I remember when we first switched Sophia to the facing-out position in her stroller. And how excited I originally felt for her (oh boy! check out the new view, baby!) and telling everyone who would listen how I felt, all the while secretly noticing just the smallest pangs of inner panic.
And so it begins. Already we're here and she's still so darn tiny. The beginning stages of her moving away from me. More independence every single day. Next thing we know, she's going off to college and we'll wonder where all those years went...
It was a huge worldview shift for both of us. She got to see trees and passing strollers of other little people and streetlights and faces other than mine. And I got to see other faces beaming at my beautiful child. And really life was very good.
Then came the cruising and crawling, the toddling and walking which has turned into a purposeful and spunky strut that I simply adore to watch. She begins school in the fall and despite my joy for her (and for me: some newfound freedom two days per week!), as the days count down closer to September I'm noticing again some pangs of worry. We never dealt with that whole separation anxiety thing that first year because there simply was no separation. Sophia and I have been like peas and carrots on the plate. For the most part, she's been my constant companion for two and a half years now. I've always been a late bloomer and it appears that even now this is the case. Separation anxiety comes a couple of years later than 'normal.' And instead of applying to my baby, the anxiety is all on me.
I think she will be fine. In fact, I'm sure of it. She's a social girl, despite her being home with me all this time. She's chatty and affectionate and quirky and hugely funny with grand gestures. She loves people and just sitting around shooting the shit. Even at this young age, she literally likes to hang out with a tiny coffee mug and chat with adults. Her personality is so huge, stuffed into that tiny frame. I'm often taken aback by her self-assuredness, which I suppose is not all that uncommon for a two-and-a-half year old. It just seems like she gets it already. She is so sure of what she likes and doesn't like and isn't afraid to say it. My hope is that she never loses her voice. That with age, her confidence will continue to grow, that she'll remain open to other ideas but always stay true to herself. And I guess that's how all mothers feel, right?
My hope is that come September I will feel as certain of Sophia's readiness for school....or rather, my readiness for her 'leaving me.'
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Where Did My Baby Go?
Just a few days ago - or at least that's how this time warp of motherhood makes it seem - she was a helpless little infant who didn't even know how to smile yet. Her needs were so simple. Sleep, milk, poop. Today, she's standing up on a step stool pretending to wash dishes in the kitchen.
Where do all the days go? And how is it that I've let so many of them slip away, squandering time like I've got an infinite supply. I've become more adept at savoring the moment, being here right now because I'm beginning to understand that truly there is nothing but this moment. I'm beginning to understand that someday all this will be done, that time will march on and I will no longer have a heart beating along with everyone else's.
Silly as it may sound, I'm surprised to be turning forty this year. Forty! As a kid, forty was ridiculously old. Forty seemed like you already had one foot in the grave. Forty meant that you were done. All the fun, all the crazy times were surely in your past. And here I am, peering over the precipice of the final days of My Thirties and taking in the view of the next decade, wondering how the time passed so quickly. What have I done with my precious time all these years? Besides desperately trying to change other people, wishing I were doing better or living somewhere else, or dreaming of a better life? Besides making excuses for not writing, running another marathon or starting a healthier diet? Besides dwelling on (and damning) The Past or dreaming of (and worrying about) The Future.
It's all right here, right now. Meditation surely helps gets this message across into the membranes. And hearing Sophia yell "wow!" as she pours water from a mini-watering can into the sink, fist pumping the air in truimph. It's an awesome gift to witness: the pure, simple things that bring her immense joy. Right now, she's saying "Happy! Happy! Happy!" over and over again. Unprompted, unabashed happiness. How did she get to be her own little independent self when just a short while ago she was bald and spitting up on my shoulder?
I came across this excerpt while surfing around the net just a few minutes ago. I've seen this one before and enjoyed it then, just as I've savored reading it this morning.
From A Short Guide to a Happy Life by Anna Quindlen, 2000
You are the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at your desk, or your life in the car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your HEART. Not just your bank account, but your soul.
People don’t talk about the soul very much anymore. It’s so much easier to write a resume than to craft a spirit. But a resume is a cold comfort on a winter night, or when you’re sad, or broken, or lonely, or when you’ve gotten back the check X ray and it doesn’t look so good.
Take a moment: Think about your resume, your resume of heart.
So I suppose the best piece of advice I could give anyone is pretty simple: GET A LIFE. A real life, not a manic pursuit of the next promotion, the bigger paycheck, the larger house. Get a life where you pay attention. Keep still. Be Present.
Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love, and who love you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Each time I look at my diploma, I remember that I am still a student, still learning every day how to be human.
Where do all the days go? And how is it that I've let so many of them slip away, squandering time like I've got an infinite supply. I've become more adept at savoring the moment, being here right now because I'm beginning to understand that truly there is nothing but this moment. I'm beginning to understand that someday all this will be done, that time will march on and I will no longer have a heart beating along with everyone else's.
Silly as it may sound, I'm surprised to be turning forty this year. Forty! As a kid, forty was ridiculously old. Forty seemed like you already had one foot in the grave. Forty meant that you were done. All the fun, all the crazy times were surely in your past. And here I am, peering over the precipice of the final days of My Thirties and taking in the view of the next decade, wondering how the time passed so quickly. What have I done with my precious time all these years? Besides desperately trying to change other people, wishing I were doing better or living somewhere else, or dreaming of a better life? Besides making excuses for not writing, running another marathon or starting a healthier diet? Besides dwelling on (and damning) The Past or dreaming of (and worrying about) The Future.
It's all right here, right now. Meditation surely helps gets this message across into the membranes. And hearing Sophia yell "wow!" as she pours water from a mini-watering can into the sink, fist pumping the air in truimph. It's an awesome gift to witness: the pure, simple things that bring her immense joy. Right now, she's saying "Happy! Happy! Happy!" over and over again. Unprompted, unabashed happiness. How did she get to be her own little independent self when just a short while ago she was bald and spitting up on my shoulder?
I came across this excerpt while surfing around the net just a few minutes ago. I've seen this one before and enjoyed it then, just as I've savored reading it this morning.
From A Short Guide to a Happy Life by Anna Quindlen, 2000
You are the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at your desk, or your life in the car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your HEART. Not just your bank account, but your soul.
People don’t talk about the soul very much anymore. It’s so much easier to write a resume than to craft a spirit. But a resume is a cold comfort on a winter night, or when you’re sad, or broken, or lonely, or when you’ve gotten back the check X ray and it doesn’t look so good.
Take a moment: Think about your resume, your resume of heart.
So I suppose the best piece of advice I could give anyone is pretty simple: GET A LIFE. A real life, not a manic pursuit of the next promotion, the bigger paycheck, the larger house. Get a life where you pay attention. Keep still. Be Present.
Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love, and who love you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Each time I look at my diploma, I remember that I am still a student, still learning every day how to be human.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Quote That Most Defines Motherhood For Me....
"Making the decision to have a child -- it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."
- Elizabeth Stone.
- Elizabeth Stone.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Ever the Skeptic....
I just finished my Evening Meditation (Doreen Virtue) and there's a part of the visualization right at the end where you ask four angels to come stand guard outside your home so you can fully relax and know you are safe while you're sleeping. I saw myself opening the back door and popping my head out just to see if any of them needed a sandwich. "It's going to be a long night....you guys hungry? Maybe just a little nosh....I've got some munchies...some Cheese-Its if anyone likes. Alrighty then...well, I'll leave the door unlocked for you just in case...."
So with all my spiritual longings lately, there's still a part of me that's planted firmly right here, right now, all is visible and a part of me questions all the fluffy stuff. There's a big part that wants to believe in the power of God and the existence of angels - and that part believes in them, or at the very least, wants to - but there's still The Eternal Skeptic, that part of me that makes silly jokes during meditation.
Earlier in the meditation, Doreen said something about calling the Archangel Michael to our side and that whenever we call he immediately appears next to us. My immediate reaction: "Really? How the f*#?! do you know?"
So hmmm.....I guess I still have a teeny, tiny bit of work to do on faith.
So with all my spiritual longings lately, there's still a part of me that's planted firmly right here, right now, all is visible and a part of me questions all the fluffy stuff. There's a big part that wants to believe in the power of God and the existence of angels - and that part believes in them, or at the very least, wants to - but there's still The Eternal Skeptic, that part of me that makes silly jokes during meditation.
Earlier in the meditation, Doreen said something about calling the Archangel Michael to our side and that whenever we call he immediately appears next to us. My immediate reaction: "Really? How the f*#?! do you know?"
So hmmm.....I guess I still have a teeny, tiny bit of work to do on faith.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
I forget that this is simply a blog. A place to write down some ideas that maybe a couple of people will read. I forget that it's OK to make typos, choose words loosely sometimes, say something today that maybe tomorrow I may feel differently about. I'm not a perfectionist but I do fear being wrong (I never raised my hand in class when I was a kid) and truly dread the thought of someone thinking that I'm - or God forbid actually calling - stupid. In fact, even when it's not about me, I feel awful inside when someone refers to another person as "not the sharpest knife in the drawer, if you know what I mean." I mean, wow. Painful. Just a horrible insult in my book.
My hope is that I'm not passing on any of my old nonsense onto my girl. That I'm actually giving her the space to check things out for herself and that she isn't now and won't in the future censor herself, stop herself from trying new things. Just this morning, as Sophia yet again wouldn't go down the slide - a baby slide, for that matter - I thought "This must be because of me, somehow I've not allowed her to challenge herself in a physical way. She hangs onto to me so much, maybe too much...." And then two minutes later, there she was going down the slide by herself. So it goes with motherhood. The constant considerations we make, the worry, the judging, the self-doubt. I know that these simply come with the territory. I just hope that I'm up for the task. And I do think that for the most part I'm a great Mom. Certainly I am doing the best that I can. But oh boy, that right there scares the shit out of me. It's always the crappiest mothers who use that phrase. Doing the best that I can. Or am I doing the best that I am? I've been in therapy for nearly my whole adult life, I worked a lot of stuff out, I've moved on and up and gained lots of new insights and I have a whole host of tools - a great big awesome tool box! - of ways to be and do better, to live a healthier, happy life. Hopefully I am passing these onto my girl.
I find myself watching Sophia and just feeling completely and utterly awestruck by her very essence. By her delicate mannerisms, her uproarious laughter, her silly, sweet nature, her pure goodness. I see her interacting with other kids, letting them take her mini-stroller at the playground, and she's so generous with her things and she just seems to be watching and taking everything in. I watch her walk in front of me, her slight swagger, her fancy shoes that she insists on wearing every day, her collection of purses she carries whenever she leaves our apartment, and I envision her as a young girl, a teenager, and then going off to college someday and my heart breaks just a bit in the simple act of her leaving. And then a moment later, she's back to me asking for milk or yelling "No!" in response to nothing at all and I remember how wonderful it is that she's just two. And we have so much time together, so much to learn and do before she'll leave our little nest. And everything settles back inside me, my chest relaxes and I feel happy just to be next to her. This is the time that I feel most connected to Spirit, to God, to the present. All the stuff that I meditate on, read about, try to attain. These are the moments that I feel most like I'm doing exactly what I should be doing and I don't question anything at all. That truly life is unfolding as it should. I feel the enormous power of gratitude that I have each day with my girl while she's still small, that these days - like all, really - are fleeting. And I'm the lucky momma to have all these moments with her. My hope is that all my old stuff, all the baggage, all the crap that has hindered me most of my life - that this is the work I've been doing all this time, not trying to erase it, but simply understand it and make peace with it and find forgiveness so that I can move on and not saddle her with any of it. And for the most part, I think that both John and I are doing pretty well. If you look at Soph, she's so joyful and such a delight that we must be doing something right.
My hope is that I'm not passing on any of my old nonsense onto my girl. That I'm actually giving her the space to check things out for herself and that she isn't now and won't in the future censor herself, stop herself from trying new things. Just this morning, as Sophia yet again wouldn't go down the slide - a baby slide, for that matter - I thought "This must be because of me, somehow I've not allowed her to challenge herself in a physical way. She hangs onto to me so much, maybe too much...." And then two minutes later, there she was going down the slide by herself. So it goes with motherhood. The constant considerations we make, the worry, the judging, the self-doubt. I know that these simply come with the territory. I just hope that I'm up for the task. And I do think that for the most part I'm a great Mom. Certainly I am doing the best that I can. But oh boy, that right there scares the shit out of me. It's always the crappiest mothers who use that phrase. Doing the best that I can. Or am I doing the best that I am? I've been in therapy for nearly my whole adult life, I worked a lot of stuff out, I've moved on and up and gained lots of new insights and I have a whole host of tools - a great big awesome tool box! - of ways to be and do better, to live a healthier, happy life. Hopefully I am passing these onto my girl.
I find myself watching Sophia and just feeling completely and utterly awestruck by her very essence. By her delicate mannerisms, her uproarious laughter, her silly, sweet nature, her pure goodness. I see her interacting with other kids, letting them take her mini-stroller at the playground, and she's so generous with her things and she just seems to be watching and taking everything in. I watch her walk in front of me, her slight swagger, her fancy shoes that she insists on wearing every day, her collection of purses she carries whenever she leaves our apartment, and I envision her as a young girl, a teenager, and then going off to college someday and my heart breaks just a bit in the simple act of her leaving. And then a moment later, she's back to me asking for milk or yelling "No!" in response to nothing at all and I remember how wonderful it is that she's just two. And we have so much time together, so much to learn and do before she'll leave our little nest. And everything settles back inside me, my chest relaxes and I feel happy just to be next to her. This is the time that I feel most connected to Spirit, to God, to the present. All the stuff that I meditate on, read about, try to attain. These are the moments that I feel most like I'm doing exactly what I should be doing and I don't question anything at all. That truly life is unfolding as it should. I feel the enormous power of gratitude that I have each day with my girl while she's still small, that these days - like all, really - are fleeting. And I'm the lucky momma to have all these moments with her. My hope is that all my old stuff, all the baggage, all the crap that has hindered me most of my life - that this is the work I've been doing all this time, not trying to erase it, but simply understand it and make peace with it and find forgiveness so that I can move on and not saddle her with any of it. And for the most part, I think that both John and I are doing pretty well. If you look at Soph, she's so joyful and such a delight that we must be doing something right.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Bad Mommy is Back, Banging on My Door
It's this unshakeable feeling in the center of my gut. I'm doing affirmations in my kitchen, waiting for lunch to warm up ("I love and accept myself exactly the way that I am!") and yet I can't shake the Bad Mommy feelings. The less than, neurotic thoughts are climbing all over one another in my head, clamoring for my attention. One more abusive than the next.
She's never going to get into that school. And you know so-and-so will just to totally screw with your head. Why haven't you signed her up for any classes yet? She's behind! She's behind the pack! What's wrong with you, anyway? You're always blaming everything on not having enough money well why don't you just go out and get a job already then? Why aren't you working like the other Moms? You're just lazy.....You know that Mitsi-Bitsi's mom is way better than you are at this. I'm just a terrible cook and I'm f*cking up left and right aren't I? Just completely deluding myself all this time. Why doesn't my girl eat vegetables? Oh God, it's all my fault, she's malnourished. Oh and that comment at the party the other day when that woman called my girl skinny...too skinny...what?! Don't say that. She's perfect just the way she is, damn it!
And right there. That's it. I know the lesson. Intellectually I get it. That we're all God's children. We're perfect just the way we are. Even in our imperfectness. I see my girl and see pure perfection. If only I could capture that essence for me, look lovingly upon myself the way I gaze at Sophia.
I'm pretty sure that this is all just low-blood sugar talking. And by now, I know to silence that bitch up when she's start slamming her rhetoric at me like that. I'm doing fine. I'm doing the best that I can. I'm doing great actually. Aren't I?
She's never going to get into that school. And you know so-and-so will just to totally screw with your head. Why haven't you signed her up for any classes yet? She's behind! She's behind the pack! What's wrong with you, anyway? You're always blaming everything on not having enough money well why don't you just go out and get a job already then? Why aren't you working like the other Moms? You're just lazy.....You know that Mitsi-Bitsi's mom is way better than you are at this. I'm just a terrible cook and I'm f*cking up left and right aren't I? Just completely deluding myself all this time. Why doesn't my girl eat vegetables? Oh God, it's all my fault, she's malnourished. Oh and that comment at the party the other day when that woman called my girl skinny...too skinny...what?! Don't say that. She's perfect just the way she is, damn it!
And right there. That's it. I know the lesson. Intellectually I get it. That we're all God's children. We're perfect just the way we are. Even in our imperfectness. I see my girl and see pure perfection. If only I could capture that essence for me, look lovingly upon myself the way I gaze at Sophia.
I'm pretty sure that this is all just low-blood sugar talking. And by now, I know to silence that bitch up when she's start slamming her rhetoric at me like that. I'm doing fine. I'm doing the best that I can. I'm doing great actually. Aren't I?
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Thoughts for today...
Wow, you can easily lose yourself in all this. Mommy-this, Mommy-that, Mommy come here!, Mommy, where are you? Sophia needs and wants me to be with her, next to her, paying attention, participating nearly every second in every activity in her life. I've become - somehow - one of those mothers who can't even go pee by myself. Showers are no longer a single person operation. Even my bed has been invaded by my wee one. Middle of the night shouts of "Mommy!" are an every night occurrence. How did I let this happen? And is it really that awful? I keep telling myself that she'll only be this little once. So I am actually enjoying so much of this time together. But lately, I've been looking at my reflection and wondering "Hey there Mommy, where did you go anyway?"
So in seeking some much-needed balance, I'm going to be taking a workshop that a friend is teaching about trusting your intuition. And I just went for a solo run yesterday with my fabulous new ipod. And I've made a pact with myself to honor the two five-hour timeframes that John has promised to give me each week. Fridays are deemed Movie Days going forward. We'll see if I actually use them as such instead of defaulting to the usual shopping for toiletries at Duane Reade and buying extra socks and laundry detergent at Target. I can barely remember a time when there were days that were entirely my own. I am lost in this Mommyhood and I've been a willing participant in the getting lost, I'm almost afraid to admit. I can blame it on finances for not being able to get a babysitter or that I don't approve of the Cry-It-Out method but there must be a part of me that wanted to get so lost in this role.
They say that the first part of any recovery is acknowledging that there is a problem in the first place so my goal for 2009 is to get my own groove back. Figure out ways to make my life more manageable for me. Figure out a new definition of myself instead of feeling that uncomfortable nervousness when that inevitable question comes: "So what else do you do other than the Mom thing?"
Um, knitting. And I really like to organize stuff. No, not like events (although I used to do that in previous life), but more like my kitchen junk drawer and Sophie's toys and such. Also, I kinda like to write although I'm terrified of anyone reading anything I put on paper. Which has to make one wonder why in the world would I have a blog? A blog that no one reads. Except for one friend who knows that this blog exists (hi Stacey). Or maybe Johnny will read it since he now knows about this blog as well (hi, Sugar).
Anyway, the point is....what is the point? Right. The point is when you get down to it, I'm turning 40 next year and it's got me all crazy wondering what the hell my purpose is really. Big picture purpose, I mean. When I'm in the moment, I can't imagine a better use for my time than dancing around the living room or reading to my girl. But one has to wonder is this all there is? Am I wasting my life with all this questioning and not knowing what to do next? After all, she'll be going to school in no time and then what? Back to the daily grind for me? Oy, my stomach just did a loop thinking of suits and subways and water coolers down the corridor.
I'm keeping the faith that the answer shall be revealed. All in good time. And until then I'm doing my best to be a good mom and oh yeah, balance it all out already......
Wow, you can easily lose yourself in all this. Mommy-this, Mommy-that, Mommy come here!, Mommy, where are you? Sophia needs and wants me to be with her, next to her, paying attention, participating nearly every second in every activity in her life. I've become - somehow - one of those mothers who can't even go pee by myself. Showers are no longer a single person operation. Even my bed has been invaded by my wee one. Middle of the night shouts of "Mommy!" are an every night occurrence. How did I let this happen? And is it really that awful? I keep telling myself that she'll only be this little once. So I am actually enjoying so much of this time together. But lately, I've been looking at my reflection and wondering "Hey there Mommy, where did you go anyway?"
So in seeking some much-needed balance, I'm going to be taking a workshop that a friend is teaching about trusting your intuition. And I just went for a solo run yesterday with my fabulous new ipod. And I've made a pact with myself to honor the two five-hour timeframes that John has promised to give me each week. Fridays are deemed Movie Days going forward. We'll see if I actually use them as such instead of defaulting to the usual shopping for toiletries at Duane Reade and buying extra socks and laundry detergent at Target. I can barely remember a time when there were days that were entirely my own. I am lost in this Mommyhood and I've been a willing participant in the getting lost, I'm almost afraid to admit. I can blame it on finances for not being able to get a babysitter or that I don't approve of the Cry-It-Out method but there must be a part of me that wanted to get so lost in this role.
They say that the first part of any recovery is acknowledging that there is a problem in the first place so my goal for 2009 is to get my own groove back. Figure out ways to make my life more manageable for me. Figure out a new definition of myself instead of feeling that uncomfortable nervousness when that inevitable question comes: "So what else do you do other than the Mom thing?"
Um, knitting. And I really like to organize stuff. No, not like events (although I used to do that in previous life), but more like my kitchen junk drawer and Sophie's toys and such. Also, I kinda like to write although I'm terrified of anyone reading anything I put on paper. Which has to make one wonder why in the world would I have a blog? A blog that no one reads. Except for one friend who knows that this blog exists (hi Stacey). Or maybe Johnny will read it since he now knows about this blog as well (hi, Sugar).
Anyway, the point is....what is the point? Right. The point is when you get down to it, I'm turning 40 next year and it's got me all crazy wondering what the hell my purpose is really. Big picture purpose, I mean. When I'm in the moment, I can't imagine a better use for my time than dancing around the living room or reading to my girl. But one has to wonder is this all there is? Am I wasting my life with all this questioning and not knowing what to do next? After all, she'll be going to school in no time and then what? Back to the daily grind for me? Oy, my stomach just did a loop thinking of suits and subways and water coolers down the corridor.
I'm keeping the faith that the answer shall be revealed. All in good time. And until then I'm doing my best to be a good mom and oh yeah, balance it all out already......
Sunday, December 14, 2008
I gave away the unused cat litter and all three of Calli's bowls. I'm way too frugal and guilt-ridden to ever let anything go to waste, so I posted it under Free Stuff on craigslist. And the first responder came to pick up the stuff earlier this evening. Just as I was opening the outer front door to let him in, the inner wood door walloped Sophia in the back of the head. Somehow it had gotten dislodged from the huge block we use to prop it open. Wails and tortured screams ensued. The guy gave me advice to not let her sleep for 45 minutes because I needed to be certain she didn't have a concussion. (After writing this bit, I'm totally gonna go snopes this nonsense. Really, is that true?) Turns out that she was fine, stopped crying almost immediately after he left. More pressing to me was the fact that we already were about a cranky hour past her bedtime. So I lay with Soph after she calmed down, after our usual prayers and the nightly gratitude list that we offer up to God and the Universe. And I had one of those fake conversations with the guy, imagining him being really grateful for all of the stuff I gave him and my saying gravely "Oh, it's fine, you're quite welcome. Ohhhhh, Calli would have wanted you to have it." And that got me thinking about how much I hate it when people speak for the dead. I've always squirmed a bit when someone busts out with the "Oh, So-and-So would have wanted us all to be laughing and celebrating her life in this way." Well, maybe. At some point, but really...at the Wake? I dunno, call me cynical but that seems a bit crass. And aren't there a bunch of souls up there who just don't give a damn now that they're gone, especially those folks who didn't much care for anything while they were still twittering about town? And another thing, if the AfterLife is all that, the amazing sanctuary and perfect resting place that so many of us like to entertain in our imagination, then wouldn't these souls all just be completely smitten with their fancy-schmancy new digs? Wouldn't they be unfolding the 800-thread count ecru-colored sheets and possibly hanging out in the hot tub with the other new recruits? Poking around campus and perusing the new meal plan, the bookstore, what's on cable that night? That seems to make a helluva lot more sense to me than them all sitting around wishing that, for instance, their life partner got it on with the next available floozy who bumped into him at the grocery store. And Calli, for that matter, my sweet cat of nearly 17 years, I'm just not so sure she'd be all about me giving away her stuff. She was pretty darn territorial back when she was alive so really who's to say that the AfterLife brings such forgiveness and generosity?
Clearly, I have a lot, lot, lot more spiritual work to do.....
Clearly, I have a lot, lot, lot more spiritual work to do.....
Barney.
There was a time not so long ago when 3 a.m. feedings seemed like torture. Now I'm not so sure. Give me a starving, screaming, inconsolable infant any day over this nonsense.
Back to back, repeat after repeat. Every single day. I barely get two gulps of coffee down my throat and I already hear that terrifying theme music. No joke, I'd put good money down that Barney "Red, Yellow, Blue" could turn even a super mild-mannered person into a homicidal maniac. And hearing from other parents that this Barney obsession (seriously, let's call it what it is) lasts only a short while is no consolation to me.
My husband just stares at the screen in disbelief and says the same thing every time: I just don't want my kid to turn out like those little freak kids. I can't say that I disagree. Totally creepy creep.
Anyway, I'm sure that this fad will end just in time for Bratz, Miley or Disney Pixar to take its place.
That's it, I'm moving. To the moon.
I'd love to be able to leave it right there but ahhhh geez. The look on Sophia's face. It's just pure joy. Like seeing a dear old friend, she is just so darn happy. And the way my girl dances makes me melt. It's so joyful and all-consuming. I watch her bopping along to Bahh-nee and for a moment - at the most two - I don't feel like ripping the hair from my head or throwing a clog at the TV screen. It doesn't last long, this lovefest, but how can I possibly deny my dear little one such utter bliss?
So I say (gulp): Thanks, Barney.
Arghhhh.
There was a time not so long ago when 3 a.m. feedings seemed like torture. Now I'm not so sure. Give me a starving, screaming, inconsolable infant any day over this nonsense.
Back to back, repeat after repeat. Every single day. I barely get two gulps of coffee down my throat and I already hear that terrifying theme music. No joke, I'd put good money down that Barney "Red, Yellow, Blue" could turn even a super mild-mannered person into a homicidal maniac. And hearing from other parents that this Barney obsession (seriously, let's call it what it is) lasts only a short while is no consolation to me.
My husband just stares at the screen in disbelief and says the same thing every time: I just don't want my kid to turn out like those little freak kids. I can't say that I disagree. Totally creepy creep.
Anyway, I'm sure that this fad will end just in time for Bratz, Miley or Disney Pixar to take its place.
That's it, I'm moving. To the moon.
I'd love to be able to leave it right there but ahhhh geez. The look on Sophia's face. It's just pure joy. Like seeing a dear old friend, she is just so darn happy. And the way my girl dances makes me melt. It's so joyful and all-consuming. I watch her bopping along to Bahh-nee and for a moment - at the most two - I don't feel like ripping the hair from my head or throwing a clog at the TV screen. It doesn't last long, this lovefest, but how can I possibly deny my dear little one such utter bliss?
So I say (gulp): Thanks, Barney.
Arghhhh.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
So about a week ago I was going through my Netflix queue just to see what I've got on there. Most of the DVD's I receive sit ever-cheerful in their bright red pouches on a crowded bookshelf, largely ignored for the better part of three months. I finally decided enough is enough, let's see why all the movies I get suck* so bad. Because it's not like it's random what's sent to me, I'm the one choosing them.
Turns out that a pattern seems to be emerging. Similar to all facets of my life, across the board I'm attracting so much of what I don't want. Despite all the affirmations that I've been doing to improve my life, it appears that I'm still focusing on all the wrong stuff. Financial worry, obsession over life purpose and meaning, should I have stayed in Greece that summer, maybe I should have applied to a better college twenty years ago and surely I'd be a PhD by now ....you know, all the regular junk that goes through your mind on a regular basis. The law of attraction is pulling the wrong stuff to me because duh, that's what I'm telling it I want. Same goes with DVD's apparently.
I recently discussed this very thing with my neighbor over wine one night: I know that I should want to watch that documentary about Afghani widows and young orphans but really, who am I kidding? I'm never going to actually be in the mood for that one. So it just sits. Lays about all day, calls out to me each night.
Ohhhhh, honey. Not tonight, not tonight, too tired baby.....but hey maybe over the weekend?, I tell it, while silently making a mental note to mail that pancake back first thing in the morning.
Looking at the titles, I must subconsciously believe that someone is going to peruse my list at some point, presumably upon my death. They'll sum me and my entire life up by the books on my shelves and the DVD's in my Netflix queue.
Damn! That Jenny was one smart cookie! Holy shit, I've never seen sooooo many foreign flicks on a queue in all my days! Yessirrr, she was really, really something. Not only beautiful but what varied taste too.....a real gem, Jenny was.
I mean, seriously, who is this list for anyway? I literally annihilated about forty "films" off my list in no time. Some were so confounding to me that I literally began considering the possibility that we might be dealing with a split personality thing here. Either that or wow, I'm friggin' pretentiooooous. Now in defense of my (possibly) prententious self, I'd say that it's just me striving to better myself, stay connected and informed and current, be able to have some interesting cocktail chitchat over the holidays? Who really knows though. Right about now I'd settle for your run-of-the-mill romantic comedy to keep me company on a cold winter's night.
What I do know is this: I'm doing the same damn thing with Swaptree. And it's getting a little embarrassing.....
* Author is unable to back up this claim since she didn't spend time actually watching the movies
Turns out that a pattern seems to be emerging. Similar to all facets of my life, across the board I'm attracting so much of what I don't want. Despite all the affirmations that I've been doing to improve my life, it appears that I'm still focusing on all the wrong stuff. Financial worry, obsession over life purpose and meaning, should I have stayed in Greece that summer, maybe I should have applied to a better college twenty years ago and surely I'd be a PhD by now ....you know, all the regular junk that goes through your mind on a regular basis. The law of attraction is pulling the wrong stuff to me because duh, that's what I'm telling it I want. Same goes with DVD's apparently.
I recently discussed this very thing with my neighbor over wine one night: I know that I should want to watch that documentary about Afghani widows and young orphans but really, who am I kidding? I'm never going to actually be in the mood for that one. So it just sits. Lays about all day, calls out to me each night.
Ohhhhh, honey. Not tonight, not tonight, too tired baby.....but hey maybe over the weekend?, I tell it, while silently making a mental note to mail that pancake back first thing in the morning.
Looking at the titles, I must subconsciously believe that someone is going to peruse my list at some point, presumably upon my death. They'll sum me and my entire life up by the books on my shelves and the DVD's in my Netflix queue.
Damn! That Jenny was one smart cookie! Holy shit, I've never seen sooooo many foreign flicks on a queue in all my days! Yessirrr, she was really, really something. Not only beautiful but what varied taste too.....a real gem, Jenny was.
I mean, seriously, who is this list for anyway? I literally annihilated about forty "films" off my list in no time. Some were so confounding to me that I literally began considering the possibility that we might be dealing with a split personality thing here. Either that or wow, I'm friggin' pretentiooooous. Now in defense of my (possibly) prententious self, I'd say that it's just me striving to better myself, stay connected and informed and current, be able to have some interesting cocktail chitchat over the holidays? Who really knows though. Right about now I'd settle for your run-of-the-mill romantic comedy to keep me company on a cold winter's night.
What I do know is this: I'm doing the same damn thing with Swaptree. And it's getting a little embarrassing.....
* Author is unable to back up this claim since she didn't spend time actually watching the movies
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
I'm feeling pretty darn proud of myself today as not only did I go out and purchase a fitness DVD but I actually used it last night. And not just as a coaster this time. With the girl sound asleep and my husband working, I had no choice in the matter really. I did stall a bit on the couch, staring off into space. To the untrained eye, it may have appeared that I was merely relaxing for a few moments. But in actuality, I was flicking through my mental files, searching for something, anything that must be taken care of immediately. Other than a mountain of laundry and a stack of thank you notes, no such luck.
So I got my arse on the yoga mat and just did it, like Nike has been imploring us to do all these years. And it wasn't really all that terrible. The fitness expert on this video is gorgeous and has a sick body. Plus, she's not annoying in the least bit. The slightest bit of a whiny voice during a yoga class, or even worse, a bad sense of humor have gotten me to walk right out of classes in the past. I admit that at a certain time in my life it was just a really good excuse to go have a cigarette. But this chick is totally benign. I did the 'express' version of the workout which meant just 30 valuable minutes out of my day. In the end, buttocks tightened momentarily and feeling slightly less flabby, it didn't seem like such an unreasonable amount of time to 'give up' a couple of days each week.
So I got my arse on the yoga mat and just did it, like Nike has been imploring us to do all these years. And it wasn't really all that terrible. The fitness expert on this video is gorgeous and has a sick body. Plus, she's not annoying in the least bit. The slightest bit of a whiny voice during a yoga class, or even worse, a bad sense of humor have gotten me to walk right out of classes in the past. I admit that at a certain time in my life it was just a really good excuse to go have a cigarette. But this chick is totally benign. I did the 'express' version of the workout which meant just 30 valuable minutes out of my day. In the end, buttocks tightened momentarily and feeling slightly less flabby, it didn't seem like such an unreasonable amount of time to 'give up' a couple of days each week.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
I'm no Body Image Expert but I'm figuring that if you're buck naked and flicking an angry middle finger at your digital bathroom scale, it's probably time to take some sort of serious action.
The number on there was a brand new one for me. So maybe pizza for both dinner and lunch yesterday wasn't the healthiest, most weight-conscious option. Oh yeah, I just had another slice for lunch today (you can't let perfectly good food go to waste, can you?) Awww, shit, this isn't good. (Mental note to self: You have to order from Fresh Direct today.)
Arggghhhhh, I'm just so mad at myself right now. I finally found the courage a few months back to break up with my scale, and I promised myself that this time it was going to be for good. No more of all that drama, the tears, the countless lies and broken promises. I mean, I finally had to say "enough is enough already" and I tucked him neatly behind a little cabinet to gather dust and mind his own damn business. And I was actually doing really great without him.
Now granted he's been on my mind so much lately, what with all those buttons bursting open and ill-fitting big ol' butt pants taunting me from the closet. I kept trying to blame it on over-drying and shrinking my clothes but I'm not sure that that's really plausible.
Of all days, did it have to be today that I get all weak and needy? Really of all days it had to be today that I reach out to him? That's it, I'm totally going to fire my shrink for this one. I mean, what the hell am I paying good money for to deal with these body image/self-esteem issues if in the end, left to my own devices, I'm getting all aggressive with an inanimate object? That's just plain crazy.
Oh wait, hang on a second. I spent all of last night crying my eyes out after we put our nearly 17-year-old cat to sleep. So this must be some sort of personal punishment thing going on here. OK, that didn't take all that long to figure out so maybe the therapy is actually working. And hmmm, come to think of it, perhaps I could possibly consider non-bread type foods for a meal or two once in a while. Or maybe I could use that jogger I bought a couple of months ago. Get the wheels aligned already and stop using that as yet another excuse for not being fit.
Anyway, I'm feeling like the Grim Reaper today. Not all wicked and sinewy but more like a bloated, weepy, reluctant Reaper.
(God Bless our little Calli who has hopefully made it up to Kitty Heaven by now. )
The number on there was a brand new one for me. So maybe pizza for both dinner and lunch yesterday wasn't the healthiest, most weight-conscious option. Oh yeah, I just had another slice for lunch today (you can't let perfectly good food go to waste, can you?) Awww, shit, this isn't good. (Mental note to self: You have to order from Fresh Direct today.)
Arggghhhhh, I'm just so mad at myself right now. I finally found the courage a few months back to break up with my scale, and I promised myself that this time it was going to be for good. No more of all that drama, the tears, the countless lies and broken promises. I mean, I finally had to say "enough is enough already" and I tucked him neatly behind a little cabinet to gather dust and mind his own damn business. And I was actually doing really great without him.
Now granted he's been on my mind so much lately, what with all those buttons bursting open and ill-fitting big ol' butt pants taunting me from the closet. I kept trying to blame it on over-drying and shrinking my clothes but I'm not sure that that's really plausible.
Of all days, did it have to be today that I get all weak and needy? Really of all days it had to be today that I reach out to him? That's it, I'm totally going to fire my shrink for this one. I mean, what the hell am I paying good money for to deal with these body image/self-esteem issues if in the end, left to my own devices, I'm getting all aggressive with an inanimate object? That's just plain crazy.
Oh wait, hang on a second. I spent all of last night crying my eyes out after we put our nearly 17-year-old cat to sleep. So this must be some sort of personal punishment thing going on here. OK, that didn't take all that long to figure out so maybe the therapy is actually working. And hmmm, come to think of it, perhaps I could possibly consider non-bread type foods for a meal or two once in a while. Or maybe I could use that jogger I bought a couple of months ago. Get the wheels aligned already and stop using that as yet another excuse for not being fit.
Anyway, I'm feeling like the Grim Reaper today. Not all wicked and sinewy but more like a bloated, weepy, reluctant Reaper.
(God Bless our little Calli who has hopefully made it up to Kitty Heaven by now. )
Sunday, September 21, 2008
I wonder if other people get as excited about second hand leather jackets bought at stoop sales as I do. Twenty for the jacket and a few extra bucks for a couple of super cool fall/winter caps and I'm all aglow with joy, filled with enough goodness to last the rest of the day.
Plus I have enough diapers and wipes to last the next ninety days, a backup deodorant stick for me and a fully stocked fridge (including 24 ice cream sandwiches in the freezer) so I'm feeling pretty full of it right now.
It's funny how often I let things wane and then wallow in my own self-propelled deprivation. When in the groove of life, when it's all about flow, it's seems so ludicrous to let household supplies diminish, to let caffeine and sugar run my life instead of going running to stay fit and get mentally energized. But it happens. All the time.
Days like today inform me that there is a better way. Just like reading daily affirmations, it keeps me moving in the right direction. It allows me to quiet down just enough, settle into this chair at my writing desk to give it go, take those ten minutes to write as I've promised myself over and over again I would do. Most of the time though just as my ass is about to hit the cushion, the sock drawer begins hollering that it must be rearranged or suddenly the handwashables need to be attended to right this very minute. But today, for right now, here I am. Doing the work that I want to do rather than having my life be dictated to me by....who? Well, by me. But the School Marm, me. Not the gentle love-thyself me. Today it's all about loving myself and my brand new second-hand beaten up brown leather jacket.
And I just showered, gave myself a manicure, I'm drinking an ice cold Red Stripe on a Sunday afternoon. All while the wee girls naps in the next room.
Now this is what I call a perfect day.
Plus I have enough diapers and wipes to last the next ninety days, a backup deodorant stick for me and a fully stocked fridge (including 24 ice cream sandwiches in the freezer) so I'm feeling pretty full of it right now.
It's funny how often I let things wane and then wallow in my own self-propelled deprivation. When in the groove of life, when it's all about flow, it's seems so ludicrous to let household supplies diminish, to let caffeine and sugar run my life instead of going running to stay fit and get mentally energized. But it happens. All the time.
Days like today inform me that there is a better way. Just like reading daily affirmations, it keeps me moving in the right direction. It allows me to quiet down just enough, settle into this chair at my writing desk to give it go, take those ten minutes to write as I've promised myself over and over again I would do. Most of the time though just as my ass is about to hit the cushion, the sock drawer begins hollering that it must be rearranged or suddenly the handwashables need to be attended to right this very minute. But today, for right now, here I am. Doing the work that I want to do rather than having my life be dictated to me by....who? Well, by me. But the School Marm, me. Not the gentle love-thyself me. Today it's all about loving myself and my brand new second-hand beaten up brown leather jacket.
And I just showered, gave myself a manicure, I'm drinking an ice cold Red Stripe on a Sunday afternoon. All while the wee girls naps in the next room.
Now this is what I call a perfect day.
Monday, January 28, 2008
The Perfect Mate
The other day I was dining with three friends, two of whom are single and looking. The inevitable topic of finding The Right Guy brought out some of our beliefs about love. One woman, Hermione*, said that she'd rather be alone than settle on something less than perfect. Another woman, Magdalena, chimed in that you just need to find the person who is perfect for you. At this point, I voiced my opinion that I actually don't believe it works that way. That perfect simply does not exist. At which point the third friend who is married, Lilith*, said something like "Yeah, remember I was just saying how I wanted to rip Peter's friggin' head off the other day, he's driving me out of my mind!"
I think that often it comes down to the sort of person you are: tolerability, adaptability, willingness to compromise and your commitment to working at it for the rest of your life. If forever is what you are aiming for anyway.
How deep your commitment is to a person and to the institution of marriage will determine longevity. I'm not breaking any new ground here and yet I'm truly surprised by the number of women in this city who keep looking and looking for Mr. Perfect (no longer Mr. Right) and finding themselves consistently disappointed.
The more I look at my own relationship (together total of 12 years, married 5) I see that it comes down to a few things: Laughing, Talking, Crying, Listening, Compromising. And not necessarily in that order.
You simply find someone who complements you, who you laugh with, can cry with, and who doesn't get on your nerves the majority of the time.
*Ordinary names changed to make it a more interesting read
I think that often it comes down to the sort of person you are: tolerability, adaptability, willingness to compromise and your commitment to working at it for the rest of your life. If forever is what you are aiming for anyway.
How deep your commitment is to a person and to the institution of marriage will determine longevity. I'm not breaking any new ground here and yet I'm truly surprised by the number of women in this city who keep looking and looking for Mr. Perfect (no longer Mr. Right) and finding themselves consistently disappointed.
The more I look at my own relationship (together total of 12 years, married 5) I see that it comes down to a few things: Laughing, Talking, Crying, Listening, Compromising. And not necessarily in that order.
You simply find someone who complements you, who you laugh with, can cry with, and who doesn't get on your nerves the majority of the time.
*Ordinary names changed to make it a more interesting read
Friday, January 25, 2008
The Non-Walking, Creeper Crawler
My nearly 14-month-old is still not walking but she's creepy crawling all over the place. That's what my husband and I call her movement style. Sophia kind of looks like Igor, one knee down as she drags the other straightened leg along, jettisoning across the hardwood floor. A master cruiser, she is actually rather graceful despite the Igor reference, moving from coffee table to sofa, crawling along the floor and then over to a chair and up, up, up into my arms. She's super fast and often appears right under foot when I'm at the kitchen sink when just moments before I saw her clear across the living room. Quick and quiet. Except of course when she's yammering on about one thing or another. We assign all sorts of topics that she's enjoys speaking about, pretending she's made a fascinating point about the Obama campaign or about a classical piece of music we're listening to.
I Am A Writer
OK, albeit not a published one.
But I'm a writer.
Can millions of believers in The Secret be wrong?
So what the hell? I'll just go out on a limb (hey no one actually reads this blog anyway so in fact it's not all that risky)
I'm a writer. I'm a published, successful, happy, fulfilled, financially-abundant writer.
There, I said it. Typed it, at least.
So Universe, I'm ready now.
You can go ahead now and summon the Agents.
And bring on the Publishers.
And let us not forget about the zillions of Loyal Readers of my blog and soon-to-be published stories.
Or wait, I think I'm supposed to say it as though it has already been published, right? (Shit, if that's the case then I better start writing)
Yes, that's right, I remember now. It's all about using the present tense. To think, speak, act as though whatever I desire is happening right this instant.
Let's try this again.
Thank you, Oh Wonderful Universe, for the millions of dollars I'm making as a writer.
Right now.
Thanks for the loyal following of so many readers, the countless lives I've impacted with my prose, for helping me to make this world a little bit brighter.
And with all this financial abundance, I'm buying my dream farmhouse up in the mountains right this very second. As I'm signing the contract, simultaneously I'm also signing autographs at the local Barnes & Noble for my latest brilliant book of short stories. I've already closed on my summer home in Greece and currently spend three months each year on Santorini except of course when I'm on location elsewhere for the film I've written, directed and produced.
Wow, I really love you, Sweet Universe. You are very kind and generous. I think I've really gotten the hang of this whole Secret thing.
And I'm really, really psyched to be booked on the Oprah show.
So thanks, Universe.
I won't let you down.
The small print: The thoughts expressed in this piece are strictly those of the author and have not been endorsed by The Universe.
But I'm a writer.
Can millions of believers in The Secret be wrong?
So what the hell? I'll just go out on a limb (hey no one actually reads this blog anyway so in fact it's not all that risky)
I'm a writer. I'm a published, successful, happy, fulfilled, financially-abundant writer.
There, I said it. Typed it, at least.
So Universe, I'm ready now.
You can go ahead now and summon the Agents.
And bring on the Publishers.
And let us not forget about the zillions of Loyal Readers of my blog and soon-to-be published stories.
Or wait, I think I'm supposed to say it as though it has already been published, right? (Shit, if that's the case then I better start writing)
Yes, that's right, I remember now. It's all about using the present tense. To think, speak, act as though whatever I desire is happening right this instant.
Let's try this again.
Thank you, Oh Wonderful Universe, for the millions of dollars I'm making as a writer.
Right now.
Thanks for the loyal following of so many readers, the countless lives I've impacted with my prose, for helping me to make this world a little bit brighter.
And with all this financial abundance, I'm buying my dream farmhouse up in the mountains right this very second. As I'm signing the contract, simultaneously I'm also signing autographs at the local Barnes & Noble for my latest brilliant book of short stories. I've already closed on my summer home in Greece and currently spend three months each year on Santorini except of course when I'm on location elsewhere for the film I've written, directed and produced.
Wow, I really love you, Sweet Universe. You are very kind and generous. I think I've really gotten the hang of this whole Secret thing.
And I'm really, really psyched to be booked on the Oprah show.
So thanks, Universe.
I won't let you down.
The small print: The thoughts expressed in this piece are strictly those of the author and have not been endorsed by The Universe.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Ode to the O (For Parents Only)
Oh, dearest O
I knew the day would come
I just didn't think it would be this soon
So long, dear beautiful Cheerio
The first love of my daughter's young life
Oh how she once loved you so
You won't be forgotten
I knew the day would come
I just didn't think it would be this soon
So long, dear beautiful Cheerio
The first love of my daughter's young life
Oh how she once loved you so
You won't be forgotten
What I Won't Miss About City Living
- Hoarding quarters for laundry
- Alternate side of the street parking
- "Sorry, Ladies & Gentlemen. We're being held in the station due to a Sick Passenger."
- City supermarket shopping with a one-year-old (no car, no shopping cart)
- Having a teeny tiny bathroom (with no window) no matter what size my apartment is
- Manuevering a stroller down subway stairways and through turnstiles
- The smelly, scary, insane guy with a kitten tucked into his filthy army jacket barking about the war, abortion, taxes, how he's being followed and would all of us crazy fucking people on the C train just shut the fuck up, he's not crazy, we're the crazy ones
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Not Playing Around
I have an extremely low tolerance for forced relationships. Does it make me totally shallow to admit that I thoroughly enjoy and cherish super easy friendships? Maybe it's because I've had various difficult personalites to deal with in my life (read: family) that it has led me to feel so strongly about those friendships that happen naturally and effortlessly. Those people with whom I feel I can totally be my silly, sappy, ridiculously emotional and raw self. The special peeps in my orbit who every single time I get together with them there is such raucous laughter, prolonged witty banter which no one else quite gets, and such honest-to-goodness great fun that it could be days later when I'm riding on the C train and I smile to myself, already reminiscing about our last get together and how lucky I am to have such wonderful friends. Ahhh, if only everyone I knew could offer such richness to my life (and I to theirs, of course. Two way street and all).
So it should come as no surprise that playgroups are fairly high on my hate-to-do list. Not that anyone in particular has a gun to my head but somehow I feel the pressure to attend. Not often, but sometimes. Despite being armed with the simple truth that playgroups suck in my humble opinion, there are times when that little thing called Mother Guilt comes a-banging on my door, and I feel I must answer her call.
The next thing you know I'm bundling up my poor girl and trudging over to go to a playgroup at some random person's house (from a posting on a local parents message board for an open playgroup that afternoon) who I don't know and probably won't like very much. I don't mean to be harsh but as time passes and seems to actually speed up as I'm advancing in age, time is my most valuable commodity and so whom I choose to spend my time with is of utmost importance. Why then would I ever actually choose to sit crossed-legged on the floor of some strangers' house, not being offered a morsel of food or a drop of water, rather than visit with a cherished single friend or have another visit with dear old Grandma? Mostly I blame those damn parent magazines that get me reeling in the first place, all those stories and blurbs specifically designed to make you feel guilty and inferior at every turn. Seriously, my kid eats organic food much of the time, never watches TV, has jazz and classical music playing softly in the background every day and yet still there might be the simplest little line in a magazine about the importance of interacting with other tiny people of similar age and it will get me thinking that somehow my child is not being properly socialized and it's all my fault. Because honestly, when you think about it, how long can a reasonable person continue to delude herself that staying at home all day with her thirteen-month-old, dancing our asses off to Confessions on a Dance Floor (I love you, Madonna) can somehow pass for one of those fancy Music & Me classes?
So every once in a great blue moon, I find myself smack in the middle of a mommy playgroup with a bunch of random mothers and babies of varying ages, when a wave of recognition floods over me that yes indeed these groups really do suck. They're no fun for anyone including my thirteen-month-old daughter whose only desire is to press down on a four-month-old's head just because his face is funny or squishy and feels nice or whatever her reasoning is. And she's totally bummed that I'm stopping her. I swear that I've seen a passing look on her face that says something like "Mom, please. Let's get outta here, head on back home to Madonna dancing and call it day. This party stinks and you know it." (I realize this might seem implausible since she's so young but if my girl is anything she's super expressive.) It's either that, or I spend way too much time alone, lacking sufficient adult interaction thereby having to resort to projecting greater meaning onto my toddler's simplest mannerisms.
So anyway, back to the playgroup. Just as I'm politely waiting for a lull in the forced conversation, silently concocting my escape plan, there inevitably comes that moment when one of the moms makes a seemingly innocuous comment. Perhaps it's a newbie Mom, an innocent who truly doesn't know any better, but singlehandedly she cracks open the seal, the floodgates burst forth and spill all over the parquet living room floor.
What I'm talking about is when one mom comes out with a doozy like "I dunno, I just feel so, um, inadequate sometimes....like, why can't I get little Caleb-Cody-Dashiell-Whoever to sleep and my husband can? I mean, I'm his Mom and I just feel so, uh, like I should be able to do it, like what's wrong with me?" And then like a pack of wild hyenas who have just found their prey, all the others join in, clawing and gnawing away with all sorts of deep confessions and/or rantings. And no matter where the conversation started, it could have been about solving sleep issues or how to switch to a sippy cup, eventually it comes to this: "And geez, what ever happened to having a sex life, right ladies?" A collective ha-ha-ha. As if it's not bad enough that I'm not getting any at home, but I'm supposed to now laugh it off with a bunch of other sex-starved, sleep-deprived mommies. Mental note to self: Cancel Parents magazine. And New Year Resolution #1: No More Playgroups in 2008.
I suppose all of these true confessions come forth as an effort to feel connected with Moms Like Me. But really it only serves to push me further away and I just want to high tail it out of there, buy a large pizza and a tub of Ben & Jerry's Peanut Butter Cup ice cream and go gorge myself. Anything would be better than having to have the I'm So Uncertain of My Mothering Skills talk. I just hate it. And I'm not very good at when it really comes down to it. This of course now leads me to my dirty little secret. The one that I've secretly held even while my girl Ol' Soph was still in utero. Perhaps it's the only thing that I truly know for sure about myself.
I'm a damn good mom. Period.
What?! Did I just say that outloud (well, type it)? I know what you're thinking. But really, I think I'm pretty darn good at what I do. In fact, no job I've ever had in my whole life has ever suited my skill set better than being a Mom. Plus I love my boss, she's super cool and funny and really smart and kind of kooky but in a good way and...well, I could go on and on about her but I digress. Back to my original point here, which is that I really love my job and I think I do it very well. I realize that this is such blasphemy to be so certain and secure in this age of inappropriate confessions on television and questioning every single move we make as parents, but it's just how I feel.
Lest you think that the author here has a split personality, I think most parents would agree that even the most secure among us has her moments of weakness, when doubt comes creeping on in, an uninvited guest but there he is. I'm wondering now if perhaps what I need is a Playgroup Sponsor, someone to call when I'm feeling particularly weak and might resort to using. Someone who will listen to my yearnings (But Sophia needs interaction with other children her age) and then gently remind me that there's another way: Honey, go live your life. Meet a friend. Go out for a cup of coffee. Hell, meet a friend for a cup of coffee. Take a walk. Go shopping. Visit the library, the zoo, a museum, you know do whatever you like to do.
Finally, along these lines, I heard an acquaintance once say that you don't have to sucuumb to only baby-friendly activities once you have a kid. In fact, he said, you just bring the wee one into the fold. That's right, just fold them right into your life. Now, that's more like it.
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