bother me greatly
When my vehicle sat dead in my yard,
Now do I care? Nope, not even a bit
'cause I got me a gold Triple A card.

Ah, self same fruit of the apple tree.

Craigslist & Me

I like to spend a little time on Craigslist. Get me some CL action. I sell, I buy, I look to see what others are selling. And occasionally, oh so very occasionally, I take the time to amuse mysel...

My Post Today:
Lilith the Dress Dummy (mannequin) - $45
**Husband not included**

Dress Dummy : Trying to appeal to a wide demographic here. Bear with me whilst I sell this three different ways:

The SALESY Ad:
Going Broke?
Getting Too Big?
Own your own Dry Cleaning Business?
Halloween Coming?
Then you just might need a Headless Female Mannequin. Think about it. She’s got curves, can stand on her own two feet (read: base) and she doesn’t give you any lip. It’s LILITH the Mannequin.
Available to you for a limited time only is Lilith. Lilith lives in my bedroom and wears various and sundry items for my dressing convenience.Originally purchased to sell my vast, expansive (and expensive) event planner wardrobe (read: bunch of overpriced Ann Taylor crap), ultimately I sold three suits, two blouses, and two party dresses on ebay and then got tired of playing dress up with Lilith. We keep her around because my husband likes to bitch at Fake Mommy and I like the convenience of my sweaters being properly draped vs hanging on a hanger. But it’s time to let go. (Pic is the Hubster. he is illustrating Liliths max height for slow dances etc. She is shoulder to shoulder with this 6ft male)

The Using Sex to Sell Ad Technique: IF MANNEQUINS WERE ESCORTS:
My name is LILITH. I’m a sweet pretty sophisticated female mannequin. Although I’m headless, I’m a great listener and will really understand your troubles. I'm available for ebay modeling, Halloween window displays, and standing in your store window advertisng your drycleaning business. Dress me up! Talk to me! I’m discreet! My height is 4'2, small-built, with a great figure. I’m legless but can stand on my own proverbial two feet. Three feet actually. I look terrific in everything, I love to playdress up and I’m just waiting for you to take me home.

And finally


The Pity Ad: THE BREAKUP
Dear Lilith,
I know it’s cruel. I brought you into my life and now I’m ending it. And I’m sorry. But it’s me. I need more. I’m not saying you haven’t been good to me. You have. You’ve stayed. You listen. You never ask for anything. You never complain. And that’s just IT Lilith. You don’t challenge me anymore. We’ve become complacent. We used to laugh, dress up, whirl around like giddy girls. But you just – I don’t know Lilith. You became…wooden. Stuffy. You just take, and take and take, you never give. When I tell you something, you just stand there. I feel like I’m talking to a wall. A blank wall. It’s over Lilith. It’s time.

People I Like

Upon closer inspection, I was...right.
You know when you reread something in the cold light of day and you think "It was late." "I was tired" "I don't mean all that"

I think I do. But not completely completely because I'm not saying EVERY encounter is depleting, depression, dissatisfying. I'm just saying - overall - well, entertain me.
Wouldya.

So to that end I'm compiling a list of people that make it easy to be with them.
Who I don't walk away from feeling less. Or odd. Or ambiguous.
And by god these aren't the ONLY people I like.
I'm just thinking, if I had one week to spend where everyday THAT person was standing in front of me, hanging out with me, if THAT was the person sitting in my passenger seat, who would it be?

Because I think I need to spend more time with the people I enjoy, and less with people I don't.
And yes, likely I'm going to be alone when I'm an old lady.
Surely.
Because really. At this point, who's short list am I on?

Missing My Best Friend

It's low tide for me or whatever reason. Perhaps it's pms, perhaps it's sands through the hourglass. Perhaps it's nothing,or everything. A million and one things have happened in the last month. Insignifigant enough in text, momentous in thought. Funny how a small thing can shift your stratosphere.

I wonder lately, does anyone just get tired of being exactly where they are? And how is it that no one else seems to be? How do you make a choice - be it a house, a job, a marriage, a car, a blouse - and decide "yep, this is IT man. This is Eeee-nough for me. I'm alll set. I'm living large. There is no winter of discontent."

It's too bad really that today is the day I have time to post because today is the very day I shouldn't.

I wonder at some people, who are happy, find everything enjoyable. Trip to the zoo? Loved it! Trip to the park? THE BEST! Trip to the carwash? Scintillating! I wonder what it's like to go through life with happiness being the norm, and not an effort. I wonder what it's like to see the glass as half full without even trying?

The funny thing is, if you asked me, I'd tell you - and mean it - that I'm in love, and for the most part, satisfied. Satisfied like the cat who had the canary, not just satisfied as in Satisfactory but not outstanding. But light and fluffy? Good lord no.

I have my moments. I'm happy when I'm driving. Today I was happy at the gym. I'm semi happy at night. I'm happy when nobody wants anything from me, not even my company and I'm happier still when there's no possible way I can accommodate anyone or anything so I can actually relax.

But that's so seldom.

And it's a shame.
Because I'm two plus years into this parenting thing and I'm waiting to lower my shoulders, and release the tension, and enjoy the day.

And it NEVER ever ever happens.
not a minute. Not a moment. Never. I am - always - ALWAYS - always disappointing someone. Somebody somewhere I owe something. A thank you, an invite, a response, a return phone call. I owe food to the refrigerator and I owe the rug a good vacuum. i owe my husband my attention, my mother a day out. My fathers wife a Saturday, my brother an evening. I owe my dad a call, my facebbok page an update. I owe Salvation Army a visit, I owe my eyebrows a wax. i owe my yard some care, my lawn some seed. I owe verizon money, I owe the planet some composting. I owe my nieces and nephews attention, I owe my crazy adopted godmother a ride to the doctor, and maybe to the vet. I owe myself a diet. I don't answer the phone because somewhere I am disappointing somebody and the call is a reminder that I've fucked up.

I never - ever - get a call that says "Let me make the decision for you"
"why don't I come over with coffee?" or better "Hey, I called to say thank you - because I know that you are pulled in thirty conflicting directions and yet when you can - you spare a minute for me."

I get calls that sound like that "Hey I never see you" or "Hey I called you but you never called me back". Sounds innocuous, right? But to me it's "Hey - when are you going to pay attention to me"

Well - let me say this then:

When are you going to make it easy for me? When are you going to be open, and honest, and authentic? When are you going to stop lying to yourself and living in denial - or just plain hiding your reality? When are your platitudes going to be real topics of conversation? Because I'm all about real. And all about open. And you, you are taking your sweet ass time enjoying MY honesty because it allows you a brief minute to be honest yourself. Thank you. i'm glad I can be that catharsis for you. But perhaps - perhaps one day you could do the sharing? The entertaining? The soul searching? Perhaps you could delve into the interesting depths of something more then the surface of superficial banalities. Because frankly, I'm longing for some beef with my watery lettuce. I would like someone NOT with a problem to have a meaningful, detailed, insightful conversation with me.

They THEY start.
That THEY do the work in.
So I can sit back and relax.
Because I am tired of feeling like I suck for not doing "my job" or making your world a little less stressful..

And frankly - I'd like to feel a bit better about me. Because when you are quiet, when you are absorbing it all, when you are being secretive, and closed, and not withcoming, you strip the other person of their energy. And just once, one day out of the next seven, I want to leave a conversation feeled buoyed. Feeling energized. Feeling like I gained rather then lost something.

And if I haven't called you lately - or haven't seen you - it's because you deplete me. And not because you are a taker. But because you aren't a giver.

Yardsaling - $1

IN:
8 Little People Loving Family Dollhouse supplemental items to include:
- Grandpa the pervert, complete with 70s mustache
- Osteoporosis Grandma, with no discernible knee joints
- Foster Child Girl Child, a smaller version of Grandma, clearly from the Big City with her marcelled curls and her pleated mini. Unlike all the blond Stepford Loving Family, Foster Child Girl Child is a redhead. She likely will sit in the kitchen and bother New Christine. who's hold on this Loving Family is tenuous.
- Dog bed for True and Pedigreed Loving Family Dog as owned by the Loving Family. The other two dogs can park their mutt asses outside and howl at the moon apparently.
- Said dog
- Empty rabbit hutch. Methinks New Christine pulled a Glenn Close but it cannot be proven at this time.
- Bassinet. For the baby New Christine will never have now that Old Christine's 6 sessions of IVF have resulted in the successful delivery of two sets of Loving Family Twins and Big Love Daddy has rethunk his position on having more urchins.
- Crib. Same same.

OUT
- Old tea cups from defunct china set, made in Japan. Likely an expensive antique. Gone to Salvation Army. There goes Ellie's inheritance.
- 2 pair eyeglasses with prescription lenses. Georgio Armani and Oliver Peoples. Back when wire frames were "The Shit". And I had "The Money" to buy "The OverPriced Frames". Somewhere someone in some third world country will be stylin in my studious spectacles.
- Three ziplock baggies of assorted bathing suits from college.
- AT&T Rollover minutes

Ok, not the last one. But I do throw shit away you know.

Twenty Five Things

Everyone does those 25 things things, right? So I'm thinking:
25 things I thought about today. In no particular order.


1. Oh shit, I’m going to be late.
2. It's humid out. Really humid. Gross. We've had over 3 weeks of rain and this isn't Seattle. It's humid.
3. Baking plain cinnamon in the over is a REALLY good way to get rid of the smell of cooked fish.
4. I really need to wash and iron the curtains in the playroom.
5. I need to check vmail more.
6. Eva Longoria looks better with long hair.
7. I still don’t have a gift for Laurie for her birthday.
8. and I need steak for dinner tonight
9. Better go to Rada and get the $33 back from the clothes I consigned
10. What happens when they run out of space for stars on Hollywood Boulevard? Do they pry up old ones no one cares about any longer? Do they time share the asphalt?
11. I don't like little boys with long hair. Not "I don't like long hair on little boys" I mean, I actually seldom like the little boy.
12. I need to go clean the kitchen.
13. I think frosting is a fine idea. Always.
14. I wonder if Cher really is ok with Chastity becoming a man.
15. When men become woman do they have their penis's surgically removed?
16. I like olives.
17. I wonder where my brother and his wifeish are staying when they come visit tomorrow.
18. It will be nice when my porches are done.
19. I forgot to take in the neighbors paper. Sigh.
20. The hots for the contractor are lessening.
21. My idea of camping is when the nap on the towels haven't had fabric softener.
22. I'm excited that the new gym is opening.
23. My daughter can kick ass if she ever gets over the crying as means of resolving conflict thing
24. I love her anyway
25. This house is filthy.

break it to me gently, give me time, oh give me a little time to ease the pain

"Hi"
"Hi"
"I just called to see how your day was going?"
"Oh thank you - it's fine. I watched the Em today and I'm going to try and go see the baby later"
"Do you want me to come home early?"
'No, that's alright. Everything ok with you?"
"I'm good. Hey. Ed McMahon died"
"MY GOD HONEY. What is wrong with you. You know you have to break things like that to me slowly. you can't just drop "Ed McMahon" into the conversation."
Husbands sighs "Fine" then slowly "Honey...Ed McMahon is up on the roof."

(not funny? read this)

And Speaking of Old Jokes....

A man is at work when he receives a call from the hospital informing him that his wife's been in an accident. He rushes to the emergency room where he's met by the doctor. They sit down in the waiting room and the doctor, with a very solemn look on his face, says:

"Sir, I have very bad news. We did all we could. Right now she's in a vegetative state, which is likely where she'll remain for the rest of her life. She can stay here overnight, but after that, you'll have to take her home because your insurance doesn't cover this type of thing."

The guy slumps, just crushed.

The doctor continues: "With the right care, which will include you feeding her five times a day, cleaning her and giving her constant care on a daily basis, she'll likely live for at least another 30 years."

The guy sinks even lower, just crushed, and starts to cry.

Doctor: "As I said, your insurance doesn't cover this kind of care, so you'll have to make some sort of arrangements to purchase the equipment you'll need for your wife. I would suggest you put your house on the market today and sell it as quickly as possible and buy a mobile home. You're gonna need the excess cash. It should be enough to buy the equipment your wife needs and for you to live on for the next couple of months. By then, you should be able to qualify for welfare and other forms of state and federal aid."

By this point, the guy is sobbing uncontrollably.

At that point, the doctor puts his hand on the man's shoulder, and says, "Naaaah - I'm just fucking with you, she's dead."

we'll go dancing in the dark

Hurry, don't be late
I can hardly wait
I said to myself when we're old
We'll go dancing in the dark
Walking through the park and reminiscing


My friend had a baby today. And I babysat her older child, I sat with another friend, who is pregnant. Then chatted on the phone with a friend who had her baby jus 6 months ago. I babysat her older child that day too.
I joked to my husband on the phone today that it's inevitably the barren woman who watches the kids.

"I'll always be the mom that has to do shit now" I said. "It's always going to be easier for me - after all - I only have ONE. Dun dun Dah...>"

After leaving the hospital I went knitting, where three woman were pregnant.

And I'm not jealous. Or sad. or in denial.

I'm feeling, alone I guess, alone in my experience.

Because not only may I never be pregnant again, which is - really - ok (with processing) but even my "live birth" pregnancy experience was different. So I have no frame of reference as their seconds bring up all the tellings of others firsts. I didn't shop at specialty stores, or join support groups after. I didn't register miscellaneous items, that I regretted later, laughingly calling myself a rookie mom. I didn't sit wishing for it to be over for my baby to "just come already". I don't know what it feels like to be asked "So when are you due, so what are you having" I have - zero - ability to relate.

Am I jealous? No.
Am I sad? No
Am I lying to myself? No.

But sometimes I wish I had a mom that we could banter about our stories with. About the humor that came with being on bedrest, about having a four week pregnancy...as it took us until week 30 to actualize that she would make it. About the ease of being a new mother when your worst fear is already gone. About the joy that came with bonding so closely with my husband. About the smell of Thai food eminating from my room nightly and how it tortured the friends I made amongst the nurses. I don't want to be gloomy when everyone laughs about having been hot in the summer or big in the winter, but my stories have elements of unpleasant that I can't take away. When people talked about their post labor experience, I recall the story of almost fainting at the elevator trying to sneak up to see Ellie in the NICU and how mad the nurse was. It WAS funny. But it's not. When people talk about going into labor, I think about how I was bollicky bare assed as my dad would say, naked as the day is long, completely, totally starkers in front of two teams of doctors, an anesthesiologist and several nurses. The 9 to 10 people to usher Ellie in. Funny until someone asks why.

I think it's hysterical that I went rug shopping two days after her birth and how the saleslady thought I was pregnant still and I had to explain that no, I had already HAD the baby. And how baffled she was. And how startk raving mad I was and didn't even realize it.

My stories are funny, they just originate from a different experience.
I know I need to get over it, and I have - for the most part.
But on days when all the world is reminiscing, I just wish I had a friend that I could reminisce with too.

The Boy in The Plastic Bubble

So last night my husband could not get to sleep. He rolled over, he talked, he chatted, he bumped. I had just gotten in bed, a book in my hand affixed to it my brand new booklight, courtesy of Ellie and my birthday.

The beacon was shining at midpoint of a not very interesting Dick Francis novel and my husband persisted.

"How was today? Did you go to a playdate? Are you going to see Jess's baby?"

An inordinate interest he had, and expressed, in the dark hours of night. To each query I'd place the book down, turn to answer then pick it up again. I was Carol Brady to his aggrieved Ricky Ricardo.

He continued. Finally I sighed: "Honey, do you need me to talk you to sleep?"

I don't think he can sleep ,truly, without the daily chatter of my life washing over him. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know. i feel bad. I feel like I don't help you enough"
He doesn't, but it's not really the time to tell him.
"You're just bummed about the rain. Everyone's getting blue" I said. "It's fine. When the sun is shining and the house stuff is finished, it'll all feel better. you're a great husband and the perfect dad. You help a lot jut by being the way you are"

"Tell me one of your Momtrigue stories" he teased mimicking Ellie at bedtime. "Chrysanthemum. Mommy Mad" she asks nightly.

"Tell me the one about the big bad mommy and how the other mommy rescued you" I laughed and had him roll over. With my big spoon to his little. I regaled him with inanities until I heard his breathing start to slow. And just, just as we were both about to drift off he said, into the very quiet night:

"Oh by the way, remember the woman at work who got laid off then tried to kill herself? Well she committed suicide."

and there it was.

I bitch about my husband in the smallest ways. He fumbles around at night like a dog chasing his tail unable to find the simplest of kitchen items, he's tired early, we wish we laughed more. I have my share of plate throwing moments, but never do they launch and yet he is infinately patient with my inability to move forward - on cooking, on people at times and with my groundhog day struggles, making the same mistake over and over. So I forget sometimes that my gentle professor, my absent minded husband, still retains the heart of the small wondrous child reflected his mothers stories and that something like this, the tragedy of a stranger, can break his heart and shatter his bubble. I forget sometimes, in my microcosm, that my husband had his share of tragedies, and heartaches too and that for him, for a woman to take her own life, hurts him in ways that he can't articulate.

We fell asleep sad last night. Me because she was somebody's daughter, and him because she was somebody.

Cool as A Cucumber

There's an expression we use here, quite frequently, and I'm just not sure how universal it is.
It goes something like this.
Someone tells you something. Something outrageous, outlandish. Just plain crazy.
And you say an older variant of "OMG" and a younger one of "Are you serious"
Essentially you say:
"Are you shitting me?"
But here in Massachusetts you drop the g.
So it's kind of a goomba, Joe Pesi thing.

It can be in response to something harmful:
"Hey, did you hear about Sharon? She put her hand through a glass door thinking the screen was in."
"Are you shitting me? That's terrible"

Dangerous:
"Be careful heading in town tonight. There's a guy who's been sitting off the side of the road on 93 shooting at blue Suburbans."
"You're shitting me? You serious? Holy Shit. You gotta be shittin me"

Or completely innocuous but exciting nonetheless
"Hey. I went down to Market Basket. Blueberries are $2.00 a pint for HUGE blueberries."
"You're shitting me? No shit?"

To which the only truly proper response is
"I shit you not"

I bring this up to illustrate a truly poignant moment of mommying.

Act One
Whereupon my daughter wakes, dazed and cuddly from her nap, rolling on "the big bed" in her room.

I come in, and notice an old brown blood stain on the sheets.
"hmmm," I think to myself. "I didn't have my period, and it's not really in the right spot." I look closer. "Hmm. It's right under Ellie. Was she sleeping on it? How did I not notice? Maybe it's a spot from my nephew. He plays hockey - perhaps a finger cut, acne. Who knows. It's a smallish spot but large enough to stain so I'll strip the bed. After we cuddle. We sit and she bumps up and down on mommy. Rolls to the left, then to the right. And I notice another stain.

Odder still. Was that just there?
I look closely. It's old looking. I smell it. Smells sweetish, not strong. Must be old blood I think.
Hell of a cut.

We cuddle more.
And roll some more. And sit on pillows and toss the blankie back and forth.

And wait. there it is again.
Another blood smear.
Here
And here.
and HERE. And here and here and here.
I scream.

"Oh my GOD Ellie - look at me!!!! You're bleeding!!!"
Because I'm totally low key and nonreactionary like that.
"Look at mommy. LOOK at mommy!"
I pry open her teeth, check her eyes, her ears. Where is it coming from? I look at her leg. BLOOD. Dried blood.
Oh my god!

I scream into her face "Ellie, ELLIE - ARE YOU ALRIGHT???"
At which she's looking at me thinking "Shit lady, are YOU alright?
and I finally in my obviously addled state look down at her diaper. Connected to her heretofore mangled limb.

And it's leaking shit.
All over.
Sweet-scented blueberry shit.
Running down her leg.

From the sale at Market Basket.

I shit you not.

Is a Very Very Very Fine House

THE HOUSE
My contractor was hot. Hot as in "Aren't you cute let me bounce you on my knee and perhaps we'll gad about after a bit of extremly dirty sordid sex and feel free to leave your workboots in plain site but I doubt I'll call you". Not hot as in "my, it's temperate" But you knew that. My husband and I discussed it. I I think he was just pleased I was showing an interest in sex.

THE HOUSE - REALLY
Ehhhh. It came out ok. No, it came out really nice. really nice actually.
We went from having a porch repaired to having it resided, 2 porches in process of being rebuilt and the driveway is getting ripped up and laid back by July 15. There are things that I did that were random and careless. Like picking a screen door in under 15 minutes, or not bothering to identify a doorbell. All this money spent and I didn't consider the finer details. Nor do I care still. Well, I care - but not enough to change it now. Which is why my home will never be beautiful. I still have tags on the blinds, and the shades from the prior owners. If I could hang a sheet over the window ala frat house curtains circa Vietnam draft, and not mind, likely I would. So I think someone else would have cared more thus their place would be gorgeous versus nice. But - meh as the kids say - I guess that's how the apathy rolls.

THE HOUSE - WHO ARE THE PEOPLE
My contractor came by daily by his workers - who he subcontracted to - were the people I got to know best. Jay and Brian. Brian was the brains and the bullshit of the operation, Jay the harder worker. Between the two I found out which had kids (neither) who drank (one sober for 3 years, one occasionally and socially only), who was married (neither) and who was divorced (one) I found out that one had an ex girl that tried to steal cash from his wallet a week ago, and the other a current girl only 1 year sober who he had high hopes for a loving, lasting lifetime with. One golfed, traveled, stayed fit; the other worked, worked more and lost a leg at the age of eight.

I adored - and I mean ADORED - these guys. They could have rebuilt the place and lived in the guest room for all I cared. I was their second favorite client ever. Beaten out by a woman in Billerica who baked brownies daily.
The Hussy.

So it wasn't a stretch to write them a thank you, and mean it.
I also enclosed a tip with my heartfelt words.
The next day one of them told me it almost brought "te'ahs to his eyes". Followed by "Then I hit the truck in front of me, ya know. I was drivin in traffic."

THE HOUSE - WAS IT WORTH IT?
I'm not sure. It's going to be pretty for sure. It's prettier actually - even if we did go with the same color. But in the end it was a shitload of money and it wasn't like two extra rooms popped up in the attic or anything.

UPSIDE?
We fueled the economy, the contractors were nice, it'll resell well and I learned to, next time, have them put tarps over the gravel.

image credit www.swapmeetdave.com

I'm online, my back to the room.
My husband turns on the tv, ostensibly to keep me company for a minute longer.
I hear something - peripherally, if you can hear that way.

"WAIT. Wait" I semi turn. "Whuh? Are you watching the Bachelor?"
"I think it's the Bachelorette, he says.

The noise from the tv continues.

And I hear my husband make an annoyed choking sound
"erghh. Is she deaf or does she just have a terrible lisp?"
I grunt an acknowledgment.
Time passes.
Then suddenly:
"I'm sorry - I know you're hot and all but for the rest of my life?"
I laugh.
He continues to make annoyed sounds.
"That voice. I couldn't stand it. He HAS to notice."
Then quiet.
He's watching.
It's silent until:
SLAM. The remote hits the table in disgust.
"Thuffering Thuccotash..." I hear behind me as my husband stalks out of the room. "TV sucks tonight"

And by the way

I'm all set with my subconscious.
Enough with the fucking ocean dreams and the house falling into the ocean.
I get it.

Gimme Just a Little More TIme...

You know, I'm tired.
Not tired as in fed up. Just general, run of the mill...tired.

Doug had gone away on a Tuesday and I found out about the pregnancy loss on Friday, then the subsequent removal of "the evidence". I had a houseguest who insisted on expressing her concern via asking after the "D&C" which I find an unavoidable yet overly harsh term.

Meanwhile, the following day we had a wedding.

The day after we did yardwork readying for the contractors.

The next two days I was busier still. With folks in the house, and out, and my husband working to make up for the time out. Then we had a death. And he went down to see his friends, and that took three days. Visiting, then the wake, then a funeral.

So I was alone.
Not lonely alone.
Not no friends alone.
But parenting alone.

The next week, this week, it rained.
And my husband had more time off. One day for me, and another to run errands, and then he flew to Vegas, and I am home alone.

The contractors are still working outside, and inside I maintain order, and select things like mailboxes, doorbells and light fixtures.

My days are distracted, there is likely too much tv, and definitely not enough meal prep.

I'm eating a box of cake mix instead of a meal. Several meals over.
Same box, just keeping adding milk to the fourth of a cup powder separated into a bowl.

I'm not depressed, not losing my mind, my temper, my patience.
But.
BUT.
But I'm wondering where my day is.
When my day is.

I love Ellie, good god I find things everyday to marvell over.
Today we sat outside, on day 5 of the rain, and played anyway. Rubber boots, rubber toys, rubber coats. We sat in the driveway and played with bubbles, and balls and jumped in puddles.

Why the fuck not?

She's happy these days. I'm happy too.
I'm tired though. I's been 13 days of maintaining, of moving forward, when what I want, what I really want, is a day where it's about me.

Oh not "lets talk about the baby/ies"
Just me.

I want to sit in the sun and sit. And not talk, not process, not fix, charm, maintain, protect.
I want to sit in the sun and feel the sun, hear the water, and get a minute.
one fucking minute
to just be listen to whatever the fuck the universe wants to tell me.

Status Update | Facebook, June 8, 2009

Us - obviously out prowling for trouble - looking to get thrown out of bars... You can see what degenerates we are. Look at those beads. That stroller. What punks... — with Hubby

Status Update | Facebook

Midflight