Saturday, March 27, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
misc
I'm only posting so I can bump down the hot under the collar post.
Suffice to say this:
Things that made me happy this weekend
I went yardsaling and found a $2 bench. Woot.
We actually kind of sort of socialized. woot woot.
I sold 5 packages of gdiaper liners on craigslist and farmed out two childrens outfits in the process. All going to a woman who fosters infants and toddlers. Sad but woot good home.
Monday is recycle day. All that shit in the downstairs shower? GONE!
Laundry? Done.
Kid? Played a ton.
Rhyming? Unintentional.
Cleaned off "most" of desk.
Neighbor gave us a check for $1500 for a shared repair that we requested be done and covered last year. Insurance company refunded $200, overpaid $55 to BankofAmerica - also refunded. Suddenly, almost $2000 richer.
Husband, looks cute.
Answered emails. Many. Felt productive. ish
Things that made me unhappy
We have no food and although I'm hungry, no interest in food. Ate - as a family - like shit. Donuts, fried food, mac & cheese, too much pasta. Bad bad bad bad bad.
Can't breathe at night so I only sleep 3 hours at a time. Tired of moving beds nightly. bad bad bad bad bad.
Frustrated that I can't scrub outdoor play items.
Did wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy too much on Saturday.
Still own too much. Can't ascertain why. hardly ever "shop"
Forgot to pick up Easter picture to mail to family.
Am sick of new arm and leg fat due to inactivity.
Child said "Mommmyyyyyy, your belly is SOOOOOooooo BIG!" at table. Then asked to feel "boobies". Actually, that one was lkind of funny.
Moving on, we all caught up now?
Suffice to say this:
Things that made me happy this weekend
I went yardsaling and found a $2 bench. Woot.
We actually kind of sort of socialized. woot woot.
I sold 5 packages of gdiaper liners on craigslist and farmed out two childrens outfits in the process. All going to a woman who fosters infants and toddlers. Sad but woot good home.
Monday is recycle day. All that shit in the downstairs shower? GONE!
Laundry? Done.
Kid? Played a ton.
Rhyming? Unintentional.
Cleaned off "most" of desk.
Neighbor gave us a check for $1500 for a shared repair that we requested be done and covered last year. Insurance company refunded $200, overpaid $55 to BankofAmerica - also refunded. Suddenly, almost $2000 richer.
Husband, looks cute.
Answered emails. Many. Felt productive. ish
Things that made me unhappy
We have no food and although I'm hungry, no interest in food. Ate - as a family - like shit. Donuts, fried food, mac & cheese, too much pasta. Bad bad bad bad bad.
Can't breathe at night so I only sleep 3 hours at a time. Tired of moving beds nightly. bad bad bad bad bad.
Frustrated that I can't scrub outdoor play items.
Did wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy too much on Saturday.
Still own too much. Can't ascertain why. hardly ever "shop"
Forgot to pick up Easter picture to mail to family.
Am sick of new arm and leg fat due to inactivity.
Child said "Mommmyyyyyy, your belly is SOOOOOooooo BIG!" at table. Then asked to feel "boobies". Actually, that one was lkind of funny.
Moving on, we all caught up now?
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Hot (Under The Collar) Mail
Not that I'm calling anyone a cooze, a snatch, a c*nt, a flaming arsehole or any other such inflamatory label.
I'll just stick with "dumbass".As in "now that the drama is over, somewhat resolved, the totally non-reactionary professional that I so wrongly judged has made her points and I mine, now that we are all resolved nicely, I need to spend about 2 hours plus trying to resolve a blocked IP address - because someone instead of simply changing her filters to redirect any future, potentially unwelcome emails from yours truly (as if?) - instead somehow reported my IP address thus activating a complaint, thus blocking me from emailing anyone in the hotmail system." 4-eva as the kids used to say.
God, I was so wrong.
She wasn't reactionary at all.
Just too f*cking stupid to have an email account.
My bad.
(apparently karma isn't the only bitch tonight. btw - I could be wrong. Maybe it wasn't her... chortler chortle. )
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
With all due respect and apologies to the O'Tooles
I grew up in Boston
Where everyone is Irish.
For the day,
all year.
Celtic Pride, as in basketball, as in parades.
In the 70's, shamrock tattoos’ and fighting Irish leprechauns. Tattoos were illegal here most of my life so they were prison quality.
Kiss me I'm Irish.
I'm of the old sod.
At one time, towns FULL of Irish immigrants. Waitresses, nannies, carpenters.
Whole towns of second generation Irish dating first.
Growing up here, being Irish was a commonplace as speaking English.
And it wasn't if you were Irish, it was "How Irish are you"
I was one of four. Not Irish.
And I used to apologize for having a small family.
One of 6, of 8, or 9, of 11? Irish.
Patrick, Mary, Shawn, Gerald
Sully, Sully, Obie, & Bri.
Irish as you please, Irish as the day is long.
Fighting, scrappy, tough.
Irish.
Hardworking.
Irish.
Family dysfunction,
oh so Irish.
I also grew up seeing the perpetuated stereotypes. Not the drunkin ones.
But cold aloof mom, dad sleeps on the cot in the sunroom. There's always a mistress. Some woman named Cissy that he met down the bar by the beach that he's been seeing 16 years and everyone knows her number because she's sent him home in cabs and sometimes you have to call her looking for him.
It's funny now, at 40.
The "Irish" have blended and my tales of the Boston Irish of long ago are dated, inauthentic. Sound racial. Immigration slowed down, way down. We no longer get the droves of young girls and boys who come here, thinking they'll see all ofAmerica
I have a few friends, married to first generation Irish. Not as many as I would have known had I stayed in the city, or been more connected to my youth.
One friend’s husband is cheating.
Cheated.
She found out, he's gone.
Two young kids, and he's turned into a child himself.
Left her, them, whines that it's not amicable.
Men of all nationalities stray but he is
so
Irish.
"The sex sucked anyway" she said.
You'd never say it of your husband; you'd bear it in silence. This is the sex I'm going to have the rest of my life? Ho hum. Who could you tell? But him now gone? Not coming back? Fair enough.
"The sex was terrible" she said. "He had a tiny d*ck. It was awful"
This morning my husband kissed me in the kitchen
"Happy St Patrick’s Day" he said.
"Oh no!" as if I'd have done something different. Or decorated. Or made green pancakes. "I'm so sorry. Happy St Patrick’s Day to you too. Even though we aren't Irish."
"Well, I get to claim it" His stepfather is of the green green grass ofdover
"Not where it counts" I do a faux bump and shimmy.
As if.
Poor dear. It'll be months.
He laughs.
"I think that's a myth." my husband said. "The whole small dick thing"
And completely without thinking, reaching over his shoulder for toast, I replied.
Loudly
Completely in earnest yet matter of fact.
"Oh my god no. They're tiny. I've never seen a big one."
God love the man.
He just laughed.
"Well kiss me I'm not Irish then" he said.
"Oh thank god"
Where everyone is Irish.
For the day,
all year.
Celtic Pride, as in basketball, as in parades.
In the 70's, shamrock tattoos’ and fighting Irish leprechauns. Tattoos were illegal here most of my life so they were prison quality.
Kiss me I'm Irish.
I'm of the old sod.
At one time, towns FULL of Irish immigrants. Waitresses, nannies, carpenters.
Whole towns of second generation Irish dating first.
Growing up here, being Irish was a commonplace as speaking English.
And it wasn't if you were Irish, it was "How Irish are you"
I was one of four. Not Irish.
And I used to apologize for having a small family.
One of 6, of 8, or 9, of 11? Irish.
Patrick, Mary, Shawn, Gerald
Sully, Sully, Obie, & Bri.
Irish as you please, Irish as the day is long.
Fighting, scrappy, tough.
Irish.
Hardworking.
Irish.
Family dysfunction,
oh so Irish.
I also grew up seeing the perpetuated stereotypes. Not the drunkin ones.
But cold aloof mom, dad sleeps on the cot in the sunroom. There's always a mistress. Some woman named Cissy that he met down the bar by the beach that he's been seeing 16 years and everyone knows her number because she's sent him home in cabs and sometimes you have to call her looking for him.
It's funny now, at 40.
The "Irish" have blended and my tales of the Boston Irish of long ago are dated, inauthentic. Sound racial. Immigration slowed down, way down. We no longer get the droves of young girls and boys who come here, thinking they'll see all of
I have a few friends, married to first generation Irish. Not as many as I would have known had I stayed in the city, or been more connected to my youth.
One friend’s husband is cheating.
Cheated.
She found out, he's gone.
Two young kids, and he's turned into a child himself.
Left her, them, whines that it's not amicable.
Men of all nationalities stray but he is
so
Irish.
"The sex sucked anyway" she said.
You'd never say it of your husband; you'd bear it in silence. This is the sex I'm going to have the rest of my life? Ho hum. Who could you tell? But him now gone? Not coming back? Fair enough.
"The sex was terrible" she said. "He had a tiny d*ck. It was awful"
This morning my husband kissed me in the kitchen
"Happy St Patrick’s Day" he said.
"Oh no!" as if I'd have done something different. Or decorated. Or made green pancakes. "I'm so sorry. Happy St Patrick’s Day to you too. Even though we aren't Irish."
"Well, I get to claim it" His stepfather is of the green green grass of
"Not where it counts" I do a faux bump and shimmy.
As if.
Poor dear. It'll be months.
He laughs.
"I think that's a myth." my husband said. "The whole small dick thing"
And completely without thinking, reaching over his shoulder for toast, I replied.
Loudly
Completely in earnest yet matter of fact.
"Oh my god no. They're tiny. I've never seen a big one."
God love the man.
He just laughed.
"Well kiss me I'm not Irish then" he said.
"Oh thank god"
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
If You Give A Mouse A Cup Of Coffee....
I have a mom date this morning.
Kids in preschool, going over to catch up.
Potentially offer advice on how to deal with an enforced "rest", tips around the house, and likely just nice conversation.
"Sooner then later" I requested "If we wait too long, I'll never come by"
"Sooner is good..."
I offered to bring an "outside" coffee. A treat for anyone I hope. An outside coffee is a coffee that you didn't make, that your friend didn't make. It comes hot, in a cup, already prepared, tasting better that what you ever make at home, despite your best efforts and your french press.
"I ... would...love...one" to paraphrase the reply. And she notated a quick, easy, Starbucks order. "...if in fact I was going to Starbucks."
I was...in a word... delighted. Offer accepted, treat in mind, I'm going on a DATE. Or whatever.
And then I thought about it. My daughter’s preschool is loosely a town away from here’s, and the street between the two is a main one. Lights, parallels the highway. My preschool is about 8 streets UP from the main road, her home 3 streets off. Starbucks. Hmmm. Where IS there a Starbucks?
So I go online, find 4 local. All convenient, but of course, none on this straight line towards her house. I start debating.
"Well, if I go HERE, I need to cut over that road. Here puts me in the rotary, too much traffic. Oooh that one is at the grocery store, is their flooding. What about that one? No that lot DEFINATELY flooded." (We've had state of emergency, disaster rain here on the East Coast. Bad bad bad, basement flooding, boiler breaking, houses damaged rain) "There's one less then a mile from my house, north when I'm going south, eminently doable and yet, I can't go WITH Ellie. That'll take too long; she has to get to school. And it'll be cold. What about after I drop Ellie off? No way. That’s two towns NORTH to go 3 towns South. Decisions decisions."
Honestly.
It's coffee.
But it's our first date and I offered.
I start to wonder who else I can call that may know the area and can direct me to a close, convenient, no line, ample parking Starbucks.
insert riotous laughter here
Of course I wake up late today. To be fair, I went to bed at 3 so late is relative, it's early in terms of cumulative sleep.
My husband is up, still home. He has a conference in town and has extra time. His treat, to allow me to sleep. Our daughter is three years old and I have told him ... countless times... "letting me sleep" so I wake up to her awake? Never a good idea. But I love him, so I am not going to remind him today.
I roll over groggy, begging for coffee, milk for her and the tv to be put on.
"I will never ever ever ever ever ask you to do this again.." I frogged out.
And bless his heart, and not in the Southern "fuck you" way, my sweet husband brought me coffee.
" I need" I said swinging my legs over the bed "to finds a Starbucks."
"Do you need me to go online?" he asked.
"No. I went to their website" and we spent 4 minutes triangulating, discussing the relative merits of various locations, my potential ease of access, and timeline.
I KNOW!!! It's COFFEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Finally he said "You know, I'm driving past her school to get into town, do you want me to drop her off??"
me: "OH MY GOD, yes. Would you? Would you?” frantically seizing the opportunity. "Would YOU???"
And of course, it was already late. And of course stressful, because her lunch wasn't packed, breakfast wasn't made, the juice wasn’t poured, where in good god's name are the damn sippy cups, I wasn't fully dressed, the clock was ticking, he was one foot out the door, and she was just wanting a few strawberries, god damnit.
But we rallied.
And with some frenetic moving about, a thrown toothbrush (me), a reprimand (him) and some high-pitched singing (her) we managed to survive. Wrong lunchbox, barely a meal, unsealed cup, no hairclips, no sopare change of clothes, me in flipflops, him looking for a belt, we managed.
So now I'm off.
To get coffee.
Something about a Skinny Cinnamon Latte that I texted my cell the order from my laptop, and maybe a steamed soymilk for me.
And I'm thoroughly delighted to be going over to offer someone else advice on how to be organized.
Um hmm.
Obviously my particular field of expertise.
Kids in preschool, going over to catch up.
Potentially offer advice on how to deal with an enforced "rest", tips around the house, and likely just nice conversation.
"Sooner then later" I requested "If we wait too long, I'll never come by"
"Sooner is good..."
I offered to bring an "outside" coffee. A treat for anyone I hope. An outside coffee is a coffee that you didn't make, that your friend didn't make. It comes hot, in a cup, already prepared, tasting better that what you ever make at home, despite your best efforts and your french press.
"I ... would...love...one" to paraphrase the reply. And she notated a quick, easy, Starbucks order. "...if in fact I was going to Starbucks."
I was...in a word... delighted. Offer accepted, treat in mind, I'm going on a DATE. Or whatever.
And then I thought about it. My daughter’s preschool is loosely a town away from here’s, and the street between the two is a main one. Lights, parallels the highway. My preschool is about 8 streets UP from the main road, her home 3 streets off. Starbucks. Hmmm. Where IS there a Starbucks?
So I go online, find 4 local. All convenient, but of course, none on this straight line towards her house. I start debating.
"Well, if I go HERE, I need to cut over that road. Here puts me in the rotary, too much traffic. Oooh that one is at the grocery store, is their flooding. What about that one? No that lot DEFINATELY flooded." (We've had state of emergency, disaster rain here on the East Coast. Bad bad bad, basement flooding, boiler breaking, houses damaged rain) "There's one less then a mile from my house, north when I'm going south, eminently doable and yet, I can't go WITH Ellie. That'll take too long; she has to get to school. And it'll be cold. What about after I drop Ellie off? No way. That’s two towns NORTH to go 3 towns South. Decisions decisions."
Honestly.
It's coffee.
But it's our first date and I offered.
I start to wonder who else I can call that may know the area and can direct me to a close, convenient, no line, ample parking Starbucks.
insert riotous laughter here
Of course I wake up late today. To be fair, I went to bed at 3 so late is relative, it's early in terms of cumulative sleep.
My husband is up, still home. He has a conference in town and has extra time. His treat, to allow me to sleep. Our daughter is three years old and I have told him ... countless times... "letting me sleep" so I wake up to her awake? Never a good idea. But I love him, so I am not going to remind him today.
I roll over groggy, begging for coffee, milk for her and the tv to be put on.
"I will never ever ever ever ever ask you to do this again.." I frogged out.
And bless his heart, and not in the Southern "fuck you" way, my sweet husband brought me coffee.
" I need" I said swinging my legs over the bed "to finds a Starbucks."
"Do you need me to go online?" he asked.
"No. I went to their website" and we spent 4 minutes triangulating, discussing the relative merits of various locations, my potential ease of access, and timeline.
I KNOW!!! It's COFFEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Finally he said "You know, I'm driving past her school to get into town, do you want me to drop her off??"
me: "OH MY GOD, yes. Would you? Would you?” frantically seizing the opportunity. "Would YOU???"
And of course, it was already late. And of course stressful, because her lunch wasn't packed, breakfast wasn't made, the juice wasn’t poured, where in good god's name are the damn sippy cups, I wasn't fully dressed, the clock was ticking, he was one foot out the door, and she was just wanting a few strawberries, god damnit.
But we rallied.
And with some frenetic moving about, a thrown toothbrush (me), a reprimand (him) and some high-pitched singing (her) we managed to survive. Wrong lunchbox, barely a meal, unsealed cup, no hairclips, no sopare change of clothes, me in flipflops, him looking for a belt, we managed.
So now I'm off.
To get coffee.
Something about a Skinny Cinnamon Latte that I texted my cell the order from my laptop, and maybe a steamed soymilk for me.
And I'm thoroughly delighted to be going over to offer someone else advice on how to be organized.
Um hmm.
Obviously my particular field of expertise.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Justified
In the end, like most good humans, I've managed to justify my bad behavior. I spent the weekend, my ruined weekend, as ruined by me, in tears and sick with self loathing. I felt horrible about the situation, anxious about my friend, fractured and confused.
There were two long emails. From each of us. I know people shake their heads thinking "emails aren't the answer, you should have talked' but I'm not convinced. You can't convince me that sitting down and processing and carefully choosing words is dramatically worse then talking in anger and saying things in the heat of the moment.
Suffice to say that her final word was that I was moody, self righteous, unfair and not anyone's definition of a good friend.
Which I took. And considered.
And agree with the perception of.
I also reared and reread her words. That she was never going to trust me, that the things she told me were processing, not reality, and that I had ... oh, essentially betrayed her by a dozen small actions.
And you know. I was sorry.
Because when I look at it from her point of view, those are pretty heinous offenses. And when I see them as she must have seen them, I can see that without knowing my backstory, it certainly did seem I was fickle, insane, what have you.
So I thought about it a bit more and wrote her an apology. Truly. Along the lines of Darcy in Pride & Prejudice that in pride and vanity I believed what I thought about her to be true. That I didn't ever address it with her, that I was convinced I understood her nature. I said I was sorry for seeing her in the worst possible light, and for seeing things ugly and unflattering. That I did judge her for who I thought she was and yes, that many times I was reacting to this, wrong, belief about her.That I was sorry I erred and that I assumed the interactions I had with her were her actual state, not an aberration. That I'm sorry I thought the worst.
She felt she was confiding in someone she trusted and that I had storehoused a litany of things to use against her. I felt she was a certain way, and saw examples, myriad, supporting what I believed to be true... and it fueled my perception. In all cases, what a sorry state of affairs.
But it's an interesting impasse.
Because to be fair, I'm universally nice to every service person I have ever met. Be it waitress, delivery man, gas attendant. I go out of my way to not inconvenience anyone, I wait without complaint in line, I don't shift from foot to foot, I have my card ready, I say "zero" instead of "Oh" when I'm reading an insurance card. But I'll guarantee you, there has been at least one time that I have been in someones space, specifically, say, the florist last week - and have been ungracious and uncooperative. I can say that I was upset presurgery, I was upset by the impersonal touch of flowers, upset for a host of reasons, notwithstanding that I thought the flowers were poorly executed - and I can say with FULL certainty that the woman who runs that shop, in her history books, forever etched in her mind if it made an impression at all, I'm a bitch. I'm an awful, rude, ungrateful bitch.
Which couldn't be further from the truth.
(meh, play nice, you.)
But that's how I behaved.
I don't get a chance to rewrite that history, that impression.
And as I wrote my friend a sincere heartfelt apology, something was bothering me.
A tiny grain of sand in my apology oyster.
Because in as much as maybe I was wrong about her, that I was sorry, that I did move forward thinking that she was a certain way. For every shitty action on my part that I defended as a reaction to her actions, as much as I was mad at her for things "being about her", for all the crimes I accused her of, in the end, the situations did happen.
Whatever fueled them, I didn't imagine the conversations. I didn't imagine her anger, I didn't imagine her frustration, her pain, her annoyance and her reactions. Those things did happen.
I can't tell if she's saying they didn't.
But I think her position is there was more to her then that and I should have seen it, I shouldn't have judged. And that she really misjudged me .
She's right.
But I'm also not sure I can punish myself anymore over the fact that I did judge. Because in the abscence of any prior knowledge of her, without the pre, the post, without knowing her really at all, I looked at the only interactions we had. And at the time, well, she like me, was a bitch to the florist.
There were two long emails. From each of us. I know people shake their heads thinking "emails aren't the answer, you should have talked' but I'm not convinced. You can't convince me that sitting down and processing and carefully choosing words is dramatically worse then talking in anger and saying things in the heat of the moment.
Suffice to say that her final word was that I was moody, self righteous, unfair and not anyone's definition of a good friend.
Which I took. And considered.
And agree with the perception of.
I also reared and reread her words. That she was never going to trust me, that the things she told me were processing, not reality, and that I had ... oh, essentially betrayed her by a dozen small actions.
And you know. I was sorry.
Because when I look at it from her point of view, those are pretty heinous offenses. And when I see them as she must have seen them, I can see that without knowing my backstory, it certainly did seem I was fickle, insane, what have you.
So I thought about it a bit more and wrote her an apology. Truly. Along the lines of Darcy in Pride & Prejudice that in pride and vanity I believed what I thought about her to be true. That I didn't ever address it with her, that I was convinced I understood her nature. I said I was sorry for seeing her in the worst possible light, and for seeing things ugly and unflattering. That I did judge her for who I thought she was and yes, that many times I was reacting to this, wrong, belief about her.That I was sorry I erred and that I assumed the interactions I had with her were her actual state, not an aberration. That I'm sorry I thought the worst.
She felt she was confiding in someone she trusted and that I had storehoused a litany of things to use against her. I felt she was a certain way, and saw examples, myriad, supporting what I believed to be true... and it fueled my perception. In all cases, what a sorry state of affairs.
But it's an interesting impasse.
Because to be fair, I'm universally nice to every service person I have ever met. Be it waitress, delivery man, gas attendant. I go out of my way to not inconvenience anyone, I wait without complaint in line, I don't shift from foot to foot, I have my card ready, I say "zero" instead of "Oh" when I'm reading an insurance card. But I'll guarantee you, there has been at least one time that I have been in someones space, specifically, say, the florist last week - and have been ungracious and uncooperative. I can say that I was upset presurgery, I was upset by the impersonal touch of flowers, upset for a host of reasons, notwithstanding that I thought the flowers were poorly executed - and I can say with FULL certainty that the woman who runs that shop, in her history books, forever etched in her mind if it made an impression at all, I'm a bitch. I'm an awful, rude, ungrateful bitch.
Which couldn't be further from the truth.
(meh, play nice, you.)
But that's how I behaved.
I don't get a chance to rewrite that history, that impression.
And as I wrote my friend a sincere heartfelt apology, something was bothering me.
A tiny grain of sand in my apology oyster.
Because in as much as maybe I was wrong about her, that I was sorry, that I did move forward thinking that she was a certain way. For every shitty action on my part that I defended as a reaction to her actions, as much as I was mad at her for things "being about her", for all the crimes I accused her of, in the end, the situations did happen.
Whatever fueled them, I didn't imagine the conversations. I didn't imagine her anger, I didn't imagine her frustration, her pain, her annoyance and her reactions. Those things did happen.
I can't tell if she's saying they didn't.
But I think her position is there was more to her then that and I should have seen it, I shouldn't have judged. And that she really misjudged me .
She's right.
But I'm also not sure I can punish myself anymore over the fact that I did judge. Because in the abscence of any prior knowledge of her, without the pre, the post, without knowing her really at all, I looked at the only interactions we had. And at the time, well, she like me, was a bitch to the florist.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
The Over & The Under
It's so bad I don't even want to discuss it.
So silly, so dramatic, so asinine, so childish, so awful, so embarrassing, so...my mother, that I can't stand it.
I'm HOW old?
I seriously SERIOUSLY looked at Doug today and just said out loud "I wish I was someone else right now".
I wish I could just move.
Leave.
Find a hideaway and... hide away.
I am currently in the midst of what I think is the fifth or six, blow it up blow it out dramedy that I've been in in about four years. Self created of course or I wouldn't feel bad.
Awful really.
It started on Friday, harsh words over something misunderstood. Someone who hadn't seen me asked if I was pregnant but it came about awkwardly, I didn't respond properly and then it got progressively worse. I felt cornered, she felt confused, I tried to sidestep, the other parties involved answered on my behalf, I got annoyed that it was even being addressed and I snapped 'I don't want to talk about it".
To which the innocent bystander huffed, snipped, pissily responded that she was "Never going to ask anything about anyone again then"
Harumph.
and crossed her arms over her chest.
To which I semi stood up in my chair, point blank looked at her and said, as nastily as I have ever addressed anyone "Perhaps if you had bothered to read my body language or pick up on any of the cues I sent you, you would have stopped asking. It's not about YOU. Hard as that is to believe, for once in your life, it's not about you."
Holy shit, right?
Exactly.
Yeah, real crowd stopper, that's me.
Meh. What was it about? A couple of things. She's been gone a month, I disliked her cutesy approach, I disliked being asked in public, I disliked her flouncing pissy response when clearly something was wrong. I disliked the whole fucking thing.
"Whats the big deal, why didn't you answer her"
Well that ones easy. I panicked.
I don't like talking about it without warning. It's sort of shocking still. And I said that we would talk about it later, because I disliked discussing it in front of kids. My daughter doesn't know, although I look it, and the other kids suspect but because no one is discussing, it's not being... discussed. My reasoning is if they dont make it, I dont want to explain to children the concept of death. Nor do I want to have issues with anyone else if I respond too directly, and introduce a topic that they don't want covered.
So yeh, I was awkward and not prepared. I still struggle with answering people.
It usually goes like:
Them: "Look at YOU. Sooooo News? When are you due?"
Me: "Oh not for a while, it's a long way off." Breaking eye contact, fidgeting.
Them " Really? When? This summer? Whats your due date?"
Me: "It's not until late summer, early September."
Them: "Oh what day?'
Me: "Um, actually I'm having twins so the due date kind of fluctuates. It's more of a goal date...."
Them: "TWINS!! That's so exciting? Were you in fertility? Does it run in your family? My brother had twins..."
and I'm just like ... stumped.
The due date thing. It...kills me. I don't have a due date, I have a wish for date. I don't measure my pregnancy in when it's scheduled to end, I measure it in how many weeks have I collected. I think "14 now, how many until bedrest, 30 until viability and maybe I'll make it."
I'm sorry for that.
I'm sorry if I can't be grateful, if I can't just enjoy it. I'm sorry if my lack of enthusiasm is off putting and I'm certainly EXTREMELY sorry that something so private becomes so public. (irony of blog notwithstanding). Good lord don't you think I wish I could be all serenely excited. "Yep, we are almost 4 months and we are making tons of plans."
We aren't.
We are looking at open houses but we aren't buying because I think "Well, if they are born early and disabled, we may need the money for special care." Or I think, "there's no point buying so many bedrooms because if one dies, depending on the gender of the other, maybe they'll share a room."
WTF? No shit WTF.
Do I think every day that this was a big fucking mistake? Yes. Yes I do.
But it's here and we will get through it.
But I flailed.
I was put on the spot by the most innocent question in the world and I panicked. And reacted terribly.
And prior to this woman asking, I hadn't thought about how to answer questions publicly. I mean LOGICALLY you just answer, what's the big deal right? But I guess if I say yes I am, people respond enthusiastically and get all buoyant and happy for me and want to be kind and ask follow up things like due dates, do I know what it is, do I have children, and it's ... awful. It's makes me seriously panic. Because in my house, I'm simply 14 weeks along. No even "pregnant" I don't use the word. There are no babies. Babies are things that live and breathe. 14 weeks olds are tissue with potential. Until it's a baby it's just, not a baby for me.
But back to my disgusting display of incivility.
When "friend" was miffed... I... saw...red. And not only did I bite her head off but two hours later I emailed her. Detailing that I knew I was rude, and I was sorry. But the reality was, I'm pissed at her for something else entirely. I was actually tired of her being constantly affronted. That given a choice, she also could have been gracious. That through the year plus I've known her, our relationship has been characterized by her reacting to slights, real or perceived, and that our pattern was that I always had to assuage her. Not that she had issues with me, per se, but overall that she's reacted to many situations where she saw herself as well intentioned and constantly being... not abused, but something similar. I think I finished it that I liked her but I was bullshit because I'm tired of her always assuming that it's about her, that someone has slighted her whatever - and that in this case, I just was fed up.
Oh yeh. I'm mad.
Kind of like the boy that cried wolf. I was wrong, yes, THIS TIME, but really, when I saw that fucking moue, those pursed lips and the shoulder shimmy and the "Well I never" ala Ginger on Gilligan's Island, I just, I have no idea, lost my mind.
She, of course, is quitting playgroup, said I never wanted to be her friend to begin with and said that I wasn't emailing as a friend, I just wanted to get the last word. Also that she wanted to be excited for me so her intent was good. That it was my problem.
And you know what? She was totally. TOTALLY right.
It is SO my problem.
So what was this really about?
Oh shit, it's about me being mad at her ... for being mad at me.
It's about me tired of witnessing bad behavior and excusing it away and ending up in the middle of situations where I don't even LIKE half the people around me.
It's about me - ANGRY that I saw the signs of dysfunction - in both of us - and again, excused them away, because I thought that it was "just me" and then I danced the SAME fucking dance I always dance.
I saw something in her I didn't like. The way she always felt slighted. About 10 to 15 of us met all at once. Of all of us, no one else has really cemented with her. When asked why, universally, people will say "Well, she's nice but she drives me nuts. It's all about her, all the time." And I was like - I disagree. She's actually engaging, funny, smart, motivated and as a huge heart. But she's an Aries and they are the infant and that's the way it goes for them. The "I" is prominent. So they, our friends, stayed away. And I, I liked her, and we talked about this thing - this her feeling slighted frequently. I saw it. I thought it was annoying. I disliked it. But overall, I saw potential in HER. In our possible future. I thought once she got over not feeling liked - she'd see she WAS liked and she'd... chill, I guess. Instead she used her anger to propel her forward. She immersed herself in fitness, in a career, in volunteering... and she's doing fantastic. She looks good, she feels great, but it's kind of... tinged with a fuck you attitude. Kind of a "You didn't like me, your loss" to which I'm kind of like "Um, people did like you but you kind of drove them away so why are YOU so mad"
Blah blah blah.
The point is, I suck.
Flash forward to present day.
The pissy "I just won't ask" tipped me OVER the fucking edge and the subsequent "Your loss" email sealed the deal. I replied - hours later after careful thought, weighing the risks, and realizing that the phone would perpetuate dysfunction - in ten paragraphs or less that I actually liked a million things about her but yeh, I was really REALLY mad at her.
The two people who know about it assure me I was wrong.
I was.
I suppose the flipside is, the other white meat, the real irony is...that I counted too much on being friends. I assumed that we were secure enough that I could say "You need to fucking STOP with this bullshit and the narcissism. It's killing you, and it's killing me." Because to my real friends (ok, to my sister and to Heather and maybe to Cindy if need be and definately Chrissy) I could say "Listen up hon', I think you are being an ass here."
So I'm off her rotation.
And maybe that is for the best.
Because at my age I'm still STILL confused about it.
Are you supposed to ONLY be friendly to people you like?
What happens to give people a chance?
So silly, so dramatic, so asinine, so childish, so awful, so embarrassing, so...my mother, that I can't stand it.
I'm HOW old?
I seriously SERIOUSLY looked at Doug today and just said out loud "I wish I was someone else right now".
I wish I could just move.
Leave.
Find a hideaway and... hide away.
I am currently in the midst of what I think is the fifth or six, blow it up blow it out dramedy that I've been in in about four years. Self created of course or I wouldn't feel bad.
Awful really.
It started on Friday, harsh words over something misunderstood. Someone who hadn't seen me asked if I was pregnant but it came about awkwardly, I didn't respond properly and then it got progressively worse. I felt cornered, she felt confused, I tried to sidestep, the other parties involved answered on my behalf, I got annoyed that it was even being addressed and I snapped 'I don't want to talk about it".
To which the innocent bystander huffed, snipped, pissily responded that she was "Never going to ask anything about anyone again then"
Harumph.
and crossed her arms over her chest.
To which I semi stood up in my chair, point blank looked at her and said, as nastily as I have ever addressed anyone "Perhaps if you had bothered to read my body language or pick up on any of the cues I sent you, you would have stopped asking. It's not about YOU. Hard as that is to believe, for once in your life, it's not about you."
Holy shit, right?
Exactly.
Yeah, real crowd stopper, that's me.
Meh. What was it about? A couple of things. She's been gone a month, I disliked her cutesy approach, I disliked being asked in public, I disliked her flouncing pissy response when clearly something was wrong. I disliked the whole fucking thing.
"Whats the big deal, why didn't you answer her"
Well that ones easy. I panicked.
I don't like talking about it without warning. It's sort of shocking still. And I said that we would talk about it later, because I disliked discussing it in front of kids. My daughter doesn't know, although I look it, and the other kids suspect but because no one is discussing, it's not being... discussed. My reasoning is if they dont make it, I dont want to explain to children the concept of death. Nor do I want to have issues with anyone else if I respond too directly, and introduce a topic that they don't want covered.
So yeh, I was awkward and not prepared. I still struggle with answering people.
It usually goes like:
Them: "Look at YOU. Sooooo News? When are you due?"
Me: "Oh not for a while, it's a long way off." Breaking eye contact, fidgeting.
Them " Really? When? This summer? Whats your due date?"
Me: "It's not until late summer, early September."
Them: "Oh what day?'
Me: "Um, actually I'm having twins so the due date kind of fluctuates. It's more of a goal date...."
Them: "TWINS!! That's so exciting? Were you in fertility? Does it run in your family? My brother had twins..."
and I'm just like ... stumped.
The due date thing. It...kills me. I don't have a due date, I have a wish for date. I don't measure my pregnancy in when it's scheduled to end, I measure it in how many weeks have I collected. I think "14 now, how many until bedrest, 30 until viability and maybe I'll make it."
I'm sorry for that.
I'm sorry if I can't be grateful, if I can't just enjoy it. I'm sorry if my lack of enthusiasm is off putting and I'm certainly EXTREMELY sorry that something so private becomes so public. (irony of blog notwithstanding). Good lord don't you think I wish I could be all serenely excited. "Yep, we are almost 4 months and we are making tons of plans."
We aren't.
We are looking at open houses but we aren't buying because I think "Well, if they are born early and disabled, we may need the money for special care." Or I think, "there's no point buying so many bedrooms because if one dies, depending on the gender of the other, maybe they'll share a room."
WTF? No shit WTF.
Do I think every day that this was a big fucking mistake? Yes. Yes I do.
But it's here and we will get through it.
But I flailed.
I was put on the spot by the most innocent question in the world and I panicked. And reacted terribly.
And prior to this woman asking, I hadn't thought about how to answer questions publicly. I mean LOGICALLY you just answer, what's the big deal right? But I guess if I say yes I am, people respond enthusiastically and get all buoyant and happy for me and want to be kind and ask follow up things like due dates, do I know what it is, do I have children, and it's ... awful. It's makes me seriously panic. Because in my house, I'm simply 14 weeks along. No even "pregnant" I don't use the word. There are no babies. Babies are things that live and breathe. 14 weeks olds are tissue with potential. Until it's a baby it's just, not a baby for me.
"I had a miscarriage between my pregnancies. I was... x. ...weeks." subtext: Why are you not getting over this?
Because it's different. Because one miscarriage isn't that same as being told that your body cannot carry children. Because for every week I get past my three miscarriages, I get a week closer to delivering a child that may die. Because it would be EASIER to lose a fetus or an unviable child then to feel contractions one night and have a ... kitten.. the size of a 2 lb barbell and have it die in a ICU. Because it's not a "chance" that could happen, it's more of a likelihood. The "chance" is that it doesn't.
"How was the surgery?"
I feel like I have a tampon stuck in side me and if I do pick up something heavy, I twinge.
I feel nauseous every time I ... poop... because your ...poop.... rubs against the cervix from the inside and it's like one long pap smear.
"Oh but , I mean, you're fine right?"
Well, if you mean are they still alive? Yes.
Am I fine? Yes.
And if I lived somewhere with landmines and didn't step on one Tuesday, would Wednesday would still suck? Yes. So am I "fine". Yes. Do I think every day that I am a ticking bomb? Yes. Is that comfortable? Not At All.
But back to my disgusting display of incivility.
When "friend" was miffed... I... saw...red. And not only did I bite her head off but two hours later I emailed her. Detailing that I knew I was rude, and I was sorry. But the reality was, I'm pissed at her for something else entirely. I was actually tired of her being constantly affronted. That given a choice, she also could have been gracious. That through the year plus I've known her, our relationship has been characterized by her reacting to slights, real or perceived, and that our pattern was that I always had to assuage her. Not that she had issues with me, per se, but overall that she's reacted to many situations where she saw herself as well intentioned and constantly being... not abused, but something similar. I think I finished it that I liked her but I was bullshit because I'm tired of her always assuming that it's about her, that someone has slighted her whatever - and that in this case, I just was fed up.
Oh yeh. I'm mad.
Kind of like the boy that cried wolf. I was wrong, yes, THIS TIME, but really, when I saw that fucking moue, those pursed lips and the shoulder shimmy and the "Well I never" ala Ginger on Gilligan's Island, I just, I have no idea, lost my mind.
She, of course, is quitting playgroup, said I never wanted to be her friend to begin with and said that I wasn't emailing as a friend, I just wanted to get the last word. Also that she wanted to be excited for me so her intent was good. That it was my problem.
And you know what? She was totally. TOTALLY right.
It is SO my problem.
So what was this really about?
Oh shit, it's about me being mad at her ... for being mad at me.
It's about me tired of witnessing bad behavior and excusing it away and ending up in the middle of situations where I don't even LIKE half the people around me.
It's about me - ANGRY that I saw the signs of dysfunction - in both of us - and again, excused them away, because I thought that it was "just me" and then I danced the SAME fucking dance I always dance.
I saw something in her I didn't like. The way she always felt slighted. About 10 to 15 of us met all at once. Of all of us, no one else has really cemented with her. When asked why, universally, people will say "Well, she's nice but she drives me nuts. It's all about her, all the time." And I was like - I disagree. She's actually engaging, funny, smart, motivated and as a huge heart. But she's an Aries and they are the infant and that's the way it goes for them. The "I" is prominent. So they, our friends, stayed away. And I, I liked her, and we talked about this thing - this her feeling slighted frequently. I saw it. I thought it was annoying. I disliked it. But overall, I saw potential in HER. In our possible future. I thought once she got over not feeling liked - she'd see she WAS liked and she'd... chill, I guess. Instead she used her anger to propel her forward. She immersed herself in fitness, in a career, in volunteering... and she's doing fantastic. She looks good, she feels great, but it's kind of... tinged with a fuck you attitude. Kind of a "You didn't like me, your loss" to which I'm kind of like "Um, people did like you but you kind of drove them away so why are YOU so mad"
Blah blah blah.
The point is, I suck.
Flash forward to present day.
The pissy "I just won't ask" tipped me OVER the fucking edge and the subsequent "Your loss" email sealed the deal. I replied - hours later after careful thought, weighing the risks, and realizing that the phone would perpetuate dysfunction - in ten paragraphs or less that I actually liked a million things about her but yeh, I was really REALLY mad at her.
The two people who know about it assure me I was wrong.
I was.
I suppose the flipside is, the other white meat, the real irony is...that I counted too much on being friends. I assumed that we were secure enough that I could say "You need to fucking STOP with this bullshit and the narcissism. It's killing you, and it's killing me." Because to my real friends (ok, to my sister and to Heather and maybe to Cindy if need be and definately Chrissy) I could say "Listen up hon', I think you are being an ass here."
So I'm off her rotation.
And maybe that is for the best.
Because at my age I'm still STILL confused about it.
Are you supposed to ONLY be friendly to people you like?
What happens to give people a chance?
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Cory, I Never Even Knew You
In 1988 I was just graduating from highschool. I had an older boyfriend, skinny jeans and had just realized that I had an affinity for another entirely different set of Lost Boys, Guns & Roses. I remember the Corys. As in, "Oh look, all the younger girls are crushing on a River Phoenix lookalike and a ferret" But I would have been a pervert to notice them. They certainly were no....hmmm. Rob Lowe? I can't remember who was the sensation that year.
But I can remember being in college, and having a friend, Pleather Kathy, of the $5 Rave throwaway outfits, and cruising at Old Orchard Beach, a full 2 hours north of our house, looking for all the world like party favor groupies in her Pontiac Firebird (well beyond any time that a Firebird was cool, mind you, The VW Rabbit was cool), meeting all the bands, and then the next morning pretending I didn't know them on the beach. Because to be fair, long hair, tight jeans and necklaces look fantastic at 3am but at high noon on the sand? Just stop it.
And for all people talk about big hair in the 80's, by 87, 88, 89 - well, it's like the scene in Summer of Sam when Mira Sorvino and whatever Vinny Boombatsi's real name was go into the bar and disco is dead and grunge is king. At this point girls were in penny loafers and blazers and every good club turned into an Irish Pub, and we were all expected to be biatheletes and play hackey-sack and snowboard and really, the list goes on. We had to go to Southern Maine, dress like we were from Montreal and sneak gin into Porkeys by the Pier just to try and capture some of the early 80s mojo we missed by the raised drinking age.
Yes, when I was 15 they raised the drinking age from 18 to 20.
The shortly after to 21.
Bitter, those years.
But I digress.
I think though there were the Corys, and NKoTB, and likely myriad other young boy bands all the while I was discovering Bad Company and wearing skinny jeans with white heels to the Montley Crue Theater of Pain concert... but only in secret.
To class I wore the de rigueur gap headband, jeans and cardigan.
An outfit, I might at, I am still HANDLING today. Yes, that's my new expression.
I'm no longer rocking things, I'm handling them.
So I suppose farewell to Cory, one of you.
and also to Merlin Olsen, aka Jonathan Garvey on Little House on the Prairie who by the way, NEVER appeared in any of the 8 books or The First Four Years, Rose Wilder's publication of her mothers notes so obviously I'm calling BALDERDASH and SHENANIGANS on this one.
Ah my youth.
Farrah, Michael, Brittany, Cory, and the made up Prairie guy.
I wonder if number three will be someone from Men at Work?
Or Irene Cara.
But I can remember being in college, and having a friend, Pleather Kathy, of the $5 Rave throwaway outfits, and cruising at Old Orchard Beach, a full 2 hours north of our house, looking for all the world like party favor groupies in her Pontiac Firebird (well beyond any time that a Firebird was cool, mind you, The VW Rabbit was cool), meeting all the bands, and then the next morning pretending I didn't know them on the beach. Because to be fair, long hair, tight jeans and necklaces look fantastic at 3am but at high noon on the sand? Just stop it.
And for all people talk about big hair in the 80's, by 87, 88, 89 - well, it's like the scene in Summer of Sam when Mira Sorvino and whatever Vinny Boombatsi's real name was go into the bar and disco is dead and grunge is king. At this point girls were in penny loafers and blazers and every good club turned into an Irish Pub, and we were all expected to be biatheletes and play hackey-sack and snowboard and really, the list goes on. We had to go to Southern Maine, dress like we were from Montreal and sneak gin into Porkeys by the Pier just to try and capture some of the early 80s mojo we missed by the raised drinking age.
Yes, when I was 15 they raised the drinking age from 18 to 20.
The shortly after to 21.
Bitter, those years.
But I digress.
I think though there were the Corys, and NKoTB, and likely myriad other young boy bands all the while I was discovering Bad Company and wearing skinny jeans with white heels to the Montley Crue Theater of Pain concert... but only in secret.
To class I wore the de rigueur gap headband, jeans and cardigan.
An outfit, I might at, I am still HANDLING today. Yes, that's my new expression.
I'm no longer rocking things, I'm handling them.
So I suppose farewell to Cory, one of you.
and also to Merlin Olsen, aka Jonathan Garvey on Little House on the Prairie who by the way, NEVER appeared in any of the 8 books or The First Four Years, Rose Wilder's publication of her mothers notes so obviously I'm calling BALDERDASH and SHENANIGANS on this one.
Ah my youth.
Farrah, Michael, Brittany, Cory, and the made up Prairie guy.
I wonder if number three will be someone from Men at Work?
Or Irene Cara.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
They're Magically Delicious
"What do you want for breakfast?"
YOGURT. Top of her lungs.
Banilla yogurt gets spooned in.
When I finish this can i have more?
"Absolutely!"
She finishes it.
Has more.
CAN I HAVE BLUEBERRIES???
"Absolutely! But only a few, the rest are for school."
I DON'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL.
And as if I planned i, I lied. Rolled RIGHT off my tongue.
"oh sweetie, I know. But the TV man is coming today. The TV is broken and if we stay home, we can't watch tv all day. And we can't go out or to the park because Mommy has to wait for him.
They both look at me.
Doug: What's wrong with the tv?
Ellie: WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE TV???
"Oh we're not getting all the channels we should. Mommy called and askedthem to give us more Olivia."
And nothing more was said.
So we are off to school today after all.
CAN I HAVE MORE TO EAT?
"Absolutely" (my word of the day) "What do you want? Do you want cereal?"
YES! PUFFINS or CHEERIOS?
"um" and I had the puffins open nearby "Puffins?'
But it was too late.
She spied the box of Daddy's secret cereal.
I WANT REAL CEREAL!
"You dooooo?
YES! I DO!
So I sighed.
Resigned.
Because I know what Lucky Charms means.
Sorting the wheat from the chafe.
The good from the bad.
Segregation.
The separation of sugar from grain.
But she's a good little girl, and I woke up at 3:18 and knew I was a bit barky, so a reward was in order.
And with a huge smile:
"Sure honey" wait for it "Absolutely."
So I wiped dry the blueberry bowl, and got a second dry one for next to it.
And poured.
She looked up at me, as sweet as pie.
CAN YOU PICK THOSE OUT PLEASE
And she pointed to the offenders.
Every last marshmallow one of them.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Eeyore Wasn't the Only Donkey
Of course it's not ALL gloom and doom.
I just woke up today uncomfortable.
All night last night my stomach was hard.
So I woke up... not feeling great.
And it's not exactly going away.
Thus the moodiness.
After 3 days inside, blue skies, 3 friends joining "my gym" where I worked out alone for 6 months and now they'll go together...
after missing 2 birthday parties,
after waking up more sore then the day before,
I felt... discouraged.
It feels as if...
someone opened a tiny parasol from a mai tei in my... well, there. Inside.
as if I have something stuck.
It's a tugging.
a sense of invasion.
There's a small pulling sensation.
And it hurts a little, later in the afternoon.
It hurt so much at 3pm today that I cried before getting out of the car, then I didn't cry on the couch but Ellie brought me her binky anyway. She said I'd feel better.
It was her blue one, her favorite.
Which I hate.
Because she hardly ever - ever sees me cry.
But it hurt today. Physically.
On a scale of 1-10? A one. A two at most.
On a scale of wanting to feel interference in your vagina after surgery? On the panic spectrum? A six.
But it wasn't a bad day.
I never talk about Ellie.
I talk around her, I refer to her but I don't...discourse on her.
But she's... just... so.... great.
She really is funny, and charming, and articulate and a good little happy girl.
She's easy, good christ, she's easy and thank god for it.
It's hysterical.
I smile at her a million times and I hug her ten more.
So I may wax on here, in this environs about whats wrong, but don't assume for a moment that during the day, I don't see what's right.
Tomorrow is a new day.
I doubt that I'll be less afraid, and I'm starting to differentiate between tired, and anxious, but maybe I can devise a plan. Something that feels forward, even positive. something more uplifting then waiting.
And not something chore related.
But something fun.
Something rewarding.
Like talking to my cousin and looking at pictures from Maine last summer.
Or depositing the $60 "refund" we got yesterday, for what we don't know.
Or cutting out ears for a bunny craft for Ellie and I to do to decorate the front door.
Maybe it's putting together the marketing materials for the preschool.
Or finding a way to clean the office upstairs sans movement.
Maybe I'll find more books by the author I like at the library.
Or maybe I'll recycle something away.Because I love purging.
Whatever it is, tomorrow is another day and 5 days of feeling bad, frankly, is 5 days worth of enough.
I just woke up today uncomfortable.
All night last night my stomach was hard.
So I woke up... not feeling great.
And it's not exactly going away.
Thus the moodiness.
After 3 days inside, blue skies, 3 friends joining "my gym" where I worked out alone for 6 months and now they'll go together...
after missing 2 birthday parties,
after waking up more sore then the day before,
I felt... discouraged.
It feels as if...
someone opened a tiny parasol from a mai tei in my... well, there. Inside.
as if I have something stuck.
It's a tugging.
a sense of invasion.
There's a small pulling sensation.
And it hurts a little, later in the afternoon.
It hurt so much at 3pm today that I cried before getting out of the car, then I didn't cry on the couch but Ellie brought me her binky anyway. She said I'd feel better.
It was her blue one, her favorite.
Which I hate.
Because she hardly ever - ever sees me cry.
But it hurt today. Physically.
On a scale of 1-10? A one. A two at most.
On a scale of wanting to feel interference in your vagina after surgery? On the panic spectrum? A six.
But it wasn't a bad day.
I never talk about Ellie.
I talk around her, I refer to her but I don't...discourse on her.
But she's... just... so.... great.
She really is funny, and charming, and articulate and a good little happy girl.
She's easy, good christ, she's easy and thank god for it.
It's hysterical.
I smile at her a million times and I hug her ten more.
So I may wax on here, in this environs about whats wrong, but don't assume for a moment that during the day, I don't see what's right.
Tomorrow is a new day.
I doubt that I'll be less afraid, and I'm starting to differentiate between tired, and anxious, but maybe I can devise a plan. Something that feels forward, even positive. something more uplifting then waiting.
And not something chore related.
But something fun.
Something rewarding.
Like talking to my cousin and looking at pictures from Maine last summer.
Or depositing the $60 "refund" we got yesterday, for what we don't know.
Or cutting out ears for a bunny craft for Ellie and I to do to decorate the front door.
Maybe it's putting together the marketing materials for the preschool.
Or finding a way to clean the office upstairs sans movement.
Maybe I'll find more books by the author I like at the library.
Or maybe I'll recycle something away.Because I love purging.
Whatever it is, tomorrow is another day and 5 days of feeling bad, frankly, is 5 days worth of enough.
The Test is Came Back Positive
Despite my best intentions, I find it hard to stay upbeat.
Not positive, but buoyant.
I'm ... in a word... frustrated.
It's the weather. The waiting all winter for the sun to shine through, the skies being blue, the ground clearing... and the sense of not being able to go forward.
Really, I know.
Could I whine a bit more.
Daily I don't walk around glum. I'm not wailing, bemoaning, kvetching. But I'm... sad.
I mean I'm lost for another word.
It's not depression, it's feeling somewhat stagnant.
I miss exercising, I miss feeling strong, confident.
I dislike having to stop and question whether every action will have a reaction. Am I sitting too long, have I lifted too much, have I walked too far? Is not doing laundry a sign of taking care? Of apathy? Of lethargy?
I'm...mad
I'm mad at myself for a million things. If I had known more long ago, I would have seen a different doctor. I would have had laser removal not a cone biopsy, I would have...oh, I have no idea. I would have taken better care.
I'm...dissapointed.
We were on the cusp of all things good. My daughter is awesome, fun, chatty, motivated. We were waiting for spring, waiting to play. She climbs, swings, sings. I had visions of the park, the beach. I had dreams for us that included minor league baseball games, jaunts to my friends private cove, fantasies of playdates and a farm themed birthday party. Singalongs, petting zoos. New England in all it's spring glory - with a million ways to entertain a curious child.
I'm ... lucky.
I'm lucky I don't work. I';m lucky I'm motivated. I'm likely I'm interested in things - and that there is always something to explore and yet...
I am...stuck.
I'm stuck in this vast waiting land. Expecting.
Expecting.
Waiting.
And I'm...mad again.
Mad that I can't just continue being while I wait.
Mad that we can't enjoy what may be the last months of our time together.
I'm mad that I'm going to sacrifice her time, my time, our dreams for another dream...
one that it's hard not to regret.
Later. If they are born. Healthy, maybe in a year I'll say "It was worth it". That this was a good idea.
But in the middle of it, at the beginning of it, when all you can see is what you lose every day, what you could lose forever vs what you may gain in what seems like the far far off future, it's hard to stay... positive.
Not positive, but buoyant.
I'm ... in a word... frustrated.
It's the weather. The waiting all winter for the sun to shine through, the skies being blue, the ground clearing... and the sense of not being able to go forward.
Really, I know.
Could I whine a bit more.
Daily I don't walk around glum. I'm not wailing, bemoaning, kvetching. But I'm... sad.
I mean I'm lost for another word.
It's not depression, it's feeling somewhat stagnant.
I miss exercising, I miss feeling strong, confident.
I dislike having to stop and question whether every action will have a reaction. Am I sitting too long, have I lifted too much, have I walked too far? Is not doing laundry a sign of taking care? Of apathy? Of lethargy?
I'm...mad
I'm mad at myself for a million things. If I had known more long ago, I would have seen a different doctor. I would have had laser removal not a cone biopsy, I would have...oh, I have no idea. I would have taken better care.
I'm...dissapointed.
We were on the cusp of all things good. My daughter is awesome, fun, chatty, motivated. We were waiting for spring, waiting to play. She climbs, swings, sings. I had visions of the park, the beach. I had dreams for us that included minor league baseball games, jaunts to my friends private cove, fantasies of playdates and a farm themed birthday party. Singalongs, petting zoos. New England in all it's spring glory - with a million ways to entertain a curious child.
I'm ... lucky.
I'm lucky I don't work. I';m lucky I'm motivated. I'm likely I'm interested in things - and that there is always something to explore and yet...
I am...stuck.
I'm stuck in this vast waiting land. Expecting.
Expecting.
Waiting.
And I'm...mad again.
Mad that I can't just continue being while I wait.
Mad that we can't enjoy what may be the last months of our time together.
I'm mad that I'm going to sacrifice her time, my time, our dreams for another dream...
one that it's hard not to regret.
Later. If they are born. Healthy, maybe in a year I'll say "It was worth it". That this was a good idea.
But in the middle of it, at the beginning of it, when all you can see is what you lose every day, what you could lose forever vs what you may gain in what seems like the far far off future, it's hard to stay... positive.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
emailing post surgery...
me: like I had sex with a baseball bat then the same bat hit me in the back.
her: Oh, yeah, THAT feeling. Sure. I know that one.
Cloud Daddy
Speaking of god, and things godlike I should say...
"god" to me is universal. He's not a he, or the father of Christ, or of a book, or bible, or prophet. When I speak of God I speak of all things. Karma, fate, the universe, astrology, tarot, deja vu, the wheel of life, the wheel of fortune(I'd like to buy an "e" Pat).
I'm not sure there is a divine plan, path, or fate per se. I think, for each person, it s like the tincan telephone game. "God" manifests differently. To some he's catholic, to some he's still coming, to some he's many. To me I mean the forces in the universe, however my pea brain forms it.
"god" to me is universal. He's not a he, or the father of Christ, or of a book, or bible, or prophet. When I speak of God I speak of all things. Karma, fate, the universe, astrology, tarot, deja vu, the wheel of life, the wheel of fortune(I'd like to buy an "e" Pat).
I'm not sure there is a divine plan, path, or fate per se. I think, for each person, it s like the tincan telephone game. "God" manifests differently. To some he's catholic, to some he's still coming, to some he's many. To me I mean the forces in the universe, however my pea brain forms it.
Friday, March 5, 2010
A Prayer
The last thing Ellie's preschool teacher said to me was "We'll be praying for you tomorrow".
I took a bath last night. It wasn't relaxing. I knew my legs needed shaving but I was balancing a book, and rather then move the cups and alphabet letters, I shifted around them like you do when the cat sleeps on the bed.
I thought "I'm not going to sit in water again now until September. Maybe longer"
Then I thought about what else I won't do again.
I won't be picking Ellie up.
We won't be having sex.
I won't run, stoop, carry or squat.
I won't strain when I poop.
I'm definitely not eating salmon or tuna (talk about foods that have killed me lately.)
I'm not going to pray.
God knows.
He knows that I'm trusting him.
I don't need to call his attention down on me, or direct more prayers his way.
He knows that I have asked, just the once, for his will to be done and I know that it will be revealed.
I'm...waiting.
"Are you worried?"
No. Yes.
No because it's out of my hands. Today I'll lie there (lay there? I really need to have Cindy correct my grammar someday) and they'll put me to sleep. I think I'm more worried about the epidural. What if I become a lifetime movie? Paralyzed with Twins. And then I think about how people put cats under to get them groomed, fixed - and some never wake up.
When I had the D&C in June I remember asking the doctor to please not let me die from the anesthesia. Strangely, or not so strangely, she didn't laugh. I think it must be a common fear.
Doug's coming with me.
He'll be useless, of course, like all men at hospitals, bumbling bags and insurance cards, worrying. Intercepting. Afraid to talk but fully willing to comment on anything I may do or say.
I wish my handicap placard was approved. We'll be walking forever today. Although I think they wheel me out.
As far as the babies, worry? On the one hand we should. It's vanity to assume that everything will go ok, it's tempting fate. It's arrogant. Yet fruitless to worry, what will be, will be. i'm not walking in assuming "Oh god will watch over us" nor am I blindly, blithely assuming that all will be fine. i just, can't ask for an outcome. Because it's larger then me.
When Ellie's teacher said she'd pray I thought "please pray for god's will to be done." Because seldom do I think you should pray for anything but.
I don't ever pray that god do what I want.
I pray "do what's best. do what in your wisdom is best."
Before i got married there were nights I'd lie (lay? Cindy, really, step in here) in bed and think "why did you give me the capacity to love if you didn't intend for me to use it?" Followed by "you must have a plan for me, I just need to listen, to wait." Because there were times when I heard a voice greater then mine and I choose not to listen, I defended bad behavior, I lived unauthentically, when confronted with a choice, I marginalized myself or my instincts instead allowing myself to be led by things false - money, security, desire. I think it was only when I said "Please, you decide. You take over. You steer the ship." that all my wishes came true.
I still don't listen, I mean to, but I'm human.
Fallable,
Imperfect.
It's something I work on. The waiting for guidance.
It goes against culture, it's counterintuitive. Waiting itself is a choice. Inaction is stll action, but it flies in the face of the 1930s Ford Roosevelt mentality. Decide your fate, Americans. Work hard. Make it happen.
Some things aren't meant to be forced.
In the face of things small, I fight. I rally. I get angry, I try to affect change.
In the face of things large, while I don't surrender, I let go. Because the universe always, always takes care of me. If you are silent, if you listen, if you pray that god give you what he desires for you, what he sees is best for you, rather then what you comprehend you desire, it's generally what you are meant to have.
Do I pray that I become a mother again? No. Do I pray that today goes well, no.
What am I praying for, nothing?
I'm not asking.
I'm listening.
I'm waiting.
I worry maybe that we were vain. Like in mythology that we reached too high, we wanted too much. That we weren't meant for children and by pursuing what was not given, that god will give us 'what we asked for' in the form of children who shouldn't be here. So I never ever ask. I am...humble. I'm repentant if he told me not to try and I didn't listen. Not because I'm pregnant now, but because I forgot to listen. I couldn't hear anything besides us, thinking we should. Justifying that we had the love to give, and that we want Ellie to have siblings. I wasn't ...serene. I didn't listen. I wasn't listening. So now it's hard to hear.
I will not pray for children to live. That's foolhardy.
Will I quote Enter Sandman and say to be careful what you wish, for you just might get it?
I ...hope?...for their sake not mine, that if children are meant to be here that they come whole. That I don't burden my husband, my daughter, with a lifetime of caretaking for siblings, for a child, for children that need constant medical care. That I didn't take our life, our good life, and ruin it with desire. That my ambitions don't punish them. I will survive.
One outcome of today is that it stresses my cervix. That instead of buying me time, it shortens my time. At 13 , 14 weeks I'll be safe. I think. But at 19, 20, 22...god's will be done. If they are born too early, they will die.
Surely.
I don't pray that away.
I can only state my intentions.
So this morning I dedicate myself, in this circumstance to god' will.
- I'm sorry if I wasn't listening. I don't want to interrupt you plans by asking for anything, interrupt your day by praying. I've already rang that doorbell, you know where I'm standing. I'm just here. I'm not hurrying you. You know that I'm willing to accept your plan. My intentions are for your will to be done.
I'm not sure though that I can decide for Doug, for Ellie. So please, please keep my husband and daughter safe. Please protect them today, and my friends, from pain, and my doctors from error. Please watch everyone around me and take care of Megan today. Give her joy in her heart and peace, not so she can take better care of Ellie but because she is good, and she should feel that in her heart. Please take care of my friend Linda today, who has a new baby of her own and I know is watching over us with hope. Please give me the ability to resolve my anger, you know at who. I cannot do that alone.
Please spare those around me from the follies I perpetuated. Don't punish them for my transgressions, if I have been blind or haven't listened.
If we are meant, in your wisdom, to bring children then you decide for us. If you give them I will care for them, if you take them, i will know they are not meant to be.
In all cases, I defer to you.
I will not ask for strength, you have already made me.
I will not ask for hope, my hope lies within you.
I ask that you protect those you can and help me please listen to your voice. And thank you for the gifs I have already been given.
I'm tired now and going back to sleep.
There's one hour between now and the alarm clock, and sometime in that hour I hope that I can stop talking, and start listening.
I took a bath last night. It wasn't relaxing. I knew my legs needed shaving but I was balancing a book, and rather then move the cups and alphabet letters, I shifted around them like you do when the cat sleeps on the bed.
I thought "I'm not going to sit in water again now until September. Maybe longer"
Then I thought about what else I won't do again.
I won't be picking Ellie up.
We won't be having sex.
I won't run, stoop, carry or squat.
I won't strain when I poop.
I'm definitely not eating salmon or tuna (talk about foods that have killed me lately.)
I'm not going to pray.
God knows.
He knows that I'm trusting him.
I don't need to call his attention down on me, or direct more prayers his way.
He knows that I have asked, just the once, for his will to be done and I know that it will be revealed.
I'm...waiting.
"Are you worried?"
No. Yes.
No because it's out of my hands. Today I'll lie there (lay there? I really need to have Cindy correct my grammar someday) and they'll put me to sleep. I think I'm more worried about the epidural. What if I become a lifetime movie? Paralyzed with Twins. And then I think about how people put cats under to get them groomed, fixed - and some never wake up.
When I had the D&C in June I remember asking the doctor to please not let me die from the anesthesia. Strangely, or not so strangely, she didn't laugh. I think it must be a common fear.
Doug's coming with me.
He'll be useless, of course, like all men at hospitals, bumbling bags and insurance cards, worrying. Intercepting. Afraid to talk but fully willing to comment on anything I may do or say.
I wish my handicap placard was approved. We'll be walking forever today. Although I think they wheel me out.
As far as the babies, worry? On the one hand we should. It's vanity to assume that everything will go ok, it's tempting fate. It's arrogant. Yet fruitless to worry, what will be, will be. i'm not walking in assuming "Oh god will watch over us" nor am I blindly, blithely assuming that all will be fine. i just, can't ask for an outcome. Because it's larger then me.
When Ellie's teacher said she'd pray I thought "please pray for god's will to be done." Because seldom do I think you should pray for anything but.
I don't ever pray that god do what I want.
I pray "do what's best. do what in your wisdom is best."
Before i got married there were nights I'd lie (lay? Cindy, really, step in here) in bed and think "why did you give me the capacity to love if you didn't intend for me to use it?" Followed by "you must have a plan for me, I just need to listen, to wait." Because there were times when I heard a voice greater then mine and I choose not to listen, I defended bad behavior, I lived unauthentically, when confronted with a choice, I marginalized myself or my instincts instead allowing myself to be led by things false - money, security, desire. I think it was only when I said "Please, you decide. You take over. You steer the ship." that all my wishes came true.
I still don't listen, I mean to, but I'm human.
Fallable,
Imperfect.
It's something I work on. The waiting for guidance.
It goes against culture, it's counterintuitive. Waiting itself is a choice. Inaction is stll action, but it flies in the face of the 1930s Ford Roosevelt mentality. Decide your fate, Americans. Work hard. Make it happen.
Some things aren't meant to be forced.
In the face of things small, I fight. I rally. I get angry, I try to affect change.
In the face of things large, while I don't surrender, I let go. Because the universe always, always takes care of me. If you are silent, if you listen, if you pray that god give you what he desires for you, what he sees is best for you, rather then what you comprehend you desire, it's generally what you are meant to have.
Do I pray that I become a mother again? No. Do I pray that today goes well, no.
What am I praying for, nothing?
I'm not asking.
I'm listening.
I'm waiting.
I worry maybe that we were vain. Like in mythology that we reached too high, we wanted too much. That we weren't meant for children and by pursuing what was not given, that god will give us 'what we asked for' in the form of children who shouldn't be here. So I never ever ask. I am...humble. I'm repentant if he told me not to try and I didn't listen. Not because I'm pregnant now, but because I forgot to listen. I couldn't hear anything besides us, thinking we should. Justifying that we had the love to give, and that we want Ellie to have siblings. I wasn't ...serene. I didn't listen. I wasn't listening. So now it's hard to hear.
I will not pray for children to live. That's foolhardy.
Will I quote Enter Sandman and say to be careful what you wish, for you just might get it?
I ...hope?...for their sake not mine, that if children are meant to be here that they come whole. That I don't burden my husband, my daughter, with a lifetime of caretaking for siblings, for a child, for children that need constant medical care. That I didn't take our life, our good life, and ruin it with desire. That my ambitions don't punish them. I will survive.
One outcome of today is that it stresses my cervix. That instead of buying me time, it shortens my time. At 13 , 14 weeks I'll be safe. I think. But at 19, 20, 22...god's will be done. If they are born too early, they will die.
Surely.
I don't pray that away.
I can only state my intentions.
So this morning I dedicate myself, in this circumstance to god' will.
- I'm sorry if I wasn't listening. I don't want to interrupt you plans by asking for anything, interrupt your day by praying. I've already rang that doorbell, you know where I'm standing. I'm just here. I'm not hurrying you. You know that I'm willing to accept your plan. My intentions are for your will to be done.
I'm not sure though that I can decide for Doug, for Ellie. So please, please keep my husband and daughter safe. Please protect them today, and my friends, from pain, and my doctors from error. Please watch everyone around me and take care of Megan today. Give her joy in her heart and peace, not so she can take better care of Ellie but because she is good, and she should feel that in her heart. Please take care of my friend Linda today, who has a new baby of her own and I know is watching over us with hope. Please give me the ability to resolve my anger, you know at who. I cannot do that alone.
Please spare those around me from the follies I perpetuated. Don't punish them for my transgressions, if I have been blind or haven't listened.
If we are meant, in your wisdom, to bring children then you decide for us. If you give them I will care for them, if you take them, i will know they are not meant to be.
In all cases, I defer to you.
I will not ask for strength, you have already made me.
I will not ask for hope, my hope lies within you.
I ask that you protect those you can and help me please listen to your voice. And thank you for the gifs I have already been given.
I'm tired now and going back to sleep.
There's one hour between now and the alarm clock, and sometime in that hour I hope that I can stop talking, and start listening.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Breaking The Fourth Wall
Hey.
Hi.
Hello.
Don't get awkward, ok?
A couple of weeks ago, I become concerned about some of the traffic to my site. I don't have a counter, I don't track paths. But I got a few comments that weren't local, and I couldn't verify the author, and I started to wonder from whence they came.
About 3 weeks ago I added something called Stat Counter to my blog. It's hidden html and it tracks IP addresses. Usually I don't check it, but a couple of days ago, I got an extremely odd comment from someone wholly unconnected - her age, her personality, her blog. She wasn't anyone that I'd meet halfway...so I pulled an analysis. Mostly because if you read through my blog, you eventually figure out who I am, where we live, you can right click and save my daughters pictures. It just want to get a sense of where people are coming from. Literally that is, not metaphorically.
Because here's the thing. I choose to be public, and I did put this out there. But I didn't publicize it. I'm not on FB, it's not on my signature line. In fact, I'm pretty on the down low about it.
About a year and a half ago, a friend attached me to her blog, and a second friend then added me to her blogroll, and I suppose my vanity let myself stay there. It's nice to be read. It's nice to feel connected. I truly didn't mind that she publicized me, nor was I upset that I potentially knew readers. Yes, it changes the anonymity, it changes some of the tone but for the most part, I try to write for myself and try not to be overtly hurtful. I also had no real idea who was visiting, for how long, how often. I'm not super interesting and I'm not always relevant.
So when I pulled the report the other day I was...surprised I guess. I was able to see some paths of folks who linked through a third party blog, and how frequently they visit. The tool allows me an IP address and a service provider, so I can see say, that someone in Happytown who has Comcast is accessing me through wordpressbloggerjane. Daily. Several someones.
Now don't be upset, because I'm not spying on you. It goes no further then that. And I'm not upset that you are here, in fact, I hope as you read, you find that we have some things in common, some things that make you think, maybe some things that make you smile. I hope that over the last couple of days maybe you've thought something better about me, or we've touched each other. Because you ARE part of it, whether I know it or not.
When I met my husband he said he was "charmingly hopeful or hopefully charming" depending on your viewpoint.
I hope you feel the same.
Or maybe I'm the blogger you love to hate.
Either way, I just want to say this. I'm not always fair. Sometimes I'm hurt, or angry, like on Monday. And if you know me, my schedule, my friends...it's pretty easy to figure out who knows someone who knows the someone I was talking about. I know she wouldn't come here in a million years and I further know that without this blog, I'd have likely detonated the friendship. I'm still angry with her. I'm still processing how to address it. I wouldn't hurt her for the world. But I can't be sure that someone else wouldn't hurt her.
If I don't know you are here, I can't protect you. If I don't know you are reading, I can't censor for you. This isn't me defending myself, this is my coming to you and saying "Please respect what you find here".
You are always welcome here. You are always welcome into my life if you want to be in it. You are welcome to like me, or choose based on who I am, to dislike me. You don't need my permission. But I am asking you to respect me. You are for all intents and purposes standing in my house. If I didn't invite you in but you came, please don't hurt someone else because of me. Don't send my link to someone to inflame a situation. To read me to have ammunition against me.
I can't control who visits here nor do I want to.
But I can ask you to be careful. Because my words here were written as a form of self expression for me. I didn't solicit your attention nor would I willfully hurt you, or someone else. But if your intentions are different, I'm asking you - respectfully - to please move on.
If you stay, if you want to stay, thank you.
I'd love to have you.
I'd love to hear what you think, hear more about you.
I hope you aren't angry.
I just needed to let you know.
Hi.
Hello.
Don't get awkward, ok?
A couple of weeks ago, I become concerned about some of the traffic to my site. I don't have a counter, I don't track paths. But I got a few comments that weren't local, and I couldn't verify the author, and I started to wonder from whence they came.
About 3 weeks ago I added something called Stat Counter to my blog. It's hidden html and it tracks IP addresses. Usually I don't check it, but a couple of days ago, I got an extremely odd comment from someone wholly unconnected - her age, her personality, her blog. She wasn't anyone that I'd meet halfway...so I pulled an analysis. Mostly because if you read through my blog, you eventually figure out who I am, where we live, you can right click and save my daughters pictures. It just want to get a sense of where people are coming from. Literally that is, not metaphorically.
Because here's the thing. I choose to be public, and I did put this out there. But I didn't publicize it. I'm not on FB, it's not on my signature line. In fact, I'm pretty on the down low about it.
About a year and a half ago, a friend attached me to her blog, and a second friend then added me to her blogroll, and I suppose my vanity let myself stay there. It's nice to be read. It's nice to feel connected. I truly didn't mind that she publicized me, nor was I upset that I potentially knew readers. Yes, it changes the anonymity, it changes some of the tone but for the most part, I try to write for myself and try not to be overtly hurtful. I also had no real idea who was visiting, for how long, how often. I'm not super interesting and I'm not always relevant.
So when I pulled the report the other day I was...surprised I guess. I was able to see some paths of folks who linked through a third party blog, and how frequently they visit. The tool allows me an IP address and a service provider, so I can see say, that someone in Happytown who has Comcast is accessing me through wordpressbloggerjane. Daily. Several someones.
Now don't be upset, because I'm not spying on you. It goes no further then that. And I'm not upset that you are here, in fact, I hope as you read, you find that we have some things in common, some things that make you think, maybe some things that make you smile. I hope that over the last couple of days maybe you've thought something better about me, or we've touched each other. Because you ARE part of it, whether I know it or not.
When I met my husband he said he was "charmingly hopeful or hopefully charming" depending on your viewpoint.
I hope you feel the same.
Or maybe I'm the blogger you love to hate.
Either way, I just want to say this. I'm not always fair. Sometimes I'm hurt, or angry, like on Monday. And if you know me, my schedule, my friends...it's pretty easy to figure out who knows someone who knows the someone I was talking about. I know she wouldn't come here in a million years and I further know that without this blog, I'd have likely detonated the friendship. I'm still angry with her. I'm still processing how to address it. I wouldn't hurt her for the world. But I can't be sure that someone else wouldn't hurt her.
If I don't know you are here, I can't protect you. If I don't know you are reading, I can't censor for you. This isn't me defending myself, this is my coming to you and saying "Please respect what you find here".
You are always welcome here. You are always welcome into my life if you want to be in it. You are welcome to like me, or choose based on who I am, to dislike me. You don't need my permission. But I am asking you to respect me. You are for all intents and purposes standing in my house. If I didn't invite you in but you came, please don't hurt someone else because of me. Don't send my link to someone to inflame a situation. To read me to have ammunition against me.
I can't control who visits here nor do I want to.
But I can ask you to be careful. Because my words here were written as a form of self expression for me. I didn't solicit your attention nor would I willfully hurt you, or someone else. But if your intentions are different, I'm asking you - respectfully - to please move on.
If you stay, if you want to stay, thank you.
I'd love to have you.
I'd love to hear what you think, hear more about you.
I hope you aren't angry.
I just needed to let you know.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
I just saved a BUNDLE on car insurance.
We stayed in today.
No playdate, no errands.
Just me and the munchkin.
I made a lemon bread. Got new car insurance, canceled the old. Found a pediatric dentist, made an appointment. Downloaded an insurance card, paid the utility bills. Downloaded a months worth of doctors appointments into my calendar. Emailed the preschool teacher some sample promotional fliers and offered to update her collateral. Vacuumed. I returned 2 calls, mailed 2 gifts, did 2 loads of laundry. I compulsively counted 6 color coordinated M&Ms into 6 plastic Easter eggs (which I hide in my pocketbook as 'treats' for a crisis) and I think I blog posted as if I was tweeting. I looked on CL for childcare workers, and ultimately picked up 9 shirts at the drycleaners, filled the tank and denied myself $45 worth of prenatal vitamins. I made one set of social plans and wrote out a birthday card. I confirmed a menu and calendar for my mother to take Ellie and emptied out the fridge. I was...somewhat productive.
During that time, I also allowed the cherub to self entertain.
The good thing about a Montessori preschool is it teaches independence.
I'd have to say the downside is that limits aren't clearly defined.
photo subtitled:
ELLIE, also productive, learns to get stepstool, open cabinet, obtain Cheerios, obtain bowl from second cabinet, bring BOTH to living room and pour self a snack.
Who has the heart to yell with that kind of industry?
I congratulated her on being enterprising.
Oh.
And that's when I vacuumed.
No playdate, no errands.
Just me and the munchkin.
I made a lemon bread. Got new car insurance, canceled the old. Found a pediatric dentist, made an appointment. Downloaded an insurance card, paid the utility bills. Downloaded a months worth of doctors appointments into my calendar. Emailed the preschool teacher some sample promotional fliers and offered to update her collateral. Vacuumed. I returned 2 calls, mailed 2 gifts, did 2 loads of laundry. I compulsively counted 6 color coordinated M&Ms into 6 plastic Easter eggs (which I hide in my pocketbook as 'treats' for a crisis) and I think I blog posted as if I was tweeting. I looked on CL for childcare workers, and ultimately picked up 9 shirts at the drycleaners, filled the tank and denied myself $45 worth of prenatal vitamins. I made one set of social plans and wrote out a birthday card. I confirmed a menu and calendar for my mother to take Ellie and emptied out the fridge. I was...somewhat productive.
During that time, I also allowed the cherub to self entertain.
The good thing about a Montessori preschool is it teaches independence.
I'd have to say the downside is that limits aren't clearly defined.
photo subtitled:
ELLIE, also productive, learns to get stepstool, open cabinet, obtain Cheerios, obtain bowl from second cabinet, bring BOTH to living room and pour self a snack.
Who has the heart to yell with that kind of industry?
I congratulated her on being enterprising.
Oh.
And that's when I vacuumed.
Suburban Anxiety
Someone just rang the doorbell.
Several times.
Aggressively.
I yelled down. "Who IS it???"
No answer.
Ellie's in the tub.
I go to the window and see a man, shifting, foot to foot, loosely holding a vaseful of flowers.
No car on the street. No uniform.
Just a guy and flowers.
Now I know tomorrow is surgery date.
And the chances of a random crazy doing a "flower scam" to break in and what? Molest me? Steal from me? The chances are slim.
But I also know tht my friends know about me and flowers. So unless it's someone Doug knows...
Maybe I watch too much CSI but to be fair, flowers or not, I'm not whipping my door open for anyone during the middle of the day.
He left.
I opened the door.
No note, no vase, no post-it saying "We tried to reach you"
Nada.
I wait for a call.
Maybe the florist will try and reach me.
Nothing.
The phone rings.
AHA! It's Heather.
"Did you send me flowers?" I asked.
"Hell no" she hooted. "If I wanted to send flowers to the nursing home, I would."
The girl KNOWS me.
I fucking hate florists, flowers, floral deliveries. All of it.
$4 at Stop and shop for carnations, hooray!
Anything else: edible arrangements, chocolates, flowers, bah. I donate.
No, I'm not grateful to be thought of.
It's like sending a vegetarian Omaha Steaks.
I dislike the consumerism, the mark up, the waste. Send me a note. $.44 and I'm yours. But flowers? Now I have to trim stems, smell them, replenish water, find a place to display them, look at them, SMELL them..then they die. What was the point? $50 to say "Hi"? Next time, just say "hi" ok? Thank you and really, thank you. But don't waste your money.
So finally I go outside. I hunt on the ground.
A note under the bushes.
From the florist.
"We tried to deliver"
Sigh.
I call.
"Can you tell me who from?"
They tell me.
Shit.
They are from people I like.
A lot.
I'm going to need to thank them.
Yet it's the second or third time they've sent flowers...
So now Ellie and I are going to drive to the florist.
Hi ho, hi ho
it's off to the nursing home I go....
Several times.
Aggressively.
I yelled down. "Who IS it???"
No answer.
Ellie's in the tub.
I go to the window and see a man, shifting, foot to foot, loosely holding a vaseful of flowers.
No car on the street. No uniform.
Just a guy and flowers.
Now I know tomorrow is surgery date.
And the chances of a random crazy doing a "flower scam" to break in and what? Molest me? Steal from me? The chances are slim.
But I also know tht my friends know about me and flowers. So unless it's someone Doug knows...
Maybe I watch too much CSI but to be fair, flowers or not, I'm not whipping my door open for anyone during the middle of the day.
He left.
I opened the door.
No note, no vase, no post-it saying "We tried to reach you"
Nada.
I wait for a call.
Maybe the florist will try and reach me.
Nothing.
The phone rings.
AHA! It's Heather.
"Did you send me flowers?" I asked.
"Hell no" she hooted. "If I wanted to send flowers to the nursing home, I would."
The girl KNOWS me.
I fucking hate florists, flowers, floral deliveries. All of it.
$4 at Stop and shop for carnations, hooray!
Anything else: edible arrangements, chocolates, flowers, bah. I donate.
No, I'm not grateful to be thought of.
It's like sending a vegetarian Omaha Steaks.
I dislike the consumerism, the mark up, the waste. Send me a note. $.44 and I'm yours. But flowers? Now I have to trim stems, smell them, replenish water, find a place to display them, look at them, SMELL them..then they die. What was the point? $50 to say "Hi"? Next time, just say "hi" ok? Thank you and really, thank you. But don't waste your money.
So finally I go outside. I hunt on the ground.
A note under the bushes.
From the florist.
"We tried to deliver"
Sigh.
I call.
"Can you tell me who from?"
They tell me.
Shit.
They are from people I like.
A lot.
I'm going to need to thank them.
Yet it's the second or third time they've sent flowers...
So now Ellie and I are going to drive to the florist.
Hi ho, hi ho
it's off to the nursing home I go....
Really? The Door? AGAIN?
Apparently we only have 1 backdrop in this house.The door. Every pregnancy picture ever taken is in front of this damn door.
Me - 13 weeks.
Same size as 20 with Ellie.
I'm going with twins vs loose unfit abdominal muscles.
Uh huh.
That's my story.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
What Would I Be Doing Otherwise
I just got off the phone with my friend Jenny.
She's got a new job, a professor. We touched on her trip to Africa, on the heels of her trip to Egypt. She had to go and walk the dog and we hung up promising to call each other more.
How are you?
Busy. Changing jobs, my life. Searching. Growing. Becoming. How are you?
Pregnant.
"How are you feeling about it?" she asked. "Really. How are you feeling?"
Oh I don't know. Like this was a really bad idea. Just stupid really. I forgot why we did it. We are happy, in love. My daughter is healthy. We were just turning the corner onto easy street. She was in school, I was going to the gym. There's been talk of freelance work, my husband wants to run for the town planning board. We were going to paint the house, maybe, if we stay here, fix up the downstairs bathroom. Possibly a vacation, certainly more time visiting friends.
I'm trying to remember why we did this. I hate being pregnant. I hate the incapacity. Maybe if I could get up, walk around, make plans. If it was normal, although Id be sick, I'd be living. This...forced rest. The pre-bedrest forced "laying low" is...disheartening. I forgot how with Ellie I felt good, but the brain and the chick parts weren't connecting. Today I would have walked 3 miles. Id have carried up the laundry. I'd have vacuumed the car. But after a trip to Target, to Costco, to preschool and back, to the park...I realized that at 3pm, I hadn't sat down.
So now it's q to 7. I'm sweaty, my mouth is pasty, I'm under a snugglie watching Ellen and googling RUBY to find out how come her and Denny, her boyfriend of 8 years, never had sex.
Really? This is my life? really?
Sigh
"I'm feeling ok. I forgot why this was a good idea."
She laughed.
I laughed too.
She's got a new job, a professor. We touched on her trip to Africa, on the heels of her trip to Egypt. She had to go and walk the dog and we hung up promising to call each other more.
How are you?
Busy. Changing jobs, my life. Searching. Growing. Becoming. How are you?
Pregnant.
"How are you feeling about it?" she asked. "Really. How are you feeling?"
Oh I don't know. Like this was a really bad idea. Just stupid really. I forgot why we did it. We are happy, in love. My daughter is healthy. We were just turning the corner onto easy street. She was in school, I was going to the gym. There's been talk of freelance work, my husband wants to run for the town planning board. We were going to paint the house, maybe, if we stay here, fix up the downstairs bathroom. Possibly a vacation, certainly more time visiting friends.
I'm trying to remember why we did this. I hate being pregnant. I hate the incapacity. Maybe if I could get up, walk around, make plans. If it was normal, although Id be sick, I'd be living. This...forced rest. The pre-bedrest forced "laying low" is...disheartening. I forgot how with Ellie I felt good, but the brain and the chick parts weren't connecting. Today I would have walked 3 miles. Id have carried up the laundry. I'd have vacuumed the car. But after a trip to Target, to Costco, to preschool and back, to the park...I realized that at 3pm, I hadn't sat down.
So now it's q to 7. I'm sweaty, my mouth is pasty, I'm under a snugglie watching Ellen and googling RUBY to find out how come her and Denny, her boyfriend of 8 years, never had sex.
Really? This is my life? really?
Sigh
"I'm feeling ok. I forgot why this was a good idea."
She laughed.
I laughed too.
songs for the day...
Kasey Chambers for my friend Swoopers friend Ivy...
Robert Earl Keen for my friend April
Elton John for MS, who shares the same due date as I, although I haven't told her I'm pregnant yet.
Robbie Williams for me. Who wishes she felt better.
Robert Earl Keen for my friend April
Elton John for MS, who shares the same due date as I, although I haven't told her I'm pregnant yet.
Robbie Williams for me. Who wishes she felt better.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Feeling (Not So) Fresh
I walked out of a play date angry.
Furious in fact.
Wrongly, but yet, rightly.
My daughter lately has been a joy.
Crazily...
insanely...
Easy.
And because of where I am (read: angry/judgmental/ungovernable temper), I just don't have the patience lately to feel...kind...towards other peoples children.
I blamed Ellie.
Called the mom, apologized etc. Said I felt bad if my walking out put her at a disadvantage with her own child.
If it caused stress.
I really didn't mean it.
I mean, I really DID mean that I felt bad for leaving.
But i'm not super upset about the fact that her CHILD might be upset.
Except, again, as it causes more work for the mom.
Maybe because I am singularly intolerant lately of kids that just need a good fucking smack. Metaphorical, reality smack.
So that's where I am today.
I watched Ellie get tackled twice over a toy, and I watched the mom "discussing" it.
"Oh look, there's TWO. One for each."
Diffusing, redirecting, placating.
Doing everything but yanking her child from the room and sitting her in a time out.
"Kids will be kids"
"There's always something"
Really?
And yet, it's not my kid doing the grabbing.
For two plus years - and good lord it's hard to let go of - the same couple of kids have been grabbers. Then when my child cries, the issue is with mine.
Oh she's SUCH a crier.
She needs to toughen up.
She needs to learn how to share.
She starts it too.
Roll your eyes at her again.
Please.
Because I've watched you roll your eyes and I am just...waiting...for the moment to say "Perhaps if you child stopped grabbing things and throwing histrionic, hissy on the floor screaming tantrums, that I watch you give into and excuse away DAILY ("She's tired. She's hungry. She's growing") we wouldn't have these issues.
The other day Ellie said to me "Can I go play with S*****. I won't fight with her. I hope she doesn't get mad at me."
Great. So I have a kid who is sitting here in the car telling me up front that she knows that we are going over to play with someone who the only way to get along with is giving her what she wants so she won't throw a fit.
Terrific.
How's my little people pleaser?
Add to that we have a zero tolerance policy here.
There isn't any "Oh she's a kid".
There are consequences.
You act up, we leave.
You fight, we leave.
You take something from someone, immediate to the stairs for you.
You cry over something because you are in a temper, you get sent into a time out.
The deal is you have to tell me IN WORDS, not tears what the issue is.
So...after El walking up to me 2 times at this play date and telling me she didn't like getting hit by *friend*, then telling me she was scared of *friend*, THEN seeing friend actually tackle her and hit her...
I got pissed.
And I said something shitty to other friends.
Not there but after.
And that I do feel bad about.
Because it's unfair.
And yet...
I don't know.
Part of goes back to accountability. I see people sitting there "discussing" shit with their kids past the point where it needs to be discussed. Rather then leave, they sit and debate. Cajole. Discuss. 15 minutes of gymnastics class last week was dedicated to one little boy who just couldn't deal. It HAPPENS. It's ok. But for fucks sake, when he's punching you in the stomach? When you've given him choice after choice, caution after caution, you are at three warnings? Drag him the fuck OUT. He obviously isn't going to make the choice. So YOU make it.
Be the parent.
Parent.
The true purpose of a time out is to go sit and think and calm down. THEN discuss. It's not banishment. It's "calm down"
So I'm sitting her listening to what sounds like mothers just...abdicating. Too tired to do the work, tired of fighting. Giving in with the mantra "You have to pick and choose". I'm feel like screaming: "You don't want to have the ugly conversations, you dont want to fight so you give in. Oh sure, you yell. But there's no 'Sit in the fucking corner until I tell you to move' It's scream at her but give in anyway."
Perfect.
I'm sick of it. I'm the bad guy every fucking day with my kid and she's a goddamn pleasure. I never have trouble with her. She hugs strangers, she acts civil, she eats politely. We don't sit there day after day with tantrums over boots, dolls, sharing, eating. Hungry? Here's food. You don't eat it. it goes in the sink.
That'll be the fucking DAY I sit there and argue with you to eat.
Go hungry.
Zero tolereance.
I'm totally comfortable with it.
Because I have zero, and I mean zero tolerance for disrespect and undisciplined children. AT ANY AGE. I know there are limits to what they are capable of. And I hold them to that standard only. Not higher, but high.
I'm trying my best to raise my child to be respectful, to not grab.
And I'm sorry she cries when she's she thinks the universe is being unfair.
But for her, that's kind of the reality. It IS unfair to grab.
I know her limits, her limitations. I freely admit that she doesn't really have the coping skills to react to strife. But honestly, I can't change that. She's not being raised in a house where people are fighting, and pretty much our days are designed around her. I'm pregnant, soon to be incapacitated, and I'm sitting a lot. That means books, and playing, and lots of attention. I treat her fairly, and respectfully, all the time. She's USED to it.
Spoiled? Sigh. I don't know.
She doesn't act it.
But she's SHOCKED, and I mean shocked when people aren't reasonable and behaving.
It's how we roll.
It's the preschool I picked.
It's our tone with each other.
It's unlikely she's going to get inured to unfairness and bullying.
Because she's three.
And by five, your kids shenanigans will need to have stopped. So I've got two more years to fight this fight and I'm not about to let go of thinking that kids need to be held to a higher standard.
Sorry.
If only we were shittier to her but alas.
When Ellie doesn't like something, I've taught her to put out two hands and say "No thank you" To yell back "That's not ok" But frankly, it doesn't work if your child hasn't learned to respect when another child says no.
So I'm bullshit.
I'm tired and mad because I feel like an asshole and a fool.
I snapped at Ellie when I wanted to scream at my friend.
And to be honest, I'm mad mostly because I want to say to my friend "Listen, if you aren't going to really change your daughter's behavior, then let mine have a stab at it. Let them fight it out. LET one child knock the fuck out of the other or alternately, let your kid go and run off with the toy because ultimately mine WILL remember and ignore her after, and your kid will learn the real way, the hard way, through shame and being ostracized by her friends, that she behaved badly"
I know we can't fight their fights, nor do I want to.
And this isn't so much about my judging as tired of being judged by someone who lives in an extremely shiny glass house.
If I thought for a minute she was fine with me, with my child, maybe I'd be less angry, less sad, less disappointed today. But it's hard to be fair, to see reasonably, when someone is judging your child based on their own child's behavior.
Furious in fact.
Wrongly, but yet, rightly.
My daughter lately has been a joy.
Crazily...
insanely...
Easy.
And because of where I am (read: angry/judgmental/ungovernable temper), I just don't have the patience lately to feel...kind...towards other peoples children.
I blamed Ellie.
Called the mom, apologized etc. Said I felt bad if my walking out put her at a disadvantage with her own child.
If it caused stress.
I really didn't mean it.
I mean, I really DID mean that I felt bad for leaving.
But i'm not super upset about the fact that her CHILD might be upset.
Except, again, as it causes more work for the mom.
Maybe because I am singularly intolerant lately of kids that just need a good fucking smack. Metaphorical, reality smack.
So that's where I am today.
I watched Ellie get tackled twice over a toy, and I watched the mom "discussing" it.
"Oh look, there's TWO. One for each."
Diffusing, redirecting, placating.
Doing everything but yanking her child from the room and sitting her in a time out.
"Kids will be kids"
"There's always something"
Really?
And yet, it's not my kid doing the grabbing.
For two plus years - and good lord it's hard to let go of - the same couple of kids have been grabbers. Then when my child cries, the issue is with mine.
Oh she's SUCH a crier.
She needs to toughen up.
She needs to learn how to share.
She starts it too.
Roll your eyes at her again.
Please.
Because I've watched you roll your eyes and I am just...waiting...for the moment to say "Perhaps if you child stopped grabbing things and throwing histrionic, hissy on the floor screaming tantrums, that I watch you give into and excuse away DAILY ("She's tired. She's hungry. She's growing") we wouldn't have these issues.
The other day Ellie said to me "Can I go play with S*****. I won't fight with her. I hope she doesn't get mad at me."
Great. So I have a kid who is sitting here in the car telling me up front that she knows that we are going over to play with someone who the only way to get along with is giving her what she wants so she won't throw a fit.
Terrific.
How's my little people pleaser?
Add to that we have a zero tolerance policy here.
There isn't any "Oh she's a kid".
There are consequences.
You act up, we leave.
You fight, we leave.
You take something from someone, immediate to the stairs for you.
You cry over something because you are in a temper, you get sent into a time out.
The deal is you have to tell me IN WORDS, not tears what the issue is.
So...after El walking up to me 2 times at this play date and telling me she didn't like getting hit by *friend*, then telling me she was scared of *friend*, THEN seeing friend actually tackle her and hit her...
I got pissed.
And I said something shitty to other friends.
Not there but after.
And that I do feel bad about.
Because it's unfair.
And yet...
I don't know.
Part of goes back to accountability. I see people sitting there "discussing" shit with their kids past the point where it needs to be discussed. Rather then leave, they sit and debate. Cajole. Discuss. 15 minutes of gymnastics class last week was dedicated to one little boy who just couldn't deal. It HAPPENS. It's ok. But for fucks sake, when he's punching you in the stomach? When you've given him choice after choice, caution after caution, you are at three warnings? Drag him the fuck OUT. He obviously isn't going to make the choice. So YOU make it.
Be the parent.
Parent.
The true purpose of a time out is to go sit and think and calm down. THEN discuss. It's not banishment. It's "calm down"
So I'm sitting her listening to what sounds like mothers just...abdicating. Too tired to do the work, tired of fighting. Giving in with the mantra "You have to pick and choose". I'm feel like screaming: "You don't want to have the ugly conversations, you dont want to fight so you give in. Oh sure, you yell. But there's no 'Sit in the fucking corner until I tell you to move' It's scream at her but give in anyway."
Perfect.
I'm sick of it. I'm the bad guy every fucking day with my kid and she's a goddamn pleasure. I never have trouble with her. She hugs strangers, she acts civil, she eats politely. We don't sit there day after day with tantrums over boots, dolls, sharing, eating. Hungry? Here's food. You don't eat it. it goes in the sink.
That'll be the fucking DAY I sit there and argue with you to eat.
Go hungry.
Zero tolereance.
I'm totally comfortable with it.
Because I have zero, and I mean zero tolerance for disrespect and undisciplined children. AT ANY AGE. I know there are limits to what they are capable of. And I hold them to that standard only. Not higher, but high.
I'm trying my best to raise my child to be respectful, to not grab.
And I'm sorry she cries when she's she thinks the universe is being unfair.
But for her, that's kind of the reality. It IS unfair to grab.
I know her limits, her limitations. I freely admit that she doesn't really have the coping skills to react to strife. But honestly, I can't change that. She's not being raised in a house where people are fighting, and pretty much our days are designed around her. I'm pregnant, soon to be incapacitated, and I'm sitting a lot. That means books, and playing, and lots of attention. I treat her fairly, and respectfully, all the time. She's USED to it.
Spoiled? Sigh. I don't know.
She doesn't act it.
But she's SHOCKED, and I mean shocked when people aren't reasonable and behaving.
It's how we roll.
It's the preschool I picked.
It's our tone with each other.
It's unlikely she's going to get inured to unfairness and bullying.
Because she's three.
And by five, your kids shenanigans will need to have stopped. So I've got two more years to fight this fight and I'm not about to let go of thinking that kids need to be held to a higher standard.
Sorry.
If only we were shittier to her but alas.
When Ellie doesn't like something, I've taught her to put out two hands and say "No thank you" To yell back "That's not ok" But frankly, it doesn't work if your child hasn't learned to respect when another child says no.
So I'm bullshit.
I'm tired and mad because I feel like an asshole and a fool.
I snapped at Ellie when I wanted to scream at my friend.
And to be honest, I'm mad mostly because I want to say to my friend "Listen, if you aren't going to really change your daughter's behavior, then let mine have a stab at it. Let them fight it out. LET one child knock the fuck out of the other or alternately, let your kid go and run off with the toy because ultimately mine WILL remember and ignore her after, and your kid will learn the real way, the hard way, through shame and being ostracized by her friends, that she behaved badly"
I know we can't fight their fights, nor do I want to.
And this isn't so much about my judging as tired of being judged by someone who lives in an extremely shiny glass house.
If I thought for a minute she was fine with me, with my child, maybe I'd be less angry, less sad, less disappointed today. But it's hard to be fair, to see reasonably, when someone is judging your child based on their own child's behavior.
Who Are The People In Your Neighborhood?
You have to wonder, why am I all of a sudden seeing an uptick in comments?
Moderated.
Whoever's blog roll I am on, they certainly have diverse readership...
Moderated.
Whoever's blog roll I am on, they certainly have diverse readership...
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