Weirdo Mom

Feminism

2011-08-23T11:58:00.000-04:00

This is something I wrote a few years ago on another site, and I'm reposting it here.

     Feminist. Feminism. Those words conjure up a lot of emotion in people. Some consider them fighting words. They dredge up images of ball-busting Femi-Nazis. I've heard women say, "I'm no feminist." Mostly in effort, I think, to distance themselves from that image.
     First off, let me tell you what feminism ISN'T. Feminism isn't about hating men. It isn't about wanting all men castrated. It isn't about putting women above men. It's not about putting men in their place.
     Don't get me wrong. Women like that do exist. I won't deny it. But if that is how you identify yourself as a feminist, then let me be the first to say You're Doing It Wrong, Sister.
     I've entertained feminist thoughts as far back as I can remember. They were further reinforced after I become a mother. So let me tell you what feminism IS.
     Feminism is growing up in a rural area, questioning why it was acceptable and encouraged for women to serve food on plates for men, and then to let them sit at the table and eat first. It is thinking to yourself, how are you better than me? How about we each fix our own plates and sit down and eat together?
     Feminism is realizing that the sexualization (or de-sexualization) of female political candidates is to strip her down to what use she is to a man. To reduce her to the level of being the bearer of a vagina he either would or would not touch. To realize this is done by those who are fearful of the power she represents and has earned.
     Feminism is shutting your mouth firm against what all you have been indoctrinised about what girls should like, when you realize your daughter is happier playing in dirt than with Polly Pockets and wants a Bob the Builder cake for her birthday. And to stand up for her, if someone calls you on it.
     Feminism is hearing a man say that he thinks women belong at home taking care of the kids and hoping that your daughter is never reduced to that level of thinking when you know she is capable of so much more.
     Feminism is letting both your daughter AND your son take turns mopping the floor and doing the dishes. Because either way, it is not only a useful skill to have when they are an adult and living on their own, but also to create a better husband for your son's future wife.
     Feminism is wondering how a man came to develop the idea that it is ok to get even with a woman for being a tease by sexually assaulting her when she's passed out. Then to assure yourself to work hard to never let your son pick up beliefs such as these.
     Feminism is raising your son to have respect for women and never to let the barbaric thought of hitting a woman or hurting her physically in any way cross his mind. To look down on those who would with disgust.
     Feminism is to encourage your daughter to play football or be on the wrestling team, instead of ballet, if that is where her interests lie.
     Feminism is when you realize that it IS true that a woman has to work twice as hard as a man, with no complaint and less compensation, to earn just a grudging amount of respect. And to KEEP doing it, because it may make things a little easier for your daughter when she grows up.
     Feminism is a dad teaching his daughter how to fix a car or playing basketball with her.
     Feminism is a dad knowing better than to comment on his daughter's weight or appearance so as not to encourage an eating or body image disorder.
     Feminism is a father willing to confront his own indoctrinations about gender and to encourage his children to be their own person and develop their own interests despite what their gender may dictate.
     Feminism is a man willing to be a single dad or a stay at home dad, despite the looks he may get.
     Feminism is a man who shares the responsibility of his children, because he is a parent, not a babysitter.
     Feminism is a man who realizes he married an equal partner, not a second mother to adopt him and take care of him.
     Feminism is a woman appreciating what is often taken for granted, whether it be driving or holding down a job. Because her forbears didn't have that option and paved the way for her to have those things.
     I think most of all, feminism is activism. Activism not just for women, to promote women. But activism to level the playing field. Not just for us, but for our children. And not just for our children, but any of us who are so ballsy, and brash and outspoken that we are willing to rattle the cage.

Catching up

2011-08-04T13:16:00.000-04:00

It's been a while since I've done any sort of update. So here's the lowdown.

The Hubster is still working away. The pay is unpredictable at best, and he's considering taking a similar position with a different company. The positive things would be a more predictable (and slightly better) income, and having him home a little more often. The cons are the insurance isn't too great. He could probably get hired on the spot, we're just trying to build a little financial cushion before he switches.

I'm still a pseudo-single parent. I'm getting better at this, actually. I like having only myself to answer to, and not having to run every single little decision through someone else. It's nice being the boss, except for the times I really NEED a second opinion, and for whatever reason am unable to to reach my hubby.

The downsides to being the primary caretaker are the facts the kids still miss their daddy, and he's better at instilling morals, character and discipline than I am. So when the kids are acting like bratty heathens in a store, I know it's MY fault. Being the parent 24/7 ensures there are going to be times when I'm too tired or emotionally exhausted for disciplinary follow-through. It shows in their behavior. I really need to be stricter and less laissez-faire, but I'm so low-energy and wrung out I just let it go.

The kids will be starting school in about a week, and that gives me about 2 months daily alone time until my school starts. I'm excited to finally get some time to myself. This past month has been hell. I contracted a case of shingles. It took about a week before I realized it wasn't poison ivy and sought treatment for it, so it took longer to get cleared up than it should. Then both kids developed chicken pox from being exposed to shingles.

Between my misery and their illnesses, we'd been pretty much cooped up and quarantined for a month. We've driven each other crazy. So believe me when I say I can't wait for school to start.

I also can't wait for my school to start. I'll be learning massage therapy, but I'll be soaking up some New Age-y stuff in the process. And meeting New Age-y sorts of people. I welcome this as an opportunity to start showing my eclectic/New Age-y side to others.

I'm tired of hiding some of the parts of who I am. It's nice having people like you, but it's miserable when you realize a good many of them wouldn't like you if they knew ALL of you, instead of the side you show them. "This is one little facet of the gem that I am, hope you like it," and knowing that if they saw the whole gem they'd find it flawed.

I'll probably lose some friends and the like and appreciation of some family once the walls start tumbling down. But like a new friend of mine espouses, "Those who matter won't mind, and the ones who mind don't matter."

That's all for now. More to come later.

Love, Actually

2011-08-01T14:38:00.000-04:00

So here's the big fat love blog everyone's been waiting for. What do I think about love?

Can people marry, stay true blue, and it be happily ever after until the day they die? It happens, but it's not bloody likely. If you set yourself thinking that's how your marriage is going to be, you're going to be disappointed.

Monogamy is not natural for most people. Serial monogamy works for others.

The more I read about polyamory, the more I agree with it. Can you love more than one person at a time? Absolutely. Do you love your children exactly the same? Do you love your spouse with the same love you have for your parents? No. So therefore, it is quite possible to hold differing amounts of love for different people with no diminishing of the qualities of the other.

It's quite possible to be in love with one person (or more), and in like with others. And that if everyone is grown-up enough about it, to make a love triangle/decagon/tetrahedron, or any other shape they like.

That's pretty much it, in a nutshell. I know that I've led up to this blog like it's some big revelation. I know there's been other blogs I've deleted. I postponed writing this for quite a while.

Most of that had to do with some horror stories some friends of mine shared with me. A lot of new stories I hadn't heard before, shared in a coincidentally recent time frame of each other. Stories that involved beatings, rapes, emotional tortures and various physical abuses inflicted on them by the men they had been involved with, and for reasons circumstantial to each relationship, they were unable to leave.

Those stories shook me to the core and left me wondering where I stood on the issue of love. If these women had suffered through not just these traumas but blatant, rampant cheating, how could I possibly sanction polyamory?

It took a while to sort their traumas from the notion of informed consent. But with time, distance and fresh perspective, I have.

There may be other sub-topics related to love I may share my thoughts on from time to time, but that's pretty much the bulk of it. I'll likely write more later, but for now, this is enough.

Not Your Barbie's Dream House

2011-04-28T22:48:00.000-04:00

So a friend and I were talking about the mansions we'd build if we were suddenly imbued with huge amounts of money.

Mine would have the typical rooms -- kitchen, bathrooms, bedrooms, etc., but it would also contain some wacky stuff you'd never see on Cribs. Let's take a peek at the rooms in my dream house, shall we?

First up is the Mirror Room. So named because all walls, ceiling and floor would be covered with mirrors. I may make the room an unusual shape, so that it has a faceted effect. Maybe even have several panels here and there to make it a little like a fun house. The back of the door would also be a mirror, and would fit nearly seamless with the rest. Extremely disorienting. Uber-cool.

Next, is the Padded Room. This room would have nothing but plush, red, velvety cushions and padding all over. You could lounge in there all day, and waller all you want. Extremely comfortable. Uber-cozy.

The Dungeon would have stone walls and be decorated with medieval-type stuff. Swords, crests, suits of armor, tapestries, etc.

The Game Room would be one of my favorite places. There would be a big table for old-school D&D pencil/paper/dice gaming. I'd get one of those custom made tables that had a grid for miniatures. The room would also contain various game consoles and even arcade games.

My mansion wouldn't be complete without a couple of hidden rooms and secret passageways. I'm not telling you what they're for, because I'm not even sure why. I just think it would be cool to have them.

Last but not least, my mansion would have to have an honest-to-goodness turret, just like a castle. Why? Because I like castles. In fact, it would be nice to just build a castle to start with, instead of a mansion.

So, there you go. Weirdo Mom's dream house.

Beliefs

2011-02-17T10:24:00.000-05:00

I have a difficult time sharing myself with people sometimes. I've learned the hard way, that when the things you believe and feel are different from those around you, they tend to be openly critical, attacking and judgmental.

I don't really care what the people I don't know think. However, I DO care what friends, family and those close to me think. I care what they think about me, and it's painful when those that are supposed to care for you turn on you, simply because you were...different.

The result of these experiences is that unless I feel there's an open, non-critical, non-judgmental floor, I will clam up tighter than a miser's purse about what I think or feel about something. Because of some recent conversations though, I'm willing to stand here, on my semi-anonymous blog and just say it all out. I can't say it out there, in real life. But I CAN say it here.

Most of my beliefs tend to be rather nebulous. I have ideas, but I don't always know the labels for these ideas. Privately, I refer to myself as Christo-eclectic. I grew up in a loosely Christian home, and I have built from that foundation.

Some people feel that the Bible is the Word of God and should be taken literally. I'm not one of those people. I feel the Bible was Divinely inspired, but it was also filtered through the viewpoint of the men who transcribed it. It was also decided by a council of men what books should be considered to be part of the Bible. I don't feel those men had anyone but their own best interests at heart.

Therefore, I think while it contains some good ideas, I'm not going to swallow it hook, line and sinker.

I've got some Celtic, Native American, Pagan and Shamanistic beliefs blended in as well. Some may feel that those can't be blended in with Christian beliefs, because of the involvement of other gods. I call bull. Whatever you call your god, is just the name of one facet of the gem that is God.

I'm more open to sharing my beliefs about religion than I am about my beliefs about love and marraige. People are a little more open to religious differences these days, but not so much when it comes to the Sacred Institution of Marraige.

I am already feeling the beginnings of an anxiety attack beginning by just offering to state my opinion on that subject. So, Dear Reader, I am going to pause here, gather my courage, and write a second blog installment on that topic here in the very near future. I know you'll hold me to it.

My latest little thing to obsess about

2011-01-13T17:53:00.001-05:00

Last night, I was on a popular social networking site, when I saw an acquaintance of mine online. We'd never chatted online before, but I impulsively decided to say hello.

We exchanged pleasantries, I said "How are you?" and the person responded, "Doing good. Brb, ok?"

That was the last I heard. I was online at least another hour after that. The person's icon showed that they were still online as well. But there was nothing. No response.

I just don't get it. I could handle someone saying, "I can't talk right now." I wouldn't even get upset if the person had said, "I don't feel comfortable talking with you online."

This is a person I see at least once a week, and we've chatted briefly on every occasion. They had even voluntarily offered to put in a good word for me at a company I was seeking employment at. Every interaction we've had convinced me that they saw me in a positive light.

Thanks to this weird, incomplete online exchange, my paranoid mind tries to convince me of several theories.

That perhaps the person thinks I'm mentally unbalanced and that they're only being nice to me, because it's a good idea to stay on the good side of the crazies.

That perhaps while dodging me, they were messaging some other friend of theirs, "That creepy crazy chick is on right now. She just tried to talk to me! What should I do?"

Now I'm worried that they secretly think ill of me. I don't know what to do about the next time I happen to see that person. Ignore what happened? Ask?

My natural inclination, given that I think that they think I'm unbalanced or crazy, is to feel embaressed that I've been inflicting my presence upon them. That I went so far as to friend them or try to talk to them, and they only went along with it because of a sense of social pressure, or out of fear of upsetting me. That perhaps I should avoid them.

I can't believe that one brief chat exchange has so rattled my views of myself, and made me feel so low. What is the outside perception others have of me? My close friends know the real me, but what about those others who only see me briefly? Am I one of those unsavory types, an undesirable?

Why did this happen? That's what I really want to know.

Well, isn't that just odd.

2011-01-05T21:56:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I was driving, and suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the need to cry, hot tears stinging my eyes. I dabbed at my eyes with my sleeve, and tried to continue talking nonchalantly with the kids as I chaffeured. I hoped they wouldn't notice, and they never seemed to.

How weird, I mused. I wonder why? I'd been perfectly fine, and then, bam! Tears!

Then today, I was watching a movie. A romantic comedy of all things. I don't usually dig chick flicks, but this one had me howling with laughter, watching certain scenes over and over, because it was that damn funny.

The next thing I knew, I was bent over double, racked with sobbing. A few tears came out and I just kept wailing and crying, but the whole episode probably lasted less than 5 seconds. As I dried my eyes, I wondered, Why am I crying?

Then, just like that, the tears dried up.

I really don't know or understand why. It's not "that time of the month". I wasn't thinking about anything even the slightest bit depressing or distressing. The second time I was in the midst of laughter when it happened. I don't know what emotion is bubbling up, or why it chooses the oddest times to do so.

I'm not worried about my sanity or mental health. Just honestly perplexed by these sudden outbursts that have all the unpredictibility and intensity of a summer storm. I'd hoped that by writing about it, I'd glean some insight as to why, but I'm still just as confused as when I'd begun.

Little Sister had to go

2011-01-04T22:45:00.000-05:00

A few years back, my parents went on vacation at a popular beach, inviting the whole family along -- my brothers and their spouses and children, as well as my own little clan.

One night, my sister-in-law and I decided to have a Girl's Night Out. We kissed the little ones good-night, left our respective spouses in charge and decided to hit a local bar. As luck would have it, that bar was having a karaoke night.

I have a love/crazed fear of karaoke. Occasionally I feel brave enough to open the song book, pick something out, write and give my request to the dj before I chicken out. If I'm completely sober when I do this, the overwhelming stage fright gives me .... ahem... digestional issues. I'm not even kidding about that. But the intense thrill of singing onstage usually outweighs the fear of shitting my pants.

However, this night? I had a couple drinks. Though I grew increasingly nervous as the time approached, I was feeling fine, baby.

My name was finally called, and I got on that stage and had THE BEST karaoke experience of my life. I had chosen "Look At Little Sister" by Stevie Ray Vaughan. And I ROCKED it, absolutely, singing with such passion, fervor and depth, that I heard a shout of, "Sing it, sister!" from the black couple in the front row, who were rocking along with it.

Ordinarily, I do not mention race, because I believe that a person's skin color has no bearing on their worth as an individual human being. Though I am painting with the broad brush of generalization here, just like white teenagers know pop, many black people know the blues.

To me, even now, that couple's call of "Sing it, sister!" is the highest praise I have ever received from singing. I don't know that any compliment I could get would ever match that for me. From what I've read about SRV, he also considered it high praise if his music and style was called black.

I finished the song and left the stage to wild applause, and somehow my trembling knees carried me back to where my sister-in-law was sitting. Who hadn't even noticed I was gone, or heard the song. Distracted by trying to decline advances from another patron, she'd missed the whole thing.

The excitement didn't stop there. We finished our drinks, and left the bar. At some point the SIL and I realized we both had to pee. Really bad. And we were still blocks away from our hotel. There were no stores or gas stations open nearby. We tried asking a clerk at another hotel if we could use their restroom, and the response was negatory.

So, driven by necessity, and the desire for revenge, we snuck onto the beach behind the hotel, and furtively glanced around to see if anyone was present.

And that, my friends, is how I found myself dropping trou and pissing on the beach with my sister-in-law at 3 a.m.

Shopping With the Kids

2010-12-15T20:09:00.000-05:00

What Christmas shopping with the kids has taught me:

* Children can use the restroom before and after eating a meal at a restaurant, and still need to visit two rest areas and the mall bathroom as soon as you arrive.

* Children can eat at a restaurant and be hungry again an hour later.

* My son can look at the same Goth chick I think is cool, and tell her, "You're scary."

* I need a pull-string and speaker box, with the phrases, "Watch where you're going, hun!", "Don't touch that!", and "I'm sorry!" played at random.

* That you cannot browse leisurely through Spencer's Gifts, for fear that your kids will see products meant for those far past their tender years. And that your efforts at telling them to "Stay up front!" will be thwarted by the fact of, "But that's where the cool lights are!"

* That children braving the restroom on their own will want to test the acoustics of said facilities, much to the amusement of the adults standing outside.

* Despite using the restroom before leaving the mall, they still have to visit the rest area five miles from home.

Conclusion: My children must have the smallest stomachs and bladders in the history of mankind.

Also, my son can do an amazing robot impersonation, and his robotic laughter kept me in stitches for a good 15 minutes, despite my bone-weary, dead-eye tiredness.

I didn't know

2010-11-01T14:45:00.000-04:00

I don't recall what my first childhood memory was, but I DO remember the most vivid one.

I was standing in the living room of our old home. Holding my brothers tightly under each arm. They were squirming and twisting, and shouting "Daddy!" as the paramedics took him down the stairs in a stretcher. They wanted to run over to him. I wanted to run over to him as well, but a very grown-up voice in my head told me that we'd only be in the way.

So I stood there. And held them. And let the paramedics take my daddy away.

I didn't know then, that it would be the last time I saw him alive. I didn't know then that he'd die on the way hospital and it would change our lives forever. I didn't know what a heart attack was. I don't know for sure that I'd do anything different, though I do sometimes daydream about running to him and touching his face for the last time.

I do know that whenever someone asks me anything about my childhood, that's the first memory that pops up. I know that it happened January 28, 1987, but that's only because I have a bookmark with his obituary on it. I know that I was 8 years old. And I know that even though it's been over 20 years ago, I sometimes still miss him, though there are many days I don't think about it at all.

Life is weird. Grief is even weirder.

Bebehs R Preshus

2010-10-21T21:40:00.000-04:00

So there I am, sitting in a lobby somewhere, minding my own business. This kid comes along, not quite a year old. He's grinning and squealing, making cute noises and whatnot, like babies generally do.

And I'm all like WANT BEBEHS OH NOM NOM NOM BEBEHS R DELISHUS.

Then, I'm sitting there, reeling from the mindblast, wondering, "What fuckery is this?"

According to 70 percent of me, ain't no chance of revisiting that notion anytime soon. No way, no how. But 30 percent of me says yes. And that bitch has a bullhorn.

I think back to my children's infancies.

I remember getting no sleep the last three months of pregnancy because I'm so uncomfortable. I think that's the body's way of preparing you for the next nine months, because you get no sleep. None.

I remember two years -- TWO FREAKIN' YEARS -- of having another human being attached to my body pretty much 24/7.

I remember learning how to unfasten my jeans one-handed so I could pee while holding a baby. It was either hold her or hear her cry, and I couldn't handle the second option. Then I regressed to wearing sweatpants, because it was easier than jeans.

I remember that everywhere I went, I lugged around a purse, diaper bag and baby carrier.

I remember the crying. The God-awful, incessent crying. Then my crying on top of that.

I remember being so "touched out" that I couldn't even stand to get a hug from my husband.

But then the baby-crazy bitch is all like, "Yeah, but remember the smiles? The giggles? The coos? The snuggles? The way it looks at you like you are the end-all, be-all of the universe? The OM NOM NOMMY pudgy belly? You can seriously look at that and say you don't want that?"

"Yes, I can, bitch. Now shut up. I just now updated my wardrobe and my life. Fuck off, already!"

And so the argument goes, round and round. Either way, the discussion is tabled for now. I don't want to go through pregnancy and newborn stage while the Hubster is working away. I plan to go back to school next year, when both kids are in school full time. I'm sure I'll want to enjoy that for a bit, and perhaps start a new phase in my for-now-non-existent career.

I don't know why I bother arguing with myself anyway. I always win.

No cause for that!

2010-10-21T10:51:00.000-04:00

Lately I have found myself beset by everyone's good intentions. I've been presented with opinions about various causes, with each petitioner trying to drum up the required enthusiasm and excitement from me about the subject.

Truth is, while the causes are worthy, I have only a finite amount of energy to expend. I already have my pet causes, and any enthusiasm shown for anything else is going to be lackluster at best.

I thought I'd have more to say on the subject, but I'm tired. Not sleepy-tired, but lack-of-energy tired. So blah on that. I can't take up your causes because it takes too much energy just to get dressed in the morning.

I'll take revenge on your furriness

2010-10-13T23:36:00.000-04:00

So, a family member bought the kids a copy of Furry Vengeance. They had no idea how truly bad this movie was, so I can't entirely fault them for that. I'm not sure where to even start.

The first time my daughter watched it, she came up to me crying. "They make it seem like it's funny, but they're trying to kill all the animals!" she sobbed. That ticked me off right there. A supposedly funny movie made my daughter cry?

Soon, she came to realize that there was no animal killing going on, and it's become a movie staple for when the kids are bored.

I ended up fully watching it with them one day. I am far from pleased. There is one character who is Asian. He occasionally spouts off random gibberish, that sounds vaguely like Japanese or Chinese. Please tell me this isn't the 1950s? That they're trying to teach kids that when people "talk foreign" it's funny? That Asians are to be laughed at for "talking weird"? Geez....

This movie plays off so many stereotypes, it's not even funny. Brendan Fraser in a pink sweatsuit carrying a rainbow striped umbrella. The one elderly person in the movie is totally off her rocker (Alzheimers/ageism = not funny). Planning the celebration of the arrival of an Indian client, suggestions are made about teepees and buffalo burgers.

Not even the lovely, unflappable Brooke Shields can redeem this movie. I'm ashamed to have it in the house.

And God help me, the kids like it.

AAAAAHHHH!!!!!

Bucket List Revisited

2010-09-29T22:06:00.000-04:00

My Bucket List
1. Become fluent in Spanish.

2. Learn to play guitar.

3. Visit a family member who lives in California.

4. Go to New Orleans.

5. Take a mechanics class/learn about engines.

6. Take a self-defense class.

7. Learn to swing dance.

8. Master bellydancing.

9. Learn other formal dances.

10. Publish something -- book, short story, or poem.

11. ~~Get a tattoo.~~

12. Learn massage therapy.

13. Conquer my anxiety and its symptoms.

14. Become competent at sewing.

15. Do something of an activist nature -- participate in a protest or rally.

16. Learn to drive a stick shift.

17. Picnic in a pine forest.

Well, as you can see, I've finally crossed off one of my bucket list items. I got a tattoo.

It's a peacock feather, on my hip, and it represents Stevie Ray Vaughan. I discovered Stevie Ray about 10 years ago. I love listening to him flat out wail on a guitar, and I love to sing his songs. I know a good many of them by heart. I listened to SRV so much, that after my daughter was born, the only way I could calm her down when she was inconsolably colicky was to sing SRV songs as loud as I could.

SRV had a tattoo of a peacock on his chest, and originally, my idea was to get the same tattoo on my hip. But as I came to the decision, I realized I didn't want the whole bird -- I'd rather just have the feather.

It took me 10 years to decide I really did want a tattoo enough to live with it forever. It took me 2 more years to pick just the right design. And today, I did it.

It hurt. I gasped. I trembled. I said ow and fuck a lot. I asked the tattoo artist if this was a typical reaction, and he said, "For an area this tender? Yeah." So for once, I guess I'm normal at something.

About 2/3 of the way through, I stumbled onto a trick. I breathed in. I hissed out the air. I realized that when I focused on hissing, the pain wasn't quite as bad. I ended up hissing the rest of the way through. The tattoo artist probably thought I'd lost my marbles, but he was a total pro and never said a word.

I am absolutely in love with it. And now I want another.

*************************

For those of you paying attention, you'll have noticed I've added two more items to the list. I crossed off one and added two more. I must be ambitious.

Highs and Lows

2010-09-28T22:34:00.000-04:00

Today is one of those days where I got to experience both the highs and the lows associated with the Hubster's long distance job.

Our income has finally reached the point where we feel comfortable and not pinched. Today, I had new tires put on the car. When I received the bill, I paid it casually, with no concern. A year ago, I would have been sweating bullets and sick to my stomach, wondering how I was going to feed the family this week. I likely would have found myself selling soda cans for gas money, using our last $20 to buy a boatload of ramen noodles, and pondering the merits of prostitution. Instead, I had lunch at a restaurant.

I rode the high of this feeling all day. Until I picked up my daughter from school.

After she got away from school, into the safety of the car, she became wracked with sobs. Missing her daddy. Yelling at her brother, because she was so upset. When that happens, I just don't know what to do. The only solution I can offer is to let her call him, which she always turns down for some reason.

I don't know why, but I end up feeling like it's all my fault. My fault he's out there, my fault my kids are on an emotional roller coaster. My fault that sometimes I'd rather trade that time with my spouse for a little financial comfort. Even though I have the feeling we'll all be paying the piper for it later.

But I'm not sure why I take on that mantle of responsibility, when it was a joint decision. I guess because I'm the one here, dealing with it. Acknowledging that fact doesn't really make it any easier though.

I guess it's just life. You have to live it, to see how it turns out.

WWAMD?

2010-08-25T09:39:00.000-04:00

Not long ago, I found myself angry at someone. It was a misunderstanding, and there’s a working out in progress. But what really fascinates me is my response to my own anger.

I keep feeling the need to apologize, and I understand that part. The part that perplexes me is the fact I feel a near-compulsion to add, “I’m sorry. Don’t mind me. I just get a little pissy and woman-ish sometimes.”

I want to analyze that phrase. A person can be pissed-off, and there is a feel of righteous anger to that word. But to say someone is pissy…. there is a diminishment there. A tone that acknowledges that the person is angry, but that it is an over-reaction.

Woman-ish. That’s the part that really gets me. To restrict an emotion to my gender. There is a stereotypical assumption that women are irrational and not fully in control of themselves sometimes. But it can be a self-fulfilling statement. Girls are not taught how to handle anger. It is unladylike and therefore, unacceptable.

Women don’t express anger. They stuff it down. I can almost guarantee you that if you see a fat woman, you are looking at a woman who has swallowed her anger like chocolate syrup. It can be delicious. But if it becomes a lifelong habit, it is thick and choking and takes a toll on the body.

Now that I think about it, the above paragraph can include overweight people in general. But rather than let myself digress, I want to stick to the analyzation at hand.

When a man is angry, it is rarely questioned. He is angry, which means there is a problem, and a solution must be found. When a woman is angry, she is out of control, and must be dismissed.

A man would not apologize for his anger. “I’m over it. You over it?” “Hell yeah, let’s grab a beer.” Just a simple recognition that a misunderstanding too place, and it’s now water under the bridge.

I don’t want my anger dismissed. I don’t want others to dismiss their own anger. What Would A Man Do? A man would own it. I need to own my anger. You need to own your anger too.

It is hard though. There is a lifetime of accumulated cultural indoctrination (say that three times fast) to battle against. I fight against my own compulsion to dismiss the anger I felt. It involves a stepping out of the perspective of one’s self, to get a clear picture and recognize what one is fighting against.

If you dismiss your emotions, you dismiss yourself. It hurts the soul to be dismissed. So why hurt yourself? Anger is a mirror that shows there is a problem. Anger can be a catalyst to a solution.

It doesn’t have to be a gender issue. Angry women get called bitches. So what? Say it a few times. Roll around in it like a feline in catnip. Sew the Bitch badge on your Girl Scout sash. Wear it around a while and get used to the label. Hurt anymore? Nope? Then good, you own it.

Recognize your emotions. Sounds simple enough, but parents never think to teach their kids this because it seems like one of those obvious things. But I was well into my twenties before I realized a particular emotion was loneliness, that another was wistfulness, and yet another was disappointment. Emotions were a loose ball of yarn that I had to sort out.

Name it. Then own it. Or it owns you.

In Exile

2010-07-12T18:02:00.001-04:00

I have come to a crossroads in my religious life.

Recently I had attended service at a church I have been frequenting regularly. The pastor began preaching on a couple of topics that are near and dear to me.

I don’t care to get into these issues in this particular blog, other than I come to my beliefs from a place of love and I feel VERY strongly about them, and that they run completely counter to the traditional conservative Christian mindset.

As I sat there listening to an otherwise nice pastor completely trash something dear to me, I realized that I had that exact same problem at my home church. I love my home church, the pastor, and the congregation, and miss them dearly.

I moved too far away to attend regular services at my home church, but it is likely I would have had this same experience at that church as well, for many times I can recall sitting in that pew, squirming and biting my tongue in anger.

Here, in a nutshell, are my beliefs about the Bible:

The Bible, though divinely inspired, was written down by men. Therefore, everything contained in the Bible is written through the filter of conservative, Jewish, Middle Eastern men.

The version of the Bible that most people read (KJV) was edited, with some books left out. (I don’t yet know the history of the other versions, as the KJV is the only version I’m familiar with.)

The disciples, though they loved Jesus and followed him to the best of their abilities, still didn’t completely “get” what he was all about. Therefore they oftentimes attributed their own thoughts and feelings about issues to Jesus.

The Bible as we know it, has been translated from its original languages such as Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek. Therefore, there is plenty of room for error in translation.

The only way to get true, error-free understanding of the Bible is to learn the original languages and read the original texts yourself.

Due to the preceding statements, the only parts of the Bible I put complete faith in are the words in red. Jesus own quotes. Even then, I take them with a very small grain of salt, owing to the possibility of translation errors.

Jesus was a very compassionate man. He did not condemn others. Nowhere in the Bible did He HIMSELF even mention any sort of opinion on the subjects in question.

So, during that fateful service, I sat there broiling in anger and sorrow. I realized I could no longer, in good conscience, attend a church that spewed vileness and hatred in Jesus’ name. That misled its people with good, but misinformed, intentions. That I could no longer in good conscience or in good faith, attend any church that taught as such.

That from that church, and even from my home church, I was in exile.

In Exile.

It hurts. It hurts to think that I must be cut off from these churches. I feel it in a way that anyone in exile from their homeland must feel.

But I realize it is the sort of hurt that comes from pulling a troublesome tooth. That it is raw, and sore, but I am the better for it.

It frees me. I have given myself permission to see what’s out there, and to find a new church. And if I’m unable to find one in my area that I feel comfortable with, that it’s perfectly fine to have solitary Bible study. If it comes to that, I will miss the companionship and warmth of a congregation, but I will not sacrifice my peace of mind just so I can be misled with a flock.

I am in exile. But it’s ok.

I am in sorrow. But it’s ok.

I am now a wanderer. Again. But it’s ok. I will find His path. And when I do, I will follow it the best I can.

Where’d My Baby Go?

2010-05-20T12:33:00.000-04:00

“Where’d your baby go?” my husband asked me today on the phone.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I sent her to school and they turned her into a big girl.”

That is SOOO true. I marvel at what a remarkable year it has been. In the beginning, she was clingy. She didn’t like school. She didn’t like one girl who was boisterous, chatty and a bit bossy.

For at least a month, maybe two, the issue of school was a dramatic battle between her not wanting to go, and my insisting that yes, she did have to attend. Wondering to myself if she really WAS ready for school. Perhaps I should consider Montessori, or the private Christian school, or home schooling.

Some kids push for independence. She craves being sheltered and overprotected. Mentally, I waffled between giving her what she felt she needed, or putting us both through the pain of pushing her out of the nest a tiny bit, for her own good. Unable to know whether it was for the best, or would end in a family drama of failed experiment.

But I think I made the right call. It’s been a bumpy road. She entered school tearfully, clingy, and barely able to write her own name. Now she brags about that she didn’t have any tokens taken away today. That she likes music and art classes, loves library time, and doesn’t like P.E.

She can read nearly whole sentences, only needing help with the big words. Just yesterday, she completely read Green Eggs and Ham, completely by herself.
She makes careful drawings and labels them, “For my Daddy”.

She’s learning to tell time and count by 2s, 5s, and 10s.

Has lost 4 baby teeth in the past 2 months.

She surprises me with her thinking aloud. Things like, “I don’t know whether to take a bath or shower. I’m dirty, so the bath water would get dirty and I don’t want to sit in dirty bath water. A shower would be faster and use less water, so it wouldn’t be as wasteful.”

She hounds her brother for leaving his bedroom light on and wasting electricity. She's chided me on many occasions, because we don't recycle.

She makes introductions for her and her brother, stating to other kids and sometimes grown-ups, their names and ages.

In the past month, she’s finally mastered how to tie her shoes, and she is ABSOLUTELY thrilled with herself.

What a remarkable Big Girl she has turned out to be, and I’m thrilled to be her mother! I wonder what surprises are in store for me next year...

So done

2010-04-13T18:59:00.000-04:00

This has not been a great evening. I see now this started building earlier in the day, about 1 p.m.

I had dozed off, and hardly been asleep for 20 minutes when my son said he wanted me to get him something.

Not long after I picked my daughter up from school, I settled in on the couch with a book. I started getting drowsy. I thought, "I may just take a little nap." No sooner had this thought crossed my mind, than my children started playing a little game I like to call "Mommy, Get Me."

"Mommy? Can you fix me some tea?" my daughter asked.
"Mommy? Can you make some lemonade?" asked my son.

So it began. No sooner than I would hit that drowsy point, one of them HAD to have something. Right now. Help loading a movie. Help in the bathroom. Help with a snack. Didn't matter that I would soon make dinner, they had to have those friggin' snacks RIGHT NOW.

And if it wasn't a child interrupting me, it was the phone.

After about an hour and a half of this, I gave up. But they didn't.

My daughter was bitten by an insect and needed my assistance. My son HAD to tell me a 10 minute convuluted story that had no point.

They were sufficiently snacked up and distracted, so I fixed a plate of leftovers. However, I was caught in the act and my son demanded one too.

I sit down to eat, and then my daughter ever-so-conviently comes in the kitchen, and asks for a plate too. AFTER I'd already put everything away. At some point, I just gave up, and left my dinner to get cold on the table.

I'm just so done. I want time to myself. I'm so sick of picking up their messes, walking behind them and straightening up whatever they've deigned themselves to mess up. Couch cushions, cups in the living room. I just want them to go to bed and leave me alone.

I want to take a drive. By myself. I want to leave them here with someone and just go for a while. But I can't.

I'm angry, grouchy, put-upon and resentful. This is one of those days I have ceased finding things to be a blessing, and more of a bother.

Who are these kids and why are they calling me mom? And why the fuck can't they do anything for themselves?

A Blogpodge!

2010-04-09T10:31:00.000-04:00

This week, I actually have a lot to say, so this is going to be a hodgepodge! A blog hodgepodge! A blogpodge, if you will!

Ok. Glad that’s over. Still with me?

So there was a family function at my daughter’s school last night, and the kids and I went. We had a good time. But there was one moment that stuck with me. We went to a presentation that only a few people attended. I looked to the left of me, and there was a couple. I looked to the right of me. Another couple. And there I was.

Alone.

It hit me that that is what a single mom feels like, every day. I may have to deal with the ups and downs of being a single mother while my husband is out working his long-distance job, but I least I have a vague deadline of when this will all be over. Most single mothers do not have the luxury of having an end in sight.

It doesn’t make my job any easier, but it makes it slightly more bearable. I guess what I’m trying to say is I really sympathize with all you single moms. Thanks for doing what you do.

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This also reminds me of the old saw about parents having to sacrifice for their children. That had never truly hit home for me until this past year. True, if we didn’t have kids, the hubs and I would get to do more in the way of entertainment. We would probably settle for a lot less as well, and not worry so much about our living arrangements and the like.

But that’s not really sacrifice. We’ve learned sacrifice the hard way this year. Sacrifice is having your daughter cry for her daddy when he’s not there, because he’s out trying to make our lives a little better than last year.

Sacrifice is the hubs not seeing the kids for weeks at a time, and usually not even getting to hear their voices, because they don’t like talking on the phone. They love daddy, but the phone is just an annoyance to them.

Sacrifice is wearing contacts for 6-8 months longer than you should, when they are supposed to be replaced monthly. Enduring stabbing eye pains and hoping you don’t end up causing yourself to go blind. Then finding out you’ve basically caused yourself to have an allergic reaction to the contacts, all because you couldn’t afford a new set, or even a pair of glasses.

Sacrifice is saving cans and going without haircuts, so you can buy your children consignment store clothing and shoes.

I could go on, but it’s really not necessary. Sacrifice. Check. I’ve learned it.

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On to more fun things:

This morning, as my son awoke, he said in his half-stupor, “My umbrella is a clarinet instrument.”

That right there is funny, people.

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My cats like to catch frogs, and even more so, they like to show them off. Every morning I leave the house, only to find a frog corpse on my front porch or sidewalk. I’m actually finding it quite amusing.

I kick them off to the side, and have a little collection of dead frogs in what would be my flower bed if I’d muster the energy to plant flowers. It makes me wonder what any visitors would think (if I ever had a visitor). Would they consider me a voodoo queen? Oh, if they only knew what strangeness lurks in the heart of a person…. bwah ha ha ha ha!

Mis Amigos

2010-03-21T22:11:00.000-04:00

I know I'm just setting myself up here, because writing a blog about one's friends (unless it's a wonderfully glowing positive blog), is basically just one terrific way to stir up a shit storm. That's wonderful if you happen to like fecal matter, not so good if you don't. However, this is the only place I can work out the whirlwind in my head, and figure out exactly where my thoughts lie.

I have a wonderful group of close-knit friends, who are like family to me. I really am blessed by them. But not a one of them truly get me, and I don't know if any of them really care to try.

One has a wonderful, shining image of me that I don't really fit. When he encounters a piece of knowledge about me that he finds unpleasant and doesn't fit the picture in his head, instead of trying to work it in to the puzzle, he simply throws the piece away. Therefore, I remain an untarnished, occasionally perplexing icon.

Another can't get past that our viewpoints on certain issues are radically different and diametrically opposed. I try to avoid those issues, because I really do value our relationship and I fear the impact of a frank discussion would cause a rift that would be long to heal.

There are times though that I really get my toes stepped on. Recently I was caught off guard, and had to reduce a topic I feel very passionate about into just one or two key points. The response I got pretty much let me know they hold my very dear beliefs repulsive, repugnant and disgusting.... which I guess that means I am too. They enjoy my company, my personality, but they don't like ME.

It really is a shame, because I love her and enjoy her company, but I can rarely relate anything personal about myself without being dumped upon by the Righteous Bucket O' Judgment, and usually reduced to tears.

One friend is quite similar to me in attitude and beliefs, and appears to enjoy my company. I really think this person could get who I am. However, this person is very private, and holds little interest in people in general. I could relate any amount of information I want, but receive little information in return. He would be sad if he knew I were upset about something, but in the inner workings of people seem to be rather enigmatic to him, so it wouldn't make a lasting impression.

So basically, when I reveal the real raw me to the people I hold most dear, it is either disregarded, scathingly judged, or has all the impact of a stone skipping upon water.

It rather frustrating, to put it mildly. This past year has revealed to me there is a chasm that runs deep between me and everyone else. And it is filled to the brim with loneliness. I just don't know what to make of it, or why I bother trying.

With that last sentence in mind, it reminds me of two others, whom I know through work. We all relate well to each other and I'd love to consider us all friends. I enjoy their company, and they seem to enjoy mine. But I have these little niggling doubts. I wonder if it's only my perception that we're nearly-friends, or if they're just humoring me. I never know quite where I stand with either one.

It would hurt my feelings more to find that someone was just humoring me and tolerating my company, than to be just out-right disliked. Period.

I don't know that my writing this helped me to come to any sort of conclusion regarding anything. But it did serve the purpose of helping me gather all these whirling feelings and thoughts and place them firmly under a mental paperweight. Which at this point, I'll take what I can get.

I nearly bit my tongue in two

2010-03-14T23:50:00.000-04:00

I've reached the end of this day in a slightly pissy attitude. I've been assaulted with some of my pet peeves here recently. Though "pet peeves" is really too light a word.

There are two things that really define me, besides my geekdom.

1.) I root for the underdog.
2. ) I'm allergic to hurting anyone's feelings.

This translates to my being passionate about feminism, civil rights, and LGBT issues. My actions don't always match though, as I'm ultimately lazy.

So anyway, recently a friend confided about being pulled over by the police, and given that there was no real reason, it probably had something to do with his race. Which I was thinking it, even before I was told, and was already angry about it.

Then today at work, a coworker and I were watching a program that featured a gay couple and their children. He just started raving about how he couldn't watch it, and that it was nasty, he didn't believe in it, etc.

Meanwhile, I'm just sitting there, gritting my teeth. Wondering if I should call him on it, and tell him I find his reaction offensive. To tell him of the many gay and lesbian friends (and some family) I have. Some with children, some without. Some that have been together many years. Some that have been left suicidal because of the uber-religious backgrounds they've come from and feeling there is something fundamentally wrong with themselves but can't change it. And that insensitive louts like him don't help matters.

I ended up doing nothing. I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, I made nice at work. Didn't get into a culture war with a coworker that I rarely have to work with. I didn't hurt his feelings and make him upset by calling attention to his asshat behavior. So I feel a little good about being professional.

On the other hand, most of me is going GAAAAHHHH!!!! I sat there listening to him trash an issue I'm passionate about!? Maybe he really did need his attitude adjusted, and I could have been the one to do it, but instead I said nothing? I didn't want to hurt his feelings by calling attention to the fact he was hurting mine? A great deal of me is utterly ashamed at my lack of response.

These are such tricky waters to navigate, and I'm not much of a captain.

So much of me wants to be a balls-out, in-your-face activist. There is a deep vein of fanaticism in me, and I wish I was brave enough to access it. I want to challenge people and stretch boundaries. I want to be a mother that will be a huge embarassment to her children when they are teenagers, but a woman they can be fiercely proud of when they're older.

I want to take outdated attitudes and stand them on their head. To confront other's hang-ups. To be that person that might make you uncomfortable, that might make you angry, but might also make you THINK.

But really? I'm just skeered. People like that are rarely liked and I deeply need to be liked. The families of people like that often experience ostracism. I won't do that to my family. I'm no role-model. I'm just somebody's nearing-middle-age, pasty faced mom.

So I just do what I can do. I ignore things in some settings. Gently correct in other settings. And I love. That is one thing I AM good at. I can find something lovable (or at least sympathetic) in darn near anybody. I leave you with that. Just love.

Waking up with old friends on my mind

2010-02-18T09:35:00.000-05:00

Johnny (not his real name) and I met in high school. I don't even recall the exact circumstances anymore, but it had to have been through the hours we whiled away in the computer lab, just hanging out. At some point, we became fast friends.

We shared a passion for the paranormal, and exchanged our thoughts and emotions with all the fervor of youth. I felt I had found a brother in him, and he a sister in me. We rough housed in the hallways during school, and we talked for hours on the phone after.

I can't even begin to explain the fierce, protective love I had for my "little brother". It would take hours for me to tell you of the good times we had, the emotional bonds we shared.

After I graduated, and went off to college, we kept in touch by phone and occasional visits. But little by little, the inevitable happened, and he slipped away. I didn't hear a word from him at all for a year. Perhaps two. Then, he just reappeared. Bursts of phone calls and keeping in touch. I had gotten married by this time and he spent many weekends hanging out with the Hubs and I.

Questions about his time away were met with vague answers, and I eventually learned not to ask at all. Just to appreciate his friendship and company once more, and to let whatever hidden history he had to be just that. After a while, he disappeared just as suddenly as he appeared.

So began a cycle he's contined over the years. Disappear, reappear. Lather, rinse, repeat. At one point, he had moved to a bigger town about an hour away and invited the Hubs and I to come up and visit him at a club his significant other worked at. I watched with hidden anger as his SO basically treated him like a servant all evening. He introduced us to his strange new friends.

I watched via MySpace as he posted pics where he grew increasingly glassy-eyed and thinner. I pored over his new sister-friend's page, where artistic, gothy and fun photos of her sporting black hair and red lipstick, alternated with photos of the end results of her cutting herself. I wondered what she had over me, and watched him slip away, yet again.

He would make plans to visit, and never show. Sometimes he would call a day or two later with a flimsy excuse. Sometimes, he wouldn't call at all. I tried to quit him, but it would only last until his next reappearance. When you have my friendship, it is fierce, and it is for life. Sometimes, like this time, it is to my downfall. I love my "little brother" still, but have no faith left in him. The last time he announced an upcoming visit, I didn't even bother to change my schedule.

I later found that Johnny kept in contact with a mutual friend of ours during his disappearing spells. Matt (not his real name, either) filled me in with the sparse details he'd been given. Adding up what we both know still does not equal the amount of effort Johnny had put into being vague and secretive. I really don't see what's the point.

It's sort of the life equivilent of someone spending years trying to hide their feet from everyone, only later to find that the person has six toes. Whoop de shit.

I wonder sometimes what I am to him. Someone he used to know? Someone he outgrew? A small town hick who'd never understand the complicated things he's going through? He'd be surprised. Sometimes I wonder if those years were a lie. Did he mean more to me, than I to him?

I watch and wonder where the future will take him. He may overdose and I will find myself at his funeral in a few years. He may reappear for good when we're in our 50s or 60s, explain his crazy years, and us remain fast friends as old age doth approacheth. Both outcomes are equally likely. The truth is somewhere in between.

Big Fat Freakazoid

2010-01-20T22:00:00.000-05:00

This evening my daughter and I were playing a game. Given that we’re freaks, we play Zombie. Tonight’s edition of Zombie played out with my daughter announcing, “I’m a zombie!”

“AAAAH!!!” I fake scream. “A zombie! Don’t eat me zombie, don’t eat me!” I lie on the couch, and she’s crouched on my back, making little smacking noises as she burrows her face into me.

“No, no, zombie, don’t eat me!” I scream again. She looks at me and says, “That’s what zombies do.” She nuzzles my arm with her face, her little mouth smack, smack, smacking away.

This is my reward for the many times my friends and I have let my children watch us play Oblivion. It’s an awesome game, but sometimes you have to fight monsters – zombies included. It’s also the reward for a Bad Mommy moment of mine – letting the kids watch the Thriller video.

All I remembered was the cool part of zombies dancing. I had kind of forgotten about the whole Michael turning into a werewolf, zombies climbing out of the ground, and zombies breaking into the house parts. It also gave me fun and interesting questions to answer for a week or two. Like, “What are the zombies doing, Mommy?” “They’re pretending to eat her.” “Why?” “That’s what zombies do.” “Are zombies real?” “No.”

I’m not even going into the whole slave-labor-zombies created by Voodoo using poisons or plants like tetrodotoxin or datura. They can discover that yakkity-smackity on their own.

But, you know, the Zombie game is fun.

Also, I like to think I'm developing new and interesting complexes for my children during my social experiment titled "Child Rearing". Heh.

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A couple of days ago, I took the kids to gymnastics and ran into a classmate I hadn’t seen since high school. Being that we were held captive in a gym for an hour, we caught up a bit.

She must have been on a fitness kick, and kept asking me about exercising with her. Then an acquaintance of hers arrived, who happened to be a Zumba instructor. They began talking about Zumba classes and trying to convince me to take them. They are a godsend. They make you move in ways you’ve never moved before. Your husband will be amazed, yada yada.

I would hem and haw, demur about tight budgets, or lack of child care. They’d throw back arguments about there being child care at the classes, and my class mate said, “The classes are only $5. You can spend $5 on yourself, can’t you?”

I finally told them I’d consider it. Which I did, for two seconds.

My answer is no. No. I don't wanna.

I hate to exercise. In the summer, I take evening walks and the occasional swim or hike. That’s it. I don’t do treadmills. I only run if chased by bears. I might do a few push-ups or crunches sometimes if I feel the old arms and tummy are getting a little jiggly.

I’m pretty much happy the way I am.
And honestly? I already amaze my husband in bed. Don’t need any help there, thank ya.

And if I wanted to spend $5 on myself? I’d buy a pint of Häagen-Dazs®.

My Life List

2010-01-19T12:15:00.000-05:00

So... here's some of the things I want to do in my life. They are in random order, and I may add to it at some point. For now, it just has 15 items.

My Life List:

1. Become fluent in Spanish.
2. Learn to play guitar.
3. Visit a family member who lives in California.
4. Go to New Orleans.
5. Take a mechanics class/learn about engines.
6. Take a self-defense class.
7. Learn to swing dance.
8. Master bellydancing.
9. Learn other formal dances.
10. Publish something -- book, short story, or poem.
11. Get a tattoo.
12. Learn massage therapy.
13. Conquer my anxiety and its symptoms.
14. Become competent at sewing.
15. Do something of an activist nature -- participate in a protest or rally.

Going nowhere

2010-01-13T11:46:00.000-05:00

This will be a quite random post, I must warn you.

Hubby and I were talking yesterday about different ways we felt we've failed as parents. His failings, he felt, were on an intellectual level. He'd wanted to spend time teaching the kids, and felt that had he been able to spend more time doing so, our 6 year old daughter would be reading and doing math at a third grade level, and our 4 year old son would be about the level of kindergarten.

I felt bad because I'd had good intentions of getting the kids involved in causes and the community. I had envisioned afternoons spent hanging out at old folks homes, creating surrogate great-grandparents. Volunteering at homeless shelters. Getting involved in groups for civil rights, and other assorted causes. I've not even begun, and I wonder if I ever will.

Part of me thinks we should cut ourselves some slack. But on the other hand, wouldn't immersing the children in these things be good learning experiences and perhaps cause them to be better people when they are adults? Where is that line between providing good educational/learning experiences for children, and exhausting ourselves?

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My son has gotten into a bad habit of getting into the refrigerator lately, and leaving the door hanging wide open. It's driving me crazy. I recently had a bout of food poisoning, and I'm terrified of food spoiling and us all getting sick, simply because he's lazy.

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I've been reading a New Age-y type book involving some meditation/visualization. It sort of works. I feel like I'm doing something and having some progress, but then I fall asleep in the middle of it. I wake up in the morning remembering vague things and not being quite sure if I actually accomplished anything.

Those Squirmy Eels

2009-12-23T22:55:00.000-05:00

I've been living the pseudo-single-mom life for a while, and came up with a pretty good analogy of how life as a single parent seems to go. At least for me.

Imagine you work at a pet store. The store receives a shipment of eels. Eels? Yes, eels, just bear with me for a minute here. The manager asks you to transfer the eels to another tank, and by the tone of his voice, it sounds like a task that would take maybe 20 minutes.

You plop your hand in the tank and grab an eel, squeezing it firmly enough that you have a good hold on it, but not so hard as to hurt it. You carry it to the other tank. This ain't so hard, you think. Transfer a couple more, then the next trip, to save time, you grab two. One squirms out of your grasp and hits the floor. You transfer the other eel, and try to catch the escapee. Some customers are giving you dirty looks.

You catch the slippery critter, put it in the tank and go grab another. You turn around, and about half the eels have managed to slither out of the tank. So you catch those and put them back. Look at your watch -- it's time to feed the hamsters!

You hurriedly feed the hamsters, and go back to the eel task, when a customer needs your assistance. You help them and go back to the eel task, realizing now it's time to feed the fish. What you thought should have taken 20 minutes will actually be a two day job, there's water on the floor, you've got little accomplished, customers are unhappy, and you feel like you've let your boss, the customers, and all the pets down. You're a big, fat failure.

So how does it relate to real life? The pets and eels are your children. They need to be cared for, correctly, in a timely manner. The customers are people in your life, whether they are friends, family, school acquaintances or people who give you dirty looks in the store when your kids act up. And the manager? That's the voice in your head that tells you that you can never do good enough. Or maybe there's a person who acts like the boss in your life. For me, it's that voice.

Just my opinion.

My blessings

2009-12-19T12:38:00.001-05:00

Today seems a good day. The snow is ankle deep outside. The kids and I made a mini-snowman, and took a walk in the woods.

I like this time. There's nothing pressing. Christmas break has started and my daughter is out of school for two weeks. I'm sure we'll all get cabin fever and be tired of looking at each other soon enough. But for today -- nothing pressing, no work today, a silent, snowy world outside, and several mugs of hot chocolate -- life feels like a Snuggie.

I have hopes of cuddling up with the kids and watching a movie soon, and of fixing breakfast for supper -- scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes. I am so thankful for my family today. I received a voice mail from my husband this morning in which he first imitated the kids clamoring to go outside and play in the snow, then reminded me to be patient and remember what it was like to be their age and how exciting snow was.

It was so touching, to know that knew EXACTLY how my morning had gone, and wasn't upset I hadn't called yet. That he was thinking of me, and knew how to encourage me. Brings tears to my eyes still, just thinking about it.

I am just thankful today. For my home, this snow, this slowing down of life, my husband, my kids and my life. Thank you God, for all my blessings. Amen.

For Chewie

2009-11-24T11:09:00.000-05:00

About a year and a half ago, a friend of mine recieved the most PRESHUS PUPPY EVAR, as a reconciliation gift from her ex. Given the space limitation of her living arrangements, she had to give him back. Due to his demanding work schedule, the puppy ended up with.... us.

And so it began. My hubby was in LURV with this puppy in a big way, which I thought was funny. This big, tough construction worker cooing and fussing over a little poodle. To me, he was cute, but yet another mouth to feed.

But at some point along the way, he became part of the family, and he also became mine. He and my son housebroke/toilet trained at the same time. They both had "accidents" around the house. Sometimes I could figure out which one was responsible, sometimes I couldn't. Either way, it was more shit to clean up, literally. LOL

He chewed on EVERYTHING. Leave a pencil out, you'd find wood chips in the floor. Barbies became horribly mangled and disfigured. My kids would go nuts to find that certain toys they forgot to put away would end up as chew toys. But Chewie taught them if you care about something, you need to put it up when you're done with it.

He'd bark endlessly for no reason, in the middle of the night. I called it his game of "Protecting the Lady and the Manor". I woke up countless mornings by having my fingers nibbled on, because he wanted to go outside. Sometimes he would be hot on my heels, acting as if he'd want to go outside, and when I'd open the door, he'd just stand there and look at me. As if I were missing something.

When my husband started his new job, having to leave home for long stretches of time, Chewie became my bed buddy. Life became a little less lonely with his quirky, but reliable presence.

Anyone with even the slightest bit of foresight can guess what's coming.

Poor little Chewie was hit by a truck this weekend. It was a pure accident. The driver told us what happened. Chewie was playing with a neighborhood dog, they were running one way, and Chewie changed his mind and ran another way, which happened to be straight in front of his truck. I like to think though that Chewie was doing one of the things he loved best (besides chewing), when he passed on. Getting to play.

It was hard telling the kids. My son is too young to really understand. My daughter, who is beginning to grasp the concept of death, reacted calmly at first, but then retreated to her room and locked the door. She didn't want me in there, and came out about 30 minutes later with a red face. I let them look at Chewie, and later that day, a neighbor helped me dig Chewie's grave.

I feel like I'm over-reacting sometimes, and that people are getting bored with hearing me piss and moan about it. But I really did love this dog. He was part of the family, even if only briefly. It hurts that he's gone.

Just that morning, I was pondering on clipping his fur, and giving him a bath. He was gone before I ever got the chance to. Just that morning, I'd fed him, but hadn't eaten yet, hoping I'd slip him something better into his dog dish. The food was still sitting there, un-eaten, this morning. His bowl still full of water. I picked them up and washed them. Perhaps I'll put them up somewhere later. To think that the day started out typically enough, and by that evening, he was in a hole in the ground.

I'm still stepping over his dog toys in the living room. I still look beside the bed first thing in the morning, to make sure I won't step on him when I get up. I still expect to be jumped on when I get home. I still expect to hear barking, and the house is too quiet. I still expect him to lay on me, cat-like, in the most obnoxious and uncomfortable way ever, to get attention.

Besides missing him, his death is also a very unpleasant reminder that all things die. I can kid myself all I want, but perhaps the last conversation I had with my husband, could very well be the LAST conversation I'll ever have with my husband. That one friend who has a chronic health condition may last another 20-25 years. The past 10 seems to have flown by quickly enough and I realize that's not much time. That one friend who likes to party may take the wrong thing. That some depressed school shooter on a rampage may walk from the high school to the elementary school and kill a bunch of kindergartners -- including mine -- in some sadistic shooting spree. That my mother is getting older, and how many Thanksgivings and Christmases do we have left together, anyways?

So many lovely, depressing topics to ponder on. But I digress.

Goodbye, my pretty poodle puppy. I'll miss you.

I've been Memed!

2009-11-18T12:51:00.001-05:00

I saw this on a blog I follow, and decided to post my own!

1. Name someone with the same birthday as you. Michelangelo, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Shaquille O'Neal. I always go overboard.

2. Where was your first kiss? At my eighth grade Sweetheart Dance. My date was in 9th grade and snuck in, and I rewarded him for his effort.

3. Have you ever seriously vandalized someone else's property? No.

4. Have you ever hit someone of the opposite sex? All the time. I grew up with two brothers, and a bunch of guy friends. It was always a slug-fest.

5. Have you ever sung in front of a large number of people? It would depend on your definition of large. I've done karaoke many times, with possible around 30+ people in the room. Arenas? Stadiums? Ampitheaters? No.

6. What's the first thing you notice about your preferred sex? Whether they've got that twinkle in their eye.

7. What really turns you off? Being patronised, disrespected or disregarded because of my gender.

8. What do you order at Starbucks? I've never been to a Starbucks, actually.

9. What is your biggest mistake? Incidents where I emotionally hurt someone I love dearly.

10. Have you ever hurt yourself on purpose? Not that I can think of.

11. Say something totally random about yourself. I love steak.

12. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity? Once someone told me I looked a little like Brooke Shields, but I think it was mainly because we shared the same hairstyle.

13. Do you still watch kiddie movies or TV shows? Yes. Mostly because I have two children, but some I truly do enjoy and would watch regardless.

14. Did you have braces? Yes. Soon as all my permanent teeth came in, the orthodontist slapped braces on them.

15. Are you comfortable with your height? For the most part. I'm tall for a girl, but I'm the shortest person in my family, which makes me wish for just an inch or two more in height.

16. What is the most romantic thing someone of the preferred sex has done for you? My hubby has done so many thoughtful things for me, it would be impossible to list them all. But I'd have to say, his proposal was fantastic.

17. When do you know it's love? When you can pee in front of each other.

18. Do you speak any other languages? I speak the dialects of Redneck and Hillbilly fluently, and can say a smattering of phrases in German and Spanish.

19. Have you ever been to a tanning salon? I have tanned before, on a very infrequent basis. I haven't in over 6 years though.

20. What magazines do you read? KODT mag, Psychology Today, Good News, Gothic Beauty, trashy tabloids

21. Have you ever ridden in a limo? No.

22. Has anyone you were really close to passed away? Not in a long time. My dad passed away when I was a kid, and I had some grandparents I really loved pass away close to 10 years ago.

23. Do you watch MTV? On occasion, if I happen to be someplace that has cable or satellite (I have none), and they actually happen to be playing music videos.

24. What's something that really annoys you? Narrow-minded or close-minded people. It bugs me to no end that so many people are unwilling to place themselves in another person's shoes to get a glimpse of their perspective.

25. What's something you really like? Singing. I'm not great at it, but if I were unable to sing, it would leave a gaping hole in my life.

26. Do you like Micheal Jackson? I liked him when he was a good-looking black fella, but when he became a creepy, white woman, child molester, I checked out.

27. Can you dance? I can do the Carlton, some bellydancing, some club dancing.

28. What's the latest you've ever stayed up? When a younger friend of mine keep me out till 6 a.m. I just don't have her stamina. At 2 a.m., I have to find a bed.

29. Have you ever been rushed by an ambulance to the emergency room? No.

30. Do you actually read these when other people fill them out? Yes.

A little bit of random fun.

2009-10-29T20:39:00.000-04:00

After the last few heavy posts, I need to lighten the mood. So I'll share with you a random ... phobia? .... of mine. Not exactly a true phobia, per se, but just an odd quirk about myself.

Every time I have to pee -- and I'm talking about EVERY TIME here people -- I worry that I'm somehow deluding myself on the fact I'm sitting on the toilet.

I am a big daydreamer, and I worry that I'm actually doing something else, like typing a blog post for example. And that I'm so caught up in the urge to pee that I've convinced myself I'm actually in the bathroom using the toilet. Except, I've really just pissed myself at the computer desk.

OR -- OR --

Perhaps what if I'm really in my 70s, and I have Alzheimers. What if I'm really sitting in my living room, and pissing my Depends, while I just THINK I'm 30-odd years old and using the bathroom at the house I used to live in?

Or what if I'm asleep and really need to pee, and am dreaming that I'm using the potty? I think that's where it all stems from really -- when I was in my early teens, I was asleep, and really had to go. I dreamt that I walked down the hall from my room to the bathroom, and used the toilet. This dream was so lucid that I could feel the carpet under my feet and the seat under my rear.

And the capper to this post? My daughter just came in my room, threw up on my bed, the carpet and the bathroom floor. Goodnight, all.

Suiting up

2009-10-24T07:04:00.000-04:00

I've been mentally reviewing yesterday, and can't come to any decent conclusion about it.

I do need to revisit my raw emotional side sometimes. I can see that this experience is turning me into my mother. I'm quickly seeing why she is the way she is. After my father died and she was left with three young children, she had to be this way.

I spent most of yesterday in a very low funk. It's an honest emotion that comes when I face my realities. I miss my husband. We are living on such a low income I'm consistently surprised with my own resourcefulness at holding us all together. We live on the brink of foreclosure. I work part-time on the weekends, and have absolutely NO free time. Even if I did have free time, I'd have no social life because I can't afford it. I can barely scrape $5 together for gas. I overtax my babysitters as it is, who watch my kids for free while I work.

I even have to face the fact, each and every time my husband leaves for work after his brief home visits, that it may be the last time I see him. Accidents aren't uncommon in his new occupation, and when it does happen, that employee usually ends up going home in a box.

So pretty much, I looked at my realities, and I cried all day. And when my children fought, I would end up rushing out of my room with a tear-streaked face and hauling the offender roughly to their room. Not even sure if they WERE the offending party, but they were disturbing the quiet, and therefore, disturbing ME.

When I attempted to share my feelings with my hubby, he told me it made him worried. When I shared with another friend of mine about how I really feel, I was met with a barrage of jokes, and amusing antics -- the only tactic they know for dealing with unpleasant emotions. To jolly me out of my funk. I appreciated the gesture, but it just left me feeling even more pissy.

There are things that WOULD make me feel better. Surprise visits, someone bringing over a video game and playing it with me, phone calls, offers to babysit, a surprise gift of $20 "just because -- go take yourself out". Just little things, would do a wealth of good to my over-isolated self. But people won't or can't, and I can't deny there are very good reasons why.

So yeah. I eventually had to pull my armor back on, and say, "Butch up, bitch. Your kids need a better mommy than this." I had to pull my armor back on and that's the painful part. Denying my feelings because my children are better off when I'm feeling stable. Denying my feelings because I don't want strangers and acquaintances seeing those cracks in my armor, my red face and teary eyes and asking, "Are you ok?"

I know that wallowing in my emotions does nothing to change my realities. The only thing that can change your realities is taking action. Making a plan and following through on it. I've been setting some plans into motion and I'm hoping that events will end up fortuitous.

I can see why, if I were to share things with my mother, she'd just say, "That's life." Because it IS. Whining about my life won't change things, no matter how much others care about me.

Whining and crying IS cathartic though (and it feels damn good too -- even if it makes you miserable. heh). It helps me to remember that there ARE still emotions under that armor. It reminds me that I'm wearing armor. And it helps me to remember that I'll be able to take it off someday.

Ogres Are Like Onions

2009-10-23T12:36:00.000-04:00

Recently, I've been talking a lot with a good friend of mine, who's favorite hobby is making me crack. I've still yet to figure if that's a good thing, or a bad thing.

I liken it to this old wooden cupboard that was passed down through several children in my family. It once belonged to my mother when she was little, was passed through some cousins, and eventually worked it's way down to myself, when I was a child.

Each family had repainted it, and by the time it got to me, it was white, and some places were flaking here and there. It wasn't long before I found myself peeling the chipping, flaking paint off, discovering the older layers of paint underneath. It was fascinating and satisfying to pull off strips of paint. To see the original color.

I have been stoic. Steel. Unfliching. Uncommunicative. It's been deeply satisfying to feel her pick at the blemishes of my armor, like strips of sunburned skin. To feel them pulled off and seeing the raw. To get down to the original.

But what do you see when you get there? Misery. In 1970s avocado green.

There's not much that can be done to improve my condition, for the nonce. (That means, "for now". LOL). So I'm not sure if there's a lot of point to share my feelings with anyone. I can feel miserable, but wrapped up in so many layers of armor and distraction I barely notice it, or I can peel open the layers and poke and prod at it and feel how exquisitely miserable I am.

Which is the better option? I don't really know. All I know is I just can't wait till my hubby completes his year long contract, finds a job closer to home, and I get a break. I do apologize for all my blogs being whiny and complaining, but this is the only place I let myself do it. Thanks for sticking around -- I promise you it will pick up!

This post has reminded me of a poem I once wrote though. I think this is the first time I've actually shared it with anyone because I've never considered it publish-worthy. But I digress. Here you go:

Sunburn

Sunburn
is an exquisite pain
causing a sharp throb
with every movement.
So unlike the cold,
who numbs you to sleep.

1998

Just whining

2009-10-06T00:36:00.000-04:00

I just needed a safe place to vent, outside of my normal blogging venues.

My big lesson this year, it seems, has been keeping my own counsel. I have to refrain from a lot of social activities, due to a tight budget. I have been having problems with some friends, and betrayals of trust with others, and I'm not able to ask for advice without causing troubles amongst other friends. I have had to keep some of my activities to myself, or risk the judgment of others whose opinions I value dearly.

Due to my husband working away, I have learned from experience I have to watch who I talk to and where I go, for appearances sake. I have to be careful about whom I invite over to visit for the same reason.

All of this is unnatural to me. I'm used to living freely and openly and not giving a damn about what others think or say about me.

I'm not used to living this way. I hate it. I am lonely and frustrated and have no one to turn to, other than the person in the mirror. And she looks unhappy and old and doesn't want to hear me whine anymore.

I've had the cushion of close friends for so long, it's made me comfortable and confident with the idea. Perhaps I should have learned my lesson many years ago and remained the Cat Who Walked Alone.

Places, please.

2009-09-10T22:09:00.000-04:00

My goodness, I'm sorry people. It's been forever. I've just been involved in life.

Sort of like how, you think about someone you miss, and realize that because you've been so busy with your own stuff, it's been six months since you've spoken with them. Yeah.

My daughter is adjusting to kindergarten. It has it's ups and downs. Some days she'll talk about best friends. Other days she'll say no one plays with her. She doesn't like the P.E. coach's whistle. She doesn't like school. The bus ride is too long. All these little things, that I want to rush and fix for her. Because I don't know what to tell her.

How can I explain that the reason the kids she knew in preschool, who are in different kindergarten classes that she is, won't play with her? I think it has to do with feeling an inner pressure to only hang out with their own class, and not a kid outside of their class. But she doesn't "get" it.

I want to fix school for her. She has many years of school ahead of her -- too many to start disliking it at such a young age! But, she's never thrown a fit to get out of school. So, I don't know.

********************************

Other new stuff. I auditioned to be the lead singer of a band. I was excited about the opportunity, and it gave me a kick in the butt to make some changes and preparations I needed to make. I didn't get the gig, but it was exciting to step out of my rut for a while. I was glad for the experience and have no regrets about it.

One of the preparations was scheduling a preschool evaluation for my 3 year old son. I need to get a job, and I'd rather have him in preschool than daycare. I wonder how it will go. Part of me wants him to have some sort of unrecognized need, so he can get in and I won't have to pursue day care. There ARE things about him that are a little quirky, and are hard to explain to others. On the other hand, he is such a bright, intelligent boy, that I'm sure they'll say there's no need for it.

So, we'll see. I'll update you all after the evaluation. Ciao ciao.

Kindergarten Orientation

2009-08-06T22:04:00.000-04:00

Today was Kindergarten Orientation day for my daughter. She was happy and surprised with the treat bag in her cubby, but has been less than enchanted as of this point.

She clung to my leg and hid behind me when we entered the classroom. She didn't play with any of the kids, not even the ones she had gone to preschool with the previous year. She kept telling me she wanted to go home. In fact, the only things that interested her were the lollipop in her treat bag, and the little nature walk next to the school. (Actually, that impressed me too! I love our school district!)

But yet, but yet -- progress. I think back to this time last year, when we attended preschool orientation. The teacher and her daddy had to pry my screaming, sobbing daughter off me to stay in the room with the other kids, while I did paperwork. I was shaken and felt like a terrible mother. What was I doing to my baby? How long has she been crying? Maybe I should keep her home another year and skip out on preschool altogether?

Now, I have a predictably nervous, anxious student waiting to go back to school. Oh, don't get me wrong -- the next few weeks will be rough. I predict lots of talking back and tantrums. But I'm growing ever more impressed with my maturing daughter.

Making Lemonade

2009-08-05T21:43:00.000-04:00

Today was a day of hitting setbacks, and turning them into opportunities.

My daughter and I had appointments to get haircuts. Afterward, we were going to visit some family. She needs a trim before school starts, and my hair is quickly becoming a mess. I had been looking forward to this appointment, and this whole day, but somehow, time slipped away from me this morning. I found myself running late.

I get the kids quickly dressed and in the car, and head out the driveway. Except I don't. The car gives an almighty jerk, and the power steering goes out. I had to drive without it about a mile, before I could get to a turn around spot. Ever try to turn around a car with no power steering? It's not a challenge for wimps. It really took the fight out of me, and I headed home, cancelled the appointment, and made some phone calls about getting my car looked at.

I had this big day planned, and then suddenly, nothing.

I let the kids play on the computer, and I roamed about the house, looking for something to do. Eventually, I did laundry and cleaned out the car. It had been a big chore I was dreading, but now that I had nothing better to do, I finished the task in about an hour.

So what if the car is messed up? I took the reins and did something productive. That counts for something, right?

The Daddy Figure

2009-08-05T01:27:00.000-04:00

Hubby was home over the weekend, and we had a really great visit. What really struck me was just how great a dad he is.

The whole family watched movies on the computer, while lying on our bed. The tickle monster made a brief appearance, and we were all in giggles. He's such a relaxed, fun parent.

He's an excellent teacher. He was patiently coaching my daughter's swimming technique. She can learn from him better than she can from me. My efforts with her end up with us arguing. She listens to daddy, adjusts her form, and laughs. I'll carry the memory and cherish it -- the two of them swimming in Granny's above-ground pool, laughing, coaching and learning.

He rarely loses his patience, and when he does scold the kids, ends up teaching them something. How one person's behavior affects another, or how to work Mommy to get what they want. ha.

I tell him how much he means to us. How much we lean on him and love him. I only hope he really knows it and feels how important he is to us.

Adjusting to the New Normal

2009-08-01T15:44:00.000-04:00

A lot has happened since my last post, and this one has been a long time coming. Any followers I have will have noted a large time gap. This has been due to the fact I had some problems with my computer, and had to save up for a while to get it fixed.

I am ready now to hit the ground running, and plan on posting much more frequently.

I'm getting used to my husband being gone so much. I've always appreciated how much he has done around the house, but until now, I took it for granted. I can't mow the yard, because a.) the lawn mower is broken, and b.) I can't leave two small children alone in the house for the length of time it would take to mow the yard. So I'm having to rely on family members to mow the lawn for me.

Everyone has busy lives, and I understand this completely. However, the lawn does get out of control sometimes -- once so much that a family of skunks had decided my yard was a terrific residence for them!

Another unique problem is my daughter's behavior. She is a Daddy's Girl through and through. When Hubby leaves after a home visit, she sinks into a funk. Turns hateful. Is a monster to be around. Merciless to her brother. The amount of restraint it takes to be compassionate in the face of such beastly behavior is considerable. She and I will fight and argue, tooth and nail for at least a week after he leaves.

It really is emotionally draining. I've fallen back into some bad habits, as well, trying to deal with the strain. It's hard for me to sleep without my hubby by my side. So I end up playing on the computer until the wee hours of the morning. Trying to bring myself to the brink of exhaustion so I'll sink into sleep more quickly.

The kids will wake me up in the morning, and there I'll be, trying to muddle through my day on 4 or 5 hours of sleep. Then I do it all over again. Day after day after day. Occasionally catching a nap here or there, but mostly just toughing through it.

I guess this catches everyone somewhat up to speed on my life. Hopefully my blogs will be more entertaining from here on out, though!

**Cute story alert**

I was going to put some towels away in the bathroom. I knocked on the door and walked in, only to find my 3 year old son trying to wipe after using the potty. He's usually not one to be much concerned about privacy, so I didn't think much of it. Until he yelled, "Mooom!" in the most exasperated voice. Too cute!

It's a Hard Road

2009-05-18T18:53:00.000-04:00

After much discussion, Hubby accepted a job that would have him away from home a lot. If we can put up with this for a year, he will have the experience necessary to find a position in the same line of work, but closer to home, and he would be home much more frequently.

It's just this year we have to put up with.

But this year is hard on both of us. For him, it means a lot of time by himself. He's a very social person and already feels pretty isolated -- and we're only a month or so into this thing!

For me, it means being a semi-single parent. I was somewhat used to the idea already. In his previous occupation, he was gone most of the day, and the kids and I only saw him in the evenings.

It is really tough on me though. Having to be the Mommy and the Daddy. Tightening doorknobs, unclogging toilets, putting oil in the car -- these are all jobs that were his. I'm doing my chores and his. Having to ask family members to mow the lawn, because I can't do it AND watch the kids. It's a two hour job at least, and there is no way I'm leaving the kids in the house to wreak havoc.

I work weekends too, so I have absolutely no break.

I find it relieving to talk about the stresses to my friends. But due to the fact most of them are single, and some of them are single parents, I find it difficult to discuss these things without feeling like a whiny baby.

"I'm looooonely," I wail. Feeling hypocritical, because most of them haven't been in relationships for a while. This is an everyday feeling for them. I feel like they're thinking, "So what? Deal with it! I do!" Even if that's not what they're thinking. I'm projecting.

"This is haaaard." I tell my single parent friends. Thinking that they deal with these circumstances all the time. Feeling I have no right to complain.

When you have so many blessings in your life, it leaves a gaping hole when they're gone. But it doesn't feel right to complain to others that haven't experienced those same sort of blessings in a long time, and it's a matter-of-fact everyday occurance to deal with the circumstances that I'm facing now, that are new to me.

I miss the physical contact with Hubby. I hadn't realized how many times we hugged in day, grabbed hands, or given each other quick pecks on the lips or cheek if we passed each other in the kitchen or hallway.

I mope. I brood. So many times tears sting my eyes, and I will them to fall. But they are stubborn and do not heed me.

I Need To Send a Thank You Note

2009-04-17T15:55:00.000-04:00

I have not had an easy relationship with my mother. I've broadcast this many times over with various friends and my husband. My siblings and I share special knowing looks whenever the topic of our mother comes up.

She's not a bad mother. Far from it. And she's a far cry from episodes of horrible parenting several of my friends experienced while growing up.

But she's a hard woman. Hard to get to know. Hard to understand. She and I have some hobbies and beliefs in common, but our worldviews are miles apart. Especially when it comes to people and their foibles.

I understand that people are elastic. Emotional. That sometimes they say one thing and may do another. I believe in the supernatural phenomena such as whims and feeeeeelings. That sometimes people are driven by these, and that may make them unreliable but does not make them bad people. I can listen to a story about a conflict, and see where both sides are coming from.

My mother seems to have a more rigid outlook. There are times when people must seem downright incomprehensible to her. Probably myself included. I wonder at times if I must be to her the changeling daughter left on her doorstep.

I could give examples, but I don't want this blog to turn out seeming like a bash-fest of my mom. In many ways, I can understand her viewpoint, because I know at least some of the circumstances that made her turn out that way.

The point I'm trying to boil down to is this -- I suffer from envy. Extreme envy at times. I try not to, but I feel a twinge of envy every time I meet a woman that has a close, friendly relationship with their mother. Where they talk to each other about life, spouses, relationships and yes, feeeelings. Even in movies. I can't even watch the damn Golden Girls without feeling at least a little jealousy about Sophia and Dorothy's sarcastic, yet easygoing relationship.

Over the years I've learned, if I need to vent, if I need someone to listen to my problems, if I need sympathy -- I DO NOT call my mother. I don't tell her my problems, unless they've grown to the point it is unavoidable and my conversational skills are overtaxed by mentally editing everything I say.

I can recall one instance in particular, when my son wandered off. The panic and frenzy I felt while he was missing was excruciating. Fortunately, he was soon found. I knew it was something I could not avoid telling my mother, but I was wise enough to talk to a few friends before I made that call. I knew better than to seek sympathy from her at this point, and was correct. Instead I received a lecture about my irresponsibility and neglectfulness.

Last night, I was watching a movie, and once again feeling envy for the relationship of the mother and daughter. Thinking it would be nice if my mother and I could be the same way. That it would be nice to have my mother's advice and sympathy during a time I feel I will really need it, since my husband is accepting a new job that's going to take him away from home weeks at a time. Essentially leaving me as a single parent.

That's when it hit me. If anything, by now, my mother has taught me to be self-reliant. I couldn't believe the revelation. In all my 30 + years, I finally learned that whether it was intentional or not, my mother has given me a terrific gift. That was the gift of being able to listen to my own voice, in the head that sits on my own shoulders.

To make a decision, mostly uncluttered by what other's opinions of that decision are. I won't need her advice. I won't need the validation. I will occasionally need a break sometimes, but that is something else I've learned to seek out on my own.

Her greatest gift to me has been teaching me how to be an adult. I just never recognized it until now. I've essentially kicked her in teeth all these years, and have been nothing but ungrateful for this lesson. I need to send her a thank you note.

Hot Mess Mommy

2009-04-08T08:34:00.000-04:00

"How has motherhood made you a misfit? Have you found that parenthood has made it easier or more difficult to make friends? Do you rebel against the cliches of modern motherhood or embrace them? How have you changed?"

Those were the questions posed recently on a blog I follow. They're definitely food for thought.

You know, as far as being a misfit goes, I've always been that. Now I'm just a misfit with children. Sometimes that makes it easier to make friends. Sometimes, that makes it harder.

Having children is definitely an icebreaker, and opens doors for you in some ways. If you see a person with children, you know you're in the same boat. Theirs may be a yacht, and yours a dinghy. But nevertheless, you're both navigating the tricky ocean of parenthood. Instead of say, driving a car. On an established road.

If it weren't for my daughter, I would never have attended storyhour at the library. I wouldn't have made friends with other new mommies, and found myself as part of a playgroup. However, these women, as nice and friendly as they are, only see a facet of myself.

Don't get me wrong, I'm genuine with them.... I'm just not my "whole" self. These women have their lives together. They make potty charts for their children. Shuffle them off to Gymboree, preschool soccer, all sorts of organized activities. They have mommy hairstyles. They get the perils and pitfalls of motherhood, but they do it with class and style.

I'm a hot mess of a mommy. My kids are perpetually crusty faced and messy haired. I wear T-shirts and jeans insteads of blouses and khakis. I'm never prepared for anything, always forgetting to pack a snack or sand toys when we go to the park, not having any wipes or extra pants for my kid when he messes himself. Always having to borrow these items from other mommies, my face full of shame, even when they tell me they understand, they have 3 kids themselves.

I wear my hair in pigtails, when I so fancy. My chidren have never attended anything more organized than preschool or storyhour. We dig around in the yard looking for worms, when the weather's nice. I'm always, ALWAYS running late. To everything.

Every once in a while, when the planets align just so, I find another Mommy rowing a dinghy like mine. Ok, I admit it -- it's just happened once. But it's glorious to find another mom who appreciates the finer things in life. Like old school paper, pencil and dice role playing games. The merits of playing a video game for 6 hours straight. Trashy celebrity gossip rags. Or leaving the kids with the grandparents to get your drink on and dance the night away in some dingy, dimly lit overcrowded lounge.

I like to think I've stayed true to myself, while also embracing the part of me that is Mommy. I'm all about feminism and equality. When my daughter wanted a Bob the Builder cake for her birthday, she got it. She loves to play outside in the dirt, and I encourage it. When she's debating on whether to be a ballerina or a firefighter when she grows up, I suggest being a ballerina who's on the volunteer fire department.

I also try to keep an open mind and agree to requests from my son, when he wants help putting on his sister's Cinderella dress. Polishing his fingernails if he asks, and letting him wear one of my rings if he wants. And stand up for him and say, "That's what he wanted" if someone should dare tsk, tsk me about it.

While some mothers are dragging their babies and children off to pageants or getting their ears pierced and suggesting I do so too, I stand firm. My children are their own people and not my personal accessories or an accomplishment. Should they ever want to do those things, I'll support them. But they're not going to do them, solely because *I* want them to.

I guess that's one way I have changed. My children have given me a reason to root out the issues I care about, and to stand firm on them. Before children, I was a reed in the wind, bending to the whims of wishes of others, whether I agreed or not.

Memorializing this for my son's future embarassment

2009-04-06T19:44:00.000-04:00

My son is 3, and mostly potty-trained. However, he still wears disposable training pants at night. After getting my son ready for bed, my husband related to me the following story:

My son had a piece of fuzz stuck to his "peanut" as he likes to call it, and was trying to remove it. In doing so, a predictable reaction occurred. Or in his words, "Look, Daddy! I made it big!"

Husband's response. "Yes, you did, son. That happens sometimes."

Son's reply, "It's as big as a mountain!"

Well, at least he's got a healthy self-esteem. Heh. But I had to share that story, since it cracked me up!

My Coming Out Party

2009-03-16T19:34:00.000-04:00

I guess I'm basically "coming out" with my blog, so to speak. I've been participating with other websites and blog comments, and have been listing my blog's URL address in various profiles.

I may actually start getting some hits soon. That unnerves me a bit. Only a few others really knew about this site. The thought of random strangers reading the things I've posted leaves me panicky, unsettled and excited.

I soon realized I chose a bad address for my blog, as it contains the same ID I use to contribute to other sites. Being as that for now I want to retain anonymity, I had to go back and change the address so I couldn't be googled and found!

Technicalities, technicalities, I know. No one is much interested in the how's of assembling sites. It's the connection and entertainment readers want.

I shall provide more, all in due time. It takes time to get to know each other, don't you think?

Yeah, I'm OK

2009-03-04T08:52:00.000-05:00

Well, hello again, faithful readers. (My joke. I don't have any readers yet. ha ha). I have seen the other side of crazy and survived.

Four days after my big meltdown, Aunt Flo came into town for a visit. Now Hubby is chalking up the "Nervous Breakdown" to PMS. Maybe it was an extreme case. I don't know. Everyone around me seems able to predict what I'm going through or what I'm going to do, while I don't even know myself.

This is true. I don't know how many times I've told a story about something that happened to me, or something I've done, to Hubby or friends, and been told they suspected that would happen, they could have told me that, or they "just knew" I was going to do that. Myself? I don't have a clue. I consistently surprise myself.

I do know that I need a break. It's not that I'm under any extreme stress, it's just the day to day things. Hubby does his best to help around the house, though inconsistently. His line of work has erratic hours. I can expect him home anywhere from 5-8 p.m. That leaves me home with the kids who fight, wreak havoc, constantly disprespect me, backtalk and unless they are having a sweet moment, are generally unpleasant to be around.

I love my kids, but I find I don't always like them. My mother has a plaque on her wall that reads, "Raising children is like being pecked to death by chickens". I have to say I agree. I feel pecked at all day long. Mix that with cabin fever and spring fever, and you have a recipe for meltdown.

So, if there's anyone out there concerned for my wellbeing, afraid they might find I've been locked in a padded cell and wearing a straightjacket -- I'm fine. I'm looking forward to getting out this weekend with a friend of mine, and making plans to visit with some high school friends the next weekend, if possible.

Nervous Breakdown

2009-02-27T20:39:00.000-05:00

Ugh, what a day.

The morning started out terrifically. I went to bed early, and Hubby let me sleep in. I woke refreshed and rested. Then he volunteered to make breakfast -- biscuits, gravy, sausage and eggs, and it was terrific.

Things started going downhill from there, although I didn't realize it at the time. First, I was left with this huge breakfast mess to clean up, while he disappeared. The kids were constantly fighting, and constantly underfoot. Each of them needing attention of some sort, but when I referred them to Daddy, they were ignored. Until the point I pounded on the door and demanded he do something. Yeah, pretty bitchy, and not fun.

Hubby suggested us having some friends over this weekend, because he missed them. I realized I missed them too, and thought it was a terrific idea. But I had a specific list of things that had to be done before they came over, and I needed his help with them. The house was a mess, and there was a lot of cleaning to be done beforehand!

I get started, then go in to ask Hubby for help. Though he'd already agreed to assist, I find out he's arranged to run a long-distance errand with a friend. I reminded him of our agreement and was basically given a pat on the head and a "I'm sure you can manage it."

A few minutes later, I ask my daughter to clean her room. I could give you the long version, but for the sake of brevity, it took two hours of near-constant supervision to get her to clean up a mess that would have taken me 15 minutes. She had just a few things left to pick up, but opted to take a nap instead.

I had accomplished maybe a quarter of what I wanted, when I realized I was hungry, and so was my son. I fixed him something to eat, and got him a glass of chocolate milk. Which he spilled, approximately .2 seconds after I set it down.

Well, the stress that had been building finally overwhelmed me. I immediately lost my appetite, burst into tears, and slid down the refrigerator. My son walks over to me, and says, "Are you crying Mommy?"

I said, "Yes." He asked why, and I replied, "Too many messes."

He said, "Don't cry, Mommy." I thought this was very sweet, but then he finished his sentence. "Don't cry, Mommy. You need to fix me something to drink."

It was very amusing later, but at the time, felt like one of the cruelest, most heartless things anyone has said to me in a long time!

I retreated to my room and locked the door. The kids have been tyrants for the past several weeks. Hubby has oh-so-helpfully pointed out ways to improve the situation, but doesn't realize that by the time you have your fifth or sixth battle of the day, you are tired of fighting. I feel abandoned, alone, and like the person who is supposed to care the most has basically told me to "suck it up and deal."

I just lay on the bed and sob. Seems like hours. Might have been 30 minutes. Either way, it's the longest I've cried in I don't remember when. I finally feel calm enough to face the world.

I go back into the kitchen, to find my son has attempted to pour himself a glass of Kool-Aid in my absence. I say "attempt", because only some of it has made it's way into the cup. Most of it is on the floor.

I burst into a fresh round of tears, clean up that mess, pop in a movie for my son to keep him preoccupied and perhaps prevent further messes, and lock myself in my room for another good 30 minutes or so. Maybe longer. I have no idea.

I just cried and cried, until I couldn't anymore. Then I felt blank. Not just wrung out, tired or fatigued. But blank. I swept and mopped the kitchen floor in a stupor, not even sure if I had swept everything up or if I even cared.

I considered if I had a nervous breakdown. Lord, it's possible. The cabin fever has been building for months, and the kid stress for several weeks. I feel like I've been bullied, and no one has really cared or I've been given constructive criticism when what I need is a damn helping hand.

I'm supposed to work tomorrow, and I wonder if I will wake up feeling better. I hope so. I'm not sure if I can fake normal for a 10 hour shift tomorrow. Will someone notice that I'm not "at myself?"

It depresses me, because I realize I'm too relied upon. I can't just fall apart. I don't have that luxury. While a visit to the crazy house might seem like a luxurious vacation right now, my poor husband would have to arrange for child care and a maid, and the world may fall apart while I'm gone. I'd return home to even worse conditions than what I'd left and the kids would be confused and scratching their heads, thinking they must have done something wrong to make mommy go away.

Yeah. That's my day, and it's put me through the wringer. Thank God it's almost over.

Popping My Blog Cherry!

2009-01-29T09:18:00.000-05:00

Well, this is my first. Here it is.

I've been thinking about creating my own blog for a while, and I'm still struggling with how to define this site in general.

Am I a mommy blogger? Maybe? Partly? I have two kids, and I know that some of what I write about will have to do with parenting. But my children are 3 and 5, and at least the oldest is starting to create her own social life. I am a stay at home mom, but my children are no longer the be-all and end-all of my everyday existence.

I'm also struggling about how anonymous or public to be, as well. Some people blog about their families, posting pictures of them and their children. Others even post under fake names, change their children's names, or even just call their children "Chaos", "Kid 1 and Kid 2", etc. etc. Some days I feel more open than others. But if I start out completely open, I lose the option of being anonymous later when I'm feeling more shy.

I wonder how often to post. Everyday? Probably not... I don't think I'll have something to talk about everyday. Once a week? Who knows? Sporadically? Most likely.

My feeling is, after a while, this blog will take on a rhythm and life of its own. It will define itself gradually.

So, here it is, world. Hope you like it.