Mommy Dearest

I've held on to a relationship that has never been good because the adage "You only have one mother. You have to be good to her" echoes in my mind.

I can't imagine that at this advanced age I'm about to confess to...Mother Issues. And I don't mean my own ability to parent.

Doug insists that no woman has a decent relationship with her mother. How trivializing. This from a man who has great relationships primarily due to the fact that he ignores most people. Thus overlooks their flaws. He's a favorite.

Sigh. Hope sprung eternal until several weeks ago. I think the camels back broke. No one wants to read a treatise on what, why and how. I think Barnes & Noble has a section devoted to it.

Doug says that my mother, given every opportunity, will always take the low road. Not by design, she just will naturally complicate the issue.

My mother would argue that it's me. That she can do no right in my eyes.

For the longest time I believed her. I must be too hard on her, I thought. I should try seeing her side. She'd manage to do something wildly inappropriate and yet I'd be chastised for taking offense. So I'd look at it from her point of view. I mean, really, if you are Very Good and Very Smart, you can actually justify almost any behavior as acceptable. Which I did. (Much to my detriment I might add because I also learned to justify OTHERS bad behavior towards me.) I didn't always agree but I always defended. Then about 5 years ago, I started talking to her about changing the pattern. I assumed because we were close that our relationship had room for honestly and truth. Certainly after years of "Going along to get along" we could disagree? But we really couldn't. As it turns out, she didn't want a relationship, she wanted validation. Unswerving.

Ok, I thought. We'll do this slowly. Using all the tools in my counseling arsenal, tried inching over the line a toe at a time. Fights ensued.

She begs to differ but then, consider the source.

As brilliant as I am, she's no dummy either. And for her every action, there was an argument, a validation. Her actions were a direct result of her feelings, and her feelings were, after all, The Facts. Like all lies, sure, her feelings had elements of truth threading through them. But the motivations she ascribed to things?! Completely mythological. Follow my bad analogy here...it's as if her mind was a garden with polluted soil. So even the best planted seeds metamorphisized into something bastardized, something tainted. Left to long as the architect, keeping her own counsel and cultivating her own garden; her mind and her operating system became too tangled, and too dense to cut through anymore.

So time passed and we were at an impasse. I kept trying because I truly would never want to hurt someone else. And I knew the day I stopped trying would be a Very Sad Day. I'm unwilling to have a false relationship at this level so it's either real, or over.

The last year and a half has been the worst ever. She's been beyond awful. I thought about telling her that only someone who still had hope would bother to argue. That I continued to try to negotiate a relationship with her because I didn't want to give up. I thought about asking her to write down her definition of what a good relationship is then seeing if we could build it.

But suddenly, sadly, I've decided to give up. I equated trying with loving. And now I'm quitting. I'm not calling, not visiting, not inviting. I'm not cultivating, defending, ignoring, manipulating. I'm not doing anything. I am Giving Up. You can't be good to someone who believes that no one is ever good to her.

It's a tremendously sad day for me because I'll cross the street to help load a grocery carriage for a complete stranger. I'll stop and talk to an old woman 35 minutes so she's less alone. I visit the cobbler just to say hello. The fact that I'm going to withdraw my attention and treat her as I would treat anyone else who behaves the way she does is painful. She's going to have to earn my affection and trust.

It breaks my heart because I don't think she's capable of it.

Give it a Breast Already

So I was in Babies R Us Wednesday. It was 1:30 and Ellie was just starting to realize that she hadn't eaten in over 4 hours. She wasn't crying, or even whimpering, but I thought to myself "Let's catch this at the onset." So to the mother's lounge I went.

Knock knock, I tapped then pushed the door open.
And there, in front of me, was a Smug Breastie.

Oh you know the type. Holding their breast in one hand, leaning forward making sure little Harrison, never Harry, was getting enough out of his Sacred Cow.

Now let's be clear about this. I'm not against breast feeding. I'm not Anti-Naked Boob. I could care less if you want to whip out your ta-ta's. If it works for you, fabulous. In public? You're ok, then I'm ok. Just don't be upset if I stare.

What aggravates that crap out of me is the smugness of NEW breastfeeders. Every single time I go into Babies R Us I run into one of these assholes.

"Yes" she said sanctimoniously. "We've decided to breastfeed Ava for at least 6 months. I'm tired though. Up every three hours but we think it's worth it."

"My pediatrician says no bottles for at least six weeks," she told me. "Evan will have nipple confusion."

Good for you, I say. To them.

To you, my friends I say the following.

"We decided that breastfeeding is best? It's worth it?"
Worth it how exactly? Unless it's for 100% financial reasons I'm not convinced that breastfeeding is "better". I get that there are untold number of "Studies". Fine. Studies also showed that cigarettes helped woman lose weight.

"Oh but breastfed babies are more alert, brighter, develop quicker."
I'm not arguing that. But can you say that's a result of the breastmilk or the fact that the majority of breastfeeders are college educated?

"Well, breastmilk has more nutrients."
Ok. Sure again. But can you definitively prove that with all the bovine growth hormones and bioengeneered foods that we eat, that our breastmilk isn't contaminated?

Then you get the angry breastfeeders. The ones who say "I don't ask you to eat in a bathroom, why should my baby? Breastfeeding is natural." So's peeing. Get a better argument.

I f*cking hate breastfeeders. Honestly.

It's like new parents get this bee in their bonnet. I'm a new mom and I need some sort of benchmark that I'm a good mom. So I'm going to pick this one thing, breastfeeding, and hang my hat on it. It's going to validate me as a mother. I Breastfeed therefore I am Good.

I just want to say - you know what, talking to your baby, singing to your baby, holding your baby, having a good marriage, having a clean environment, going to the doctor - those are equally important. If you smoke like a chimney, are 20 pounds plus overweight, if you are a bitch on wheels because you are tired, then you are doing as much damage as good. Dropping dead of your red meat habit at 62 is going to traumatize your "baby" a hell of a lot more then whether they had your boob in their mouth for 10 months.

I had a friend who said "I breastfeed for me. It forces me to sit with him, to focus on him. I love the half hour alone. Sitting quietly. Talking to him. I feel like his mother. I feel like he needs me."

She had the only argument I have no argument with.

A Baby Song...A Love Song

Did you ever hear a song that you've heard a million times and suddenly realize that it's actually ABOUT something?

Back when I made that futile attempt to breastfeed (for which I thank god daily that it never worked out)I had a play list called Pumping Mix.

For obvious reasons.

In theory it was supposed to relax me whilst I allowed the Medela Symphony to do it's wild magic. Shortly after it was renamed the Feeding Mix. Now it's Ellie's Soothing Mix. Most of the songs I hand selected but a few I gathered off Doug's system, after sorting by Genre. Labeled as Folk, I liked the melody and added it. I inevitably skipped over it.

Until Wednesday. While Ellie was napping, I was typing, her mix playing in the background. And I heard the lines:

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows...

I had always assumed the song was about a break-up, or at a minimum a beginning. Trite folk angst. Like poor Jewel singing about her cup of coffee for one. Blah blah blah. Meloncholy whine.

It sounds, I thought, like it could be about a baby.

type type...www.google.com "Dar Williams The One Who Knows Lyrics Meaning"

aha!

So if you can find it, listen to it.

Time it was I had a dream
And you're the dream come true
And if I had the world to give
I'd give it all to you.
I'll take you to the mountains
I will take you to the sea
I'll show you how this life became
A miracle to me.

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows.

All the things you treasure most
Will be the hardest one
I will watch you struggle on
For the answers come
But I won't make it harder
I'll be there to cheer you up
I'll shine the light that guides you down
The road you're walking on

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows.

Before the mountains call to you
Before you leave this home
When I teach your heart to trust
As I will teach my own
But sometimes I will ask the moon
Where it shined upon you last
And shake my head and let me say
It all went by so fast

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows.

You're Always Meeting New People

People walk up to baby carriages and say "Now that's the life. Laying down, having someone push you around, wiping your butt for you...you eat, sleep, burp. That's as good as it gets."

Really? REALLY?

Because 30 years from now in your life that's going to be called Alzheimer's and I can't imagine you're looking forward to it.

Setting Limits

We live in a culture of "you have to do what's right for you" (YHTDWRFY) yet on the other it's "Live and Let Live" (L&LL). So what do we do when someone else's L&LL impedes your YHTDWRFY?

Since having Ellie I find myself frequently wondering "Where do someone's else rights stop, and mine begin?" Maybe it's because now I'm the mother deadlines, timeframes and boundaries have become that much more important to me. My time is, after all, no longer my own. It's stolen in chunks, interwoven with naps. I find myself fiercely protecting rights that I had long since abdicated. I find myself constantly questioning "Do I have the right to ask for this? Or to be upset by this? Or to require this?"

I find myself constantly having to assert myself - in areas where I'm confused that someone had the temerity to trespass. And when I do insist on pointing out boundaries defined by longstanding social mores, I'm shocked by the inevitable response of "Well, I was just doing what I thought was best" or "I was just doing what was "right" for me to do."

Really?

One of the downsides of living in a generation of babyboomer inspired therapy is that we now have a culture of "Just do it", "Never give up", and "You need to be true to yourself." From reality shows, to movie celebrities, to Oprah - we are a culture of post-therapy individuals that sincerely believe that as long as you are just protecting your interests, you have every right to demand, bully, cajole, enforce, sulk or steamroll over others to get your way - so long as it all flies under the banner of "I was just doing what's right for me."

Essentially, we have created a culture of narcissists wildly, adamantly, and frequently demanding their "right" to be...well...right.

Let's say you accept that. Let's say I accept that. What about the fineprint? The part of Just Do It that reads "And Accept The Consequences of Your Actions".

Why is that so consistently lost? It seems that everfyone takes the BEGINNING to heart but doesn't pay the piper. Everyone knows that in AA you have to admit you have a problem. But do they know that Steps 2-12 are about making amends?? You don't get to just say "Yep, well, I have a disease." You have to MOVE ON and do whats good for the whole.

We all love a snapshot, a headline, a catch phrase. We see and spout "Just do what's right for you" but we constantly fail to footnote that systems are interdependent. You can't just "Do your own thing" because you can't dismiss the fact that "your own thing" has implications for others.

So what do you do when faced with a group of people who take no responsibility for their actions? Who hide behind "I was doing what I thought was best." with no apologies, no sense of consequence and no sense that relationships are not autocracies.

I had a therapist once to whom I wailed that there must be something wrong with me. How could I be finding fault with 5 seperate people. It couldn't be them, it must be me.

To which she replied "Yes, it is you. The one thing each of these people have in common is that you allowed all of them into your life. So if you picked badly once, it's possible that you picked badly all five times."

...and I'll be to Scotland before ye....

My sister once said
"The only thing good about the high road is that the traffic is lighter."

So here is what I have to say about the last week and 3 days:

1. "Mom, Don't go into my pocketbook after I expressly asked you twice not to. The keys weren't in there and regardless of the fact that you were "trying to help" I specifically used the words "PLEASE DO NOT OPEN MY BAG". For all you know I could have had a 10-inch dildo, a hypodemic, or diamond earrings for your next birthday in there. It wasn't that you went INTO my pocketbook that was offensive, it was offensive that you did it AFTER I told you not to."

2. "Laurie, Ellie doesn't need 6 stuffed animals, 5 size 12 month summer outfits, 2 bibs, a lucite floating poem with an inspirational saying and a cheap splintery basket. We have discussed, at length, and over the years, the fact that you are a compulsive shopper. Do not use my daughter as an excuse to justify your inability to stop shopping. Additionally, the fact that you "hadn't bought her anything before now" does NOT absolve you of blatently disregarding my feelings on excess, clutter, unneccessary items, and keeping to a minimum 'the Ellie gifts'."

3. Doug, you are an excellent father and a wonderful man. Stop getting angry at me for offering to help. I'm not undermining you, questioning you or impuning your abilities. She's crying, you're struggling, I might be able to help. When I am holding her, and she cries, and you offer to help - I say yes.

4. Mom, I asked you if you were going to BJs and would you buy me a case of Size 2 Pampers Swaddlers while you were there. You said yes. I'm aware that a case is approximatelty 150 diapers. I'm aware that size 2's are good up to 18 pounds. I know what I asked for because she's my daughter and I change her approximately 9 times a day. I'm familiar with both her weight and size. I'm completely NOT grateful for the size 2-3s that you brought home because "You thought I'd never use all the size 2's. That there was "no way" I would so you got me what you thought was best." There is way. She weighs 15 pounds. She's not going to gain 3 pounds in 30 days. I asked for a favor because you begrudge not being needed. You choose to do what you want regardless. I now have a case of diapoers for October or November but had to stop at Target for the size 2's."

5. Lisa, If you say one more time, in any variation, that you'd enjoy "staying home all day" or that "It must be nice to be able to do what I want, when I want" I'm going to scream. You know absolutely nothing about my life, nmy days, my strugggles, my finances. What we gave up to get, what makes our lives work and where the fractures are. I had a baby, I stay home. It's not all "Pass me the remote while I finish these bon bons." Yes, I am staying home. To raise Ellie. And it's a full time fucking job. So enough about the cake walk that's my life. And don't placate me with "Oh I know how busy you must be, how crazy". Not to make a cheap shot here but actually, no you DON'T know how busy I am, or what my life is like. Not because you aren't smart enough or intuitive enough but because you are one of the worst listeners I have ever met.

I'm tired of taking the high road because someone else had "good intentions". I'm tired of looking at their motivations. I get it. I get it. They meant well, I need to turn the other cheek.

Why?

I just want to say "Don't value-add people. You only fuck it up."

Look into the Light

I had to tell Ellie today to stop staring at the dining room light.
"You'll burn out your cones and rods..."

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

A statute of limitations is a statute in a common law legal system that sets forth the maximum period of time, after certain events, that legal proceedings based on those events may be initiated.

There needs to be an Statute of Expiration. A set period of time after which you are no longer obligated, or required, to keep gifts. I find myself anxious over the sheer quantity of things we own. Daily I move Pile A to Location B. I lift, I sift, I sort. "Do we need this?" I find myself thinking. "Can I throw it away? Can I recycle it? Does anyone else want it?"

"Put it in the Basement" Doug says.
"No no no," I say. "The basement is an extension of our home! I refuse to let it be dead storage."

The issue is, I hate outright throwing things way. I'm not a collector, or a pack rat. In fact, I'm just the opposite. I can't have yardsales because the house is too empty as it is. I just hate waste. I hate excess. And I hate contributing to a landfill just because I'm bored with something. My policy is "If you can't eat it, wear it or use it within 7 days, you shouldn't own it." Snowblowers and their ilk being the exception.

"Throw it away then" he says.
"I can't! It's wasteful."
"You're just making more work for yourself."
"I know, I know" I mutter as I gather the plastic grocery bags to donate to the cobbler.

After the birth of Ellie we were inundated with presents. From hand painted bookends, to piggybanks, clothing, beach towels, hand knit afghans, onesies, bibs, socks, dolls, toys, leftover outgrown play equipment..you name it. Oh goodness, yes we were grateful. And yes, we saved, conservatively, over $2000 in items. So I thanked everyone (metaphorically that is, the notes are still forthcoming). But it was, and remains, a nightmare. I think there's a circle of hell called "Baby Returns" I was in a two month frenzy of returns. Every item had a potential value so nothing could be discarded.

"Donate it" he'd say.
"I can't! She spent (insert amount) on this. I should return it. Get a credit or something."

Off I drove - to JC Penneys, to Babies R Us, to Target, to Macys.

"It's costing you more in billable hours then she spent. Your taking two hours to return a $30 item." he mentioned one day.
"I know, I KNOW" I panted anxiously as I carried the pink and white bags to the trunk. "Receipt receipt" I mutter...

If they really loved me, I thought, they wouldn't inundate me with these things.
They haunt me.

"Save the credits for Christmas" my sister says.
I hyperventilate. Even the credits are talking up space. One more thing to track, to follow up on.

"People WANT to give you things" I hear over and over. "It's better to give then to receive.

"But I don't WANT things" I stamp out.
"They aren't for you, they're for Ellie."

ELLIE'S 4 MONTHS OLD. She plays with her opposable thumb for cryin' out loud. She doesn't "need" anything.

breathe breathe...

Jinxing the Band

So Ellie just started napping, which is seriously, one of the coolest things ever. I mean, I noticed that she slept from around 8:30am to 10am but I always assumed it was because I was wheeling her around the lake, and that the motion, and fresh air were to thank. But lo and behold (or hold me below as my old, exfriend Arianne used to say), this weekend, sans lake walk, she slept regardless. Hmm.

We woke up late, 7:30 vs 6am, after a day of swimming yesterday at my sister's complex's pool. Which is probably the cleanest public pool I have ever, ever, ever see. Nicer then a hotel's even. If we had a pool, I'd be in it ALL the time b/c Miss Ellie was tuckered out! Plus she moved her legs like a trouper in the water and LOVED it. So cute. And my feet didn't actually ache this morning...but I digress.

So picture it. It's Sunday. Doug is home. We get up, oh, say 7:30 am. Doug makes coffee, we give Ellie her medicine, there's a gentle breeze coming in the window. No one is mowing their lawn, doors aren't slamming. It's fabulous. The house is clean(ish), errands are run, nothing is looming. It's going to be an at home day. I get up and take a shower, then ask Doug to hand Ellie in. We shower for a bit, then sit for soaping. I hand her out, Daddy dries her off. (And dresses her in an abominable onesie but I say nothing because, hey, at least he tries)After a nice little feeding and a few books, Ellie falls gently asleep.

It's clear skies, and about 72 degrees. God's weather as they say. (This is a long set up for a very unrelated punchline by the way) Anyway, so I download some photo's, put away laundry, and then it suddenly occurs to me. "HEY, Ellie is asleep. As in napping." gasp! Then further..."I bet I could actually dry my hair today."

I peer out at Doug, who's been happily puttering away. "You need me?" I ask. Nope, he says. I dry my hair. Dry dry dry. Dry dry dry. Wow, I think, my hairs gotten really long. Dry dry dry. I notice gray. Dry dry dry. "I should get it colored." Dry dry dry. "Coloring is expensive," I think. "Who's going to watch Ellie if I go? When was the last time I went? It was after Ellie so it was within 3 months I know that. Maybe after August 15 I'll make an appt. Dry dry dry.

I notice, post dry, that there is a slight nimbus of frizz. Ah the humidity (you're supposed to read that as if it says "Ah the humanity".) Anyway, so then I remember that I saw, on the Style Network, this flat iron trick. "Hey," I think, "I have a flat iron" purchased at the end of the trend and never used I might add. Out it comes, I check Ellie. Still sleeping. Plug it in. Section hair. Straight straight straight. dum de dum. I'm wasting time, I think. I should be writing thank yous. But I continue. I mean, really, when am I going to get another chance? So I flat iron my hair. In my ratty tshirt and shorts. We are going nowhere, doing nothing - but dammit, I have time and I'm gonna do this.

Meanwhile, Doug putters on. Deleting files, then trying to retrieve video off the camcorder. He plays electronically. I finish.

"Do you want a muffin" I ask.
"Oh yeah, I forgot I had one" he says
(I mean this is REALLY a long set up)
So I go downstairs to the kitchen. I hear a song I love. I'm amazed that it's playing on the radio. I hum along. Then I hear a second song. That I love. Now I'm doubly amazed that it's playing on the radio. Irish folk music followed by Metallica? How can it be. then I spy my ipod nano. Plugged into an ihome base (radio thingie). First time. Who knew that that's how it worked?

I think that I just love this man with all his electronic Sunday fun.

So I start dancing a bit in place. Cleaning the kitchen, shimmy shimmy. I turn the music up louder. Singing a bit a'loud. Shimmy shimmy to 1991's "Hero of The Day"

Doug walks in. I stop dancing.

"Hey, did you straighten your hair" he asks.
I fidget self consciously. "Yes, but only a little. It was frizzy..." I stammer to a stop., embarrassed.
He comes up to hug me.
"I like it. You look cute" he reassures me. "You look like..." he pauses "It's someone from, like, before..."
I know he means when we were younger.
"Lisa Loeb? Katie Holmes?" I ask amusedly
"No no," he puzzles, then slowly, "From The Wedding Singer. That girl with the ..."
"Not the Van Halen TShirt?"
"Yes! That's it! You look like her"

I wince. NOT the look I was going for...

Jesus Take the Meal

Isn't there some thing in the Bible about people being hungry and jesus replenishing the bread and wine? Was there fish involved too? My question is "Did he really MAKE more fish appear or did the house just smell like it for 5 days"

For Christ's Sakes - it's past midnight on THURSDAY. I made haddock Monday. Where is that smell coming from????

Steve Irwin

I'm going on a picnic and I'm going to bring...an Apple.
I'm going on a picnic and I'm going to bring...an Apple, and a Banana.
I'm going on a picnic and I'm going to bring...an Apple, a Banana, and a Cantaloupe.

So Ellie, I'm going on a car trip and I'm going to bring, um, what? Every primary colored toy in the house?
Tell me she doesn't look like she's going on a Gymboree Safari...

Weekend in New England

I write this entry remotely, saving it to a word document to post later. I write it, in part, with my friend Cindy in mind as I write from Vermont, her home state. The apparent home of maple syrup, penuche fudge, fresh ice cream, and faux antiques. Wisconsin, I believe, is the home of cheese but Vermonters may beg to differ

I’m angry. Mostly at myself.

Doug’s college friend sent Ellie a beach towel. Embroidered. The cheek! How can I return it? But thoughtful, and different from the tide of onesies. “Thank you,” I wrote, and then a bit more. The phone rings and it’s an invitation to come stay in Vermont, at the family summer house, at the tail end of their vacation. Say yes, I told myself, and it didn’t take much. Why not? I’m home full time, Ellie’s portable, Doug should see his friends. Why not?

“Yes” I said.
We packed, we came, we’re here.
I hate it.

Not them. It. This Place. Vermont. I hate Vermont. I hate visiting in general, and today, Saturday, I hate Vermont in particular.

Monday, I hated Maine.
Back in college, I hated the Cape.
Mid twenties, I hated Newport.

I just never ever fit in. I always felt a beat behind, awkward in a sea of laid back, roller blading, biking to breakfast, jeep driving, snowboarding, kashi crunching, let’s just hang out school of likeminded fish.

At first I thought I was insecure. “I hate visiting because I’m socially awkward.” But as I age, I realize that I’ve always been fairly convivial, so in retrospect I think that it’s likely that I mistook someone else’s poor conversation skills as a indicator of my own lack of social graces. Although sure, I still pause occasionally and question myself and there’s some internal angst pre and post every conversation that I somehow screwed up.

Then I thought I was inflexible. As in I like to be surrounded by my own things, I like routines. Then I accepted the fact that no shit, who doesn’t – so that wasn’t it.

I stopped going away. I hid behind money at first – I wasn’t of a socio economic group that had friends with “houses”, I was “: uncomfortable” and really, too broke. I had rent, car payments, insurance, etc. who had money to go away? Then I hid behind being unmarried…as in “I’m single and I live alone, what exactly do I need to “get away” from?”

This weekend I nailed what my real issue is.

I hate grime.

I hate that it’s de rigueur to stay in an old farmhouse, old cape house, old cottage. I hate the whole scene. Waking up in a damp musty bedroom with discarded quilts from the 70s. Stumbling to breakfast, humid from a nights sleep in a strange bed, walking into a room where there’s inevitably a farmhouse table littered with crumbs, a half heel of bread still in the bag, newspaper discarded willy nilly, rings from coffee mugs or mixed drink glasses, or maybe just a breakfast bowl and some blowhard that you couldn’t stand last night sitting around in his sweat shorts wanting to chit chat about how you slept.

I hate the fact that the floors are gritty with sand and gravel from treks into the woods, beach, yard – wherever. I hate vacation home furniture, the furniture that the sweat of a thousand backs has been rubbed on after a day at the lake, or after skiing. I that you can press your nail into the top of a dresser and it leaves a crescent. I hate other peoples bathing suits draped over the shower, or worse, the shower curtain itself, with brown spots at the hem. I hate the painted shelves in the bathroom, the cracked corners accumulating dust and hair. I hate black flies.

I also hate "away from home" grilling. I mean, isn’t it enough that you have to go to some strange grocery store, search for it, shop for it, tote it back, unpack it, and take it out of the packaging. Now we all have to go outside, start a fire, and watch it cook? What’s the POINT?? Have we never heard of a stove? Hello. We’ve moved indoors people, it’s called evolution. Step away from the fire pit.

I worked hard, to make money, to buy nice things, that I surround myself with.

I just don’t see the appeal in leaving it.

Envy

Since I've had Ellie I've been embarrassed. Not by my shape, not by the state of my house, not by my abilities as a mother...
but by her carriage.
And I can't let it go.

Before Ellie was born, we never registered. Bad luck, bad karma, bad idea. And once it came to 30 weeks, and we knew she'd make it, we thought - oh, we need to push them ourselves and see which we like. We'll wait and get one after.

I bookmarked all the nouveau standards...the Peg, The MaClaren, possibly the Chicco. We ruled out the Bugaboo as exorbitant. Sure we saw the Graco but frankly, it was annoyingly "puffy and plastic-y" looking. All big and corpulent, typical chunky gas guzzling SUV sized carriage - with a bunch of bullshit options. I wanted sleek, I wanted stylish, I wanted the yuppified, glorified carriage that would show that I was a yoga going, whole foods shopping, red wine drinking college educated mom. We have a pact - it's none of that dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets and princess tiara stuff for us. Our kid was going to grow up with Baby Einstein toys, and wooden blocks, and finger puppets. We were going to hold firm against Pooh, The Disney Princesses and anything made in primary colors unless manufactured by Fisher Price or Sassy. Dora would be ok because she was both interactive, and bilingual. But SpongeBob could pound sand.

The problem was - and is - I'm too practical.

My sister - generously - gave me her deluxe travel system. It had the car seat, the stroller, the lay down bassinet that converted to a seat, the awning intact, cup holders, key holders, attachments, a net. She vacuumed it, scrubbed it - then gave me a tutorial on how to use it. Frankly, it was mint save for wear and tear, and far less then you would expect given the amount of use it got.

When she got it, 5 years ago, it was the first year that Graco made it. It was so well made, and so top of the line that to this day, it's the best selling travel system in the US.

And it was sharp. In a yellow and green plaid pattern. Very stylish for it's time. So sharp in fact that over 2 months ago, two Babie R Us employees discoursed long and loudly over the fact that it was both pristine, and unusually well cared for. That Graco just doesn't make 'em, even these few years later, like THAT anymore.

And therein lies the rub.

You know how you can always tell what year someone got their tattoo?
"Road Runner on your left shoulder, Playboy Bunny on the inside of your thigh, Tasmanian devil on your arm - it's the 80's right? Barbed wire on your bicep, tribal art around your belly button, yin/yang centered above your thong - welcome to the 90's. Tattoo on your neck, mural on your leg - I saw that on Miami Ink."
Well, it's the same way with colors and strollers. Brown is the new pink. Pink is the new green. If I had an avocado fridge and a burnt sienna sofa I'd be channeling 1977.

The plaid screams of 2002.

Oh sure, it's nice. And it's the best little carriage.
But I'm embarrassed. I'm embarrassed because it's old. And heavy. And clunky.

I think people think we are poor. I think they think I'm a bad mother. I think they think I'm not smart enough, or that we are not financially secure enough to have something new aka "the best". I'm so embarrassed that I covered the carseat with a designer (but on sale) blue paisley carseat cover. For a moment all was well. Until I looked down. At my sweet baby. In her makeshift "quick trip" carriage, a cobbled together affair comprised of a snap and go and with the above mentioned carseat. I'm afraid that I'm being judged, and that I won't make any new mom friends. That the "new mom"s will pick the OTHER "new mom"s with better carriages and Ellie and I will be left alone at the Sing A Long with nary a soul to giggle with. I feel a sense of smugness exuding from the "new moms" as they reach in to adjust baby Madeline's nuk binkie, clipped to her gap jumper with its rosebud clip, while they say "Oh, and how old is your..., I'm sorry, is it a boy or a girl?" all the while peering into our pumpkin seat with disdain at Ellie - sweetly nestled in her fuzzy "I love Mummy" sleeper, against the plush brushed cotton of her paisley carseat cover, sucking on her bright, round hospital issue industrial soother.

I feel like I want to say
"Listen lady, this was a conscious choice. She was a preemie and needed to lay flat. She did. For Free. In comfort. Now she likes to sit quasi upright b/c of her reflux but she's still under 12lbs, so the older, less upright carseat works better. Plus it's July. We are only going to be able to walk outside 4 more months. She's only going to be in the infant seat a year. Yes, we can afford $400, we can afford $800, we can actually afford $1200, cash, now - and Doug wouldn't notice. The point is - why? Why on god's green earth am I going to out and spend $400-$800 on a deluxe travel system when the whole things going to be gone in a years time anyway?? What I have now was FREE. Free. It's renewable, it's recyclable. It was her cousin's, who loves her. It's fine."

"And as far as her outfit? She's in a sleeper. She was SLEEPING! We woke up with Daddy at 6am and we left the house as a family at 7. Because THAT'S what's important. Every morning Daddy gets to have his family wish him off for the day. Not sleeping in or treating him like a pariah who has to dress in another room so as not to wake the baby. I didn't change her because it's cool on the lake at 7am and besides, she just ate. I'm going to give her a bellyache so she looks pretty? You're only seeing her in her sleeper at 10, because we walked, then sat and had a bubba, then we talked to the geese and the old man who walks everyday. Then I had coffee and read the paper while Ellie slept. Because we aren't in a hurry. We don't have to run any where or do anything because my FIRST priority during the day - is her. Yes, my stroller is white trash. The only thing missing is a bungie cord to keep things in securely. So what? I'll just wait and get a GREAT stroller for when she actually can hold her NECK up! Yes, my baby has an ugly binky. Um hmm. She has a hospital issue, $1.99, doesn't leave marks around her lips binky. So fucking what. She likes it."

I see all the other first timers out at the StollerStriders class with my bookmarked options, pumping their resistance bands. I feel left out. I'm embarrassed. I'm embarrassed that my first class with them is Tuesday and I'm coming with a tatty stroller and a towel instead of a pretty "Mommy and Me" play mat.

But I also, in my heart, have my own sense of rightousness. My baby, whose weight I don't know, whose carriage is tacky... my baby is happy. She's eating, she's playing. She's clean, she coos, she's read to, she's held. My baby tracks with her eyes and stares into the mirror. People love holding her, love visiting her. I am a good mother. I'm a great mother. No, we don't have a pink rolled up play mat with a green strap but we have PLENTY of towels. That can double as spit rags, and changing pads, and a blankie, and wash just like ***snap***that! We aren't going to need a mansion to house our things because we are going to MAKE DO! Doug isn't going to have to work until he's 70 or until a heartattack to pay for my excesses.

sigh.

Maybe someday Ellie will learn from me to respect the power of money, to save when you can spend, to use what's usable, to respect the gifts that are generously given to us. If I compromise now, and give in to the stroller, what else will I give in to.

My Funny Valentine

In bed last night, I feel Doug shimmying out of his shorts.
"What's up?", I whisper in the dark.
"I'm not preparing for battle." his disembodied voice replies. "I'm just hot"

This morning at 6am.
"How come you never seem tired" I say.
Deadpans: "Oh, that's just because I sleep on the drive home."

Last night watching the news.
Headline "Boat runs over whale." I look at him, he at me.
I start "Now, if the whale...
"...ran over the boat," he continued, "Now that would be news."

PERFECT for me, no?

They Might Be Blue...

eye watch, week 11...

The Perils of Pottery Barn

Have you ever seen the movie The Devil Wears Prada?

There's the biting scene where Meryl Streep gives Anne Hathaway a dressing down for inadvertently calling some fashion items "stuff". The gist of the scene is that "Andy" is wearing a sweater which "Miranda" mocks, saying the item was selected "for her" in 2002 based on a convoluted, but sensible, turn of events.

My point? Sigh. Go to any apartment or house of a friend of a certain age, and you will see vastly similar decor. We think we like it independent of each other, or of suggestion. "I've always loved yellow" one says, or "Green is my favorite color." Um hmm. Sure. It's just a coincidence that every OTHER one of our friends also loves yellow. That same shade of Tuscan Yellow, or that Buttercream shade as seen at Restoration Hardware.

NO, I'm original.
Sure.

Page 6. Pottery Barn.

Whats my point? Nothing really. Except that in our subconscious quest for the clean lines and airy look of Pottery Barn, we stumbled into ownership of 3 sets of cream sheets. One cotton, one jersey, one flannel. (Well, so all 3 are technically cotton but you get what I mean.) I had two sets for my full size bed, Doug one set for his queen. They are comingled, and which pillow case belongs with which is cause for a compulsives speculation.

ACT ONE
The role of The Wife is being played by Deb, Doug is featured as the husband.

Scene: Tuesday. Note on Table.
Dear Husband,
(paper lists two items)
Please move cord to basement
Please bring sheets upstairs and leave on (or make) bed.
Love, Wife. (Flowers and hearts and XO on note)

Wife arrives Home exhausted. Husband brought up, folded and put away said laundry, as well as made one of the two said beds. With the cream sheets. Wife thanks Husband. Husband and Wife Sleep.

Scene: Thursday.
Brother and quasi-SIL to arrive at midnight. Wife making guest bed (queen)..late. Tired. Wife removes sheets from linen closet. Fitted sheet....hmmm, fitted sheet at different angle...hmm, hmmm. Confused. Back to closet. New sheet. Fitted, hmmm. New sheet at a different angle. Hmm Hmm. Sheets strewn on floor. Wife back in closet. Rooting, rooting. Cream pillowcase, check, cream second pillowcase check. Sheet? Sheet? Hmm.

Gets Maroon sheets. Calls to Husband.
"Can you believe this. I'm on my third set of sheets. None of them fit"
Husband: Try the maroon.
Wife: I'm getting them now.

Fitted sheet, stretch, oomph, shove, push, plump pillows, oversheet. coverlet - WHEW! Finished. Now bend, bend, fold strewn. 15 minutes total elapsed timed. TIRED.

Wife walking into babies room. "I just can't figure out where the other sheets went.
Husband: "I think I may have used them on this bed."
Wife reaches over to look under coverlet. The fitted sheet drapes gently down to the floor.

"Oh"

So the simple fact, all these words later is that I blame Pottery Barn for being tired.

I also spent $60...on new brown bamboo sheets.

Moo Moo

I went to TJMaxx for a new Duvet Cover. Well I was there I passed a BCBG dress, retailing for $118, discounted to $40. Cute little cap sleeve bubble-esque frock. Green and cream, with that asian inspired pattern of big leaves that Crate and Barrell loves. Cute cute.

Hey, I read Star, I see Lindsay Lohen. The Bubble Dress is back. Forget Twiggy, you can be fat now and still "rock" the look (as the kids say). Nevermind that I look like my Aunt Donata circa 1974.

I try it on. I look big. I am big. I'm 20lbs heavier. But I glimpse the promise of what the dress could be. A walk in Newburyport. A Mommy & Me Music Class. A drink in Fanuel Hall. Holding matching baby. It's cute. In a mu mu retro way.

I walk to the salesgal and various sundry in line try-er on-ers.
Look at all.
"Does this look like a mumu?"
resounding "YES"
"Can I wear it anyway"
for the most part "yes"

The salesgirl says "It looks too big"
I say "I'm not sure. I'm afraid to go smaller" pause, then I add, somewhat defensively because Ellie is not with me and I feel like I need to justify my swinging arm flab... "I just had a baby and I'm not really sure what size I am"
Salesgirl "Oh you did, when?"
Me: "Well, I mean, not "just",. She's 10 weeks old."
Salesgirl "Good for you. That's the way to do it. Take it off slow."

One, Two, Two Little Lines

So my sister and I both A-DORED this little Seseme Street vignette when we were kids about Two Little Girls in a Little Doll House. Then my sister found it on youtube last September. She sent it to me and I was dying! Meanwhile I knew we were trying to get pregnant. Weeks passed and I discovered I was pregnant. For fun, I decided to rewrite the lyrics of our "clip" to send to my sister and announce our pregnancy.

I lost the Word attachment - and ended up telling her on her cell phone anyway.

GUESS WHAT THOUGH! I just found it. I emailed it to myself from work on one of the last days. Sigh. You need to be watching the video to hear the music, then read the lyrics OVER it to make it work but it still made me sigh. Seems so long ago.

One, two
Two single people
One, two
Two lives together
Two single people
Two lives together
Two happy people in a little yellow house

One, two
Two little tests
One, Two
Two Little lines
Two little tests
Two Little lines
Two happy people in a little yellow house

Two happy people – what will they see
Waiting exxxxx - spectantly
They had two lines – One and Two
I can count them, why don’t you?

One, two
Two nervous wrecks
One, two
What to expect?
Two nervous wrecks
What to expect?
All happy now in a little yellow house

What’s that? Noise pitched high
One, two
Two little cries
Two little cries …one massive pee … off to sleep ...happy as can be!!

Pajama Party

So last night my sister took Ellie for her first overnight sleepover. It's actually the first babysitting time too, unless you include the 2 times I went out to the store when Jan then Crazy Anna were here. (Not that Jan is any less crazy then Anna, mind you, but Anna had the moniker first and the SSD checks to prove it...)

So away Michelle went, with Ellie buckled into Julia's OLD infant seat, and Julia buckled beside her in her toddler seat. (Michelle does a very good job of focusing the attention equally between the two, which I feel a gentle chiding reprimand that I do not. I mean to, I think I am just distracted. But she's right.) Regardless, away they went.

One would think that Doug and I would go on a date, go run an errand, go somewhere, no? NO. Are you kidding? We had take out Thai food, a beer apiece, then retired to the upstairs office for bookkeeping (us) web browsing (him) and microorganization (me).

Doug thought Michelle took her to give us time alone, I thought Michelle took her so I could get things done. Because, I think, if I get things done, then we can spend time alone.

Doug thought we should get in bed early and cuddle. I thought, "Sure. Let's cuddle. So you can eat Thai, check email, then fall asleep" whereas I can "Eat Thai, get as much done before you tell me it's time for "us" to go to bed, fall asleep and wake up and work the entire day"

Doug: What are you going to do today when your sister has Ellie? Take a nap? Get a pedicure?

Deb: In her head: No, I'm actually going to sit down at the computer and pay bills. Then I'm going to check to see if your aunt replied to our invite for August, if your friend's wife read the July plans email. Then I'm going to see if the guy in Waltham with the craigslist Fisher Price aquarium is close to Michelle to pick up the baby's crib soother. After that I'm going to update my blog. As soon as I bang out an entry, I'll strip both beds, do all the laundry, and put away the baby clothes from yesterdays laundry. Then I'm going to drag the new cannister vac upstairs to vacuum the office. After that I',m going to collect your shirts and place them in the dry cleaner bag, after I take out the collar stays. Then I'll walk through the upstairs and collect all the water cups to bring downstairs, and receipts to schred. I'll shred, then take the water glasses et al back downstairs. Switch laundry. Look longingly at the coffe pot. Wish for food.

Then I'll load my car with the OLD old printer, vacuum, and knickknacks for salvation army. I'll come upstairs, check hair and add makeup. Go back down, grab the banking, the return receipts, the dry cleaning - and leave. I'll drive for coffee, getting OUT of the car because I can. I'm going to the shitty coffee place b/c it's next to CVS and we need formula. Then I'll go to Salvation Army. Drop OFF the stuff, turn around and go to the dry cleaner. After that, I have a 12 noon appt. Which I'll make. Then I'll go to the grocery store for dry groceries and meat, then the farm stand for fruit. After I drop THOSE off, I'll go to Everett, to Babies R Us, to return gifts.
I also want to go to TJ Maxx to find a cotton blanket (b/c you don't like the fleece). What else? Oh, at some point in time I need to eat. And to pick that baby up. So no, I think a pedicure is unlikely.

Deb: Outloud: I don't think I'll have time for a pedicure but I'd love one.

Shalom in the Home

I actually watched an episode of Shalom in the Home today.

EPISODE TITLE:“The Gordons”–Premiered Monday, April 17 at 10/9c
Ro and her husband Roy are struggling to keep their second marriage together. Ro’s obsessive cleaning and fiery temper are destabilizing their blended family – Roy and the kids have checked out, and the family is rapidly drifting apart. Shmuley quickly discovers how Ro’s painful childhood has left her full of anxiety and anger. Will Ro eventually realize that it’s better to have a happy house than a perfectly clean one?

I was feeding the little miss and got enraptured. I certainly didn't feel a sense of kinship, I think Ro "the heroine" as it were, was a bit Liza Minneli and irrational. But I definitely could see her motivation. Essentially, the need to create order and structure within chaos. That there is a right way, and a wrong way, and that things look nice - and stay nice - because you take care of them. Rabbi Shmuley says that "Chaos in childhood creates the need to assert order in adulthood." Hmmm. All I know is that I am constantly creating mental lists of things to do, and that once they aredone, ALL done, then I will relax and feel better.

Interestingly enough, Doug presented me with a parallel item of interest yesterday as well. A lifestyle article in the WSJ on Sunday that talked about why we neglect our homes. In the authors words "Some of it is pure laziness. And some of it may be that, unlike the car, the task of maintaining a house is just too big. We can't get our arms around it. So we don't even try."

What fascinates me is that 1 tv show, and 1 article together, presented on the same day, sum up the major source of conflict in our relationship.

Deb: Pay today so you can play tomorrow. Make hay while the sun shines.
Doug: If it isn't broke, don't fix it. The squeaky wheel (will)get(s)the grease.

It's hard to respect his position.

One just wants to say "If you know the goddamn wheel is going to squeak eventually, why not just oil it now."