It is so important to try and take away something meaningful from every day. That's why I write this blog. I like to prove to myself that I can come up with something interesting or amusing to write about everyday...well, almost everyday. I just don't have that kind of time people! Inquisitive readers have asked me what inspires me to write my blogs. I try to focus on events that will resonate with the majority, things that might make someone stop and think, "wow, I thought that only happened to me". I have found that it is pretty important to stay away from topics that are either grossly offensive, or just plain gross (like Isabella's insistence on eating her boogers). It is also wise to avoid overly specific references to individuals who likely DO NOT know you are blogging about them...Talk about awkward! Some days, however, coming up with clever material for a blog is just far too taxing. Take tonight, for example. I was feeling a little dry for material, so I asked some co-workers if they had any good suggestions. Stumped though they were, I now find myself inspired by the wit of one co-worker...We will call him, *Saul* (names have been changed to protect the innocent). Saul has a personal motto, one that he is hoping to somehow incorporate into the workplace. You know, because you can never have too many corporate buzz phrases! His is somewhat unique, however. Although I am sure I am doing his motto a grave disservice in my translation of it, it is essentially this:
"One black eye, and well...shit happens. Two black eyes and you're just stupid".
That wasn't exactly his suggestion for a blog (his actual suggestion had to do with pondering the query: Money or Love. Dude, that's a one-word blog...How boring would that be!). He had, in fact, shared his motto with me some time back. And it does have me thinking...Really, how true it is. Learning life's little lessons can be like being sucker-punched . You don't always see it coming, and can be powerless to stop it. If you have never been on Shiner's List, you may not be able to really get the true gist of this message, but I think that it probably speaks to many different situations, not all involving bruising. I got a black eye once. Once. I never fought with a doorknob again. But I think for many of us, Saul's motto is the equivalent of "fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice, then I am just stupid and need to pay more attention to things". We can all relate to that. How many times do have to make the same mistake before we just stop making it? I guess it just depends on the scenario, the person, and their will. I know that I repeat the same dreadful mistakes over and over again. And it's not because I am stupid. It's because I am optimistic. Oh, stop laughing...I am optimistic. I keep hoping that the outcomes will be different, better...and although they have seldom been better, and different is not always a good thing, I still hold out hope. I could live my life with the proverbial two black eyes and never make any attempt at concealing them. I am just no good at hiding what's going on inside. It always shows on the outside.
You know what, Saul was right about something else, too...Shit does happen. Shit happened in my closet AGAIN this morning (I really am starting to hate that fucking dog). But like the black eyes, shit is manageable. You can choose to clean the shit up, or you can leave it there to get really stinky. And hard. If you don't find the shit in time, it gets really hard. Oh, sorry...I forgot about my earlier promise to avoid the "gross" topics. Anyway, today's life lesson is this: pick up the shit, dodge the sucker punches, learn from your mistakes. As I said before, I may struggle everyday to master these lessons, and it's not because I am stupid...It's because otherwise I would have absolutely NOTHING to write about.
Thanks Saul. You're a peach.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow...
It's inevitable. I am going to cut my hair.
I have been growing it out in a desperate attempt to redefine my femininity. Or at least, my version of femininity...However askew it may be. Although I usually get a great deal of positive comments on my ultra-short hair, I have been obsessed with to have, or not to have, the length. A little hair history: I have had super-short hair for a good portion of my adult life. When I was is high school, my hair came to the middle of my back, blonde and straight. I truly believe that my Mom is still struggling with the loss of that hair. I began cutting in in my Junior year of college. I went from good ol' traditional Southern past-the-shoulder length, freshly styled with the hot rollers locks to inch long layers within a year. Haven't looked back since.
Funny and true story...I got married in Key West, Florida during "Women's Week". Just in case you aren't clear on how to translate "Women's Week", it is a week long celebration of all things lesbian. Anyway, at the time I had extremely short hair. Let me just say, short hair does not make one a lesbian. It might help you get laid if you are one...But I am not, so the potentially mannish hairstyle wasn't sexually premeditated...Anyway, the evening of the wedding, all is normal. Vows, sweat, tears, Bridezilla and all that. (Melinda, I am still so sorry for not taking that picture with you. I may not be a lesbian, but I sure am a bitch). After the ceremony, my betrothed and I went to Schooner's Wharf for a beer. I went in full bridal regalia. I got my beer and headed to the ladies room. After completing my business, mostly consisting of wrangling my boobs back into my wedding dress properly, I was absconded by a rather large group of drunk lesbians. They were sooooo happy for me, and kept saying, "only in Key West"!!! over and over. I figured pretty quickly that they thought I was a partner in the p-word, and had just married a fellow female. Do you know I actually had a little guilt when I said "oh, I just married a MAN"?! There was a moment's silence, then some half-hearted "congratulations, anyway".
I will never forget how happy those women were for me when they thought that I had committed to my same-sex partner -- for life -- there in Key West, a haven for homosexuals. My heart breaks for all of the same-sex couples that have been together waaaaaaaay longer than my husband and I have, and quite possibly have more love for each other then my husband and I have, yet aren't allowed the same rights and privileges. Do you know the struggles a same-sex couple had to go through, not long ago, if a partner passed away? Most often, they had no rights as a partner, no say in how the matters of death should be handled. It is likely that the one individual who KNEW what the other wanted, could not act as executor of those wishes. What if it were you? What if you told your life partner all of the things you would want accomplished in your absence...only to see those things disappear along with you. Sad.
I know that many of you may not agree. You know what, that's okay. That is what makes this world an amazing place. We can all freely think what we choose and love who we choose. It is only fitting, then, that we should be free to marry who we choose. It may not be romantic, but the legal matters of living and dying should be in the hands of those who love us the most. If you live here in Florida, I strongly encourage you to vote "NO" on the Florida Marriage Amendment Act that will be on the 2008 ballot. It is not the governments responsibility to tell people how to love. They are perfectly within their rights to police behavior when it comes down to me killing my husband (ha ha, a joke, do not print this and save it for the trial), but they are NOT within their rights to police whether or not same-sex couples should be allowed the same marital rights as opposite-sex couples. Quite frankly, a good 65-70% of the opposite-sex couples I know practice anal sex on the regular, so sodomy just doesn't qualify as a justification, in my book...
I have been growing it out in a desperate attempt to redefine my femininity. Or at least, my version of femininity...However askew it may be. Although I usually get a great deal of positive comments on my ultra-short hair, I have been obsessed with to have, or not to have, the length. A little hair history: I have had super-short hair for a good portion of my adult life. When I was is high school, my hair came to the middle of my back, blonde and straight. I truly believe that my Mom is still struggling with the loss of that hair. I began cutting in in my Junior year of college. I went from good ol' traditional Southern past-the-shoulder length, freshly styled with the hot rollers locks to inch long layers within a year. Haven't looked back since.
Funny and true story...I got married in Key West, Florida during "Women's Week". Just in case you aren't clear on how to translate "Women's Week", it is a week long celebration of all things lesbian. Anyway, at the time I had extremely short hair. Let me just say, short hair does not make one a lesbian. It might help you get laid if you are one...But I am not, so the potentially mannish hairstyle wasn't sexually premeditated...Anyway, the evening of the wedding, all is normal. Vows, sweat, tears, Bridezilla and all that. (Melinda, I am still so sorry for not taking that picture with you. I may not be a lesbian, but I sure am a bitch). After the ceremony, my betrothed and I went to Schooner's Wharf for a beer. I went in full bridal regalia. I got my beer and headed to the ladies room. After completing my business, mostly consisting of wrangling my boobs back into my wedding dress properly, I was absconded by a rather large group of drunk lesbians. They were sooooo happy for me, and kept saying, "only in Key West"!!! over and over. I figured pretty quickly that they thought I was a partner in the p-word, and had just married a fellow female. Do you know I actually had a little guilt when I said "oh, I just married a MAN"?! There was a moment's silence, then some half-hearted "congratulations, anyway".
I will never forget how happy those women were for me when they thought that I had committed to my same-sex partner -- for life -- there in Key West, a haven for homosexuals. My heart breaks for all of the same-sex couples that have been together waaaaaaaay longer than my husband and I have, and quite possibly have more love for each other then my husband and I have, yet aren't allowed the same rights and privileges. Do you know the struggles a same-sex couple had to go through, not long ago, if a partner passed away? Most often, they had no rights as a partner, no say in how the matters of death should be handled. It is likely that the one individual who KNEW what the other wanted, could not act as executor of those wishes. What if it were you? What if you told your life partner all of the things you would want accomplished in your absence...only to see those things disappear along with you. Sad.
I know that many of you may not agree. You know what, that's okay. That is what makes this world an amazing place. We can all freely think what we choose and love who we choose. It is only fitting, then, that we should be free to marry who we choose. It may not be romantic, but the legal matters of living and dying should be in the hands of those who love us the most. If you live here in Florida, I strongly encourage you to vote "NO" on the Florida Marriage Amendment Act that will be on the 2008 ballot. It is not the governments responsibility to tell people how to love. They are perfectly within their rights to police behavior when it comes down to me killing my husband (ha ha, a joke, do not print this and save it for the trial), but they are NOT within their rights to police whether or not same-sex couples should be allowed the same marital rights as opposite-sex couples. Quite frankly, a good 65-70% of the opposite-sex couples I know practice anal sex on the regular, so sodomy just doesn't qualify as a justification, in my book...
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Why? Well, because...
I have given up who I am to be someone I am not for someone else.
Why?
Well, because...I guess...
That's about the best answer I have for anything anymore. Amelia asks me why she can't jump on the couch, "because", I say. Isabella wants to know why she isn't allowed to swallow the toothpaste, "because", I tell her. There was a time I used to give them these absurdly complex answers...You can't jump on the couch, there is a chance you could fall and land on your head and have a spinal cord injury, then end up without the use of your legs. Or, you can't swallow the toothpaste, it has ingredients in it that although do a fine job cleaning your teeth, but they aren't made for consumption and can give you oily stools, potentially leading to hemorrhoids...I think you catch my drift. At some point, recently, I have just given up on the detailed answers. It's possible I might be too tired. It's possible I just don't know the answers. It's more likely that I have forgotten who I am, and thusly, cannot come up with the witty responses quickly enough.
I feel dull. Like a Ginsu knife bought off an infomercial 20 years ago, used, then never really sharpened (it was a piece of shit knife, anyway). I feel unabrasive. Quite frankly, I like being a little abrasive. I liked my serrated edge! WHAT HAS HAPPENED!
Life has happened.
But you know, my life is good. There are people in my life that make me feel very good. My children, for example. YOU, for example (yes, you...stop looking around, I am talking about you. What, are you surprised?) But something about my life has worn me down. Maybe it all goes back to not getting what I want, when I want it. But I learned a very valuable lesson this week...I think Mick Jagger put it best when he sang;
"You can't always get what you want.
No, you can't always get what you want.
You can't always get what you want.
But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need..."
So, thank you. Thank you for not necessarily giving me exactly what I wanted, but for giving me just what I needed. Maybe if I can get a little bit more of that, I just might get my edge back, too.
And just as quickly as life happened, life has also changed. And it is good.
Why?
Well, because...I guess...
That's about the best answer I have for anything anymore. Amelia asks me why she can't jump on the couch, "because", I say. Isabella wants to know why she isn't allowed to swallow the toothpaste, "because", I tell her. There was a time I used to give them these absurdly complex answers...You can't jump on the couch, there is a chance you could fall and land on your head and have a spinal cord injury, then end up without the use of your legs. Or, you can't swallow the toothpaste, it has ingredients in it that although do a fine job cleaning your teeth, but they aren't made for consumption and can give you oily stools, potentially leading to hemorrhoids...I think you catch my drift. At some point, recently, I have just given up on the detailed answers. It's possible I might be too tired. It's possible I just don't know the answers. It's more likely that I have forgotten who I am, and thusly, cannot come up with the witty responses quickly enough.
I feel dull. Like a Ginsu knife bought off an infomercial 20 years ago, used, then never really sharpened (it was a piece of shit knife, anyway). I feel unabrasive. Quite frankly, I like being a little abrasive. I liked my serrated edge! WHAT HAS HAPPENED!
Life has happened.
But you know, my life is good. There are people in my life that make me feel very good. My children, for example. YOU, for example (yes, you...stop looking around, I am talking about you. What, are you surprised?) But something about my life has worn me down. Maybe it all goes back to not getting what I want, when I want it. But I learned a very valuable lesson this week...I think Mick Jagger put it best when he sang;
"You can't always get what you want.
No, you can't always get what you want.
You can't always get what you want.
But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need..."
So, thank you. Thank you for not necessarily giving me exactly what I wanted, but for giving me just what I needed. Maybe if I can get a little bit more of that, I just might get my edge back, too.
And just as quickly as life happened, life has also changed. And it is good.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Here Comes the Rain Again
Ahh, another Friday night. It's pouring rain and my children are so sleepy they can't even think about going to bed. Normally, such a combination might leave me feeling a little less than perky, but you just have to learn to bend your mood to tolerate the rainy season in Central Florida. Rain. Everyday. Maybe several times. People all across the state will get struck by lightning today, either because they were in the wrong place at the right time, or because they are stupid. Remarkably, it is often the former. On a very consistent basis, the charming (and really quite old) news anchors report on yet another lightning-strike victim, and how the victim was innocently standing in their bathroom, while lightning hit the tree two blocks away and traveled through the sewer pipe system until it shot up their shower head and into their brain. True story! Fascinating, right?
No. Not really.
I was struck by lightning today. Again, no, not really. At least, not the kind that comes down from the sky when two opposing electrons collide and form white, hot energy. I might like to think of myself as a vessel for white, hot energy, but sadly, I am not. I am, however, a very capable vessel for alcohol...but I digress...Anyway, today started off a little rough for me. As I have previously blogged, I recently paid a visit to my OB/GYN to see about the birth contol patch to help regulate my aging hormones (yah, yah...simmer down pre/post-menopausal friends). I began using said patch last week. It's kinda interesting, it looks like the Nicorette Patch. I suppose if I needed some street cred I could flash it like it was one, claiming that the Big Tobacco giants have such a hold on my soul that I need to slap sticky, medicine laced squares on my ass...But I don't smoke. I can think of more exciting ways to slowly kill myself...Like continuing to reproduce, for example. So, as result of the additional hormones, I was feeling a little cranky, a little hostile, some might say typical Kate behavior, but I knew it was heightened somewhat, even if that subtlety was lost to the casual observer. Then, after thinking all was lost and the day was a wash...KABLAAM! The lightning struck me. It wasn't anything anyone witnessed, I won't be on the news tonight, and I am certain no one noticed much in the way of neurological effects. Just the same, I am a girl reformed.
I often forget that the simple acts of others can have such a profound effect on me. I regularly overlook, ignore, or otherwise "pooh-pooh" any kind of contribution I can make to the betterment of someone else’s day. On the outside, I am really quite selfish. But in my core, I am not. I want to give. I want to contribute. I don't want to make fun of you because you are wearing those shoes with that dress. (But, really...They don't go at all. I am just trying to help...See! I care!). However, on a day like today, when I have been struck out-of-the-blue, I feel like anything is possible. Maybe I can be a little less vapid and a little more virtuous. Maybe I can give and not take. Maybe I can be focused and not frenzied..
But then you wouldn't like me as much...
No. Not really.
I was struck by lightning today. Again, no, not really. At least, not the kind that comes down from the sky when two opposing electrons collide and form white, hot energy. I might like to think of myself as a vessel for white, hot energy, but sadly, I am not. I am, however, a very capable vessel for alcohol...but I digress...Anyway, today started off a little rough for me. As I have previously blogged, I recently paid a visit to my OB/GYN to see about the birth contol patch to help regulate my aging hormones (yah, yah...simmer down pre/post-menopausal friends). I began using said patch last week. It's kinda interesting, it looks like the Nicorette Patch. I suppose if I needed some street cred I could flash it like it was one, claiming that the Big Tobacco giants have such a hold on my soul that I need to slap sticky, medicine laced squares on my ass...But I don't smoke. I can think of more exciting ways to slowly kill myself...Like continuing to reproduce, for example. So, as result of the additional hormones, I was feeling a little cranky, a little hostile, some might say typical Kate behavior, but I knew it was heightened somewhat, even if that subtlety was lost to the casual observer. Then, after thinking all was lost and the day was a wash...KABLAAM! The lightning struck me. It wasn't anything anyone witnessed, I won't be on the news tonight, and I am certain no one noticed much in the way of neurological effects. Just the same, I am a girl reformed.
I often forget that the simple acts of others can have such a profound effect on me. I regularly overlook, ignore, or otherwise "pooh-pooh" any kind of contribution I can make to the betterment of someone else’s day. On the outside, I am really quite selfish. But in my core, I am not. I want to give. I want to contribute. I don't want to make fun of you because you are wearing those shoes with that dress. (But, really...They don't go at all. I am just trying to help...See! I care!). However, on a day like today, when I have been struck out-of-the-blue, I feel like anything is possible. Maybe I can be a little less vapid and a little more virtuous. Maybe I can give and not take. Maybe I can be focused and not frenzied..
But then you wouldn't like me as much...
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Ahh! Make it Stop!!
My oldest daughter Amelia, has been talking nonstop since she got home from camp. I am not exaggerating in any way, shape or form. Nonstop. For those of you who are thinking that she comes by it naturally, it must be genetic, or the apple doth not fall far from the tree...Fuck you. Seriously, my head is about to explode, and I am in no mood your brand of snarky humor (although, normally, I love it...you are really quite clever).
This is what I have endured since she got home, verbatim:
(Deep breath)MOM! todayatcampwecaughtafishandthefishhadswallewedthehookwholeanditwasbleedingandthen
wethrewthefishbacksoitcouldlivecauselivingissomuchcoolerthandying
BUTTERSNOohcanwewatchspiderwickchroniclesdidyouknowthatwegotityesterdayatTargetanddidyouknowthats
pritesarentreallbutwouldntitbecooliftheywereSCORE!IscoredtodayinbasketballdidyouknowthatIcanmakeabasket
inthelowerbasketbutIdontliketoplaydodgeballandZoeisbackincampthinsyearanddidyouknowthatsheisntatthe
schoolanymorejustthecampisthatbecauseherparentscantaffordtheschoolbutMollyanOliviaarentincamprightnow
doyouthinkthattheywillbeincampsoonwhatdoyouthinktheyaredoing
BUTTERSSTOPITBUTTERSdoyouwanttomakeacupofloveshouldwemakelotsofheartsherearemygreenschool
scissorsdidyouknowthesearemyschoolscissors
lookattheflywheredidtheflycomefromsomeoneshouldkillhimsohedoesntpooponourfood
STOPBUTTERSBUTTERSSTOPletswatchspongebobohmygodIwannaseespacechimpswhendoyouthinkwecan
gosespacechimpsdidyouseetheendofspiderwichchronicleswhentheogreturnedintoabirdandwaseaten
whatisthisscrewdriverforanywaydoesitgointosomebodiesbuttIthinkthatwouldbedangerous
ohmygodthisspaghettiissogoodIlikeitwhenitshomemadedidyouknowsomepeoplecantfeeltheirlipscanyoufeel
yourlipswhatdotheyfeellike...
Oh.My.God. I love her, I really do, but she is exhausting. Even the pediatrician once asked me if I would like a sample of Ritalin for her. I think he was kidding. Think.
So at my "fun" doctors appointment today (read "gynocologist"), my OB/GYN's Nurse Practitioner asked if I wanted to try the birth control patch, since I had stopped taking the pill about 6 months ago. (Long story, not interesting). I nearly hugged her. YES!!! PLEASE HELP ME PREVENT ANY FURTHER CHILDBEARING!! I am not mentally stable enough to continue reproducing. Seriously. I love my children, yet interestingly, don't love children in general. Nope, not so much. They are messy, snotty, rude, have unkempt hair and are annoying. Having children in your life everyday breaks down like this: 23 hours of total hell, 1 hour (usually not all at one time, mind you) of something even better than heaven. That 1 hour makes the other 23 completely fade away. That's how parents are able to get up everyday, in anticipation of that one hour. I often worry that I am not a good enough Mother. I wish I was more patient and I wish I never yelled. I wish that I could remember to pack Amelia's goggles for Summer Camp everyday, and I wish I knew where her fishing pole was. Despite all of my faults, many they may be, my girls tell me they love me everyday. They want to hug me and kiss me and be near me. It's really quite remarkable that they have not figured out how fucked up I really am. They are both miracles, arriving when I have needed miracles most.
So, I raise my glass to all of you who are parents, soon-to-be parents, or maybe someday parents. It is a challenging job. It will change your life forever. You get out of it incrementally what you put in to it. I would venture to say that liking children will go a long way to ensuring your success...although so far, it hasn't been a requirement for me.
Editor's Note: When I write my blogs, I take some liberties in order to provide you, my dear friend, with a little bit of humor. I don't hate children. When I was in my early 20's, I never planned on having kids. I wanted to work for the CIA and it didn't fit into the picture. I never had a "must have kids NOW" phase. Both of my daughters were planned pregnancies, eagerly anticipated and enthusiastically brought into this world (although heavily drugged). I even met a co-workers child the other day, and she was delightful...
Children are wonderful blessings, but they take every last bit of air out of a room. They give a lot back, but you never quite seem able to catch your breath. That never ends...Just ask my Mom.
This is what I have endured since she got home, verbatim:
(Deep breath)MOM! todayatcampwecaughtafishandthefishhadswallewedthehookwholeanditwasbleedingandthen
wethrewthefishbacksoitcouldlivecauselivingissomuchcoolerthandying
BUTTERSNOohcanwewatchspiderwickchroniclesdidyouknowthatwegotityesterdayatTargetanddidyouknowthats
pritesarentreallbutwouldntitbecooliftheywereSCORE!IscoredtodayinbasketballdidyouknowthatIcanmakeabasket
inthelowerbasketbutIdontliketoplaydodgeballandZoeisbackincampthinsyearanddidyouknowthatsheisntatthe
schoolanymorejustthecampisthatbecauseherparentscantaffordtheschoolbutMollyanOliviaarentincamprightnow
doyouthinkthattheywillbeincampsoonwhatdoyouthinktheyaredoing
BUTTERSSTOPITBUTTERSdoyouwanttomakeacupofloveshouldwemakelotsofheartsherearemygreenschool
scissorsdidyouknowthesearemyschoolscissors
lookattheflywheredidtheflycomefromsomeoneshouldkillhimsohedoesntpooponourfood
STOPBUTTERSBUTTERSSTOPletswatchspongebobohmygodIwannaseespacechimpswhendoyouthinkwecan
gosespacechimpsdidyouseetheendofspiderwichchronicleswhentheogreturnedintoabirdandwaseaten
whatisthisscrewdriverforanywaydoesitgointosomebodiesbuttIthinkthatwouldbedangerous
ohmygodthisspaghettiissogoodIlikeitwhenitshomemadedidyouknowsomepeoplecantfeeltheirlipscanyoufeel
yourlipswhatdotheyfeellike...
Oh.My.God. I love her, I really do, but she is exhausting. Even the pediatrician once asked me if I would like a sample of Ritalin for her. I think he was kidding. Think.
So at my "fun" doctors appointment today (read "gynocologist"), my OB/GYN's Nurse Practitioner asked if I wanted to try the birth control patch, since I had stopped taking the pill about 6 months ago. (Long story, not interesting). I nearly hugged her. YES!!! PLEASE HELP ME PREVENT ANY FURTHER CHILDBEARING!! I am not mentally stable enough to continue reproducing. Seriously. I love my children, yet interestingly, don't love children in general. Nope, not so much. They are messy, snotty, rude, have unkempt hair and are annoying. Having children in your life everyday breaks down like this: 23 hours of total hell, 1 hour (usually not all at one time, mind you) of something even better than heaven. That 1 hour makes the other 23 completely fade away. That's how parents are able to get up everyday, in anticipation of that one hour. I often worry that I am not a good enough Mother. I wish I was more patient and I wish I never yelled. I wish that I could remember to pack Amelia's goggles for Summer Camp everyday, and I wish I knew where her fishing pole was. Despite all of my faults, many they may be, my girls tell me they love me everyday. They want to hug me and kiss me and be near me. It's really quite remarkable that they have not figured out how fucked up I really am. They are both miracles, arriving when I have needed miracles most.
So, I raise my glass to all of you who are parents, soon-to-be parents, or maybe someday parents. It is a challenging job. It will change your life forever. You get out of it incrementally what you put in to it. I would venture to say that liking children will go a long way to ensuring your success...although so far, it hasn't been a requirement for me.
Editor's Note: When I write my blogs, I take some liberties in order to provide you, my dear friend, with a little bit of humor. I don't hate children. When I was in my early 20's, I never planned on having kids. I wanted to work for the CIA and it didn't fit into the picture. I never had a "must have kids NOW" phase. Both of my daughters were planned pregnancies, eagerly anticipated and enthusiastically brought into this world (although heavily drugged). I even met a co-workers child the other day, and she was delightful...
Children are wonderful blessings, but they take every last bit of air out of a room. They give a lot back, but you never quite seem able to catch your breath. That never ends...Just ask my Mom.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Are You Gonna Die??
Originally Blogged on 6/23/2008
Amelia's favorite thing to ask me these days is, "are you gonna die"?
It's a very tricky question, one that requires a whole helluva lot of thought from the respondant. However, when coming from Amelia, it is usually not phrased in such a way that a simple answer will not reveal itself rather quickly...For example, take tonights inquiry...
I was at the lake a few weeks ago with family. I got a mild sunburn on my shins (yah, I know that's retarded). My shins are now peeling a little, and Isabella noticed while she and Amelia were in the bath. She asked, "Mommy, why are your legs peeling"? I answered, "because Mommy got a sunburn", to which Amelia interjected, "ARE YOU GONNA DIE"???? From there the conversation deteriorated rather quickly. "Well, no Amelia, I am not going to die from this sunburn", I said. "In fact, Mommy's legs are peeling because new skin had grown where the old skin got a little burned, and so the old skin is peeling off". "Well, what if the skin didn't grow back", Amelia asked. "Honey, the skin will always grow back, that is what skin does". I SHOULD HAVE STOPPED HERE!! But no, I am the Mom whose children refer to themselves and others in anatomically correct ways. Amelia will dutifully inform me if her vagina (not hoo-ha, not polly, not privates...vagina) is vexing her in some way, and Isabella (just the other day) encountered her Daddy in the bathroom and declared, "Daddy, I don't like your penis". So, you can see how this is going to go, right?
So I continued, "Well, I guess the skin wont grow back if you get burned really badly". "I mean, you never want to play too closely to the grill, or play with matches, cause you could catch on fire and burn your skin right off". At this point, Amelia is horrified. She asks me, "what do you do if your skin burns off"? "Well", I tell her, "First doctors take you to the Shriner's Hospital, and there they take skin from any part of your body that didn't get burned, like your butt, and use it to make new skin". "Skin from your BUTT"? Amelia didn't like that idea, and here is why...According to her, the skin on her butt is not as tan as the skin on the rest of her body, and thusly, would be unacceptable for use. Then, she asked, "what's a Shriner".
"They wear crazy hats". I said.
"And they ride on camels". I added.
"But remember, Amelia, we always want to wash our hands if we pet or ride on camels, because sometimes they can carry germs that we don't want to get"...
"ARE WE GONNA DIE"????
Amelia's favorite thing to ask me these days is, "are you gonna die"?
It's a very tricky question, one that requires a whole helluva lot of thought from the respondant. However, when coming from Amelia, it is usually not phrased in such a way that a simple answer will not reveal itself rather quickly...For example, take tonights inquiry...
I was at the lake a few weeks ago with family. I got a mild sunburn on my shins (yah, I know that's retarded). My shins are now peeling a little, and Isabella noticed while she and Amelia were in the bath. She asked, "Mommy, why are your legs peeling"? I answered, "because Mommy got a sunburn", to which Amelia interjected, "ARE YOU GONNA DIE"???? From there the conversation deteriorated rather quickly. "Well, no Amelia, I am not going to die from this sunburn", I said. "In fact, Mommy's legs are peeling because new skin had grown where the old skin got a little burned, and so the old skin is peeling off". "Well, what if the skin didn't grow back", Amelia asked. "Honey, the skin will always grow back, that is what skin does". I SHOULD HAVE STOPPED HERE!! But no, I am the Mom whose children refer to themselves and others in anatomically correct ways. Amelia will dutifully inform me if her vagina (not hoo-ha, not polly, not privates...vagina) is vexing her in some way, and Isabella (just the other day) encountered her Daddy in the bathroom and declared, "Daddy, I don't like your penis". So, you can see how this is going to go, right?
So I continued, "Well, I guess the skin wont grow back if you get burned really badly". "I mean, you never want to play too closely to the grill, or play with matches, cause you could catch on fire and burn your skin right off". At this point, Amelia is horrified. She asks me, "what do you do if your skin burns off"? "Well", I tell her, "First doctors take you to the Shriner's Hospital, and there they take skin from any part of your body that didn't get burned, like your butt, and use it to make new skin". "Skin from your BUTT"? Amelia didn't like that idea, and here is why...According to her, the skin on her butt is not as tan as the skin on the rest of her body, and thusly, would be unacceptable for use. Then, she asked, "what's a Shriner".
"They wear crazy hats". I said.
"And they ride on camels". I added.
"But remember, Amelia, we always want to wash our hands if we pet or ride on camels, because sometimes they can carry germs that we don't want to get"...
"ARE WE GONNA DIE"????
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Well, Duh!
Originally Blogged on 7/18/2008
Some days are just better than others. Yep, I know...Not imparting some secret of the ages with you, I get that. It's just that I am regularly amazed how small, seemingly minor fluctuations in my usual routine can either make, or break, my perfect day. Well, that's a bit of a stretch. My perfect day would go as follows:
Noon: Wake up. No one will be home. Even the pets will be on errands.
12:10: Drink Champagne...Previous ten minutes spent peeing and trying to spray my two-month-old contacts clean enough for only slightly impaired vision
12:15: (It doesn't take me long to drink a glass of champagne). Contemplate Spa Day. Maybe a massage.
12:16: Remember I don't like being touched by strangers, and reconsider said Spa Day.
2:30: Change out of pajamas.
2:35: Nap.
3:35: Children and husband come home, only for a few moments, to give me hugs, kisses, and some Sweetarts, before leaving again on some adventure that I am not required to be a part of.
4:00: Meet my Mom for more champagne drinking and absurd amounts of shopping.
9:00: Weary from power-shopping, my Mom and I would go to dinner, where she would complement me on my weight-loss and give me money (that I didn't have to ask for). Then we would drink an entire bottle of wine. There would be cheese.
12:00: My grit-free bed would await (no dogs at home to grit it up, you know, they were all on errands...kinda like Lassie, but gassier). Children, already in bed and snoring (their Father's gene-pool, not mine).
That's about all I need for a perfect day...maybe more champagne, but basically, that's about it. All you sanctimonious parents out there that firmly believe your perfect day is one spent with your kids...bite me, you liars. You too want a day that doesn't involve responsibility...I see right through you and straight to your therapist! Wait! Before you hate, I recognize the societal need to be a helicopter...You know, hover over the kids at all times...I too, love my children. Really. Case in point...I spent the afternoon with Amelia and Izzy. (And I am still sober!) We went to the mall, Amelia got a haircut (don't even GET me started on how I could have saved $45 and cut the damn hair myself), we went to the Hello Kittie store (the closest thing to Nirvana), and had salmon at Brio. Well, the girls had salmon. I had two glasses of wine and some lettuce. And do you know what, it was a great day. Not a perfect day, mind you, but a great day, nonetheless. Looking across the table at what I have created with my amazing reproductive powers was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Watching Amelia toss her freshly shorn hair like something from a long lost Prell commercial nearly brought tears to my eyes. (Cause I am vain, and my pretty kids make me feel better, alright?!) She said to me tonight, over her well-intentioned Omega-3 health buffet of salmon and asparagus (followed, of course, with ice cream and 14 sticks of Hello Kittie gum), "Mommy, tomorrow when I go to camp, it will be my most perfect day ever! Do you know why Mommy"?
"No Amelia, I don't know why, tell me why it will be the most perfect day ever"
"Because, I just got a hair cut, and it is so shiny and smooth and beautiful, and I am going to be the prettiest girl at camp, and that is my most perfect day!"
"Well Amelia", I said to her, "that sounds great, but you already are the prettiest girl at camp!"
She said..."Well, duh."
And let that be a lesson to you, my friends. Your most perfect day might be happening right now, before your very eyes...Don't miss it, shake your hair (or your bald(ing) head), and recognize the fabulousness within you. My six year old can, so why the hell can't you? I mean, really...well, duh
Some days are just better than others. Yep, I know...Not imparting some secret of the ages with you, I get that. It's just that I am regularly amazed how small, seemingly minor fluctuations in my usual routine can either make, or break, my perfect day. Well, that's a bit of a stretch. My perfect day would go as follows:
Noon: Wake up. No one will be home. Even the pets will be on errands.
12:10: Drink Champagne...Previous ten minutes spent peeing and trying to spray my two-month-old contacts clean enough for only slightly impaired vision
12:15: (It doesn't take me long to drink a glass of champagne). Contemplate Spa Day. Maybe a massage.
12:16: Remember I don't like being touched by strangers, and reconsider said Spa Day.
2:30: Change out of pajamas.
2:35: Nap.
3:35: Children and husband come home, only for a few moments, to give me hugs, kisses, and some Sweetarts, before leaving again on some adventure that I am not required to be a part of.
4:00: Meet my Mom for more champagne drinking and absurd amounts of shopping.
9:00: Weary from power-shopping, my Mom and I would go to dinner, where she would complement me on my weight-loss and give me money (that I didn't have to ask for). Then we would drink an entire bottle of wine. There would be cheese.
12:00: My grit-free bed would await (no dogs at home to grit it up, you know, they were all on errands...kinda like Lassie, but gassier). Children, already in bed and snoring (their Father's gene-pool, not mine).
That's about all I need for a perfect day...maybe more champagne, but basically, that's about it. All you sanctimonious parents out there that firmly believe your perfect day is one spent with your kids...bite me, you liars. You too want a day that doesn't involve responsibility...I see right through you and straight to your therapist! Wait! Before you hate, I recognize the societal need to be a helicopter...You know, hover over the kids at all times...I too, love my children. Really. Case in point...I spent the afternoon with Amelia and Izzy. (And I am still sober!) We went to the mall, Amelia got a haircut (don't even GET me started on how I could have saved $45 and cut the damn hair myself), we went to the Hello Kittie store (the closest thing to Nirvana), and had salmon at Brio. Well, the girls had salmon. I had two glasses of wine and some lettuce. And do you know what, it was a great day. Not a perfect day, mind you, but a great day, nonetheless. Looking across the table at what I have created with my amazing reproductive powers was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Watching Amelia toss her freshly shorn hair like something from a long lost Prell commercial nearly brought tears to my eyes. (Cause I am vain, and my pretty kids make me feel better, alright?!) She said to me tonight, over her well-intentioned Omega-3 health buffet of salmon and asparagus (followed, of course, with ice cream and 14 sticks of Hello Kittie gum), "Mommy, tomorrow when I go to camp, it will be my most perfect day ever! Do you know why Mommy"?
"No Amelia, I don't know why, tell me why it will be the most perfect day ever"
"Because, I just got a hair cut, and it is so shiny and smooth and beautiful, and I am going to be the prettiest girl at camp, and that is my most perfect day!"
"Well Amelia", I said to her, "that sounds great, but you already are the prettiest girl at camp!"
She said..."Well, duh."
And let that be a lesson to you, my friends. Your most perfect day might be happening right now, before your very eyes...Don't miss it, shake your hair (or your bald(ing) head), and recognize the fabulousness within you. My six year old can, so why the hell can't you? I mean, really...well, duh
Wow! This is great!
I am so excited to bring my blog to Blogger. What an awesome forum for my crap. It's kinda like a sad garage sale, where you put your old stuff out there for strangers to pick over and discard, all the while trying to get the old woman in the housecoat to stop haggling the price on a 25 cent paperback book (that you probably borrowed/stole from someone else, anyway). I am in awe of the amazing therapeutic power of blogging. It just might be better than the surging rush of endorphins that course through my veins when I am shopping for shoes...Shopping for anything, for that matter...Oh, who am I kidding, it's not that great. But it is pretty great.
Please enjoy some of my earlier blogs while I learn to navigate this blogging platform. I promise to post new, fresh blogs for your perusal soon. Unlike the goods at my most recent garage sale, these older blogs aren't used up and stained. I am not offering them up to you like so much junky costume jewelry or used baby clothes. No, these blogs are still in their prime, and virtually free of any offending odor. I cannot say for certain their actual value, but I am NOT letting them go for anything less than 25 cents...So get off my lawn, housecoat lady!! And take your damn cats with you! Ugh...Neighbors!
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