As with every day, you are missed. On this Christmas Day, things are no different. May you look down on us as you break bread with Dad, Aunt Carolyn, Uncle Jim, Stella, our Grandparents, Uncle Herb, Uncle Mickey and Aunt Beverly, to name a few, and enjoy our laughter, our love of food, and our love of each other. May you hold each tear we cry for all of you, and know that we are celebrating having been able to love you down here. I love you. And miss you.
Every day.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
It's All Good
The thought of being without the kids for Christmas got to me today, and because of work and the dogs, I can't hop on a flight and spend the weekend with my Buffalo family. . .
The thoughts loop. They loop around and around. . .
I'm okay. I am. I have emotional stability. I now get along with my ex, the Christmas expectations for the kids are set, my family knows why I can't make it up there - - why I won't make it up there (sometimes being in MD is a great excuse to avoid the pain of what Christmas no longer is) and how not having a Christmas dinner planned with anyone is okay because I am okay with myself, and I could use the nap, and me and Gracie and Enzo could use the alone time, and I have places to go because I can invite myself over to my neighbors, or my best friend's or one of my MD relatives.
I can spend the day with Bruce, with a good book, with Bruce, with all the Christmas presents I bought myself. . .
I'll be fine.
Loop.
I'm okay. I am. I have emotional stability. . .
I spent the day at the mall today. After giving the thumbs up and a smile to the woman who pulled out of the Sears parking lot at the mall, I was all good. I didn't have an agenda of gifts to buy, but I had a head full of people I wanted to buy for. . . my sister, my sister-in-laws, my nieces, my nephews, my mom . . .
And I realized as I walked through the mall, that their gift to me was their smiles, because I thought about them as I pulled things off shelves, smelled them, put them back, touched them, put them back, read things, smelled things, touched things, and when the feeling was right, I bought. My sister, my nieces, my brothers, my neighbors too. . .
Even when the smelly guy was selling me a calendar and I knocked over the entire display, I was okay. Even when the bag I carried broke and poured the contents of my purchases all over the mall floor (where two very polite people offered me better bags), I was okay.
Then I hear the New York, New York theme. Then I hear a Springsteen song. Then I feel a longing in my heart. Then I remember things. Then I shake my head to forget things. Then I realize I am facing Christmas as a 3rd wheel, wherever I go. I don't have the kids. I don't have the comfort of being invited, I am the one who invites myself. And then I think:
I'm okay.
Dear God, if I could have one wish. . .
Next year will be good. I'll have the kids for Christmas.
But I'm okay. I really am. Just feeling it now, instead of on Christmas day when I should be celebrating the real gift I've been given.
Christmas.
Rejoice!
The thoughts loop. They loop around and around. . .
I'm okay. I am. I have emotional stability. I now get along with my ex, the Christmas expectations for the kids are set, my family knows why I can't make it up there - - why I won't make it up there (sometimes being in MD is a great excuse to avoid the pain of what Christmas no longer is) and how not having a Christmas dinner planned with anyone is okay because I am okay with myself, and I could use the nap, and me and Gracie and Enzo could use the alone time, and I have places to go because I can invite myself over to my neighbors, or my best friend's or one of my MD relatives.
I can spend the day with Bruce, with a good book, with Bruce, with all the Christmas presents I bought myself. . .
I'll be fine.
Loop.
I'm okay. I am. I have emotional stability. . .
I spent the day at the mall today. After giving the thumbs up and a smile to the woman who pulled out of the Sears parking lot at the mall, I was all good. I didn't have an agenda of gifts to buy, but I had a head full of people I wanted to buy for. . . my sister, my sister-in-laws, my nieces, my nephews, my mom . . .
And I realized as I walked through the mall, that their gift to me was their smiles, because I thought about them as I pulled things off shelves, smelled them, put them back, touched them, put them back, read things, smelled things, touched things, and when the feeling was right, I bought. My sister, my nieces, my brothers, my neighbors too. . .
Even when the smelly guy was selling me a calendar and I knocked over the entire display, I was okay. Even when the bag I carried broke and poured the contents of my purchases all over the mall floor (where two very polite people offered me better bags), I was okay.
Then I hear the New York, New York theme. Then I hear a Springsteen song. Then I feel a longing in my heart. Then I remember things. Then I shake my head to forget things. Then I realize I am facing Christmas as a 3rd wheel, wherever I go. I don't have the kids. I don't have the comfort of being invited, I am the one who invites myself. And then I think:
I'm okay.
Dear God, if I could have one wish. . .
Next year will be good. I'll have the kids for Christmas.
But I'm okay. I really am. Just feeling it now, instead of on Christmas day when I should be celebrating the real gift I've been given.
Christmas.
Rejoice!
Monday, December 12, 2011
Containment
I've spent the last few weeks acclimating myself to a new job: new company, new role, new responsibilities. The industry that I am in is very tight-knit. I am introduced on a daily basis to someone that I worked with ten years ago on a different project. It's one of the reasons I like the job and the industry, it's also another reason why burning bridges with people is utterly stupid.
Fortunately, I don't think I've burned any bridges, and more fortunately, I don't hold grudges. Ever. I figure people are changing on a daily basis - maybe they got smacked with an unexpected divorce, or death, or financial crisis, and so, they've evolved beyond pettiness, if they're lucky.
I like the job. The pressure is high, but all in all, I look forward to going into work every day. I spent the weekend working. I had the kids here, we spent a lot of time together, but I also worked. I don't know if they liked it, but I had things that needed to be done before today, and so they saw my work sprawled out on the kitchen table, heard me talking on the phone, and watched as I shot emails through the air. They didn't complain, and I think it's because I didn't complain.
Which leads me to the title of this blog. I've come to have a daily prayer (among many) that I throw up to the heavens throughout the day. I simply say, "Containment".
I watched a dude give the finger to another dude on the highway. I prayed, "containment." I don't know the circumstances surrounding the reason for the gesture, but I prayed that the receiver would just contain it - - not get mad and worry about it, take it home with him and even unknowingly, use it to spur something else with his wife, or neighbor.
I was also getting a hair cut the other day, and the woman before me told the girl cutting my hair that she was lousy at blow-drying and should take extra classes if she wanted to succeed. When I got to the girl, she was upset and indignant about it. After all, she was insulted. I said, "Don't sweat it. It's her problem, not yours. I think you do a great job cutting and blow-drying. Let it go." She said, "Yeah, I know," but I could see that it was bothering her. Contain it. It's done. Over. Somebody said or did something negative against you. . . it's their problem, not yours. Contain it.
I use the term because I constantly see in pictures. I see the pebble going into the puddle, and the rings it produces. Some pebbles, thrown in years ago, are still reaching and reaching. Stop it on impact, if you have the ability, and it is contained.
No grudges.
No insecurities.
No despair.
No worries.
That's not to say that boulders haven't been thrown in, and sometimes all you can do is ride the waves that are produced. But when you have it in your ability to stop one insult or insensitive comment from affecting how you treat others, then use that ability.
It has helped me with work. As I said, everyone knows everyone. I am in the midst of hiring a big team to run a huge project. Every single time, throughout an interview, an opinion about someone else in the industry has come up. I stop my interviewee (who doesn't even realize they've said something negative about another person, or are still reacting to what another has said about them), and I say, "Let it go now. If you can't let it go, and if it is brought into this project, we're ruined. I am asking you right now, can you work with this person on a daily basis? If not, I don't want you on the team. If you say yes, and there is drama, then you won't be on the project very long."
I see their faces change. It takes a few seconds, but they get what I am saying. Whether there was competition in a former life does not matter because it's a new life now, with high pressure, many deadlines and high expectations.
I am interviewing people that are incredibly talented and know their jobs, yet they get sucked in by the personality quirks of others, and the back-talking begins - - the best case scenario is that they are miserable at their jobs; the worst case scenario is that we're all unemployed and unhappy. Whether their skills are the best or not, if they can't contain their old issues, then the task is even more difficult.
Contain it or let it go.
I saw a shooting star this morning at 5am as I started my day with a hot cup of coffee. I smiled, said good morning to the world, and whispered, "I love you", hoping that it reached every one I know.
Some things just shouldn't be contained.
Fortunately, I don't think I've burned any bridges, and more fortunately, I don't hold grudges. Ever. I figure people are changing on a daily basis - maybe they got smacked with an unexpected divorce, or death, or financial crisis, and so, they've evolved beyond pettiness, if they're lucky.
I like the job. The pressure is high, but all in all, I look forward to going into work every day. I spent the weekend working. I had the kids here, we spent a lot of time together, but I also worked. I don't know if they liked it, but I had things that needed to be done before today, and so they saw my work sprawled out on the kitchen table, heard me talking on the phone, and watched as I shot emails through the air. They didn't complain, and I think it's because I didn't complain.
Which leads me to the title of this blog. I've come to have a daily prayer (among many) that I throw up to the heavens throughout the day. I simply say, "Containment".
I watched a dude give the finger to another dude on the highway. I prayed, "containment." I don't know the circumstances surrounding the reason for the gesture, but I prayed that the receiver would just contain it - - not get mad and worry about it, take it home with him and even unknowingly, use it to spur something else with his wife, or neighbor.
I was also getting a hair cut the other day, and the woman before me told the girl cutting my hair that she was lousy at blow-drying and should take extra classes if she wanted to succeed. When I got to the girl, she was upset and indignant about it. After all, she was insulted. I said, "Don't sweat it. It's her problem, not yours. I think you do a great job cutting and blow-drying. Let it go." She said, "Yeah, I know," but I could see that it was bothering her. Contain it. It's done. Over. Somebody said or did something negative against you. . . it's their problem, not yours. Contain it.
I use the term because I constantly see in pictures. I see the pebble going into the puddle, and the rings it produces. Some pebbles, thrown in years ago, are still reaching and reaching. Stop it on impact, if you have the ability, and it is contained.
No grudges.
No insecurities.
No despair.
No worries.
That's not to say that boulders haven't been thrown in, and sometimes all you can do is ride the waves that are produced. But when you have it in your ability to stop one insult or insensitive comment from affecting how you treat others, then use that ability.
It has helped me with work. As I said, everyone knows everyone. I am in the midst of hiring a big team to run a huge project. Every single time, throughout an interview, an opinion about someone else in the industry has come up. I stop my interviewee (who doesn't even realize they've said something negative about another person, or are still reacting to what another has said about them), and I say, "Let it go now. If you can't let it go, and if it is brought into this project, we're ruined. I am asking you right now, can you work with this person on a daily basis? If not, I don't want you on the team. If you say yes, and there is drama, then you won't be on the project very long."
I see their faces change. It takes a few seconds, but they get what I am saying. Whether there was competition in a former life does not matter because it's a new life now, with high pressure, many deadlines and high expectations.
I am interviewing people that are incredibly talented and know their jobs, yet they get sucked in by the personality quirks of others, and the back-talking begins - - the best case scenario is that they are miserable at their jobs; the worst case scenario is that we're all unemployed and unhappy. Whether their skills are the best or not, if they can't contain their old issues, then the task is even more difficult.
Contain it or let it go.
I saw a shooting star this morning at 5am as I started my day with a hot cup of coffee. I smiled, said good morning to the world, and whispered, "I love you", hoping that it reached every one I know.
Some things just shouldn't be contained.
Monday, December 5, 2011
We Share the Same Soul
Please play the following link while reading the post: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRiI-cxDBPw
I've got an angel
She doesn't wear any wings
She gives me presents
With her presence alone
She gives me everything I could wish for
I've seen it with my own eyes
You're so busy changing the world
Corinne,
I adore you. My sister, my best friend. You are the most amazing woman I know - successful at work, at marriage, at family, at life. You are not just a Queen. . . you are THE Queen; and I am so very honored to share my soul with you.
Happy Birthday, Sista!
I've got an angel
She doesn't wear any wings
She wears a heart that can melt my own
She wears a smile that can make me wanna sing
She gives me presents
With her presence alone
She gives me kisses on the lips just for coming home
She can make angels
I've seen it with my own eyes
You gotta be careful when you've got good love
Cause the angels will just keep on multiplying
You're so busy changing the world
Just one smile can change all of mine
We share the same soul
Oh oh oh oh oh ohhh
Corinne,
I adore you. My sister, my best friend. You are the most amazing woman I know - successful at work, at marriage, at family, at life. You are not just a Queen. . . you are THE Queen; and I am so very honored to share my soul with you.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Yikes!
I am real surprised today that it has been so long since I pulled up this blog site, and posted; or went to Facebook and spent more than 30 seconds on it in the past week. It's been nearly impossible.
Having spent ten hours on the road on Sunday, driving back in the rain with the other billion travelers, I nearly embraced my kitchen island, I was so relieved to be home. The kids, of course, were bouyant after having spent all those hours in the car, and they were also starving. And we also raced each other for the bathroom because I refused to stop when it looked like I only had a couple hours of driving time.
It was 9pm, on a Sunday, with school the next day. I made them dinner while they took a bath, they scarfed it down, and we headed up to bed. All of us restless, and wanting to relax and process the weekend. It hasn't happened.
Monday, school and work. Tuesday, the same. Wednesday, the same plus Christmas decorating. Yesterday. Today. Ugh. It has been a non-stop cycle of work, home, school, on-line shopping, cleaning the house, decorating the house, cuddling before bed, and then back at it.
Today, I am working from home - in my Pajamas, at my desk with music blaring and dogs barking and the opportunity to throw in a load of wash, and take a shower when I feel like it without the need to get dressed in anything other than sweats or go anywhere. I have 50 leases that I've needed to review at work. I have gotten through 3 of them in the past four days. I go to work, and there are phone calls and meetings, and other priorities so I don't get the other work done. Not today. Today I will focus, and finish these leases. Sweet freedom for the weekend. I love my job though - and that, in itself, is sweet freedom.
I'm facing a weekend without the kids. They're excited because they get to see their grandparents, so I'm happy for them. And me? No plans other than the annual book club Christmas party I am hosting on Sunday. This merely means that I have to clean my house, finish decorating, put the decorations away, cook some meals, go grocery shopping and sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.
That's what I am looking forward to the most. And when I finish the last lease, it is what I shall do. It's 7am now. 10 hours. 5 leases an hour.
What am I nuts?
I'll sleep in January. . .
Having spent ten hours on the road on Sunday, driving back in the rain with the other billion travelers, I nearly embraced my kitchen island, I was so relieved to be home. The kids, of course, were bouyant after having spent all those hours in the car, and they were also starving. And we also raced each other for the bathroom because I refused to stop when it looked like I only had a couple hours of driving time.
It was 9pm, on a Sunday, with school the next day. I made them dinner while they took a bath, they scarfed it down, and we headed up to bed. All of us restless, and wanting to relax and process the weekend. It hasn't happened.
Monday, school and work. Tuesday, the same. Wednesday, the same plus Christmas decorating. Yesterday. Today. Ugh. It has been a non-stop cycle of work, home, school, on-line shopping, cleaning the house, decorating the house, cuddling before bed, and then back at it.
Today, I am working from home - in my Pajamas, at my desk with music blaring and dogs barking and the opportunity to throw in a load of wash, and take a shower when I feel like it without the need to get dressed in anything other than sweats or go anywhere. I have 50 leases that I've needed to review at work. I have gotten through 3 of them in the past four days. I go to work, and there are phone calls and meetings, and other priorities so I don't get the other work done. Not today. Today I will focus, and finish these leases. Sweet freedom for the weekend. I love my job though - and that, in itself, is sweet freedom.
I'm facing a weekend without the kids. They're excited because they get to see their grandparents, so I'm happy for them. And me? No plans other than the annual book club Christmas party I am hosting on Sunday. This merely means that I have to clean my house, finish decorating, put the decorations away, cook some meals, go grocery shopping and sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.
That's what I am looking forward to the most. And when I finish the last lease, it is what I shall do. It's 7am now. 10 hours. 5 leases an hour.
What am I nuts?
I'll sleep in January. . .
Sunday, November 20, 2011
The greatest of these is Love
On my desk are pictures - - taped and framed, haphazard in placement, spanning years. I have one where Tony is barely able to sit up straight, his face shining with a smile; and Paige, her cheeks chubby with baby fat, her hair in tight curls around a face that exudes comfort and peace. Sometimes I look at these two particular pictures, and I feel a pinch on my heart.
They were taken when life was so very different. My marriage was intact, my dreams were clear and before me, I hadn't had to deal with the soul-crushing pain of loss at that point. My grandparents were ailing and had lived a long life before their death. I was so young when their physical bodies were turned over to death.
I was blissfully unaware that tragedy could and would strike.
Yet, thinking back on it now, I had this incredible family to enfold me, to remind me with stories about them. They were gone, but they were also so very present in my life.
My mom's dad died over 26 years ago, followed by Grandma and Grandpa Fuzzy, some years later. 26 years! And I still feel the presence of their love in my heart, the warmth of their arms around me, the great joy I felt as a young child when I would race into a room, and see them there. I can tell you, truthfully, because of their presence in my life, I have been comforted in times of sadness.
And dear God, every day, I think about and feel the pain of losing my brother and my dad and my aunt. I also feel the joy of having known them so intimately. You can't have one without the other, right?
Once again, my family is facing a great tragedy. My dad's brother, Uncle Jim, had a stroke with no chance of recovery, and in that sudden, unexpected twist of life itself, we are embroidering ourselves into the fabric of this family: feeling more grateful for each other; feeling closer to our cousins and aunts, our children, our parents, our nieces, our nephews, our friends; feeling the great moment of love that rushes forth when grief and loss, tragedy and pain, slide into view.
My dad, man, he described it beautifully on the day of Jeff's funeral. I was fortunate to witness it. He was seated at the head of the table, my mom sat on the opposite end. There were four empty chairs on either side, where family and friends had been seated just minutes earlier. I walked into the room, where it was just the two of them, staring into each other's eyes, tears streaming down their faces, chins quivering.
"Why?" My mom asked. "Why?"
"I don't know Lynda, but what I do know is that I've never loved you as much as I love you right now."
Since Jeff's passing, I can tell you that I've never loved harder or felt more passionate about my family and friends.
This, to me, is God's mercy. It's God's grace.
This, to me, is the very proof of His light, His existence.
This, to me, defines my faith and empowers it, and helps me express it to those in need.
It's God's love.
Uncle Jim, may you pass peacefully, and joyfully into the arms outstretched on the other side, waiting for you; and may we use the tragedy that comes from losing you in this world, to lift us up enough to feel the warmth of the light coming from all of you.
They were taken when life was so very different. My marriage was intact, my dreams were clear and before me, I hadn't had to deal with the soul-crushing pain of loss at that point. My grandparents were ailing and had lived a long life before their death. I was so young when their physical bodies were turned over to death.
I was blissfully unaware that tragedy could and would strike.
Yet, thinking back on it now, I had this incredible family to enfold me, to remind me with stories about them. They were gone, but they were also so very present in my life.
My mom's dad died over 26 years ago, followed by Grandma and Grandpa Fuzzy, some years later. 26 years! And I still feel the presence of their love in my heart, the warmth of their arms around me, the great joy I felt as a young child when I would race into a room, and see them there. I can tell you, truthfully, because of their presence in my life, I have been comforted in times of sadness.
And dear God, every day, I think about and feel the pain of losing my brother and my dad and my aunt. I also feel the joy of having known them so intimately. You can't have one without the other, right?
Once again, my family is facing a great tragedy. My dad's brother, Uncle Jim, had a stroke with no chance of recovery, and in that sudden, unexpected twist of life itself, we are embroidering ourselves into the fabric of this family: feeling more grateful for each other; feeling closer to our cousins and aunts, our children, our parents, our nieces, our nephews, our friends; feeling the great moment of love that rushes forth when grief and loss, tragedy and pain, slide into view.
My dad, man, he described it beautifully on the day of Jeff's funeral. I was fortunate to witness it. He was seated at the head of the table, my mom sat on the opposite end. There were four empty chairs on either side, where family and friends had been seated just minutes earlier. I walked into the room, where it was just the two of them, staring into each other's eyes, tears streaming down their faces, chins quivering.
"Why?" My mom asked. "Why?"
"I don't know Lynda, but what I do know is that I've never loved you as much as I love you right now."
Since Jeff's passing, I can tell you that I've never loved harder or felt more passionate about my family and friends.
This, to me, is God's mercy. It's God's grace.
This, to me, is the very proof of His light, His existence.
This, to me, defines my faith and empowers it, and helps me express it to those in need.
It's God's love.
Uncle Jim, may you pass peacefully, and joyfully into the arms outstretched on the other side, waiting for you; and may we use the tragedy that comes from losing you in this world, to lift us up enough to feel the warmth of the light coming from all of you.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Do The Right Thing
Paige and I watched a movie yesterday called Flipped. It was set in the early 70's about a 13 year old girl who had a crush on the boy who lived across the street.
I thought it was going to be another one of those flippant "I love him so much, why doesn't he love me?" kind of movies, where the girl and another girl battle over the boy, and the girl who had a better character would win the boy.
And it was kind of like that, except it wasn't. The main character, Julie, was wise for her age. She did things the right way -- focusing on helping others, working hard, and being brave even when the grown-ups wanted her to do otherwise.
Her crush, on the other hand, was a coward. He said and did things that would make himself look better, even though after he did these things, he felt like crap about himself. He knew what he wanted to say, what the right thing to do was, yet he still went with the masses.
After Julie recognized this about him, she didn't have a crush anymore. She didn't even care, one way or another.
Guess what happened? The boy fell for her, finally seeing how solid her character really was, and he tried to get her to like him again - - by giving her things, telling her things he thought she wanted to hear. . .
She called him a coward, told him to figure it out, and remained solid in her character.
Great movie.
In the end, he figured it out; stood up to his father, who was a big piece of skewed-moral-compass-shit, and got her in the end.
Paige and I were glued to the TV. There was no sex, no cell phones, no crazy hair, make-up, or mini-skirt-wearing-blondes-who-cracked-their-gum.
After it was over, Paige said, "I want to be like that girl. . . doing the right thing, even though others may look at her oddly."
"Me too." I said.
"You are, Mommy. But I think I'm more like the boy - - worried about what others think, and not sticking up for others because I am afraid."
"You'll get there. We all have to learn. Just keep her in mind, and see how much better she felt at all times than he did."
"Yeah, he felt lousy because he knew what was right, but ignored it."
"A lot of people do that."
So before bed, I heard Paige praying, asking for help to not be a coward and to always do the right thing.
It ain't easy for any of us, but I think she's on the right track. . .
I thought it was going to be another one of those flippant "I love him so much, why doesn't he love me?" kind of movies, where the girl and another girl battle over the boy, and the girl who had a better character would win the boy.
And it was kind of like that, except it wasn't. The main character, Julie, was wise for her age. She did things the right way -- focusing on helping others, working hard, and being brave even when the grown-ups wanted her to do otherwise.
Her crush, on the other hand, was a coward. He said and did things that would make himself look better, even though after he did these things, he felt like crap about himself. He knew what he wanted to say, what the right thing to do was, yet he still went with the masses.
After Julie recognized this about him, she didn't have a crush anymore. She didn't even care, one way or another.
Guess what happened? The boy fell for her, finally seeing how solid her character really was, and he tried to get her to like him again - - by giving her things, telling her things he thought she wanted to hear. . .
She called him a coward, told him to figure it out, and remained solid in her character.
Great movie.
In the end, he figured it out; stood up to his father, who was a big piece of skewed-moral-compass-shit, and got her in the end.
Paige and I were glued to the TV. There was no sex, no cell phones, no crazy hair, make-up, or mini-skirt-wearing-blondes-who-cracked-their-gum.
After it was over, Paige said, "I want to be like that girl. . . doing the right thing, even though others may look at her oddly."
"Me too." I said.
"You are, Mommy. But I think I'm more like the boy - - worried about what others think, and not sticking up for others because I am afraid."
"You'll get there. We all have to learn. Just keep her in mind, and see how much better she felt at all times than he did."
"Yeah, he felt lousy because he knew what was right, but ignored it."
"A lot of people do that."
So before bed, I heard Paige praying, asking for help to not be a coward and to always do the right thing.
It ain't easy for any of us, but I think she's on the right track. . .
Friday, November 11, 2011
Another Day, Another Dollar, Another Day
There is a certain art to living, especially when there is the past and the future revolving around the center of simply being in your own little universe.
I see myself, at this moment, in the center of a ring, with bands circling. In this center is my new job. Having begun this job at the beginning of the month, I am still pulling in the newness of it all. I walked into a company where I knew only one person, into a field of work where everyone knows everyone, and beginning tasks that are reminiscent of the past ten years for me. In those ten years, I've accumulated skills that have filled a file folder with about fifty different pockets, and I've spent the last couple of weeks, dusting off those files and pulling them all into a skill set that will benefit me as I sidle into my new role as a responsible manager of many people and things.
It's been fun.
Added to this, is the pompousness of being a Fuzzy in a non-Fuzzy world; laying claim to a portion of people's psyches as I introduce myself and my character into their world. It started two days after I began there. The company asked for a brief bio of my work history. So I wrote it with the flair of my own personality --- "I started my career as an acrobat for the circus, and was quickly recognized as someone who might be better suited as the woman who stands on the elephant in tiara and an evening gown and is paraded around the ring. . . etc., etc." I ended up as a WWE champion before I decided to use my law degree and get into my current position.
I realize now that I was introducing more than a bio, I was introducing myself --- my humor, my humility and my pride. Who are you? I'm a Fuzzy.
Amidst the professional responsibilities and tasks that are coming at me, I am also meeting new people, and getting to know them. I like to laugh and socialize. I like to tell jokes, and be aware of the personal challenges of everyone I meet, especially those that I will see every day. So I've spent a good portion of the past two weeks, listening to people, and sharing parts of my story.
So, in keeping with my center of the ring analogy, I am there, pulling on each circle that surrounds me. One, new job expectations. Using my brain to dislodge my experiences to bring them into the mix for solutions and agendas on getting tasks done quickly and with quality. Not so hard - - just do more than what is expected. Can nail the job portion.
Two, string number two, social introductions. Getting to know more people, plugging new numbers into my phone, sharing lunch and conversation.
Three, balance at home. (And this is why I haven't really written lately). I am in a new atmosphere with work, yet still making lunches, still signing the kids up for basketball and committing my time as their coach, still wrapping up soccer seasons, still doing homework with them and signing a zillion papers and permission slips, still doing laundry, making dinner, cleaning the house; still taking the dogs to the vet or cleaning up the dead animal smell on their coats because they like to roll around; talking with the mechanic about Kitty's health and maintenance; anticipating the upcoming trip to Buffalo with the dogs, the kids and perhaps, the guinea pigs; considering Christmas presents -- willing myself to go on-line and start shopping (which I haven't done); putting out fires that flare up from the divorce; getting the kids to sit down for a picture for Christmas cards; writing Christmas cards; keeping up with my DVR'd shows; reading Facebook updates; weighing in on Paterno's moral obligations; writing. . .
Four, maintaining other relationships - - hanging with my cousins, going to book club, talking and texting on the phone, making lunch dates with old colleagues.
Finally Five. The untanticipated, unexpected recognition of grief, that comes into my daily thoughts - - a vision of my Dad dancing, the sound of his laughter; Jeff's long arms around the shoulder of my brothers, the sound of his laughter; my Aunt's cabbage rolls, the sound of her laughter. . . taking the wisdom I've gleaned from all these experiences and applying them to all the happenings of the center of the ring.
It's been fun.
There is a certain peace that comes from being so busy doing, that there is little time for dwelling. Yes, I still get down and still feel the sadness from the voids; but I am also making friends, doing solid work, laughing with the kids, and being a Fuzzy.
Now, all I need is a companion to throw into the mix, and I'll be steady as the rest of the world.
It's been a couple weeks of this new reality formation. I'm not burn out yet, and I certainly like the fact that I go into work in the mornings, and as I'm racing to get home to meet the kids at the bus stop, I am surprised that hours passed by like minutes.
It all goes so quickly, each hour, and I guess I am okay with it because I'm not wasting that time bitching or crying or dwelling, I'm just living. That is my art, these days.
I see myself, at this moment, in the center of a ring, with bands circling. In this center is my new job. Having begun this job at the beginning of the month, I am still pulling in the newness of it all. I walked into a company where I knew only one person, into a field of work where everyone knows everyone, and beginning tasks that are reminiscent of the past ten years for me. In those ten years, I've accumulated skills that have filled a file folder with about fifty different pockets, and I've spent the last couple of weeks, dusting off those files and pulling them all into a skill set that will benefit me as I sidle into my new role as a responsible manager of many people and things.
It's been fun.
Added to this, is the pompousness of being a Fuzzy in a non-Fuzzy world; laying claim to a portion of people's psyches as I introduce myself and my character into their world. It started two days after I began there. The company asked for a brief bio of my work history. So I wrote it with the flair of my own personality --- "I started my career as an acrobat for the circus, and was quickly recognized as someone who might be better suited as the woman who stands on the elephant in tiara and an evening gown and is paraded around the ring. . . etc., etc." I ended up as a WWE champion before I decided to use my law degree and get into my current position.
I realize now that I was introducing more than a bio, I was introducing myself --- my humor, my humility and my pride. Who are you? I'm a Fuzzy.
Amidst the professional responsibilities and tasks that are coming at me, I am also meeting new people, and getting to know them. I like to laugh and socialize. I like to tell jokes, and be aware of the personal challenges of everyone I meet, especially those that I will see every day. So I've spent a good portion of the past two weeks, listening to people, and sharing parts of my story.
So, in keeping with my center of the ring analogy, I am there, pulling on each circle that surrounds me. One, new job expectations. Using my brain to dislodge my experiences to bring them into the mix for solutions and agendas on getting tasks done quickly and with quality. Not so hard - - just do more than what is expected. Can nail the job portion.
Two, string number two, social introductions. Getting to know more people, plugging new numbers into my phone, sharing lunch and conversation.
Three, balance at home. (And this is why I haven't really written lately). I am in a new atmosphere with work, yet still making lunches, still signing the kids up for basketball and committing my time as their coach, still wrapping up soccer seasons, still doing homework with them and signing a zillion papers and permission slips, still doing laundry, making dinner, cleaning the house; still taking the dogs to the vet or cleaning up the dead animal smell on their coats because they like to roll around; talking with the mechanic about Kitty's health and maintenance; anticipating the upcoming trip to Buffalo with the dogs, the kids and perhaps, the guinea pigs; considering Christmas presents -- willing myself to go on-line and start shopping (which I haven't done); putting out fires that flare up from the divorce; getting the kids to sit down for a picture for Christmas cards; writing Christmas cards; keeping up with my DVR'd shows; reading Facebook updates; weighing in on Paterno's moral obligations; writing. . .
Four, maintaining other relationships - - hanging with my cousins, going to book club, talking and texting on the phone, making lunch dates with old colleagues.
Finally Five. The untanticipated, unexpected recognition of grief, that comes into my daily thoughts - - a vision of my Dad dancing, the sound of his laughter; Jeff's long arms around the shoulder of my brothers, the sound of his laughter; my Aunt's cabbage rolls, the sound of her laughter. . . taking the wisdom I've gleaned from all these experiences and applying them to all the happenings of the center of the ring.
It's been fun.
There is a certain peace that comes from being so busy doing, that there is little time for dwelling. Yes, I still get down and still feel the sadness from the voids; but I am also making friends, doing solid work, laughing with the kids, and being a Fuzzy.
Now, all I need is a companion to throw into the mix, and I'll be steady as the rest of the world.
It's been a couple weeks of this new reality formation. I'm not burn out yet, and I certainly like the fact that I go into work in the mornings, and as I'm racing to get home to meet the kids at the bus stop, I am surprised that hours passed by like minutes.
It all goes so quickly, each hour, and I guess I am okay with it because I'm not wasting that time bitching or crying or dwelling, I'm just living. That is my art, these days.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Gobble, Gobble, Goo, Gobble, Gobble, Giggle. . .
. . . I wish Turkey only cost a nickel!
Adam Sandler sings this line, and he is my ringtone from November 1st through Thanksgiving. Every time I get a phone call, especially at work, there is a laugh. It reminds me of my brother Jeff, who sent me the ringtone a long, long time ago.
After Thanksgiving, I switch to Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and I am in a panic when my phone rings, knowing that Christmas is a short time away and I haven't shopped yet.
I have the kids for an entire week at Thanksgiving. We'll shuffle off to Buffalo, gobble some turkey, have some laughs and savor the memories until the next time.
I do not have the kids at Christmas. Gah, that just. . .
I won't go there. We will still celebrate as though Santa's fat behind slid into the faux fireplace, but it will be the day after Christmas when we do.
In the meantime, I will shop on-line, hide all the loot somewhere in the house, wrap presents on the sly, ship gifts to my family, and watch Christmas Vacation over and over and over again. . .
"Surprised, Clark?"
"I couldn't be more surprised Eddie, if I woke up and my head was stapled to the carpet."
Ah, Tis the season to be Merry. . .
Despite the hectic pace of this season, the blessings erupt daily, and I look forward to the Turkey!
Adam Sandler sings this line, and he is my ringtone from November 1st through Thanksgiving. Every time I get a phone call, especially at work, there is a laugh. It reminds me of my brother Jeff, who sent me the ringtone a long, long time ago.
After Thanksgiving, I switch to Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and I am in a panic when my phone rings, knowing that Christmas is a short time away and I haven't shopped yet.
I have the kids for an entire week at Thanksgiving. We'll shuffle off to Buffalo, gobble some turkey, have some laughs and savor the memories until the next time.
I do not have the kids at Christmas. Gah, that just. . .
I won't go there. We will still celebrate as though Santa's fat behind slid into the faux fireplace, but it will be the day after Christmas when we do.
In the meantime, I will shop on-line, hide all the loot somewhere in the house, wrap presents on the sly, ship gifts to my family, and watch Christmas Vacation over and over and over again. . .
"Surprised, Clark?"
"I couldn't be more surprised Eddie, if I woke up and my head was stapled to the carpet."
Ah, Tis the season to be Merry. . .
Despite the hectic pace of this season, the blessings erupt daily, and I look forward to the Turkey!
Monday, October 31, 2011
What a Pig!
Okay, so I gave the kids two guinea pigs this past Valentine's Day. I got them from a co-worker, who inadvertently put a male and a female guinea pig together in a cage and produced babies. He brought them to work, and I told him that I didn't want the same accident to occur with my guinea pigs, so he better be sure that they were both females.
Here's the scene I walked into one day: He was sitting at his desk with pictures of guinea pig genitals posted on his computer, while another coworker lifted the guinea pigs, one by one, and held them up next to the computer to do a side-by-side view. The guinea pigs blushed as we viewed their, um, private parts, and I was assured that the ones I was getting were indeed both female.
So I got the mommy, Tails, who had just given birth, and her daughter, Nina.
Tails is pregnant. Nina is a boy.
Surprised?
Paige's response, bless her heart, was that she didn't understand how Tails could get pregnant when Nina and Tails never got married. I told her that they must have had a secret ceremony when we were on vacation last time.
"Mommy, I think that the husband-son will eat the babies when they are born. . ." She said. (Note that she calls him husband, not father).
"I don't know, baby, I have to read the Guinea Pig book." I responded, sighing audibly.
"I'll read it!"
She grabbed it off the shelf, looked up "family planning" in the index, and started reading while I stood in the kitchen talking to my brother Jim and my cousin Jessica.
"...if the courtship is successful, the male tries to mount her..." Paige read, out loud.
Jim and Jessica giggle.
"See mommy, he'll try to mount her!" She came running up to me, holding out the book. I grabbed it from her and read the preceding paragraph, while Jessica read over my shoulder.
"...He circles the female in slow motion and makes a low sound: He purrs at her. If she remains sitting, he continues to circle her and at brief intervals lowers his testicles. If the courtship. . ."
Oh boy. Jessica starts to laugh, Jim walks over, reads the paragraph, and a discussion between them ensues. When I say discussion, I mean that they are laughing and spouting out incomprehensible words.
"Wait, what does mount mean?" Paige asked.
"Oh my God, have fun with that." Jim said, still laughing loudly with Jessica.
I took Paige into the other room because Jim and Jessica started to have an inappropriate conversation about the virtue of Tails.
She asked again.
"Well, what it doesn't mean is that Nina will eat the babies." I said, hoping she'd take that for an answer.
"But, what does mount mean?" When she asked it again, another wave of laughter from the kitchen.
I had three seconds, in that moment, to decide whether I wanted to have the birds and the bees conversation with her. She's eight now, she's curious.
My brain was screaming, "no no no no no no no no..." and she is staring up at me, innocently and curious.
"Well..." I started, "Mounting is what Nina needed to do to get her seed inside Tails. . ."
"Did she just say seed????" Jim screams from the kitchen, and him and Jessica are crying, they are laughing so hard.
And Paige asks, "Does he put his seed in her mouth?"
Imagine, the response from the kitchen. . . (I think one of them yelled out, "Sometimes!")
I shake my head slowly, "Um. . . no."
"In her butthole?" Paige asks.
Bah!
"You know what Paige, we'll talk about this tomorrow when Uncle Jim and Jessica aren't here. Is that okay?"
"Okay!" She jumped up from her seat and ran up the stairs to check on the whore, er, guinea pig.
Bah!
Here's the scene I walked into one day: He was sitting at his desk with pictures of guinea pig genitals posted on his computer, while another coworker lifted the guinea pigs, one by one, and held them up next to the computer to do a side-by-side view. The guinea pigs blushed as we viewed their, um, private parts, and I was assured that the ones I was getting were indeed both female.
So I got the mommy, Tails, who had just given birth, and her daughter, Nina.
Tails is pregnant. Nina is a boy.
Surprised?
Paige's response, bless her heart, was that she didn't understand how Tails could get pregnant when Nina and Tails never got married. I told her that they must have had a secret ceremony when we were on vacation last time.
"Mommy, I think that the husband-son will eat the babies when they are born. . ." She said. (Note that she calls him husband, not father).
"I don't know, baby, I have to read the Guinea Pig book." I responded, sighing audibly.
"I'll read it!"
She grabbed it off the shelf, looked up "family planning" in the index, and started reading while I stood in the kitchen talking to my brother Jim and my cousin Jessica.
"...if the courtship is successful, the male tries to mount her..." Paige read, out loud.
Jim and Jessica giggle.
"See mommy, he'll try to mount her!" She came running up to me, holding out the book. I grabbed it from her and read the preceding paragraph, while Jessica read over my shoulder.
"...He circles the female in slow motion and makes a low sound: He purrs at her. If she remains sitting, he continues to circle her and at brief intervals lowers his testicles. If the courtship. . ."
Oh boy. Jessica starts to laugh, Jim walks over, reads the paragraph, and a discussion between them ensues. When I say discussion, I mean that they are laughing and spouting out incomprehensible words.
"Wait, what does mount mean?" Paige asked.
"Oh my God, have fun with that." Jim said, still laughing loudly with Jessica.
I took Paige into the other room because Jim and Jessica started to have an inappropriate conversation about the virtue of Tails.
She asked again.
"Well, what it doesn't mean is that Nina will eat the babies." I said, hoping she'd take that for an answer.
"But, what does mount mean?" When she asked it again, another wave of laughter from the kitchen.
I had three seconds, in that moment, to decide whether I wanted to have the birds and the bees conversation with her. She's eight now, she's curious.
My brain was screaming, "no no no no no no no no..." and she is staring up at me, innocently and curious.
"Well..." I started, "Mounting is what Nina needed to do to get her seed inside Tails. . ."
"Did she just say seed????" Jim screams from the kitchen, and him and Jessica are crying, they are laughing so hard.
And Paige asks, "Does he put his seed in her mouth?"
Imagine, the response from the kitchen. . . (I think one of them yelled out, "Sometimes!")
I shake my head slowly, "Um. . . no."
"In her butthole?" Paige asks.
Bah!
"You know what Paige, we'll talk about this tomorrow when Uncle Jim and Jessica aren't here. Is that okay?"
"Okay!" She jumped up from her seat and ran up the stairs to check on the whore, er, guinea pig.
Bah!
Friday, October 28, 2011
Pathos
I just posted on my Facebook that I'm sick, and it sucks. Exhaustion bred the sniffles which bred sneezes and coughs, which bred a lack of sleep, and a worse cold. I don't like being sick. It makes me crabby and short with the kids, and I am offended by the fact that the kids got the flu shot, and I got the flu.
Equally disturbing is that I am set to begin a new job on Halloween, and this is my last "free" weekend before work becomes even more consuming than it has been. Don't get me wrong, I've been working from home, but the hours are mine. Having to go into an office every day, aggravates me, but it is necessary to be successful at what I do.
In essence, I feel sorry for myself, which is typical whenever I get sick.
I've begun writing a new story - I'm not sure if it is going to be short story, or if it is the start of a novel. In my research for one of the main characters, I came across a fascinating blog on Sociopathy. The article itself isn't nearly as interesting as the comments that follow. It is blowing me away to hear some of the stories of the victims who have lived and are living with sociopaths. It is crazy to see the varying degrees of this "mental" illness. But what fascinates me the most, is that one of the main commentators is a sociopath - has been diagnosed, and is responding to people's questions on the blog.
If you have any interest, check the comments to this blog out: http://sociopathcomments.blogspot.com/2008/11/comments-on-common-everyday-sociopaths.html?commentPage=1
I am currently on comments 200+, but there are over 2000 comments on this illness. If I didn't have a sense of one of my characters in the story I am working on, I do now.
Talk about sickness. I am coddling myself due to a cold, and I am using the down time, to read about a sickness that cannot be cured. The sociopath has no sense of guilt, no sense of remorse, they lack the ability to empathize, and thrive on gaining control in relationships. Some become serial killers, some end up drug abusers, some simply move from failed relationship to failed relationship without considering the devastation (in some cases) left behind. Those that are part of a marital relationship, always leave their spouse with no control, with a sense of worthlessness, with a destroyed sense of self; and the spouses that get away from the sociopath spend years trying to understand that not everyone is that untrustworthy. They lie, they cheat, they have no permanent friends (they generally lose them or cut them out of their life at some point - even those labeled "best" friends), and though some can love, say their own children, most of them end up destroying that relationship too.
It's a game, and it is so interesting to me, to know that I've met people like this - was employed by one who ended up in jail after the FBI investigated his dealings for years (in fact, I was witness against him in the case). Fascinating.
I believe there was a book called American Psycho (and a subsequent movie) about this sickness. I have the book somewhere among the thousands of books on my shelf, and I remember reading the first couple chapters and putting it down because it was so very disturbing to me. I've only never finished two books: American Psycho and War and Peace (that book is massive). Now I want to dig for it, and see if I can finish it because that kind of person actually exists.
Can you imagine not feeling love? Can imagine that the only real emotion you feel is rage? All the others are blanketed versions of what you observe in other people. The victims are told to get as far away from this kind of person as possible. Turn and don't look back because they can't be fixed. Can you imagine if your child was a sociopath? (It's a genetic and physical disturbance to the frontal lobe of your brain, and can be seen in scans). How could you turn and never look back? It would be impossible for me. In fact, one of the commentators argued that God was the only answer in a highly intelligent post, and was subsequently "spanked" by the sociopath, who maintained his control by stating, effectually, that he wouldn't even consider this guy's argument. That sociopath also said that he believes in God and also believes in Satan, but fears neither one of them. Fascinating.
So, as I nurse this cold, I get chills from all my reading.
Being sick sucks, but it's better than being really sick.
Equally disturbing is that I am set to begin a new job on Halloween, and this is my last "free" weekend before work becomes even more consuming than it has been. Don't get me wrong, I've been working from home, but the hours are mine. Having to go into an office every day, aggravates me, but it is necessary to be successful at what I do.
In essence, I feel sorry for myself, which is typical whenever I get sick.
I've begun writing a new story - I'm not sure if it is going to be short story, or if it is the start of a novel. In my research for one of the main characters, I came across a fascinating blog on Sociopathy. The article itself isn't nearly as interesting as the comments that follow. It is blowing me away to hear some of the stories of the victims who have lived and are living with sociopaths. It is crazy to see the varying degrees of this "mental" illness. But what fascinates me the most, is that one of the main commentators is a sociopath - has been diagnosed, and is responding to people's questions on the blog.
If you have any interest, check the comments to this blog out: http://sociopathcomments.blogspot.com/2008/11/comments-on-common-everyday-sociopaths.html?commentPage=1
I am currently on comments 200+, but there are over 2000 comments on this illness. If I didn't have a sense of one of my characters in the story I am working on, I do now.
Talk about sickness. I am coddling myself due to a cold, and I am using the down time, to read about a sickness that cannot be cured. The sociopath has no sense of guilt, no sense of remorse, they lack the ability to empathize, and thrive on gaining control in relationships. Some become serial killers, some end up drug abusers, some simply move from failed relationship to failed relationship without considering the devastation (in some cases) left behind. Those that are part of a marital relationship, always leave their spouse with no control, with a sense of worthlessness, with a destroyed sense of self; and the spouses that get away from the sociopath spend years trying to understand that not everyone is that untrustworthy. They lie, they cheat, they have no permanent friends (they generally lose them or cut them out of their life at some point - even those labeled "best" friends), and though some can love, say their own children, most of them end up destroying that relationship too.
It's a game, and it is so interesting to me, to know that I've met people like this - was employed by one who ended up in jail after the FBI investigated his dealings for years (in fact, I was witness against him in the case). Fascinating.
I believe there was a book called American Psycho (and a subsequent movie) about this sickness. I have the book somewhere among the thousands of books on my shelf, and I remember reading the first couple chapters and putting it down because it was so very disturbing to me. I've only never finished two books: American Psycho and War and Peace (that book is massive). Now I want to dig for it, and see if I can finish it because that kind of person actually exists.
Can you imagine not feeling love? Can imagine that the only real emotion you feel is rage? All the others are blanketed versions of what you observe in other people. The victims are told to get as far away from this kind of person as possible. Turn and don't look back because they can't be fixed. Can you imagine if your child was a sociopath? (It's a genetic and physical disturbance to the frontal lobe of your brain, and can be seen in scans). How could you turn and never look back? It would be impossible for me. In fact, one of the commentators argued that God was the only answer in a highly intelligent post, and was subsequently "spanked" by the sociopath, who maintained his control by stating, effectually, that he wouldn't even consider this guy's argument. That sociopath also said that he believes in God and also believes in Satan, but fears neither one of them. Fascinating.
So, as I nurse this cold, I get chills from all my reading.
Being sick sucks, but it's better than being really sick.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
The Little Babies. . .
My immediate family has turned a corner. I just realized that the little bastard, Enzo, isn't a little bastard anymore. He's actually kind of cool. No longer does he bite my ankles in a frenzy, or jump on the kids and drag them by the shins around the house. He doesn't jump up on the counters, trying to grab cookies, or pork chops, or bananas and apples.
Yet, they get along very well. They chase each other around in circles in the house, until she tires herself out. (My Gracie girl will be 8 in January).
They've come a long way, her and Enzo.
The kids' bus comes at 4:10 every day. At 4:00, both dogs are running around like crazy. They scratch to go out the back door, and run to the fence closest to the street. When they see me putting on my shoes to go down to the bus stop, they run in circles, scrambling to be as close as they can be to the door when I open it. I have to slither out.
As the kids come running down the driveway with their back packs, both dogs are at the door, their tails wagging so that their whole backside shakes.
Yes, we've come a long way.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
One moment
Still grateful because of the weekend, I turned in my bed to see a text coming in from my sister. "Oh, cool, I get to start the day with her." The text informed me that one of the family's best friends (our neighbor since we were in diapers, and Jeff's best friend throughout high school and adulthood) was in a car accident because he was trying to avoid deer and slammed into a telephone pole.
Man, my heart was in my esophagus when I read that text, and I immediately said a prayer and started to cry. Thank God, he only got pretty banged up, and nothing worse.
One moment. One swerve. One deer. One pole.
The accident reminded me of how grateful I am to have people in my life that I love so deeply. It also reminded me that one moment can change everything.
Everything.
Love. Love. Love. It's what we must do.
Man, my heart was in my esophagus when I read that text, and I immediately said a prayer and started to cry. Thank God, he only got pretty banged up, and nothing worse.
One moment. One swerve. One deer. One pole.
The accident reminded me of how grateful I am to have people in my life that I love so deeply. It also reminded me that one moment can change everything.
Everything.
Love. Love. Love. It's what we must do.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Do I Really Feel the Way I Feel?
"It is easy to be the person you have always been, for it requires no change, no self-reflection, and no growth. It may appear that changing yourself requires giving up something. In reality, there is no need to give up anything--you must simply add to what has been."
I am a quote junkie. I see quotes, brilliant thoughts by people who "get it" and I consistently write them down. Even if they're in a book somewhere, I grab my little notebook and I write them down. I have been writing quotes in various notebooks for years now, and I am always pleased when I come across one randomly, and think, "I understood that and it applied to my life when I wrote it down."
The above quote was written down about three years ago, when I was in the haze of self-reflection, bitterness, resentment and unforgiveness. I remember thinking, no praying, that the person who had betrayed me would change by growing and self-reflecting.
In reality, now that time, healing and wisdom have evolved in my little head, I realize that the person who betrayed me, was me.
". . . you must simply add to what has been."
I like that. It gives me comfort.
It's funny to recognize your own faults- - humbling, for sure, but also funny in a curious sort of way. I sometimes get on this high-horse, and think I know all the answers to all the questions that pertain to what I've experienced in life. Divorce? Oh, I'm an expert on that. Infidelity? Oh, I can give you all kinds of advice. Death? I'm the one you can turn to.
The truth is, I don't know squat. The only reality I know is my own, and when I think about it, I also think about a line from the song "Walking in Memphis": Do I really feel the way I feel?
We are all subjects. We are subjects of our own smoke-screen and mirrors, and my thoughts are not my own thoughts, my feelings are not my own feelings, they are just reflections of a mentality that I am the center of the universe, and all that happens in the universe is a reflection of what I put out there.
Maybe that is partially true. I mean, we are all connected. We have to be. . . we've all seen how rain dances on water. . . we've all experienced tears from frustration, grief, happiness. . . we've all been passionate about someone or something and found disappointment with the reality of it. . . we've all experienced regret and those what if moments. . . we've all had our breaths stop for beauty. . .
We're human.
Because we are human, we are able to experience the gifts that life provides - - daily, hourly, by the minute.
So, what?
Not sure what I feel right now, but I know that in three years, I might come across the quote above, and have an entirely different train of thoughts. I suppose I can only take what is given to me, and add it to what I already assume that I know.
What I know is that I don't know all there is to know.
Yet I do know what I feel when I observe rain dancing on the ocean, rays of sunshine bursting through the clouds, a drop of dew reflecting off the wet grass, a hawk soaring through the sky, an unexpected smile from a stranger, and belly laughs. . .
I just wish I could always remember that joy as I continue being human in a broken world. . .
I am a quote junkie. I see quotes, brilliant thoughts by people who "get it" and I consistently write them down. Even if they're in a book somewhere, I grab my little notebook and I write them down. I have been writing quotes in various notebooks for years now, and I am always pleased when I come across one randomly, and think, "I understood that and it applied to my life when I wrote it down."
The above quote was written down about three years ago, when I was in the haze of self-reflection, bitterness, resentment and unforgiveness. I remember thinking, no praying, that the person who had betrayed me would change by growing and self-reflecting.
In reality, now that time, healing and wisdom have evolved in my little head, I realize that the person who betrayed me, was me.
". . . you must simply add to what has been."
I like that. It gives me comfort.
It's funny to recognize your own faults- - humbling, for sure, but also funny in a curious sort of way. I sometimes get on this high-horse, and think I know all the answers to all the questions that pertain to what I've experienced in life. Divorce? Oh, I'm an expert on that. Infidelity? Oh, I can give you all kinds of advice. Death? I'm the one you can turn to.
The truth is, I don't know squat. The only reality I know is my own, and when I think about it, I also think about a line from the song "Walking in Memphis": Do I really feel the way I feel?
We are all subjects. We are subjects of our own smoke-screen and mirrors, and my thoughts are not my own thoughts, my feelings are not my own feelings, they are just reflections of a mentality that I am the center of the universe, and all that happens in the universe is a reflection of what I put out there.
Maybe that is partially true. I mean, we are all connected. We have to be. . . we've all seen how rain dances on water. . . we've all experienced tears from frustration, grief, happiness. . . we've all been passionate about someone or something and found disappointment with the reality of it. . . we've all experienced regret and those what if moments. . . we've all had our breaths stop for beauty. . .
We're human.
Because we are human, we are able to experience the gifts that life provides - - daily, hourly, by the minute.
So, what?
Not sure what I feel right now, but I know that in three years, I might come across the quote above, and have an entirely different train of thoughts. I suppose I can only take what is given to me, and add it to what I already assume that I know.
What I know is that I don't know all there is to know.
Yet I do know what I feel when I observe rain dancing on the ocean, rays of sunshine bursting through the clouds, a drop of dew reflecting off the wet grass, a hawk soaring through the sky, an unexpected smile from a stranger, and belly laughs. . .
I just wish I could always remember that joy as I continue being human in a broken world. . .
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
God Made Him
The boy's name was Clifford. He wasn't a big red dog. He wasn't even a black, successful gynecologist (though, as luck might have it, he shared the first name with one Clifford Huxtable, and by virtue of that he was exposed to women's anatomy). He wasn't best friends with Norm, though he often philosophized with a Sam, sometimes over an alcoholic beverage, I am sure, but never in a bar called Cheers.
Now Clifford earns his money as a safety inspector and trainer, yet as anyone who might have seen him, also knows that Clifford is a lover of food, a lover of family and a lover of words. He has written several books, notably his most recently published, Oh, Brother. The Life and Times of Jeffrey Fazzolari, and wrapped up into this book is a story of love, family, relationships and survival.
You see, Clifford is a survivor. There are days when he gets hit upside the head with an unwanted reality, and he mourns the losses that arose from these realities. But despite that bubbling pain, he awakens and begins his day with words, with sharing and with an attitude of love. He is aware that this is what he must do because his little sister, Carrie, relies on it.
Together, along with Clifford's family, readers and friends, we all move forward another day and feel the warmth that comes from relating to Clifford. On one very special day, of every year, this day, Clifford walks on even higher ground, and here on earth and in the heavens, all who know or know of him celebrate.
Today is his birthday. Raise a toast and wish him well.
Cliff - God made you. He must be in love with me. I love you. Happy Birthday.
Now Clifford earns his money as a safety inspector and trainer, yet as anyone who might have seen him, also knows that Clifford is a lover of food, a lover of family and a lover of words. He has written several books, notably his most recently published, Oh, Brother. The Life and Times of Jeffrey Fazzolari, and wrapped up into this book is a story of love, family, relationships and survival.
You see, Clifford is a survivor. There are days when he gets hit upside the head with an unwanted reality, and he mourns the losses that arose from these realities. But despite that bubbling pain, he awakens and begins his day with words, with sharing and with an attitude of love. He is aware that this is what he must do because his little sister, Carrie, relies on it.
Together, along with Clifford's family, readers and friends, we all move forward another day and feel the warmth that comes from relating to Clifford. On one very special day, of every year, this day, Clifford walks on even higher ground, and here on earth and in the heavens, all who know or know of him celebrate.
Today is his birthday. Raise a toast and wish him well.
Cliff - God made you. He must be in love with me. I love you. Happy Birthday.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Sleepy Time
We were all treated to a beautiful autumn weekend in Maryland. The leaves just started to turn those gorgeous reds and golds, but it was still warm enough outside to enjoy the sun shining down from clear, blue skies. I felt fortunate to be able to share this weekend with Paige and Tony, who rode around on their bikes (Paige took the training wheels off, finally. I had been trying to coax her for the past year), and scooters, shooting hoops and chasing all the dogs around the neighborhood. It was a happy weekend, and every night, the three of us fell into our beds, exhausted.
Yesterday morning, I got a text from a friend of mine. "You missed a great time last night. I am just getting home." It was 7:24 in the morning! I was just getting up for the day. There was a part of me that was envious because I am sure that whatever had gone on the night before was filled with laughter and fun times. Yet, there was a bigger part of me that was so happy that I had been sound asleep by 10pm. I couldn't imagine functioning the next day.
Then, my brother comes strolling in the house. I thought he had been up early and was just coming back from a trip to the grocery store, but no, he was whistling and laughing. "You missed a good time last night." He had been hanging at the same place as my texting friend. So I heard some of the funny stories, and looking at my brother, I was doubly happy that I was in bed at 10pm. He was whipped. But did it stop him from covering my pool with my cousin, Larry? Did it stop him from running his laundry, and making a pot of sauce big enough to feed the entire Ravens team? Nope. He functioned. I have no idea how, but he did. I was tired just watching him, and while the kids rode around the neighborhood, I sat on the front porch and dozed in the sunshine like a cat.
Sleep.
I love to sleep.
Last night, at 8:30, me and the kids were cuddled up on the couch, watching Spongebob. My eyes were drooping, and when I looked over at them, they were half-asleep. Despite Patrick's idiocy, the kids and I weren't all that into it. I turned the tv off, and without complaint, they slipped under their sheets, and were out within minutes.
Sleep.
I awoke this morning to the little bastard Enzo slobbering all over himself, and found Tony beside me, wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
"What are you doing?"
"Waiting for you to wake up."
"I'm up."
"Good. Can I ride my scooter?"
If the weather remains the same, we will go for another walk after dinner, and we will sleep soundly again.
I'm happy to be with them, alive, well-loved, and well-rested.
Yesterday morning, I got a text from a friend of mine. "You missed a great time last night. I am just getting home." It was 7:24 in the morning! I was just getting up for the day. There was a part of me that was envious because I am sure that whatever had gone on the night before was filled with laughter and fun times. Yet, there was a bigger part of me that was so happy that I had been sound asleep by 10pm. I couldn't imagine functioning the next day.
Then, my brother comes strolling in the house. I thought he had been up early and was just coming back from a trip to the grocery store, but no, he was whistling and laughing. "You missed a good time last night." He had been hanging at the same place as my texting friend. So I heard some of the funny stories, and looking at my brother, I was doubly happy that I was in bed at 10pm. He was whipped. But did it stop him from covering my pool with my cousin, Larry? Did it stop him from running his laundry, and making a pot of sauce big enough to feed the entire Ravens team? Nope. He functioned. I have no idea how, but he did. I was tired just watching him, and while the kids rode around the neighborhood, I sat on the front porch and dozed in the sunshine like a cat.
Sleep.
I love to sleep.
Last night, at 8:30, me and the kids were cuddled up on the couch, watching Spongebob. My eyes were drooping, and when I looked over at them, they were half-asleep. Despite Patrick's idiocy, the kids and I weren't all that into it. I turned the tv off, and without complaint, they slipped under their sheets, and were out within minutes.
Sleep.
I awoke this morning to the little bastard Enzo slobbering all over himself, and found Tony beside me, wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
"What are you doing?"
"Waiting for you to wake up."
"I'm up."
"Good. Can I ride my scooter?"
If the weather remains the same, we will go for another walk after dinner, and we will sleep soundly again.
I'm happy to be with them, alive, well-loved, and well-rested.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
It's All in a Day
Last night was date night with Tony. For the past three times together, we've gone to the Fuji Steak House because Tony loves the noodles, and he gets to pay the check. (He always grabs the check from the waitress, and attempts to sign the receipt. We've gotten to the point that the waitress will bring a fake check, and snag my credit card on the sly).
Last night, Tony decided he wanted to go to Chic-Fil-A. In his world, there was no better place to be. So we went, and sharing a booth, we talked. We talked about school, about soccer, about Uncle Cliff (for some reason he had a bunch of questions about Uncle Cliff, Sam, Jake and the Yankees) and about how he really does love and miss Paige when she's not with us, but he doesn't like to tell her.
On the way home, he begged me to do his homework for him. When I said no, he started to cry, and muttered, "You're stupid." I looked back at him and asked, "Did you really just call me stupid because I won't do your homework?" He smiled, and the crying ceased.
He was still crabby about doing his homework, but when I opened his folder and found that he had gotten a 100% on his 3-page math test, the mood quickly changed. I grabbed the test, did a dance around the kitchen table, ran into the other room to show Gracie, who was laid out on the sofa in a coma, and even let the little bastard, Enzo, rip a hole in my esophagus as he tried to get the paper from my hands.
"This is why you need to do your own homework, smarty pants!"
After that, we were all about homework. We breezed through his math, read, and then punctuated all the sentences he had to write.
"That was so easy!"
As I put his homework back into his backpack, he ran to the kitchen, grabbed a mixing bowl and an egg and said, "Let's make cookies now!" We got to work, preparing the cookies and as he mixed the ingredients together, he said, "I'm smart, amn't I?"
"You sure am." I answered and we both laughed.
After that, we started a heated game of Uno Attack. When Paige showed up with her dad, we were in the middle of a rant.
"You're going down this time! Uno!" Tony said, pointing his finger in my face.
"I only have one card left too, you doof."
"Yeah, but you have to push the Uno Attack button."
I pushed the button, and got six more cards spit out at me.
"Hahahahahaha... Uno! Hi, dad." He jumped up from his chair to give his dad a hug.
After his dad left, he said to Paige, "I just kicked Mom's ass. We missed you."
Now, you have to understand something about Paige. When she is part of a heartfelt sentiment, she cries. Just last week, she read a quote that I have in my kitchen (some guy named Ghandi coined it): "Be the change you wish to see in the world."
"Do you like your world?" Paige asked.
"Yes." I answered.
"Why?"
"Because you're in it."
As soon as I said it, her eyes pooled and she ran to me, "You just made me cry!"
So when Tony told her that we missed her, she reacted the exact same way. She ran to him for a hug. He made a face and tried to push her away, but as she squeezed and told him she loved him, I saw a smile.
We spent the rest of the evening, coloring at the kitchen table with Rocky III playing in the background. As Rocky began training for his second fight with Clubber Lang, we talked about perseverance, and when it was time for Rocky to actually fight, we put down the markers and cuddled on the couch.
With every climax of music, the kids jumped and smiled, and cheered on Rocky.
"You ain't so bad. You ain't so bad. You ain't so bad. You ain't nothin'!" Rocky uses his glove to push Clubber back into the corner at the end of the second round. I looked at both of them, and saw wide smiles. And I started to cry.
"Are you thinking of Papa again?" Paige asked.
I nodded.
"Because he used to call you every time Rocky was on?"
I nodded again.
"Will you call us every time Rocky is on?" She asked.
I nodded and hiccupped on my tears.
She leaned in for a hug.
After Rocky knocked Clubber Lang out, we headed upstairs for bed.
Last night, Tony decided he wanted to go to Chic-Fil-A. In his world, there was no better place to be. So we went, and sharing a booth, we talked. We talked about school, about soccer, about Uncle Cliff (for some reason he had a bunch of questions about Uncle Cliff, Sam, Jake and the Yankees) and about how he really does love and miss Paige when she's not with us, but he doesn't like to tell her.
On the way home, he begged me to do his homework for him. When I said no, he started to cry, and muttered, "You're stupid." I looked back at him and asked, "Did you really just call me stupid because I won't do your homework?" He smiled, and the crying ceased.
He was still crabby about doing his homework, but when I opened his folder and found that he had gotten a 100% on his 3-page math test, the mood quickly changed. I grabbed the test, did a dance around the kitchen table, ran into the other room to show Gracie, who was laid out on the sofa in a coma, and even let the little bastard, Enzo, rip a hole in my esophagus as he tried to get the paper from my hands.
"This is why you need to do your own homework, smarty pants!"
After that, we were all about homework. We breezed through his math, read, and then punctuated all the sentences he had to write.
"That was so easy!"
As I put his homework back into his backpack, he ran to the kitchen, grabbed a mixing bowl and an egg and said, "Let's make cookies now!" We got to work, preparing the cookies and as he mixed the ingredients together, he said, "I'm smart, amn't I?"
"You sure am." I answered and we both laughed.
After that, we started a heated game of Uno Attack. When Paige showed up with her dad, we were in the middle of a rant.
"You're going down this time! Uno!" Tony said, pointing his finger in my face.
"I only have one card left too, you doof."
"Yeah, but you have to push the Uno Attack button."
I pushed the button, and got six more cards spit out at me.
"Hahahahahaha... Uno! Hi, dad." He jumped up from his chair to give his dad a hug.
After his dad left, he said to Paige, "I just kicked Mom's ass. We missed you."
Now, you have to understand something about Paige. When she is part of a heartfelt sentiment, she cries. Just last week, she read a quote that I have in my kitchen (some guy named Ghandi coined it): "Be the change you wish to see in the world."
"Do you like your world?" Paige asked.
"Yes." I answered.
"Why?"
"Because you're in it."
As soon as I said it, her eyes pooled and she ran to me, "You just made me cry!"
So when Tony told her that we missed her, she reacted the exact same way. She ran to him for a hug. He made a face and tried to push her away, but as she squeezed and told him she loved him, I saw a smile.
We spent the rest of the evening, coloring at the kitchen table with Rocky III playing in the background. As Rocky began training for his second fight with Clubber Lang, we talked about perseverance, and when it was time for Rocky to actually fight, we put down the markers and cuddled on the couch.
With every climax of music, the kids jumped and smiled, and cheered on Rocky.
"You ain't so bad. You ain't so bad. You ain't so bad. You ain't nothin'!" Rocky uses his glove to push Clubber back into the corner at the end of the second round. I looked at both of them, and saw wide smiles. And I started to cry.
"Are you thinking of Papa again?" Paige asked.
I nodded.
"Because he used to call you every time Rocky was on?"
I nodded again.
"Will you call us every time Rocky is on?" She asked.
I nodded and hiccupped on my tears.
She leaned in for a hug.
After Rocky knocked Clubber Lang out, we headed upstairs for bed.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Higher Ground
I can see myself climbing uphill. I envision how I might look from the ground, my arms tight and clawing. I see my hands reaching for purchase with a tree branch or an embedded rock. . . climbing. The sweat drips down my forehead, into my eyes, and concentrating on the next move, I blink the sweat away.
I can feel the muscles in my legs working; the muscles tightening as I strain to move up, as I work to get to the top. And stopping to breath, I look at the self I left behind, still shaking her head, saying “You’ll never do it.” I nod my head and look beyond her, above and beyond her to the open skies.
My ears pop from the heights I reach, and are opened to hear the sounds of joy screaming from heaven, the applause from heaven that pushes me to move up and up and up.
Taking a deep breath, I see that I still have a long way to go. Taking a deep breath, I position my hands to pull me higher, I position my legs to push me forward, and heavy with breath, I move up another step.
Having lost my footing a few times, sliding down, down, down, I am aware of the obstacles that I can’t see, that may scrape me, bruise me, knock me down. Instead of fearing it, I expect it. Instead of challenging it, I humble myself to it, knowing that I need the work of heaven, the work of the stars to keep me moving forward.
I pray to the skies on my way up. I pray to be moved above and beyond when the time is right. I beg that I may end on the other side of the mountain, away from the ground where my old self holds a place for me.
I pray for truth on this trek. I pray for honesty on this trek. I pray for love during these travels. I pray for a mate as I climb. I pray for a passion fulfilled on this trek. I pray, I pray, I pray, I pray.
I will reach higher ground. I will reach higher ground to hear the applause from the heavens more clearly, because those hands are working to pull me up and up and up.
Planting my feet on solid ground, I will look down at the speck of my old self and watch as she walks the other way.
I can feel the muscles in my legs working; the muscles tightening as I strain to move up, as I work to get to the top. And stopping to breath, I look at the self I left behind, still shaking her head, saying “You’ll never do it.” I nod my head and look beyond her, above and beyond her to the open skies.
My ears pop from the heights I reach, and are opened to hear the sounds of joy screaming from heaven, the applause from heaven that pushes me to move up and up and up.
Taking a deep breath, I see that I still have a long way to go. Taking a deep breath, I position my hands to pull me higher, I position my legs to push me forward, and heavy with breath, I move up another step.
Having lost my footing a few times, sliding down, down, down, I am aware of the obstacles that I can’t see, that may scrape me, bruise me, knock me down. Instead of fearing it, I expect it. Instead of challenging it, I humble myself to it, knowing that I need the work of heaven, the work of the stars to keep me moving forward.
I pray to the skies on my way up. I pray to be moved above and beyond when the time is right. I beg that I may end on the other side of the mountain, away from the ground where my old self holds a place for me.
I pray for truth on this trek. I pray for honesty on this trek. I pray for love during these travels. I pray for a mate as I climb. I pray for a passion fulfilled on this trek. I pray, I pray, I pray, I pray.
I will reach higher ground. I will reach higher ground to hear the applause from the heavens more clearly, because those hands are working to pull me up and up and up.
Planting my feet on solid ground, I will look down at the speck of my old self and watch as she walks the other way.
Friday, September 23, 2011
It's Raining in Baltimore
The circus is falling, down on its knees. The bigtop is crumbling down. It's raining in Baltimore, and 50 miles east, where you should be, but no one's around.
It's been raining a lot in Baltimore lately -- just buckets of rain for the past 6 weeks, and every time I am alone (away from the kids for the weekend) when it is raining, I hear the entire Counting Crows song in my head.
I need a phone call. I need a raincoat. I need a big loan. I need a phone call.
I was looking forward to the weekend only because I knew that I would see the kids at soccer on Saturday, and then again when I picked them up for Sunday school on, er, Sunday. But, damn, again, the rain in Baltimore is ruining the soccer reunion.
Strained conversations, passing me by; and I don't have nothin' to say. You get what you paid for, but I just had no intention of living this way.
When I put the kids on the bus this morning, it wasn't raining. We were in good cheer. They had gone to bed without a hitch and slept a solid 10 hours, and they were happy and joyful, chomping on Apple Jacks and talking about the soccer practice they had gone to last night.
I need a phone call. I need a plane ride. I need a sunburn. I need a raincoat.
When the bus pulled up this morning, I kissed them both and said, "I love you. Tony, stay on green today!" Tony said "Okay," and Paige ran toward the bus, then turned around and said, "I really love you, Mommy" and I just smiled. When they got on the bus, Paige looked through the window and gave me a look of longing like she thought it was the last time she would see me. It drove me crazy all day, and I kept sending up prayers to God, the Saints and all the guardian angels to keep me and them safe!
And I get no answers. I don't get no change. It's raining in Baltimore, baby. But everything else is the same.
I spent most of the day wondering if what I had just written smelled like crap because it certainly felt like I had written crap. And I kept asking my higher power if I was on the right track with regard to my life's aspirations. And I kept thinking about a man that I dated for a short time, shortly after Jeff passed away. And I kept wondering how thinking about him was related to what I was feeling inside about my path in life, and if that was related to the crap that I had just written. And I kept seeing Paige's beautiful face in the bus window, waving good-bye for the day.
There's things I remember. And things I forget. I miss you. I guess that I should.
I saw their faces in my mind, all day. Paige, Tony and if I'm honest, Jesus. I kept thinking about William Shattner's roast to Charlie Sheen when he said, "You're okay, Charlie. There was another guy that was kind to whores and was persecuted by the Jews -- and people worship him!" Now, that's funny stuff. And of course, I thought about my dad and Jeff -- it's just a typical day, after all.
3,500 miles away. What would you change if you could?
When I met the kids at the bus stop, Paige had earned enough "good kid" tickets to buy something at the school shop, and what she bought was this plastic thingy that looked like a stop light -- green, yellow, red-- and she said that it meant, yes, maybe and no. And she decided to ask it a question: "Would we have fun with Daddy this weekend?" and when the lights stopped flashing, it was on yellow-maybe. The next question she asked was, "Will Mommy miss us?" As soon as she asked the question, I smiled and said, "Heck no" as she was saying, "I know it's going to be yes." It was red-no. That thing's a piece of no-good crap!
I need a phone call. Maybe I should buy a new car. I can always hear a freight train, baby, if I listen real hard.
I thought about how my life has changed. I thought about my brother Cliff a lot too, for some reason. Maybe because I had just read his blog and found it to be brilliant, as always. I thought about my sister sending me a text yesterday that simply read: "Tomorrow is another day. I love you," and how we corresponded, in tears, about missing our dad.
I wish, I wish it was a small world. Cause I'm lonely for the big towns. I'd like to hear a little guitar. I guess it's time to put the top down.
It's still raining. The dogs are crossing their legs and holding their private parts, and doing a little dance, but won't go outside to relieve themselves. Stupid bastard. And Gracie.
I need a phone call. I need a raincoat. I really need a raincoat. I really, really need a raincoat. I really, really, really need a raincoat. I really need a raincoat.
I just got a phone call 3 seconds ago (the first of many over the weekend). From Paige.
Now all I need is a raincoat.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEnCxGh8kBg
It's been raining a lot in Baltimore lately -- just buckets of rain for the past 6 weeks, and every time I am alone (away from the kids for the weekend) when it is raining, I hear the entire Counting Crows song in my head.
I need a phone call. I need a raincoat. I need a big loan. I need a phone call.
I was looking forward to the weekend only because I knew that I would see the kids at soccer on Saturday, and then again when I picked them up for Sunday school on, er, Sunday. But, damn, again, the rain in Baltimore is ruining the soccer reunion.
Strained conversations, passing me by; and I don't have nothin' to say. You get what you paid for, but I just had no intention of living this way.
When I put the kids on the bus this morning, it wasn't raining. We were in good cheer. They had gone to bed without a hitch and slept a solid 10 hours, and they were happy and joyful, chomping on Apple Jacks and talking about the soccer practice they had gone to last night.
I need a phone call. I need a plane ride. I need a sunburn. I need a raincoat.
When the bus pulled up this morning, I kissed them both and said, "I love you. Tony, stay on green today!" Tony said "Okay," and Paige ran toward the bus, then turned around and said, "I really love you, Mommy" and I just smiled. When they got on the bus, Paige looked through the window and gave me a look of longing like she thought it was the last time she would see me. It drove me crazy all day, and I kept sending up prayers to God, the Saints and all the guardian angels to keep me and them safe!
And I get no answers. I don't get no change. It's raining in Baltimore, baby. But everything else is the same.
I spent most of the day wondering if what I had just written smelled like crap because it certainly felt like I had written crap. And I kept asking my higher power if I was on the right track with regard to my life's aspirations. And I kept thinking about a man that I dated for a short time, shortly after Jeff passed away. And I kept wondering how thinking about him was related to what I was feeling inside about my path in life, and if that was related to the crap that I had just written. And I kept seeing Paige's beautiful face in the bus window, waving good-bye for the day.
There's things I remember. And things I forget. I miss you. I guess that I should.
I saw their faces in my mind, all day. Paige, Tony and if I'm honest, Jesus. I kept thinking about William Shattner's roast to Charlie Sheen when he said, "You're okay, Charlie. There was another guy that was kind to whores and was persecuted by the Jews -- and people worship him!" Now, that's funny stuff. And of course, I thought about my dad and Jeff -- it's just a typical day, after all.
3,500 miles away. What would you change if you could?
When I met the kids at the bus stop, Paige had earned enough "good kid" tickets to buy something at the school shop, and what she bought was this plastic thingy that looked like a stop light -- green, yellow, red-- and she said that it meant, yes, maybe and no. And she decided to ask it a question: "Would we have fun with Daddy this weekend?" and when the lights stopped flashing, it was on yellow-maybe. The next question she asked was, "Will Mommy miss us?" As soon as she asked the question, I smiled and said, "Heck no" as she was saying, "I know it's going to be yes." It was red-no. That thing's a piece of no-good crap!
I need a phone call. Maybe I should buy a new car. I can always hear a freight train, baby, if I listen real hard.
I thought about how my life has changed. I thought about my brother Cliff a lot too, for some reason. Maybe because I had just read his blog and found it to be brilliant, as always. I thought about my sister sending me a text yesterday that simply read: "Tomorrow is another day. I love you," and how we corresponded, in tears, about missing our dad.
I wish, I wish it was a small world. Cause I'm lonely for the big towns. I'd like to hear a little guitar. I guess it's time to put the top down.
It's still raining. The dogs are crossing their legs and holding their private parts, and doing a little dance, but won't go outside to relieve themselves. Stupid bastard. And Gracie.
I need a phone call. I need a raincoat. I really need a raincoat. I really, really need a raincoat. I really, really, really need a raincoat. I really need a raincoat.
I just got a phone call 3 seconds ago (the first of many over the weekend). From Paige.
Now all I need is a raincoat.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEnCxGh8kBg
Saturday, July 30, 2011
To Kill a Mockingbird
Wow. I am in awe again. I firmly believe that the best book ever written is "To Kill a Mockingbird", but the movie, a gift for my birthday, is phenomenal too! I watched it over a span of two days, Paige's head in the crook of my arm while Tony demanded food every seven seconds and vroomed his cars and helicopters and toys around the room.
The movie was way over their heads, although they did stop to stare at the screen when the climactic music began, and Paige would ask questions throughout the whole thing - is that the bad guy? Is Atticus the good guy? (Oh yes!) And she was enthralled with Scout and Jem, claiming that they were "bad" because they stood defiant in front of the crowd of people outside the jailhouse where Atticus set up camp to protect the prisoner. When Atticus told Jem to go home, Jem crossed his arms, and said, "No Sir." I explained to her that their presence there turned the bad men around, that the protection (what little of it they gave) was a reminder to these men that Atticus was a stand-up guy and deserved their respect despite the fact that he was defending a black man (falsely accused, I might add), and they were so backwards-minded that they didn't understand.
And Atticus! Oh Gregory Peck was sensational... when he stood in the courtroom and pointed to the girl who accused Tom Robinson of raping her, and said that he pitied her! He pitied her because she was so ignorant and ashamed of her own behavior that she had to accuse an innocent man of this crime so that she could live with herself, that she had to redefine the truth of what really happened so that she could live with herself!
Atticus tells Scout to step into the skin of others and walk around in it for a while, and because he follows this rule of compassion, when the ignorant Mr. Yule spits in his face, he reaches into his pocket, after a tense moment, pulls out his handkerchief (Side Note: "fazzolari" means roughly, handkerchief in Italian - didn't know that, did you?) and wipes the spittle from his face and walks away, leaving Mr. Yule with egg on his face!
Atticus tells Scout that killing a mockingbird is a sin because the mockingbird does nothing but make music; it is not an unkind animal. (Boo Radley is a mockingbird in this story, as is Tom Robinson).
Oh my, and Boo Radley! Robert Duvall, I don't even think he had a line, rescues Jem and Scout from Mr. Yule's drunken attack simply because he loves the kids. Jem and Scout have tormented this man, and falsified his personality throughout the movie, but when it comes down to it, he is the stand-up guy, and Scout recognizes him immediately and takes his hand.
The story is amazing - so many great features of "character" interwoven, and the greatest of these is compassion, recognizing it, unfolding it and spreading it over ego, and living by it. Amazing. Amazing. The best story ever told. Harper Lee, you are one of my idols, sensational authoring. Atticus, I hope you rubbed off on me, and I pray to be the female version of you as a parent to my children.
How this applies to this blog is this: It's a story about character, and good people, and I share it because you, my dear readers, are some good people! Do yourself a favor, rent the movie or read the book again. There is a reason why it's the best book in the world!
The movie was way over their heads, although they did stop to stare at the screen when the climactic music began, and Paige would ask questions throughout the whole thing - is that the bad guy? Is Atticus the good guy? (Oh yes!) And she was enthralled with Scout and Jem, claiming that they were "bad" because they stood defiant in front of the crowd of people outside the jailhouse where Atticus set up camp to protect the prisoner. When Atticus told Jem to go home, Jem crossed his arms, and said, "No Sir." I explained to her that their presence there turned the bad men around, that the protection (what little of it they gave) was a reminder to these men that Atticus was a stand-up guy and deserved their respect despite the fact that he was defending a black man (falsely accused, I might add), and they were so backwards-minded that they didn't understand.
And Atticus! Oh Gregory Peck was sensational... when he stood in the courtroom and pointed to the girl who accused Tom Robinson of raping her, and said that he pitied her! He pitied her because she was so ignorant and ashamed of her own behavior that she had to accuse an innocent man of this crime so that she could live with herself, that she had to redefine the truth of what really happened so that she could live with herself!
Atticus tells Scout to step into the skin of others and walk around in it for a while, and because he follows this rule of compassion, when the ignorant Mr. Yule spits in his face, he reaches into his pocket, after a tense moment, pulls out his handkerchief (Side Note: "fazzolari" means roughly, handkerchief in Italian - didn't know that, did you?) and wipes the spittle from his face and walks away, leaving Mr. Yule with egg on his face!
Atticus tells Scout that killing a mockingbird is a sin because the mockingbird does nothing but make music; it is not an unkind animal. (Boo Radley is a mockingbird in this story, as is Tom Robinson).
Oh my, and Boo Radley! Robert Duvall, I don't even think he had a line, rescues Jem and Scout from Mr. Yule's drunken attack simply because he loves the kids. Jem and Scout have tormented this man, and falsified his personality throughout the movie, but when it comes down to it, he is the stand-up guy, and Scout recognizes him immediately and takes his hand.
The story is amazing - so many great features of "character" interwoven, and the greatest of these is compassion, recognizing it, unfolding it and spreading it over ego, and living by it. Amazing. Amazing. The best story ever told. Harper Lee, you are one of my idols, sensational authoring. Atticus, I hope you rubbed off on me, and I pray to be the female version of you as a parent to my children.
How this applies to this blog is this: It's a story about character, and good people, and I share it because you, my dear readers, are some good people! Do yourself a favor, rent the movie or read the book again. There is a reason why it's the best book in the world!
Friday, July 29, 2011
Game Over
In the last seven months, I've gone on about seven first dates. I have met some decent people, and for one reason or another, a second date didn't occur. In the majority of the cases, I just didn't feel a connection and at 39 years old, I am no longer interested in exploring it ad nauseum only to realize three months later that my initial gut feeling was right on. Why waste that precious time?
Perhaps it's the romantic cupid that resides in my heart, but I need to feel the butterflies on the first date so that I can get to the second or third or fourth date. I haven't felt that in a long time, and that's okay because eventually, I'll be old and wrinkled and the butterflies will have long been dead.
I write this post because, as I said, I've gone on first dates and many of the men are really great people--just not great for me, and unfortunately, I should be more honest on the first date and just tell them that I'm not interested at that point. Yet, I have this terrible habit of ruminating things, and by that time, they've lost interest or determined that I'm not interested.
I'm getting better though. Yesterday, I met someone for a lunch date. Initially, I had no interest in this man because he reminded me of my ex-husband in many ways and I didn't want to deal with that again. Yet, he pursued me and asked for just a date-- just one date-- and if I wasn't interested, that would be the end of it. So, I went to lunch with him.
The conversation was great. We laughed, we spoke of his line of work, of which I was very familiar because it was exactly what my ex does. We talked about the death of our fathers -- not in depth, just a recognition of the pain. We talked about football. I'm a Bills fan. I'm not likely to find a Bills fan in Maryland and so I've come to accept the Skins and Ravens fans, even cheering for them from time to time. So I asked if he was a Skins fan or a Ravens fan. When he shook his head, I knew that he was a Dallas fan--another thing in common with my ex. I was okay with that, and I even made the mental note that it was okay as long as he didn't say that Dallas beat the Bills in two Super Bowls because every flippin' Dallas fan has to say that to a Bills fans. And what do you know?
"It's okay you're a Bills fan--they're the underdogs-- after all, they lost twice to Dallas in the Super Bowl."
Way too familiar.
Having been divorced before, he did say something that I wholeheartedly agreed with: "If there is a 1% doubt I have about the next woman I think I want to marry, I won't do it. I want 40 years with my next wife."
"If there is a 1% doubt after the second date, I won't go on a third." I answered, taking a sip of my water.
In any case, this is a typical first date. You test the waters, have a nice meal, share surface feelings, assess the looks, mannerisms and potential. Then either call it a day, or mention interest in a second date. Makes sense, right?
Now, let's get to the point of this blogpost and the title Game Over.
Sometime back, in a frustrated moment, I mentioned that the next person I dated would have to knock on my door and ask me for a date because on-line dating, picking people up in bars, etc. is just not something I'm comfortable with. I'll go on blind dates or meet friends and hope there is a decent person within the crowd, or as I said, if he knocked on my door and asked for my number.
Never again.
This is funny though, and you'll see why. My gutters were overflowing and in some places falling off my house, so I called a company to come and look at them, give me an estimate and get the work done. When the two guys who would be doing the work showed up, I was in sweats and a yankees shirt, packing the truck to go to Ocean City at 7:30 in the morning--no makeup, no shower, nothing. One of the guys asked if I was from New York because of my shirt, said he was a Yankees fan too and we had a nice conversation.
The estimate was finished and two weeks later, they showed up to do the work. The nice guy was wearing a Yankees hat. I said, "Nice hat." He answered, "I wore it for you." Nice--flirtatious, but not overkill.
They were there for about two hours and since I was working outside, I got to talk with the nice guy a little more.
After I wrote the check and bid them good-bye, I went back into the house. Several seconds later, the doorbell rang and the nice guy asks if I would be interested in going on a date with him. I said sure and gave him my number. Here is the text exchange (exactly as written):
---
JULY 27
Him:
7:10pm - Carri its Barry (made up name) i got some things i got to take care of can i call u between 8 and 9
9:20pm - I really hope i get to meet u and find out more about u
Me:
10:07pm So sorry, my battery was dead. Call tomorrow, ok? Look forward to it.
Him:
10:12pm - Cool i promice i will
JULY 28
Him:
11:57AM - Im getting off work early today what r u gonna do today would u like to kick it with me
Me:
12:00pm - Would love to but I can't. Have two interviews and son's football tonight. My schedule is awful, just so u know.
Him:
12:02pm -Thats ok soon we can link up i hope
12:05 pm - Good luck on your job interviews
12:22pm - I dont mind kids thats a part of u i would like to get to know ya my son is 11 and hes a big part of my life i know busy thats ok
3:31pm - I really like u i dont like most i hope we can be cool
4:11pm - I had the best befor u r better
6:56pm - I am a good guy
7:00pm - Sorry i guess i back up now i hope u r ok
8:28pm - I just wanted u to b my friend first u couldent even b that good luck
(1st time)
8:28pm - I just wanted u to b my friend first u couldent even b that good luck
(2nd time)
8:28pm - I just wanted u to b my friend first u couldent even b that good luck
(3rd time)
8:29pm - I wanted u to b my friend first
Me:
8:30pm - Seriously? I just got home from a busy day. Appreciate the offer, but I'm not ready to drop my life for a date. Sorry.
Him:
8:35pm - Sorry i drank tonight and i got issues from my last i need a new friend
Me:
8:36pm - I'm sorry, I'm not interested. Please don't be upset.
Him:
8:37pm - Im not
8:43pm - Its cool i aint mad at u
8:57pm - If u meet me i think u would have liked me
8:59pm - If u woulda met me i think u woulda liked me goodbuy c
10:35pm - If u didnt want to b happy y did u text me
10:40pm - Im sorry i will stop real supposed to reconize real
----
Game over. carri is dun with datin i promice u that dun friend u can be sur of that dun
Perhaps it's the romantic cupid that resides in my heart, but I need to feel the butterflies on the first date so that I can get to the second or third or fourth date. I haven't felt that in a long time, and that's okay because eventually, I'll be old and wrinkled and the butterflies will have long been dead.
I write this post because, as I said, I've gone on first dates and many of the men are really great people--just not great for me, and unfortunately, I should be more honest on the first date and just tell them that I'm not interested at that point. Yet, I have this terrible habit of ruminating things, and by that time, they've lost interest or determined that I'm not interested.
I'm getting better though. Yesterday, I met someone for a lunch date. Initially, I had no interest in this man because he reminded me of my ex-husband in many ways and I didn't want to deal with that again. Yet, he pursued me and asked for just a date-- just one date-- and if I wasn't interested, that would be the end of it. So, I went to lunch with him.
The conversation was great. We laughed, we spoke of his line of work, of which I was very familiar because it was exactly what my ex does. We talked about the death of our fathers -- not in depth, just a recognition of the pain. We talked about football. I'm a Bills fan. I'm not likely to find a Bills fan in Maryland and so I've come to accept the Skins and Ravens fans, even cheering for them from time to time. So I asked if he was a Skins fan or a Ravens fan. When he shook his head, I knew that he was a Dallas fan--another thing in common with my ex. I was okay with that, and I even made the mental note that it was okay as long as he didn't say that Dallas beat the Bills in two Super Bowls because every flippin' Dallas fan has to say that to a Bills fans. And what do you know?
"It's okay you're a Bills fan--they're the underdogs-- after all, they lost twice to Dallas in the Super Bowl."
Way too familiar.
Having been divorced before, he did say something that I wholeheartedly agreed with: "If there is a 1% doubt I have about the next woman I think I want to marry, I won't do it. I want 40 years with my next wife."
"If there is a 1% doubt after the second date, I won't go on a third." I answered, taking a sip of my water.
In any case, this is a typical first date. You test the waters, have a nice meal, share surface feelings, assess the looks, mannerisms and potential. Then either call it a day, or mention interest in a second date. Makes sense, right?
Now, let's get to the point of this blogpost and the title Game Over.
Sometime back, in a frustrated moment, I mentioned that the next person I dated would have to knock on my door and ask me for a date because on-line dating, picking people up in bars, etc. is just not something I'm comfortable with. I'll go on blind dates or meet friends and hope there is a decent person within the crowd, or as I said, if he knocked on my door and asked for my number.
Never again.
This is funny though, and you'll see why. My gutters were overflowing and in some places falling off my house, so I called a company to come and look at them, give me an estimate and get the work done. When the two guys who would be doing the work showed up, I was in sweats and a yankees shirt, packing the truck to go to Ocean City at 7:30 in the morning--no makeup, no shower, nothing. One of the guys asked if I was from New York because of my shirt, said he was a Yankees fan too and we had a nice conversation.
The estimate was finished and two weeks later, they showed up to do the work. The nice guy was wearing a Yankees hat. I said, "Nice hat." He answered, "I wore it for you." Nice--flirtatious, but not overkill.
They were there for about two hours and since I was working outside, I got to talk with the nice guy a little more.
After I wrote the check and bid them good-bye, I went back into the house. Several seconds later, the doorbell rang and the nice guy asks if I would be interested in going on a date with him. I said sure and gave him my number. Here is the text exchange (exactly as written):
---
JULY 27
Him:
7:10pm - Carri its Barry (made up name) i got some things i got to take care of can i call u between 8 and 9
9:20pm - I really hope i get to meet u and find out more about u
Me:
10:07pm So sorry, my battery was dead. Call tomorrow, ok? Look forward to it.
Him:
10:12pm - Cool i promice i will
JULY 28
Him:
11:57AM - Im getting off work early today what r u gonna do today would u like to kick it with me
Me:
12:00pm - Would love to but I can't. Have two interviews and son's football tonight. My schedule is awful, just so u know.
Him:
12:02pm -Thats ok soon we can link up i hope
12:05 pm - Good luck on your job interviews
12:22pm - I dont mind kids thats a part of u i would like to get to know ya my son is 11 and hes a big part of my life i know busy thats ok
3:31pm - I really like u i dont like most i hope we can be cool
4:11pm - I had the best befor u r better
6:56pm - I am a good guy
7:00pm - Sorry i guess i back up now i hope u r ok
8:28pm - I just wanted u to b my friend first u couldent even b that good luck
(1st time)
8:28pm - I just wanted u to b my friend first u couldent even b that good luck
(2nd time)
8:28pm - I just wanted u to b my friend first u couldent even b that good luck
(3rd time)
8:29pm - I wanted u to b my friend first
Me:
8:30pm - Seriously? I just got home from a busy day. Appreciate the offer, but I'm not ready to drop my life for a date. Sorry.
Him:
8:35pm - Sorry i drank tonight and i got issues from my last i need a new friend
Me:
8:36pm - I'm sorry, I'm not interested. Please don't be upset.
Him:
8:37pm - Im not
8:43pm - Its cool i aint mad at u
8:57pm - If u meet me i think u would have liked me
8:59pm - If u woulda met me i think u woulda liked me goodbuy c
10:35pm - If u didnt want to b happy y did u text me
10:40pm - Im sorry i will stop real supposed to reconize real
----
Game over. carri is dun with datin i promice u that dun friend u can be sur of that dun
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Butler and Adele
Other than Mike Butler http://www.soundclick.com/bands/default.cfm?bandID=407513, I must say that the best CD I've listened to in the last six months is Adele.
Can't go wrong with Butler's song: Should've Been by Now http://www.soundclick.com/player/single_player.cfm?songid=2958712&q=hi&newref=1 and Adele's song: Someone Like You http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jc4IloO2oy4. She is incredible-- not just this song but all of them.
Same with Butler, who I am fortunate to see performing at least two times a month. He is amazing!
Do yourself a favor. Download both and listen.
Great, great stuff.
Can't go wrong with Butler's song: Should've Been by Now http://www.soundclick.com/player/single_player.cfm?songid=2958712&q=hi&newref=1 and Adele's song: Someone Like You http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jc4IloO2oy4. She is incredible-- not just this song but all of them.
Same with Butler, who I am fortunate to see performing at least two times a month. He is amazing!
Do yourself a favor. Download both and listen.
Great, great stuff.
Whatever Works
[I wrote this years ago. Tony was still in diapers, barely able to talk. I share it now for all those who have toddlers and are going through the terrible twos and the f**ing threes. I had a riot writing it, and nearly every word is true, including the conversation with my mother.]
Alarmed by the sudden change in Paige’s behavior, I began researching childhood illnesses that would cause a sweet child to imitate the cry of a dolphin being skewered by a swordfish at an octave normally used in airplane hangars, while biting, slapping, mauling and kicking. My research suggested ‘the terrible twos’. Since Paige was nearly three, I was convinced it was more life threatening. I checked Paige’s temperature – normal. I checked her stool – it certainly looked normal although it smelled like she ate and digested a horse’s hoof. I even checked to see that her gums were pink. Paige’s gums were as pink as the bubble gum she rubbed into the crown of Tony’s head.
Putting the book aside, I called my mother.
“Mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Did I ever go through the terrible twos?”
“Did you?! You used to lie on the floor, kicking and screaming. It drove me crazy.”
“What did you do?”
“I ignored you until you passed out. You’d stay down for at least twenty minutes…” My mother sighed.
“Nice…”
She hung up.
I turned to my friend Amy for advice. She recommended a dark, quiet closet, preferably in the basement level of the house to let Paige cool off on her own. Another friend recommended getting a puppy (free to a good home!) to keep me occupied.
I opted to revisit the parenting book, which advised me to always maintain eye contact, to set boundaries and time limits, and if appropriate, to offer a choice. Thus, if Paige wanted to color, I had to look her in the eye, let her choose where and how long, but should not let her choose the marker (permanent) or the canvas (her brother’s upper lip and eyebrows) anymore.
During breakfast the next morning I put a plan into action.
“Okay, here’s the agenda for the day. We’re going to the store to pick up bananas and milk, and then we’re going to come home, eat lunch, take a bath and go for a nap.” I said.
Paige looked up from gnawing the nail polish off her thumb and said, “No.”
I silently counted to three. “Paige, that’s what we’re doing and I need you to be a good girl and get your sandals on.”
With her hand stuck down a half-full glass of milk, she countered with, “Um… no.”
I pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser, and wiped Paige’s hands, remembering the book’s advice: maintain eye contact and offer a choice. I sat in front of Paige to summon eye contact, but Paige ignored me. I soon fell into a daydream about sucking tequila shots from George Clooney’s collarbone while rubbing cocoa butter on his. . .
“Mommy!” Paige was gawking at me.
Nearly forgetting my reason for sitting there, I hastened to ask, “Do you want to put your sneakers on or your sandals?” Please say sandals, please say sandals. Your sneakers have laces longer than the hallway. It takes forty minutes just to knot them up so you don’t trip.
“Sneakers!” Paige jumped from her stool and raced to the closet.
I cleaned the breakfast dishes, changed Tony’s diaper, put his shoes on, let the dogs out, vacuumed the cereal crumbs, cleaned the microwave and guzzled a lukewarm cup of coffee, while I waited for Paige to wrestle into her shoes.
Paige ignored both her shoes and her feet, and was intent on eating the pink polish off her nails. I sat beside her on the floor and raised each sneaker, remembering that I needed to give her a choice.
“Which shoe do you want to put on first, your right or left?” I asked.
“Left!” She said.
I reached for her left foot.
“No. I do it!”
Paige struggled to get her foot in the shoe, and Tony attempted to use my ponytail as a pulley to shimmy up my back and onto my shoulders. I ignored him, he was being quiet and I could handle the pressure of his foot prodding my rib cage for a few more seconds.
“Okay, let mommy tie your shoe.”
“No, I do it!”
“You’re still a little young and it’s really, really hard to tie your shoe.”
“No, I do my other shoe.”
Paige succeeded in getting both feet into her shoes. Tony succeeded in clawing a hole in the apple of my cheek. I swatted his hand away, and he clutched my hair to regain balance.
“Oh, you did a great job! Now let Mommy tie them so we can get to the store.”
“No! I do it!”
“Okay, honey, cross over the laces and pull it through… good, good.”
Tony used the gap in the back of my jeans as a step, and dug his fingers into my eye sockets, mimicking a rock climber tackling Mt. Fuji. I repositioned his hands so that he merely throttled my windpipe. I leaned forward and took hold of the laces.
“Okay, now let Mommy do the rabbit ears and you can pull it tight.”
Paige furrowed her eyebrows, closed her mouth and pushed out her lower lip.
“No!” She pulled the laces apart again and slipped one shoe off.
“Paige Lauren!” My voice was tinged with warning and disappointment.
“I do it, I do it, I do it!”
She spun on her butt so her back was to me and yanked the laces from every hole in the shoe. I reached around her and grabbed the shoe. Tony blew spit in my ear and swung from my ponytail like a bull rider.
I began re-lacing the shoe. I glanced at Paige just in time to witness the explosion: lips pursed, cheeks puffed, face purple and BAM! The monster shriek was liberated – the one that frayed my nerves, made me feel horrible as a mother, made me question my abilities as an intelligent human being and made me curse my husband for ever buying the laced sneakers in the first place when I was completely against them and insisted on the Velcro kind until he said, “But she can learn how to tie earlier than all the other kids,” and I was thrilled with the idea of my genius daughter showing off her motor skills with a class full of snot nosed children who still wore Velcro shoes.
“NOOOoooaaarrgghhh!”
The screech went on and on, and I repeatedly chanted, “It’s okay, it’s okay. . . ”
I visualized my future self, sitting in the middle of a padded room, rocking back and forth, begging “Please stop crying, please stop crying."
Tony would be sitting beside me with every strand of my hair entangled in his sticky fingers.
People would visit me and say, "She just couldn’t handle it.” And then they would look at each other and ask, "But why is she bald?”
I grew annoyed by my own begging voice. “Stop crying right now or we’re not going to the store at all!”
Paige retorted by kicking me in the mouth. Holding my lip with one hand and Paige’s feet with the other, I counted to ten to regain composure.
“We’re putting your shoes on and we’re going to the store now! You keep crying and you’re going to bed. Tony, get off my back!”
I reached behind my back and slid him off; placing him away from Paige’s flailing feet. He began to cry. Paige paused, looked at Tony, gulped more air, and resumed her broadcast.
I shoved both shoes on Paige’s thrashing feet and began tying the laces. Just as I tied the final knot, my hair was torn from my head as Tony climbed on for another ride, snot running out of his nose and all over my t-shirt. Paige, squealing, yanked at the laces I had wrapped around her ankles and tied in a quadruple knot.
“Stop Crying. Stop! Tony, get off me!”
Tony wailed, Paige cried and I sat there, the situation sucking every fleck of patience from my being. I contemplated hiding in the quiet closet down in the basement until they both passed out. Instead, I feigned despair.
“Oh, I’m so sad. Boo hoo hoo.” I covered my face, and howled. I rubbed my eyes, and wailed, my chin quivered, and real tears started to appear. I fell back onto the floor, kicked my feet into the air, and screamed, imitating Paige’s pitch and tone.
The children grew silent. I sat up, my hands covered my eyes and I continued to blubber. I moved a finger away to peek at them.
They sat and stared.
Stared and sat.
And then, miraculously, giggles erupted.
“It’s okay Mommy,” Paige said and patted my knee. Tony, instead of hitching a leg up, tilted his head to my arm for a hug.
They sat on the floor together. Hushed. Peaceful.
The door opened.
“Daddy!”
The kids jumped up and raced to their father. He lifted a white plastic bag and said, “I got milk and bananas so you didn’t have to worry about it.”
I hooted and fell back in laughter, thankful I didn’t pass out.
Alarmed by the sudden change in Paige’s behavior, I began researching childhood illnesses that would cause a sweet child to imitate the cry of a dolphin being skewered by a swordfish at an octave normally used in airplane hangars, while biting, slapping, mauling and kicking. My research suggested ‘the terrible twos’. Since Paige was nearly three, I was convinced it was more life threatening. I checked Paige’s temperature – normal. I checked her stool – it certainly looked normal although it smelled like she ate and digested a horse’s hoof. I even checked to see that her gums were pink. Paige’s gums were as pink as the bubble gum she rubbed into the crown of Tony’s head.
Putting the book aside, I called my mother.
“Mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Did I ever go through the terrible twos?”
“Did you?! You used to lie on the floor, kicking and screaming. It drove me crazy.”
“What did you do?”
“I ignored you until you passed out. You’d stay down for at least twenty minutes…” My mother sighed.
“Nice…”
She hung up.
I turned to my friend Amy for advice. She recommended a dark, quiet closet, preferably in the basement level of the house to let Paige cool off on her own. Another friend recommended getting a puppy (free to a good home!) to keep me occupied.
I opted to revisit the parenting book, which advised me to always maintain eye contact, to set boundaries and time limits, and if appropriate, to offer a choice. Thus, if Paige wanted to color, I had to look her in the eye, let her choose where and how long, but should not let her choose the marker (permanent) or the canvas (her brother’s upper lip and eyebrows) anymore.
During breakfast the next morning I put a plan into action.
“Okay, here’s the agenda for the day. We’re going to the store to pick up bananas and milk, and then we’re going to come home, eat lunch, take a bath and go for a nap.” I said.
Paige looked up from gnawing the nail polish off her thumb and said, “No.”
I silently counted to three. “Paige, that’s what we’re doing and I need you to be a good girl and get your sandals on.”
With her hand stuck down a half-full glass of milk, she countered with, “Um… no.”
I pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser, and wiped Paige’s hands, remembering the book’s advice: maintain eye contact and offer a choice. I sat in front of Paige to summon eye contact, but Paige ignored me. I soon fell into a daydream about sucking tequila shots from George Clooney’s collarbone while rubbing cocoa butter on his. . .
“Mommy!” Paige was gawking at me.
Nearly forgetting my reason for sitting there, I hastened to ask, “Do you want to put your sneakers on or your sandals?” Please say sandals, please say sandals. Your sneakers have laces longer than the hallway. It takes forty minutes just to knot them up so you don’t trip.
“Sneakers!” Paige jumped from her stool and raced to the closet.
I cleaned the breakfast dishes, changed Tony’s diaper, put his shoes on, let the dogs out, vacuumed the cereal crumbs, cleaned the microwave and guzzled a lukewarm cup of coffee, while I waited for Paige to wrestle into her shoes.
Paige ignored both her shoes and her feet, and was intent on eating the pink polish off her nails. I sat beside her on the floor and raised each sneaker, remembering that I needed to give her a choice.
“Which shoe do you want to put on first, your right or left?” I asked.
“Left!” She said.
I reached for her left foot.
“No. I do it!”
Paige struggled to get her foot in the shoe, and Tony attempted to use my ponytail as a pulley to shimmy up my back and onto my shoulders. I ignored him, he was being quiet and I could handle the pressure of his foot prodding my rib cage for a few more seconds.
“Okay, let mommy tie your shoe.”
“No, I do it!”
“You’re still a little young and it’s really, really hard to tie your shoe.”
“No, I do my other shoe.”
Paige succeeded in getting both feet into her shoes. Tony succeeded in clawing a hole in the apple of my cheek. I swatted his hand away, and he clutched my hair to regain balance.
“Oh, you did a great job! Now let Mommy tie them so we can get to the store.”
“No! I do it!”
“Okay, honey, cross over the laces and pull it through… good, good.”
Tony used the gap in the back of my jeans as a step, and dug his fingers into my eye sockets, mimicking a rock climber tackling Mt. Fuji. I repositioned his hands so that he merely throttled my windpipe. I leaned forward and took hold of the laces.
“Okay, now let Mommy do the rabbit ears and you can pull it tight.”
Paige furrowed her eyebrows, closed her mouth and pushed out her lower lip.
“No!” She pulled the laces apart again and slipped one shoe off.
“Paige Lauren!” My voice was tinged with warning and disappointment.
“I do it, I do it, I do it!”
She spun on her butt so her back was to me and yanked the laces from every hole in the shoe. I reached around her and grabbed the shoe. Tony blew spit in my ear and swung from my ponytail like a bull rider.
I began re-lacing the shoe. I glanced at Paige just in time to witness the explosion: lips pursed, cheeks puffed, face purple and BAM! The monster shriek was liberated – the one that frayed my nerves, made me feel horrible as a mother, made me question my abilities as an intelligent human being and made me curse my husband for ever buying the laced sneakers in the first place when I was completely against them and insisted on the Velcro kind until he said, “But she can learn how to tie earlier than all the other kids,” and I was thrilled with the idea of my genius daughter showing off her motor skills with a class full of snot nosed children who still wore Velcro shoes.
“NOOOoooaaarrgghhh!”
The screech went on and on, and I repeatedly chanted, “It’s okay, it’s okay. . . ”
I visualized my future self, sitting in the middle of a padded room, rocking back and forth, begging “Please stop crying, please stop crying."
Tony would be sitting beside me with every strand of my hair entangled in his sticky fingers.
People would visit me and say, "She just couldn’t handle it.” And then they would look at each other and ask, "But why is she bald?”
I grew annoyed by my own begging voice. “Stop crying right now or we’re not going to the store at all!”
Paige retorted by kicking me in the mouth. Holding my lip with one hand and Paige’s feet with the other, I counted to ten to regain composure.
“We’re putting your shoes on and we’re going to the store now! You keep crying and you’re going to bed. Tony, get off my back!”
I reached behind my back and slid him off; placing him away from Paige’s flailing feet. He began to cry. Paige paused, looked at Tony, gulped more air, and resumed her broadcast.
I shoved both shoes on Paige’s thrashing feet and began tying the laces. Just as I tied the final knot, my hair was torn from my head as Tony climbed on for another ride, snot running out of his nose and all over my t-shirt. Paige, squealing, yanked at the laces I had wrapped around her ankles and tied in a quadruple knot.
“Stop Crying. Stop! Tony, get off me!”
Tony wailed, Paige cried and I sat there, the situation sucking every fleck of patience from my being. I contemplated hiding in the quiet closet down in the basement until they both passed out. Instead, I feigned despair.
“Oh, I’m so sad. Boo hoo hoo.” I covered my face, and howled. I rubbed my eyes, and wailed, my chin quivered, and real tears started to appear. I fell back onto the floor, kicked my feet into the air, and screamed, imitating Paige’s pitch and tone.
The children grew silent. I sat up, my hands covered my eyes and I continued to blubber. I moved a finger away to peek at them.
They sat and stared.
Stared and sat.
And then, miraculously, giggles erupted.
“It’s okay Mommy,” Paige said and patted my knee. Tony, instead of hitching a leg up, tilted his head to my arm for a hug.
They sat on the floor together. Hushed. Peaceful.
The door opened.
“Daddy!”
The kids jumped up and raced to their father. He lifted a white plastic bag and said, “I got milk and bananas so you didn’t have to worry about it.”
I hooted and fell back in laughter, thankful I didn’t pass out.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Lessons
It's been a heck of a week. A HECK of a week. I learned a few things:
1. When you tell your kids not to hit each other, they'll pinch each other.
2. Sometimes you regret the words you couldn't say more than you regret the words you did say.
3. Sending out resumes to jobs you don't really want, kinda sucks.
4. Wishing you could win the lottery is not nearly as much fun as it is to pretend that you did win it.
5. If I could write all day, every day and make a living, I'd be a very happy woman.
5. When you tell your kids not to hit or pinch each other, they'll kick each other.
6. iCarly is a rather humorous show, and I'm likely to watch it while the kids are away for a week vacation with their dad.
7. The thought of a week away from the kids, starting tomorrow, kinda sucks.
8. The past is always lurking in the present, ready to pounce on you.
9. My son, though he doesn't know it, might be the most romantic boy in the world. How do I know? He said to me the other day: "Sometimes I take a nap at Daddy's just so I can go to sleep and dream about you." (Yeah, I know)
10. When you tell your kids not to hit or pinch or kick each other, they'll bite each other.
11. Sometimes a floor puzzle is all you need to bond with your child and turn the day around.
12. I miss my sister and cannot wait to Skype with her soon.
13. After spending hours cleaning up the muddy mess your little bastard, Enzo makes, there is still more mud to be cleaned up. (It was like Cujo took over the house).
14. When Paige touched my cheek and said she thought I was the most beautiful woman at Tony's football practice, my heart jumped with joy and gratitude.
15. It is possible to cry with joy for someone else while feeling sorrow and regret because of that joy.
16. Tony can make me laugh all the time. Two examples: At a Chinese restaurant he was inhaling Lo Mein and he said, "I wish I was a noodle so I could eat myself;" and after I asked him if he liked playing football, he looked me square in the eye and said, "It sucks. Bad."
17. When you get fed up and bite your hand to stop from screaming at your kids, they pay attention and stop hitting, pinching, kicking and biting eachother.
That's all I have for now. It's been a heck of a week, I tell ya.
1. When you tell your kids not to hit each other, they'll pinch each other.
2. Sometimes you regret the words you couldn't say more than you regret the words you did say.
3. Sending out resumes to jobs you don't really want, kinda sucks.
4. Wishing you could win the lottery is not nearly as much fun as it is to pretend that you did win it.
5. If I could write all day, every day and make a living, I'd be a very happy woman.
5. When you tell your kids not to hit or pinch each other, they'll kick each other.
6. iCarly is a rather humorous show, and I'm likely to watch it while the kids are away for a week vacation with their dad.
7. The thought of a week away from the kids, starting tomorrow, kinda sucks.
8. The past is always lurking in the present, ready to pounce on you.
9. My son, though he doesn't know it, might be the most romantic boy in the world. How do I know? He said to me the other day: "Sometimes I take a nap at Daddy's just so I can go to sleep and dream about you." (Yeah, I know)
10. When you tell your kids not to hit or pinch or kick each other, they'll bite each other.
11. Sometimes a floor puzzle is all you need to bond with your child and turn the day around.
12. I miss my sister and cannot wait to Skype with her soon.
13. After spending hours cleaning up the muddy mess your little bastard, Enzo makes, there is still more mud to be cleaned up. (It was like Cujo took over the house).
14. When Paige touched my cheek and said she thought I was the most beautiful woman at Tony's football practice, my heart jumped with joy and gratitude.
15. It is possible to cry with joy for someone else while feeling sorrow and regret because of that joy.
16. Tony can make me laugh all the time. Two examples: At a Chinese restaurant he was inhaling Lo Mein and he said, "I wish I was a noodle so I could eat myself;" and after I asked him if he liked playing football, he looked me square in the eye and said, "It sucks. Bad."
17. When you get fed up and bite your hand to stop from screaming at your kids, they pay attention and stop hitting, pinching, kicking and biting eachother.
That's all I have for now. It's been a heck of a week, I tell ya.
Good News / Bad News
Good News:
There was a 2 hour thunderstorm yesterday that sent the 100 degree weather away.
Bad News:
- Enzo, the little bastard, found the muddiest spot in the yard to dig a hole.
- After soaking himself in mud from head to toe, he barreled up the deck stairs and proceeded to jump against the door, barking incessantly until someone let him in.
- Paige let him in and said, "Mom, um, Mom? You need to see Enzo." I walked down the hallway and saw muddy footprints and slides of mud on the hardwood floor, the rugs, the sofa and the kitchen floor. I followed the trail with my eyes and did a double-take when I saw Enzo panting on the kitchen floor --chameleon-like because the floor is brown and rust, and so was he.
- "Bath time!" Paige yelled. Enzo leapt to his feet and ran the other way. Somehow we got him upstairs into my bedroom and bathroom where I could use the shower to scrub him down. He leapt, rolled, panted, barked and jumped for about 15 minutes.
Good News:
- After we got him into the shower, he sat there and I swear he was moaning with pleasure as I soaped him up, praising him for being such a handsome bastard.
- I hadn't yet taken a shower yet so I wasn't required to re-wash my muddy arms, legs, hands, fingers, feet, toes and nostrils after the entire debacle.
Bad News:
- I had to mop the kitchen and living room floors; scrub every window where he leapt; scrub the rugs and the couch and the blinds and the kitchen table and the refrigerator and the dishwasher, the ceiling fan and the entire upstairs hallway and master bedroom.
Good News:
- He's a handsome, clean bastard.
There was a 2 hour thunderstorm yesterday that sent the 100 degree weather away.
Bad News:
- Enzo, the little bastard, found the muddiest spot in the yard to dig a hole.
- After soaking himself in mud from head to toe, he barreled up the deck stairs and proceeded to jump against the door, barking incessantly until someone let him in.
- Paige let him in and said, "Mom, um, Mom? You need to see Enzo." I walked down the hallway and saw muddy footprints and slides of mud on the hardwood floor, the rugs, the sofa and the kitchen floor. I followed the trail with my eyes and did a double-take when I saw Enzo panting on the kitchen floor --chameleon-like because the floor is brown and rust, and so was he.
- "Bath time!" Paige yelled. Enzo leapt to his feet and ran the other way. Somehow we got him upstairs into my bedroom and bathroom where I could use the shower to scrub him down. He leapt, rolled, panted, barked and jumped for about 15 minutes.
Good News:
- After we got him into the shower, he sat there and I swear he was moaning with pleasure as I soaped him up, praising him for being such a handsome bastard.
- I hadn't yet taken a shower yet so I wasn't required to re-wash my muddy arms, legs, hands, fingers, feet, toes and nostrils after the entire debacle.
Bad News:
- I had to mop the kitchen and living room floors; scrub every window where he leapt; scrub the rugs and the couch and the blinds and the kitchen table and the refrigerator and the dishwasher, the ceiling fan and the entire upstairs hallway and master bedroom.
Good News:
- He's a handsome, clean bastard.
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