I get most of my emails these days through my iPhone. In case you're not familiar with iPhone e-mails, you can opt to have a brief preview of each e-mail show up in your inbox. The preview is formatted like this:
RETURN ADDRESS
SUBJECT LINE
FIRST LINE OF TEXT
SECOND LINE OF TEXT
The other day, I opened my inbox and saw this e-mail preview (from a local parents listserve that I am on):
From: SENDER'S NAME
Subj: 2 CUTE KIDS...
Msg: $5. Interested? Email me and I will send
you a picture.
It had been a bad mommy day. So, I read this and instantly thought:
"Wow! This mom has had an even worse day than I've had... Hers has been so bad, in fact, that she's selling both of her kids for $5 (that's, $2.50 each). Thank god I haven't yet sunk that low! Ha!"
(Insert maniacal laughter here.)
Then I opened the e-mail...and I saw that she was selling 2 cute kids CHAIRS.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
The Girl Mom with the Flower Tattoo
I got a tattoo when I was 22 years old. Of a tiny pink 5-petal flower. In the (formerly) concave area on my right hip. Easily hidden under even the skimpiest of underwear. What a rebel I was--me with my hidden tattoo!
At the time when I got it, I thought that my right hip was a sexy spot for a tattoo.
Of course, what would become of this tattoo during and after pregnancy was nowhere on my radar screen.
Having a tattoo on my hip felt like a dirty little secret. Like wearing ultra lacy underwear that no one could see but me. (I am laughing HYSTERICALLY as I write this...because it's true that I thought this...and because it's so NOT DIRTY...I was pretty naive at 22!)
Anyhow, after two I-gained-50-pounds-each pregnancies, my tattoo is not as fresh and cute and tight and sexy as it used to be. It's been stretched and distorted, and even though my belly has shrunk back in its own way (IN ITS OWN WAY!), my tattoo has never fully recovered.
And yet, I still love my naive little pseudo-rebel tattoo.
It still feels like a secret. My secret. My former life. The "me" my kids will never know...
Shhh....
At the time when I got it, I thought that my right hip was a sexy spot for a tattoo.
Of course, what would become of this tattoo during and after pregnancy was nowhere on my radar screen.
Having a tattoo on my hip felt like a dirty little secret. Like wearing ultra lacy underwear that no one could see but me. (I am laughing HYSTERICALLY as I write this...because it's true that I thought this...and because it's so NOT DIRTY...I was pretty naive at 22!)
Anyhow, after two I-gained-50-pounds-each pregnancies, my tattoo is not as fresh and cute and tight and sexy as it used to be. It's been stretched and distorted, and even though my belly has shrunk back in its own way (IN ITS OWN WAY!), my tattoo has never fully recovered.
And yet, I still love my naive little pseudo-rebel tattoo.
It still feels like a secret. My secret. My former life. The "me" my kids will never know...
Shhh....
Friday, May 27, 2011
Dreams Don't Lie
It seems like I dream the most in the early morning hours. Last night, I was up for a while at 3am for no good reason. I don't remember falling asleep again, but I do remember waking after this dream.
In the dream, I am at the house where I lived with my mother during my last 2 years of high school. I loved this house, and I often dream I am there. (She doesn't live there any more.)
Someone comes to tell me that my little boy, Tot-Tot (age 4) is outside. I look out the window and I see him. It's winter and he is wearing a short-sleeved shirt, with no coat. His face is red and tear-soaked. He has apparently walked a long way, alone in the cold, to find me.
The sight of him, cold and frightened, rips me apart. I rush to him and grab him eagerly up into my arms and he is instantly comforted. I awake with a jolt, yearning for him. And feeling deep gratitude that we are under the same roof.
He wakes soon after I do, and even though it is 5:45 a.m., I am thrilled to hear the sound of his small voice calling me from the next room. I swear, in that moment, that I will be a better mother. I will give him more of myself. I will make him my priority. I will treasure him. I will give him the attention he wants and deserves.
Because I can. And thank god for that.
In the dream, I am at the house where I lived with my mother during my last 2 years of high school. I loved this house, and I often dream I am there. (She doesn't live there any more.)
Someone comes to tell me that my little boy, Tot-Tot (age 4) is outside. I look out the window and I see him. It's winter and he is wearing a short-sleeved shirt, with no coat. His face is red and tear-soaked. He has apparently walked a long way, alone in the cold, to find me.
The sight of him, cold and frightened, rips me apart. I rush to him and grab him eagerly up into my arms and he is instantly comforted. I awake with a jolt, yearning for him. And feeling deep gratitude that we are under the same roof.
He wakes soon after I do, and even though it is 5:45 a.m., I am thrilled to hear the sound of his small voice calling me from the next room. I swear, in that moment, that I will be a better mother. I will give him more of myself. I will make him my priority. I will treasure him. I will give him the attention he wants and deserves.
Because I can. And thank god for that.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
All About Me
We live in a narcissistic society.
And that includes me.
I hate to think that I am a narcissist. I don't want to believe that I am full of myself or that I have little room to consider the perspectives of others.
I actually don't know that other people would call me narcissistic. I kind of doubt it...
But sometimes I wonder just how much of our narcissistic society has seeped into me.
I wonder this when I catch myself having days like I've had this week...days when I am CONVINCED that I have it SO MUCH HARDER than everyone else...days when I am so full of SELF-PITY than I cannot even begin to appreciate the goodness of my life...days when no needs on the planet can possibly outweigh MINE.
This is the emotional place where I go when I am overwhelmed...when there is too much to do and too few resources. I start to take it personally, as though the universe has targeted me as its sole victim.
Boy. It's pathetic, isn't it?
This week's self-pity has looked something like this:
-I never have any time to eat a salad! Or even a vegetable! Or even a PIECE OF FRUIT! Woe is me!
(in another state-of-mind, I'd decide to take better care of myself...)
-I cannot keep up with buying groceries, yet, still, everyone in this house has to be FED. By ME. Why only by me??? I do not want to feed another living thing. EVER. AGAIN.
(in another state-of-mind, I'd say that grocery shopping is relaxing...)
-It's spring break season...so lots of families are going away...we are not going away (because vacationing is just not something we can manage...especially not with our MASSIVE TUITION bill)...and since everyone else is going on VACATION, they are asking ME to do their work for them while they are gone. Wait...you get to go on VACATION, and I, who am not going on VACATION, will stay here...and do your WORK for you?? So you can REST? While I add YOUR WORK to MY WORK? F*ck you.
(in another state-of-mind, this might not bother me so much...might not...)
-All of the organizational systems I have worked hard to create in our house have totally MELTED DOWN. Because I haven't been able to monitor them. And because (of course) no one else in this house can do it like I can...which is a massive BURDEN. It's hard to be SUPERIOR to everyone else. Then everything falls on you.
(in another state-of-mind, I'd laugh at my own perfectionism, ignore the piles, and go to sleep.)
-My older son has a motor learning problem called "dyspraxia." (google it) This means that, as fabulous as he is, he is messy. VERY VERY MESSY. And uncoordinated. And massively disorganized. And this drives me NUTS. And I love him and think he is probably the smartest, sweetest child who has ever walked the Earth. But I hate his dyspraxia. And I want it to GO AWAY. Or else I want him to GROW UP FASTER so I won't have to take care of him like he is a MUCH younger child.
(in another state-of-mind, I'd enjoy getting to care for him like I do...and I'd be grateful that dyspraxia is his only problem and that he has such a lovely disposition...)
-TAXES ARE DUE! WHY DO I HAVE TO PAY TAXES??? I MUST BE THE ONLY PERSON ON EARTH WHO HAS TO PAY TAXES!
(In another state-of-mind, I'd be glad we live in America.)
-My cat keeps puking all over the house. And meowing at night. I want to kill her.
(in another state-of-mind, I'd be grateful for the deep relaxation I get whenever I hear her purr.)
-My kid's private school has more days off than I can count! What are we supposed to do for childcare on these days? How can we pay tuition when we have to take time off of work when there's no school?? Doesn't the school get it that we have to WORK to be able to PAY? And WTF with that TWO-WEEK-LONG spring break this year???!?!?
(in another state-of-mind, I'd be grateful we manage to send our boys to good schools, where they get lots of individual attention and still have time for recess...)
-Life is just way too hard on young families! There is not enough support! Things move too fast. Cell phones and i phones and mobile me and e-mail floods are going to drown us and radiate our brains and give us cancer! (which we won't be able to stave off, since, remember, we never have time to eat FRUITS OR VEGETABLES.) WHERE IS THE SUPPORT FOR YOUNG FAMILIES IN THIS COUNTRY? Is everyone trying to kill us via stress and nutrition- deprivation? We need HELP raising the next generation. And we are not getting it. We are screwed as a society. We are going DOWNHILL. Ours will be the last decent generation (assuming that we even are a decent generation).
(in another state of mind, I'd feel proud of the amazing parenting my cohort is doing, in spite of the endless demands on them...somehow, they're managing and our kids are thriving...but I can't see that in this state-of-mind.)
-Every woman I know says she needs a wife. Everyone wants a woman to be attuned to them, to help them, to anticipate and to meet their needs... Do you know any man who has ever whined that he needs a husband?? (I actually said this to GEH yesterday. Good Lord.)
(in another state-of-mind, I'd be grateful for my kind, loving, devoted husband.)
Ahh...the narcissism of self-pity...woe is me is, clearly, all about me.
I hope I escape the vicious loop soon.
And that includes me.
I hate to think that I am a narcissist. I don't want to believe that I am full of myself or that I have little room to consider the perspectives of others.
I actually don't know that other people would call me narcissistic. I kind of doubt it...
But sometimes I wonder just how much of our narcissistic society has seeped into me.
I wonder this when I catch myself having days like I've had this week...days when I am CONVINCED that I have it SO MUCH HARDER than everyone else...days when I am so full of SELF-PITY than I cannot even begin to appreciate the goodness of my life...days when no needs on the planet can possibly outweigh MINE.
This is the emotional place where I go when I am overwhelmed...when there is too much to do and too few resources. I start to take it personally, as though the universe has targeted me as its sole victim.
Boy. It's pathetic, isn't it?
This week's self-pity has looked something like this:
-I never have any time to eat a salad! Or even a vegetable! Or even a PIECE OF FRUIT! Woe is me!
(in another state-of-mind, I'd decide to take better care of myself...)
-I cannot keep up with buying groceries, yet, still, everyone in this house has to be FED. By ME. Why only by me??? I do not want to feed another living thing. EVER. AGAIN.
(in another state-of-mind, I'd say that grocery shopping is relaxing...)
-It's spring break season...so lots of families are going away...we are not going away (because vacationing is just not something we can manage...especially not with our MASSIVE TUITION bill)...and since everyone else is going on VACATION, they are asking ME to do their work for them while they are gone. Wait...you get to go on VACATION, and I, who am not going on VACATION, will stay here...and do your WORK for you?? So you can REST? While I add YOUR WORK to MY WORK? F*ck you.
(in another state-of-mind, this might not bother me so much...might not...)
-All of the organizational systems I have worked hard to create in our house have totally MELTED DOWN. Because I haven't been able to monitor them. And because (of course) no one else in this house can do it like I can...which is a massive BURDEN. It's hard to be SUPERIOR to everyone else. Then everything falls on you.
(in another state-of-mind, I'd laugh at my own perfectionism, ignore the piles, and go to sleep.)
-My older son has a motor learning problem called "dyspraxia." (google it) This means that, as fabulous as he is, he is messy. VERY VERY MESSY. And uncoordinated. And massively disorganized. And this drives me NUTS. And I love him and think he is probably the smartest, sweetest child who has ever walked the Earth. But I hate his dyspraxia. And I want it to GO AWAY. Or else I want him to GROW UP FASTER so I won't have to take care of him like he is a MUCH younger child.
(in another state-of-mind, I'd enjoy getting to care for him like I do...and I'd be grateful that dyspraxia is his only problem and that he has such a lovely disposition...)
-TAXES ARE DUE! WHY DO I HAVE TO PAY TAXES??? I MUST BE THE ONLY PERSON ON EARTH WHO HAS TO PAY TAXES!
(In another state-of-mind, I'd be glad we live in America.)
-My cat keeps puking all over the house. And meowing at night. I want to kill her.
(in another state-of-mind, I'd be grateful for the deep relaxation I get whenever I hear her purr.)
-My kid's private school has more days off than I can count! What are we supposed to do for childcare on these days? How can we pay tuition when we have to take time off of work when there's no school?? Doesn't the school get it that we have to WORK to be able to PAY? And WTF with that TWO-WEEK-LONG spring break this year???!?!?
(in another state-of-mind, I'd be grateful we manage to send our boys to good schools, where they get lots of individual attention and still have time for recess...)
-Life is just way too hard on young families! There is not enough support! Things move too fast. Cell phones and i phones and mobile me and e-mail floods are going to drown us and radiate our brains and give us cancer! (which we won't be able to stave off, since, remember, we never have time to eat FRUITS OR VEGETABLES.) WHERE IS THE SUPPORT FOR YOUNG FAMILIES IN THIS COUNTRY? Is everyone trying to kill us via stress and nutrition- deprivation? We need HELP raising the next generation. And we are not getting it. We are screwed as a society. We are going DOWNHILL. Ours will be the last decent generation (assuming that we even are a decent generation).
(in another state of mind, I'd feel proud of the amazing parenting my cohort is doing, in spite of the endless demands on them...somehow, they're managing and our kids are thriving...but I can't see that in this state-of-mind.)
-Every woman I know says she needs a wife. Everyone wants a woman to be attuned to them, to help them, to anticipate and to meet their needs... Do you know any man who has ever whined that he needs a husband?? (I actually said this to GEH yesterday. Good Lord.)
(in another state-of-mind, I'd be grateful for my kind, loving, devoted husband.)
Ahh...the narcissism of self-pity...woe is me is, clearly, all about me.
I hope I escape the vicious loop soon.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Sick Child Haikus
My ear really hurts
So bad I can't sleep at night
Til my mommy comes
-----
Cough, sneeze, sniffle, wheeze
Call my mommy to my bed
Song, pat, head-rub, sleep
-----
We go to a show
So sick I can't stay awake
So I sleep on you
-----
I don't feel so good
So I whine and whine and whine
Please tolerate me
-----
:)
So bad I can't sleep at night
Til my mommy comes
-----
Cough, sneeze, sniffle, wheeze
Call my mommy to my bed
Song, pat, head-rub, sleep
-----
We go to a show
So sick I can't stay awake
So I sleep on you
-----
I don't feel so good
So I whine and whine and whine
Please tolerate me
-----
:)
Sunday, March 27, 2011
The Invisible Good Life
My kids are having a way better childhood than my brother and I had.
Before having children, I never fully realized just how depressing my own upbringing was. It wasn't all-trauma-all-the-time, but it wasn't a bed of roses either. There was very little consistency in pretty much every area. Let me paint a brief picture. My parents went through a bitter divorce when I was a toddler and my brother was a preschooler. We lived with my mother, who moved pretty often--every 2 years on average--because, as a single mom, she had a hard time keeping a job (so she was also often broke). We visited my father, who lived a few hours away, every few weeks and we spent summers with him. My parents did not get along. My dad was more financially stable than my mom, but he drank too much and, although he could be tremendous fun, he could also be like living with a volcano--his temper would erupt unexpectedly. Each of my parents has been married and divorced several times. I honestly believe that they did the best they could raising us. This is actually not saying much, though, since I also see them as having a pretty limited capacity. (Please pardon my judgmentalness.)
When I look at the life GEH and I have made for our kids, I am amazed. We've been married for 10 years. We have lived in the same house since I was pregnant with our first son. We have a steady income. We have a clear plan for educating our children at the same school, where they can stay from k through 12 because we don't plan to move. There is always good food in our house. They heat is always on in the winter. The electricity bill gets paid monthly. There is minimal fighting. The friendships my sons are forming could potentially last throughout their lifetimes.
I'm not about to say that our life is perfect. And I am certainly not ever going to even suggest that I am perfect (because I am so flawed that it is not even funny!)...but I do love to pause and to reflect on my children's life. Because their life is good.
Watching them thrive in the world GEH and I have made for them is deeply healing. It's like through them, I get a chance to repair some of my own wounds from childhood. I get to do it better than my parents could. And my boys reap the rewards. And they don't even know it. And that (THAT!) is what makes it incredible.
Their life is so good that they can take it for granted. A men to that.
Before having children, I never fully realized just how depressing my own upbringing was. It wasn't all-trauma-all-the-time, but it wasn't a bed of roses either. There was very little consistency in pretty much every area. Let me paint a brief picture. My parents went through a bitter divorce when I was a toddler and my brother was a preschooler. We lived with my mother, who moved pretty often--every 2 years on average--because, as a single mom, she had a hard time keeping a job (so she was also often broke). We visited my father, who lived a few hours away, every few weeks and we spent summers with him. My parents did not get along. My dad was more financially stable than my mom, but he drank too much and, although he could be tremendous fun, he could also be like living with a volcano--his temper would erupt unexpectedly. Each of my parents has been married and divorced several times. I honestly believe that they did the best they could raising us. This is actually not saying much, though, since I also see them as having a pretty limited capacity. (Please pardon my judgmentalness.)
When I look at the life GEH and I have made for our kids, I am amazed. We've been married for 10 years. We have lived in the same house since I was pregnant with our first son. We have a steady income. We have a clear plan for educating our children at the same school, where they can stay from k through 12 because we don't plan to move. There is always good food in our house. They heat is always on in the winter. The electricity bill gets paid monthly. There is minimal fighting. The friendships my sons are forming could potentially last throughout their lifetimes.
I'm not about to say that our life is perfect. And I am certainly not ever going to even suggest that I am perfect (because I am so flawed that it is not even funny!)...but I do love to pause and to reflect on my children's life. Because their life is good.
Watching them thrive in the world GEH and I have made for them is deeply healing. It's like through them, I get a chance to repair some of my own wounds from childhood. I get to do it better than my parents could. And my boys reap the rewards. And they don't even know it. And that (THAT!) is what makes it incredible.
Their life is so good that they can take it for granted. A men to that.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Poop: It's What's For Dinner
My younger son, Tot-Tot, is totally obsessed with poo-poo. And pee-pee. And poo-poo and pee-pee.
He is a really verbal child. He started talking well before he was a year old. He has an extensive vocabulary. Self-expression is a true talent of his.
But you wouldn't know it.
Because, these days, it's all potty talk. All the time.
If you ask him how he's doing, he'll say, laughing: "POOPY IN YOUR UNDERPANTS!"
If you ask him what he wants for dinner, it's: "Poo-poo. And pee-pee." (And then he might add something about eating it until he gets so sick he dies. Oof.)
If you ask him to share a toy, he might respond: "I'm gonna poop all over your head!"
Behold the 3-year-old mind. (And he's turning 4 in 2 short weeks.)
My older son, Big Boy, never had a poop obsession. So even though potty talk seems totally age-appropriate, I didn't have to endure it with boy number one. Big Boy also had no problems with pooping on the potty, which has been an ongoing issue for Tot-Tot. TT is one of those preschoolers who will only poop in a pull-up. He wants to go standing up. In a corner. Often in the playroom. Or under a table. Sometimes in a restaurant. It's. So. Ew. But I try not to make a big deal of it. And he has agreed that when he is four, he will go on the potty.
God, I hope so.
And maybe...just maybe...then the endless potty talk will stop. Once the poop goes in the potty, maybe then he won't need to be so obsessed with it.
Maybe? (Please don't tell me this is just a boy thing.) (And that I will have to live with this.) (I am dreading the pre-teen years enough already.) (Thanks.)
He is a really verbal child. He started talking well before he was a year old. He has an extensive vocabulary. Self-expression is a true talent of his.
But you wouldn't know it.
Because, these days, it's all potty talk. All the time.
If you ask him how he's doing, he'll say, laughing: "POOPY IN YOUR UNDERPANTS!"
If you ask him what he wants for dinner, it's: "Poo-poo. And pee-pee." (And then he might add something about eating it until he gets so sick he dies. Oof.)
If you ask him to share a toy, he might respond: "I'm gonna poop all over your head!"
Behold the 3-year-old mind. (And he's turning 4 in 2 short weeks.)
My older son, Big Boy, never had a poop obsession. So even though potty talk seems totally age-appropriate, I didn't have to endure it with boy number one. Big Boy also had no problems with pooping on the potty, which has been an ongoing issue for Tot-Tot. TT is one of those preschoolers who will only poop in a pull-up. He wants to go standing up. In a corner. Often in the playroom. Or under a table. Sometimes in a restaurant. It's. So. Ew. But I try not to make a big deal of it. And he has agreed that when he is four, he will go on the potty.
God, I hope so.
And maybe...just maybe...then the endless potty talk will stop. Once the poop goes in the potty, maybe then he won't need to be so obsessed with it.
Maybe? (Please don't tell me this is just a boy thing.) (And that I will have to live with this.) (I am dreading the pre-teen years enough already.) (Thanks.)
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