Top 10 Reasons Why I Hate Target

10. Too much diet coke. Not enough diet pepsi.

9. Zero brand loyalty. Where did the jarred Muir Glen organic tomato-herb sauce go? It's been replaced by Giada's big-booby sauce? Seriously??!? Come on. (Eye roll.)

8. I hate how much I hate Target. Because I hate it so much that I avoid going. Then, when dwindling toilet paper supplies finally force me to make a Target run, I have to stay LONGER. Hurt me.

7. Hunger. Thirst. Blood-sugar crash. Need to pee. Sweat. No basic needs can be met when you're surrounded by shit from China and processed food that we really can do without. How does this place make any sense?

6. TARGET-HEAD: State formerly known as air-headed or spaced-out or brain-dead. Time is lost in this state. Then you're sucked in for longer into the Target misery vortex!

5. Existential crisis, stemming from reason number 7. What are we doing to ourselves? How did humanity evolve to such a state where citizens have so little time that we're essentially forced to spend time among masses of artificiality??!? Really? This is what we want for ourselves? Really??!?

4. Cranky cashiers. Hey, listen, I wouldn't like working at Target, either (since I HATE IT THERE). But, I'm doing my best to be kind to you, Cashier Person. I know it can be hard to understand kindness and pleasantries in this unkind, bitter, narcissistic world we inhabit. I feel you. But even a flittering little smile has a resounding impact. Try it. Come on...Just give me a tiny little twitch in the corner of your mouth...you know you want to...

3. So few dads. So many moms. Are we any closer to sex-role equality? Or have we just boxed ourselves into this corner where women now work AND shop? Have we forced ourselves into spaces like Target because we really, truly, don't have time for both work and family-care??!? Let's rethink this. Dads, ya hear me?

2. Plastic bags. You cannot stop the insertion of items into plastic bags at Target. There must be a rule: each plastic, environmentally-toxic item must be wrapped in still more plastic. Even milk jugs go in plastic bags. And don't even think you can ask to skip the bags...remember the cashier in reason 4? She could give a shit about your eco-friendliness.

1. Child abuse. This needs no elaboration. Just stop...please make it stop. Love parents so they won't hurt their kids! Come ON--our society needs to GET WITH THE F'N PROGRAM.

Return to Innocence

Blogging has taken a backseat to life in the past months. But I just re-read my entire blog, and I have a new motivation to resume writing here...in this virtual space--the blogging playroom. And for no other reason than my own gratification...I am glad I have this record of my thoughts, feelings, and struggles. For myself.

The past several months have been intensely hard. But in a good way. I've been struggling through some seriously heavy stuff in my analysis (intensive therapy), and am feeling, finally, freer than I've ever been in my life. Thank f'n god!

What has been so awesome about my newfound emotional freedom, really, is my increased joy in parenting. The happier and less tormented I am, the happier my children seem. These days, my kids are where it's at.

I know I have written this in the past, but my children constantly offer me the chance to heal. As I've been struggling lately, my sons have given me deep emotional comfort and support...by simply being there, wanting, needing, and loving me. Their joyful innocence brings me back to my own. It heals me at my core.

Return to the innocence, baby.
Return to the innocence.

Mom Freedom Haikus

Going to L. A.
To spend time with a dear friend.
Drink. Shop. Eat salad.
----
Missing my old self,
I reconnect with old pals,
And then I feel young.
---
Time apart from kids
Is so rejuvenating
And yet I miss them.
---
I was me back then...
And I find I am still me...
Enhanced. With two sons.

:)

Neglect?

Lately I have felt like I have not had nearly enough time for my kids. My workload has increased, so my work hours have increased. When time opens up in my schedule, it gets filled instantly--it evaporates before I even know I have it. So, extra time that could go to my kids doesn't seem to make it there. And I am full of maternal guilt and self-recrimination about that.

Recently, I have heard stories about parents who seriously neglect their children. One, sadly, is my sister-in-law, who keeps having horrendous fights with her teenage son. At the root of these fights is the fact that she repeatedly rejects him. And this has been the case for many years. And I can't imagine how enraged this has made him. But she will not look at her own behavior and shift it. Instead, the fighting goes on, and now she says she is "throwing in the towel." On. Her. Own. Kid.

Another example comes from a movie I watched last night, "The Nanny Diaries." I got it out of the library. The librarian told me she loved the movie. OMG. Not me. I HATED HATED HATED it. Seriously. The movie made me feel sick and horrible. If you haven't seen it (don't bother), it's about a nanny who forms a bond with a severely neglected (albeit financially privileged) child. The movie is supposed to be a comical portrayal of rich families in which the parents are so self-absorbed that they have no time for their children. But. It. Wasn't. Funny. The little boy in the movie had absolutely no one looking out for him emotionally. He was treated like an accessory and a conversation piece. He did not exist as a person, except to his nanny, who was eventually fired and forced to leave him precipitously. There was a heartwrenching scene where the boy runs crying after her cab, as she is driven away.

I almost puked. For real.

(This is depressing, I know. Bear with me.)

But, the good thing is that these horror stories remind me constantly how much I treasure my time with my children. And how, even when I'm busy, I am not neglecting or rejecting them. Last night, my husband told me the story of his sister and our nephew while we were out at dinner with our boys. I listened with disgust (at my SIL) and compassion (for my nephew) while my kids jumped in and out of my lap, ordered dessert, joked and laughed, and stroked my hair. While they told me I was their "favorite mommy" and said over and over again that they loved me.

And this morning, after feeling sick half of the night in the aftermath of the nanny movie trauma, my sons created a pretend "hair salon" and spent quite a while styling my early-morning, I-just-woke-up hair. While we laughed together.

I know this is the theme of so many of my blogs...but that is because I think constantly about this discrepancy between how poorly I feel like I perform as a mother...and the reality that I am actually doing a "good enough" job. I am so grateful to my kids for reminding me, again and again, that they are OK. That my distractions and stress and even depressions are not wrecking them. That they are thriving, even at times when I feel like I am not giving them enough of myself.

And...well...PHEW! (so far, any how...)


And a note to my boys: please let me know as well as you can when I'm NOT measuring up. Because I promise I will shift and change and grow to be a better parent to you. Always.

Sometimes I Think This World is Crazy

Sometimes I think this world is crazy.

At these times, when everything and everyone (myself included) seems out-of-control, I long to be with my kids. Because they have it right. They laugh when they're happy. They cry when they're sad. They stomp when they're angry. They don't intentionally manipulate or play mind games. They say what they mean and mean what they say. And they're just totally straightforward about who they are and what they want. They, at ages 4 and 7, know what it means to be human. They know how to treat other people kindly while valuing and remaining true to themselves.

I have to say that I wish I were more like them. And the rest of this (crazy) world, too. I wish we could all be more like my boys.

Lucky for me, I get to spend time with these sage little buddhas every. single. day.

Ahhh....

(Maybe one day they'll teach me a thing or two!)

Kids For Sale?

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.

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....