Well then. A woman who pretty much sums up everything this blog is about. In about 10 minutes. And I love her.
Sometimes Wood tells me that I'm "too much". My response is something akin to "I'm just enough and don't you ever forget it."
Thank you #1 Reader for turning me on to it. And thank you, Wonelle, for taking the time for yourself.
I've got a hot date. Not with my bad-boy, leather jacket, cowboy boots wearing, cigarette smoking, alcoholic boyfriend (Anthony Bourdain), my 'I'll give you anything you want from underpants to grated cheese, and take it all back without any hesitation as long as you use your rewards card' boyfriend (Fred Meyer), or my geeky-smart 'I will tell you how to make the best cheesecake, pork loin, or anything else you could ever want to eat and teach you the science of doing it in a way that you'll love it so that you'll want me more' boyfriend (Alton Brown). Nah, I got a date with my husband, Wood.
I warned him, many years ago, that he'd have to promise to be my boyfriend forever if he wanted to marry me. He agreed. But as with many things in our probably better than average marriage, as it turns out, I'm in charge of making him keep certain promises. Like being boyfriend and girlfriend.
Don't get me wrong, we both want to date each other. It's just that things have been kinda off-the-hook insane for the past 4-5 months or so. No, really insane. So insane that the following list is not in correct order. I can't begin to remember the timeline. And as you read, you'll begin to understand why. (not to mention the fact that I typically remember every detail of super-hard-stressful, dare I say bad events, with startling clarity and recall)
Grammy had surgery scheduled, then rescheduled, then barely completed because she was so scared by the prospect. But in the meantime she had several falls, lost about 125 lbs. and was in such ill-health and mental capacity we were really afraid something bad was going to happen. We had to go to LA LA land to be with her twice between July and September and she fought us every step of the way (but claimed she wanted us there).
Wood interviewed for a job in Portland, Oregon just before the canceled surgery was to take place. Then in the middle of Grammy's health debacle, he was offered the job and had to secretly negotiate the terms of the deal. He accepted the job (!!) but didn't tell his mom for some time.
He finally told her - about a week before he moved to Portland. She was kind of devastated.
Some of our closest friends moved to Costa Rica. Our other closest friends didn't take the news of our moving to Portland, on the tails of friends moving to Costa Rica, too well.
My nephew was diagnosed with a rare and extremely aggressive form of cancer and was literally hanging on to his life by a thread and a prayer (a lot of prayer from a lot of people). He spent about 3 weeks in ICU and another week or two after that in the hospital.
My sister (the same sister with the son with cancer) was pregnant with my niece who was diagnosed in eutero with a bi-lateral cleft lip and palate. Did I mention her due date was 10 days after my nephew was admitted to the hospital? And that she's estranged from the dad of the baby? Because he's got domestic violence and child abuse in his past (which she found out well after she got pregnant)? That she delivered the baby when my nephew was sedated and medically paralyzed?
My family had a hard time with the news of our move. And the plan for me and Twig to be with Wood for a week at Thanksgiving was not taken well. My nephew was still in ICU. It was hard, but necessary, to leave.
My house was burglarized the day - actually the exact same time - that I had a phone interview for a job in Portland. Thank goodness the interviewer was late calling me and my neighbor called me to tell me what was happening. And that the interviewer rescheduled the call considering I had to deal with the Police and all.
I was a single mom of a kindergartner who had some behavioral problems at home and school (in a class that didn't have a great teacher), doing all of the drop offs and pick ups, cooking cleaning, shopping, etc. AS WELL AS managing household improvements/repairs so that we could rent our house out once we moved all while my husband lived and worked in Portland.
I quit a great job with fantastic people, stopped exercising, and kind of got used to being on my own again. Which was my biggest fear of living apart for a while. I can be a bit of a recluse and a bitch to live with if left to my own devices.
While there are about 500 other really tough things that happened during that time, and I can't remember (whew!), we're now in Portland reunited as a family, unpacking, starting a new school (with a much better teacher thank-you-very-much), managing challenging behaviors, mourning our losses, celebrating our gains - and addressing the gambit of the issues that go along with a family separated-moving to a new place-now reconnecting...
Hence the hot date.
It's been really cold here at times (literally and figuratively); the date was for us to work on gathering all of our resources to get and stay all cozy-warm. I'm sure that there will continue be a cold front here and there. But as one of my four readers has said so eloquently, marriages have seasons. Some are cold and some are hot. And even though I was born and raised in California, I know that no matter what, it takes work to make it through any severe weather pattern.
*************
Things on all other fronts are much better now! Nephew's cancer is better - not treated (but no more tumors!), baby is born with only cleft lip (!!), they caught the kid that broke in, I was able to reschedule my phone interview (even though I bombed it), I'm working part time for my fantastic employer in Oakland from Portland for a while, I'm running again, trying to stretch my interpersonal skills and make new friends, I've got the inclination and desire to write, and I've got my family back together again. Equilibrium will begin to show itself sometime soon. GAWD, I hope!
Today I broke my year long caffeine fast and had a regular soy latte for breakfast. Peanut M&M's for brunch. Reeses Peanut Butter Cups for Lunch. Plain M&M's for a mid day snack. A couple of saltines and water to calm my stomach. Rounded it off with Chinese: Lemon Chicken, Green Beans and Brown Rice, all washed down with a Racer 5 IPA.
Yesterday was hard, exhausting, excruciating. And brought family dynamics stuff to the forefront - magnified by a million.
I'm abandoning my family, I'm the outcast, they don't choose me to help even though I'm available and want to help. Because I'm not like them, I don't do things correctly. I'm no good.
This is not logical. It is purely emotional.
A woman showering at the gym tonight was scrubbing her skin with one of those green kitchen brillo pads used for getting the caked on baked on goo off of pots & pans. All I could think was hmmmm.
I had a great running dream. It was the same night we happened to see part of the Boston Marathon on TV. In my dream I ran fast and strong for a long time. It felt good. In my waking run over a week ago, my knee hurt with every step and afterward for a couple of days. I have a half marathon in June and haven't trained enough. Because of the knee pain. So I'll go to the chiropractor, keeping my fingers crossed that it's something that can be addressed simply.
Tonight I meet another mom for tea and planning for the preschool 'yearbook'. My boy goess to kindergarten in the fall. And while there is plenty to keep me busy, I'm volunteering for the school's auction by entering information into a database, I felt compelled to try to help. The woman who is doing the work is one of the very few that I care for. Most are not my type in the least. The ones that have been at the school since the beginning of time. This mom is new like us. And ready to be finished with this school. I have no illusions about the new place or that the families will be that much different than the ones we've encountered here. But fully understand that I'm not too open to certain people. That and I'm simply not the kind of person that walks around pretending that the world is perfect or anything resembling my experience of it. I'm judgemental and disinterested in being like most of them but also get that being closed off is not helpful either.
Apparently my internal clock is set to wake me up at exactly 4am.every day. Which sucks because it's not like I can just pop up and vaccuum or do the dishes. NO, I've got othr people in the house to consider. And doing exactly that is probably why I wake so freaking early in the morning- I put Twig to sleep at 8pm. Duuuh, Wonelle, 8pm to 4am is exactly 8 hours! So you have two choices: figure out how to stay up later (feudal) or figure out how to get some shit done in the wee hours of the morn. And I do not mean #2. Sometimes the simplest things are lost on you, Wonelle.
I owe y'all a post on the Oakland Marathon & my sinus surgery. It's just that I've been taking recouperrate to the extreme. Except I'll probably hit the gym tonight. Slugggishness is setting in...
I'm tired.
The paperwork said to get plenty of rest the week prior to surgery. I've been burning the candle at both ends. Staying awake late to meet deadlines, getting up early to keep house, exercising multiple times a week for at least two hours at a time, planning as many social activities as possible. Amid all of the craziness I even took some time off of work. Not because I wanted to, more like because I had to. But, I decided to approach the day different than usual. No, no, no, I didn't have a leisurely day planned. Instead, I decided to do the fun stuff first.
And it worked! Twig and I had a lot of fun and then he was able to keep himself occupied AND help me with housework (he's a master of dusting and dishes despite the broken bowl). It was nice to be able to redirect his "bad" behavior and actually get the response I was looking for. He seems to be quite satisfied with our time together too.
We're having company for dinner and I have no interest in finishing the cleaning, no desire to cook. But I do want to spend time with our friends. So I'll suck it up and make frozen pizza or something equally easy to prepare and clean up...
Been thinking about my dad a lot lately. Want to write something about him but it's not quite there. I'm hoping that next week I'll feel energetic enough - and not too loopy - to write to him. I miss him a lot and often feel sad that we didn't talk for about 10 years before he died. He was a stubborn cuss though and I tried a meager try as it were.
Oh, Mrs. Frreshley how I covet your no trans fat per serving creme filled doesn't really taste like chocolate ccupcakes. To the tune of 4 today.
I'm stressed that I'm going to have surrgery a week from Thursday and there iss always so much undone at the end of each day. I feel the most displeasure when the undone thngs incclude not returning phone calls to friends (so sorry J & B & J) and that I struggle to keep up with their excitement, acccomplishments and milestones (birthday cards, holiday cards & the like unsent) that supporting other friends through their daily struggles doesn't come as easily as it once did (Miss P).
Spring has sprung and that always reminds me that everything is always changing and that I should remember to be gentle on me too. Gentle isn't my strongest personality trait. So I self medicate with vending machine food that labels itself as cupcakes. After a two hour workout last night I can get away with it. For today.
Seven. Offiicially, that is. Ten total.
We're in Calistoga celebrating in an olympic sized swimming pool, mud baths and full session masages. And cucumber-lemon water to clean out all the othe stuff.
Sheer luxury and leisure. The last time we were here was 9 years ago. Wow, how time flies when you're having fun!
I hope to post 'The Anti-Socialite' - or how bad I am at maintaining friendships because of my husband, child, house, exercise rroutine, cooking fetish, full-time job and other excuses I'd like to denounce because they get in the way of meaningful adult relationships and I think I'm a putz for not keepingg in touch more regularly - post soon. Shit, I volunteered to do some school auction stuff and that will keep me busy for the next few weeks... maybe not doing soon, just more thinking about it...
Wood and I are celebrating our 7 year wedding anniversary this week... We're dropping Twig off at Bam's house and heading to the spa. What bourgeois yuppies we are. One night, 2 mud baths, swimming in the olympic size pool, massages and cucumber water, and fine dining for several meals sans kid... here I come!
Happy Friday!
And I've been waiting all week for today!
Whew, I have been lots more tired this week than usual. My sleep has been disturbed a lot lately for no apparent reason. Lat night however, I slept like a log. Maybe it was the beer. Or the late - - almost midnight - - bedtime that helped... Who cares? I slept for something like 5 hours n a row and that is huge in my world.
I've also been having more than usual shortness of breath lately when carrying as little as 20 lbs. Usually when walking to and from my office... I think my tiredness has something to do with my COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease - chronic Bronchitis in my case). Unfortunately it is a progressive disease that can be managed but not cured. My fear of drowning to death will someday come true, I'm afraid. I will eventually come to be okay with that prospect.
The diagnosis came a little more than a year ago when I just couldn't bounce back from a cold and later couldn't walk anywhere or carry anything without being extremely short of breath. With my history of smoking, recurrent bouts with lung infections and other issues - most notably the need for oral steroids for a lung infection while I was pregnant, and pretty much every cold since then with no significant improvement over several months of seeing many different doctors and trying many different medication regimes, there it is. Upon meeting my (beloved) pulmonologist and hearing him say I'd be taking inhaled medicine for the rest of my life and that I needed to exercise to stay healthy, it hit home real hard. Actually, it became real for the first time.
I'm late for a work meeting so more on this and my fabulous anniversary weekend plans later. Sorry for the typos, I'm on my smart phone, blogging from the parking lot. No spell check option here!
Is it Friday yet?
Sleep sucked again last night; my boy, my body/breathing and my brain all getting in the way. Not 100% sure what exactly is getting in the way to make this a regular occurrence...
On a brighter note, these longer days are nice even if they are cold, cold, cold. And we did get the public school choice we wanted for Twig! We are now planning to take him out of preschool in late June for a series of summer camp sessions that will include a swimming camp, gymnastics, outdoor science camp, and very likely a Mandarin and/or Spanish immersion camp.
Work finds me soon taking on more responsibilities (gladly). And exercise, eating, etc. are going well enough. My body has decided that fatty foods, alcohol and sugar will cause great allergic reaction (swelling of hands and feet) so I'm looking at and actively making significant dietary changes. Not a bad thing, not a bad thing at all.
My lungs are acting badly lately... My sinuses are too but I am scheduled to have those surgically addressed at the end of the month. It's all okay overall but every now and again, I'm confronted with my health in ways that I don't like. I'm reminded that my lungs will be deteriorating over time... It makes me feel sad, weak and depressed but, I just charge ahead despite my fears and anxieties about the future. After all, I'm relatively healthy now and that is all that matters for the time being.
And my family is healthy too. Life really is pretty darn good!
I slept for almost 11 hours last night. At 11 am today I was still yawning. What gives? Granted, i% was not without sleep interruptions. The boy has been sleeping in his own bed for two months or more. I've been using a homeopathic sleep aid. And I'm still exhausted.
I just don't understand.
Maybe it's my husband's incessant snoring that keeps me awake at night... not the caffeine...
Fine, it's both.
Either way I find it annoying to be awake while everyone else is peacefully sleeping. The snoring makes it hard to fall back to sleep and when it's especially annoying (like tonight) it makes me mad. Which doesn't help the relaxation process either.
I'm sure I'm mad about something else. Just haven't worked it out yet. Although, the fact that I've been (pending post on the subject written this morning so will show up after this post when finally published at a reasonable hour on Sunday) parenting an over tired and physically demanding kid for the past couple of weeks might have something to do with my generally pissy demeanor. Add in being awake at 1am after cleaning up the pee accident, which came after the getting ready for bed fight which came after the getting dressed for ballet and not one but two birthday parties today fights (it really was a great day), you can see why I'm feeling a little possessive of my rest time.
Mmmkayyy, now it's time to take back my night. Sweet dreams and thanks for reading!
A friend once gave me the sage advice about parenting. "Spine of Steel, Heart of Stone", she said. It was certainly during one of those times when the boy was being what I like to call 'extra, extra'.
He's been pushing all of my buttons these last few weeks. Playing instead of getting dressed, not answering when I ask a question or give direction. While those things are to be expected when child rearing, they do kind piss me off when they have been the norm for such a while (or at least what feels like such a long time - these are recurring issues). But there is one thing that really, I mean really makes me angry and that is his violence. Acting as if he will be violent with dirty looks, stances, and even props. Sometimes it's not just for show, he actually karate kicks me or punches me. And every time we have these altercations, he gets hurt. Take today as an example.
He didn't want to change his tights (he takes ballet and the tights he was wearing had a hole in them.) He didn't want to change and didn't until I helped. Soon thereafter he wasn't answering my questions so I sent him to his room for the customary time out. Which made him more angry. Since he was trying to shoot me with fiddlesticks, punching me as I tried to walk out of the room, he tried to snatch them out of my hands and quickly turned around for his departure and ran into the corner of his dresser. OUCH! His shoulder screaming and tears flowing but he was now able to listen.
There are moments I think I should simply beat the crap out of him. Seems that reason isn't working on him. Truth is I need to go to my happy place when this stuff comes up. I'm beat down. Truly beat down. For now that is. I'll get it back soon enough - without any child abuse. Mark my words.
I know better than do drink caffeinated beverages and yet, in my infinite wisdom in following the natural healing book, I drank green tea yesterday.
Woke up at 1am, unable to go back to sleep until 4:30am - or something equally outrageous. And then the alarm roused me at 6am.
Worked all day and got a lot done. But in the afternoon, my lungs said NO to more activity tonight. No boot camp. Sleep. But I had to ask Wood to give me permission to take a night off. "lots of goo coming out of my lungs, even after taking medicine, I need permission to listen to my body and rest today". He was gentle and supportive; here I am feeling slightly guilty for not doing more than writing despite him being correct.
Tomorrow I will have more energy. Like I did over the weekend. I will pick up an extra exercise session when my body is less fatigued. If my body is less fatigued. I will run on Saturday.
For now, I will change out of my work clothes and cuddle with the boy on the couch. Because I can!
In some fit of wisdom, I realized that I had to choose every day to be married. Before I got married that is.
I realized today that my current challenges are that because I need to choose to behave like a grown up. Knowing is not enough. Now I must act on the knowledge. That knowledge makes the depression non existent. And the tears make it less heavy, too.
I choose to be a responsible role model of a grown up. So now I'm going to sleep.
Paula uses the term frequently enough that it has begun to make good sense to use it. I do hope it is oaky to do so. I need something to describe how I am feeling, mostly at work lately, but often outside the office too. It's not pms, not bitchy. Frustrated is appropriate but I don't think it really conveys the right message. Depressed could work but I routinely dismiss that term because of all of the other things connected to it. Negative stereotypes and all. But that is going to have to do for now because I'm doing this from my cell phone potty break. Yup, I know it's TMI but imagining the perplexed look on your face or furrowed brow because of it makes me grin & giggle and I need to do that a lot lately to keep my sanity. So there! Until later...
Oooh, I've been eating too many beans this week. Black beans., refried beans, lentils, soy beans. No meat. Just beans! Yum and yuck all at the same time. My body craves them but noses (mine and everyone else's) simply don't agree.
I officially met my weight loss goal this week! 30 pounds and 4 sizes in a year. Keep the weight or lower for 6 weeks and I'm a lifetime member of weight watchers for free!
took two classes at the gym last night in preparation for the Oakland Marathon 5k at the end of March. And I'm feeling it, too. But it's to be expected. It's more that I usually do but it must be done to go to the next level of fitness.
that's all for now. My break is over!
Oh, my today was a challenging, busy day. Actually, it's been a challenging, busy week. No, make that a month (or more).
Hubbie is, on very short notice, out of town this weekend at his aging, ailing mother's request, helping to clean her apartment of it's sundry items so that she doesn't get evicted for her not-so-well hidden from her landlord when they came in to inspect smoke detectors hoarding tendencies. She doesn't want me to know that this is an issue but if Twig's any indicator - When I told him that Daddy had to go to LA to visit Grammie and help her with some things for the weekend, his response was "You mean to help her throw things away and clean her apartment?", um, yeah, nobody knows...
Last week was a long weekend, I had a 100% free day (hubbie was working and Twig was in school), so I spent it cooking. All day prepping vegetables from our food box for the following week. Joyous times bee-bopping in the kitchen, doin' my thang. But with really swollen ankles/feet in the evening. And that evening we went to visit some friends for a get together - dinner and Olympic opening ceremonies - while the food, wine and company were excellent, the ceremonies started so late that we didn't get to watch more than about 10 minutes before we had to leave, already an hour and a half past Twigs bed time. Needless to say the next day he woke up earlier than usual unable to go back to sleep. And although he had a huge breakfast that morning, he was less than himself for the rest of the day. Ballet class found him not able to really focus on the teachers instruction. While focus is a tad bit of a "problem" for him under normal circumstances, he was in an extra special place that day. So Sunday I let him sit in front of the TV for most of the day and was not displeased when ballet/tap class (yes, he's willingly taking two ballet classes) was cancelled. I hadn't cleaned the house in a few weeks. Monday was another holiday. Despite the playdate, he melted when we tried to get me some new running shoes. Hubbie melted too. It was all in all, a really bad scene. Much of the week has been difficult. Is he still overtired? Hell if I know. But probably so.
The previous weekend we went snowboarding (spent a small fortune and had a fabulous time) but leaving on Friday and coming home on Sunday leaves little time for things like laundry and lavatory duty). Oh, lest we forget about the fact that the slopes kicked my lily-white ass and I was effing beat. There was no energy to be mustered to do things like clean after snowboarding and traveling or before going to work.
The week before that I'm sure we were busy too... observing a real serious pre-ballet program in the City. One that he can start in the fall (the boy wants to dance the Nutcracker - yes, he's 5 and he has such lofty goals), helping one of Hubbie's friends by taping the boy to be on a pop up "no-no, that's a dangerous web site" video for their company, eating out as a treat, birthday party for the twins of friends we haven't seen in oh-too-long, Sunday Ballet/tap, and then fun with the French - whom, by the way, we adore and spend far to little time with because they live in Berkeley and that's oh, so freaking far away!
But back to today, this week, this weekend... Is Mercury in retrograde? I mean shit-fuck-piss-son-of-a-bitch, it seems like everything that I need to do is dependent on another person in some way, shape, or form, and damn if they aren't doing their part. All I do is spend time managing people and projects that I shouldn't have to manage. Okay, that's not totally true, but it really feels like people aren't taking seriously the work that they need to do for me. And I'm being forced to fight really hard to get them to do their stuff so that I can get my stuff done. And even when it is done I still have to fight, or find workarounds, or generally work harder because everyone else around seems to have found ways to work less, take less responsibility, and be okay with doing "what we can", or... OR?
My blood pressure was sky high today. Not because of any one thing. It was simply the culmination of many things; the many "fights" that happen at work, at home, in my head, while driving down the street, in my husband's head, that have just piled up. But now, more than ever, I am feeling very vulnerable.
Budget issues at the State and Federal levels do threaten my agency. And while my program is a main function of why the agency exists, my position is expendable (and my boss has reminded me that he held a position exactly like mine so he could take it over quite easily if needed). I don't want to be expendable or vulnerable so I feel as if I have to work harder than ever to make my worth known. I'm swamped catching up, cleaning up, and making things up as I go along.
Hubbie is struggling more than ever with his work, his health, his overcommitted calendar and he's not in a good space. Having to be responsible for his mom's problems doesn't help matters much. I had the most horrible dream of him having a long standing affair with someone at work that I had met and spent time with on several occasions. And my reaction in the dream was exactly like it was toward my high school boyfriend who cheated - with the girl that had introduced us and whom I called my best friend. It was petulant, angry, and inconsolable. And it was a dream that seemed to last forever.
The putting out fire mode, being in situations that do not allow me the time and space I need to be able to act "appropriately", is not where I like to be. And yet, it's always been there where I've been able to thrive. In a crazy kind of way, being in chaos has always fueled me to move. The movement was simply a cover, a way to deflect the shit that was being thrown at me. Trouble is, I don't like, have never liked chaos - or crazy - at all. So, I moved forward: succeed at or at least appear to be living a socially acceptable, normal life and sooner or later the craziness seems odd, and the internal compass "you can become anything, make your life, your relationships, anything you want them to be", "you are not bound to follow the destiny your makers have set for you" is automatic, innate, normal. Except when the chaos is overwhelming and uncontrollable; like it's been this month, this week, this day. When it's like this, it's not that easy to stay out of the momentum because it becomes muscle-memory-familiar and I simply respond in muscle-memory-familiar ways. Auto pilot. Fire dancing.
I think I need to keep exercising, keep running, keep focused on those things that make me physically strong. But I also need to be more mentally/psychically strong. I do believe I need learn to slow down and quiet the chaos in my head. To meditate.
Goodness knows staying up past 11pm isn't going to help!!! G'night y'all! And thanks for reading.
Muscle aches, yawn, cough, ready for a fight, cough again. Probably too much exercise, not enough food, and not enough sleep this week.
Work has been a bit stressful this week. Okay, this month has been extremely hectic. And I have been doing much more than I usually do. I think.
I'm trying to work around a situation at work that isn't really work-aroundable (sorry for making up words but that's how I'm feeling). Actually, it's probably not something I can manipulate to my advantage so I need to figure out how to cope and still get what I need done - so I don't get bitchy and angry like I did today. Not helpful to be that way.
So I started getting some space to figure that out by leaving work early to take a nap - in hopes of relieving the cough, aches, cough. Instead I watched Mad Men. Nonetheless I got some much needed rest.
I keep my fingers crossed that Twig continues his 4 night trend of sleeping in his bed all night long. Candy first thing in the morning is quite the motivator for him I guess. He doesn't quite understand that when I get more sleep that he benefits too, but someday he will. Like when his little person cuddles so close that he can't get a deep enough sleep to be 'a good night's sleep'.
G'night y'all.
The look on your face does not maintain any secrets. You see me.
The expression on your face, the dart of your eyes; Your uncertainty... or is it dislike? Why? No matter, I've already caught on. "You're different! You aren't one of us. Stay away, I don't want you here."
Perhaps my face adequately expresses my thoughts of disdain for the interaction, desire for the not-gotten connection, and intense need for a new experience. Probably not.
It's been said many times before and I believe that it's true.
It's been far too long, my blog friends. So sorry.
My cat died. My body disobeys. My family and work command my time.
The cat was 19. She had cancer of the mouth. I should not say she died. I had her put down instead of letting her suffer and then die.
My lungs have been abused and will not revert to their healthier state. We have officially become one of those families that could go broke over not having adequate health insurance and prescription drug benefits. I am going to the gym at least 3 times a week and working on an exercise regimen that will keep me strong. That way if I do get sick, it will be a little easier for me to bounce back from it.
My son turns 5 in a couple of weeks and my husband is working his tushy off to try to get us ahead of the curve. My work is constantly at risk (if only minimally) of being cut or eliminated (that might be a bit over exaggerated) due to the Governor and State budget issues. All of these things point to change for the better.
Tuesday was my late father's birthday. I spent a lot of the day in a funk and finally realized that it would have been his birthday and that I miss him.
Wednesday was therapy day and I learned a lot. This therapist is amazingly good. I've been willing to talk about the possibility that I'm depressed - if not clinically - then by nurturing, and want to get out of my current isolative ways.
Today I'm sick. Neighbors are watching Twig while I rest. Uh, I mean, write (Wood is working till about 1am tonight).
There hasn't been time to sit and write lately. Facebook is a faster way to write but it's 1)mundane at best, 2)a time-suck and 3)I should give it up; focus on writing here instead.
This is boring stuff, I know. But for the moment, it's just practice for writing quickly and getting my message across concisely. Does it work?
How We Met – in the spring of 1991
A burly bo-hunk jock acquaintance (he actually was a right-wing Christian missionary assigned to the College to lure young girls into Church with his good looks so as to save their souls) told me of some friends of his that were in quite a predicament – they had this kitten – and because of it had been given an ultimatum. They had been told that the choice was theirs to make; it was either the cat or the apartment. Their response and plan was quite simple. The kitten would be sent to the pound. (apartments are much harder to come by than cats after all).
He had probably pegged me as a Crazy Cat Lady (as well as in need of soul-saving). After all, he had been to my house and knew I already had one cat.
Almost before he had completed his description of his friends’ problems, and with not one ounce of hesitation, I had agreed to take the cat. No, that's wrong - I didn't agree to take the cat, I decided to.
A couple of days later, Jock arranged for me to go to the girls' apartment to pick up the kitten. I would have never been invited to, nor willingly visited these girls or this apartment building under any other circumstance. But, I had been raised with the understanding that pets weren’t something to be ‘thrown away’ when it was inconvenient and accordingly, I was on a mission to do right by this cat. It wasn’t her fault that she had been adopted by people with limited foresight.
I cautiously walked into the apartment and see a sweet and rather demure cat sitting on one of the dining room chairs. I thought "poor kitty," asked her name, swooped her up into the cat carrier, and ran her home to Mr. K (my feral Grey Tuxedo Cat) as quickly as I could.
How We Lived
Mr. K and I had lived together alone for about a year when Maggie arrived on the scene. She made herself at home in no time, and within a few minutes of arriving in my apartment, had found herself a padded dining room chair and planted herself there as if there had been no real change in scenery. That evening, Mr. K and I were all cuddled up in the dark having a little snuggle fest, relaxing, and getting’ close to a full set of ‘ZZZ’s when all of a sudden out of nowhere that beast pounced on us – scaring the b’jeezus out of us. All three of us jumped about 3 feet off of the bed, pillows and comforter flying all over the place. Mr. K was gone – into the closet or under the bed – who knew where…or for how long… Oh, I was mad – and I let her know about my feelings too - it would take hours, maybe days for my feral friend to relax enough to show his face anywhere near me… or her. From that night forward, there was a battle for sleeping rights. You know who won. She would simply take what she wanted.
If you ever visited me, you met Maggie. Whether you were a cat person or not, upon your entrance to my home, she would introduce herself to you. And she did so very loudly. She was a talker like none other.
If you were an adult, she would find her way to your lap and scream until you gave her some love. And you would give your love. Because that’s what she wanted. If you liked cats, you'd give her a succession of firm pats on her haunches and while you did it she'd scream "mooorrrre, mooorrreee". Even after you had stopped. If you walked away, she’d follow, telling you what she wanted – over and over and over again. She was insatiable.
If you were a kid, she'd hiss at you. With ears pressed to her cheeks and her eyes almost closed, she’d try with all her might to remain invisible. But try as she may, it was not possible for her. She knew what she liked and what she didn’t like. She swatted at my 6 month old niece who was sleeping peacefully in her wicker bassinet on the living room floor. And even after being told that Maggie was a mean, nasty thing that didn't like kids and would scratch, Wood's niece touched Maggie on the paw (or some other equally non threatening part of her body) with her index finger, and in her unadulterated Maggie fashion slapped that girl upside her head – and left claw holes in her temple! She was not afraid to speak her mind and she would never retreat.
Because I lived mostly in apartments that didn't allow pets, Maggie and Mr. K were indoor cats. At first, the justification was property management companies and fear of getting caught. As time went on I was afraid of busy streets and things beyond my control (like the Radiator Fluid that had killed Miss Kitty a year earlier). Mr. K was afraid of his own shadow – he’d have died of fear had he been forced to be an outdoor cat (and I tried). Maggie would have transitioned well into being an outdoor cat but I kept her inside. It was wrong to do that. She made the best of it.
Maggie would play catch with any ball that was being bounced – sailing through the room, catching it in mid air and then flattening it – tennis balls, small basketballs, hand soccer balls twice her size. She would run from anywhere to hunt and eat when I said “Maggie, Spiiiiiddddeeeerrrrrr”. Once she stood up on her back legs, caught a fly between her paws, and then chowed-down (Obama was good but not that good). A Ping Pong Ball in the bathtub was one of her favorite games (that and beat the feral-frady-cat to a pulp or holler at your captors at the top of your lungs until they go insane). She drank only fresh water out of a coffee cup on the ledge of the bathtub. And at 10 years old she learned to use the toilet instead of a litter box. She pushed limits. She was fearless.
About two years ago, I gave in to her desires to be an outdoor cat. She’d been missing the litter box for years but when I found cat pee on Twig's bed … again … I kicked her out. You. Are. Now. An. Outdoor. Cat. She was resilient.
Even at 17, that old hag had the entire neighborhood of ghetto kitties under control. She managed for the most part to keep them off of her porch, out of her food and in respect of her. Only once did she get chased by (the crazy neighbor lady's) dog, or show up with a scratch on her nose. She was fierce.
But time, and time living outside, took its toll. She lost weight, struggled to walk on cold days, and was clearly confused on others. Her fur was matted, dirty, stinky and full of fleas. If it weren’t for the all-too-familiar-howl that was her meow, I probably wouldn’t have recognized her on some occasions. In her old age she liked children - she'd be smack dab in the middle of whatever mix took place in our court – talking everyone up and getting whatever love Twig and the other neighborhood kids would give along the way. She always got what she needed.
She came with the name and for some inexplicable reason it never seemed right to change it. She was also known as: Mistress, Mistress Maggie, YOU BITCH!, Mama, Sweet Mama, Sweet Maggie, Mama's Girl, The Beast, Miss Maggie Mae, Mags, Mag Pie, Old Lady, and Maggit. She was a piece of work.
Maggie was a monumental pain in the ass and one of my closest companions for almost half of my life. We were together almost twice as long as my husband and I have been and 4 times longer than my son has been around. We've lived together in 8 apartments, in 5 cities; witnessed countless marriages, births, deaths, losses and loves. Over a period of 18 years.
In The End
We gave her simple luxuries for the last years of her life: wet food (aka: kitty crack), pillows to sleep on, kitty hotels when we traveled, pets and less firm pats on her haunches – just to make her holler in delight every now and again. She was consistent.
She had become noticeably uncomfortable from what the doctor guessed was either rotting teeth or cancer of the mouth – untreatable on either account for a cat that was “at 19, she was at the end of her life-cycle”. She wasn’t looking good.
On Friday July 3rd, 2009, I let her in the house for a little bit of cat nip, drinks of water from a coffee cup on the edge of the tub, and a nap in the sun in the Boy's room. She couldn’t comfortably eat the nip, was noticeably afraid of every move the kid made, and huddled under the bed with a nasty look on her face. She was frail.
We cuddled for a while in the examination room. She nuzzled her face in my arm and rested her chin on her paws like she would do whenever I sat at the computer writing. But even though she purred her tail swatted me every now and again. This was not the girl I was used to. She was suffering.
I stayed with her until the very last moment of her life. After 18 years, that obnoxious, loud, dog like old-lady of a flea monger, simply because of time, proximity, and really soft fur, burrowed so deep into my heart and soul, that upon her death, I felt as if I’d died too. She was loved.
I'm off duty for a while this afternoon. Wood was at an all day training so he's outside with Twig and the neighborhood kids being the adult supervision as they ride bikes and act like the kids that they are.
I'm simultaneously drinking a glass of red wine, simmering Beef Shank for "Like French Onion Soup", browning tofu for tonight's dinner of Tassajara Tofu Cabbage Grill fooling around on the computer [by the way, are you on facebook yet? please send me a friend request if you know my non-pen name].
My Asthma is bad lately; new medications are working for short bursts of time and it's kinda got me down. I hate to take drugs and right now I'm taking many of them and several times a day.
We went to the tax man last week and learned that all of the working our asses off to get money in the bank was good - only in that we aren't in the red come April 15th, 2009. We made a fair amount of money last year and because we have little in reserves it feels as if we are living hand to mouth - paycheck to paycheck. And it kinda freaks me out a bit. I'll manage. We'll manage. Even though we're like 90% of the rest of the United States, we've both got our jobs and we've all got health insurance. And I've planted a garden. We're resourceful people and we can do anything we set our minds to.
Which reminds me. I haven't recently told you of my weight loss expedition. I've been at it since way back in August when I realized, out of sheer necessity, on a shopping excursion, that my bra size was a 34DDD. Yes, folks that is a TRIPLE D. READ: Thank you Nordstrom Lingerie Department for simply revealing the fact that I have really freaking big boobs. Now, you may say that it's not a big deal. Lots of people have big boobs. Hey now; I am not a tall woman - in sheer inches - a 34DDD was stretching it a bit. After all, I haven't been breastfeeding for more than 2 years.
A couple of serious self-talk conversations later and I's at a WeightWatchers meeting. Okay, I really got some support from Wood too and now...
I've lost nearly 20 lbs. But as of this afternoon, only one D.
I'm on a mission to lose 15 or so more lbs and two D's. Stay tuned.
I'm not angry anymore. It's interesting what a bit of time can do. Well, time and a good temper-tantrum.
Wood has agreed to give up a bit of responsibility in one thing in order to take on some more in another. Apparently I will not even notice the other (newest) obligation as meetings will take place during the workday.
Fine. Really; in my heart of hearts I know he wants to partake in additional activities that will improve his professional standing. And in all honesty, I want to support that. It's just hard to adjust to the changes.
What is a real struggle lately is the rage - yes, an unadulterated and fierce rage - emanating from our most adorable 4.5 year old. We aren't sure exactly where it comes from but when it does, it's complete with running, throwing, hitting, kicking, spitting, and biting. It's generally directed at me. It's generally something that lasts longer than I have energy for. And it's an emotional roller coaster.
My reproductive dreams aren't recurring lately. They are quelled by my husband's seeming unwillingness to discuss the subject of a 'numero dos' and the anger of Twig; the fear that we don't have what it takes to manage him as it is, and the wonder that surfaces sometimes after our super-duper intense start-and-stop-on-a-dime battles with him: will the bi-polar disorder my father had be present in the life of my offspring?
At the same time I feel stronger than I've felt in a while. My asthma which has been terribly out of control for months now seems to be responding to new medication. My husband seems to be in sync with his feelings of wanting to move on from his current employer - and willing to act on those feelings. I've been working out a few times a week - even lost 17 lbs (only about 17 more to go) - and my back pain seems to be a bit less intense.
But I'm beat. More literally than otherwise. I wonder if tomorrow there will be bruises on my face or simply remnants of my bruised ego. I'm gonna sleep on it and get back to you later.
I'm furious.
Exactly which part of "Don't you DARE [take on another elected position/work responsibility]!" do you think didn't get through?
Every last freaking bit of it.
It took me almost a full day to become one with it. But man am I pissed.
He said he called to tell them he couldn't do it. But she already put his name on the ballot. Asked him to run anyway and if he won to resign. She was worried that they would run unopposed if he didn't.
What was he supposed to do? That was his question of me. And I didn't even get mad when he said it. I knew in my heart of hearts that he wanted to do it.
Clearly she saw him coming a mile away: New, young guy that probably wants to go places. I can rope him in...
She did just that. Their slate ran un-freaking-opposed. He was a god-damned shoe in.
Worst part of it all: my husband does not resign.
So I'm seeing red: again, family comes second. Or at least that's how it seems. And again, home comes last.
Now, even if we wanted to, we don't have the time to take a vacation. Finish the 'Man Room', socialize, or anything else that doesn't resemble work.
Whoever that b*tch is that manipulated my husband into doing this - I swear I'll beat her ass when I meet her.
Oh, he's gonna get it, too. Don't you worry.
I've never participated in a Meme, until now. When it came my way, I almost didn't do it. It felt weird at first. But then as I considered it more, it began to become interesting...to think about what random things 1) other people might find interesting and 2) that I'd really like to share about myself on the internet. It got my mind working and my fingers typing, writing something that isn't work related. It was kinda fun.
Since I finished, I've been thinking that the idea writing of "25 random things about me" could be modified (thanks to a couple of friends) to write 25 things about a particular person, point in time, or subject - to really remember something important - and then use it as a starting off point for a story. Yeah. A story.
Please feel free to write your own 25 things and share. That would be interesting, too.
1. I found myself when I found myself in Fresno.
2. I'm a "glass half-empty" kinda gal. It's not really my nature to be that way. It's really the way of my nurture.
3. I met my dad at a Walgreen's Coffee Shop in a shopping Mall when I was 11 years old.
4. In 1985 I was the only - and probably the first ever - girl to take wood shop in my high school. The instructor "Dick" (No, really), had to re-think his response to kids asking to go to the bathroom when it came to me. He realized that he couldn't tell me to put a rubber band on it.
5. In high school also I drove a $300 puke orange 1971 Ford Pinto (yes, the kind that exploded if rear-ended), partook in a few less than desirable activities, dated a guy 5 years older than me, and worked in a toy shop as a gift wrapper.
6. My step-dad would never stop to let me go to the bathroom when we were on family road-trips. No matter how much I cried, begged, and pleaded. He'd say "at the next exit" and every time, he'd pass it by. I thought he was being a mean, horrible, and awful person. Then I grew up and began to understand what it must have been like to be an interracial couple in the 70's.
7. It felt good to be on television spouting liberalism while at the same time serving country club folk who underwrote, in the form of automatic 18% gratuities, my non-work time activities. Yes it did.
8. Boys are better than girls. Mostly. There are a few exceptions.
9. I share my birthday with George Carlin, Burt Bacharac, Florence Nightingale, Katharine Hepburn, and one of my best friends - Bridget.
10. My BEFRI talked me into attending community college. She convinced me that the toy-shop gig wasn't going to take me where I wanted to go. Despite the fact that I had no idea where the hell that was...
11. Growing up, the library was my sanctuary. I love telling my son: "we can find out more about that - I'm sure there's a book at the library."
12. Can you imagine, playing the flute (2nd chair), smoking cigarettes, and being asthmatic...concurrently?
13. I like rules, boundaries, and structure. Except when it doesn't suit me. And it used to not suit me most of the time. I'm a little older and wiser now.
14. This meme thing has been a great way to practice remembering.
15. I blog in relative anonymity. I want to write my story and have it read in relative celebrity. I'd love to get comments from readers more often (although, I adore the ones I get from a couple of regular readers!).
16. I'm the oldest of 6; 3 are siblings by marriage and 2 by blood. But technically, I'm an only child.
17. Being called a "disobedient wench" was one of the best compliments I've ever received.
18. I once saw a tarot reader who said I'd be very lucky throughout my life. Past, present, future - she was right on.
19. The best day of my life was the day I married Wood. I make a conscious decision to be married every waking moment of every day. Because we can make 'this' be anything we want it to be. That's the benefit of having few good role models. You know what you don't want to do.
20. I'm competitive. Mostly with myself. I often strive to be a type B+ personality.
21. I want to travel the world. Anywhere - everywhere...
22. I have a dream of living in NY, NY.
23. Pregnancy, labor, delivery, and breastfeeding were the most difficult things I've ever done with my body.
24. Whenever considering names for a child it is important to test not only the way the full name sounds in the fit of a parent's anger, but also in the fit of a lover's passion. They grow up and do grown up things after all.
25. You can ask me anything you want to. And while I'll very likely answer any questions with complete and utter honesty, I always reserve the right to refuse to answer. Just in case.
26. I'm not good at following rules. I'll probably keep adding to this list. Maybe someday it'll be 100 random things about me...
Thanks for reading.
Had the dream again the other night. Except this time I wasn't strong and ready to give birth.
I was busy helping a friend work toward getting a new job, moving toward a place where she would be able to get what she wanted in her life. Coaching, supporting, guiding toward a new and necessary place. So that we could find our way on to writing a new, exciting, happier chapter in our relationship.
But the pregnant part was, well, more like my real life experience was with Twig. Not so strong, not so womanly, not so sure about this whole being a mommy thing. The labor wasn't entirely right and my support system, was irrelevant. My bow-tie wearing OB wasn't around. I was alone in a dark and lonely place. Unsure of what I was undertaking and completely on my own to do it.
It was downright Scary. Just like real life can be.
And that's pretty much a metaphor for my life right now. Wood wants a new gig. I want another baby. He's willing to talk about it. I'm scared of being alone in my desire and if he's also interested, incapable of getting what I want because of my health, psychological state, age, or any other intangible and unpredictable reason. I ain't no spring chicken any more. I have considered that "middle age" number looming large in a few months could be spurring this on a little bit.
But the truth is that it's not a logical desire. It's biological. Mostly. I've been watching way too much Learning Channel TV, I guess. These people and other middle-america folk like 'em make me a little uncomfortable. On the one hand they've helped me remember that I've always wanted a large family! (four boys was what I always told my mom) On the other, that I believe that we, the left-leaning-tree-hugging-birkenstock-wearing-critical thinking-granola-ites that we are should have more kids! YES, really, we should. Frankly, I think it's rather irresponsible not to have more than one kid. Or worse yet, only a cat or a dog. Especially when they and many of their friends are having small villages all by their little lonesomes. They're growing an army of conservative voters.
Our friends' pets, treated better than some children of this world (nevertheless love 'em to death), can't vote!
You heard me correctly. My desire to have another little rug-rat that will simply complicate my life in oh-so-many ways I can't begin to fathom, is not only physical. It's Political.
But that's all of the words I have on the subject for right now. It's not too well argued. I apologize for that.
They said I'd never forget. Well, I haven't. I'm sure I never will.
Yet, there's this recurring dream that wakes me up every few weeks. I had it again last night.
I'm pregnant. Feeling the baby move. Big belly, glowing, strong, healthy, ready to give birth.
We decided a long time ago - as a couple - that we didn't want to do the new-parent thing again. Really, we talked about all of the pros and cons and financial considerations and decided quite rationally that it's something we don't want to do.
But this dream keeps waking me up. And it's not just a night-time dream. I think. So when it woke me this morning, I told Wood about it.
"So is that what you want, to be pregnant?
"I don't think so. I mean, when I think rationally about all of the things that being pregnant means, it's pretty easy to talk myself out of it. But, at the same time, I want a different experience. But that's not rational, and even though I don't understand it completely, you don't want to do it again.
"So, you're saying that you want to have another kid but you've not talked to me about it because I said don't want to do it?
"Well, yeah, you don't want to. Besides, do you enjoy being a parent?
"Yeah! I do. But I don't know about managing everything - I don't do well with all of the pressure.
My sister and I talked today. Turns out that last night she had a dream that I was pregnant.
Weird.
I decided a few weeks ago that I want to write my story. Wood laughed and said he was sure it was a fleeting thought. That I was high on the success of my friend that has recently had her first book published.
At first it was going to be "15-20, for life". It would be about those formative years spent trying have an adult relationship and failing miserably, only to find those experiences as the impetus for a completely different life. I've been thinking about it (pen name or real? in secrecy or public? to friends or family? How much of *my* truth to write? what about the blank spaces, how do I fill those in? Memoir? Novel? Story? Happy ending? I started another blog page but haven't posted yet.). I'm still trying to get past the laughter that emanated from he who is my life partner now, to find the thesis statement - my voice - for 15-20 for life. But it's not 15-20 for life. It's much more than that.
I can't quite get the total story yet. I think it starts somewhere in an oh-so-safe-suburban home where an 8 year old girl writes about her life and frustrations with complete and utter honesty in her notebook only get an ass-whoopin' that haunts her ability to write to this day. "So, you think suburbia's safe, huh?"
I'm trying to give birth. To something brave, strong, healthy and true. It's a story. And maybe a baby too.
As my boy sleeps, and my husband works, I clean the house. Cleaning and organizing the bathroom, medicine closet, toy chest, desk - is the time when I collect and organize my thoughts.
I've been off work for the past 10 days. My "vacation" is spent at home with Twig because his school is on Winter Holiday and the Holiday Season is the busiest time of year at Wood's work.
Only one of our play dates worked out due to the illnesses of other kids, and my list of things to do: build corner bookshelves for Twig's room. When I mentioned it to Wood he said "You, and power tools?" So I asked a friend of ours who's been remodeling his entire kitchen to help me. His response was "Sure. But why doesn't Wood do it?" We met and did most of the work on Tuesday.
Twig was a bit of a handful Thursday and Friday. Turns out his power surge was the precursor to being sick with a cough and stuffy nose. By Sunday he had an elevated temperature, the day before I'm supposed to go back to work.
I planned to go to my Weight Watchers meeting and the Gym on Saturday morning. As I was preparing to leave, Wood said "Don't go. I'll miss you." I had an amazing 4.2 lb. weight loss, ran into the wife of a friend who I'd like to spend more time with, and had a fantastic workout - 45 minutes of cardio and a bunch of stretching.
Saturday night I hung out with a couple of friends. Wood was melancholy as soon as I began to get ready for my departure - by putting Twig to bed.
It feels good taking care of myself.
When we discussed the fact that Twig would not go to school on Monday, it was almost without hesitation that I was to be the one staying home. I sort of set it up that way - offered to stay home on Monday because I have to work on Tuesday. Wood certainly did not argue. If anything, he kept quiet.
This morning I asked if there was any way he'd be able to come home early so I could go to work for a couple of hours. After all, I have been off and nearly 100% responsible for parenting for the past 10 days. Yes, it was my fault that I was on again today - I should have expected him to stay home. But, I guess in a typical female sort of way, I wanted him to step up to the plate and say "No, no. You've been home for the last 10 days. You need to go to work, I'll stay home." But he didn't. And he probably never will.
I think he's depressed, unhappy and lonely. Disinterested in being a parent. And he's so much more emotional and sensitive than I'd ever imagined.
He isn't talking about it - with me or anyone. Instead he drinks a couple of drinks a day, has been asking for sex continuously, and is generally nasty to me and Twig. Based upon his recent netflix activity (I'm through with white girls - for this longtime commitment-phobe to settle down, he'll have to drastically change his ways; Romance and Cigarettes - this twist on the not-so-ordinary tale of adultery and salvation; The Big Bad Swim - follows the life-altering journeys of soon-to-be-divorced schoolteacher, stripper, and swim instructor Noah. Held back by their past heartbreaks, the three learn that sometimes the only way to move on is to take a really big plunge.), I'd say something is going on.
God forbid I'm cleaning the bathroom and he sideswipes me.
Why in the world do we take young children to the grocery store? Besides the obvious need to buy food to feed them and keep them alive?
We did have a discussion before we got out of the car about what we were going to buy (soyrizo, tortillas, cheese, tomatoes and fruit). We did let him walk and ride the cart until he nearly knocked it over on top of some poor unsuspecting lady trying to choose sweet potatoes. We did explain that we had to pay for and wash the apple before eating it. But he didn't quit.
We were doing pretty well in the produce section. Even though he was saying, at the top of his lungs, "Mommy, I want cheese... I want a smoothie... I want a sandwich... I want a ripe mango..." all the while bouncing around in the cart like a caged wild animal trying to escape. But by the time we made it to the refrigerated prepackaged salsa section, my requests to "Please sit down and stop grabbing at the food." were falling on deaf ears.
You undoubtedly know how this goes... There are five things on your list. The plan is to get in and out of the store as quickly as possible. But the kid starts in, and your spouse is asking questions. There are people to dodge, there are labels to read and choices to make. And somethings gotta give.
In this particular instance, I didn't forget anything on my list. Instead, while looking directly into his eyes I said "Damn it Twig, you need to stop because I'm about ready to knock you up-side your head!" Just then, I looked up to see a complete stranger give me a look of sheer disgust. Her face said it all: "You are an awful-horrible-parent-person-and-I-don't-like-your-tone." Just before I turned around and walked away from the cart and my lack of parenting skill, I'm sure that my face said to her something like "and if you keep looking at me, you're next bitch."
Wood took over right about then. I grabbed salsa, tortilla chips and cheese and we all got in line as quickly as possible.
We should have known better than to take a nap-free 4 year old to the market after riding bikes at the park for nearly an hour and a half. We should have known he was due for a 'power surge'.
Unedited so sorry for any redundancies.
For the life of me, I could not muster any of the brainpower needed today to shop at IKEA - IKEA, people. It's IKEA, you say? NO! There's no excuse - Twig decided that he wanted to go to IKEA's childwatch so that I could shop alone. Of course I let him go - free childcare?!
I simply wandered around the store with only the memory of a memory of what I wanted, much less needed, to get to work on Twig's bedroom project that's been clamoring around my mind. Just like the faint, illegible marks on a chalkboard after it's been erased, my mind wouldn't let me see anything - everything was all smeared together; dirty, cloudy and dusty.
My mind is gone. Gone, I tell you. And no, this is not temporary. It happens all the bleeping time.
Even when I do have the time and space to think - unencumbered by the clamor of my family - my ideas don't form into anything substantive. And don't even mention the times when I'm getting paid to use my melon, or when I have an audience (especially of my peers) - things get even worse.
That word, you know the one... that fantabulous SAT word worth, like, 100 points, that used to sit there on the tip of my tongue for a second or two and then find it's way into the conversation at the perfect time, with the perfect cadence...well, it can't seem to make the four inch journey from my head to my mouth. My words aren't anywhere near my tongue any more. They must be in my little pinkie toe.
What the you-know-what? I'm not pregnant so that's an unreasonable excuse. No longer breastfeeding. I'm not 40 (yet).
Jeez.
A week or so ago I got a bug-up-my-butt to build corner shelves for Twig's room. Wood's not interested in doing such a project with me. Maybe he doesn't want me using 'his' tools. Who knows? So, I asked a friend who has been rebuilding his entire kitchen to help me out.
Sure, I absolutely could have done it on my own. But it would have taken 4 times as long and created 20 times the frustration. And it's something I've always done with the men in my life. Mom's first husband, Mr. T (and the boys) in High School Wood Shop, Crooked Nose Tom, Uncle Mike, Wood, and now, Twig and Eee.
Working on this project made me think of the times spent with these great people. I miss Crooked Nose Tom in particular. He was quite the craftsman, and we spent some of our best father-daughter time re-finishing furniture, building beautiful and functional things, in his little garage workshop.
Since the project is a little less than half done, there will probably be more on this subject. Actually, there will be a photo at least.
Last night, I had a dream about needing to quit smoking, an appointment with the doctor, and being pregnant with another September baby. It was at the exact same time hubbie was having a dream that someone was breaking into our house (and - accidentally - hit me in the face).
So, I went to an on-line dream dictionary and learned that smoking really means that I have trouble letting people in my life. What I really need to do is stop trying to shield myself and others from my emotions (that could be dangerous).
The Doctor could be one of three things; strife amongst members of my family (check), a need for emotional and spiritual healing (check); it could be highlighting some medical concerns (check) and/or indicate the need for a check up (can you say Asthma out of control?).
The pregnancy piece is a bit more complicated. I think for me it represents the "birth of a new idea, direction, project or goal". When I told Wood about it, he laughed at me. The dream interpretation also said that pregnancy may also symbolize some aspect of my personal life that is growing or changing. And while I can't identify exactly what that could be at the moment, the piece of the dream that included the month of September apparently signifies a positive outlook - even good luck and fortune. I think that's very nice.
I received my long-awaited copies of Sweet Charlotte's Seventh Mistake today and was consumed with reading every single page the moment I got home.
"Wow, I've never seen you this way before" Said Hubbie.
"That's not true; I was like this when your mom turned me on to the Octavia Butler books. Remember? It was before Twig."
Reading the Flowers in the Attic books as a teenager, I was exactly the same way. Compulsive and mesmerized.
This is the same. But different.
I'm mesmerized by the story not just because it's written by someone I know. But because it's the story of someone that I know that I knew way back when. No, more like she knew her.
We're not them anymore. And still she can't be conjured up (or maybe she won't be conjured up). The compulsion centers on the possibility that reading and re-reading her memories and studying her photos will miraculously allow some deeply buried memory to break through. To allow a breakthrough - before something unexpected surfaces and she rages like she would have, way back when.
It's got me thinking... maybe she can't remember for the same reasons her memories are so vivid. Could it be that each is a form of acceptance of what was and what could never be?
No. Her fears have been faced; published for the whole world to see. She's simply afraid to unearth... something...
As I wrote Two Decades, the sadness crept it's way into me again. Indeed, I had set most of it aside as I read the email. I was at work after all and even though I have an office with a door, it simply was an inappropriate time to experience the crusty and oh-so-complex feelings around the man that I fell in love with (at first sight) when I was 15 years old.
By the time I clicked the PUBLISH POST button, the tears were unsuspectingly welling up just as they had when I read his response. As I re-read the post to ensure there weren't too many obvious errors that needed to be edited after the fact, my cheeks were well streaked. Despite the fact that I was the parent-of-the-morning-on-duty and that I had closed the laptop (as if doing so would shield me from the surge building), it all came pouring out. Hoping for a few moments to feel (and process) in private, and that the shower would be less enticing than toys, I mustered up all the strength in my gut to tell Twig with my usual voice that I was going to bathe. Thank god he was engrossed in something.
The process of shampoo, detangling solution, soaping up and rinsing off was slower than usual as I sobbed and gasped for air during the entire routine. When I stepped out, my face, staring back at me in the mirror, was unfamiliar. I don't recognize, nor understand, me at this moment.
The last time I experienced such a wave of unbridled emotion was a couple of years ago when my Dad died. And about 6 years before that when my step dad died.
But my First Love is not dead. And as you know, he never was.
The truth is that our relationship was so tumultuous that when I was done, I walked away and never looked back.
Until. An. Email. About celebrating the marriage of our friends. A marriage that's lasted almost 20 years... And because of it, I've regressed to the age of 20.
He and I made big plans together and then walked away from them. We didn't honor our promises to one another. We moved on, made new lives for ourselves.
But we never sat down and had a cup of coffee together (who cares that I didn't even drink coffee back then). We never decompressed.
The bridge burned. The embers died, ashes blew away. Nothing here and now resembles anything that was and yet...
Jewelery and her Beau got married almost 20 years ago. Jewlery and I were best friends, Beau and He were really good friends.
He and I moved in together about one month before the wedding. Three weeks later I was done and promptly left. It was a tumultuous relationship. The ending was too.
I was her maid of honor. He was in the Wedding party too.
It could have been explosive. It was exciting though; Beau's brother and I started a thing the day of the wedding.
Fast forward four marriages, 7 kids, and 20 years. (just those of us from the wedding party and written of here)
I did an exhaustive internet search for Him a few years ago. I was obsessed with the thought of having a cup of coffee with him. It was a monumentally important relationship. Some questions still bounce around in my head. It wasn't always bad all of the time. Or was it? Time and perspective could be interesting concepts to explore with Him.
I never did anything with the contact information that I found. I purposefully lost it. He lives in the same place as he always did. Jewlery tells me what she knows every now and again - if my curiosity gets the best of me - and I happen to ask her.
He and Beau aren't on talking terms. Me and Beau aren't either. Jewelery and I don't talk as much as we would like to. . That's what happens over 30 years of knowing other people. Relationships become complicated.
I searched for Him again last week. He wasn't anywhere on the internet.
Eventually I found His wife.
I wrote to him, via his wife, about the pending 20 year wedding anniversary. I didn't think about it much, I just hit Send.
Thematic Photographic - Installment II
In my final semester of college, I decided to take a fun class. After three years of more-than-full-time studies, political activism, and working two jobs, I needed a creative outlet. I chose photography - the class was black and white and required all students to have a manual camera and 35mm film.
I don't remember the exact assignment given but I do remember the outcome... one very early Sunday morning I drove South in search of my subject. This is a digital picture that simply doesn't do justice to the original - the side of a rail car that was parked in a (thank-god-I-didn't-know-it-at-the-time) dangerous train yard frequented by some of the most dangerous gangs in central California. Although It was completely deserted while I was there, I wasn't entirely comfortable and got the hell out of dodge as soon as the picture was snapped.
Turns out this photo is one of two taken that day. Also turns out that these (Installment III will be posted later this week) were two of 5 photographs chosen by my instructor (among all classes of all levels) to be displayed in the student art exhibition that year. It was the first time in the history of the University that photography was a medium worthy of display at such an event. Thanks Written, Inc. for reminding me of this interest. It's a bunch of fun.
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